word count: 1.3K this is my first time writing any ff so it might be bad T-T warnings: smut, mdni!! established relationship, fem! reader, oral (f receiving), no protection, one shot, not proofread, p in v, creampie
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Park Sunghoon is fucking feral.
The second he emerges from your shower and sees you sprawled across your lace pink bedsheets, his entire body goes rigid. A noise he would be embarrassed about later on almost escapes his throat as his cock hardens instantly, straining painfully against the thin white towel that clings to his hips.
You shift, completely oblivious to his torment, your worthless excuse of a tank top riding up to reveal the soft curve of your waist. Those shorts might as well not exist—the full swell of your ass practically spilling out, making his cock pulse so hard he has to bite his lip to keep from groaning.
You look up at the sound of his shaking breath. “Hoonie– ? You done?”
He’s getting harder by the minute.
He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment before snapping them back open. Sunghoon is a sane man. At least, that’s what he tells himself as he shifts uncomfortably, trying to hide his obvious tent.
Your gaze drops, catching exactly what he's failed to hide. Heat floods your cheeks. " Hoonie...!" He watches, mesmerized, as you turn on the bed, trading one torture for another—your top hanging so low he can see the swell of your breasts. Christ.
“Y/N…” Sunghoon kneels down on the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. “I’m just…fuck…you drive me insane.”
But you’re already pressing your thighs together, trying to pretend seeing the mere silhouette of his cock isn’t causing heat to pool in your stomach—even lower. You squirm slightly.
“Y/N– fuck, don’t do that.” He grips himself through the towel mindlessly, his knuckles white.“Hoon…” You whine softly, your own hand slipping down between your thighs. "Let me help you." He stares at you, wild-eyed, before a guttural sound tears from his throat. Sunghoon's control shatters completely. "Say. That. Again." Each word punctuated by his hand working furiously, a deep moan ripping from his chest.
"Need to help you...need to fuck you...need you inside me..." You whine. Sunghoon snaps his head to you, his eyes half-lidded and desperate before he breaks, like a wild predator claiming prey, lurching forward to kiss you. His hand engulfs your face—Christ, you' re so fucking small beneath him. He bites your bottom lip hard enough to make you cry out, your hips bucking desperately against nothing, your underwear soaked through. The kiss is hungry, animalistic even.
He yanks your shorts down in one swift motion, tossing them across the room. His hands are hot and slightly trembling as they run over the skin of your thighs, nails digging in just enough for you to gasp. He grinds into you, the towel barely hanging on, his cock rubbing against your drenched underwear. You arch into the friction, a needy sound tumbling from your lips. He shudders, fighting for any scrap of composure left, but instantly loses when you hook your legs around his waist and pull him in closer. The towel is a barrier both maddening and useless; with a guttural groan he strips it off, throwing it somewhere behind him, and the blunt, flushed head of his cock presses insistently at your core.
Sunghoon's voice is wrecked, barely more than a whisper, “Let me taste you first.” You’re nodding, already wrecked by the sensation of his hands kneading your thighs apart, his mouth trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your chest, your stomach, your inner thigh. Every inch he touches feels raw and exposed, as if he’s discovering you for the first time and memorizing the way your body shivers under his tongue. He crowds between your knees, pushing them up and wide, and settles beneath you like he’s been starved his whole life for this. His tongue is hot and desperate, licking a slick stripe through your folds before latching onto your clit with such single-minded force you whimper, half in shock, half in helpless ecstasy. His hands grip your thighs to the sheets, pinning you down as you try instinctively to twist away from the onslaught. But he doesn’t let you, growling low when you squirm, holding you open, taking everything he wants.
Sunghoon devours you like a man possessed, his head bobbing, black hair mussed and wet at the nape, his tongue fucking into you until you’re leaking and shaking. He tongues you through every shudder, relishing every tremor and gasp, sucking and lapping and slurping, his cock rutting into the mattress in rhythm with every little noise you spill for him. You start to sob his name, over and over, your hands fisting the damp hair at the crown of his head, and he basks in it. He doesn’t slow even when you cum, your thighs trembling so hard he has to clamp down harder to keep you from snapping closed. Each greedy pull from his mouth renders you more insensible, until you’re reduced to nothing but pleas and curses and prettily broken whimpers—music to his ears.
He finally pulls away when you start to twitch from the overstimulation, still aching, still desperate. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and even in your haze you feel an obscene thrill at how shamelessly ruined he looks, chin glossy and lips pink and swollen.
He crawls over you again, caging you in, eyes blown wide. “Can I?” he asks, breathless, voice breaking. It’s fucked how, even now, he’s still asking. You reach up, tangling your fingers in his hair, nodding so fast you can barely even shape a word. "Please," you manage, and for a moment all softness returns to his face. He kisses you like an apology, like a promise, and lines himself up. He's big—thick and flushed and so, so hard—but he's gentle when he pushes in, holding himself back, letting you adjust.
The stretch is overwhelming, but you want it—want him—so much it borders on ache. You claw at his arms, his back, leaving little half-moon marks in your wake. He presses in, inch by inch, groaning through gritted teeth, every muscle in his body tense with restraint.
"Fuck, you feel so good," he chokes, forehead pressed against yours, sweat already beading at his temple. His hips start to move, slow and shallow at first, but soon the rhythm builds. The room is filled with the soft schlk schlk schlk of his cock thrusting in and out of you and the sinful sounds of your synchronized moaning. You open your eyes, just enough to look at his beautiful face as he fucks into you. You wish you didn’t at all because you have to bite back a moan from how ungodly he looks—his eyebrows furrowed and the moles on his face scrunched from his expression.
“G-gonna cum, pretty girl.” He curses under his breath, his hips stuttering as he loses his rhythm, now pistoning in and out of you erratically.
“H-hoonie…! I-I’m gonna— !”
The second he feels your walls pulsing around him, he moans. He knows he's fucked.
With one last thrust, he cums, burrowing his face in the crook between your neck and shoulder, inhaling your scent. He shudders as he empties himself inside you, shooting his lovemilk into you, then he finally collapses — completely spent. For a while, you just lie together, panting and sticky and so, so alive, the only sound in your bedroom the raw sound of your combined breathing.
Sunghoon pulls back, his chest rising and falling softly. His eyes are filled with nothing short of adoration. Then, his gaze drops to your pulsing hole. He spreads the lips with two fingers, watching the cum drop out slowly—he swears he can feel himself hardening again.
“You okay?”
You nod, and he grins, leaning in for one last kiss.
where your new boyfriend, jake, is the perfect man for you. he’s everything you’ve ever wanted, to the point that he feels almost.. familiar.
pairing: jake x f!reader (ft. ex jay)
length: 5.3k
warnings: copycat au, manipulation, jake is unwell af, smut; masturbation, both oral, dom!jake, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, cum eating, mouth spitting, nasty shit.. 18+ MDNI
notes: hey… lil quickie to get me back in the writing groove #makeitwashed
YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING TO MARRY JAKE SIM.
never did you see yourself experiencing a love like in the movies. the red string of fate, the twin flame, the soulmate – all concepts that were fictional to you. you got really close, once, and was humbled so badly that you had sworn off of love. you wouldn’t search for it, or even try for it ever again.
but that’s the thing about love, isn’t it? it happens when you’re least expecting it. you don’t find it, it finds you, and pulls you under so quickly that there’s no time to resist. to you, heartbroken and hopeless you, this took form in the sudden presence of the boy called jake.
jake had always been around – he’s a friend of your ex (he who shall not be named). not a close one, but one you still saw often at hangouts and parties. that one smiley, golden retriever boy with the bleached blonde hair.
he was always such a gentleman with you, at least in the fleeting interactions before your ex would interrupt or steal you away. you still adored those brief moments with jake, and if your ex wasn’t so cutthroat about being the only man in your life, you might’ve found a good friend in jake.
none of it could’ve prepared you for what you ended up finding in him instead.
love. real love, pure love. a love that didn’t keep you waiting, that didn’t have you terrified of it vanishing. a love that was gentle and sweet and understanding. a love that you know you didn’t deserve, and yet a love he fought tooth and nail to give you.
after your messy and very public breakup, jake swooped in like some type of guardian angel. one harmless text of him checking up on you later, and you found yourself attached to his side quicker than you could start missing your ex.
he comforted you through it – held you in his arms when you were ugly crying, cooked meals for you when you couldn’t take care of yourself – and all he asked for in return was to continue being by your side.
once you finally mustered the strength to leave bed after a week of rotting, jake was there to help clean your room of any traces of your ex. he then chucked all of his belongings in his car to drive to the dump, just so you didn’t have to be around the stuff any longer.
jake is a million dollar man. a once in a lifetime man. he is every bit the man that you wanted your ex to be, and better. because jake has none of his flaws. in fact, you’re not sure if jake even has any. he’s so perfect for you, and somehow, he feels like deja vu.
you’re convinced he was a lover in your past life, someone you’ve reincarnated with to find in every reality, with how familiar he seems, how in tune he is with your needs.
you’re so helplessly in love, and you know that someway, somehow – he loves you even more.
—
not a day goes by where jake doesn’t think about marrying you.
you don’t even have to do anything and already, he’s picturing you walking down the aisle, your belly swell with his child. patience, though. he needs enough for both of you. he’s been very intentional in restraining from going that far with you yet. he’s not prepared enough. but he will be, soon.
he smiles to himself as he heart-reacts to your cute little ‘take your time handsome :)’ text, in reply to him apologising for being a few minutes late to come over. he had to wait for the dryer load to be done so he could wear his grey sweatpants – jay’s sweatpants.
every time he wears these, without fail, you go crazy over him. the first time was a carelessly stupid mistake – you’d called him in tears, and in his rush to drive to your place, he’d thrown on the first pair of pants he could find, which he hadn’t realised was from the pile of your ex’s clothes.
by some luck, or perhaps by design, it had worked in his favour. your tears had quickly dried when you saw him walk in with those loose sweats hanging from his hips, and not long after you’d had him pressed to the couch, your lips devouring his. it was the first time you kissed him since the breakup, and it would’ve been your first time having sex since, if only jake hadn’t stopped things before they could escalate.
you’re too affectionate for your own good. it will get your heart broken one day, and it did. but you never have to worry about that happening again – not after you handed it over to jake’s hands.
jay may not be in your life anymore, but bits and pieces of him never really left. you don’t even realise it, but it’s why you fell for jake so hard and fast in the first place.
jake pockets his phone into jay’s sweats. he throws a hoodie over his shirt – also jay’s – before spritzing on a layer of jay’s favourite cologne, then popping a stick of jay’s favourite gum in his mouth. referencing the polaroid taped to his mirror, jake styles his hair, just like jay’s. you first met him when he had the bleached hair, but once he’d heard the news of your breakup, he didn’t think twice about dyeing it back to black.
jake slides the insoles into his sneakers before putting them on, matching jay’s height as he stands up. he clips on the watch around his wrist from the same brand as jay’s.
jake gives himself a once over in the mirror, and clears his throat for one last practice before he leaves. his reflection talks like jay, walks like jay, perfectly mimics his loud laugh and his shy mannerisms. only when jake doesn’t recognise himself anymore does he feel satisfied, and texts you a quick ‘On my way cutie <3’ before grabbing his car keys from the pocket of jay’s jeans he wore yesterday on the floor.
jake hadn’t thrown out a single possession of your ex’s like he promised you. that day he drove them to the ‘dump’ to end up in a heap of landfill, he’d actually just taken them right back to his house, where he’s since been studying them harder than his college finals.
every handmade gift that he can recreate better, every love letter that he can plagiarise and whisper into your ear. he’s even tried learning some of jay’s homemade recipes, and bought a guitar to practise jay’s scribbled songs. he wears some clothing from jay’s closet each time he sees you. he analyses photos to pose like jay, videos to act like jay – every second of every day in his head is just jay, jay, jay. jake thinks about him so much you’d think he was in love.
no part of jay is unknown to him. he wants to know exactly the type of man you fell so deeply in love with, so he can do it all better.
what you don’t know is that jake wanted you first, from afar – from passing by you in the halls and sitting behind you in class. all before jay just swooped in and bagged you like nothing.
you don’t even remember jake’s existence before you met him as jay’s friend. he wasn’t memorable enough, not worthy enough. so, he had to become the man you wanted, the man your broken heart longed for: jay.
and it’s worked better than he could’ve ever imagined.
yesterday, while he was over, you’d shyly (adorably) admitted to jake that you used to journal. you lost motivation to keep up with it after he who shall not be named.
“you should start again,” he had suggested to you, rubbing your arm as he held you under his shoulder. “it’s a healthy hobby to have.”
“i only ever wrote when i was upset.” you looked up at him with eyes full of hearts. “i don’t need it anymore.”
so today, he has an objective.
jake had treated you to a date night-in. he’d cooked a big, hearty meal using one of jay’s recipes – including all the fucking expensive exotic ingredients – then popped a fine wine to share over a binge of the james bond movies. jay loves them, and jay complained about how you’d fall asleep whenever he put them on.
drinking wine and watching a movie that bores you, jake hadn’t expected you to last long. and yet you’d hardly done either with your tongue down his throat and your hand palming the front of his pants.
jake had excused himself to the bathroom before he could embarrass himself, furiously jerked off into your toilet, and by the time he returned you were knocked out on the couch. fast asleep, just like he’d planned.
your sweet, unassuming boyfriend had tip-toed into your bedroom and gone straight for the bottom drawer of your dresser, hitting the jackpot.
diaries. a whole stack of them. licking his lips, he pulled out his phone and opened up the first one, pressing record as he began to flip through each page.
all of your thoughts from your relationship with jay, perfectly preserved in writing. every time he upset you, hurt you, every time you fell in and out of love.
he moved quickly – since there’s no telling if you’d miss him in your slumber and wake up to realise he’s gone – so he could only skim the words as he flicked through, feeling his chest stir and pants tighten with the excitement. he’ll be watching the video back later anyways, when he’s alone and has the time to read it like his own personal bible.
as much as it kills him inside to turn you down each time you’re both hot and bothered, practically fucking already through your clothes, the sole reason jake has been waiting for is this. he needed to know exactly how jay did it, how you liked it, how he kept you with him for so long. he needs to know the right steps to ensure you’ll never want to leave him. and now he’s got it, in between the pages he flicks with his finger, every word captured on camera. fucking jackpot.
“jakey?”
the diary nearly falls from his hands as you call out to him. it fumbles in his grip, and he holds onto it before it can clatter on the wooden dresser. blowing out a breath to calm himself, he responds right away, “yeah baby?”
“where’d y’go?” you drawl back, audibly still half-asleep.
“just getting the bed ready,” he continues to flip through the diary under the sound of his voice, recording the last few pages he needs. “i’ll carry you in, okay?”
“m’kay..”
jake waits for minutes, putting the diary back and periodically inching the dresser shut, right until it quietly sets back into place. like he was never there.
yeesh, not even james bond could understand the panic that just coursed through jake’s body. he did it though – he fucking did it! he’s gonna make you his for life.
—
two pages in and jake thinks he’s scarred for life.
he already knew you were easy.. he can tell how desperately you’ve wanted it since you’ve started dating, and he could tell throughout your entire relationship with jay.
not just from jay’s own word of mouth – loudly bragging about how you were always down, how he ‘didn’t know how to handle all that’ – but from jake’s own ears too. he’d walk past locked bathrooms at house parties, recognising the pitch of your moans in a heartbeat through the thin walls. they’d be playing video games over discord calls, and your voice in the background of jay’s mic would disappear, his breaths growing suspiciously heavier.
being around it happening implicitly is one thing, filling the blanks with his imagination as he fucks his fist is another – but this… this is far worse. you really leave nothing to interpretation.
you slept with jay on the first date – or rather he fucked you, so good and thoroughly that you had no choice but to keep coming back, whether or not he wanted to put a label on it you didn’t care.
here jake is, playing the long game like a fucking idiot, when you were drunk off jay from one sip.
he’s helpless to do anything but keep reading though, turning to the next page while it turns his guts inside out. like a car crash he just can’t look away. he needs this knowledge – he needs to know precisely how you want him inside you, so you have no choice but to believe he’s made for you.
he memorises the words jay used to talk you through it. the details of how his hands and his mouth worked at you expertly. the nitty gritty of how he took you from behind and plowed you. how he was so rough you couldn’t do anything but scream and take it, and yet you loved every second of it. you loved him, and you would’ve let him do whatever he wanted if it meant he loved you back.
hm.
jake peaks under the blanket, eyes falling on the tent in his (jay’s) sweats. there’s even a few dark spots on the grey fabric. picking his phone back up, he starts reading where he left off, sighing in relief as he grips himself through the pants.
who would’ve thought.. reading everything jay did to your body and envisioning it in his head, would have jake this hard.
shameless, he pulls the waistband down to grip himself properly, wincing as he gathers pre on his palm before coating it over his length. jake whimpers, wrapping his fingers tight and jerking his wrist fast, forcing his eyes open so he can keep reading.
that time when jay forced your legs apart even though you were overstimulated, how he filled your pussy to the brim with cum and ate it out, spat it in your mouth then fucked it down your throat–
jake moans pathetically as he coats his hoodie in a sudden spurt of cum. his hips kick weakly into his fist, his eyes fluttering shut as he still attempts to read what happened after jay plugged your mouth with his dick.
with his clean hand, he checks the timestamp on the video, and groans when he sees he’s not even halfway through. he hasn’t even reached the first rough patch (of many) in the relationship, where there’s sure to be copious hate and make-up sex stories awaiting him.
he’s in for a long night with his right hand.
—
“jake, what are you thinking?”
jake licks his lips, tasting your spit coating them, as he buys himself time to reply. his hands run up and down your sides, squeezing the curves in his fingers as his length states his exact thoughts where it twitches below you. you chuckle as you feel it, running a hand through his tousled hair, the light scratch of your nails enough to have him whimpering softly.
honest answer? jake’s thinking about how he spent the last 24 hours reading your diary front to back, how he memorised every single time jay fucked you throughout your entire relationship, how he tired himself out by jerking off to it all night and into the early morning.
he’d surprised you today by coming over unannounced, capturing your lips in a kiss before you could even greet him as you opened your front door, walking you back into the couch where you’ve been buried in each other’s mouths since.
somewhere during your needy gropes and whiney kisses, you’d taken the initiative to climb into his lap – and where he’d usually stop things before they could go further, jake had let you rut against him. desperately grinding against the sensitive heat of each other’s bodies, months worth of bottled tension finally let loose.
“jakey,” you cooed, ripping him from his thoughts as you slowly rolled your hips against him. “what’s up?”
he huffs a laugh. “me.” you roll your eyes, quickly distracted by how his hands guide you to grind harder, earning a shudder from the boy below you. “nah, i’m just.. i still can’t believe you’re real.”
and he means that more than you could know. he’s spent years yearning over the view of the back of your head or your blurry figure in the distance, and now you’re on top of him, when all it took was fitting the mold your ex left behind. in every way.
his breath hitches, length giving another harsh pulse beneath you, and you throw your head back with a frustrated groan, “urgh, i’ve been waiting so long, jake.”
“i know,” he stifles another whimper, trying to keep a cool, collected composure as he praises you. just how you like. “you’ve done so well, baby, i’m proud of you–”
“just let me sit on your dick already!”
jake stammers, completely taken aback. he mentally cross-references how you’re behaving with him right now to how you wrote about jay. you enjoyed intimacy best when jay guided and talked you through it. you liked being manhandled, you loved being fucked, and yet you’re.. bossing jake around?
this isn’t going how it should be…
“i want you in me, jake.” you utter, breath fanning his lips as your hand wedges between where your bodies connect. “i wanna ride you.” his eyes flutter shut at the feel of your palm gripping his length, while you grind yourself against your own hand, too worked up for how slow he’s taking this. “let me?”
shit, he almost did. he lost himself for a moment there – slipping back into the fumbling, awkward mess he is and not the stone-faced dominant man that he’s supposed to be right now. he needs to be jay for you.
“you think you can tell me what to do?” he sneers, grabbing your ass with a slap, hard enough to make you gasp. he pushes down the swell in his chest that feels bad for being rough. “that’s no way to get what you want, baby.”
“jake–” you squeak out, gasping again louder as he pushes you down by the hips, hard enough for his length to dig up into you with a roll of his hips. your eyes widen, from his size and from this new side of him. “i– i’m sorry..”
he hums, unconvinced. “you use your manners when you ask.” jake commands, not even recognising himself from this foreign tone of voice. he’d bet he sounds exactly like your ex with how your body turns to putty under his hands.
you gulp, your eyes glazing over with something he doesn’t recognise. submission, must be. “please?” your voice comes out barely above a whisper.
jake pokes his cheek with his tongue – something jay did that drove you crazy – and watches the effect it has on you in real time as your hips grind on him once more, needy for some damn relief. jake’s grip on you tightens enough to make you pause, and he tuts at you in disapproval.
“please.” you almost whine. “jake, please, i’ve needed you so bad. please let me ride you, i’ll be so good.”
the sweetest girl he’s ever known, reduced to a begging mess because of how perfectly he embodied your ex. he almost loses it again, almost gives in and lets you ride him until he sees stars, but jake locks back in with a reminder: what would jay do?
he runs through each verse of your diary he knows by heart at this point, and after coming to a conclusion of how jay would proceed – jake chuckles in your face.
“nah.”
within a blink jake’s got you off his lap and on your back, pressed into the couch by his chest on yours.
“we’re doing this my way,” he talks you through it as he tugs down your pants, unsurprised to find an absence of underwear. easy. “what you need, baby, is to get fucked.” you whine as his teeth nip at your neck, his tongue licking the sting. “then maybe, if you’re so good, you can ask again.” he almost cries out as his fingers find your pussy, wetness coating the tips. “nicely this time.”
“ah, jake–” you moan loudly for him, two fingers running through your folds before settling at your clit, rubbing digit eights over the throbbing bundle of nerves.
“you’ve been waiting so long?” jake scoffs, quick fingers circling your clit as you writhe beneath him. “baby. you have no idea about me.”
“a-ah! i’m sorry!” you babble, to jake’s confusion. your big, glossy eyes find his, your puffy lips from all his kisses trembling. ah, you must be deep in it. this is seriously too easy. you’ll really get off on being talked down on by jake, just because your ex did it first?
not even a few seconds later you’re clamping your thighs around his wrist, mouth dropping open in a moan, and it takes him a moment to realise you’re cumming already. that took.. nothing. he makes sure to rub you through it, and even a little after until you’re pushing at his chest, whining that it’s too much.
jake’s dick throbs in his sweats, the grey sweats, diary passages flashing in his mind of you writing about jay getting you off. how you’d daydream about the sex for weeks after because of how well he worked your body, how obsessed you were with it. jake almost cums in his fucking pants just thinking about how well he’s doing in mimicking your ex – and you’re drunk off it, you don’t even realise that you’re about to get fucked by the exact same man.
jake rips off both layers restraining him almost painfully at this point, tugging them down only to his knees before he’s back on top of you, lining his cock up with your sopping pussy. you just whimper, too far gone to even beg for him anymore.
with one thrust, jake slides all the way in, the tight fit airing out every thought in his brain. you try to hold onto him with shaky fingers, and he softly shushes each of your whimpers, wrapping his arms around your shoulders. trying to comforting you, even as you’re gripping him like a fucking vice. everything he’s ever wanted, everything he’s sacrificed his entire identity for, gripping him. wet and hot and perfect and so fucking worth it.
he’s able to hold back on cumming solely because of all the recent jerking off to your diary. he sucks in a breath through his teeth, forcing himself to speak, to keep you under his spell.
“you feel so perfect, baby,” he kisses your forehead, and you stare up at him with that dazed look still in your eyes. “i’m gonna fucking wreck you.”
jake snaps his hips, roughly pushing every inch in, and you break off into helpless little moans as he starts to fuck you properly. he bites his lower lip, keeping all of his own in so he can stay the picture of the cold, dominant man you want so badly. he only lets you adjust to the fit while he’s fucking you, your pussy fluttering around him. it must sting, it must be pain mixed with pleasure right now, and yet you’re taking all of him without protest. because that’s just how you like it.
once you’ve adjusted enough to stop sucking him in, jake tilts his hips to angle his thrusts up, hitting that sweet spot that has you whimpering his name.
“yeah, baby?” he almost taunts you as he pushes himself all the way in, soiling his balls in your sticky arousal as he grinds forward, tip nudging your cervix. jake laughs through his sudden rage of jay having this under him everyday and still breaking your heart. that’d be the one difference between them – jake won’t be that stupid. “feels good huh?”
you can’t even get his name out, let alone words anymore, as you lay limply beneath him, heat blooming in your gut as he rubs his length along your g-spot. your eyes roll back into your head, lips stretching in a silent moan, and jake cusses as he realises what’s happening before you clamp down on him, too tight for him to pull back.
you cum again, overcome with twitches through your body and around his cock, and jake just watches in bewilderment. of course you wouldn’t lie in your own diary, but.. you really are too easy. you’ve popped off twice and he’s barely gotten started.
jake runs his hands over your body as he waits for you to come back to him, sliding his palms under your shirt to pinch and twist at your nipples. you whimper, so sensitive.
“c’mere, baby, you’re doing so well,” he pulls your chin into a sweet kiss, right before he slides back into jay. “you’re gonna take more for me. right?”
you nod. pliant, fucked out, so so perfect.
jake smiles, thinking of where to even start with the things he wants to do to you, before remembering that one story in your diary he kept coming back to, the one he came hard to like none other. the one you said was the moment you knew you’d fallen in love with jay.
he wants to see it happen for himself.
jake pins your thighs down to the couch cushions, pries your legs apart, and fucks into you like a madman, like a dog in heat. he’s chasing nothing but his own release as he pounds you into the couch, and he can’t help the soft whimpers he lets slip as the aftershocks of your orgasms has your pussy fluttering around him.
jake’s vision whites out, his ears ring, as pure bliss floods his body, his hips kicking rapidly until he’s spilling out inside of you. he’s so possessed he doesn’t even stop fucking you, not fully registering that he came with how in his head he is. what would jay sound like? how hard would jay go?
“ja..” you try to say his name, trailing off halfway.
he opens his eyes – not even realising they closed – as he looks down at you. you’re even more gone than he is. do you even realise that it’s not your ex fucking you stupid right now?
with a perfect face like that under him, wrapped around him, how is he ever meant to stop?
jake hisses as he pulls out abruptly, leaving a quick kiss on your lips before he crawls down, latching his mouth around your pussy. you scream for him, shoved way past overstim as his tongue ravages you, the mixture of cum gushing onto jake’s tongue.
“j-ja–! ja– ja–!” you stutter, too weak to even get his full name out. jake’s groan rumbles on your clit, his cock leaking into the cushions as it hardens again, realising that his stuttered name sounds like you’re saying jay.
j-jay! jay– jay–!
he’s done it. he succeeded, he won. he became jay.
“keep on saying that, baby,” jake manages to huff out while he laps at you feverishly, the taste of your shared love lighting up his tongue as he eats the cum out of you – right until you’re letting loose for a third time, moaning that broken version of his name through it and driving him fucking insane. jake lets it all flood into his mouth, sucking his lips until he’s releasing your clit with a wet pop.
he lifts himself up again until he’s at level with you, parting your lips with his thumb and waiting until you meet his eyes before he spits the mess of fluids directly onto your tongue. your lashes flutter, and he can see it as you sink even further into that floaty state of mind.
“hold it.” he tells you, rising on his knees and shuffling forward, holding his cock by the base as he directs it to your mouth. “open, baby.”
you do as told, of course you do, letting jake bury himself to the hilt in the wet heat of your mouth. the underside glides over the cum still warm on your tongue, and jake shudders above you, feeling faint in the head from just how fucking hard he is for you.
“you gotta return the favour, yeah?” he only hopes you don’t notice how breathless he is, how he’s just as much of a mess as you are. if he wasn’t putting on this whole jay persona, he’d be a fucking embarrasing bitch for you right now.
you nod, and jake pulls out before pushing back in, tip bumping the back of your throat. he moans unabashedly, fucking the hollow of your mouth, feeling how you constrict around him. how you gag yet make no move to push him off. easy. perfect. just like jay made you, just like you are for jake to have now.
jake snaps his hips ruthlessly until his abs tighten, his cock pulsing until he’s shooting out down your throat. he stays shaking above you, sweating all over, until slowly pulling himself out. he catches your throat bob in a gulp, and he thinks he’s ready for yet another round.
before he can even put a thought to it though, a sudden sob from you has his entire being seizing in panic. tears burst out from your eyes, streaming down your face as you try to cover it with your hands.
“oh no, no, hey,” jake pulls you into a hug, what jay would do the last thought in his mind as he instantly worries he took it too far. he reminded you too much of him, you caught on to his act. “baby, did i hurt you? did i–”
“no, jake,” you cut in, and he pulls back, his brows pinched in confusion. “you didn’t do anything. it all felt really good, you were really good, i just–” another sob chokes up your words, and he just shushes you as he cradles you to his chest, relief flooding all the worry in his system.
what you don’t tell him, what you chose to keep to yourself, is that you thought of jay. when jake was eating you out, and you’re sure you must’ve even said your ex’s name a few times as you came, too deep in subspace to realise what you were doing. to realise that it was your boyfriend and not the last man who’d put you there.
everything jake was doing and saying, it just.. reminded you of him, so much. you don’t miss him, you don’t still love him. it’s just hard for your body to unlearn the ways that someone else has already hammered into them.
“i’m so sorry,” you sniffle. “jake.” you tack on, as if trying to remind your body who you’re with.
“no, no.” he shushes you, stroking your hair. “it’s okay, there’s nothing to be sorry for.”
he really is too perfect for you. you don’t know how you’ll ever deserve someone as pure as him.
“i love you.”
jake pulls back, eyes flitting around your face as if searching for any sign that you’re not serious. “wh– you.. you mean that?”
“i do.” you smile, and he mirrors you, lips stretching wide. “i love you, jakey.”
it’s the first time he’s heard it from you. it might be too early, but you don’t care. nothing’s too early if it’s all fate, all meant to be.
“i love you more.” he rocks you in his arms, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “more than you could ever know.”
your body stiffens as you’re suddenly transported back in time – living out a once fond memory with jay, how he’d said those exact words back after you’d said you love him first.
jay– no, jake, just holds you tighter, snapping you clean out of your silly rumination. you curl into your boyfriend, forcing your ex out of your mind where he had no business hanging around.
jake wasn’t him, he’d never be him. what were you tripping for?
i cannot believe what peak i've just read...jesus, take the wheel 😭
the minute i saw this on my feed, i just knew my nightly dose of fics was gonna hit like CRACK! this...i can't even explain the rush and range of emotions i went through reading this, from hanging off every last word to laughiing at the reader about to call jake, jay 😭 this all happening while my jaw kept dropping from how unwell jake was btw 😭 i can never state this enough, your pengame is truly unmatched. i would genuinely read your grocery list simply because it'd written by you 😭 obsessed with this! <333
written for the heart’s mailroom event ! ༊
✷ lee heeseung is in need of his stupidly hot girlfriend, a.k.a. you. after seven agonizing days of distance, unanswered yearning, and an alarming amount of time spent staring at your photos, he's hanging onto his sanity by a thread. unfortunately for him, you finally come home looking even better than he remembered !
🗯️ 内容 explicit sexual content ♫ 18+ ⸝⸝ intended for mature audiences | minors do not interact ᯓ established relationship, clingy!heeseung, needy!heeseung, mutual pining, masturbation is implied for both parties, dacryphilia, overstimulation, degradation kink, edging, oral sex (f. and m. receiving), unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, creampie !
EL’S ✷ BUBBLE : goodness gracious hi again everybody . . . again i spent like 3-4 days going back and forth with this and brah sorry i just kept laughing my ass off because from start to finish this is literally just smut so eeeerm whatever this is just 7k words of absolute bullshit ! request can be found here, thank u! ( •̀ ω •́ )
The worst part wasn't the distance. It wasn't the timezone difference or the spotty hotel Wi-Fi or the way your voice cracked over FaceTime at 2 AM his time when you thought he was already asleep but he never was.
The worst part was the photos.
You knew exactly what you were doing.
You had to.
There was no universe where you posted that bikini photo, the one where the teal fabric clung to your tits like it was painted on, water droplets rolling down your collarbone, sun making your skin glow like something divine, and didn't know what it would do to him.
Heeseung had been the first person to like it. Three seconds after it went up. He reshared it to his story with a black heart emoji and nobody understood why. His friends thought it was sweet. His followers assumed it was a casual boyfriend thing. But they didn't know that his hand was already down his sweatpants when he did it, that his cock was achingly hard and leaking against his palm, that the black heart was a coded message: I'm losing my fucking mind.
Seven days. One hundred and sixty-eight hours. He counted. He wasn't proud of it.
The first two days were manageable.
You sent him good morning texts with selfies, soft, sleepy, your hair messy and pillow creases on your cheek, and he could handle that. He'd smile at his phone like an idiot, type something disgusting like "you're so cute," and go about his day. But by day three, the photos started arriving. Not the public ones, those were a different kind of torture that he'd scroll through obsessively, zooming in on the curve of your waist, the glimpse of your thighs, the way your lips wrapped around that cocktail straw.
No, the private ones were what broke him.
The first was innocent enough. You were changing after the beach, and you sent a mirror selfie from the hotel bathroom — your damp hair, a white shirt that was slightly see-through from the moisture, clinging to the shape of your breasts, nipples pressing faintly against the fabric, and a pair of black panties underneath. That was it. Just that. You added a caption: "oops, forgot u were on read " and he stopped breathing for a full five seconds.
He screenshotted it. He hated himself for it. He screenshotted it and then he stared at it for twenty minutes, thumb hovering over the call button, cock throbbing in his jeans, and he didn't call because he knew if he heard your voice right then he'd say something pathetic. Something like “please come home” or “I need you so bad it's making me sick” or “I've been hard for three hours and I can't make it stop.”
So he jerked off instead. Right there on the couch, phone in one hand, cock in the other, scrolling through your story, pausing on every frame where your body was visible.
He came embarrassingly fast, under two minutes, with a broken sound that was half moan, half whine, hips bucking up into his fist, and when it was over he felt worse. Not better. Worse. Because his hand wasn't your hand, wasn't your mouth, wasn't your body, and his own orgasm felt like a consolation prize compared to what he actually wanted.
He cleaned up and stared at the ceiling and missed you so much it felt like a physical wound.
Day four was when you sent the photo. He'd later think of it that way, with reverential dread, the way people talk about natural disasters that ruin their lives.
It was a full body shot. You were wearing his black shorts, the ones that were baggy on you, the ones you'd stolen from his drawer before you left, the ones that had to be pinned at the back with a safety pin because they wouldn't stay up. They were slung low on your hips, and he could see the edge of your panties sticking out from underneath, pale pink, a thin strip of lace, the kind you wore when you wanted to feel pretty and not when you wanted to be practical.
Above the waistband, your bare stomach, your navel, and then just a bra, black, simple, pushing your breasts up in a way that made his mouth water. And your hand. Your hand was on your breast, fingers splayed, cupping it through the fabric, and you were looking at the camera with this expression that knowing. It was cruel. You knew what this would do to him. You were doing it on purpose.
His favorite. His absolute favorite. He saved it, he screenshotted it, he sent it to his hidden album, and then he put his phone down and pressed his palms against his eyes and breathed through the wave of arousal that hit him so hard it made his vision blur.
you're wearing my shorts 🤨
That's what he texted you. That's all he could manage.
yeahhh 😿 they smell like u & imy already 🙁 i sleep in them every night, you sent back.
He threw his phone across the couch.
Then he picked it back up, because of course he did.
Day five, you sent nudes. Not even strategically angled ones, real ones, the kind that left nothing to imagination. You were changing, you said, and you just had to show him. Your breasts, bare, your nipples peaked from the air conditioning, one arm stretched out holding the phone, the other covering just enough to be teasing but not enough to hide anything. A second photo: your back, arched, looking over your shoulder, the curve of your ass in those white panties, the dip of your spine, and he could see the strap marks from your bikini, tan lines that made him want to trace them with his tongue.
He sent a voicemail back. He couldn't type. He couldn't form words. So he hit record, and the sound that came out of him was filthy. He was jerking himself off, fast and wet, and he didn't even try to be quiet about it.
He let you hear everything: the slick sound of his fist, the desperate little "hah, hah" of his breathing, the whine that built in his throat, the way he said your name like a prayer and a curse at the same time. "Fuck, baby, I—I need you so bad, I can't—"and then he came, mid-sentence, with a broken moan that cracked at the end, and the voicemail ended with him panting, shaky, barely audible: "Please come home."
You sent back a voice note of your own. Just your voice, breathy and amused: "Aww. Poor baby." And then, softer, almost tender: "Four more days. You can last four more days, right?"
He couldn't. He really, truly couldn't.
Day six, the sexting happened. It started with a check-in, him asking if you'd eaten, if you were staying hydrated, if you were wearing sunscreen, and somehow, inevitably, it derailed. You told him you'd been thinking about him on the beach. About how the water felt, cold and slippery against your skin, and how you wished it was his hands instead. How you'd touched yourself in the shower that morning and imagined it was him, imagined him pressing you against the tile, imagined his mouth on your neck, his fingers inside you.
He was hard before you finished the second message.
"I want to eat you out so bad," he typed, not even caring how desperate he sounded. "I want to put my mouth on you and not stop until you're crying."
"You want to make me cry?"
"I want to make you feel so good you can't help it. I want to taste you. I want—I want—" He couldn't finish. He was too busy coming again, cock pulsing in his grip, spurting over his knuckles, and he hadn't even been looking at anything. Just the words on his screen. Just the thought of you. He came from reading a text message.
Heeseung, twenty-five years old, who prided himself on at least a little stamina, came from words on a screen like a fucking teenager, and he groaned through it, jaw clenched, and thought: I am so, so fucked.
Day seven, the last day, he didn't even touch himself. He just lay in bed and stared at your photos and throbbed. His cock was so hard it ached, flushed and angry and leaking, and he didn't wrap his hand around it because he knew it would be over in seconds and he'd feel even emptier afterward. He just let himself suffer. He let the want build until it was a living thing in his chest, a hollow hunger that no amount of his own touch could fill.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow you'd be home.
He didn't sleep.
You walked through the door at exactly 4:47 PM, and Heeseung was already standing in the hallway like he'd been waiting there for hours, which he had been, since you'd texted him your flight landed, since you'd texted him you were in the cab, since you'd texted him you were five minutes away.
He was wearing his grey sweatpants and an oversized black t-shirt and his hair was messy and he looked like he hadn't slept in a week, and the look on his face when he saw you—
It was hunger. Pure, unfiltered, desperate hunger.
And you looked so fucking good. That was the thing. You knew you did. You'd changed at the airport, into the tiniest denim shorts you owned, the ones that barely covered the bottom curve of your ass, the ones that rode up when you walked. A white tank top, thin enough that the outline of your bikini top was visible underneath, thin enough that if you took that off there would be nothing between your nipples and the fabric but air. Your skin was tanned and glowing and you smelled like coconut and sunlight and he was on you before you even set your suitcase down.
"I missed you," he breathed against your mouth, and then he was kissing you, hands everywhere, your waist, your hips, sliding down to grip your ass through those ridiculous shorts, and he was already hard. You could feel him against your thigh, thick and hot, and he was pressing into you like he couldn't help it, like his body was moving on autopilot, chasing contact.
"I missed you too, baby," you murmured against his lips, and you felt him shiver at the endearment. Your hands came up to card through his hair, and you tugged, just a gentle pull, just enough to tilt his head back, and his breath caught audibly. A small, broken sound that went straight between your legs.
Heeseung, your boyfriend, your pathetic, beautiful, desperate boy, was already trembling.
"Let me—can I—" He couldn't finish a sentence. His hands were shaking where they gripped your waist. He was looking at you with those big, dark eyes, pupils blown so wide the brown was barely visible, and there was a flush creeping up his neck, staining his cheeks pink. "Please. I need—it's been a week and I can't—"
"Can't what?" you asked, and your voice was low and teasing, a dangerous lilt that made his cock twitch. You knew exactly what he couldn't do. You wanted to hear him say it.
"I can't think about anything except you," he said, and his voice cracked on the word you, cracked like he was about to cry, and god, that did something to you. "I've been—I've been so hard, all week, and my hand isn't enough, and I keep coming but it doesn't help, and I—"
"Shh," you said, and you pressed your thumb to his lower lip, and his mouth fell open instantly, pliant and willing, and his tongue darted out to wet the pad of your thumb and you felt a pulse of heat between your thighs. "I'm here now. I'm going to take care of you, okay?"
He nodded frantically, your thumb still on his lips, and he looked so pretty like this — desperate and flushed and hanging on your every word.
You pulled his hair again, harder this time, and he moaned. Actually moaned, loud and shameless, head tipping back to expose the long line of his throat, and you took the opportunity to bite his neck, not gently, not a love bite, a real bite, teeth sinking into the muscle, and he bucked against you with a sound that was dangerously close to a whimper.
"Bedroom," you said.
Heeseung was on the bed before you finished the word, sitting on the edge, looking up at you with those wide, eager eyes, and you stood between his spread legs and looked down at him and felt powerful. You felt powerful alright. This boy, this beautiful, needy, pathetic boy, was literally shaking with want for you, and you'd barely touched him.
You reached down and took off your tank top, slow, dragging it up your body, and his eyes tracked the movement like he was hypnotized. Underneath was the bikini top, teal, the same one from the photo, the one he'd jerked off to four times. Your breasts were spilling out of it, the fabric barely containing them, and he made a sound — not a word, just a noise, like all the air had been punched out of him.
"You like this one?" you asked, running a finger along the edge of the fabric, pushing your breast up slightly. "You seemed to. You watched the story it was in about forty times."
"I—" His voice was raw. "I lost count."
"Take off your shirt."
He ripped it off so fast the seams made a sound, and his chest was heaving, skin flushed pink from his collarbones to his stomach, and you could see the tent in his sweatpants, could see the dark spot of precum soaking through the grey fabric. He was leaking. Just from this. Just from you standing in front of him in a bikini top.
"You're already making a mess," you observed, and you reached down and ran a single finger along the length of his cock through his pants, feather-light, and he jerked like he'd been electrocuted. His hips chased your hand the moment you pulled away, thrusting up into empty air, and he let out a whine that was so pitiful, so utterly desperate, that you felt your own arousal pulse, hot and slick, between your legs.
"Please touch me," he begged. "Please, I need—"
"In a minute." You unbuttoned your shorts and shimmied them down your legs, and underneath were the black panties. The ones from the mirror photo. The see-through ones. And he was staring at them like he was having a religious experience, mouth open, breath ragged, and you could see his cock twitch in his pants, could see another pulse of precum darken the fabric.
"Remember these?" You turned around slowly, letting him see the back, the sheer fabric clinging to the curve of your ass, the lace trim riding up just slightly, and you looked over your shoulder at him and bit your lip. "You came so hard to this picture. I heard the voicemail, baby. You sounded so pathetic. So needy. Were you that desperate for me?"
"Yes," he choked out. "Yes, I was—I am—please—"
You turned back around and stepped closer, close enough that if he leaned forward his face would be inches from your body, and you reached behind yourself and unclasped the bikini top. It fell away, and your breasts were bare, nipples hard from the cool air and from the way he was looking at you, like he was starving and you were the first meal he'd seen in a week.
He lunged forward, mouth open, aiming for your breast, and you grabbed his hair and pulled him back.
"Did I say you could touch?"
The sound he made was devastating. A sob, cut off halfway, and his eyes were wet, actually wet, glassy with unshed tears, and his lower lip was trembling, and he looked so wrecked, so utterly desperate, that for a moment you almost caved. Almost. But you wanted to draw this out. You wanted to make it good.
"Tell me what you want," you said.
"I want—I want to taste you." His voice was barely above a whisper. "I want to put my mouth on you. I want—gosh, I want to eat you out so bad, I've been thinking about it all week, thinking about how you'd sound, how you'd feel on my tongue, and I—"
"Then do it."
He didn't need to be told twice.
His hands grabbed your hips and he pulled you forward and pressed his face between your legs, mouth against your pussy through the sheer fabric of your panties, and you felt the heat of his breath, the desperate slide of his tongue against the wet material. He was moaning into you, actual moans, vibrating against your clit, and the fabric was getting wetter, your wetness, his saliva, the barrier between his tongue and you becoming translucent with moisture.
"Take them off," you said, breathless, and he hooked his fingers in the waistband and dragged them down so fast the lace scratched against your thighs, and then his mouth was on you, bare, and—
Fuck.
He was good at this. He'd always been good at this, enthusiastic and sloppy and absolutely relentless, but today, after a week of wanting, a week of desperate late-night phone calls and photos and voicemails, he ate you out like he was dying. His tongue was everywhere, broad strokes through your folds, pointed flicks against your clit, and then he sucked your clit into his mouth and you gasped and your hand flew to his hair and pulled and he whimpered against you, the vibration making your knees buckle.
"Shit, baby—"
He looked up at you from between your thighs, lips swollen and glistening, chin wet, eyes glassy and pleading, and he didn't stop, he kept licking, kept sucking, kept making those small, desperate sounds against your body, and you could feel his hips rutting against the edge of the mattress, grinding against nothing, chasing friction because he was so turned on he couldn't help it.
You pushed him back, and he made a sound of protest, raw and bereft, but you were climbing onto the bed, straddling his face, and then you lowered yourself onto his mouth and he grabbed your thighs and held you there and devoured you.
His tongue was inside you, then on your clit, then inside again, and he was making sounds like he was the one being eaten out, little muffled whimpers and moans, and you were grinding against his face, chasing the pleasure, and you felt it building, that tight coil in your abdomen, and—
"I'm going—fuck, baby, I’m going to come on your face," you told him, and he doubled his efforts, tongue working your clit in fast, tight circles, and you came with a cry, thighs clamping around his head, body arching, and he kept going, kept licking you through it, kept moaning like your orgasm was his own, and when you finally pulled away, shaking, he was gasping for air and his chin was drenched and he was looking up at you with absolute, total devotion.
"Good boy," you murmured, and he shuddered. Actually shuddered, full-body, and you felt his cock jerk where it pressed against your thigh through his sweatpants. "You made me feel so good. You always do."
"Please," he whispered, and a tear rolled down his cheek. Just one, sliding from the corner of his eye, and he didn't seem to notice it. "Please, I need—I need to be inside you, I need—"
"Not yet." You climbed off his face and positioned yourself beside him, and you reached down and palmed his cock through his sweatpants, and he arched off the bed with a strangled cry. The fabric was soaked. Not just damp, soaked, a huge dark patch of precum, and you could feel how hard he was, how thick and hot and desperate, and you squeezed gently and his entire body seized.
"You're so wet," you said, rubbing your palm over the head through the fabric, spreading the moisture, and he was twitching uncontrollably, hips jerking up into your hand. "You've been leaking all day, haven't you? Just thinking about me coming home?"
"All week," he corrected, voice breaking. "All week, I've been—"
"Take this off."
He shoved his sweatpants down, kicked them off, and his cock sprang free, flushed dark, the head an angry red, slick with precum that was dripping down the shaft in a steady stream. He was so hard, veins prominent, twitching in the open air, and you wrapped your hand around the base and his whole body spasmed.
"Ah—fuck, fuck—"
You stroked him once, slow, from base to tip, spreading his precum, and his head fell back against the pillows and his mouth fell open and the sound that came out of him was barely human. You stroked him again, and he was already close, you could tell, his thighs trembling, stomach clenching, and you tightened your grip just slightly and twisted on the upstroke and he screamed.
Not a moan. A scream. Raw and desperate and overwhelmed, and his hips were bucking up into your fist, chasing the sensation, and you could feel him throbbing in your hand, getting close, getting—
You let go.
He sobbed. Actually sobbed, chest heaving, cock bobbing in the air, flushed and leaking and so close to the edge that a single touch would have sent him over, and tears were streaming down his face now, not just one but two wet tracks down his cheeks, and he was looking at you with the most destroyed expression you'd ever seen on another human being.
"Why—" his voice cracked, shattered, "why did you stop—"
"Because I want to do something else first." You shifted, repositioned, and you wrapped your hand around him again and leaned down and took the head of his cock into your mouth.
The sound he made was not a word. It was not a moan. It was something between a gasp and a wail, and his hands flew to your hair, not pushing, just holding, fingers tangling in the strands, and his whole body was trembling like a live wire.
You swirled your tongue around the tip, tasting him, and then you sank down, taking him deeper, hollowing your cheeks, and he was falling apart above you.
"Oh god, oh god, oh—your mouth, your mouth feels so—I'm going to—I'm going to come, I can't—"
You pulled off with a slick pop and squeezed the base of his cock, hard, and he yelled, and the orgasm that had been building was throttled, stopped just short of the peak, and he was crying openly now, tears running freely, lower lip caught between his teeth, and the sounds coming out of him were sobs and whimpers and fragmented syllables that might have been your name.
"Please let me come," he begged, and his voice was so raw, so ruined, that you felt a rush of wetness between your own thighs. "Please, I can't—it hurts, I need to come so bad, please—"
"I know, baby," you murmured, and you stroked his hair back from his forehead, gentle now, tender, and he leaned into your touch like a touch-starved animal. "I know it hurts. You've been so good for me. So patient and all. Let me make you feel better."
You reached between your legs with your free hand, you were soaking, absolutely drenched, your fingers sliding through your folds with no resistance, and you touched yourself while you stroked him, and the dual sensation made you both groan. You rubbed your clit in slow circles while you jerked him off, and you were so turned on from watching him fall apart, from the power of having this beautiful, desperate boy at your mercy, that you were already close to another orgasm.
"You want to know a secret?" you asked, voice low and sultry, and he blinked up at you through tear-blurred eyes. "I touched myself thinking about you too. On the trip. In the hotel room. I'd look at the photos you sent—your voice notes, those sounds you made—and I'd fuck myself with my fingers and pretend it was you."
He twitched violently in your hand, and a fresh wave of precum spilled over your fingers.
"I'd come so hard, baby," you continued, squeezing him, stroking faster, your other hand working your own clit in matching rhythm. "But it wasn't enough. My fingers aren't your cock. My fingers aren't you. I needed you just as bad as you needed me."
"I needed you more," he gasped, and it was so pathetic, so utterly heartfelt, that you felt your orgasm crash into you without warning, your body seizing, cunt clenching around nothing, and you moaned loud and long, and the sound of your pleasure pushed him right to the edge again and this time you didn't stop.
You felt the moment he broke.
His cock pulsed once, twice, and then he was coming, thick ropes of cum spurting over your hand, over his stomach, and he was crying out, sounds, raw and broken and overwhelmed, and his whole body was arching off the bed, and the tears were flowing freely now, mixing with the sweat on his face, and you kept stroking him through it, kept your hand moving, and he kept coming, more than you'd ever seen from him, spurt after spurt, and you realized he was still hard. Still hard and still coming and his body didn't know when to stop because it had been wound so tight for so long that the release was overflowing.
"Stop, stop, it's too much—" he sobbed, and you let go, and he lay there, wrecked, chest heaving, cum splattered across his stomach and your hand, tears on his face, and his cock was still hard, still flushed and twitching, and you knew one orgasm wasn't going to be enough. Not after a week. Not after all that buildup.
"That's one," you said, and you brought your cum-covered hand to your lips and licked a stripe up your palm, tasting him, and his eyes went impossibly wide and his spent cock actually jerked back to full attention. "You've got more in you, don't you?"
He nodded, wordless, still crying, and you thought he'd never looked more beautiful.
You stripped off your panties, the last remaining piece of clothing on your body, and you straddled his waist, and you felt his cum between your bodies, slick and warm against your stomach, and you didn't care. You wanted to be messy. You wanted this to be filthy. You wanted him to remember what it felt like when you finally, finally gave him what he'd been begging for.
"I'm going to ride you now," you told him, and you saw the hope bloom in his eyes, the desperate, grateful hope, and you leaned down and kissed him, properly kissed him, tongue in his mouth, tasting yourself on his lips from when he'd gone down on you, and he kissed back frantically, hands coming up to cup your face, and he was making small sounds into your mouth, little whimpers and sighs, and you could feel his cock pressing against your ass, hot and hard and still leaking.
You reached behind you and positioned him at your entrance, and you sank down, just the tip, just the head, and you both groaned. He was big, you'd forgotten, in a week, just how big, how the stretch of him made your walls flutter and clench, and he was so sensitive from his first orgasm that the mere sensation of your heat around the head of his cock had him whimpering, hands gripping your waist hard enough to bruise.
"More," he gasped. "Please, more—"
You sank down, slow, torturous, and you watched his face as you did, the way his eyes rolled back, the way his jaw dropped, the way his breath came in shallow, ragged gasps. When you bottomed out, when he was fully inside you, you paused, and you felt him throbbing, felt every twitch and pulse, and you clenched around him deliberately and he sobbed.
"Don't—please—if you do that, fuck—I'll—"
"You'll what? Come again?" You clenched harder, and he cried out, hands scrabbling at your hips. "That's the point, baby. I want you to come inside me. I want to feel it. I've been thinking about this all week—your cock inside me, filling me up, making me yours again."
More tears fell, and you realized he wasn't crying from sadness or from pain. He was crying from feeling. From the overwhelming intensity of finally, finally having you, finally being inside you, after a week of his own inadequate hand and your cruel, beautiful photos. He was crying because it felt too good to process. "I'm yours, I'm yours, I'm—"
You started to move. Slow at first, a grinding roll of your hips that pressed his cock against your front wall, against that spot that made your vision blur, and you braced your hands on his chest and rolled your hips and watched him fall apart beneath you. He was gone. Completely gone. His head was thrown back, throat exposed, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed convulsively, and his hands were on your hips, holding on. Holding on like you were the only solid thing in a world that was spinning too fast.
"Faster," he begged. "Please, faster, harder—"
You obeyed. You lifted your hips and slammed back down, and the sound that rang out was so obscene that he yelled, and you did it again, and again, setting a brutal pace, riding him hard, and the angle was perfect, the pressure on your clit from the base of his dick, the stretch of him inside you, and you were already close again, already feeling that coil tightening.
"Touch me," you commanded, and his hands flew to your breasts, squeezing, thumbs rolling over your nipples, and you moaned and threw your head back and bounced on his cock harder, and he was meeting your thrusts now, hips snapping up to meet you, and the wet slap of your bodies was the filthiest, most beautiful sound in the world.
"You feel so good," he gasped, voice raw and destroyed. "You feel so fucking good, I can't—I'm not going to last—"
"Then don't." You leaned down and bit his earlobe, then whispered against the shell of his ear: "Come inside me. Fill me up. I want to feel it dripping out of me for the rest of the night."
He shattered. His back arched off the bed, his fingers dug bruises into your hips, and he came with a sound that was closer to a scream than a moan, long, drawn-out, broken in the middle by a sob, and you felt it, felt the pulse of his cock inside you, felt the heat of his cum flooding you, and it pushed you over the edge too, your orgasm ripping through you, cunt clenching and fluttering around him, milking every last drop, and you collapsed against his chest and both of you were shaking, trembling, crying — the hell, when had you started crying?
You didn't know, but your bodies were tangled together and it was too much, everything was too much, in the best possible way.
You lay there for a long moment, catching your breath, his cock softening inside you, and you felt the trickle of his cum leaking out around the seal of your bodies, and he was still sniffling, still trembling, and you pressed kisses to his jaw, his cheek, his tear-streaked face, and he turned into your touch like a flower toward the sun.
But this was the thing about Heeseung, you shifted your hips slightly, and you felt it. Still half-hard. Twitching. Recovering. And you knew, with a rush of heat between your legs, that he wasn't done.
Neither were you.
"Baby," you murmured against his ear, and you felt him shiver. "You still want more?"
"I always want more," he whispered, and his voice was wrecked, hoarse from crying and moaning, and the honesty in it made your cunt clench around his half-hard cock and he hissed. "I always want you. It’ll never be enough."
"You’re too greedy, no? How can someone be that greedy," you teased, and you bit your lip and looked down at him through your lashes, and his eyes darkened.
"Only for you."
You lifted your hips and let him slip out. You saw the mess, his cum and yours, smeared across his stomach and yours, and you reached down and ran your fingers through it, and you brought them to his lips, and he opened his mouth without hesitation, sucking your fingers clean, tongue swirling around the digits, and his cock, which had been softening, jerked back to full hardness.
"Dirty boy," you murmured, and he flushed darker, and you saw the conflict on his face, shame and arousal warring behind his eyes, and arousal won, as it always did with him. "You like being dirty for me, don't you?"
"I like being anything for you," he said, and it was the most sincere thing anyone had ever said to you.
You turned around. You positioned yourself on your hands and knees, and you looked over your shoulder at him, and you stuck your tongue out, just a little, just a tease, the way you knew drove him insane, and you wiggled your hips and said: "Then come prove it."
He was behind you in a second. His hands gripped your ass, spreading you open, and you felt his gaze on you, on your pussy, still dripping with his cum, still puffy and flushed from your orgasms, and he groaned, low and hungry, and you felt his cock press against your entrance.
"Wait," you said, and he froze instantly, ever obedient, ever desperate to please. "I want you to eat me out first. Again. I want your tongue inside me again. Then you can fuck me."
He didn't hesitate. His face was between your legs again, tongue sliding through your folds, tasting both of you and he moaned against you like it was the best thing he'd ever tasted. His tongue pushed inside you, fucking you with it, and you could feel his cum dripping onto his tongue, and he was swallowing it, swallowing everything, and the obscenity of it had you pushing back against his face, grinding, chasing more.
"Such a good boy," you gasped, and he whimpered into you, and you felt fresh tears, his tears this time, wetting the inside of your thighs as they fell, and the vulnerability of it, the raw submission, had you hurtling toward another orgasm. "My good boy. Only mine. Nobody else gets to see you like this, nobody else gets to have you—"
"Only you," he confirmed against your body, the words muffled by your pussy, vibrating against your clit. "Only you, only you, only—"
You came on his tongue, again, thighs shaking, and he held you up and licked you through it and when you finally pulled away you were boneless and trembling and he was looking at you with those red-rimmed, tear-stained, absolutely wrecked eyes, cock jutting out from his body, hard as steel, and you felt a rush of tenderness so fierce it almost hurt.
"Come here," you said softly, and you turned onto your back and opened your arms, and he crawled up your body and kissed you, and you tasted yourself and him on his tongue, and you wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him into you in one fluid motion.
He sank to the hilt and you both gasped, and this time it was slower, not the frantic, desperate pace of before, but something deeper. He was moving in long, grinding strokes, hitting every sensitive spot inside you, and his forehead was pressed against yours, and you could see his eyes up close, overflowing with feeling, and you cupped his face and brushed the tears away with your thumbs and he turned his head to kiss your palm.
"I love you," he whispered, and his voice broke on love, broke open like he couldn't contain it, and you pulled his hair and he moaned and you bit your lip and he watched your mouth like it was the center of the universe.
"I love you more," you said, and then you tightened your legs around his waist and rolled your hips and he made a sound that was half sob, half moan, and you swallowed it with a kiss.
He fucked you slower but deeper, each thrust deliberate, purposeful, hitting that spot that made your breath catch, and you could feel another orgasm building, your fourth, his third, and this one felt different, bigger, like something immense was gathering at the base of your spine, and you broke the kiss and gasped against his mouth.
"I'm close," you warned, and he nodded, and his pace increased, hips snapping faster, and he was hitting so deep, so perfect, and you were clenching around him, and he was groaning with every thrust, and—
"I'm—I can't—" He was crying again, silent tears streaming, and his face was scrunched up in an expression that was almost pain, almost pleasure, something in between that was too intense to name. "I'm going to—again—"
"Do it," you commanded. "Come with me. Now."
You clenched around him and his mouth fell open in a silent scream, and you felt him pulse inside you, felt the heat of his cum, and that triggered your own orgasm, this one different, deeper, your whole body shaking, cunt clenching rhythmically around him, and you were both crying, both gasping, both clinging to each other like you were the only two people in the world, and he was still thrusting through it, shallow and twitching, and you could feel the overstimulation making him shake, making his breath come in hitches and hiccups, and he collapsed against you, full body weight pressing you into the mattress, and you held him and he sobbed against your neck.
"I'm sorry," he wept, and you could feel his tears hot against your skin. "I can't stop crying, I'm sorry—"
"Don't apologize," you said, and your own voice was thick, wavering. "Don't you dare apologize. That was—you were perfect. You're always perfect."
He lifted his head and looked at you, face blotchy and wet and so, so beautiful, and you kissed his eyelids, his cheeks, the tip of his nose, and he smiled, and you felt your heart crack open in your chest.
"You're mine," you told him, and it wasn't a question.
"Yours," he agreed, and he buried his face in your neck and breathed you in, and you felt his cock twitch one last time inside you, and you both laughed, the sound of it echoing off the walls of your shared apartment, your home, the place where you belonged, together, tangled up in each other and the mess you'd made.
Later, much later, after showers and water bottles and the kind of gentle, exploratory touching that was less about arousal and more about reassurance, you lay tangled in bed together, your head on his chest, his fingers tracing absent patterns on your shoulder.
"I have a confession," he said quietly.
"More confessions? After all that?"
"I screenshot every photo you sent. Even the ones from your public story. I have a whole album."
You laughed, bright and surprised. "I know. I can see your screenshots."
He groaned, covering his face with his free hand. "Fuck, that's so embarrassing."
"That's so hot," you corrected, and you bit his chest playfully, and he squirmed. "I love that you were that desperate for me. I love that I had you on a chokehold."
"You always have me on a chokehold," he muttered, and there was no heat in it, just fact. Just the simple, unvarnished truth. "You could wear a garbage bag and I'd still be hard for you in three seconds."
"Ew, that's so… disgusting and romantic and I'm going to think about it every time I miss you."
"Don't go anywhere for a while," he said, and his voice was small, and when you looked up at him his eyes were earnest and vulnerable and still slightly red from crying. "Please."
You reached up and stroked his hair, and he melted into the touch, and you pressed a kiss to the underside of his jaw.
"I'm not going anywhere," you promised. "I just got back to you."
He pulled you closer, tighter, like he could fold you into himself and keep you there permanently, and you let him. You let him cling and you clung back, because the truth, the truth that neither of you said out loud but both of you knew, was that the desperation went both ways. You'd sent those photos on purpose, sure, but not just to tease. You'd sent them because you needed him to want you. You needed to feel wanted from five hundred miles away. You needed proof that the ache was mutual.
And it was. God, it was.
"I'm already hard again," he mumbled against your hair, and you felt the evidence pressing against your thigh, and you laughed again, incredulous, fond, so deeply in love it made your chest hurt.
"What a weirdo," you accused.
"Only for you," he said, and it was the second time he'd said it tonight, and you believed it completely.
You rolled on top of him and pinned his wrists to the pillow and leaned down and whispered against his lips: "Then let's go again."
And his eyes lit up, bright, eager, desperate, yours, and he said:
✷ NOTE : thank you all so, so much for reading ! i hope you enjoyed this little world for a while ♡ all of this is purely a work of fiction & doesn’t reflect reality at all . . likes, reblogs, and feedback are deeply cherished and very, very appreciated on here !
dilf!psh x reader, dads bsf!psh, age gap, virginity loss, toxic parental relationship, alcoholism, daddy issues, fingering, mutual masturbation, recording, unprotected sex, hyung line mentioned, smoking, illit moka & minju mentioned, not proofread 6.8k wc
when your father's disgustingly good-looking best friend drops off your drunk dad, only to stay behind and distract you from the pain.
don't like? don't read.
you loved school.
not because you were some overly studious nerd who couldn't get enough of textbooks and homework, but because school felt freeing. it was the only place where your lungs didn’t burn with the suffocating scent of alcohol.
home was different.
you dreaded walking back every afternoon, fingers tightening around your bag as you stood outside the front door, already knowing what waited on the other side.
the smell hit first.
sharp. bitter. stale.
it clung to the walls, the furniture and your clothes like it had permanently seeped into every corner of your life.
you hated it. you hated what caused it even more.
your dad.
ever since your mom died from a brutal car accident, your life had never been the same.
what was once a warm, happy family slowly fell apart piece by piece. your dad changed after her death. at first it was only a drink or two after work, small enough for you to pretend it wasn’t becoming a problem.
but as the days turned into months, and the months into years, his grief only grew heavier.
and so did the drinking.
he drowned himself in alcohol so often that eventually, it felt like he stopped being your father altogether. the man who used to laugh with your mom in the kitchen and drive you to school every morning became nothing more than a stranger passing through the house.
now, you couldn’t even remember the last proper conversation the two of you had without it turning into some sort of argument.
it had probably been almost two years.
you kept your bag slung over one shoulder as you sat in class, staring at your notebook without really seeing it.
you blinked slowly, forcing yourself to write a few words down just so it looked like you were listening.
around you, everyone else seemed more awake than you felt.
moka was somewhere nearby, probably already done copying notes and now quietly kicking your chair just to get your attention.
“psst,” she whispered. “you’re literally spacing out again.”
you turned your head slightly, forcing a small hum of acknowledgment.
“i’m not,” you mumbled.
instead of turning back to her work, she leaned forward a little.
“hey,” she whispered again. “random question.”
“do you think minju likes anyone?” that got your attention.
you glanced at her. “what?”
moka tried (and failed) to look casual.
“nothing. i was just wondering.”
you stared at her for a second, “you like her.”
“shh!” moka immediately hissed, looking around even though nobody was paying attention. “keep your voice down.”
you couldn't help the small smile that tugged at your lips, “wow.”
you let out a quiet laugh.
for the first time all lesson, moka looked more distracted than you did.
the bell eventually came like a relief you didn’t realize you were waiting for.
chairs pushed back, the room filled with noise again, and people started packing up faster than the teacher could even finish speaking.
you moved a little slower, slipping your notebook into your bag while everyone else rushed out.
moka waited for you by the door, rocking back on her heels.
the hallway was crowded, loud with students spilling out of classrooms, lockers slamming shut, voices overlapping everywhere.
you kept your gaze forward, letting moka talk beside you about something random—someone’s drama, a test she barely studied for, a teacher she didn’t like.
you responded here and there, but your answers were short, half there.
at one point, minju passed by with a few friends and moka's sentence immediately cut off.
you watched her eyes follow minju for a second before she quickly looked away.
“you are so obvious,” you said.
“i literally didn't do anything.”
“right.”
“i didn't!”
by the time you reached the school gates, the air outside felt slightly better.
you slowed down without realizing it as you began to focus on what moka had to say.
“come on, y/n!” moka whined, dramatically tugging on your arm as the two of you walked out of school. “it’s been forever, and we’re always hanging out at my place. i wanna go to yours for once too.”
you let out a quiet sigh, adjusting the strap of your bag on your shoulder.
“maybe another time.”
“that’s what you said last time,” she pouted, narrowing her eyes at you suspiciously. “and the time before that. are you secretly hiding something in your house or something?”
if only she knew.
your grip tightened slightly around your bag. “it’s just messy.”
“messy?” moka scoffed. “y/n, my room literally looks like a tornado hit it every other day. i don’t care.”
you forced out a small laugh, but it sounded weak even to your own ears.
moka slowed her steps, her expression softening almost immediately. “hey,” she said quietly, nudging your shoulder. “you know you can tell me if something’s wrong, right?”
the words made something uncomfortable twist in your chest.
because something was wrong.
something had been wrong for years now.
but no matter how many times moka asked, you could never bring yourself to say it out loud. admitting it would make everything feel too real.
so instead, you smiled. "nothing’s wrong,” you lied.
moka stared at you for a moment longer before sighing dramatically again. “fineee. but one day i’m showing up at your house uninvited.”
your heart nearly stops. "don't do that," you give her a playful smile to cover up the anxiousness that filled your heart.
"there’s a convenience store near your house, right? we can just go there.” she suggests.
you paused for a second. “…okay,” you said quietly.
moka immediately lit up and the two of you started walking. her chatter filling the space as she talked about random things you barely registered. your steps slowed slightly the closer you got to your neighborhood, that familiar weight settling in your chest again.
same streets. same air. same feeling you always tried to escape after school.
moka, however, didn’t notice. she was too busy skipping ahead a few steps, pointing at random things like she always did.
inside the convenience store, everything felt almost normal again.
the soft buzz of the fridge, the quiet beeping at the register, the crinkle of snack bags as you and moka wandered the aisles like you had all the time in the world.
moka had already claimed half the store in her arms again. “this is for later,” she said, dropping a pack of chips into her basket. “and this is for now. and this is just… because i feel like it.”
you shook your head slightly, picking out a drink and tossing it into your own hand-held basket. for a moment, it almost felt easy.
then the door slammed open, the bell above it rang too loudly.
you both paused.
a man stumbled inside, slightly off balance, holding onto the doorframe like it was the only thing keeping him upright. his breath was heavy, his eyes unfocused, and he walked straight to the alcohol section without even looking around.
he grabbed a few cans of beer then stopped at the counter.
the cashier greeted him politely, but the man didn’t respond properly. he just stared for a second too long, like he was trying to understand something that wasn’t making sense.
and then his voice suddenly snapped through the store.
“why are you charging me this much? are you trying to rob me or something?”
you stiffened a bit.
the cashier blinked, clearly startled. “sir, that’s the price—”
“don’t lie to me,” the man barked, slamming the cans down harder than necessary. “you think i don’t know what you people do?”
the entire store felt like it had gone quiet.
a few customers glanced over. someone near the entrance stepped back. moka slowly lowered her basket.
you weren’t looking at the cashier anymore.
you were looking at the man.
and something in your chest tightened, cold and familiar, before you could stop it. the moment you realized who it was, everything in your body went still.
the voice. the posture.
no.
no, no, no.
your basket slipped slightly in your hand.
“y/n?” moka whispered, noticing your sudden change. “hey… what’s wrong?”
you couldn’t answer, your throat felt tight like something had wrapped around it and pulled.
your dad’s voice cut through the store again, louder now, more unsteady.
“what are you staring at?”
he turned and his eyes landed on you.
for a split second, there was nothing there. no recognition, just confusion. then it hit him.
“oh,” he said, voice sharpening instantly. “so you’re here.”
moka frowned, looking between you and him. “wait… you know him?”
you still couldn’t speak.
your dad stepped away from the counter, unsteady but suddenly focused on you in a way that made your skin crawl.
“don’t look at me like that,” he snapped, pointing vaguely. “why are you even out? what, you think you can just—”
his voice rose, drawing attention again.
you took a small step back without realizing it.
your breathing was wrong now. too fast. too shallow. like your body didn’t know how to stay inside itself properly.
moka grabbed your arm, panicked. “y/n, hey—hey, look at me.”
his face twisted as he noticed your reaction.
“oh, don’t start with that,” he barked suddenly, louder. “don’t do that, you guilt tripping bitch.”
his words blurred together after that.
all you could feel was the noise. the store. the breathing. the weight of being seen like this. and moka, beside you, suddenly very, very unsure of what she was watching.
your dad’s eyes stayed on you, unfocused and unsteady, like he was seeing you through something warped.
“stop standing there like that,” he snapped suddenly. “you always do this. you always show up at the worst times and make everything—”
he cut himself off, jaw tightening as he dragged a hand down his face.
“you don’t get it,” he muttered, voice rough, fraying at the edges. “the way you look at me.. it's just like her.”
your chest tightened.
he pointed vaguely in your direction, not even fully steady on his feet.
“i wish i never had you.” he said sharply.
it wasn’t a big sentence but it landed like one.
something in you cracked open, too loud in your head. your vision blurred before you could stop it.
moka said your name again, more urgent this time, but it barely reached you. you took a step back before you ran out of the store. vision blurred which completely blind sighted you.
it didn’t matter, you kept moving anyway.
the park had gone quiet by the time midnight rolled in, leaving only the distant hum of cars and the soft rustle of trees moving in the cold air.
you had stayed there for hours without really meaning to, just sitting through the weight of your thoughts until everything blurred.
eventually, your legs carried you home on their own. the closer you got, the heavier everything felt, the familiar streets and dim streetlights doing nothing to ease the tight feeling in your chest.
when you finally reached your building, you paused in front of the door longer than you should have. for a moment, you just stood there, staring at it, as if waiting for something to change if you delayed it long enough.
but nothing did, so you went inside.
the smell hit you the second you stepped in.
stale alcohol, thick and sour, already filling the air like it had nowhere else to go. it clung to everything instantlu, slipping into your lungs before you even had time to brace yourself for it.
then, slowly, you stepped in and let the door close behind you.
you paused in the doorway for a moment, eyes instinctively moving to the living room, expecting to see your dad like usual—slumped on the couch, tv on, bottle in hand.
but the couch was empty, no tv, no movement, no sign of him at all.
your chest tightened slightly as you stepped inside, realizing pretty quickly what that meant. he wasn’t home. he had gone out again.
you did enjoy these moments when he was out, when the apartment didn’t feel as suffocating and you could move around freely without the fear of running into him.
you made your way to your room, closing the door behind you a little too softly, like even sound felt dangerous tonight.
once you were inside, you sat on the edge of your bed and finally reached for your phone. the screen lit up immediately, a few notifications already waiting for you.
there were multiple messages, all sent not long after you ran out of the store.
where are you??
please answer me
im so sorry about him, i didnt know your dad was like that
are you okay??
you stared at moka’s messages for a moment longer, your thumb hovering before you finally typed back.
im okay
you didn’t wait for a reply.
instead, you locked your phone and set it aside, like that alone could shut the world out for a while. then you got up and headed to the bathroom, moving on autopilot.
the shower helped a little, but not enough to really fix anything. just enough to blur your thoughts at the edges, to make the day feel slightly farther away than it was before.
when you were done, you changed into something comfortable—an oversized shirt that swallowed your frame, soft shorts, and a pair of socks that made your steps quieter against the floor.
you didn’t feel better.
but at least you felt a little less like you were holding everything together.
you eventually made your way downstairs, more out of habit than hunger, opening the fridge and staring at it for a moment before grabbing whatever was easiest to make.
a classic nutella sandwich.
the quiet of the apartment helped a little while you moved around the kitchen, focused on the small task in front of you.
suddenly, you hear from the front door a soft click, followed by it opening.
your hands froze mid-motion.
for a second you didn’t even breathe, just standing there as the sound of footsteps reached the entryway.
your mind immediately filled in the worst possibility.
him.
without thinking, you crouched down quickly and slid under the kitchen counter, pulling your legs in close and pressing yourself into the small space as quietly as you could.
your heart was already racing.
a heavier sound, like someone struggling slightly with weight, something being shifted carefully rather than dropped or thrown. the kind of sound that made your stomach tighten all over again because it didn’t fit the scenario your brain had already prepared for.
you hesitantly shifted just enough to peek out from your hiding spot.
what you saw made you freeze completely.
a man you didn’t recognize was inside your apartment, steadying your dad’s unconscious body with a firm grip as he guided him toward the couch. your dad looked completely out of it, barely supported, his weight slumped against the stranger’s shoulder.
the man set him down carefully, adjusting his position so he wouldn’t fall off, before straightening up and finally glancing around the room.
that was when you really saw him properly.
he was really good-looking. like genuinely breath taking. sharp jawline, straight nose that gave his face a clean, structured look.
holy shit.
you slowly rose from under the counter, the man hadn’t noticed you yet, his attention still on your dad as he adjusted him slightly on the couch, making sure he was stable.
carefully, you stepped out into the open, each movement slow and hesitant. only when your footsteps lightly brushed against the floor did he pause.
he turned.
his eyes landed on you, and for a brief second his expression shifted—subtle surprise flickering across his face, like he genuinely hadn’t expected anyone else to be there.
his gaze stayed on you for a moment longer before he spoke, voice calm but curious.
“oh? i didn't know he had a daughter.”
of course that fucker wouldn’t have told anyone about you.
you stepped a little closer, your eyes drifting past the stranger to where your father now lay on the couch, completely out of it. the sight made something in your stomach twist. slumped, unresponsive, the reality of it settling in all over again in a way you didn’t want to look at for too long.
you forced your gaze away.
the man noticed the shift in your expression almost immediately. without saying anything else, he turned and started walking toward the kitchen. a silent cue to go with him.
after a brief hesitation, you followed him.
the apartment felt quieter the farther you moved from the living room, like the tension there stayed behind with your father. the kitchen light was softer, warmer somehow, and he leaned slightly against the counter as he waited, glancing at you once you stepped in behind him.
“sorry, should’ve introduced myself,” he said, glancing at you properly. “i’m sunghoon.”
you noticed the way his eyes lingered on your face for a moment, like he was quietly trying to place you in the picture he already had in his head.
“i’m y/n,” you said softly, your voice coming out smaller than you intended.
there was a brief pause after that.
you found yourself looking back at him properly too, the thick brows that gave him a naturally composed look. the moles on his face, one sitting close to the bridge of his nose, another a little lower on his cheek.
he reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette, rolling it between his fingers for a second before lighting it. the small spark briefly lit his face, then faded as he took a slow drag, his eyes still resting on you like he hadn’t missed a single thing you’d said or done.
the silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was heavy in a way you couldn’t quite name.
“sorry about your dad,” he said after a moment, exhaling faintly to the side so the smoke didn’t drift toward you. his tone stayed calm, almost matter-of-fact, but there was something softer underneath it. “i know he’s… not easy to deal with.”
you weren’t sure what to say to that.
“it’s okay… i’m used to it,” you said quietly, lowering your gaze to the floor instead of looking at him.
sunghoon watched you for a moment, his cigarette still between his fingers as he took another slow drag. there was a slight smirk at the corner of his mouth, not mocking, just faintly amused in a way that made him look even more unreadable.
“we were out having drinks and he passed out like usual,” he said casually, exhaling smoke to the side. his eyes never really left you. “normally i wouldn’t see anyone home. this is the first time i’ve seen you.”
his tone made it sound simple, like he was just stating a fact, but the way he looked at you suggested he was taking in more than just the situation. the way his eyes roamed from your face, down to your chest and legs.
was he checking you out?
he tilted his head slightly, cigarette still between his fingers as he held it out a little in your direction, like it was an offer that didn’t require much thought.
“want one?”
your eyes dropped to it for a second before flicking back up to him, “actually, are you even old enough to?” he asked, tone flat but with a hint of amusement under it.
you scoffed under your breath, the smallest bit of defiance slipping through. “i’m 18. of course i can.”
then your gaze dropped again, voice quieter this time.
“i’ve done it before...”
sunghoon didn’t say anything right away.
he studied you for a moment longer, like he was weighing your words instead of just hearing them. then, without much ceremony, he pulled another cigarette from the pack and offered it anyway.
“then take one, little girl,” he said simply.
your heart skips a beat at the nickname. cheeks flushing before you hesitantly grabbed it.
a lighter flicked between his fingers a second later, and soon enough the quiet of your kitchen was filled with that faint, drifting smoke curling into the air between you.
the kitchen stayed quiet, only the faint hum of the fridge and the slow burn of the cigarette filling the space between you.
sunghoon leaned against the counter like he had nowhere else to be, eyes drifting over you for a moment before settling again. not intense, but observant in a way that made it hard to ignore.
you shifted slightly under his gaze, unsure what to say or do with the silence.
a small exhale left him, almost like a quiet laugh.
“not much of a talker, are we?” he said, voice low and calm, like he was commenting on the weather rather than you.
your eyes flicked up to him briefly before dropping again. “i just don’t know what to say.”
that seemed to amuse him a little more. he took another slow drag, watching you through the smoke as if he was figuring you out.
sunghoon’s gaze drifted away from you, slowly scanning the room like he was taking it in properly for the first time instead of just standing in it.
that’s when he stopped and his eyes settled on the wall behind you.
there was an old framed photo hanging slightly off-center, like it had been put there a long time ago and never adjusted since.
you followed his gaze.
it was a picture from years ago, before everything changed. you were thirteen, caught in a moment you barely felt like belonged to you anymore. smiling too brightly, arms wrapped around your mom and dad in a way that looked so easy, so normal, it almost didn’t feel real now.
sunghoon didn’t say anything right away. his expression shifted slightly, something unreadable passing through his eyes as he looked at it longer than expected.
then he glanced back at you, like he was comparing the photo to the person standing in front of him now.
“you look so happy in that,” he said after a pause.
your throat tightened immediately.
“i was,” you said, then quickly added, softer, “i guess.”
the words hung in the air longer than you meant them to. sunghoon’s expression shifted slightly, something quieter settling in his eyes as he looked at you instead of the photo now.
“he's been like this since your mom died?” he asked. “that man always complains and goes on and on about his dead wife, especially moments before he passes out.”
you chuckled lightly, the words hitting a little too close. “yeah,” you managed.
sunghoon glanced back at the photo “he must've loved her a lot.”
the smile on your face faltered.
“i guess.”
a quiet silence settled between you. your fingers tightened slightly at your sides.
“sometimes i think he forgets he still has someone here.”
the words left his mouth so casually that he probably didn't realize what he'd just said. but you felt them.
all at once.
because he was right.
your father talked about your mother constantly. missed your mother constantly. drank because of your mother constantly.
and somewhere along the way, you'd stopped being his daughter and started becoming just another thing in the house.
you let out a shaky breath, looking down because you couldn’t really look at either him or the photo anymore.
you couldn't even give a response back and that alone was enough to make your chest feel worse.
then sunghoon moved closer. he put down the cigarette before his hand lifted slightly, hesitating for a second like he was deciding whether or not to cross that line, before gently resting on your shoulder and pulling you in.
safe in a way you weren’t used to.
you didn’t even realize you were crying until your face pressed into his shoulder, the tears coming out quieter at first before you couldn’t hold them back anymore.
sunghoon didn’t say anything at first. he just stayed there, one hand lightly at your back, the other at the back of your waist, rubbing a small circle with his thumb.
“i'm sorry baby,” he said eventually, low and close enough that only you could hear it.
his words suddenly crash all over you. reminding you of the times of when your father would comfort you like this in his arms.
he exhales once, small, like he’s pulling himself back.
“it must be hard,” he says. you nod faintly, but don’t move away.
you cried pathetically into his shoulder as he embraced you even tighter, before pulling his head back.
“how about we go to your room?” he said quietly. “we wouldn’t want your father waking up and seeing you like this.”
you blinked, still trying to steady your breathing, and gave a slow nod.
sunghoon knows he shouldn't.
especially not with one of his friends daughter.
he knows he shouldn't be doing this, yet he can't help but continue placing small hickeys across your neck, spreading them down till your collarbone.
youre resting on top of his lap, hands cramped up against his chest as you nervously grasp onto his shirt, feeling confused how you even ended up here.
"i- i don't know if we should be d-doing this..." your voice shakes as he licks over one of the many spots he marked on you.
he chuckles at your words, "shh.. baby, let daddy take care of you alright?"
his hands grip firmly at your waist before he goes back in for another kiss. it's gentle and slow, almost like as if he's savouring the taste of your lips.
you try matching back the rhythm and movement of his lips, but fail miserably as you accidentally bite too hard on your own tongue. you wince lightly from the pain as sunghoon pulls back and smirks at you.
"poor bunny doesn't know how to kiss?" he smirks, almost mocking you for not knowing how to.
you bite your lip, attempting to hide the embarrassment spreading across your face. sunghoon notices and brings his thumb to your lip.
"don't worry my little girl, daddy'll teach you everything."
fuck, his words. the way he comforted you. the way he held you. why was it enough build up the wetness between your legs now?
before you can react, his mouth is on yours again. it's soft, slow and warm, "don't overthink it, just follow my lips," he mumbles against your mouth.
you start to follow the movement of his lips, your hands roaming towards the nape of his neck as he deepens the kiss. his mouth opens slightly as he slowly brings his tongue inside your mouth, meeting yours.
you quiver slightly, unsure of what to do but when sunghoon slides his tongue against yours, your tongue is able to naturally follow his. the kiss had gotten so heated, so wet and sloppy.
as the kiss continued, you felt his growing erection form harder beneath you. in the desperate state you were in, your body instinctively grinded forward on its own, earning a groan from sunghoon.
sunghoon pulls back from the kiss and looks at you. your eyes were hazy, almost like as if you were hallucinated from the kiss.
"keep doing that f'me, you wanna feel good yeah?" you nod your head at his words.
at his orders you continue to grind your clothed core against the large bulge in his pants. your whimper at the friction as you hold onto his arms to balance yourself.
"fuck.. you're doing so well for me," he groans at the pleasure.
his hand suddenly comes to grip your jaw, forcing your mouth open. "stick out your tongue," you're confused but you do as he says, slowly sticking it out. he spits in your mouth, letting it slowly drip until it reaches your tongue.
sunghoon smirks at the sigh infront of him, you with your tongue out thats all covered in his spit, "swallow it all f'me, get a good taste."
without hesitation, you swallow. sunghoon nods his head in approval before his hips continue to move against yours again. his pace is faster now as youre both desperately grinding against each other for release.
"f-fuck.. feels so good.." you moan out as you grip his arms even tighter now.
suddenly, sunghoon grips your shoulders and pushes you back down onto the bed, hovering on top of you. "you look so pretty baby," he leaves a peck to your lips before slowly trailing down from your jaw to your neck, "have you ever done anything like this before?"
when you shake your head, sunghoon gives you a sly smile. "my bunny is still a virgin huh? how cute."
sunghoon doesn't waste time to lift your shirt up, exposing the cute pink bra you wore underneath. he brings his face closer to your clothed chest, placing a kiss right in the middle of your breasts.
he then lifts your bra up aswell, your breasts finally exposed as the cold air hits your skin. your nipples slightly harden at the sudden temperature drop.
sunghoon licks his lips before attaching his mouth to one your nipples, flicking his tongue over it. you gasp at the warmth of his mouth on your chest as you hold onto the bedsheets.
his hands trail from your shoulders down to your thighs, massaging them slowly before his hand makes its way over to your clothed core.
you're absolutely soaked through your shorts, sunghoon smirks at the feeling of your wetness before slowly rubbing your clit through the soaked fabric.
"fuck baby.. you're so wet, all this for me?" he coos at you as you nod your head while gasping at the pleasure his fingers are offering you.
sunghoon grabs onto the hem of your shorts, tugging them once before pulling them down along with your underwear, leaving you completely bare underneath him.
he curses under his breath at the sight of you. you're so undeniably innocent yet so sexy, he can't believe his friend was able to create someone like you.
your legs close together as you feel the embarrassment of being nude hit you. sunghoon notices and forces them apart again, "keep 'em open for me,"
sunghoon doesn't wait any longer before removing his clothing too. he first removes his shirt, revealing his slightly toned abs and biceps which he catches you staring at before smirking to himself.
his hands grip onto the sides of his pants before he pulls them down just below his boxers, his bulge being even more prominent now. his thumbs tug inside his boxers before he slides them down too just half way, revealing his thick cock which was already leaking precum.
your mouth dropped slightly. you were shocked or more should you say... scared? nervous? he was huge. even his tip seemed like it'd be painful enough for you.
sunghoon noticed the nervousness on your face and chuckled, "aw, is my little girl scared? 's okay, daddy's cock will make you feel reaaal good." he says before he leans down and places a kiss on your forehead.
your heart beats like crazy as the wetness continues to pool up underneath you. sunghoon's hands make way to your clit, rubbing it gently in circles.
you grind against his hand, desperate for more. sunghoon only continues to keep slowly rubbing your clit, not giving you the full attention your body craves.
“p-please…” you whispered, the word barely making it past the lump in your throat.
“please what?” he asked quietly.
"your f-fingers.. nghh.. please!" you cry out. sunghoon smirks at the way you beg for it.
"since my bunny's been so good, she deserves it." he whispers loud enough that you can hear it.
his fingers go down to your hole, which was already oozing out the slick and wetness that has been building up for the past 30 minutes since he's been in your room.
he slowly circles over your hole before pushing a finger in slowly. you let out a pleasured moan at the feeling, your body immediately feeling the heat of his fingers.
he starts thrusting his finger in and out slowly, the wetness coating his finger as you moan at the sensation. you continue to grind forward, still desperate for more.
"you know if you want more, you're gonna have to earn for it." he murmured before tapping his cock against your thigh, signaling for what you should do.
you look up at him nervously before looking down at his huge cock, the precum already leaking out. before your hand can fully reach out, sunghoon grabs your wrist with his free hand before spitting onto your palm.
with his spit all over your palm, you sit up slightly as your hand spreads the wetness of his saliva all over his cock before slowly rubbing his tip against the palm of your hand.
sunghoon hisses at the feeling, "fuck, keep doing that baby," he groans before adding a second finger into your cunt, earning a loud moan from you.
and before you both know it, you're both now like two animals in heat desperate to get each other off. you stroke sunghoon's cock at a medium pace, taking in whatever you can as sunghoon keeps fingering you at a faster speed.
"ngh.. shit if you keep doing that.. 'm gonna cum," sunghoon groans loudly.
you bite your lip as you continue to stroke his cock faster, a desperate attempt to match the speed in which he was fingering you at. he was relentless, abusing your little cunt like it didn't matter.
"feel's weird.. i think 'm gonna pee! s-sunghoon stop!" you whimper loudly, the heat in your stomach continuing to boil up. "then do it baby. do it all over me." he demands.
and with that, you cum. more like you squirt, all over him. your legs tremble as your orgasm hits you, your grip on sunghoons cock getting slightly loose but just enough for him to reach his climax and start shooting his cum all over your stomach.
"fuck.. was that your first time squirting bunny?" he questions, looking at the sight beneath him in awe before looking back up at you, seeing you nod your head in fluster.
gosh, you're really going to kill him.
he can't wait to ruin you.
without hesitation, sunghoon pushes you back down again, making you flat against your bed as he spreads open your legs again.
you look down and see that he's still hard. fuck, his sex drive is insane.
he grabs the base of his cock, positioning himself perfectly as he starts to slide his cock up and down your wet cunt, holding onto your thighs for support.
you let out a moan, your cunt still sensitive from your previous orgasm but the pleasure overtakes the sensitivity. he continues to grind against your cunt until he pulls back, slapping his cock against your clit.
"'s not gonna fit.. way too big.." you bite your lip in nervousness as sunghoon lets out a smug smile.
"shhh, daddy'll make it fit. just hold on f'me my little girl," he mumbles into your ear.
he slowly starts pushing the tip in, the pain immediately hitting you, "'s so painful.. daddy it hurts.." you whimper out in pain as your eyes begin to tear up, the nickname coming from your lips too naturally.
sunghoon could cum from your words just now, but it only encourages him to keep going as he continues to push himself in further, filling you up nice and slowly.
sunghoon leans down to kiss you as you whine against his lips, as he finally pushes himself all the way in, having you fully filled up with him now, "fuck, you're so tight. daddy's gonna fuck your little cunnie so good."
you squirm as he starts thrusting into your cunt, his cock ramming in and out you as the sound of your wet cunt and his sloppy thrusts echo throughout your room.
you're so sure that you're moaning loud enough that it could even wake up your dad, but you didn't even care anymore as the pain quickly turned into pleasure as sunghoon was balls deep in you.
"fuuuuck... so good, your pussy is clenching around me. you really love daddy's cock hm?" he almost mocks you but sees as you desperately nod your head.
"yes.. yes! fuck yes 'm loving daddy's cock so much! want m-more!" you whine loudly, drool spilling out of your lips as pleasure overtakes you.
sunghoon continues to quicken his pace, ramming his cock in and out you so deeply as he brings his hand to your stomach and presses down. you could've sworn you almost saw stars at that.
"d-daddy fuck..! nghh... 'm gonna cum.." you whimper.
sunghoon bites your earlobe, "mm, cum for daddy. let it all out," he whispers into your ear.
and with that, you come undone. you grip onto the bedsheets tightly and your legs shake violently as you cum all over his cock, your vision turning white for a few seconds as the orgasm hits you hard.
sunghoon chuckles at how hard you came, slowing down his thrusts to let you ride out your orgasm. your grip slowly loosens on your bedsheets as your breathing starts to slow down and become more calm.
suddenly, sunghoon starts to continue his relentless thrusting,"i still haven't came yet, gonna abuse and use up your lil cunnie." he groans as he quickens up his pace.
the dirty wet sounds of your intimate areas meeting each other fill up the room. one of his hands hold onto your hip as the other goes up to your breast, grabbing and squeezing it as he watches the way they bounce with each thrust.
sunghoon can finally feel the heat in his stomach brew up, "shit, 'm gonna cum inside this pussy," he groans before he quickly grabs his phone and starts to record.
his angles it just right to show how his cock thrusts into you just right while also showing how perfectly your breasts bounce with your mouth open from the pleasure.
sunghoon groans loudly as his orgasm hits him, his cum immediately filling you up. gosh you feel so thick and filled. sunghoon brings down the camera, showing a close up of his cock inside you before pulling out.
as he pulls out, he records how his cum mixed with your wetness oozes out of your hole. he smirks at the sight, bringing the camera up to show the cum over your stomach and then your dazed face as you breathe heavily.
he grabs your face making you look at the camera, "who does this little cunt belong to?" he demands an answer, placing a gentle slap to your clit as you let out a yelp before answering, "y-yours!"
he smirks before rubbing your thigh to soothe out the pain, "yeah? you belong to daddy now. i'll treat you so good, my little girl."
he ends the video before putting his phone back into his pocket. he falls onto the side next to you, wrapping his arms around you as he rubs your back gently.
your face stayed buried against his chest, his presence warm and grounding in a way you didn’t realize you needed until now.
“you did so well my bunny,” he murmured softly after a moment. “i’m so proud of you.”
his voice was quiet, almost like he didn’t want to break the moment. you held onto him a little tighter at his words, your breath uneven.
“don’t leave me… please,” you said, barely above a whisper.
he went still for a second, then shifted just enough to look down at you.
his hand came up to gently hold your cheek, thumb brushing lightly as he steadied you.
“i’m not going anywhere,” he said softly.
and after a pause, he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, a silent reassurance.
you stayed there for a moment longer, holding onto him like you were afraid the feeling might disappear if you let go too soon.
jake: dude shes fucking gorgeous
jay: holy shit, there's no way thats his daughter. im so jealous.
heeseung: I wanna use her up too. Not fair Sunghoon.
sunghoon smirks at his friends messages. of course he had to send it to the groupchat (which obviously did not include your dad).
the video of which his cum dripped out of your pussy and where you said that you belonged to sunghoon was enough to drive him and all of his friends crazy (and get all of them hard).
sunghoon: she's totally innocent too, her pussy was so tight.
jay: sounds like heaven.
jake: this isnt fair howd you find this angel wtf??
heeseung: Lets pass her around, she'd probably enjoy that.
jay: we can tell.
jake: shes definitely secretly a slut who likes older men.
jake: cmon hoon.
sunghoon chuckles at his phone.
sunghoon: maybe.
@evanificais do not steal or recreate.
authors note: hii :3 first ever fic, hope y'all enjoy. not proofread cus i physically cannot read my own work but i hope theres not too many mistakes. if i missed any warnings pls lmk!
𓊆박성훈 x fem reader𓊇 💌 crazy making out scenes, literally they're only making out, suggestive and steamy! making out, grinding, spit play, tongue play, so messy, sunghoon's so obsessed! non proofread as usual!
𓆩♡𓆪 i donno if this is obvious but i highlight kissing so so so much and for so many times in almost every smut i write about. i love kissing, i think kissing is the most intimate act ever. kissing is sex, and i have this weird thing where i'm like, oh kissing IS THE point of everything... u cheat and fuck her?? ok... u KISS her...? ok now wtf that's actually cheating... i can talk abt it for hours sorri ok mwah. i love kissing <3
thinking of kisser boy sunghoon aka sunghoon who’s obsessed with kissing. unlike the other guys who make one another choose ass or boobs, sunghoon prefers your… lips instead.
it shows in the way he kisses you like he’s trying to memorise every plump, every skin, every texture of it. so slow at first—almost lazy—just pressing his lips against yours again and again, barely moving.
“sunghoon—”
his arm snakes around your waist from behind. you’re sitting cross-legged on the floor, notes and textbooks scattered around the foldable table, but sunghoon—who’s leaning against the edge of the bed—has clearly run out of patience and things to do.
you let out a small surprised sound as he pulls you backwards, settling you between his legs, back meets his chest, and your head naturally tilts up toward him.
“don’t—” you start, trying to keep your focus on the open laptop in front of you. “i need to study.”
he doesn’t listen, nor care really. instead, sunghoon’s slender fingers slide along your jaw, turning your face toward him with that determination when he wants something from you. and this something is your lips.
“just one,” he murmurs, mouth already hovering close. “please?”
you turn your head away at the very last second, lips pressing into a line. “no. i have a test tomorrow—”
sunghoon follows. his hand cups your cheek, guiding your face back to him. the moment your lips are within reach, he presses a soft, lingering kiss to them, slow and sweet like he’s just beginning to melt.
you pull back slightly, whining, “sunghoon, i’ve got a test—”
but he’s already tilting your head the other way, chasing your mouth with his own. another kiss, a little deeper this time, his lips moving against yours. when you try to pull and turn away again, het lets out a soft, pleading sound against your lips.
“please, baby, just a little more,” he whispers, voice sweet and saccharine. his thumb strokes your cheek as he angles your face toward him once more. “your lips are so pretty when you’re focused…”
his thumb then lightly presses and tugs on the plump centre of your lips. “it’s so pouty…”
you frown and squirm half–hearteedly in his hold, giggling despite yourself as he keeps stealing kiss after kiss—each one slowly and more consuming than the last. every time you mutter “nooo”, or try to look away from him, he simply nudges your chin back and captures your lips again.
more persistent. more greedy. more annoying.
“babe—” you try one last time, but it just comes out breathy, whiny, and weak against his mouth.
your boyfriend hums softly, super satisfied, and kisses you even deeper, one hand cradling your face while the other keeps you pressed against his chest. he takes your bottom lip between his, tugging it gently before soothing it with a slow swipe of his tongue.
“mmhm,” sunghoom hums, sucking your top lip and just lost in the feeling overall. every kiss is so deliberate and unhurried and felt, but so persistent that you’re melting nonetheless whether you want to or not.
he barely gives you room to breathe, and it’s not helping with the awkwardness of the position you’re in—twisted around with your back against his chest, neck craned. but he doesn’t seem to notice; and if he does, he doesn’t seem to care. your boyfriend just keeps turning your head with his hand so he can kiss you from every angle he wants, smiling against your lips every time they part a little more for him.
“so soft,” he murmurs between kisses, voice hazy and low.
his fingers squish your cheeks together, making your lips pout. he starts peppering tiny, greedy pecks all over them—soft, repeated little kisses on the plump centre, then the corners, then back to the middle again like he can’t decide which part tastes better.
you let out a muffled whine.
sunghoon cuts you off by pressing a firmer, deeper kiss right in the centre of your squished lips, feeling them yield underneath. he doesn’t let go of your cheeks, keeping them pinched while he indulges—sucking, then the top one, savouring the plush.
“you’re so perfect,” he whispers before tilting your head further to the side, capturing your mouth fully, slow and so deep, completely lost.
he’s so irritating.
——
a kiss is a sex.
sunghoon doesn’t just love kissing during sex—he pretty much can’t get hard without it. or he gets hard every time you guys kiss? it’s not foreplay, nor is it an add on. he cannot fathom how some people don’t devour each others’ lips during sex.
making out is the main event most of the time.
the nights where you both start with the intention of going further, clothes already scattered on the floor, his body hovering over yours, hard and ready… and you’re so fucking desperate your pussy keeps spasming over fucking nothing…
but then his lips find yours and everything slows down except the hardness in his cock. he gets so lost, completely.
like right now.
sunghoon’s got you underneath him, thighs spread around his hips, skin hot and flushed and sweaty. you can feel how hard he is, his cock pressed against you and it twitches every time you shift.
“can’t—can’t take it anymore, hoonie… need you inside m—”
your boyfriend cuts you off by slamming his lips against yours instead of pushing inside and fucking you feral.
and there goes everything.
he tilts his head, slotting your mouths together perfectly, sucking on your bottom lip before sliding his tongue against yours in sensual strokes. every time you try to pull back for air, he just chases over—whining into your mouth.
“where you going?” he whines, grinding his cock between your pussy lips. “just kiss me—c’mon.”
it’s so fucking annoying how his hips roll so nicely, his cock between the wetness of your cunt and sometimes the tip dips in—but he never actually thrusts in. sunghoon’s too busy indulging your mouth—licking and biting.
instead of the wet sex, thrusting, pounding sounds, the room is filled with messy and obscene wet kisses.
you moan into his mouth when he angles his head and kisses you even deeper, tongue exploring every corner and crevices of your domain. his thumb strokes your cheeks while he keeps your face right where he wants it, completely taking control of the kiss as usual.
“shit, shit, shit,” he moans, grinding his cock faster against your soaked pussy—hot, heavy, throbbing—and kisses you just as much.
not for a single second does he pull away. his mouth stays glued to yours, every grind makes you both whimper. sunghoon plays with your tongue like he’s making love to it—curling around yours, sucking on it, then licking it flat and messy.
gosh, he’s even fucking licking your teeth like it’s toothbrush, or something.
sunghoon pulls back just enough to let a thin string of spit corner your lips, then dives back in, pushing his tongue against yours. this time, sloppier on purpose. sunghoon mixes his spit with yours under it’s dripping down your chin before catching it with his tongue then feeds it back to you in an open–mouthed kiss.
“so wet,” he pants like a dog in a heat. “your mouth, pussy—everything’s so fucking soft for me.”
you’re both a mess. spit on your chin and chest. his hips that just rolls in that desperate rhythm he’s not doing anything to fix, rubbing his cock against your clit, but still not slipping inside. he’s too addicted to your mouth,
this is sex for him.
sunghoon pulls back for half a second, eyes hazy and you swear his pupils dilate by many when he stares down at you. momentarily, you thought you’re finally getting pounded—but then he spits directly onto your tongue—a blob of warm saliva pooling on the flat of your tongue—before he kisses you again.
there have been nights when he spends hours just making out and being naked with you and sunghoon cums just from that. shoots up those precious semen that should’ve been inside you on your tummy.
your boyfriend is so pathetic and annoying he cums from kissing alone. from the way you whimper into his mouth when he sucks on your tongue. from how swollen and shiny your lips get.
this is one of those nights that don’t even go further than this.
because to sunghoon, a kiss isn’t just a kiss.
it’s sex.
——
“...what did you do?”
you’re staring at the mountain on the bed—all from that expensive brands you mentioned once in passing. sunghoon stands behind you with his arms wrapped around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder, looking way too pleased.
“i bought you stuff baby,” he smiles, pressing a kiss on the slope of your shoulder. then, he presses his cheek against yours, lips not failing to brush your skin. “...try ons?” he says innocently, but the mischievous glint in his eyes says otherwise.
sunghoon bought you more lip products than lingeries or toys. glosses in every shade and flavour—sheer pinks, shiny nudes, tinted reds, glittery ones, plumping ones. stacks of lip oils, balms, liners, liquid lipstick, satin, powdery—it’s endless.
“hoonie,” you laugh, half–amused, half–shocked. “this is too much. you just bought me some few weeks back, and i don’t even wear lip gloss that often—”
“but you will now,” he murmurs, already pulling you forward with him. he picks up a shiny pink gloss and uncaps it, eyes locked on your mouth.
“try this one first.”
you barely have time to protest before he holds your chin and applies the gloss on for you. his gaze is so focused on every glide of the wand across your lips. when he’s done, he admires how glossy and pouty they look.
“gosh,” he murmurs, feeling the throb beneath his sweats.
sunghoon presses his lips against your newly glossed ones, smearing the shin between you. it starts soft—but sunghoon being sunghoon—he quickly gets greedy. he kisses you deeper, tongue swiping across your bottom lip to taste the sweet goods.
“mmm… strawberry,” he murmurs, then goes back in for a confirmation and more. he sucks lightly on your bottom lip, licking the gloss, only to kiss so the shine transfers to his own lips.
you pull back a little, giggling. “you bought all this just so you could kiss it off me, didn’t you?”
your boyfriend doesn’t deny it. instead, he picks up another tube—a cherry red one this time—and grins that pretty, naughty smile.
“obviously. be good and try the next one for me, baby.”
sunghoon plans on spending the entire night applying, admiring, and then thoroughly kissing every single shade off until your lips are swollen and shiny with his spit because sunghoon believes nothing—nothing looks better on you but him.
buying you all these glosses aren’t just a gift for you—it’s an investment for him.
PLOT! AITA for using my best friends inner thoughts to fuck with him throughout the week until he is forced to admit his feelings for me out loud?
CONTENT! Sunghoon/Fem!Reader, Fluff, Reader can hear thoughts, Bestie!Sunghoon, Sunghoon acts nonchalant, His thoughts tell a different story, SMUT (MDNI), Top!Sunghoon, Soft Dom!Sunghoon, Desperate!Sunghoon, P in V, Unprotected Sex (pls wrap b4 u tap), Oral (f receiving), Yearner!Sunghoon, I believe this is considered psychological warfare, Y/n is a literal menace.
AUTHORS NOTE! got this plot from a randomr eddit video i saw on tiktok where the girl was married to this nonchalant guy and she could suddenly hear his thoughts and he was such a loser who wanted her so badd OOOOH sunghoon ur perfect for this bend over.
WORD COUNT! 7.2k!!!
It was a cold January night when it first happened.
You were on the couch, watching Silence of the Lambs (aka the most absurd movie ever) with your best friend, Park Sunghoon. It was your weekly movie night, and last time was at his place, so this time was at yours.
The setup was the same as always. Blanket split unevenly between the two of you—his fault, it’s always his fault—your legs tucked underneath you, his stretched out across the coffee table like he owned the place. Which, at this point, was basically true. Sunghoon had a key. He knew where the good snacks were hidden. He’d argued with you about your IKEA furniture assembly and been right about it. If that didn’t make someone a co-owner, nothing did.
“This movie is not scary,” he said flatly, reaching into the popcorn bowl on your lap without looking away from the screen.
“I never said it was scary. I said it was disturbing. There’s a difference.”
“Well it’s neither.”
“A man is making a suit out of human skin, Sunghoon.”
“I’ve seen worse.”
You looked at him. “Where?”
He paused. “Nature documentaries.”
You laughed before you could stop yourself, and something shifted in his expression. Barely anything, just the faintest softening in the corner of his eyes. It was so quick you almost missed it. Almost.
That was the thing about Park Sunghoon. On the outside, he was the picture of composure. Unhurried. Unbothered. The kind of person who could be late to his own birthday party and somehow make everyone else feel like they’d arrived too early. He was like that in class, too. Front row, never frantic, taking notes in that annoyingly neat handwriting of his while everyone around him was three lectures behind and quietly spiraling.
You had met him in your first year, in a mandatory elective neither of you wanted to be in. He’d sat next to you because it was the only seat left, and when the professor had asked everyone to introduce themselves to the person beside them, he had looked at you and said—very seriously—"How fast do you think we could get through this syllabus if we actually tried?”
You had been best friends ever since.
It made sense, in the way that certain things just did. You moved at the same pace. You thought the same things were funny. You could sit in silence for hours and it never felt like anything needed to be filled. He was the person you called when something went wrong and also when something went right. Somewhere along the way those two categories had quietly expanded to include everything in between.
Which was fine. Completely fine. You were not in love with your best friend.
You were almost certain.
On screen, Clarice was walking into the dark. You shifted on the couch, tugging the blanket back toward your side, and Sunghoon let you without comment. This meant he wasn’t paying attention. You glanced over at him.
He was looking at the TV, jaw resting on his hand, expression perfectly neutral. His hair was a little messy—he had come straight from practice, changed into a hoodie in your bathroom, and left his back by the door like he always did. There was something easy about having him here. Something that had started feeling dangerously close to necessary.
You looked back at the screen.
That was when it happened.
No warning. No build-up. No cinematic crack of lightning or sudden ringing in your ears. One moment there was the sound of Clarice's heavy breathing, the low ambient noise of your apartment, the rustle of the blanket—
And then there was a voice.
She always laughs like that when she’s actually surprised. Like she tried to hold it in and lost.
You froze.
The voice was his. Not out loud. His mouth hadn’t moved, you looked right at him. But it was unmistakably Sunghoon’s voice, low and even, like he was narrating a novel.
You didn’t move.
She’s been using the same shampoo since second year. I don’t know why I know that.
Your heart stopped. You turned very slowly to look at him. He was still watching the movie. Completely still, completely unaware. The popcorn bowl was between you and he reached into it again without looking and his arm brushed yours and—
Don’t make it weird. Don’t make it weird. You’re fine. She’s just… A pause. She’s right there.
You stared at him, but he didn’t stare back. He watched Anthony Hopkins monologue as if absolutely nothing was happening, as if his internal voice had not just short-circuited your entire brain, and you sat there in the blue light of your TV thinking: what the fuck.
You didn’t sleep well that night.
Not because of the movie. The movie was fine. Buffalo Bill was unsettling on a conceptual level but you’d watched it twice before and you had a high threshold for cinematic weirdness. No, you didn’t sleep because you laid in bed staring at the ceiling and replayed every single thing you’d heard for the remaining forty minutes of the film.
And there had been a lot.
Her apartment always smells like that candle. I should figure out what scent it is. For no reason.
She’s cold. She’s not going to say anything. She’ll just suffer. I should—and then he’d shifted and tugged part of the blanket over to your side without a word, like he’d just decided something.
Two more weeks until her birthday. I already know what I’m getting her. I’ve known for three months. That’s normal… that's a normal amount of time to know
She’s laughing again. Okay. Cool. I’m fine.
You rolled over and pressed your face into the pillow.
Park Sunghoon. Your best friend. The most unreadable person you had ever met in our life, who apparently had an entire internal monologue dedicated to noticing things about you. Your laugh, your shampoo, your candle, the way you got cold and didn’t say so. And he never let any of it reach his face.
For how long? How long had this been happening?
You thought about the soft look he’d tried to hide when you laughed. You thought about the blanket. You thought about I’ve known for three months, that’s normal—
You groaned into your pillow. This was a lot of information to receive on a Tuesday.
The next morning, you tested it.
Sunghoon had a habit of coming over early on Wednesdays because you both had the same 10 am lecture and he lived closer to your building than campus. It was an arrangement that had started practically and continued sentimentally, which was very on-brand for your entire friendship.
You knocked at 8:52. You opened the door in your oversized sweatshirt and immediately, before he’d even said hello—
She looks good in the mornings. She always looks good in the mornings. Fuck, thats extremly inconvenient.
You felt your face do something. You couldn’t control it.
“What?” he said.
“Nothing.” You stepped back. “I made coffee.”
He came in, dropped his bag, accepted the mug you handed him, and leaned against your kitchen counter with the air of someone who had never experienced a chaotic thought in his life. You watched him over the rim of your own mug and waited.
She’s staring.
It’s fine. She stares sometimes. It means nothing. Don’t read into it.
… She’s still staring.
“I’m not staring,” you said, more like blurted.
He looked at you. “I didn’t say you were.”
Fuck. “You were thinking it.” You said, which was technically true in the most unhinged way possible.
Sunghoon looked at you for a moment longer than necessary. Then he took a sip of his coffee. “Okay,” he said, in a tone that meant he had filed this away and would return to it later.
You needed a plan.
Here’s what you knew:
Sunghoon was not going to say anything. That was simply not how he worked. He could think about your shampoo and memorize your candle scent and spend three months deciding on a birthday gift and still show up every Wednesday looking like a man without a single complicated feeling. He would do this indefinitely. He would probably take it to his grave.
And you—you, who had spent the better part of a year trying very hard not to notice the way he looked at you sometimes—were not going to wait for a grave.
So you made a decision.
You were going to give Park Sunghoon exactly what he wanted. Piece by piece. Situation by situation, all of it carefully constructed so that he thought it was happening naturally. And at the end of it, he was going to have no choice but to say it out loud.
All you had to do was listen.
It started small.
Friday night, you invited him to the convenience store. Normal enough, you did this roughly once a week, usually for ramen and whatever snack had rotated its way onto the seasonal shelf. But this time, on the way back, you chose the path along the river instead of the shortcut through the carpark.
It was cold enough that your breath fogged the air. The streetlights caught in the water. You had your hands tucked into your sleeves, thinking that this had been a good idea when Sunghoon’s voice materialized quietly in your head.
I always want to walk this way. She never wants to walk this way.
You looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes. “Isn’t this nicer?”
A beat passed. “Yeah.” He said. He was looking ahead, but something in his shoulders had settled. “It is.”
She remembered.
He didn’t say it out loud, of course he didn’t. But you heard it, warm and quiet, and you had to look away before your face gave you away completely.
The next one was trickier.
You were in the library, 3rd floor, your usual table by the window. While you worked through problem sets, Sunghoon arrived twenty minutes later and folded himself into the seat next to you. He unpacked in silence, which was normal. Then he went quiet in that particular way he had where he was trying to figure something out and didn’t want to ask for help, which you also knew, because you knew all of his silences.
You waited.
I could just ask her. She’d explain it without making me feel stupid. She never makes me feel stupid.
But then she’ll know I didn’t understand the lecture and she’ll—
She won’t care. She genuinely will not give two shits.
Obviously I know that. That’s not the issue, the issue is that shes—
A pause.
She’s the only person I actually want help from. Is that a weird thing to feel this strongly about?
You looked up from your notes. “Do you want me to walk you through the regression model? I had to redo it like twice before it clicked.” Not technically a lie.
Sunghoon looked up at you.
“I’m serious,” you said, keeping your face carefully neutral. “It’s faster if we do it together.”
Something moved behind his eyes. Not readable: it never quite was. But it was there. He slid his notebook across the table toward you. “Okay.”
You worked through it side by side, your handwriting appearing in the margins of his notes, carefully avoiding his various doodles across the page. Your shoulders pressed close together so you could feel the warmth of him. And under everything, you could hear him thinking:
This is my favorite way to study. This is my favorite way to do a lot of things.
Then came the party.
Jungwon’s birthday parties had a reputation. What started as a small gathering with a reasonable headcount always turned into something completely different by 11 pm. More people, more noise, more empty bottles lined up along the windowsill like a timeline of bad decisions. You had been to enough of them to know to eat beforehand.
You arrived a little after 10. Sunghoon was already there—you found him in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a drink in his hand, talking to someone from his major with the energy of a person attending a very calm business lunch. Completely unbothered. Completely composed.
You felt him notice you before he looked up.
There she is.
Warm. Immediate. Like a reflex he’d long stopped trying to correct.
You made your way over and he handed you a drink without being asked, already knowing. Smirnoff Ice Raspberry. What a gentleman.
“How long have you been here?” You asked him.
“An hour.”
“An hour and you’re already relaxed?” You say, gesturing to what you can clearly tell is not his first drink of the night.
“I’m always relaxed.”
I am not relaxed. Her outfit is so small and I’ve been here an hour just wondering when she would show up and she shows up in that!
You took a sip of your drink to hide your expression.
By eleven, the party had done its inevitable thing. The hallway was full, the music was louder, and someone had started a game in the living room that you’d opted out of on principle. You weren’t really in the mood to kiss random men when you had one pining over you in his head.
You were on your 3rd drink, warm at the edges, feeling the particular looseness that came from just enough and not too much.
Sunghoon was on something closer to his fifth.
You could tell only because you knew him. To anyone else, he looked exactly the same. Same posture, same unhurried delivery, same expression that gave away absolutely nothing. He was holding his cup with the same quiet authority he held everything. Responding to people in full, measured sentences.
But his thoughts.
She laughed at something. I didn’t hear what it was. Doesn’t matter, I’d listen to her laugh for an unreasonable amount of time and never get tired. I’ve accepted that.
You pressed your lips together and did your best to bite back the blush running towards your cheeks.
Her drink is almost empty. I should—a pause, like he was negotiating with himself—no. That’s too obvious. She can get her own. She doesn’t need me to—
You watched him glance at your cup from across the room, completely imperceptibly, and then look away.
Fuck this. I can’t let anyone here think she’s single. Even though she is. Fuck.
He appeared by your side sixty seconds later and held one out. You took it.
“Thank you!” You said.
“Mhm.” He looked at the room.
She smells like that candle again. She must’ve been home before this. God I’m pathetic.
You stared very hard at a window across the room and reminded yourself to breathe normally.
It got worse—better, actually—as the night went on.
You found a quieter corner of the apartment, as you usually did, and the party moved around you while you stayed still. This was your pattern. Your orbit. Sunghoon stood close enough that your shoulders almost touched and talked to you in that low, even voice of his about nothing important—a lecture, a teammate, something Sunoo had said earlier that had mildly irritated him.
I think about telling her all the time. Like, constantly. It’s become a problem. I’ll be in the middle of something completely unrelated and I’ll just—think about her. The way she argued about things she cares about. The way she falls asleep during movies and then insists she wasn’t sleeping.
She’s always sleeping. I never say anything. I let her have it. I’d let her have everything if that’s what she wanted
Later, the crowd thinned. Someone swapped the music for something slower and the kitchen light cast everything in a warm gold. You were feeling pretty drunk, loose and light and devious, if you were 100% honest.
Because here’s the thing. You had spent the past 2 hours listening to Sunghoon’s internal monologue short-circuit in real time, and the drinks had made you brave, and you decided you were going to have fun.
You turned to face him fully and leaned your shoulder against the wall so you were looking up at him. Close. Closer than you’d normally stand.
“You’ve been quiet.”
“I’m always quiet.”
“More than usual.”
He looked at you. Said nothing, of course. His face was perfectly, infuriatingly composed.
She’s standing really close. Okay, that’s fine. She does that sometimes. It doesn’t mean any—she’s looking at me like that again.
You smiled, slow and deliberate, and watched his jaw shift almost imperceptibly.
“What?” He asked.
“Nothing.” You reached over and fixed the collar of his shirt—it didn’t need fixing. You just did it. Fingers brushing the side of his neck for half a second before you pull your hand back.
The thought that hit you was instantaneous.
Oh. A pause. Don’t. Do not.
His expression didn’t change. He simply looked at you with the same unhurried calm he looked at everything with and said “Thanks” in a voice that gave you nothing.
You were going to lose your mind. Give me something, asshole!
You shifted closer under the pretense of someone passing behind you and didn’t shift back. Your hand was on his arm now, you could feel the warmth of him through his sleeve.
She’s not moving. She’s not moving and I cant—I need to—Fuck she looks so good tonight. She always looks so good—I’m going to need a cold shower tonight.
“Cold?” He asked.
You tried not to laugh at how well it connected to his thoughts. “A little.” You lied.
He didn’t say anything, but he turned very slightly so his body was angled towards yours, the smallest possible adjustment, like he was trying to do so without admitting he was doing it.
Keep talking, his thoughts said, unprompted. Just keep talking to me. I don’t care what you say, I just wanna—
“Tell me something.” You say.
“Like what?”
“Anything.”
He considered this with great seriousness of someone preparing for war. You watching him think and heard the entire thing unravel. I want to tell her so many things. I want to tell her that I think about her all the time. I want to tell her she’s the first person I want to call when anything bad happens. I want to tell her to touch me and never stop.
“Jungwon’s playlist sucks.” Is what he chose instead.
You laughed. You couldn’t help it. The contrast of his thoughts to the words coming out of his mouth was just too hilarious for you to handle. He watched you laugh and his thought arrived soft and immediate:
There it is.
You looked back up at him, still smiling, and let the moment stretch. Then, slowly, you reached out and took the cup from his hand—just to take a sip, just as an excuse—your fingers overlapping his for a second before he let go.
His entire internal monologue went briefly nonverbal for a moment.
Fuck she has no idea what she’s doing to me. She genuinely cannot know. If she knew she would—she wouldn’t—she doesn’t—
A pause. A long one, actually.
Does she know?
You handed the cup back. Your fingers brushed him again on the pass. Deliberate. Completely deliberate.
I want you so bad.
The thought arrived and made you almost choke on air. It was so helplessly honest that it made your stomach flip. Not chaotic, necessarily, just true. Simple and overwhelming and incredibly sincere and raw.
I’ve wanted you for so long and you’re just standing here and I can’t tell you! Not like this.
But please don’t move.
You don’t move. Sunghoon stood beside you looking unbothered.
This, you thought, was the most fun you had ever had in your entire life.
Your shared 10 am was held in a wide tiered lecture hall that fit about two hundred students and smell permanently of coffee and resignation. You sat in the same spot every week, middle left. Close enough to see the slides, far enough to feel like you had options. Sunghoon always sat next to you.
You go there first on Tuesday. When he arrived, he dropped into the seat next to you and pulled out his notebook. You were ready.
You chose to wait until the lecture started, until he was settled. Pen in hand, paying attention the way he always did.
Then you leaned over, close enough that your shoulder pressed into his and whispered “Can I borrow a pen?”
You had 3 in your bag. He didn’t know that.
He reached into his case without looking and held one out. Your fingers closed around it slowly, over his, just for a second longer than necessary.
Don’t fucking look at her. Look at the slide. There is a slide, dammit.
You settled back into your seat and uncapped the pen like nothing happened. Ten minutes later you leaned in again. “What did he say? I missed it.” Your lips were approximately four inches from his ear. You felt him go very still and you smiled.
She smells so good. Why does she always—focus! He’s talking about monetary policy. Monetary policy. That’s what's important right now.
“Quantitative easing.” he said, in a voice that was completely level. Not even a crack.
“Thanks,” you murmured, and sat back.
I cannot believe I’m this affected by quantitative easing.
Sunghoon played like he did everything else, with total composure and quiet precision. Like the game was simply a problem being solved in real time. You had been to his matches before but usually with a group. This time you came alone and found a spot near the front and he saw you during warm ups.
You waved.
His expression softened the slightest bit. She’s wearing my hoodie.
You were, in fact, wearing his hoodie. The one he’d left at your place three weeks ago and you’d simply never given it back. You had put it on this morning with full awareness of what you were doing and zero remorse.
That’s my hoodie on her and she looks—I have a game. I have a game in four minutes. Get your fucking shit together.
He focused on the game. You watched him be extraordinary at it with the detached calm of someone who had done it a thousand times, and every few minutes a thought would surface.
Is she still here? She is. Good.
At halftime he jogged to the sideline and grabbed his water bottle and glanced at you once. It was brief, but you smiled as always and tucked your hands into the front pocket of his hoodie.
She’s so cute.
Then he went back to playing.
After the final whistle—they won, 2-1, Sunghoon had assisted in both goals with the energy of a man doing his grocery shopping—he found you at the edge of the field. Hair slightly damp, still catching his breath, looking at you with a gaze like you were the only girl in the world.
“You played great!”
“Thank you.” He said breathlessly.
You reached up and fixed a part of his hair that had fallen across his forehead, the same way you fixed his collar at the party. Easy and unbothered.
I’m so in love with her it’s embarrassing. And she’s still touching my hair. I will stand here forever. I will stand on this field until the groundskeepers kick me off.
It was a Saturday when it stopped being a game.
Not because you decided it. Not because anything dramatic happened to signal a shift. It was a Saturday and you were making dinner and Sunghoon was in your kitchen, and somewhere between the two of you it just became too much.
It had started normally enough. He texted at five asking if you’d eaten. You hadn’t. He showed up twenty minutes later with groceries and no further explanation, which was so perfectly, infuriatingly him that you hadn’t even questioned it. This was just a thing he did. This was just how he was with you.
The kitchen was warm. You had music on low—something ambient and unhurried. Sunghoon had taken over the stove with the quiet authority he applied to everything while you sat at the counter and handled the easier tasks: chopping, stirring, handing things over when he asked.
It was comfortable, it was always comfortable with him.
But you had spent a week being deliberate about every point of contact and now you were tired and warm and a little undone by the Friday couch moment still sitting in your chest, and tonight you weren't being strategic. Tonight things just kept — happening.
Like the way you leaned over to check on the pan and your arm slid along his. The way he reached past you for the salt and didn't move back immediately. The way the kitchen was small and you were both in it and neither of you seemed to be trying very hard to maintain any kind of distance.
She's everywhere in this apartment, he thought, while stirring something and looking straight ahead. Everything here is her. I come here and it just — feels like her. I don't know what to do with that.
You handed him a spoon without being asked and your fingers touched and the thought that followed was short and unadorned:
I love her.
Not feral. Not desperate. Just true, the way facts were true, the way gravity was true, delivered in the same internal voice he used to note the weather or remember an appointment.
I love her and I don't know how much longer I can—
"You're quiet," you said.
"I'm always quiet."
"Different quiet."
He glanced at you. "You say that a lot."
"Because it keeps being true."
He looked at you for a moment, something unreadable moving behind his eyes, and then looked back at the stove.
You watched him. The line of his shoulders, the careful way he moved, the complete and total composure he maintained at all times like it cost him nothing when you knew — you knew now — exactly what it cost.
You slid off the counter and moved to stand beside him. Not for any reason. Just to be closer.
She's right next to me. She keeps doing this. She's been doing this all week and I—I don't know if she knows what she's doing. I think she might know. Does she know?
You reached past him to adjust the heat on the burner — he was standing right there, you had to reach across him to get to it, your arm brushing his chest for a half second — and when you pulled back you turned your head and found his face much closer than you'd anticipated.
Neither of you moved.
Okay, his brain said, with a kind of strained calm. Okay. This is—She's right there. She's looking at me. I have been in love with her for over a year and she is right there and I—
"Y/N."
His voice came out different. Lower. The composure was still there but something underneath it that wasn't, some thread pulled just tight enough that you could hear it.
"Yeah?" you said.
He looked at you. Really looked — the way he had on the couch on Friday, no pretense, no performance, just Sunghoon looking at you like you were something he'd stopped being able to look away from.
"What are you doing?" he said.
It wasn't accusatory. It was quiet. Genuine. Like he actually needed to know.
And here was the thing — here was the part you hadn't planned for — you opened your mouth to say something easy and deflecting and instead what came out was the truth.
"I don't know anymore," you said. "I think I stopped doing anything on purpose about three days ago."
Something in his face shifted. The last careful layer of it, the one he always kept in reserve, the one you'd never seen him let go of before.
"Three days ago," he repeated.
"The game," you said. "Friday. You were just — you were just being you and I—" you stopped. Laughed a little, helplessly. "I've been driving myself crazy, Sunghoon."
She—
His thought didn't finish. Like his brain had simply stopped processing and switched to something else entirely.
"You've been driving yourself crazy," he said, and something in his voice had shifted too, something dry and disbelieving and warm underneath it. "You've been driving me crazy for a week. You know that, right?"
You looked at him. "Have I?"
"In lecture," he said. "The couch. The game." A pause. "The collar." He said the last one quietly, like it had been living in him since the party and had just now been let out.
"The collar," you repeated innocently.
"You knew what you were doing."
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Y/N."
"Sunghoon."
He looked at you for a long moment, this boy who never cracked, who never rushed, who kept everything behind his eyes until he decided otherwise — and then he decided otherwise.
"I'm in love with you," he said. Simple. Direct. Like he'd taken aim and let go. "I have been for a long time and this week has been the most unhinged experience of my life so if you have something to tell me I really think you should tell me now."
The most unhinged experience of my life. You almost laughed again. He had no idea. "I'm in love with you too," you said. "I have been. For a long time, I think."
He exhaled.
Not dramatically — this was Sunghoon, nothing was ever dramatic — just a slow breath out, like something he'd been holding had finally been set down. His hand came up and found your jaw, tilted your face up toward his, and he looked at you for one long, unhurried moment the way he did everything.
There she is, he thought, soft and certain and final. There she is.
Then he kissed you.
It was warm and quiet and careful and then — when you kissed him back, when your hand found the front of his shirt — not careful at all. His other hand found your waist and pulled you closer and you went, and the food on the stove went briefly unattended, and the music played on low in the background of your apartment that smelled like his candle and yours combined now, that had his bag by the door and his key on the hook, that had been halfway his for a long time already.
His last coherent thought, before everything else: Finally.
He kissed you like a man starved, and after everything you had heard the past couple of weeks, he was starved. His hands tightened on your waist the slightest bit, almost as if he was afraid you would leave.
You wouldn’t dream of it.
Your hands dragged up his shirt and towards the back of his neck, pushing him closer and playing with his hair. Sunghoon let out a shaky breath, which made you smile into the kiss.
“Shut.” Kiss. “Up.” Another kiss. His voice was so low that it shocked you, but you were too busy to even fully notice.
“I didn’t say anything.” You say in between his kisses. Eventually you force yourself to pull away. His face looks like you just slapped him, but you caress his face. “I’m just turning off the stove.”
Sunghoon pursed his lips together. “Right. I forgot. I was kinda distracted.”
You stare at him for a moment, taking him in. His flushed cheeks, his glossy eyes, his hands that refuse to leave your waist. “At the risk of sounding too forward—”
“Be forward. That’s all I’ve wanted this entire week.”
You nod. “Well.. we can go to my room…?”
You barely got the chance to hear his brain fry itself when he smashes his lips back down onto yours. He seems hungrier now, and the thought has you reeling. All you can hear are bits and pieces. Please, and I’m obsessed with you, cross his mind over and over again, but you’re too involved in him to care.
“Is that a yes?”
“It’s a please.”
Sunghoon keeps kissing you as the two of you walk (awkwardly. It’s surprisingly hard to keep a straight line of direction when a man is kissing the shit out of you) to your bedroom. The door was already open, and your bed was already made. The two of you just flopped onto the mattress, not bothering to stop.
He laid above you, moving from your lips to everywhere else. “I’ve been in love with you,” a kiss on the cheek, “since that IKEA argument,” a kiss on your jaw, “when you were wearing that stupid,” kiss on the neck, “fucking,” kiss on your collarbone, “shirt.” He keeps kissing you, mumbling more. “It was the tiniest shirt in existence and you wore it around me.”
“It was the first shirt I saw that day.”
“Well it made me really hard.” He says, looking down at you.
“Oh, did it now?” You say, a playful smirk on your face.
He wipes that smirk off with a kiss, trailing back down to the collarbone, sucking on various spots. You choose not to think about how much of a pain it will be to whisk those out of your skin before your shift. Instead, you choose to live in the moment.
His hands trail from your waist to your sides. “Can I?” He asks, hands incredibly still. You nod, but that’s not enough for him. “Please say it.”
“Yes, Sunghoon.”
He wastes no time in taking your shirt off, throwing it somewhere in your room for you to find later. “So beautiful.” He mumbles, almost incoherently. “Wanted this for so long. You for so long.”
Every word, every kiss, every touch sends sparks up and down your body. You don’t know how you’ve lived without this, but now that you have it you won’t ever give it up. You run your hands under his shirt and on his bare skin, feeling the warmth of the man on top of you.
It’s barely even a touch, and yet he folds completely. Head in your neck, holding you tightly. You feel the outline of abs and a strong v line, hands going lower and lower. Instead of the obvious, you choose to grab the hem of his shirt and pull it. He instantly moves, allowing you to pull the shirt off him—with his help of course.
You had seen him shirtless before. Sophomore year pool party hosted by Jake. But this is completely different. 2 years of soccer and consistent working out has made this man built. And you were not complaining.
You grab his jeans and pull him back in, but he stops himself.
“I wanna try something.”
You give him a nod, and he moves to pull down your sweatpants, leaving you in just a bra and underwear. Sunghoons eyes rake over your body in a way that screams adoration. If you had ever thought he didn’t like you, his actions now change your mind immediately.
“Tell me if you want me to stop, okay?”
“Okay.” You say quietly, unsure of what's to come.
He starts kissing your neck once more, moving down to your collarbone, then shoulder, then sternum. He makes it his mission to kiss every part of you. Your tits, your stomach, your hips. You don’t even realize how far down he is until he plants a kiss right above your underwear.
He goes to one hip, then the other, planting kisses on both. But instead of going where you want him, he goes to your thighs. He starts at the left, gentle kisses up and down your inner thigh, making you squirm. At the right, his kisses are still gentle, but they're closer now. Closer to where you want him. To where he wants to be.
“So beautiful.” He murmurs, finally pressing a kiss to your clothed heat. A delicate kiss, yet it made you squirm. God, this man is the devil.
“Please…” You sigh, not even realizing that you said it.
“Whatever you want.” He hooks a finger around your underwear, dragging the lavender cloth down your legs slowly. He makes sure to actually take them off, and not let them pool around your ankles, and then spreads your legs just a bit. “Are you sure?”
You nod. “I’m sure.”
That's all he needed before he put his mouth on you. Soft kisses that drive you crazy, hands grasping the duvet and teeth biting your lip. The pace is brutally slow, testing the waters. But he speeds up a bit. One hand under your leg, pulling you closer, the other on your clit, making slow circles as he eats you out.
If you thought he kissed you like a man starved, then you would be surprised at how he is once he truly tastes you. Hands grip you tightly, moving faster and faster as his tongue makes you cry out. He laps at your folds, tongue going in and out of you on occasion. You close your legs around his head, and he groans like you just gave him dessert.
You’re so close, you can feel it. And he can too. But he pulls away at the last moment, wiping at his mouth.
Sunghoon takes a moment to admire you. Naked from the waist down, a simple bra covering you. You’re panting, desperate to reach the orgasm that was cruelly ripped away from you by the man who almost gave you it.
You give him a look, and he gives you one back. “I’ll eat you out as many times as you want later, but right now I just wanna fuck you.”
“I’m on the pill.” You say.
He closes his eyes for a moment. “Is that enough for you? Cause I’ll go get condoms—”
“It’s enough.” You interrupt him, hand on the buckle of his jeans, slowly unworking it. You don’t think you’ve ever wanted something more than you want him right now. Maybe that’s insane to say, but you don’t care. Not when the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen is about to fuck you.
The two of you waste no time in taking off his jeans, and then his boxers. He also makes sure to take your bra off too.
You aren’t new to sex. It’s a very straightforward process. But sex with Sunghoon seems different. There's nothing wrong with him, it's just the fact you’ve known him for so long and he’s your best friend, and what if this ruins things?
“Hey.” He says, snapping you out of the trainwreck that is your thoughts. “Are you 100% sure? If you say no then I’ll stop, I promise.”
“It’s not that,” You pause, avoiding eye contact with him and his naked lower half. “I just don’t want this to ruin things.”
His hand goes to your waist, gentle and comforting. “This won’t ruin anything. I’ll still be in love with you after this, probably even more than I am right now.”
You think for a second before nodding. “Okay.”
“You still want this?”
“Yes, Sunghoon.” You say with a faux-annoyed face.
He gives you the most genuine smile as he presses his tip against you. The feeling sends a shock straight to your core, and you’ve never wanted anything more than you do right now. He rubs his tip up and down your folds, letting the pre-cum mix with the wetness that was pooling out of you.
“I’ll go slow, okay?” Sunghoon pushes in slowly, true to his word. You wince, but not in pain. In pleasure. You’re completely engulfing his tip, and he’s looking at it like it’s the Mona Lisa. “Jesus Christ." His voice is low, gravely, and possibly the sexiest thing you’ve ever heard.
He continues to push, letting your pussy swallow him whole. When he’s finally in, he looks at you first to make sure you’re ready and that you’re still okay. It’s sweet, but you aren’t in the mood for sweet.
And somehow, he hears you loud and clear. He pulls back almost all the way, until it’s just the tip again, and slams into you.
It has you gasping for air, grabbing the blanket, the pillow, him. He keeps up the pace. Brutal, yet slow. A harsh slam in, a slow drag out. It’s simultaneously too much and not enough.
“Sunghoon…” You whine.
“You want more?”
You nod, and he obliges immediately, snapping his hips into yours faster. You're moaning and writhing underneath him but he doesn’t stop. After all, this is what you wanted.
It smells of sex, and the only sound you can hear is skin slapping, your whines, and his little groans. Back and forth and back and forth, it’s too much.
You can feel a pool in your core tightening, and in a moment of pure lust you wrap your legs around him and pull him closer. “You’re fucking evil.” He almost growls, going faster if that was even possible.
Sunghoon’s as desperate as you are, slamming his hips into yours with strength and precision of a man who worked for this his entire life. You can barely form words, just moans as he goes in and out of you.
You tighten around him and he whines, and it’s the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard. But you don’t get a chance to focus on that.
“I know honey, I know. Me too, sweet girl.”
His hips stutter, but he’s back on track, fucking you the way you deserve after weeks of psychological torture and cold showers on his part. He’s dreamed of this more times than you could imagine. But this is better than any dream of his. Because you’re under him, eyes shut in pleasure as he fucks the shit out of you the way he’s wanted for so long.
“I’m close.” You manage, hands grabbing on his biceps.
He speeds up. “You wanna cum?” You nod, a tear falling out of your eye from how good everything feels. As he drags himself in and out of you, a hand falls to your clit, rubbing fast circles. You let out a loud moan, only enticing him to keep going. “Come on honey, cum with me.”
He plays with your folds for a few more seconds before your hips buck without warning, teeth digging into your bottom lip as you come undone over his dick. Your legs shake around his abdomen, and you let out a silent cry.
“Good girl. I’m so close okay? Where do you want me?” He asks, slowing down just a bit.
You’re still reeling from your orgasm and the fact he’s still fucking you. “Anywhere.”
He places both of his hands around you, caging you in as he pounds into you with no remorse, desperate for a release. He can feel you clenching around him, and that’s what sends him over the edge.
“Fuck!” His hips stutter for the final time, pressing into you fully. His head drops down, almost heavy from the week long torture. As he cums in you, his head drops down, almost heavy. You both don’t move for a bit, just staying still
It’s quiet. The only sound being breathing coming from the both of you.
“Did it ruin it?” He asks, breathlessly with a smirk.
“Fuck off!” You reply, lightly slapping his chest.
It was that very moment where you realized you couldn’t hear his thoughts anymore. You would miss the frantic array of thoughts that would show up when you did something miniscule to him, but you weren’t upset. This just meant he finally said all that he needed to say.
SYNOPSIS ⋮ weeks after your breakup, yang jungwon’s desperate to have you in his arms (and on his dick) again!
PAIRING ⋮ ex boyfriend!jungwon x fem!reader.
CONTENT WARNINGS ⋮ 18+ smut. mdni. piv. unprotected sex. breeding kink. possessive!won. he’s mean, jealous, and also a liiil toxic whoops! fingering. he uses his teeth to undress u. rough sex. kissing, lots of saliva and bodily fluid talk !!! Sorry!!!!
AN ⋮ something’s possessed me to write this filth… i don’t know what it is but jungwon is the apple of it’s eye!!! SAVE ME!!!! also ty vee @jungwonslover my proofreader + number 1 jw fan yawp yawp yawp.
PLAYING ♫ ⋮ HOUSE OF CARDS — BTS, COMING DOWN — THE WEEKND.
REBLOGS APPRECIATED. THANK YOU FOR READING <3
YOU AND YANG JUNGWON WERE ENDGAME.
If there was anything that high school proved, if not the fact that most of your friends were two-faced snakes—it was that he and you were meant for forever.
You can guess that's part of the reason why he's knocking at your door again, flowers in his left hand and his phone in his right. He's drenched in depressing October rain, wearing that ridiculously adorable pout on his face.
Obviously. He knows you, and he knows how fast you drop to your knees when you see those lips curl downwards. It’s exactly why you’re holding onto the sides of your sweater, if only to stop yourself from turning that doorknob.
“I know you’re home, Y/N. Your lights are on.”
His voice is muffled through the thin wood. You take another peek through the tiny hole of your front door—his under-eyes airbrushed with a faint red, the tip of his nose all the same.
The hallway behind him stretches wide, empty, dim with decorated with wet footprints on it’s tiles. Jungwon stands in the middle of the corridor like he owns it, as if your next-door neighbours couldn’t take a step out and catch him here, sopping wet and holding flowers like this was a romantic comedy.
It looks like he’s not leaving anytime soon.
"You shouldn't have come." You respond. His ears perk up, head tilting towards the peephole. As if he can hear the hesitation behind your voice. The hurt on his face is impossible to miss. If only you weren't fresh out of the relationship, it'd make you laugh.
“Then why aren’t you telling me to leave?” He asks, teeth nibbling at his bottom lip at an attempt to soothe his anxiety.
A water droplet rolls down his temple, to his chin, and then drips onto his already soaked t-shirt.
“I just did,” you say. “Go away.”
Yang Jungwon was always terribly persistent when it came to you. Back in college, there were days where he’d lose all sense of responsibility and ditch his much needed study hours just to see his beloved girlfriend—it’s all sunshine and rainbows when he has you laid up in his sheets, no weight on his shoulders when he has your body pressed against his.
And perhaps this spoiled you. As ill-prepared as you were, you knew that Yang Jungwon taking up a job that required him to travel half across the world, multiple times a month, would do something to your relationship.
So, when employment rolls around and you’re finally split apart by your very different job scopes—the schedules, the time, the busyness of it all… it was only a matter of inevitability.
The silence used to be comfortable. It used to be the ones where your limbs could tangle together and kisses felt more lazy than anything else. Now, it’s just stretched thin over bad cell service, laggy FaceTimes and horribly mismatched timezones.
“Y/N,” he’s pleading now. The ceiling light of the sterile corridor outside is reflecting off his eyes, all glassy and persuasive. There’s also something uniquely dangerous about how he chose to wear a white tee under his leather jacket. “Please. I’m begging you, I just want to talk.”
He will not get you. You will not let him in, and you will stand firm on that.
“Please, baby. Let me see you.”
Fuck.
You take a step back from the door for a few seconds. This didn’t require a lot of thinking, apparently, because your mouth soon opened before you could even make your way back to the door.
“What do you want to talk about?”
You tiptoe to get a better, clearer view of Jungwon’s face in the glass. The arm that holds the flowers is now at his side—you can see the way his shirt clings onto his chest like this, peeking through the leather. A brief thought flashes in your mind, one that says ‘he must be freezing’, and to let him inside. You almost do.
Jungwon scrunches his nose, his free hand coming to wipe at it before he clears his throat and speaks up. “It’s been days, Y/N. You haven’t returned any of my calls, my texts. I’ve been worried.”
“Is that so? I’m fine, as you can hear from my voice. Now go home, it’s cold.”
“You don’t sound fine. Please, Y/N. I don’t want us to fight anymore.”
You let a scoff slip. “You don’t look fine, either. Even.”
Your response earns the faintest huff from him—it would’ve been a laugh in any other context, but now, his head just dips, shoulders slumping a fraction as rainwater continues to drip from his hair, sliding down in uneven trails.
“Can you just open the door?” Jungwon asks, eyebrows knitting together. “I’m not here to fight.”
He looks like a puppy that’s just been kicked to the curb. There’s a look in his eye that’s the equivalent of someone getting on their knees and practically begging, and you’re half convinced that Yang Jungwon might do just that.
He definitely would, wouldn’t he?
“Jungwon,” and for some reason—your left hand is on that doorknob. Despite already resolving that you wouldn’t let him inside your home. “I don’t want to fight, either. That’s why I want you to go away.”
“Do you still love me?”
Your voice barely reached him. “Jungwon—“
“Please.”
And perhaps that's why your friends describe you as the one to die first in a horror movie, or the last to have a spine, or simply the one who can't quite loosen her grip on a love she's carried for far too long.
The door pulls towards you, slowly, not without that signature creak and soft thud against your already-chipped wall.
Yang Jungwon stands before you, towering, drenched but significantly drier than thirty minutes ago when he was first begun loitering outside your door. His hair sticks in wet clumps to his forehead, temples, anywhere that’s too long.
The faint tremor in his body makes you want to pull him inside. Wrapping a towel around him to let him dry and sending him off would probably be a very good idea—there’s nothing between you now, no girlfriend-y duties to fulfil other than making sure he doesn’t freeze to death, though you’re sure that anyone (girlfriend or not) would do the same.
Jungwon’s eyes widen when he finally sees you. You’re leaning against the door like you’re expecting him to walk inside, and he does—though he keeps his head low and his shoulders squared as it happens.
“I’ll get a towel for you. Give me a minute.” You manage, back facing him. When you finally shut the door, your body turns back around, only to watch him standing in the middle of your living room like he has no clue where to go.
“Okay.”
His voice comes out quieter than you expect—like the gloomy cold has taken it’s place in his chest. Up close, it’s worse. Or better. You’re not very sure.
You can see everything now, without the distortion of glass or distance to soften it—the way the rain has dragged his hair down into uneven, damp strands against his soft skin. A few pieces curl slightly at the ends, darker than normal, dripping slow, accidental droplets that trace down the side of his face.
One of them slips along the sharp line of his jaw. Your eyes can’t help but to follow obediently.
It disappears beneath the collar of his shirt—if it can even be called that right now. It’s barely even visible with the white fabric being completely soaked through, plastered to him like a second skin.
It’s clinging to the planes of his chest—the faint definition beneath is dizzying, the steady rise and fall of his breathing being the only thing you can zero in on. It leaves very little to imagination, and you hate how quickly your gaze has to flick back up to his face like you’ve been caught doing something you shouldn’t.
It’s most probably because it isn’t. Reminder that you should not be staring at your ex-boyfriend’s chest like he’s still yourboyfriend.
“You were going to get me a towel,” the corner of his lips twitches into a smile. “What happened to that?”
You swallow, pushing yourself off the door a little too quickly. Jungwon’s lips are pursed together, a faint blush painted across his cheeks, and he’s staring at you like he knows he’s got you.
“You’ll be fine,” you force a mocking smile and all Jungwon can do is let out a chuckle—you’re making your way towards the kitchen, his eyes following your figure as it moves further away from his.
You make your way into the kitchen with purpose that feels rehearsed now, with a mind that’s anything but steady. Yang Jungwon hasn’t been in your home in weeks, and you’ve begun to accept the fact that he might become a stranger to this place altogether. There’s still traces of him—in the bathroom, in your bed, on your study desk. The photos of your first trip together are still framed in the hallway, too.
The overhead light flicks on, too bright and exposing when Jungwon’s still staring into you. For a second, you busy yourself with nothing—hands hovering over the counter, opening a cabinet you didn’t need to open, closing it again just as fast.
Behind you, you can feel him. You don’t have to look to know his eyes never left you.
There’s a faint sound of movement—his shoes sliding against the floor, quieter now that they’re no longer dripping as much. He doesn’t follow immediately, though. He lingers, like he’s taking in the space, re-familiarising himself with something he still knows by heart.
By the time you reach for the glass, your fingers are already shaking.
It’s right where it always is—second shelf, slightly to the left—but you still fumble with it, knocking it lightly against the others before pulling it free. The sound is small, but in the quiet, it feels like the only thing you want to focus on.
You set it down on the counter, reaching for the water dispenser until—
“Still in the same place,” Jungwon says from behind you. “You kept it. My cat mug.”
The smell of rain is penetrates your nose almost instantaneously. “I kept most things.”
You can guess what he looks like this close, if you were to turn around right now. Dripping, cold, clothes still sticking to him like half an hour in the warmth did him no favours. His swollen eyes, flushed face, and lips that say ‘please’ like they know exactly what it does to you.
Your grip tightens around the mug. You click on the warm water option, and the dispenser starts heating almost instantly. A soft mechanical hum fills the silence before the first trickle hits ceramic.
Steam curls up from the mug in thin, wavering ribbons, dissolving into the air before it can settle anywhere. You don’t move to pick it up. Your hand stays there, resting against the counter, fingers still slightly curled from how tightly you were holding on a second ago.
“I didn’t think you would.”
You keep your eyes on the mug. “It’s a mug, Jungwon. Not that serious.”
The water stops abruptly. Steam curls above it, fading into the air. You leave it there.
“Y/N L/N.”
When you turn around, Jungwon’s leaning against the counter behind you. Close enough for you to see the outline of his abdomen through the fabric of his tee, but far enough not to her the chatter of his teeth and the shiver of his breathing. You still have to tilt your head to meet his eyes properly.
“What?” you ask, but it comes out flatter than you intend, like you’re trying to hold something back from your own voice.
It’s only after a painfully long minute of forcing yourself to look him in the eye, does he speak.
“I miss you.”
The arrangement of flowers are somewhere on the coffee table. His jacket must be hanging somewhere on the coat hanger, though, the wet fabric of his shirt refuses to let your attention stray anywhere else to confirm.
Right now, Yang Jungwon’s stood in front of you, hands flexing at his sides like he doesn’t quite know what to do with them. You’re standing only one foot apart, your back pressed against the cold edge of your kitchen counter as his on the island—the cup of water stands stagnant behind you, waiting to be picked up.
The space between you feels thinner than it did seconds ago. Warmer, too. Charged in a way that makes your pulse pick up, where your body is suddenly too aware of every inch of distance left between the two of you, and also is desperately yearning to close it.
It would be nice to smell his cologne after weeks of trying to forget it. Every time you thought you did, it would waft around your apartment like a little ghost.
“Won—“
Up close, everything about him feels amplified. The damp fabric of his shirt has started to dry unevenly, clinging in some places, loosening in others, but still outlining him in a way that makes it hard not to notice. The subtle definition beneath, the steady expansion of his chest with each breath, the way his shoulders remain just slightly tense like he’s holding himself back from closing the rest of the distance all at once.
You know he wants to. There’s that half of you that wishes he just would.
“Please,” Jungwon murmurs. “Tell me you miss me too.”
His right arm reaches out—you don’t stop it. His thumb brushes the side of your hip, and you don’t stop it either. You don’t even think about pulling yourself away from the feeling of him on you again.
Jungwon knows what he’s doing.
His other arm follows suite, before they wrap around your waist completely—his large hands always had no issues doing this, pulling you in without any real effort—or perhaps you were always just drawn to him, like a magnet, unable to ever really stay away.
He exhales softly as he feels your warm body press against him. The sound brushes against your skin, and it reminds you of how wrong yet right this feels; your arms do what they’ve always known, wrapping around his torso like pushing him away was never an option.
He’s cold, and still, you melt anyway.
“You shouldn’t have come.”
“You’ve already said that.”
His large hands are splayed across your back—his calloused fingertips from the dedication to the gym, his larger-than-before shoulders that stretch across your smaller frame—it’s just as overwhelming as the first day you met.
Your warmth hits him like a wave, and for a moment, his hands freeze. Your fingers come up to the blades of his shoulders, running against the tiny dips and rises of his muscles; tonight feels like anything but reality, and instead, it’s two months ago when things were still fine and Jungwon was still yours.
He swears he still is, and you try to forget it. Too much time apart does things to you that you’d rather shove down and erase completely—but when your ex-lover is cold, shivering, clinging to your body like it’s the only heat that could get his blood moving—it bubbles right back up. It simmers, boils over and spills.
“You’re freezing, Won,” you mumble, “I really think you should—“
And maybe you have familiarity to blame, or comfort or naivety, because you lean into Yang Jungwon’s touch just as easily as you pushed it away. His hands are coming up your waist, stopping right at your neck—and what else can you do in this moment other than stare into those big, pretty irises of his?
Jungwon’s hand settles firmly at the side of your neck, his palm warm despite the lingering chill in his skin. His fingers curve just enough for you to feel the faint pressure when you swallow, your pulse fluttering wildly beneath his touch—and the moment he realises your breath is shaking, the glint in his eye makes you shiver.
His thumb drags slowly along the line of your jaw, then back again, slow, like he’s retracing something long committed to memory.
“Talk to me,” he whispers, breath ghosting against your lips as your foreheads touch. “Please, Y/N. Don’t shut me out again.”
Your lips part, but nothing comes out.
For a moment, all you can focus on is how close he is—the warmth of his breath, the way his hand holds you just firmly enough to keep you there, the faint tension in his fingers like he’s bracing for you to pull away.
There’s nothing except for the low hum of the city, and your hearts echoing in tandem as his body presses closer against yours. The rain is merciless tonight, unrelenting, pounding against the glass doors of your balcony like it wanted to be let inside—for now, the warm yellow of your hallway lamp bathes you and Jungwon in that comfortable hue, a stark contrast to the blue cold outside.
His hands feel frozen against your skin.
“You’re always leaving, Jungwon,” you mutter, refusing to meet his eyes despite the distance. “Even when you’re in front of me, you’re gone. I never have all of you.”
He swallows thickly, eyes still locked on yours. Your irises peek through your lashes, blinking slowly up at his.
Your breath catches in your throat. This is the part where you fall to your knees for Yang Jungwon—the part which you tried endlessly to avoid up until today. It’s when the line between logic and everything else blurs, and all you can see is him.
“I’m sorry, Y/N.” Jungwon mutters, thumb caressing the patch of skin under your jawline. You lean into it like it means something. “We’ll talk about this. I can’t lose you—“
“Jungwon,” you interrupt, your touch firm over his knuckles, offering little resistance to the way he holds your jaw like this was all normal. “What good would it do us?”
He doesn’t respond immediately.
His hand stills under yours, your fingers resting over his knuckles as if you could stop him, or maybe stop yourself. His gaze doesn’t leave your face, not even when you’re actively avoiding his.
There’s something in his expression now—more careful than before, fully aware of the fact that you’re no longer his. You could really kick his ass out if you wanted to.
He’s thinking carefully for once. Instead of just reaching for you, the way he always does.
“If it doesn’t…” he starts, voice lower, rougher than before, “if it doesn’t fix anything—”
He exhales softly, the sound brushing your lips again, closer; his thumb shifts under your jaw, tilting your face up just enough that running from him becomes impossible—it’s not like you’ve been putting in much effort to do that, anyway.
“Then let me have you like this,” he finishes. “One last time.”
His nose bumps against yours in that old, messy fashion that you’ve never nailed. Kissing Jungwon always involves not knowing how fast, how deep to go, because it always ends up in something more intimate than it starts out. For the first thirty seconds, your ex lover lets himself feel—feel what he’s lost for weeks, reminding, retracing.
Forty seconds, and he has his hands wandering all over your warm body like they have no idea where to stay.
Fifty, and they’re running down your back and slipping under that thin, too-tight baby tee that you always wear to bed—fifty-six, and his tongue is somewhere tangled with yours.
“S-shit—you taste so fucking sweet.” he mumbles against your lips before letting you press your body further against his—there’s multiple sirens going off in your head by this point, in which you deliberately ignore, as one does when they have someone like him against them.
Jungwon’s a mess by the time your legs hook around his waist. His hands do the work, looping around your thighs and lifting you up with no real effort: just a small huff from all your weight pressing against his chest, and a (very pathetic) moan that strangles itself out of his throat when you grind against his crotch.
“You missed me?” He smiles against your lips, and it’s an understatement when you say he’s just hungry for you. Doesn’t even give you an opportunity to answer, instead, going for the exposed patch of skin on your neck, laying so beautifully for him.
“W-Won,” you whimper when he sets you on top of your cold, sterile kitchen island—there were months prior to this where you made pasta together on this same surface. “Please—“
“It’s okay,” he says. “I got you.”
It’s not like you’ve never had sex before.
It’s just… you don’t really have sex with ex- boyfriends. Normally. Even so, given that fact, it doesn’t stop you from rutting against Yang Jungwon like your life depends on it, nor does it stop him from undoing the drawstring of your shorts and pulling it riiight down.
“See,” he kisses his teeth, a cocky smile growing on his face—it sends blood right up to your face, watching him watch you, feeling him feel his way into your panties. “All that talk about pushing me away. So pointless.”
His hand slips beneath the band, thick fingers running down your slit, between your folds before coming back up and applying that sickening pressure to your clit. “She miss me, too?”
You’re soaked through by the time Yang Jungwon gets his middle finger at your entrance—teasing, letting only the tip graze your insides. Your jaw’s locked, hung open from trying to draw even breaths into your lungs. “Wooonnn… please. Don’t fucking tease—“
“Aw,” he pouts, eyes flicking back down to where his large hand stretches the fabric of your panties thin. He’s refused to slip them off. Soaking the back of his hand in slick, he wonders—if only for a moment—how it would feel if it was his cock instead. “Don’t get needy on me now.”
You gasp when he pushes past that tight ring of muscle—his finger swallowed whole by your dripping cunt. It curls almost instinctively, intensively, because what kind of man would Yang Jungwon be if he didn’t memorise this?
“Right here,” he mumbles, head hanging low, observing the way the slippery slide of your walls let him pump his fingers so effortlessly. “Feels good, baby? Wanna tell me how much you missed it?”
“Shut.. s-shut up, fuck—“
You choke on a moan—your body’s going into a lock. From sitting upright on your elbows to back arching off the marble, your head’s thrown back when Jungwon adds another finger ‘just for fun’.
His middle and ring finger curl inside of you. The squelching sounds is too much to bear; heat is crawling up your neck like it wants you to drown in it, and as a response, your hands come up to hide the humiliation written all over your face.
“Getting shy on me?” Jungwon mutters, before his free hand darts to pry your wrists away from your cheeks. His fingertips are brushing against that spongy, tingly bundle of nerves inside your core—everything in the room seems reduced to the electrifying feeling that’s buzzing inside your veins, surging, making your head spin.
“Yeah,” his stupidly long fingers are starting to make you see a new universe now, “forgot how fast you cum on my fingers. So cute.”
“F-fuckfuckfuck,” you squeal—your body feels like it’s locking up. The only thing your mind lets you repeat over and over is Jungwon, Jungwon, Jungwon; Jungwon in that shirt that’s still wet, Jungwon that knows your body so well, Jungwon that’s making sure you cum on his fingers or face at least once before he does anything with himself.
You see it in the way his cock presses against the edge of the counter, and the pained expression on his face like he’s just about ready to come undone. It’s always like that with him, always ready to give you everything he can offer if it meant you felt good.
“Fuck, almost forgot how pretty you look like this,” Jungwon mutters under his breath, though you barely catch it with the angels singing in your ears. Your head thighs are spread shamelessly on the cold marble, juices dripping down your inner thigh and spilling over onto the shiny surface—in his eyes, it almost glistens. “Always so damn nasty for me. Look at you.”
The remark would’ve been embarrassing in any other context. It’s too bad that Yang Jungwon knows exactly how to push your buttons, knows precisely what words to spit out of that nasty mouth to get you salivating. It’s dehumanising, really. Animalistic, the way he has your mind reduced to just slush—and though he can get soooo mean, it just doesn’t matter when it gets you cumming all over his fingers by the end of the night.
Most of the night is spent in a haze. Your vision is blurry, but you most definitely remember some parts in passing. You remember sliding down to your knees and almost choking on how big Jungwon was, and how he made you sit on his face by the second hour—though, to be fair, that was a prerequisite.
You definitely remember how he peeled his shirt off, and how he picked you up again like you were nothing, and how he tossed you onto the bed like it didn’t physically hurt to be apart from him for that split second.
You remember how he laughed at you, only to lean in close and press a searing kiss to the exposed skin of your neck—trailing down, wet and hot, until his teeth could pinch the hem of your soaked panties.
You remember how he pulled them off, sliding them down your legs with nothing but a sinful smirk, pink lace caught between his pearly whites like it didn’t get your stomach churning all over again; pupils blown, face flushed red, heart beating in a frenzy when he uses his tongue to drop them onto the floor.
And you can’t, and will never forget the way he’s spreading your reddened thighs with his palms, fucking into you like this is truly the last time he’ll ever see your face.
Every thrust of his hips against yours knocks the wind out of your lungs. You feel him so impossibly deep that your throat feels clogged—the stretch makes your mind go numb, and God, how could you forget how big Yang Jungwon is when he’s bruising your poor cunt like this?
“Good fucking girl,” and his lips are pressed up against yours like it has nowhere else to go. “Made for me, I swear—so fucking perfect.”
His length pumps in and out of you with no real effort, all sloppy and squelching like there wasn’t anyone else in this neighbourhood to be considerate of. The backboard’s hitting the wall, chipping at the paint, and for a brief moment you let yourself roll your eyes at the thought of painting it over—just when you thought you’d never have to again.
“F-fuhhh…” you drawl, hands coming up around his neck at some attempt at stabilizing yourself. Every hit has your toes curling and your body rocking, nails digging into the flesh of his clean, well-sculpted back. “S-shit, Jungwon—feels so deep—“
“Yeah?” he laughs, low and short-lived before he feels you squeeezing on him. “Fuck, you’re so cute. Acting like you haven’t taken me everywhere in this apartment.”
You’re close to tears by this point. Your fingers tangle in his dark hair, now soaked in sweat instead of rain, and it should disgust you—it should be revolting, the way most people’s bodily fluids are, but you’re laid here anyway— glossy lips sucking on his neck, where you know he’s most sensitive, taking in his scent like it’s all you’ll ever know.
He smells so fucking good when he’s fucking you like it’s his life’s purpose.
You feel his pulse under your tongue. You also feel the way his cock is swelling up in your walls, taking up more and more and more of you, until you’re gasping for air and his pace is almost fucking frantic. Jungwon feels like he’s losing himself in you.
“See,” he moans, breath all hot and loud, leaning right into your ear like it isn’t the most filthy thing he’s done. “You’ll always belong to me.”
And as your friends would say*: you did this to yourself*. The desperate nods come as soon as the last word leaves his lips—your ears pick up on every grunt and huff from him, his big arms caging you in once again as you’re trying to recollect your thoughts. Everything’s too much, the room smells like sex and sin and everything you’ve resolved to stay away from, with the man you love right in the centre of it all.
“J-Jungwon, fuck, I can’t,” you gasp when you feel your throbbing clit dragging against his length, impossibly hard and aching for more of you. “We can’t do this—“
“Shhh,” and his hands are so, so gentle when they come up to caress your tear-stained cheeks. You’re sniffling like this isn’t the best high you’ve experienced in your life—you just lean into his touch, pathetic, staring into his pseudo-soft expression as if it had any real concern. “Yes, you can—and you will.”
Jungwon feels you clamp down on him just then, jaw going slack at just how heavenly your pussy feels. It’s criminal that he’s almost forgotten it, forgotten how well you take him, how good and pliant you get when he’s splitting you open—how you welcome him inside every time, despite all your little pleas and stubbornness.
He knows how to get to you. Yang Jungwon knows that nobody will ever fuck you like how he does, and that every man that comes after will have to remember that you belong to him before anyone else. They’ll have to remember that you get all shy when he whispers in your ear, or that you can cum just from his middle finger alone.
Everyone will know. They don’t have a choice.
“Fuuuck,” he rasps, nose bumping into your jaw as he breathes you in. You smell so much like him that he’s beginning to lose his very little composure remaining. “Gonna cum, Y/N—shit, I’m gonna cum—“
“Hngh, ‘m close too,” your arms find themselves tightening around him, desperately searching for something to hold onto. His muscles are flexing with every desperate rut, every frantic roll of his hips, and God, he’d be a liar if he said he wasn’t going dumb at the idea of filling you up. You’d be all warm inside, his cock plugging you closed as he empties himself into your battered cunt, and you’d take every single drop of it like it was what you’ve always meant to do.
“God, I love you so much,” he whispers, and though it makes your eyes shoot open, you find yourself muttering the same phrase back to him. There’s something sweet in the way he leans in close, just to give you a tender kiss, and then the room flips upside down when his tongue is sliding at your bottom lip again; soon enough, he gets messy, and you’re moaning into each other like you’re the only two people on this street.
“Always mine, mineminemine,” Jungwon huffs. “Don’t ever forget it, mm? You belong to me.”
It crashes into you. Blinding, deafening, like something in you just exploded after the pressure’s built up for months.
You’re soaking him shamelessly, hot and dizzying—Jungwon’s moans sound like they’ve been clipped straight from a porno, disgustingly loud, and still: it makes your orgasm shake. Electricity is buzzing through you, and just what does your ex know to do when you’re crumbling like this?
Go deeper.
“Fuckfuckfuck—w-wait, Jungwon!”
Your pleas mean nothing. He’s being selfish, and he knows it. He doesn’t care if it’s too much, he doesn’t care if you’re crying because he’s too big, he doesn’t care if you’re going to cum on his cock for the fifth time in an hour.
Oh, and he definitely doesn’t care that you’re not together anymore. That’s never stopped him, has it?
“Shit,” his hips snap into you, ruthless, unforgiving, bruising your cervix like it’s personally wronged him. “Wanna get back together, mm?”
ᨒ ོ ☼ ── WHAT IS IT LIKE, TO BE LIKED? ⋆ SIM JAEYUN。
⋮ ⌗ ┆概要 ⨾ a trip to the mountains with your boyfriend entails a lot more than bargained for as a pit-stop for petrol chances you upon a fortune reader. a lady who reads you tales of great prosperity and a satifying weekend ahead.
沈载伦 𝔁 𝒻 .ᐟ读者 ── 12.6k
explicit content ⋆ smut (mdni)、(condenscending) dom!jake、sub!reader、established relationship、degradation/humiliation、alcohol consumption、oral (f. rec)、face sitting、unprotected sex (don't do this)、creampie、breeding kink、dacryphila、praise kink、cum swallowing (m. & f.)、tit job、hair pulling、marking、breathplay、panties used as a gag、multiple orgasms、squirting、 overstimulation (f. rec)、spit kink、hints of a pain kink (pussy smacking)、mirror sex、exhibitionism、(brief) panty fucking、(brief) cockwarming、(brief) nipple play、doggy & lotus position、petnamed used: baby、bunny、love、pillow princess、pretty、sweet girl、sweetheart.⌇ℳ.list
⋮ ⌗ ┆便条 ⨾ this...😭 i can't even begin to express how much sanity and dignity i lost writing this. what started off as friendly conversation became this hot, flaming pile of filth 🙏🏾 i at least hope through this, some enjoyment is found and that i can find the marbles i lost....jake, you got me after this icl 😭 special thanks to my ari for sprinting with me and making sure this got done! 😭 writing is always better alongside you :3 comments are always appreciated, much loveeeee! <333
"You have nothing to worry about, the promotion is yours."
What should be assuring words from your boyfriend, do little in dismissing the ongoing doubt burrowed in your chest.
Objectively speaking, he's right. You, a corporate slave, who for the most part shuts up and does their work, should be a shoe-in for the latest high-up position in your glassed office. You're friendly enough for colleague early morning smiles, firm enough to stick up for sheepish juniors, who thank you with pastries from your city's finest. You're dilligent and a force to be reckoned with, perfectly capable and deserving of the stepping stone in your endless ambition.
But the promotion isn't just offered to you. Instead it's proposed as 'healthy competition' between you and the worst human alive.
Some self-entitled, rich prick who if he couldn't have any more wrong with him, is a raging misogynist. With a knack for charading and flaunting generational wealth, Hajoon easily bypasses barriers the rest of your colleagues were sanctioned to through hardwork and ungodly overtime hours. Everyone is beneath him, especially you as every win he earns (buys) is directed at you, through piano key veeners and his 'improved' hairline.
He also loves to ass-kiss, disgused as niceness as he invites your boss to the life he dreams of: exclusive golf tours, high-end dinner reservations ─ all for the sake of discussing 'business.' It's a flimsy excuse, seen when your boss at least has the decency to be embarrased about. Yet, it doesn't stop him for pitting you together in a race that's already set.
"Let's hope Hajoon doesn't take him to the masters," you scroll through your song library, swiping indiscriminately. "There's only so much prestige I can offer."
"Your work speaks for itself, pretty," Jake chances a glance at you, comfort moulded in his lips. "You mopped the floor with him in that last presentation. It's yours,"
"Besides," he starts, country road stretching past the dust-speckled windshield. "If your boss is so horribly mistaken to choose him, I'd personally bake them a shit pie for their troubles."
You smile despite yourself, a snicker from him triggering yours as their shared volume overrides the murmured engine roar.
"You're right. About the shit-eating too but," you chuckle, phone dropped into your lap to peer through the window, watching the rustic landscape pass you by. "Things have been so hectic and I think I've placed a lot importance on this than what's good for me."
"It's good to be driven, love. It's one of your many best traits," just briefly, your eyes catch, the tenderness in his enough to turn your head away. "But this is what this weekend is about. A step back to center yourself, because regardless of what happens, you deserve to put yourself first."
He changes gears, movement second-nature beforer his hand overlaps your thigh, broadly splayed over your jeans with rosy-knuckles and firm grip. Stable, like you've always known him to be.
Your hand folds over his, a squeeze given to extend your gratitude where words fail. But he knows, knows you in all the pieces given through the six months you've known each other.
He says this trip to the mountains is a celebration of the milestone, but you know better. You're well aware he's seen you at your most exhausted, still showing up for him and others because contrary to cynic's beliefs, your loved ones come first. He's seen the frustation sear the white of your knuckles, jaw clinched at Hajoon's insults, a loser you don't dignify with a response, letting your work speak for itself. And through it all, he shows up for you. Constantly, but especially now.
The soft smile on your face doesn't waver as the car eats away at miles travelled, nearing halfway through your journey as Jake pulls into a rest-stop. Humble in size, the establishment offers a string of fast-food restaurants, petrol pumps and an old jungle gym with 'Unsafe. Do Not Enter' sign hanging off it. Before you're able to browse the convenience store to line your stomach, peaked neon lights capture your attention.
Tucked away on the outskirts of the property stands a store half the size of all others, a neon sign of the evil eye lending out a helping hand glowing in hues of violet and rouge. The windows line themselves in the same violet colour, drapes as the backdrop for meticulously placed crystals, tarot cards, singing bowls and the like. Your focus then falls to a poster plastered to the front door, adorned in gold stars over the graphic red curtain background.
Readings available. Learn your destiny here!
Something tugs at you, halts you in step to stare the store down, the lull of car passengers' dulling to nothing. You aren't a stranger to the occult, the centre of many readings your university friends' enticed you into, taking frequent trips with them to your town's crystal shop whilst running errands, only to leave with a set of your own. And when things got dark, you carried a blunt rose quartz in your bra in the hopes your dining hall crush would miraculously notice you. He did, but he wasn't your person for a whole host of reasons, reasons you never lowered your standards for ever again.
In any case, you are receptive. Open to any messages you feel aligned to and with the ticking seconds hinging on suspense, you give in.
"I'm gonna go check that store out," your thumb hikes over your shoulder, hand shielding the glare of afternoon sun. "I'll be back."
Jake's head lifts from the fuel filler neck, finding the store then your figure. He doesn't say anything, familar with your bedroom's shelf of collected crystals, incense and tarot cards, flashing you a small smile as he replies, "Take your time. I'll get us snacks."
You thank him in a wink, one sent. back to the affect of a spring in your step, wind blowing in your hair as you tug at the end of your sleeves, jitters alive and well.
The door chimes with your entrance, tranquill sounds of running water filling your ears as curiosity soaks up the shop's interior. Glass shelves lined with their bigger crystal collection: pendulums, palm stones and moldavite necklaces barricaded away. In the singular aisle waist-high is a long, dusted table with woven baskets, an assortment of smaller crystals grouped by purposes, labelled as such. Tiny string lights lace racks, an entanglement of feathered-dream catchers and veined greenery. The opposite wall, identical in decor, holds various tarot and oracle decks, all breath-taking alongside scrying tools taken straight from the Gothic age, marvelled at in quiet astonishment.
The high of getting away swindles your intentions of only getting a reading done, the mould of a rose-quartz cat, curled peacefully in sleep is craddled in your hand, never let go until you're at the till, clearing your throat for the clerk.
In their late teens, the midnight-haired clerk manages the entire interaction without a single look your way, sighing heavily when interrupted through her Kerrang! magazine flip-through. When everything's said and done, a similar feeing to pulling teeth gnaws as you ask for where the readings are done.
"Through the beads," she drawls, smacking her cherry bubblegum. She nodes behind her at the open doorway, behind the plexiglass countertop.
Fortunately, the counterspace doesn't dominate the entire space, leaving leeway for you to amble past. Her figure remains unmoved, only triggered as her chipped nail polished-fingers drag across a picture of Kellin Quinn, a sigh full of dreams echoed.
Nostalgia shapes your expression, hands separating an opening through the assortment of crystals stringed from the doorway's top frame, cuts of aquamarine, angel aura quartz and rhondonite welcoming you into the space. Notes of lavender breeze past as you step further into the sacred four walls, incense wafting in the sunlight peeking through high windows. Lush rugs and blankets fold over a nearby couch and display shelves, occult trinkets sprinkled around in a personal touch immediately relaxing you. What looks like serves as a breakroom, positions itself for readings with a lone table in its middle, short candles lit with decks spread across the constellation tablecloth.
The reader, mid-shuffle, deserts her cards at your presence, piled onto the edge of her table as she stands, tugging her turquoise shawol over her shoulders.
"Good, another traveler ─ welcome, welcome," the lady in her early fourties gestures to the vacant seat opposite her, clearing her table of dust as her infinite rings clinck together. She wears wisdom on her face, the warmth of her smile luring you in as your legs settle despite inital nerves, "Make yourself at home."
Complying, you seat quietly in the space too cosy to be disturbed, briefly scanning the room before her bracelets sound again.
"What kind of reading you looking for? I've lived long enough to give you options," she beams, rubbing her hands together. "Tarot spreads, astrology-based readings, face readings ─ whatever you're called to."
So, you pick. Called to the option you've never explored. "A face reading, please."
"You strike me more as the tarot type," she smirks, nifty hands shuffling her cat-themed deck like second nature. Which you suppose is embedded in her, her eyes never leaving yours as no card spills from the speedy movement, neatly packed away with a knock to the table. "Am I wrong?'
"Wait, let me guess ─" her eyes brim in elation, only cast aside inbrief ponder before a wrinkled index finger points your way. "Three of cups, that's your favourite card, right?"
The tattoo inked into your back heats at the chilling remark, an abrupt flush crawling up your neck as your figure seizes in fridigness. You're well aware to carry a healthy amount of suspicion going into this. Not giving away what the readers knows what you want to hear but with irrelevant your covered tattoo to the area of the reading, you can't help but blink. Wide-eyed and slowly, attempting a too-late cover-up when all the colour returns to your face.
"No need to be embarrassed. I've developed a talent for these things," she muses, pointed nails drumming into the table. "Certainly wouldn't make a living otherwise."
She chuckles, in a way that's reminscient of quiet Saturday afternoons on your aunty's back garden, swaying wherever the hammock took you as you sketched to the melodies of birds. She'd religiously keep her avain population feed through bulk-buys of the finest bird food, cracking piastachio nuts with her legs crossed as her eyes observed them, seeing the same freedom in their wings as she had, the only difference being when their bellies were full, they flocked away together while she remained alone. It's something you try not show on your face.
"You have a lot of moles," she observes, her expression void of sentiment. "Very telling for the kind of life you live,"
"It seems a bit lonely, your familal life," she notes, a blink all you muster to her truth. "Things were almost never stable financially, which you took upon yourself to manage along with everything else you did alone,"
A vacant house, parents working to make ends meet with the throat-stifle to make better of your home amounts to this, your youth saving pennies not for Barbie dolls but contributions to a microwave that warmed food twice as long. Summer and part-time jobs spent wistfully looking out windows at people your age, tanned and smiling from their boat days while the only Sun you ever see is on your breaks. A social life forgone with your head buried in books, affording yourself scholarship-funded education that when it comes time to toss your cap, you give your gown and sash to your parents for photos, their teary-eyes coupled with your wobbled smile.
"You're a smart and capable lady, destined to gain respect and nobility for those who see you for who you are. A lot of satisfaction awaits you," the reader's voice breaches your lazy mirage, watchful eyes grazing over your features. A knit sews her caramel eyebrows loosely, lines of her forehed speaking of the countless times she'd made the expression. "It's long overdue. A life spent living for others. You second guess your displays of affection because you think they don't suffice, but I see you. There's enough care given to loved ones that there's almost never the chance for them to think of paying the favour back,"
Aversion demands your eyes to direct elsewhere in the store ─ her Chinese lucky cat, arm waving to spread wealth and propserity, her snoozing black cat affectionately named Jiji on their back snoring to high heavens ─ anywhere to offload the impending feel of being seen. Plucked back through your onion-layers to the core where you lay.
"Some people depise that of you. Being so permanently in your lane and headstrong," you could roll your eyes, already pinpointing the association to Hajoon. "They may obstruct your path, but there's nothing that can come between destiny,"
Finally, a smile breaks out onto her face, chin in her palm. "There are others who adore you for those same traits and more. Have spent many moons counting their blessings your heart remains set on them."
A memory surfaces. A few, some flashes of late nights holding cherished friend's hands in yours as they recount their gratitude for your presence in their life, teary-eyed because you keep choosing them. Warmth blossoms in your chest, felt in the tips of your fingers interlocked in your lap. A memory lingers longer than the rest, three months exactly into seeing Jake where he tucks a stray hair behind your ear, slopes of his angular face bathed in moonlight while he looks at you like the stars above are in your eyes, saying:
"I want to continue choosing you," he speaks just above a whisper, not bothering with how bare he sounded. "If you'll let me."'
You gulp, hands running against the grain of your jeans.
"It's not going anywhere soon, the high on your horizon," she relays, drumming gel nails against her clear quartz palm stone. "Blessings will come in, fast and plentiful ─ think Ace of Cups and Eight of Wands,"
"In all aspects of your life," you don't miss the emphasis in her voice. How could you with the wink she does? "This is very inspiring. And a rightful change. I'm happy for you."
And she genuinely means it, smile mirroring that of a long-time friend, melting the ice freezing your rigid shoulders.
"Thank you. I really appreciate─"
Your words evaporate with the chimes of crystals together, head turning to see Jake's polite, beaming face. Brightness gleams in his eyes, fondness curving the edge of his smile at you before it falls behind you, teeth bared in a hint of awkwardness.
"Hi, sorry for interrupting. The clerk said I could come in," his eyes track back to yours. "Should I come back later?"
"No, we actually just finished," softness blends in your limbs at his presence, an outstretched hand instantly in his as he squeezes yours before you get the chance. He has the gall to wink your way like you don't have an audience, playfulness rolling your eyes right to your audience. "Thanks again for the reading. It was really insightful."
For the first time since you'd come through those same crystals, the reader lacks words. Her expression washes over in a quiet stint of merriment, lips parting with a gaze very much directed over your shoulder. At Jake who's a good sport about being oogled, closed mouth grin present while his thumb ghosts over your knuckles. The rise of your eyebrow cues her back to reality, a flush engulfing the timid bunch of her cheeks, abruptly standing to gesture your way out despite it being the same one you walked through.
"Yes, yes, of course. Come again if you ever happen upon our town," the words rush out of her a mile a minute, courteous chuckles huffing out yours and Jake's mouths. "I'm sure you've got all you're looking for though."
The rushed comment isn't missed either, lip bitten to only spill in the confinements of the car. The same sentiment's shared by Jake who casts you a quick glance, catching his laughter in a fist.
"I'll just make my payment at the front, if that's okay."
"Oh, don't worry about it," Jake interjects, pushing the bend of his lips down. "I already paid."
"Jake,"
"Give me an earful in the car," he jokes. "Better head out before it gets dark."
Well into the afternoon with the cabin still miles away, you lapse into agreement, brimming gratitude at the reader before you're following in Jake's footsteps out the doorway.
A call for your name turns your head, quiet enough for Jake's ears not to catch on as the crystal curtains close behind his figure, leaving you in the quiet hum of the reader's room, vibrational music nothing but a faint buzz.
She scurries over to you with alert eyes, stealing a look through her crystal curtains before her gaze centers back.
"I don't usually feel compelled to say these things. Especially since I can acknowledge such matters have the chance of making patrons…uncomfortable,"
You're bracing yourself to whatever may come from her mouth, something to be taken or pushed aside, curiousity getting the better of you as you lean into her hushed words.
"He was what I was talking about ─ satisfaction," she stresses, fingers pinched together. "He will make you very happy, as I'm sure you already know,"
"But," her eyes avert again, like you imagine yours did during the reading. She fiddles with the rings on her weathered fingers, metal circled around loose skin in an attempt to self-soothe. "There are other areas he will satisfy you,"
"He─his appetite," she says like she can't believe the words on her tongue. "Knows no end. His greed will take you places your mind cannot begin to conceptualize."
Your stance goes rigid, a silent part of suprise in your lips.
"I'm sorry, what?" you squint your eyes as if it'll help you hear better. "Are you…are you talking about─"
"Yes," she admits, colour rushing to her cheeks. "There are many things a face can encapsulate; we are mere pages in the book of our past, present and future. Values, destiny and personality ─ we wear our life's story on our face."
Your hands come up to drag against your cheeks, trying a grasp at comprehension.
"And his is a high sex drive…?" you utter the words slowly, unsure where the heartfelt sentiment's gone.
"He is insatible. Plays his part as doting, sweet boyfriend because those are qualities he truly posses," her throat bobs, eyes cut to the front door in a wild flare. "But he brings other qualities when called to, when the timing is right. Things that will bring forth the kind of chemistry equal to a house on fire."
Her hands brace against your tensed shoulders, bracelets jangling with the seriousness she laser-beams into your eyes. "Please darling, load up on electrolytes," her blinks come hard and fast, replicated in the rhythm of her breath. "Stretch and just pray you'll make it out alive."
Ill-manners aren't part of your social palette, real expressions hidden by the jaded niceness society peers at you through. But in the feverish and apparently delirious rant the reader has forced onto your shoulders, they tremble with the building laughter buzzing through your chest, muffled by pressed lips not really doing their part. Evident in the surprise unfolding her scrunched expression, hand coming over your mouth to wish the laughter away as you get out a quick, "Noted. Thank you again."
It doesn't come from a bad place, but when you're back outside, trekking back to the car some guilt exists with the tremble in your chest, putting a plug in it by drumming a palm to your torso.
"Everything good?" Jake asks once you're back in the car, strapping himself in. "Reading went okay?"
Where do you even begin? It did go great until he showed up and apparently rocked the reader's world, who then expressed how much he would rock your world. Agreed, Jake does a good job in the bedroom but the concept of him being an insatible beast when called upon? While plausible, the circumstances surrounding its revelation push snickers out your nose.
"Yeah, a lot of fortune's on its way. Finally," you strap yourself in too, cracking your knuckles to mask your giggles. "Lots of uhm, satisfaction too."
It's a loaded end to your answer, one you communicate in a bitten back smile Jake goes on to replicate, letting out the bit of amusement he tucked away back in the store.
"Happy to hear that, baby," he laughs, fist over his lips, licking them over when his hands extend to the steering wheel. "You deserve good fortune coming your way,"
He kisses your cheek over the console, the press sweet and delictae. A reality where it's bruising and lust-driven flashes briefly.
Hovering close to you, his voice dips in volume, eyes peered up at yours with a teasing glint. "Could've told you that for free though."
"I thought it was gonna be insighful!" you shove his shoulders, mellow laughter filling the vehicle. "It was but─"
"Just joking, pretty. I'm sure you got what you needed from the reading," sincerity shines in his eyes, accented by the peppered kisses he does against your cheek, the last one on your temple. "Let's get going, yeah?"
Your agreement blends in with you turning on the car radio, reconnecting to the aux where Geese's '3D Country' thumps through its bass intro, engine roaring to life as you get back on the road, leaving the minute rest-stop and tarot shop in the dust. You're meant to carry what resonates through her reading and that you do, the miserable grey anxiety cloud in your chest clearing knowing your hardwork at work will be rewarded. Knowing that the love you put into the universe will find itself back to you. Not because in the end, you wished to serve yourself, but because you always hoped the goodness you met others with could pour into others' lives too.
But something else lingers. The grip she had on your shoulders, the astonishment on her face when Jake joined you two, her remark about electrolytes. Priding yourself on being an open person, you welcome her perception of Jake through an impartial lens ─ there's only so much sex to have since you two started dating, a precaution exercised courtesy of your therapist. Exhausted by empty hookups and abrupt endings lacking promise, she challenged you to find human connection elsewhere. Be as vulnerable you could because dating was somehow more horrifying than being naked in front of a stranger. At least then, you spoon-fed them bits of yourself ─ all in self-interest ─ and when they ultimately left, because they got what they wanted, they didn't take your heart with them. You'd never given it to them in the first place. Dating, however, if you were after what your heart desired, entailed an honesty you had to sit with. A partner you could really be yourself with ─ all the neat and messy bits you've been perfected packing in a pretty bow ─ and through trials and tribulations, tug of wars due to your attachment style, you found your Jake. Someone who you could be yourself with, and someone who you know reflected that back to you. No charades, no secrets, just sincerity that's maybe charmed you into rose-tinted lenses.
Then again, she did say it was a matter of calling it 'upon him.'
Time would tell, eventually.
That time comes sooner than expected.
Tucked away in the mountains breathing crisp air, is the luxury cabin Jake so kindly splurged on for your weekend getaway. Upon seeing your scandalised face, the cedar and oak structure built with love and wealth in the addition of a hot tub, he ducks his head, sheepish in his grin as he says, "Guess I caught that deal on a good day."
Like the gentleman he is, he deals with all your luggage as you climb the steep-rocked driveway, head on a swivel as the mountains stretch on for miles. With spring creeping in, the moutain peaks have lost their snow blanket, sprinkled in scarce flakes that still have your breath visible before you. You inhale, letting the clear air fill your lungs then exhale, the city left behind a distant memory as Jake opens the cabin's front doors.
It's every bit of lush as its' exterior, hanging warm lights and wooden halls seemingly going on forever. It earns Jake a sidelong glance, a guilt-free shrug his answer before he catches you in his arm, pulling you close in a kiss on top of your head.
"It's ours for the weekend," he whispers, hazelnut and oak notes wafting in his presence. "Let's play house."
So, you do. Once all luggage's been put in the bedroom, suitcase left open for easy access, you tread through the halls with heated floors, into the kitchen where Jake makes a start on the store-bought tortellini. Side by side, you make the sauce, joking bumps of the hip dished between each other as your blended playlist hums in the background, serenading the sweet plate Jake's face lights up at once he's tasted the food. He commends your skills even when you have none, yet you smile. Because there's always a genuineness about him, a happiness built on something stable you allow yourself to fall back into, only proven by your suggestion to crack open a bottle of wine in the hot tub.
"Is that a new swimsuit?"
Lowering into the buzzing water, you chance a glance at Jake, a blank canvas if not for the evident bob his Adam's apple does, his spread fingers threading through the current.
"A new bikini, yes," you settle opposite him, reaching for and sipping on white wine without a break in eye-contact. "Like it?"
He's the first to break, giving you his sharp side-profile with a smile that's all knowing. The chestnut waves of his hair frame his face perfectly, falling like curtains around his eyes as they gravitate back to yours.
"Yeah, I do. A lot."
Your time is spent like this, toeing the line of flirtation and dare, enough physical space spared if not for the stifling conversation, nothingness spoken of to the build-up of whatever festers underneath the surface.
The thought had crossed your mind over dinner ─ when Jake's none the wiser, happily humming with pasta sauce dipped into his lip corner ─ the reader's words and her conviction. However cagey you may have been, Jake's always been respectful of your boundaries, never pushing when he knows the walls will fall when ready, a pattern of forthcomingness observed in the little time you've had. Yet, with a work schedule meant to kick your ass and social obligations shifting him to second priority, not much time is spared. Not enough to talk, not enough to explore…whatever things Jake supposedly brings to the table.
With the nagging prickle in mind, the night's event unfold into destiny. When your fingers have pruned, three glasses of wine polished off, you dry off to slip into one of his shirts and a pair of underwear plenty purposeful. An agenda noticed in Jake's expression as he enters back into the bedroom, patting down his face.
He doesn't make any comment, only laughs to himself before he resumes his bedtime ritual, coming back to you eventually as a starfish on the bed, your Kindle long forgotten.
His chin perches onto the arms folded onto your stomach, peering through his brows. "Feel relaxed?"
Automatically, your fingers find their way into his hair, teasing the soft strands with your fingertips. "Yeah. The wine helped."
He smiles, a brief hide of his face to conceal his mirth. "I don't know how you drink that stuff."
"You had just as much as I did!"
"I only started to enjoy it like, halfway through the second glass," he concedes, feigned exasperation coming out you in a sigh. "Definitely needed that energy drink as palette cleanser."
Ah, yes. The one with electrolytes, one he'd bought for you too. The irony is not lost on you.
"We'll get more in town tomorrow," your eyes drift to the alarm clock on the bedside table, time incorrect but the late hour evident. "What you got planned?"
He tosses his head to simulate careful pondering, bottom lip jutted under his finger. "Lots of pampering and shopping ─ only the best for my girl,"
The bunch of your cheeks turns your head sideways, body restless beneath his to a point of his body moving off yours. It doesn't take a second of contemplation, positions switching to your thighs straddling his hips, his hand fanned across your lower back as you stare down at him, watching him become more pupils than eyes.
"Anything else?"
The invitation hangs in the air, gulped down by Jake who scoffs softly, putting a hand behind his head with veins lining his arm. The loss of your gaze when circled back to him makes his lip corner lift, horribly smug.
"I've got a few ideas," he husks, his hips shifting beneath you, something other than bone brushed against your ass.
"Budge up," he coaxes, you immediately complying. "More,"
You laugh, hands braced at your sides. "Jake, I'm halfway up your chest. Not sure that's an optimal for kissing."
"Who said anything about kissing?"
He says it easily, like it doesn't make every fragment of your spine click into place. Besides the brief stiffen of your muscles, your brain starts working again to brace hands against his chest, wandering.
"You're trouble."
"Yeah? That what you think I am?" his hands, veined and cold relief against your thigh, graze in what's meant to be absent nature. You can't help but suspect purpsefulness on his own end when he kneads the flesh the closer they inch to your ass. "Did she tell you that?"
A missed heartbeat marks the blaring silence permeating his statement, splayed hands hinged on his shoulders wrestling with the material of his shirt as you rack your brain. Thinking if you should mention it.
"You could be her disciple," the joke doesn't really land like you want it, tasting more bitter on your tongue. "Yes, she did."
His hand cease agaisnt your thighs, kickstarting contemplation of whether you've spoken too much.
"So that's what that was about," he smirks, hand over his eyes like he's been caught. The stretch of his lips does little to dissipate your 'healthy skepticism.' "It's like the energy shifted when I came in."
"It kind of did," laughter puffs out, a bit breathless on your end. His hands fall back to your hips, feeling yours shift for comfort. "She got a good look at you and I walked out with a 2-for-1 deal,"
His head cocks to the side, curious. "What'd she say?"
Amusement breaks out onto your face, bitten back.
"She made some hints at you holding yourself ─ poor choices of words," you backpedal, sorting through your vocab of empathy. "She said something along the lines of, if maybe I breached the topic with you, things could be different…"
"In terms of?" he prompts, asking for clarity.
But there's a curve to his lip, a shit-eating grin held back. You're starting to have more faith in all the reader's words.
"Sex," you couldn't say the word any softer, comfortable being sexually open amongst friends but in the quiet of the mountains, with nothing but Jake beneath you, you cower into your skin. "She said you could be different."
"Hungry?"
"Insatible is the word she used, but I'm pretty sure she said hungry too," a form of reluctance pushes air out your chest, hand raised to scratch the flush building on your neck. "I, of course with every reading I get, took that with a pinch of salt because I mean, it all happened so fast and sometimes readings can be influenced by other factors like─"
"She's not wrong."
A pin could drop. It could hit the heated-hardwood floors and sound like a crashing boulder, an avalanche descending from the mountain's peak with no end in sight.
Perhaps you shouldn't be so taken aback. It's not like Jake knows everything about you six months into knowing you ─ he may know about how you like your eggs cooked and how you failed your driver's test three times before getting your license. He didn't know about the complications weaving your parental relationship and he certainly didn't know you had a spit kink. Could've guessed it, but it was never an admission on your part. Not everyone in your life - even those close to you - needed to know every part of your soul and in a relationship, things would reveal themselves in time. He didn't need to know everything to love bomb or use against you. He would never, but the cynism of your heart is hard to beat.
You don't speak. Your mouth refuses to croak out, "What do you mean?"
So, you simply watch him with a smile that's more anticipatory-curiousity with ears waiting on his next words.
"I mean, it's normal to not show all your cards at once, no?" What's meant to be a remark laced with slivered awkwardness, apparent in the gnaw he embeds into his bottom lip, also comes with the permanent fixture of a smirk. He can't hold his enjoyment back, that much is apparent to you.
"I'm sure you haven't told me everything you're into," his fingertip traces against your thigh, leaving goosebumps in their wake. "What makes you shake."
His eyes flutter up to yours, the mirth-advantage of the situation gone with the wind whistling past the bedroom french doors. He only has you in his sights, the heat rising from him edging you into dizziness.
"It never was a matter of secrecy," he makes known, possessive with his grip on your hip. You buck into his touch. "Gauging what you're comfortable with and knowing what you can take has always been a priority to me."
Tingles run like critters all over you, a twitch of the hand given before your grip solidifies against his shoulder, finger slid beneath the collar of his shirt. Your skin sizzles pressed against his.
"But if you wanna push and try something new, who am I to get in the way?"
There's something undeniably sexy about how he commands the situation, gentle with the patience of a saint, tenderness in his guidance towards what you realise you've been too scared to voice.
"Do you want to?" he asks, head ducked to meet your hung head. "See how far you can go?"
Apprenhension will always be there, bubbling in the pits of your stomach with the accompanying voice at the back of head posing more questions than answers. But you know, you've known for a long time there wasn't anything scary if Jake was beside you. The sail to your boat, the roots to your tree, your branches free to grow how ever sky high you desired.
You only had one answer, smiles to your faces as your fingers thread together, a squeeze against yours for good measure.
"Now budge up," his cheeks take on a rosy tint, satisfaction in his grin. "It's time to put my mouth to better use."
Your body runs like a motorboat's engine, feather-light brushes tickling your chest as your legs operate on auto-pilot, wild eyes peering down on Jake's. Cinnamon brown are their hue, decked in a sweetness sharp enough to gulp down the cotton ball lodged your throat, breath wethered as his hands hover hollowly on your hips, making sure you're in place.
It's only then, when your clammy hands grapple onto the elegant carve of the wooden headboard, that you remember.
"My underwear,"
You go to take them off, only for your hand to be eclipsed by Jake's, a hot brand against your skin.
"Don't," he gruffs out, eyes lingering on your core for longer than what's polite, a slow drawl to your eyes, his pupils fully blown. "Keep them on."
The lacy lilac crotchless thong, 'not' purposely packed for this trip, remains on, pushed further apart with his finger and the bite of your lip, eyes fluttering closed as you wish for yourself not to buckle. Despite his wishes, the idea of perching all your weight on him remains a legalty you'd rather not take chances with, knees embedded into the mattress all the support you give yourself for a polite hover.
His lips press against your inner thigh, possessive and hefty, contact slowly unwinding the tension-hike your shoulders have done to your earlobes, muffled moans in your mouth as he takes his sweet time with niceities. Small and measured kisses against skin you wished he'd gloss over, the press of his lips along your pelvis bone shuddering a broken breath out of you, desperate hands anchoring for the stability you're quickly losing. Cognition starts to haze over the lazy clouds populating your brain, thoughts only sharp enough to register the anticipation racing through you, the high-strung bundle of knots in your stomach dangling above a bottomless pit.
"Baby," he calls, voice thick and strained. "You're so fucking wet, I don't know what to do with myself."
Your personality is hard-wired enough for a retort. "Then get to it."
He huffs, singular and devastating to the strength you've been summoning in the warmth of your bedroom, warm air puffing against your core to make you groan. His own one follows right after as his arms abruptly bring your hips forward, a yelp short-lived as his lips brush against your glistening folds, a whimper verberating through your own lips clamped together for the sake of your dignity.
"That's the last I hear out of you besides my name." he promises, stern before he dives in.
He steals your breath with you, air pushed out your weak lungs as he tastes every crevice of you, from your slicked entrance begging for an inch of him to the top of your clit, suckling on the bundle of nerves. Nails are introduced to the headboards' craftmanship, scratched at in long draw marks that should spell out alarm, if not for the sheer bliss conjured between your legs. Jake is purposeful with every thing he does, groaning into you like it pains him for you to taste so sweet, licking up all the facet-run slick pouring from you, further echoed by your thighs until it's all you hear. Your moans and his mouth, working with gradual abandonment, hands pressing into your skin to make you melt.
"Always taste so good for me, pretty," he murmurs against you, a moment not on you a moment wasted. "Can't get enough of how you shake,"
His moan vibrates against your folds, your knee slipping beneath you to lower further onto him, ass grazing the stubble you've been actively avoiding with the cross of your legs, a high keen out your throat as he sucks on your clit.
"Jake," you whine, your head swarming with enough lust to weighh heavy on your shoulders. "Fuck, don't stop."
"Baby, I'll be here for hours," he resplies back, prying your mouth open with a soundless gasp. "Nothing's getting between me and this pretty pussy right here."
Your body curls in on itself, willing the building pleasure in your stomach to cease, senses running wild to a point where all your mind can pinpoint is the man between your thighs, eating you out like it's his last meal. Esctacy is no stranger to the time spent on your back, Jake plucking all the right chords to have you seeing stars but this feels different. He has his mouth on you like a man long deprived, securing his arms around your thighs with non-existent space, holding you down as if his last tether to Earth. It shatters you from the inside-out, blowing any far-gone perception of pleasure out the window, attaching yourself to here and now as he moans around your clit, sloppy with his tongue drags as you drip down his chin.
"You dripping all over me, baby," he has the gull to chuckle into you, tracing his tongue around your entrance in the aftermath of the warmth breath blown against you, your sanity dwindling in alarming amounts. "Tell me how good you feel. Tell me who gets you wetter than this."
"So good," you can't help but mewl, one hand slithering down to him, fingers carding through his hair for a tug. "It's only you, only you."
"Sound so good when you're desperate for me," he sucks hard on your clit just to hear you break, walls squeezed impossibly tight. "Go on, grind on me. Take what you can get."
It should make you feel small, stringed to his words like a puppet but if they align with your buried wants, who are you to say no? So, you comply, staple both hands against the headboard and grind, tentatively at first when he's allowed your thighs more space. Then, he sets the tone, pushing you a force that has your clit knocking into his nose, lace fabric dragged along to make you putty in his hands.
"There you go," Jake grins against you, a hopleess moan escaping you as he gives you a few more helpful nudges, your voice crying out at more pleasure. "Didn't you say you loved my nose? Put it to good use then."
You could cry, you're willing yourself not to, teeth so far into your bottom lip the marks may never leave. You're melting like ice-cream on the hot plain of Jake's skin, your hips sheepish but gaining momentum, humping yourself against his face as he smothers himself between your thighs.
Breaths cycle through you, deep and slow then short and fast, voice edged to the end of the Earth where you feel yourself inching dangerously close to, the sole mission of getting yourself off diminshing any decorum you so stupidly clung to. Hips moving back and forth, the structure of estasy so expansive in you, your body feels like it'll collapse with it.
In the haze of your motions, you chance a look down at Jake, finding his eyes rolling back with the look of eroticism mapped all over his flushed face, eyebrows knitting together as he laps up all the slick you can't seem to stop. The image, forever imprinted in your mind, brings you impossibly close, croaking a tortored whine high up to the sky, hips moving with enough force to make the bed creak while you chase your release.
"You're close," he pants, sparing himself a breath before tasting you on his tongue. "That's it, baby. Let go for me. Let go for Jake."
A scream unknown to you unleashes, ripped right out your chest and vibrating off the walls soaked in your moans, your body collasping in a series of long, stationary shivers. All your weight is now on Jake as your mouth dries, forehead banged against the headboard. You're too lightheaded to feel its impact, body overtaken by the sensations raving your body from the depths of its core, shaken with no way out but through.
An unknown amount of time passes, the furtherest thing from what's meant to be your mind, rattled beyond rational thought. The only thing grounding you is the the eventual slow of your breath, decelerating to normalcy as you start to feel human again. Jake is…still persistent, gradual this time but making sure he has every drop of you, your taste embedded to his tongue before you summon enough energy to lift your leg over him, body falling limp into a fetal position before you tip over onto your back.
"Was it good, sweet girl?" Despite your muffled hearing, you can hear the smugness drenched in his tone, a secondary observation of the bed shifting under his moving weight. "Got what you hoping for?"
To completely rewrite the concept of a good orgasm was not what you were hoping for, but Jake knows that win belongs to him, chuckling to himself in a dark hum licking want up your spine. You think your body is yet to recover, but signs point out an otherwise.
Breathing is what you dedicate your attentin to, body horribly feverish as your brain attempt to grapple with the overcast of your thoughts, fog dense from that. Somewhere in your daze, your body moves free of your own doing, handled with great care as Jake displays you for his viewing pleasure, an abrupt hold in your plea for oxygen as something hot slides against your cunt.
A feathered hiss shoots through bared teeth, haze blinked back through thick lashes as your view centers back to Jake. His briefs are pulled down enough for him to free his cock, tip large and flushed as it beads precome against your underwear. Yours and his clothing isn't even all the way off, the crop of his t-shirt revealing the definition of his v-line, pelvis marked by veins and a trimmed trail to what he grinds against you, underwear slick-stuck to you as he lets out a starved grunt.
"Fuck," he falls forward, arms bracketing your body as his eyes flicker down to where you meet, filthy and desperate. "This what you wanted? Me so gone for you, I'll take you anyway I can?"
"Jake," you moan, shiver wracked up your spine as his tip nudges against your clit, brief friction scrambling words in your brain. "Off. Take them off."
"What's the point when I can get you needy like this?" his chuckle comes out breathy, eyes finding yours. "You're so wrecked. I haven't even put it in yet."
"Put it in then," you strain, frustation bucking your body, a notch to the clit bowing your body off the mattress. "Please,"
"Feels good, hm baby?" His smirk is full of triumph, not an ounce of sympathy for the poor body beneath him, clawing at any inch of him. "You could come from this, I could too. Paint your pretty thong before I fill you up,"
Your walls cave in, clenching around nothing but slick as it pushes back onto Jake's cock that has a better glide, a keen at the height of your throat while arms overlap your eyes, condemned to darkness.
"Did you just get wetter?" incredulous are how his words come, a harder grind into you coming with the echo of your entrance, undeniably lined in slick. "Pretty, if you wanted me to come in you, all you had to do is ask."
Timidty flames your cheeks, claws of desires scraping at your chest to be released. "I─fuck, I want─"
"Say the word and they're off." are his last words, the decision yours to make.
One that doesn't take much contemplation.
"Please," the request comes, sounding just as desperate as your ears hate to hear. "Take them off. Come in me…please."
"I'll do right by you, pretty," he reminds you, fingers already hooked underneath their band. "Won't have to worry your head about anything. Just lay back and look pretty like you always do,"
"And when I'm done with you, you'll have everything you ever wanted."
He pushes in. Anticipated to a point where your entrance closes in on his tip immediately, a whine let out to push back against the rush at bay before you open up for him again, the glide smooth and uninterrupted as he buries himself to the hilt. Full doesn't begin to scratch the surface of how you feel, lungs pushed up to your struggling throat as your nails sink into the duvet, scratching into fabric as his tip rests against the spongy spot that has you squirming, body shying away from the sensery overload only for a smack to bounce off the cabin walls.
Your body jolts with it, a dull tingle searing through your clit marked by the palm of his hand, a croak coming out your throat, dying with a whine that shows you for what you are.
"You liked it," he has to say, more surprised than smug. "You clenched around me─fuck, you're so tight."
His teeth bury into his bottom lip, in no way deterred as his hand stables itself on your knee, spreading your legs wider.
"Look at how much I'm learning about you," his voice carries air backed by a condescending nature, his ego only affirmed as you moan to his building thrusts. "At the end of this, I might know your body better than you do,"
You keen again, sinking deeper into the molasses of pleasure he engulfs you, practiced precision of what you like most as he dedicates every thrust to that one spot, eyebrows scrunched to the building pit of your stomach.
"Just tell me what you like, pretty," he sings like a siren in your ear, hand cupped over your cheek to graze a thumb over a stray tear, licking his thumbpad clean before his hand falls back to your knee. "And I'll make it worth your while."
"Fuck me," comes out rough in your pressed voice, hand directing his to your clit. "Harder."
Seemingly impressed, he only grins with a dipped head, his last words being, "Yes, Ma'am."
It's all moans and wet squelches from then onwards, gratitude set aside for no nearby neighbours as Jake puts you through the mattress, hitting the deepest parts of you that have you singing his praisies, the only competiting sounds being the ongoing flood of slick where you meet and the creaks of the bed. The auditory input spins your head around, whines endless out of your mouth as harsh smacks of skin drum against your ears, the bundle of pleasure in your belly constantly hit with the wrath of Jake's pistons. He's taken it upon himself to comb over everything you've loved in bed, sparing every heightened sob and moan special attention as he deals you his hand, rubbing lazy circles on your clit before the smacks come. They build in intensity, low-level hip-buckles extending to full-body convulsions, letting the tears flow as the pain marries so sweet with the low-pain.
"Seems like my pillow princess likes a bit of pain," he observes, devastatingly handsome when he's cocky. He pushes hair out his face as his fingers run over the dulled simmer of your clit, your lips in a pout. "Does its' job considering how much you're clenching around me,"
"What? Can't speak?" he questions, purposely leaning in to get himself deeper, a shift amounting to the wobbly sobs you hum. "Fucked too good? Want me deeper, sweetheart?"
You're mindllessly nodding, moisture grouping your lashes together as you can only accept the fate of going after your orgasm, using all means to bring it into reality.
"You're cute when you can't speak," he muses, hiking your legs onto his shoulder one after the other. "Gotta keep your mouth filled, know how much you love that."
His degradation does something to your brain chemistry, his cock inching into places you have no words for, slick splashing back onto his cock as he pistons further, lodging himself further into you as he leans forward with his weight. Now reaching parts of you untouched, you're at a loss for your mind and what to do, arms enveloping the muscles of his back as your nails drag against the expanse.
"Might have a thing for pain too," he chuckles, biting down on his lip, a wild look in his red-rimmed eyes as his world boils to only you. "Love when you mark my back, love. Lets me know how good I've got you,"
Thighs braced against you, he hits deeper than you can keep up with, mouth ajar as it serves as a vessel for missed breaths. Your tongue runs dry, lips smacked in a half-hearted attempt but it doesn't land right. You need more. You know you need more but the mere thought scrunches your face, esctasy blooming behind closed eyes.
"What you need, bunny?" Jake's voice is jaw-droppingly sweet, a kiss pressed above the corner of your lip. "My mouth?"
"Spit," it comes out with a whimper, eyes squinting as you will your wish into existence. "In my mouth. Now."
His thrusts only misses a beat, a shaky breath echoing after your words before plunges deeper, taking your voice with you.
"You're dirty, you know that?" he muses, brows knitted like it kills him to experience such gratification. "My come isn't enough for you? Want every bit of me, huh?"
Your brain is elsewhere, a distant theory for whatever's melted between your ears, a nod coming from within you. "Want it, want it bad, Jake."
"Where's your manners, sweetheart?" he coos, laughing when you're flailing against him, thrashing around like the spoiled princess you are. "You're usually so polite for me. What happened?"
"Jake," your hand finds his jaw, finding the strength to wire him to you. "Spit. Now,"
"No." he laughs. "I'm not doing it until you beg."
An attempt is made to pry his jaw open, but to no avail, his playful headshakes meant to haunt you long after this is over.
Whenever that is.
"Jake, I need it─I," shame floods your being, not stopping the request. "Please. Just once, I only need it once, pretty please?"
His hips topple over their rhythm, stuttered against the flesh of your thighs as restraint crumples his face, a pleading breath sent to the ceiling before he locks eyes with you again.
"Do you know how pretty you sound begging for me? Shit," he curses, swatting your hand away to mirror the same gesture on yours, jaw dropped with your tongue laid out. "Here you go, since your filth comes with manners,"
The spit lands square on your tongue, a mewl so dirty from you there's no coming back, your walls closing around Jake's cock like a vice as you taste him ─ spearmint with a hint of that energy drink ─ and swallow, humming all the way down.
"Holy shit," his voice tremours with wonder, swiping the hair out your face so you have a good look at him when he says, "Get on your knees. Right now."
The euphoric mist clouding over from his spit still remains, crumpling your expression with confusion, quickly switching to surprise as Jake hauls himself off you. He pulls you along for the ride as he manhandles you into position, your body now facing the french doors of your bedroom, the wilderness all your hazy eyes see. Horror creeps up on you, your bodies in plain view in the bedroom lowlights, watching your mouth fall ajar as Jake pushes in from behind, your toes curling as he fills you.
He thrusts like he never stopped, the fast tempo making skin slaps ring in your ears, your arms moving in a slow buckle as you struggle to hold yourself upright.
It takes a miracle to movenur your arm behind you, tapping Jake's arm. "Jake,"
Your head motions to the french doors, which leave nothing to the imagination ─ your lewd actions on full display for anyone's viewing pleasure.
"The curtains," aren't drawn, you want to say, but can't choking on a moan when Jake hits deepest in you. "P-people will see,"
"They've been open this whole time. Let them," he gruffs, firming his grip on your hips. "Don't want them to know how dirty you are? How good you are at taking at cock?"
In the reflection, you lay witness to him lower down to your back, thrusting into you with no end in sight as he whispers in your ear. "It's too late, baby. We both know your dirty secret. Just be good and take it."
Your arms give in, hopeless against constructs you're trying to hold yourself to when Jake's given nothing but freedom to be you. In all the ways you've shyed away from, collasping under the brute force of everything coming at you ─ the shame, the pleasure, the hopeleness, the satisfaction ─ it all hits you at once, releasing the cry deeply buried of his name as you come.
All the cells in your body simultaneously shatter and become whole again, drifting into another realm you don't bother acknowledging, centered on the full-blown euphoria blown past your eyes, raving you whole. You cry into your arms, voice having no limits with your nonsensical babble while you try coming down from your orgasm, Jake having enough sympathy to fuck you slow until you're back together again, hunched over in a near hysterical state.
Since when were things like this? Since when did the man who brought you bliss bring you this close to deconstruction?
It'd have to be an afterthoight as Jake's palm soothes down your bent spine, heel pressing in to exaggerate your arch before he kneads the flesh of your ass, getting off on the constant whines at the mere hover of his fingers.
"You with me, baby?" tongue in cheek, he questions, still sliding in and out of it, slick dribbling down to the duvet cover. "You did so good coming for me. Ready for another?"
Your head snaps to his, mildly offended. "Another one?"
He giggles, sporting a boyish grin. "Insatible, right?" your eyes roll on on their own, head burying into your arms. "I'm just owning up to it now,"
"Besides," he starts, his hips jumpstarting to as he makes deliberate knocks into you, deep and forceful, moving you up on the bed. "Weren't you the one begging to be filled?"
"Let me grant your wish, baby," he coos, addiction laced in his voice, his hand smoothing over the curve of your ass and hip. "Let me fill you."
You agree, because there's no end to your need too.
He gets back to it. Thrusting without abandonment, fingertips indenting into your hips as he fucks the cries out of you, expression so bliss-blown in the reflection, the building pressure in your stomach starting again.
You've got enough energy in you to prop yourself up again, helped by Jake who moments before, held your hands behind your back to pound into you. The stretch pulls your searing cheeks as your teeth bare, plucked apart by your low-hanging jaw. He coos, with all the condescending nature he's masked, making his way into your ear.
"Pity I can't fill your mouth like this," he muses, his hand over the column of your throat, applying pressure that translates to the squeeze of your walls. "I'm only one man ─ I can't keep all your holes occupied,"
You groan against his hand, high keens your trademark as he plows into you without interruption. Then, you witness brillance spark across his face, the hand he had on your hip vacating to pull you closer, his tip blunting against your sweet spot to the release of your sobs. In the time you arch for a loud-mouthed cry, it's abruptly cut-off by lace material filling your mouth.
Disbelief floods you, your reflection evident as what projects to you is something you couldn't bring yourself to wrap your head around.
Your excuse of a thong stuffed square in your mouth, all the while Jake pounds into you, the picture of amusement.
"There you go," he smiles like he's struck gold, giving the courtesy of departing from your throat to have two hands on your hips. "All full now."
Disgrace tries to involve itself in the humid air starting to fog against the doors, no room to go when you're moaning into the material, the taste of him and you on your tongue, twisting your insides in the shape of a tangled web. How you don't buckle escapes you, so fixated on watching Jake behind you, enamoured by the deep bow of your spine that your eyes simply cannot pry.
Incessant attention eventually pulls him away from his view, making eye-contact with a commitment for not breaking it. His hands anchor down your hips as he drills further into you, pounding with a force engulfing all your sobs and moans into your thong, expression permnanently creased.
"Have no idea how beautiful you look, baby," he groans, met with a whimper. "God, I'm gonna fucking come if you keep─"
You clench around, feeling that familar pressure tick to single digits, holding onto the duvet cover for dear life while you can do is brace for impact.
"I'm close too, pretty," Jake sympathisizes, face expression pulled, eyes never leaving yours. "You gonna come like a good girl? Gonna watch us come?"
The response is caught in your cotton-mouth, eyes forced shut as your body takes over, deliriously nodding along as you fall back onto folded arms, willing your orgasm to swallow you whole.
"Come on, princess. Eyes on us."
Motivated by nothing but his voice, your head manages the lift to a vision permanely burned into your corneas. Jake pistioning into you, curls messy and untamaed, glowing in soft bedroom light bouncing off the deep arch of your back, senses pushed into overload as the image sends you off the edge.
White streaks across your vision, a lapse in everything known to you as you cry out, loud and long, claws sunk into the duvet for salvation. The dam breaks, the yell for mercy wreched out your throat ending with pressed gasps, mouth run dry as you coat Jake's cock, force splashing back against his abdomen and your thighs, shivering as his voice breaks through the echo chamber.
"Oh baby, you're made for me," he drawls, on his last legs as his thrusts turn erratic, high on you and your release. "So perfect, I'm gonna give you what you want. I'm gonna─hmph!"
In one last meet, you hinge desperately onto the edge of the bed, hoarse voice on its last legs as you twine into your limbs, feeling the rush of Jake fill you with an inch of your life. Your walls flutter to keep him there as his hips glue to you, figure toppling overs yours as his arms bracket your quivering torso, vision black with eyes closed to focus back on your breath, ragged and spent.
Sweat and sex lingers in the air, a sense you only access when you've gathered a small percentage of working brain cells, blinking back to reality. Your whimper bleeds into the thong as Jake gradually starts to pull out, cunt closing behind him as he leaves, a slow dribble trailed out your entrance, down to the duvet and along your cunt.
After a few moments, your body manages to lift its head, your stuffed mouth and stray hair all you see. Salvaging the last of your dignity, you pull the thong out, drenched in saliva tossed aside to smooth your hair back, slumping back in a dramatic flop.
Chuckles sound behind you, casting your eyes sideways.
"Come sit, baby," he purrs, a tender smack bruised against your ass. You buck, groaning as your body starts to prop itself up, come trailing steadfast to your entrance. "On my lap."
Your hand hovers it, a illogical attempt to keep him there.
"It's gonna leak." you croak.
"Better keep you plugged then," you turn your head, your boyfriend leaned back with his palms against the bed, expression offering you some sympathy. "Come here."
An exhale prompts your steady pace as you inch your way to Jake, shaking your head with an open smile as his half-hard cock glares in between his crossed legs. His lax posture gravitates to you, hands secured around your waist as assistance while you throw your thigh over his, one hand on his shoulder while the other splays over his length, molten stirring in you at his groan. Hovering over his tip beading precome, the come between your legs starts to halo around him, eyes locked where you feed his cock into yourself.
"Nice and easy, that's it baby," he praises, watching with dark eyes. "There you go."
A wistful sigh breezes past your lips as he fills you again, legs circling his back when he's all in, the stretch knocking on overstimulation's door. It's dampened by your endless need to consume him, obssessed with the fullness of him as you dissolve into a sack of hungry bones, chin hooked over his shoulder, holding him close.
"You're crazy." you murmur.
His chesty chuckle vibrates into you, airy. "Only about you,"
Hands on your back, one moves to soothe across the expanse of your spine, a chaste kiss pressed into your shoulder. "You good? Comfy?"
You try find the words, your nails scraping into his skin. "Feels─hmph,"
"Good?" he supplies, an edge of teasing to his tone. "Feel full?"
"Yeah," you agree anyways, accepting your fate with the burial of your mouth into your arms, ease blown through your nose.
"It's okay, sweetheart. You can grind on me," the comment draws your attention, perking at the slow grind your hips have unknowingly started. "Just want you close. C'mere."
He captures you in a slow, passionate kiss, savoured by the slow motions of your lips gliding without hurry, simply enjoying the press of each other. Skin to skin, your arms looped around his shoulders with his hands braced against your ribcage as you grind. The friction to your clit pours moans into his mouth, his grip going tighter as he kneads into your skin, drunk off every inch of you as you lose yourself in his embrace, rocking to the sounds of you together.
You stay like this for what bleeds into forever, intimacy and friction simmering from a spark to a raging fire, the pit in your stomach accompained by the helpless pry of your lips, his teeth pulling your bottom lip to make you shudder.
Your hips build in a volatile nature, grinding with a hitch amplifying the mess between your legs of legs. The fill and presence of Jake radiates esctacy right down to your fingertips, harsh tugs of his hair rewarded with drawn out moans, his lips glossed as his lips follow yours with endless need.
The burn in your thighs starts to dial back your pace, wounded whimper bypassing your lips. It's solved by an assured circle around your back, Jake's other hand wedging between your plastered bodies to find your clit, circling it in motions bringing you closer.
"M' gonna come," he whimpers, lips brushing against yours. "Gonna come, baby?"
You yelp against him, the feeling too much.
"Squeeze good around me and I'll give you another load," he coaxes, ruining you to microscopic pieces. "Come on, sweet girl. Make me proud."
Instead of an earth-shattering crash, comes a flood of relief. Bacing your hands woven into Jake's locks, you expel a pitched keen in your throat, blending into a deep exhale, body slumping with your come down. Still, your body demands to be closer. Closer to him until space ceases to exist, pressing yourself so firmly into Jake's that when your embrace threatens to tip you over, you're secured. Anchored in Jake's arms as he kisses you one last time, tasting the moan of your name on his tongue as he comes, spilling over with excess dipping down onto the soaked duvet, the material tomorrow's damage.
"You're a bit of an airhead when you're like this," Jake comments later when you blink back the lazy film coating your eyes, your face pulled back to his view. He's enamored with a dazzling smile, thumb running over the moles around your lips. "Have I fucked all the sense out your pretty head?"
"Want a break?" he muses, cooing when you nod into his palm cupping your cheek. "Okay, princess. I'll help you."
And he does, carrying your singing body back to the plush cloud of the mattress, muscles unwinding into its comfort. Your arm casts over your line of sight, a brief break from stimulation before you're restless enough to peek above the flesh, your boyfriend's sihoulette moving slowly, a lone pillow propped up beneath your feet.
Affection starts in your chest, flourishes in those silent moments where you co-exist in something so simple, your mind spared from all the games and noise coming with life. It prompts the outreach of your hand, the gentle call of his name bringing him to you at lightning speed, lips and bodies together again.
You don't know how long time ticks on, but you know you spend it with him, every inch of your skin kissed by his lips, filled by him over and over again. Your brain doesn't bother keeping up with how many times you pour over the edge, your only source of attention the man before you, giving himself to you, choosing you each and every time. In the mix, tears spill from your eyes and he kisses them away, easing the heft in your chest before that telltale feeling washes over you, drowning you in endless bliss.
Birds start to chirp when the dust settles, you starfished on the bed with a rising chest you force cycled-breaths through, exhaustion seeping deep into your bones, synched with the euphorica grin you only manage to pull with the last of your strength.
"Beautiful," you hear him say, distant on the edge of the bed. "You're so beautiful, love."
Then he comes into eyeline, crawling his way to you.
"You looked so fucking good coming all over my cock," he says, hair a mess ─ stuck to his forehead with a chest laboured enough to warrant rest. Yet, he continues, inching himself to straddle your chest with his half-hard cock nestling between your breasts, nudged to shake his body in a tremour. "Want you covered in my come. In you isn't enough."
He's a madman. You're a dating a madman because in what world is the end for him? Time is a mere concept to you, but you're sure you've been at this for hours. He's stretched you every way but loose, pumping an amount of come into you you're not sure birth control can intervene with, moaning his name over and over again.
And he's hard. Again?
That reader was so fucking right about him. So right it hurts.
"You don't have to do anything," he assures you, cock coated with yours and his come sticking to the valley of your breasts, the snug fit providing him the relief he needs. "Just let me use you."
You're exhausted. Had your fill and then some, so there should be no reason why you're like this, feeling the familar flames of arousal warm you. Nothing but greed is writing the code to your actions as you push your breasts together with your hands, fingers running over your nipples with a pained moan.
Some sick person you must be, so drunk on lust you're ruled by it, letting gluttony get the best of you as Jake collapses in praises of your name and yesyesyes', cock gliding back and forth, unhurried in a slow tempo where he can savour the feel of your flesh. Eyes weigh heavy but your selfishness keeps them open, watching Jake above you. Like this, the man who pulled everything out of you is drastically different, ruined beyond measure that he can't keep himself together. He's a mess in the best possible way, quivering body bathed in soft orange, wearing sweat on his skin with his brows scrunched. His jaw hangs, gasping for air as the sweetest whines pour out of him, so sensitive but still chasing release, a version of himself you wrestle yourself over.
It doesn't take him long to come, spent in a way he can't make his hips to buck any faster, hands gripping the duvet covers eitherside of you with the last of his strength, moved to tears as his glossy eyes find yours. So wrecked.
"Let me hear it one more time," he pleads, every bit of desperate you've been. "Pleasepleaseplease, bunny. Fuck, just need to hear you one more time."
"Jake," your voice, the last curtain call. "Come for me."
And he does. Hitting a wall hard and fast, body beautifully wound before he falls apart, head falling back with a cry to the moon as drips of come scatter against your skin, all over your chest and under your chin too. His body falls forward, so fast you're scared he'll forget you're even beneath him, only for his strength to be supported by the headboard, muscles flexing with dark shadows as he whines himself back to equilibrium. Sympathy blankets over you, your hand reassuring against his shaking thigh as your thumb caressses him to tranquility, Jake finding his breath and sense of self again in the early hours of what's been a long night.
With his head hung, he unlatches them to a view of you, exhaustion in your smile but still looking at him with every bit of love your heart's been harbouring for him. The same fondness reflects back in him, a foolish giggle half coming out of him before he moves.
Clean-up in mind, you anticipate him making his way over to the bathroom as he always does, a warm rag used to clean debris but his methods stray. Only move him inches up your torso until he's afforded enough space, lowering himself so his tongue can trace around your come-covered nipples. You whine, watching silently as he makes slow work of clean up his mess, using the excuse of giving your boobs attention with slow swirls and teasing tugs, your chest eventually covered in his saliva instead.
The last of it smears against his two fingers, fingertips on your lips parted open to taste him, tongue gliding over every crevice to lick him clean.
Only then does he collapse onto you, a huff pushing out of you with the loopy chuckles you exchange.
"I need to tip that reader on our way back," you croak, voice hoarse.
Jake's head moves with your laughter, lifting to get you in his sights. "Hey, I put in all the work here!"
"I know, I know," you respond, smitten regardless as your fingers weave into his loose curls, calm hums vibrating into your skin. "You signed up for it when you met me though."
"I'm getting the sloppiest road-head on our way back," he mumbles, yawning. "Compensation for a job well done."
"Is that what you wanted? For me to pet you and tell you did good?" It's entirely rhetorical, your question, but the light blooming into Jake's features unearths an amused snicker, enthusiastic nods sent your way. "Okay, okay. You did good, you did well, Jake. My good boy,"
Again, the last part is said as a joke. But it's received as anything but when you feel something twitch amidst the joking scratches you do under his chin, his smile too blissful to be innocent.
"Jake!" you yell, not believing this man. This myth of a man you've somehow shacked up with. "I don't know if you need a time-out or an exorcism. That's enough! Use your fucking hand."
"Doesn't feel good as you though," he pouts, trying to shuffle his way up to, denied by your outstretched hands. "You know being called that gets an reaction out of me."
You shuffle up for comfort against the pillows, Jake's body following soon after. "I did not know that, actually."
Surprise raises his brows, lip corners downturned before he shrugs, beaming a closed mouth beam at you that's hard to not fawn over. "Well, now you know,"
"More information for next round," he winks, then promptly receives a pillow to the face.
Laughter bleeds into the early hours of morning, your break in the mountains providing every bit of satisfaction, a destiny incapable of change.
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sex with jungwon is good, no doubt about that. but the thing is… he doesn’t know how to stop.
content tags: established relationship, unhinged jw, explicit content (smut): soft dom jw (is he really?), cuffs, usage of toys, fingering, nipple play, overstimulation, basically this fic is an actual torture so read at your own risk, squirting, unprotected sex, jw has a big dick (yum🤤), creampie, cnc. MDNI. WC: 3.3K
note: it's been a really long ass time since i last wrote a smut so please bare with me. my mind is so fried but atleast i tried ahuehue... not proofread, anw, enjoy reading and reblog!
One thing about your boyfriend Jungwon? He has a bit of a collection—of sex toys, to be exact.
It’s the kind of surprise that catches most people off guard, especially considering how incredibly gentle, soft-spoken, and genuinely sweet he is.
Well...he’s still soft-spoken—his voice never rises, never loses that calm, steady tone but gentle? Not quite.
Behind closed doors, there’s a different edge to him. His sweetness doesn’t disappear, but it’s laced with dominance, control, and an intensity that contradicts his daytime demeanor. If there’s one rough thing about him, it’s the way he takes control when you’re underneath him.
Sex with Jungwon is good, no doubt about that. But the thing is… he doesn’t know how to stop.
Once he starts, it’s like he falls into a rhythm only he can hear, and you’re just along for the ride, trembling and breathless and completely at his mercy.
Your wrists are cuffed to both sides of the bed, the metal cool against your heated skin. Your legs are spread and tied down, leaving you completely exposed—open for him. At first, it’s fine. You can handle it. The slow build, the teasing. The way he slips the toy inside your pulsing cunt, then drags it up to circle your clitoris with frustrating precision.
Each slow movement of the toy has you dripping onto the sheets, your body reacting before your mind can even catch up. You don’t miss the way Jungwon’s eyes light up with excitement, a sparkle in them. A small, satisfied smile curves on his lips as he watches your pussy clench around absolutely nothing, the vibrator pulsing against you while he teases, never quite giving you what you’re begging for.
That’s the thing about Jungwon—he knows exactly how to ruin you without even touching you properly. He hasn’t taken off a single piece of clothing, hasn’t even laid a finger on your most sensitive spots. And yet, you’re falling apart.
He makes you crave everything. His touch. A simple brush of his fingers. Even just a glance at what’s hidden behind his pants—his huge fucking cock, so painfully hard. You’ve barely seen it tonight, and that alone makes you dizzy with need.
Your head is spinning. Your throat burns from all the begging, the moaning, the hoarse screams you’ve let out over the past hour. Your legs shake, your wrists ache against the cuffs, and your eyes—God, your eyes can barely stay open. Every time he pulls another orgasm out of you, they roll back with a mix of pleasure and exhaustion. You’re so, so tired, and so wrecked.
“Please, please… just fuck me. Just fuck me already!” you cry out, voice cracking from exhaustion.
Jungwon is still sitting at the edge of the room, completely composed, watching you with fascination. Your legs tremble uncontrollably, still spread wide, still bound, as another orgasm rips through you. The loud hum of the vibrator fills the room, blending with your high-pitched moans and hitched breaths.
You try to shut your legs, to push the toy away from your aching core, but you can’t. You’re strapped open, so damn helpless. Your clit feels raw, burning from the endless attention. It’s been nearly two hours of this, and your entire body feels like it’s on fire. You’re drenched in sweat, heart racing, muscles twitching from the constant tension. And still… Jungwon doesn’t look finished. He watches you like you’re the most captivating thing he’s ever seen.
“L-Let’s just finish this and sleep, okay?” you gasp, trying to meet his eyes. There’s desperation in your voice, but you still try to sound sweet—still trying to bargain with the man who holds all the control.
Finally, he stands. His gaze travels slowly down your body, from your tearful eyes to your heaving chest. And then, he leans in and kisses you softly, almost tender. You melt into it, sighing against his lips, your body automatically responding despite the ache. You try to kiss him deeper, tongue desperate against his, hands twitching against the restraints as you try to pull him closer.
“Love you, my sweet little angel,” Jungwon whispers against your lips, smiling so gently it almost feels cruel.
You smile weakly back, eyes watery but soft. “Love you too… now please—please untie me?” you beg.
For a moment, your heart lifts in relief as you see him walk toward the cabinet beside the bed. You think he’s going for the keys because finally. But then your eyes widen in horror when he pulls out a small collection of toys instead and places them gently on the nightstand.
Your stomach drops.
Fuck, fuck, fuck!
“No!” you cry out, yanking at your cuffs even though you know it’s useless. Panic surges as he picks up a pair of nipple stimulators and places them over your already sensitive chest.
"Shit— no! Don't! Stop!"
The moment they turn on, you jolt. The soft suction and flickering pulses send electric shocks through your breasts, focusing on your nipples and making your back arch off the bed.
“Ahh—n-no! No more!” you shout, writhing, body bucking against the restraints.
Jungwon doesn’t say a word. His fingers trail down slowly, tracing the mess between your legs, spreading you gently. Then, without warning, he pushes two fingers inside you, curling and sliding them.
“Hahh… J-Jung… ahh—” Your head falls back, and your eyes roll. The pleasure blurs everything—your thoughts, your words. “I c-can’t… anymore…” you whisper, voice trembling, barely holding together.
Your thoughts scatter like leaves in a storm, lost to the overwhelming flood of sensation. Every nerve in your body is lit up, every inch of you trembling, wrung out, and oversensitive.
Jungwon, on the other hand, looks like he’s in bliss. His chest rises and falls with labored breaths, eyes locked on your body. When he feels your walls tightening around his fingers, his lips part with a quiet moan. The way you grip him—so hot, so wet, so helpless—nearly drives him insane.
Your head lolls to the side, arms stretched and chained above you. Your mouth hangs open, tongue slipping out slightly, drool tracing a path from your lips to your chin. You’re panting, muttering broken, incoherent phrases that even you don’t understand.
Underneath his pants, Jungwon’s cock throbs with the weight of restraint. Finally, he pulls his fingers out of you and quickly undresses, his hands shaking in urgency. He barely blinks, barely breathes, as he climbs back onto the bed.
Before you can even register his presence fully, you hear another vibration. A sob tears from your throat as a small egg vibrator slips inside you, humming to life with a relentless buzz. Another one is pressed directly to your clit, making your hips jerk violently. The stimulation is too much, all-consuming and now you’re crying, tears running freely down your cheeks.
Your mind is barely there when Jungwon settles over you. You feel his body hovering close, the warmth of him mixing with yours. He cups your cheek with one hand, gently brushing away your tears, while the other supports the back of your head.
“Shhh…” he soothes. “It’s okay, baby. You can take it, can’t you? Be my good girl, hmm?”
You can’t even answer. Your lips tremble, a sob stuck in your throat, your body wracked with pleasure that borders on pain. The buzzing on your clit, the pulsing deep inside you, the suction on your nipples—it’s too much!
“You’re my good girl, right? Answer me, angel,” Jungwon repeats.
“I-I… I’m y-your… nghh… g-good girl,” you manage to choke out, eyes squeezed shut. The moment you say it, Jungwon smiles—and not just any smile, but the one he gives when he’s deeply, thoroughly satisfied. It’s the kind of smile that says he’s proud of you.
He shifts on the bed, straddling your hips, his knees on either side of you. His cock is flushed, rock hard, and leaking precum. From this angle, you can see it clearly—aching and ready. Your breath catches.
“Say you can take it,” he says again, eyes burning into yours.
“I-I c-can t-take it… F-FUCK!” you scream as the vibrator inside you kicks up to a stronger setting. Your nails dig into your palms, your back arches off the bed, and your legs jerk against the restraints. Another wave crashes over you, and you’re gone again, mouth open in a silent scream before the moans pour out helplessly.
Jungwon groans at the sight of you. He tosses the remote aside and his hand wraps around his length, the slick glide of his palm a poor substitute for what he really wants, but right now, it’s enough because what he’s seeing? It’s everything.
You’re trembling, legs shaking uncontrollably, arms pulled taut by the cuffs. Your entire body is soaked in sweat, flushed, and still, you’re clenching and twitching, hips jumping with every surge of overstimulation. You’re crying, sobbing softly through parted lips, but your body won’t stop responding. And to Jungwon, there’s no more beautiful sight in the world.
Ecstacy.
He never understood the word fully before you. People always talked about it like a fleeting rush, a peak that fades as quickly as it comes. But with you? It lasts. It blooms slowly.
"Hahhh.... 'Wonnie, c-close again!"
Jungwon whines, an unfiltered, almost desperate sound as his hand speeds up. He braces himself on the mattress, panting through clenched teeth as the fire in his gut coils tighter and tighter.
You’re nearly delirious, legs quaking, sweat dripping off your skin in soft trails. The small toy is still pulsing relentlessly between your thighs, buzzing away mercilessly, and you—his perfect, precious girl—can do nothing to escape it.
Your body jolts, then locks up. Another wave crashes over you, and Jungwon can see it in real time—your stomach tensing, mouth falling open, eyes fluttering back as you climax again. It’s like your soul momentarily leaves your body and crashes back into it, all in one breathless scream.
He groans loudly, the sound raw and shameless, as his orgasm builds at the sight. His cock throbs painfully in his grip, aching for release.
“Stop! Please… stop! Make it stop!”
You’re sobbing, shaking your head side to side, tears streaking your cheeks as your voice breaks entirely.
A strangled gasp escapes Jungwon’s lips as his climax slams into him. His body jerks forward as he spills across your stomach and chest. The orgasm tears through him, spine curling, muscles locking, vision flashing white at the edges. His hips twitch helplessly as each pulse escapes him, breath ragged, mind floating somewhere far away.
Between his high and the aftershocks rolling through his body, he still hears you screaming his name, begging him to stop.
Jungwon blinks, disoriented. For a moment, his mind is blank, floating somewhere between euphoria and guilt. But then his eyes land on you.
With shaky hands, he reaches for the remote and flicks off the power. The hum of the toys dies, replaced by silence—save for your ragged breathing, the hiccuping sobs that break his heart, and the faint creak of the bed as your body finally begins to fall limp in exhaustion.
He moves fast but gentle, slipping the nipple clamps off first. His breath hitches at the sight—your nipples flushed deep red, firm and oversensitive. He swallows hard, fighting the urge to touch, to kiss, to soothe with his mouth.
Then there’s the vibrator still buried inside you. It’s soaked, your slick dripping down your thighs, clinging to the toy as it slips out with a wet, lewd sound. The air is thick with the scent of sex, of release, of everything you gave him tonight. His stomach tightens again at the sight, but he forces himself to stay focused.
“D-done?” your voice comes, barely a whisper.
Jungwon doesn’t answer right away. He’s still staring. His body might’ve just finished, but his mind is caught somewhere in the afterglow.
His fingers fumble briefly with the small key before unlocking the cuffs, one by one. You don’t even lift your arms—just lie there, shivering, twitching occasionally when a breeze brushes across your skin.
You let out a shaky breath as your wrists fall free. A sob leaves your chest, but this time it’s soft—relieved. Grateful. Your arms weakly pull inward, cradling your own chest as you collapse into the sheets.
But your body… it’s still trembling. You’re still soaked. That last orgasm hadn’t even faded, and the aftershocks have your thighs twitching with every shift of your hips.
Jungwon swallows hard as he kneels behind you, watching your body try to recover, the way you curl slightly into yourself like you’re trying to keep your insides from spilling over.
"J-Jungwon?"
You feel his hands gently reposition you, guiding you slowly onto your stomach. You let him, barely resisting, only sobbing quietly, the kind of sound that makes his chest ache and his cock twitch.
“One more,” he whispers near your ear, brushing his lips over your cheek. “Just one more, baby. Then I’ll stop. I promise, okay?”
You cry out, he gently pushes your legs apart and lifts your hips just enough, guiding you into position.
“Fuck,” he hisses, as he presses forward slowly but your body reacts instantly.
"Ahhh!" You gasp, then squeal as your walls clamp down, and without warning, a gush of liquid pours from you. You’re fucking squirting.
Jungwon groans, forehead dropping to your back, overwhelmed by the sheer sensitivity of your response. Your hips try to jerk forward, trying to escape, but he holds you in place with one arm curled around your waist.
You’re still spasming when he finally sinks inside, forcing his huge cock inside you. Your soaked walls resist him in a trembling way, trying to push him out while also drawing him deeper.
You scream again as he fills you, your voice breaking around the sobs. He hushes you gently, lips brushing your neck.
“Shhh… it’s okay, baby. Almost there. You can do it—just a little more,” he whispers, his own voice shaking.
He stays still for a moment, buried inside your pulsing heat, feeling your body flutter and tighten around him. His chest presses to your back, arms wrapping around you, holding you close as you sob into the pillow.
“My good girl,” he breathes, kissing the space behind your ear. “You’re doing so well. So perfect for me.”
You whimper brokenly, clenching again as he slowly draws his hips back—just an inch—and thrusts forward again.
Your body goes pliant beneath him, letting him take the lead, letting him guide every motion as his hips begin to roll with slow, fluid strokes. The drag of his cock through your drenched heat makes his head fall forward, jaw clenched, breath shuddering against your neck.
“Little more,” he pants. His eyes flutter shut as he sinks back into you, the tight grip of your body drawing another moan from deep in his throat. “Just… like that.”
You sob again, your hands claw at the sheets.
Jungwon groans softly and leans over you more. His hand slides gently around your neck, His thumb brushes your jaw, tilting your head up so he can see your face.
Your lips tremble. Your eyes flutter, barely open, hazy and wet from tears, but locked onto him.
He exhales sharply at the sight. He leans in and kisses you upside down, the angle is awkward, but lips finding yours between moans and movement. The kiss is messy, wet, desperate. His hips never stop, and the rhythm begins to build again, more urgent now. Each thrust hits deeper, heavier, guided by the way your body clings to him, keeps him buried.
He moans into your mouth as you whimper against his. Then his tongue drags over your bottom lip, over your cheek, catching the taste of your tears and sweat. His teeth scrape lightly against your skin before he licks up the salty trail along your face.
“Mine,” he breathes against your cheek. “All mine.”
Your only response is a faint cry as your body clenches again, another sharp squeeze that makes him falter, hips stuttering from the overwhelming sensation.
His hand leaves your throat and presses between your shoulder blades, pinning you gently into the bed as he pulls your hips higher, changing the angle.
“Ahh, f-fuck!” you squeal. Your thighs quiver violently, and Jungwon nearly loses it right there at the sound.
His pace falters for a beat, then picks up again, faster, more erratic. “So good—so fucking good,” he stammers out, neck slick with sweat.
Your walls clench again, fluttering around him, and he lets out a wrecked sound, almost pained in how much he needs this.
His hips slam forward as he grits out, “Pretty… you’re so pretty. So good for me.”
His hand moves from your back to your waist, holding you tight as he keeps grinding in. “I love you,” he gasps, not even meaning to say it again, but it falls out of him in a choked whisper. “I love you so fucking much…”
His voice cracks at the end, moaning into your skin.
His lips find your shoulder—he kisses it once, then again, moaning into your skin as he thrusts harder. He’s unraveling. His rhythm turns desperate, your name falling from his lips.
"J-just a little more, hmm? I'm gonna creampie this little pussy t-then— fuck, we're done." Jungwon pants, voice cracking with emotion, every word shaking as it leaves his mouth. His eyes are blown wide, focused on where he’s buried deep inside you. “I love you—ahh, I love you so much…”
Jungwon grabs both of your arms, pulling them back gently, lifting your upper body just enough to tilt your chest off the bed. Your back arches, his hips slapping against you, skin to skin, the sound filthy and wet.
Your breasts bounce with every motion, your body jolting under his force. You barely register your own scream before your entire frame begins to convulse.
"Holy shit." Jungwon gasps at the sight, eyes wide with stunned, reverent awe as he breathes out.
You let go completely—again—and it’s overwhelming. A fresh, hot stream releases from you uncontrollably, drenching everything. His thighs. The sheets. The space between you. The air fills with the scent of arousal and sweat, with the stuttering breaths of both your bodies falling apart at the same time.
His thighs shake violently as he spills his cum into you, a strangled, low moan escaping from the pit of his chest. He doesn’t stop moving—keeps thrusting, dragging his length in and out as he pours every last drop inside of you, desperate to make it last.
The warmth floods between your legs, and the way your body pulses around him only draws more out of him. And it’s almost an afterthought to you now, dulled by the overwhelming waves of pleasure and exhaustion. You’re beyond feeling it fully, your body too far gone from the overstimulation he dragged you through.
He whines high as he buries himself to the hilt again, staying there, pushing in as far as you’ll let him. Your body quivers under the weight of his release, and he presses his chest to your back, wrapping both arms around you.
"Thank you, thank you, my angel."
The room falls into a heavy silence.
When Jungwon finally, carefully pulls out of you, he pauses—eyes drawn to the mess he left behind. His release slowly trickles from you, glistening down your inner thighs, and he can’t help but stare.
Then his gaze drifts up.
Your body is limp against the sheets, your chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. Your face is flushed and dewy with sweat, eyes barely open, lips parted like you’re still floating in that lingering euphoric high.
And yet—something about the sight of you like that makes heat stir in his gut all over again.
Jungwon swallows hard as he feels himself twitch, already starting to thicken with the urge to take you again.
synopsis: jake sim has been your best friend your entire life–even longer if you count the months spent in your mothers’ wombs. your moms (also best friends) have been hoping, praying, and not-so-discreetly begging for you and jake to be a couple for as long as you can remember. after eighteen years of dealing with it, you’ve had enough. you pitch your solution to jake: pretend you finally are a couple, only to prove the point of how you’re better off as friends. but as the line between what’s real and what’s fake blurs, you start to wonder… are you really?
content: friends to lovers, romcom, fluff, angst if you squint (half of it’s fake), idiots in love, fake dating, layla cameo! rain soaked jake scene, high school au, jake and reader are both seniors in hs and 18, nostalgia, kys jokes, accidental cuddling, flowers, they don’t know how to be bad for one another lmao, mild language, reader is an overthinker, cheek kisses, real kisses, attempts at humor </3, some text messages, nicknames, they’re kind of really dumb and oblivious i’m sorry, avoidant attachment anxiety (oops), denial of feelings, but they get their crap together in the end i promise!! petty arguments, banter, falling asleep together, and other stuff i probably forgot to mention
word count:
full fic: 32.4k
pt1: 18.5k
pt2: 13.9k
now playing ˖ ݁♬⋆.˚𝄞: ruin the friendship by taylor swift, illusion by one direction, beginning middle end by leah nobel, valentine by laufey, you’re still the one by shania twain, pancakes for dinner by lizzy mcalpine, anyone by justin bieber, change my mind by one direction, i was made for loving you ft ed sheeran by tori kelly, mary’s song (oh my my my) by taylor swift, catching feelings by justin bieber, night changes by one direction
It’s finally Valentine’s Day. The long anticipated day circled on your calendar, the pinnacle of your plan, the expedited fall of your fake relationship. You can’t wait. You spend all day running around your house, double checking details and making sure everything goes according to plan. Your mom assumes your frenetic state is just regular date nerves, and she’s not wrong. She’s not entirely right, either. Even though you know it’s not a real date, that you really have nothing to be nervous about, you can’t help the jitters running through you.
You think about what Jake said last night before leaving his thought unfinished. That was irrational, right? There wouldn’t be anything to miss, you and Jake are the same as you’ve always been. Aren’t you? Sure, maybe you hug more than you used to and talk on the phone longer than ever before, but that doesn’t mean anything. Does it? The more you think, the more confused and muddy everything becomes. You decide to distract yourself by getting ready for dinner, getting a head start so you don’t run out of time.
After you finish your hair and makeup, you change into your dress. It’s beautiful. When you bought it months before, you didn’t have a specific occasion in mind to wear it. There were no fancy Valentine’s dates on your calendar then, but you just couldn’t resist it. It’s a maroon mini dress with a cinched waist, tulle bodice, and sheer sleeves that hug your arms perfectly. Perfect for the dinner occasion and location. You pair it with a pair of black heels that raise your height by an inch or two, guaranteeing Jake will still have a considerable amount of inches on you.
Jake and his mom arrive early, because of course they do. You hear his car door shut outside and muffled greetings from downstairs, signaling that the last stage of the plan is finally being initiated.
The fourth and final phase: falling apart.
You take one last look in the mirror on your vanity, inhaling deeply. This is it. The whole point of this little scheme, the intended end goal. It all happens tonight. Just get through this dinner, make sure it goes wrong, and you’re free from a lifetime of romantic pronouncements about you and your best friend.
You make your way downstairs to find Jake standing with the moms in your living room, his back to you. He’s holding yet another bouquet of roses, unsurprisingly.
“Oh, Y/N!” his mom exclaims when she sees you. Her hands come up to cover her gasp. “Bug, you look beautiful.”
Jake turns around, his eyes meeting yours. His lips part and you can hear him catch his breath. “Wow,” he breathes out. “You look…” He looks you up and down then flushes slightly. “Wow.”
You feel your own face heat up, your flushed tone matching his. “Thank you,” you smile. “You look wow, too.” And you mean it.
Jake looks good all the time, but gosh, you just love how he looks in red. He’s wearing a dark red sweater, the shade close in color to your dress, with a button up white collar peaking through the neckline. His hair is styled out of his face, a diverge from his usual messy look. He looks older. Sophisticated. Grown. It hits you unexpectedly, the realization that this boy is the same boy who used to camp with you in the backyard, the same boy who chased you with worms and wrestled you to the ground in the dirt. Somewhere between then and now, that boy grew into the sweet, respectful, hilarious, understanding, handsome young man standing before you now. His rough edges, though not completely rounded, softened through maturity and growth and countless lectures from both his mother and you alike. You got to see him through every stage of life, just like he saw you. And in that moment, you’ve never been more grateful that Jake Sim was your best friend.
“Thanks,” he says back, stepping toward you and not taking his eyes off of yours for a second. He seems to remember he’s holding a bouquet in his hands and gives it to you. “Here,” he offers with an easy laugh. “Last one, I promise. For this week, at least.”
You take the roses from his graciously, giving them a good, long sniff. “They’re lovely, Jake.” You reach up and loop an arm around his neck, giving him a quick hug. “Thank you.”
He grins down at you. “Only the best for my girl,” he says with a wink only you can see, facing away from your moms.
Your stomach does an Olympic level gymnastics routine hearing him call you that. It sounds so sincere, so natural from his lips that you almost forget that it’s not true. Still, you smile wide, holding the flowers blithely in your arms and looking at both of your moms.
“Are we ready to head out?” you ask. “Our table should be ready at 6:30. I don’t wanna be late for the reservation.”
“Let’s get going then,” your mom agrees, grabbing her purse off the side table by the door. “Who’s driving?”
“Actually, do you mind if we drive separately?” Jake broaches. “If that’s okay with you guys.”
“Of course,” his mom smiles. “We’re already crashing your dinner, we’ll give you lovebirds at least some alone time.” She wags a finger between the two of you. “Even though you’re alone, though-”
“Mom!” Jake cries out, making a whiny noise. “Yes, there’s nothing to worry about.”
His mom and yours cackle amongst themselves, snatching a pair of keys off the hook and heading out the door. You follow the pair as Jake fishes his own keys from his pocket, holding them up in front of you.
“One last ride as my wonderful girlfriend?” he asks, opening the passenger side door for you.
“One last time.” You nod, taking a seat with the bouquet in your lap. You watch as he carefully shuts the door and goes around the car to the driver’s side.
He plops down behind the wheel, turning the car on and reversing out of your driveway as your journey to The Claw begins. As always, you hold the responsibility of music for the car ride. You go ahead and play your ultimate playlist of love songs. It’s Valentine’s Day, after all, what else were you to do?
The sound of I Was Made for Loving You by Tori Kelly and Ed Sheeran fills the space of Jake’s car. You put the phone down and get lost to the song, gazing out the window at the trees and buildings flying by.
‘I’ll take this chance, so call me blind
I’ve been waiting all my life,’ plays, the lyrics echoing in your mind.
You look at Jake, just admiring the view of him driving, something so simple yet so comforting. His eyes are on the road, focused on the lanes, but you just watch him. His effortlessly perfect side profile, the way one of his hands rests lightly on the wheel, the other raking through his hair. The setting sun provides a luminous glow, the golden light half shining on his face through the windshield. He squints a little to shield his eyes from the glare before flipping down the sun visor. He then suddenly turns to you, catching you off guard. You jump back a little, feeling like the kid who got caught with her hand in the cookie jar.
“You good?” Jake asks at your reaction, a slight smirk on his face. He immediately knows you were looking at him probably longer than you should’ve been.
“Couldn’t be better,” you reply with fake nonchalance, averting his gaze. A couple more songs play before you feel like the moment has faded enough to speak. “Hey,” you shift in your seat so that you’re facing him. “Don’t miss the turn, it’s right up here.”
“I knew that,” Jake says with fake snark. “I’m an excellent navigator.”
“Right,” you say flatly, dragging out the vowel. “The journey to Riki’s house shall remain unmentioned.”
He scoffs loudly. “Whoa, first of all,” he clicks his blinker on to signal the upcoming turn, “it’s not my fault he lives in the middle of freaking nowhere.” Defending his point further, “And the pin he dropped me was inaccurate by two miles. Two miles!” He sighs. “I just wish I could apologize to that family of squirrels.”
“Well,” you say reassuringly, “I’m sure they’ll never forget a car pummeling into their home. You gave them a core memory, if you think about it.”
Jake laughs, “Way to look on the bright side of things.” He then frowns, looking over the parking lot. “Looks pretty packed.”
Sure enough, there isn’t a single open space despite the vast square footage of the lot. You knew The Claw was a popular destination for Valentine’s dates, but you severely underestimated how many of those dates would be driving their own cars. Geez. Did nobody carpool anymore?
“I blame this on lack of chivalry,” you state upon seeing the parking situation. “If more guys picked up the girls for their dates, half this lot would be empty.” You click your tongue. “Romance is truly dead.”
“Talk about love in the air,” Jake murmurs. “Should I get a valet?”
An idea comes to you. “No. Let’s park across the street.” You point to a clearing perfect for parallel parking. There’s much more space, a couple cars already setting the outline for your car to follow. “I’ll parallel.”
He looks at you like you just announced plans to board NASA’s next rocket. “Seriously? You hate parallel parking.” His expression worsens. “Like genuinely, would-rather-die than parallel park.”
You grin. “Exactly. How rude of my boyfriend, who knows how much I hate it, to make me parallel park the car for our date.”
Jake’s eyes light up and he chuckles lowly, “How horribly inconsiderate of me.” He turns the car around and drives over to the spot, lining the car up to park. “I’m still doing the actual parking,” he asserts. “I’m not actually gonna make you do that.” He checks over his shoulder before reversing into the spot and straightening out.
“Aww,” you say, touched by the gesture. “Because you know how much I hate it?”
“Well, that,” he admits, putting the car in park and turning his head to you, “and that I don’t trust you with my car.”
Your shoulders sag. “I’m offended by that.”
He laughs at how quickly you deflated. “It’s just a safety precaution.” He turns off the car and looks past you out the window. “There they are.” He points out the window.
The moms have just arrived in your mom’s car. They luckily found an empty space in the main lot, quickly getting out and heading inside the restaurant.
“I’ll go in first. You should walk a bit behind me. Act all overstimulated and I’ll tell them it’s cause you were parallel parking.” He winces. “They’ll want to bite my head off immediately.”
You honestly feel yourself get emotional at how easily he formulates the plan on the spot. What a perfect co-conspirator. Jake exits the car and walks around the front to your side again to open your door, grabbing your hand to help you out of the car.
“You ready?” he breathes out, voice riddled with anticipation and just a hint of nerves.
You give his hand a reassuring squeeze. “Ready. Let’s ruin this relationship.”
He breaks into a full faced grin, playfully yanking you up so you’re standing level with him. The cool night air is blowing around you, the breeze stronger than it’s been lately. It’s blowing your hair around, some stray pieces falling into your face and threatening to cling to your lip gloss. Jake reaches up and fixes the out of place strands, gently pushing them out of the way with the tips of his fingers. He’s so focused, genuine concentration showing on his face. It’s so endearing you want to smack him upside the head (lovingly, of course). When he’s pleased with the end result, he sighs contentedly, his eyes tracing over your face before meeting your gaze.
“Wait,” he announces, “can I see your phone?”
You hand it to him without question, trusting him fully. “For what?”
“Your dress matches the rose bushes,” he points out, signaling to the greenery behind you. Sure enough, the dark red flowers perfectly complement your dress.
“Let’s take a picture.” He opens your front camera and holds the phone up to take a selfie of the two of you.
You oblige easily, smiling at the camera. Jake follows, grinning wide. After snapping a couple more shots than necessary, he hands the phone back to you.
“That should do.” He maintains his smile, only now looking at you instead of a camera.
Right as you feel your pulse be at risk of picking up, you clear your throat. “They’re probably waiting for us inside.”
“Right,” Jake agrees, taking a step back from you. He turns to go, but stops and turns back around. He holds his hand out to you in a silent question. You answer, taking his hand in yours. “This feels right,” he says as you walk down the sidewalk hand in hand. “For the date, I mean.”
“No, yeah, totally,” you concur, “it’s a nice touch. For the date.”
It’s all just for the date. Obviously.
As you reach the fancy doors of the restaurant, you and Jake exchange a look that confirms that it’s go time. From this moment on until the end of the night, you were the most incompatible couple on the planet. Both of your moms are waiting outside the entrance, smiling as you approach them.
“Sorry to keep you guys waiting,” Jake apologizes. “This one was taking forever to park.” He gestures to you with his thumb.
You exhale shakily, looking stressed. “You know I hate parallel parking, Jake.”
He shrugs dismissively. “Exposure therapy. Learn to do hard things, Y/N. Life is all about doing things you hate.”
Your moms side eye each other, confusion and slight panic in their eyes. Perfection.
You do nothing but close your eyes, taking a deep breath to compose yourself and letting it out slowly. “Whatever. Let’s go inside.”
Jake goes and opens the door for your moms, politely letting them walk through in front of him. After them, however, he walks in himself, letting the door shut behind him. You fight the urge to smile. Here it comes, the anti-boyfriend. You open the door for yourself, shuffling to catch up with the rest of them.
“Jake,” his mom says, “how come you didn’t get the door for Y/N?” Her brows are furrowed, genuine bewilderment on her face.
“Forgot,” is all he replies. Without another word, he walks up to the hostess at the counter. “Table for four under Sim, please.” You made the reservation under his last name, just for an added touch.
“Yes, right this way.” She smiles politely as she leads your party to a nicely dressed table near the center of the room.
You can see why the restaurant is such a popular date spot for couples. The whole floor is dimly lit, warm ambience lighting bathing the walls. In the back of the room is an actual life cellist playing classical renditions of the most popular love songs of the last century; right now, he’s performing a beautiful string version of Islands in the Stream. The chatter is minimized, mostly quiet conversation accompanied by loving glances. If there was one word to sum it up, it would be romantic.
Your moms take a seat… and Jake does, too. You pull out your own chair and sit down as well. The hostess hands you each a menu and announces she’ll be back soon with glasses of water for the table before walking away, but your mom and Jake’s seem to be too mentally preoccupied to peruse the appetizers. They’re both flitting their eyes back and forth between the two of you, then looking sideways at each other, communicating through looks alone. Even at casual dinners between your families, Jake always pulls your seat out for you. He has since he was thirteen. To not do it now, on Valentine’s, at The Claw? Not a good look.
“What are you thinking of getting?” you ask in general to everyone sitting at the table.
Jake pretends not to notice the suspicious looks of the mothers, opening his menu with an air of obliviousness. “I heard the salmon here is really good,” he comments thoughtfully.
“Ah, that’s my favorite,” your mom says, feigning normalcy. “The sauce it comes with is so delicious.”
“I love it,” Jake’s mom agrees, “but I’m feeling more like a steak tonight. It’s been a long week.” She lets out an exhausted laugh.
“Oh, tell me about it,” he commiserates. “This relationship stuff is not for the weak. Nobody told me that the week leading up to Valentine’s Day was going to feel like preparing a bomb for war.”
“Comparing our relationship to nuclear warfare,” you remark sarcastically, eyes on your menu. “Well, isn’t that sweet?”
“Have you ever met yourself?” Jake asks, a cutting tone lying underneath his words. “Because if you did, you’d understand that’s a perfectly appropriate analogy.”
You don’t retort, instead scoffing briefly and poking your tongue to the inside of your cheek. “I think I’ll get the chicken alfredo.”
“Ew,” Jake says as if he’s five years old and being offered broccoli.
You turn your head at him. “What do you mean ‘ew’? How do you ‘ew’ chicken alfredo?”
“Shrimp is better,” he argues. “Objective opinion.”
“That’s an oxymoron.” You squint your eyes at him like he’s stupid, cause he’s acting as such. “There’s no such thing as an objective opinion, opinions are inherently subjective-“
“Yada, yada, yada,” he cuts you off, moving his hand in a talking motion. “It’s not that deep.”
Across the table, your moms are watching back and forth like it’s a high stakes tennis match. Their faces are equal parts shock and intrigue.
You sit up a little straighter, retracting your head in annoyance. “You literally started this argument,” you point out to him. “I just said I wanted to order chicken alfredo-“
“Yeah,” he interrupts again, “which is dumb, because shrimp is better.” He looks back down at the menu, totally ignoring the nasty stink eye you’re giving him.
“Then why don’t you order the shrimp alfredo?” you spit out the question, your voice laced with irritation.
“Hmm,” he hums to himself, considering your suggestion. “Nah,” he says a second later. “I don’t want that.”
You quietly groan, your hand coming up to pinch the top of your nose bridge between your eyebrows. “Then order something else.”
He rakes his eyes over the menu, carelessly surveying before announcing, “This all looks weird. Where’s the normal food?”
“Of course you would say that,” you murmur under your breath.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks back, daring you.
You let out a short laugh. “I just mean because you have the palate of a toddler.” You fake pout at him. “Is poor Jakey sad because there’s no chicken nuggets and fries on the fancy restaurant menu?”
Jake dramatically places his hand on his chest like you’ve personally insulted his entire bloodline, past, present, and future. “I do not.”
Before you can smack him over the head with your menu, the waitress comes back, bearing four glasses of water. She places one in front of each of you then asks, “Can I get you guys any appetizers? Or do we need some more time?”
You open your mouth to say you probably need a couple more minutes, but Jake beats you to speak first.
“I think we’re ready to order main courses, actually.” He directs his attention toward your moms. “You have your orders, right?”
Jake’s mom looks slightly confused due to the previous conversation, shooting your mom a questioning look, but says, “Yes, we do.”
“Perfect.” He smiles politely at the waiter. “I’ll have the chicken alfredo.”
You gape at him. “Seriously?”
“Yes,” he responds simply, folding up his menu in front of him. “What about you?”
You turn back to the waiter and tell her courteously, “I’ll also have the chicken alfredo.”
“Aww, matching meals for the couple?” she asks, smiling at your parallel orders.
“Yup,” Jake responds, pulling your chair closer to him so he can throw an arm over your shoulder. “That’s me and my girl.”
Despite your bickering just minutes ago, his sweet words—albeit performative—make your stomach do that flippy thing again. You give the waiter a smile as well, your hand coming up to give Jake’s arm a quick squeeze. Your moms then order the salmon and steak entrees, respectively.
“So, two chicken alfredo pastas, one salmon entree, and one steak entree, medium rare,” the waitress repeats, reading off of her notepad. “Can I get you anything else for now?”
“Could I order a glass of red wine?” Jake’s mom asks. Upon receiving a questioning look from her son, she justifies, “I’m not driving! Let a woman have a little fun.” She and your mom laugh amongst themselves.
“Of course, ma’am,” the waitress says cordially, “If that’s all, do you mind if I take these extra menus?” At your unanimous nod, she collects three of the menus on the table, leaving yours in front of you. You all exchange thanks before she leaves the table to take your order to the kitchen.
“Wow,” Jake says, leaning back in his chair and patting his hand on his stomach, “I can’t wait for that pasta to come out. I’m starving.”
You kick him under the table.
“Ow!” he exclaims, kicking you right back. “What the hell?”
You stomp on his foot, digging your heel in. “You’re so annoying.”
He yelps, pushing your chair away from him as a distance of safety. “You’re so mean to me.” He gets up in your face, ready to start another argument, and you’re right there with him.
“Uh,” your mom butts in, trying to diffuse the situation, “you know what I was wondering?”
You and Jake both hold fire, turning your heads to look at her.
“I’ve been wondering,” she continues, “what made you guys decide to start dating? I mean, after so many years of being best friends, what changed?”
“Ooh, I’ve been wanting to know, too!” Jake’s mom seconds.
“Oh.” Jake relaxes slightly, his body language loosening.
You feel at ease, too. You’re not worried about what’s about to come out of his mouth; the two of you rehearsed alibis for questions just like this.
He casts you a glance. “Well,” he pauses, thinking through his answer. “I guess I realized that… she’s always been there, you know? My whole life, it’s always been ‘Jake and Y/N.’ And I wanted it to stay like that. I can’t really pinpoint the exact moment I started seeing her in a different way,” he says, “there wasn’t some big realization or anything like that.” His eyes become slightly distant. “It just hit me one day.” He looks down at the tablecloth, recalling the memory with a soft smile on his face. “She was over at my house one Saturday, just sitting on the couch. Layla was laying on her lap and I went over and joined them. She put her head on my shoulder and everything just… clicked. I can’t explain it.”
Both your moms coo at his story, pouting emotionally. You chuckle as well, remembering the day he was talking about and finding it cute how he was able to spin it in a romantic light. The two of you had previously agreed to create backstories for your feelings; his was that day at his house, yours was a couple weeks ago when he just held you while you cried over some random movie you’d just finished. These were real moments that occurred, just seen through a retrospective, rose-colored lens. You didn’t expound on the details, though. You kept the stories short and sweet, just enough to make the moms go ‘aww’ but not too much to where they’d think you’re madly in love. You weren’t truly evil, after all. Tearing apart a teenage infatuation is better than doing so to something deeper, something real.
That’s why you’re taken by surprise when Jake keeps going.
“I know, I know. It sounds so cheesy,” he cringes. “But it wasn’t a new feeling I felt. I think it was just me realizing what that feeling really was. What it meant. Why I’d been feeling it for so, so long.” He’s full on grinning now, getting carried away by his storytelling. “It was like this warmth in my chest whenever she was around. This feeling of safety, genuine contentment. Like everything would be okay as long as she was by my side.”
You feel a heat start to creep up your neck until it reaches your face, but it’s not from flattery or embarrassment. It’s fear. You have no idea what he’ll say next. This wasn’t apart of the plan. In an attempt to calm your nerves, you take a long sip of water with shaky hands. Why do you suddenly feel like a meteor is about to drop on you? The feeling Jake is currently going into great detail about perfectly describes the monstrous sentiment that’s been burdening your subconscious for weeks now.
“Don’t get me wrong,” he laughs lightly, “there are definitely still times when she drives me up the wall, but even then, that feeling is still there lingering under everything.” He breathes out, half an exhale, half an unbelieving chuckle. “I guess that’s when I realized that I was in lo-”
You abruptly start choking on your water, sitting up straighter and coughing. You grab a napkin to wipe away the stray droplets and pat your face dry.
“Oh, my- Y/N, are you okay?” Jake asks worriedly, hand coming up to gently pat your back.
You wave your hand, trying to dismiss the concern among your table. “I’m fine,” you rasp, although your eyes are watering, “just went down the wrong pipe.”
Right as you’re terrified that Jake’s going to continue on with his segment, the blessed waitress returns with Mrs. Sim’s bottle of red wine. You could fall to the floor and kiss her feet.
Jake’s mom thanks the waitress then pours herself a glass, swishing it around before taking a sip. “What about you, Bug?” She thankfully switches the conversation over to your version of that moment, meaning Jake can spew on no longer.
“Oh,” you laugh a little, looking over to him and placing your hand on top of his. He takes hold of it immediately. “It was kind of the same as what Jake was saying. A realization of like, ‘whoa, this guy is sort of everything I’ve ever wanted.’”
The moms sigh dreamily. Jake flushes.
“He crashed into my room after school on the day I was absent. I’d woken up with a fever and stayed home sick, so he was coming over to give me the work I missed for the day.” You think back on the memory yourself. You were holed up in your room all day long binge-watching movies, surrounded by a mountain of tissues, because that’s all you had the energy for.
“He really has impeccable timing, coming in right as I finished the saddest movie I’d seen in a while. Just completely bawling my eyes out when he walks in.” You chuckle out of embarrassment for your past self. “He asked if I was okay. I said, ‘oh, totally,’ and then let out another sob.”
Next to you, Jake snickers slightly under his breath, recalling the memory just as vividly as you are. “It was really cute,” he adds, trying to make you give yourself some grace.
You roll your eyes affectionately. “Anyway, I told him I just finished a sad movie and it was a stupid reason to be crying so hard. He didn’t laugh at me, didn’t agree or call me dramatic. He asked if I needed a hug.”
“Oh, Jake,” his mom croons, her eyes visibly starting to water. “That is so sweet.”
“Isn’t it? And it made me want to cry even more, so all I could do was nod yes at him. Then he just crawled into bed next to me and held me without another word.” You look at him with a lopsided smile. “It was when I was laying there, his arms wrapped around me, that was when it all… clicked,” you echo Jake’s words from earlier. “It just felt right. Like that’s where I belonged.” You playfully shove your shoulder against him. “Plus, he grew up pretty cute, I guess.”
Jake chuckles and loops an arm back around your shoulder, pulling you in so you’re flush against his side. Before you have time to process what’s happening, you feel his warm breath on the side of your head. You freeze while he plants a quick, soft kiss on your temple. You blink once, twice and then recompose yourself, laughing along with everyone else at the table.
“That is adorable, you guys,” your mom tells you. “We always knew this would happen!”
“Sorry it took us this long to catch on,” Jake jokes, directed at the moms but his eyes stay on you. He’s looking at you in a way that has you thinking, Wow, that one-week acting camp he did the summer before 5th grade really paid off.
Conversation drifts from subject to subject, comfortably carrying on while you wait for your food. When the topic reaches your moms’ book club activities for the week, you take the opportunity to excuse yourself from the table to go to the restroom. Not that you actually need it, but to recalibrate your plan. Once you’re safely in the powder room, surrounded by fellow ladies touching up their lip combos, you take out your phone to text Jake.
you:
read this casually
say ur texting heeseung abt sport stuff
jakey <3:
weird thing to roleplay but sure
what’s up?
you:
we need to fight again or something
it’s all very…
sweet rn
jakey <3:
well duhhhh
fake relationship has to be believable
you:
i think we’re all good on that part
im pretty sure they’re one question away from asking what our first born will be named
jakey <3:
bridget 🥹
you:
HELLO
jakey <3:
ik ik i get what you’re saying
come back to the table
i think they think ur having stomach problems
you:
OH OK LEMME JS DIE
jakey <3:
noooo don’t kys ur so sexy haha
you:
oh my gosh this is why we’re breaking up
jakey <3:
:(
side note omg they probably think im secretly in love w hee cuz
i’m grinning at my phone but i said i was texting hee
😭😭
you:
I KNEW THERE WAS ALWAYS SMTH BETWEEN U GUYS
jakey <3:
NOOOOO
You laugh to yourself as you turn your phone off, putting it back in your purse. You take a good, long look in the mirror, staring yourself down. Okay. Time for the real drama to begin.
You return to your seat at the table just in time to hear Jake defending Heeseung against something.
“Really,” he convinces, “he’s one of the funniest guys I know. Top tier humor.”
“Then share his joke!” his mom pleads. “I’m nosy. I wanna know what he said that was so funny it had you giggling like a schoolboy.”
You bite your tongue to keep from laughing out loud. Was that really his reaction to your little text thread?
Jake shrugs, desperate to get out of the hole he keeps digging deeper for himself. “It was an inside joke, you wouldn’t get it.”
His mom groans. “Oh, you’re no fun.”
“We can have inside jokes too, you know.” Your mom nudges Jake’s mom and then says, “Bermuda shorts.” They both immediately start cackling, laughing so hard they soon become out of breath.
You and Jake eye each other with amused but tired expressions. This type of behavior from your moms is nothing new, you’re both used to them acting like children who giggle at the smallest things.
“You guys are impossible,” you remark, though you’re still smiling at their laughter. “Unable to be serious even for a second.”
Jake snorts. “I can see where you get it from.”
Viewing this offhand comment as the perfect opening to pick a fight, you slowly turn your head to him, your eyes narrowed just a fraction. “What does that mean?”
“You do know that you also can’t be serious if your life depended on it, don’t you?” He scoffs lightly. “Sometimes it feels like you can’t read the room.”
You raise your eyebrows. “Oh, really? You know that you’re not any better, right? Walking around everywhere grinning like the world is sunshine and rainbows.” Your body leans away from him, a newfound tension making you straighten your spine. “It’s not, Jake.”
“Of course,” he mutters under his breath, eyes looking away from yours. “You always have to spin stuff back on me. Can’t take a joke if it’s about you,” he adds spitefully before taking a sip of water.
You will your eyes to burn, to slowly start welling with tears. If you focus, you can act like his words truly sting you (they don’t; you know Jake would never say anything like that to you and mean it). “That’s a super nice thing for my boyfriend to say to me on Valentine’s Day,” you choke out, trying to accentuate your voice cracks. “True love, isn’t it?”
“My gosh,” Jake chuckles with a heavy air of exasperation, “you’ve been acting like this ever since we started dating.” He looks at you, gaze loaded, but you can tell there’s a glint of amusement deep in his eyes. “Is this how it’s going to be now? Just because we’re a couple, I can’t joke around with you anymore?”
“Obviously that’s not the problem here, you buffoon,” you scold back, exhausted tears close to spilling. “Even before we were dating, I always hated when you acted like this.”
“Like what?” he challenges, eyes daring.
“Like a dick,” you spit out, crossing your arms and fully turning away from him.
The whole time you have this exchange, your moms’ laughter from across the table steadily dies down. They’re both frozen watching the two of you argue back and forth. Unlike the petty argument over the menu earlier, this one doesn’t feel like it can be so easily resolved. They eye each other warily, clearly discerning whether or not they should step in to break things up.
“Geez,” Jake says lowly, “didn’t know I’d be out with queen of all emotions tonight.”
If looks could kill, he would certainly be dead by now. You fix him with one of your most deadly stares. “What exactly are you trying to say?”
He huffs out a laugh. “You’re so sensitive tonight. Is it that time of the month?”
The silence that falls across the table is the funniest unfunny thing you’ve ever seen. That line was your idea. You knew it would send this relationship past the point of no return, because in full honesty, Jake was always a champ whenever it came to dealing with you during that time of the month. He always perceived it as more like you getting possessed for a couple days a month than a biological occurrence, but he understood it nonetheless. He knew that whatever venomous, sad, vitriolic words came out of your mouth were probably just hormones. As he became more accustomed to this version of you, he learned how to play his cards right. When to bring you snacks and run his fingers through your hair, or when to leave you completely alone until he was given the OK to come over again.
“Jaeyun!” his mom warns, having heard enough from him. The look she gives him is dangerous, conveying a message clear and concise: cut it out.
Jake’s head snaps up at the use of his Korean name. You can see genuine fear in his eyes. His mom typically only called him by his other name under two circumstances: one, when she was extremely proud of him, and two, when she was extremely pissed at him. Now, based on context clues, Jake can infer that she’s probably not calling him that because of the first reason.
“Sorry,” he says to her immediately, conviction clear on his face. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
His mom is still just staring at him coldly, waiting for him to do what she’s silently instructing.
“I’m sorry, Y/N.” He turns to you. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that and I shouldn’t have just assumed you were hormonal because you were upset with me.”
You soften. Even though you weren’t actually mad at him and you know Jake would rarely ever ask you such a question, seeing him so sincerely contrite makes you warm. “I forgive you, Jake.” You still don’t smile. If anything, it’s worse now. Instead of angry, you’ve grown quiet. “But honestly… is that how you think of me now? Just an overdramatic, sensitive mess you have to walk around like some emotional landmine?” You finally allow the tears to spill over, salt streaming down your cheeks.
The look he gives you causes a pang in your chest. Ever since you were kids, Jake has always hated seeing you cry. Call it a soul tie or emotional codependency, but whenever he saw you sad enough to shed tears, it felt like a hole was being carved in his own heart. Even though it’s orchestrated and you reassured him he wouldn’t actually make you cry, he still does not enjoy seeing you like this.
He swallows hard. “Baby, no, of course not…” He hesitates whether or not he should raise his hand to wipe away your tears. He makes a move to, then freezes, deciding against it. “All I’m saying is you’ve been a little,” he carefully chooses his words, knowing this needs to be enraging enough to keep the fire burning. “Emotionally delicate,” is what he lands on.
The slap to his face ends up landing right across his cheekbone.
Full disclaimer, you really have to hand it to Jake. First off, the slap was his initial idea and insistence. You never would’ve actually hit him, no matter how many times the urge crosses you. He had to reassure you about a dozen times that it wouldn’t actually hurt him before you agreed to do it. Despite the countless times you rehearsed this (timing the slap, testing how hard you should hit him, making it look realistic), his reaction is really what sells it.
He turns his head at the perfect moment, timed so that contact was still made, but not nearly as bad as it seemed. His hand flies up to his cheek, holding where he’d just been struck. He winces and looks at you incredulously.
Your moms gasp sharply, eyes blown wide at what just happened. “Y/N-” your mom starts, voice heavy with shock.
“How’s that for emotionally delicate?” you ask Jake bitterly.
“Why in the world would you do that-“ he questions, not moving from his position, just glaring at you.
“That’s enough from the both of you,” your mom scolds. “You’re both eighteen now. This is ridiculous.”
“We shouldn’t have to be breaking up arguments between you two like you’re five years old,” Jake’s mom joins in. “What has gotten into you tonight?”
“You can’t just slap Jake across the face because he’s being annoying,” your mom reprimands you. “And you,” she turns her target on Jake, “you know better than to say things like that to anybody, let alone Y/N.”
Jake slumps in his seat, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I know,” he murmurs quietly.
You huff, still appearing upset but willing to defuse the situation to satisfy your mothers. “Sorry,” you mumble. “I guess it’s just finally getting to me after all these years.”
“I agree,” he says, looking more mildly irritated than truly mad anymore. “Maybe there is such a thing as too much time spent together.”
“Well, in that case,” your mom offers, “maybe college will be a good breather for you guys. You’ll finally have some space between you for the first time in your lives. Though we’re mostly to blame for that.” She smiles guiltily.
A heavy silence settles at the mention of that dreaded word. College. Neither you nor Jake have fully committed to schools yet, but you’ve both applied and gotten accepted to a handful, a few overlapping. The option of attending the same school was extremely enticing, but you’ve heard the horror stories of best friends who do so. Someone always ends up getting hurt, the relationship strained by newfound adult struggles, busy schedules, and new social circles. You and Jake were strong in your relationship, you knew, but you were still unsure if you wanted to take that risk.
“Have you guys been thinking more about that?” Mrs. Sim asks gently, casually. She knows the weight the topic has been carrying lately.
“Yes,” you and Jake answer at the same time. The tension diffuses a bit, your bodies naturally gravitating toward each other again.
“That’s good!” She takes another sip of wine. “What are your thoughts lately? Are you still considering the same school?”
You and Jake speak simultaneously again, only this time your answers conflict. He says yes. You say no.
“Uh,” he chuckles nervously but he’s not smiling. “No?”
“I mean,” you say slowly. “I think… recent developments in our relationship play a big part here.”
“So do I,” he agrees. “All the more reason for us to go together, isn’t it?”
You open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. “Jake,” you try explaining, “couples who go to college for each other never end well. I’ve seen it. I don’t want that to be us.”
He’s looking at you like you suddenly started speaking a dead language. “So what, we just do long distance for four whole years and hope for the best?” He grabs your hand, gentle but firm. “I don’t want to do that, Y/N.”
“What if we don’t, then?” you ask quietly, unable to look him in the eyes.
“Don’t what?” he presses, though he already knows the answer. “Don’t do long distance?”
You finally lock eyes with him. “What if we just… don’t?”
He stares at you. Searches your face for further information, but doesn’t find anything. The whole table is so silent you could hear a hairpin drop. Your mom and his exchange looks that say, Is this really happening? Now?
“You… “ Jake starts then stops, swallowing like he’s fighting the words that want to come out of his throat. “Do you not want to stay together in college?” Somehow, he looks more hurt than when you literally slapped him in the face.
“I’m just trying to be realistic. For both of us.” You go to squeeze his hand comfortingly, but he removes it, resting it on his thigh. You flinch at his reaction. “Maybe we shouldn’t do this now-”
“No, let’s talk about this.” he demands. “Here. Now. With our moms.” He looks at them across the table. “I think now’s as good a time as any.”
In all perfect timing, all your food arrives at that exact moment. The now familiar waitress cheerfully hands out the entrees, oblivious to what she just walked in on. It’s comical how no one breaks a smile as she places the dishes in front of you.
“Just wave me down if you guys need anything else,” she informs before walking away.
Looking to drag out the argument—and because you’re absolutely starving-–you announce, “Let’s eat!”
Five minutes pass without a single word being spoken. You and Jake avoid eye contact with both each other and your moms, the tension steadily growing with each unsaid word.
Jake finishes a bite of his pasta and simply asks, “Why?”
You’re still mid-bite, chewing to swallow before you answer him cautiously. “What do you mean ‘why?’”
“Why do you want to break up?” He takes another bite, unhurriedly eating like this is casual dinner conversation.
You put your fork down. “I didn’t say I want to break up.”
“You didn’t say you want to stay together, either,” he highlights. “Sounds like wanting to break up to me.”
“Jake, please just think about it. Life is gonna be so different. We’re gonna be so different,” you sigh. “We’re gonna be trying new things, meeting new people… what if one of us meets someone else we want to be with?” Not that you could even remotely picture anyone more perfectly suited for you other than Jake, but you’ve heard this breakup line countless times from other people.
“I already know that’s not gonna happen, Y/N,” he says immediately. “I only want you. I’ll only ever want you.”
You know it’s fake. You know it’s just a line to fit into your make believe story. But still, hearing him say that feels like taking a knife to the chest for reasons you don’t understand.
“You can’t know that, Jake-” you try, but he cuts you off again.
“But I do know. That’s all I’ve ever known.” His words come out fast, like he’s been waiting to spit them out for ages. He then decides to rip the bandaid off. “If you don’t plan on us having a future, then why are we even together?” He looks down at his lap. When he looks up to you again, you’re taken aback by his red rimmed eyes, like now he’s the one on the verge of tears.
Seeing that brings your emotions right to the surface again. You quickly feel streams rolling down your face. “Maybe you’re right,” you say brokenly. “Maybe we’re better off as friends. Maybe this,” you gesture between the two of you, “was a mistake.”
He exhales shakily. “Maybe it was.” Breaking eye contact, he looks across the table to your moms like he just remembered they were there. “Oh,” he says uncomfortably, “I really didn’t want to do this here. In front of you guys.”
“We’re really sorry,” you emphasize, a glum look in your eyes. “I know how long you’ve waited for this and I didn’t want to ruin things.” You wipe away a tear with the back of your hand.
“Oh, Bug.” Jake’s mom smiles sadly. “You both could never disappoint us. Really.” Though she stops speaking, she still looks as though she has plenty of unfinished thoughts.
Because you’re convinced they share one mind, your mom picks up where her best friend left off. “We don’t mean to impose or intrude on your relationship,” she says as preamble, “you two are young adults and can make those decisions on your own. But,” she adds as she stares at you and Jake dead on, “are you seriously ending your relationship like this? Over one bad night and a couple arguments?”
“Mom,” you speak softly, aware that this situation is less than ideal. “It isn’t really about that. I think it’s been building up all along.” You look to Jake. He nods.
“This whole time, we always wondered if things would truly change if we became a couple,” he explains, a bittersweet tear falling down his face. “Turns out they did, and they didn’t.”
“What do you mean?” His mom questions, genuinely trying to understand why two people who were basically created for one another were choosing to call things off.
“Jake and I love each other,” you state plainly. “That never changed.”
“And it never will,” he says decidedly. “With this new label, though, came just this pressure. Like there’s something to legitimately lose now. I never had to worry about that before.”
“It’s just for the better,” you finalize. “By breaking up and going back to being just friends, things can be easy again. There’s no heartbreaks, no miscommunication or dumb grudges held over simple things. We can just go back to being us. Jake and Y/N.”
Jake smiles through his tears. “Like it’s always been.”
“And how it always will be,” you finish for him. “Besides,” you say, “these past few weeks have made me realize we were really better off as friends, anyway.”
The words roll off your tongue with practiced ease, but they leave a bitter taste in your mouth. That’s not how the past few weeks have gone. If anything, all you’ve come to realize is how good of a couple you and Jake could be. But that’s out of the question. That’s not the point of all this. The plan was simple from the beginning: fake date for a short while, go on a date, show why you couldn’t actually be together, break up, and get your moms off your backs forever. You’ve succeeded. So why don’t you feel like you have?
Your mom nods solemnly, processing the reasons just given to her. “I applaud you two for being so mature about this. That takes guts.”
You give her a small smile to show your thanks for her support over your joint decision. Finally, she gets why it’s been a bad idea all along for you and Jake to date.
“I do have to say,” she continues, which you didn’t expect, “I’m going to miss the two of you together like this. I haven’t seen Y/N that happy in God knows how long. You don’t even know it,” she says to Jake, “but the way she looks at you? Goodness. I’ve never seen her look at anyone like that.”
Your throat catches. You had no idea you were so convincing without realizing it.
“Jake, too,” his mom agrees, speech directed at you. “Ever since you became official, all I see from him is smiles every minute of the day. Even at night, I can hear his little giggles when he texts you. It’s so cute.”
Jake obviously was unaware of this, his brows furrowing in bewilderment.
“We have thin walls,” Mrs. Sim expounds when she sees his expression. “I know what you get up to.”
He blushes with nothing else to say. You, however, are just a little confused. Neither your gaze nor Jake’s giggles had been intentional levers in your plan, yet they just elevated the illusion altogether. Yay?
“We’ll still be us,” you affirm to them. As a joke, you add, “Jake just won’t kiss me or bring me flowers every time he comes over. This is a positive for his lips and bank account.”
“Exactly,” Jake backs you up, “and we won’t fall asleep together on the couch anymore. Maybe.” His foot nudges yours under the table.
Both of your moms don’t speak for a moment. From your perspective, they appear to be going through all five stages of grief within the span of one minute. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and finally–acceptance.
“If this is what you decide on, of course we’ll love and support you no matter what,” your mom says. “Just let us apologize for being the root cause in the first place,” she chuckles lightly.
“Oh, she’s right,” Jake’s mom echoes. “I guess it’s kind of our fault for always saying you guys would be good together. That’s our bad.”
Your mom winces sympathetically. “So, so sorry for that, kids. I promise we’ll stop now.”
Oh, how no words ever sounded sweeter to you in all your life. Mission completed. End goal achieved. You turn and give Jake a knowing look which he mirrors exactly. You guys did it. Never again will you have to hear some overused spiel about your intertwined destinies. The adrenaline of your success kicks in, putting a pep in your step and lifting your mood. You still have to act a little downtrodden, though. You did just break up with your boyfriend, after all. So you put on a mixed expression, one that says, I’m bummed our romantic relationship has come to an end, but now we can go back to being just best friends. Yipee!
You and Jake go through dinner like nothing ever happened, immediately falling back into your lighthearted banter and personal yet unserious jabs at one another. Plates are cleared, glasses emptied, and Jake covers the bill. A gentleman even if there is no girlfriend to impress, simply the outcome of being raised right.
As your group of four exits the building (Jake held the door for everyone this time, yourself included) and heads to the parking lot, your mom asks, “Are you two still riding together?”
“Yeah, of course,” Jake replies without a second thought. “Why wouldn’t we?”
“Well,” your mom laughs awkwardly, “you two did just break up.”
“Oh, yeah,” he says. Brilliant. Tragic. You can really tell your fake relationship ending will scar him for years to come.
“We’re fine,” you tell your mom. “Nothing’s wrong. Promise.”
“Trust you, sweetie,” she smiles, giving you a quick goodbye kiss on the cheek. “I’ll see you at home.” She moves next to hug Jake. “Thank you for dinner, young gentleman.”
He chuckles. “Of course. You guys have spent plenty more money on snacks for us, anyway. Goodnight and drive safe.”
Mrs. Sim squeezes you tightly, bidding goodbye. “Have a good rest of the night, Bug.” She leans in closer to your ear and says quietly, “I really am sorry things didn’t work out between you two. Just know that no matter what comes next, you’ll always be my favorite.” You know that she means it.
Her words melt your heart. It’s such a sweet sentiment. “You too, Mrs. Sim. And thank you.”
Jake hugs his mom goodbye with a quick, “I’ll be home by curfew, love you!”
You part ways and go to your respective vehicles. When the door shuts after you, you let out a long, heavy sigh and slump in your chair. Jake looks over at you and you lock eyes. Silence hangs in the air for one, two, three seconds before it breaks.
“Oh, finally!” you exclaim, hands running over your face in both exhaustion and victory.
“I can’t believe we did it,” Jake says in disbelief. He grins wide again, his smile blinding even in the dark of his car. “We actually did it!”
“That was the most elaborate scheme I’ve pulled in my entire life,” you comment as you buckle your seatbelt and kick off your heels. “Gosh, my feet have been killing me all night.”
“You should’ve told me,” Jake frowns, turning the key in the ignition and pulling out onto the main road, “I have an extra pair of sneakers in here you could’ve worn instead.”
You snort at his suggested solution to your foot pain. “Right, because the oversized Jordans with the dress really go well with Valentine’s at The Claw.”
“You could pull it off,” he argues, like that’s all the evidence he needs.
You ignore him. “Okay, favorite moments from tonight. Recap, go.”
He hums to himself for a second, no doubt replaying the dinner in a flashback film reel in his mind. “You calling me a dick was pretty good,” he says thoughtfully. “That’s gotta be at least top three.”
You laugh brightly, clapping your hands together once. “That was so vindicating, I can’t even lie to you.”
“Oh, I’m sure it was,” he remarks sarcastically, “I can’t count all the times you’ve looked like it’s just been brewing on your tongue.”
“Hey,” you defend, “at least I didn’t actually mean it this time.” You turn your head at him to see him attentively watching the road while he drives. “What’d you think of my crying? Was it convincing.”
He side eyes you and says flatly, “Yeah, maybe too much so.”
“Meaning?” You ask, awaiting compliments on your acting.
“It, like, hurt me,” he shudders then shakes his head. “I really hate seeing you like that. It was so realistic, you looked so freaking sad, it made my chest hurt a bit.” He stares blankly ahead.
“Wow,” is all you can respond. After a few seconds of silence except for the quiet rumble of the car tires against the road, you add, “I’m even better than I thought!”
He laughs at that, sighing defeatedly. “Guess you are. Good job on that.”
You smile triumphantly to yourself, glad to know you gave a convincing performance. “Your crying was amazing too, by the way,” you tell Jake. “You looked absolutely miserable.”
“To be honest, I kind of was.” One of his hands rests on the wheel, the other propping his head up as he leans against the window. “Or it felt like I was, anyway.”
“Really?” You ask. Here you’d been thinking Jake was just really into his performance, the whole time he was actually feeling horrible. “Why? I’m sorry about that,” you frown at him. “I didn’t know you’d feel that way.”
“Neither did I,” he admits. “I wasn’t expecting to. It just felt so real for a second, you know?” He runs his hand through his hair, eyes still on the road. “Talking about the future like that, things changing, the thought of losing you…” he drifts off, zoning out while he stares at the dark night in front of him.
“Jake.” You say his name softly, breaking him out of his trance. “That was all dramatized, overexaggerated.” You think of the right word to describe it. “Fake.”
He lets out a long breath, but that word doesn’t seem to comfort him. At all. “You’re right. It just made me realize I really, really, hate the idea of losing you.” He breaks his stare at the road, eyes meeting yours.
“You won’t ever lose me.” You give him a soft, reassuring smile. “You don’t ever have to worry about that.”
His eyes search yours, like he’s checking that you’re telling him the honest truth. Then, he lets out another breath, this time a considerably shakier one that turns into a broken laugh. “Thank you for that. You won’t ever lose me, either.”
You snicker at that thought. “Like you could ever get away from me,” you say, letting him know he’s stuck with you for the foreseeable future and beyond. He’s still looking at you, and you swear you see his eyes drop down to your lips for the smallest fraction of a second. Suddenly sweating, you look away, your gaze flitting to the windshield. “Jake, the light!”
He startles, quickly turning his head back to look at the road, slamming on the brakes until you jerkily skid to a stop under the red light. “Whoa,” he pants, “that was close.”
You swallow, frantically looking out the window so you don’t have to look at him. “Yeah, it was.”
The rest of the car ride passes by in a blur. Comfortable silence falls between you once again, a few stolen glances sneaking in every now and then. You connect your phone to the car again, resuming the love songs playlist without thinking about it. When Pancakes for Dinner by Lizzy McAlpine starts playing, you stupidly feel like you’ve just played the most scandalizing song in existence. Every word burns your ears and you seriously cannot make eye contact with Jake for the life of you. This has never happened before. Even that road trip three years ago when you fell on him in the backseat and accidentally elbowed him in the balls was less agonizing than this.
After what feels like an eternity, you finally pull up to the curb outside your house. Because you are the luckiest eighteen year old alive, right as Jake puts the car in park, a heavy downpour of rain starts pounding the roof of the car, streaming down the windows and collecting in huge droplets.
“Oh, damn,” Jake hisses, rummaging around in his backseat and coming up empty handed. “I don’t have an umbrella.”
“It’s okay,” you say quickly, desperate to get out of this confined space with him before you do something stupid. “I can just run-”
“You’ll slip,” he rebuffs, putting it out of the question. He sits up like he’s just had a stroke of genius. “Wait, I got it,” he says. He then starts to pull his sweater over his head, layers riding up in the process and flashing you with a glimpse of his torso.
“WHOA, WHAT?” you practically scream, backing up against the passenger side window. Surely you fell asleep in the car and this is some twisted dream you’re having right now.
He removes the red sweater and pulls his undershirt back down, leaving him in a white button up. “Relax, you pervert,” he cackles, holding the sweater up between you. “We can hold this over our heads while we walk to the door.”
“We?” You question sharply, eyebrows raising.
“Yes, we,” he repeats with a roll of his eyes. “I always walk you to the door.” His eyes catch the bouquet of roses put aside on his dashboard. He grabs them with one hand, holding the sweater in the other.
You just nod cooly, unbuckling your seat belt and grabbing your heels in one hand and your purse in the other. It’s just a short walk across your yard, going barefoot isn’t going to kill you tonight. The way Jake Sim is looking at you, however, just might.
He’s shamelessly staring at you from the driver’s side, eyes wistful but discerning, like he’s trying to figure something out. You feel like he’s looking at you with x-ray vision, seeing right past your flustered exterior and into your soul, where he’ll discover all the confusing feelings you’ve been pushing down for weeks now. You are terrified, to say the least. You shift your body to open your door, but before your hand can even pull the handle, Jake is there on the other side, opening it for you. He props the flowers under one arm so he has a free hand to offer you as assistance out of the car. His eyes are shining with that unknown emotion, and you offer back a quick smile as you get out and try to dodge the incoming raindrops.
Jake smoothly raises the sweater over the both of you with one arm, blocking most of the rainfall from your heads. You start moving toward your front door, speed walking through the grass and up your driveway, and you can’t help but giggle at the innocent fun of it all. You could almost pretend that you’re just two kids again, trying to outrun the weather like it’s your biggest opponent. You safely make it under your porch covering and you turn around, feeling a little breathless for reasons that have nothing to do with your almost-jog through the rain.
Apparently the sweater was not as equally distributed as you thought, because while your hair is mostly dry on top, Jake’s is damp enough that it’s dripping. All the hair gel is washed away, wet strands falling into his face. If it bothers him-–which it probably doesn’t, really—he doesn’t show it, simply grinning down at you. You’re enjoying the view in front of you. A wet-haired Jake in a white button up smiling at you with a bouquet of roses in his hand? Oh, absolutely.
You sort of forget for a moment that he is still a living, breathing human being with thoughts and actions, so it brings you back to reality when he asks, “Is your mom home already?”
Fully conscious again, you crane your neck to take a peek at your windows. You can see warm light behind the shutters both upstairs and in the kitchen, a good sign that your parents are home, awake, and bustling about. “Yeah, I think so,” you answer, turning back to look at him.
He nods but he looks distracted. One whole second of awkwardness crawls by, and you immediately decide that you hate it and never want to feel that ever again.
“So, I should probably…” You gesture to the front door and turn to go inside, but Jake’s hand on your arm stops you.
“Y/N, wait.” He all of a sudden looks a bit sickly. You assume it’s just from the rain and the cold. He’s pale, shaky, and his eyes look kind of wild. When you just look at him with a questioning expression, he explains expertly, “Uh.” He lets go of your arm, his hand returning to his side. He looks at you, then at the flowers in his hand. “Don’t forget these. And… you never said what your favorite part of the night was.”
You break into a smile, feeling relieved that that’s all he wanted to know. Chill out, you tell yourself mentally. You’re freaking yourself out for nothing. Nothing weird is going on. You take the flowers back into your own arm, cradling them while you hold your shoes and purse in the other. “Oh, yeah,” you laugh, taking a moment to think about it. You stare him dead in the eyes. “I just gotta tell you, it was definitely slapping you in the face.”
“I told you you’d enjoy it!” Jake howls with laughter, clearly satisfied to see that his suggestion was appreciated. “And you were so worried about it, for what?”
“I didn’t want to hurt you,” you say in defense, laughter trailing off. “Are you sure I didn’t hit you too hard? You’re not gonna wake up with a bruise tomorrow or anything?”
“I’m fine.” He turns his head so you have a clear view of where you hit him, showing off his high cheekbones and notably unblemished face. “Not a scratch.”
“I still feel kind of bad for actually hitting you, though,” you continue. “Not to say I haven’t wanted to do that for a long time, cause I totally have.”
He waves his hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. If anything, it’s just a boo-boo.”
That terminology jogs your memory, sending you back to elementary school, when you and Jake were in first grade, playing on the playground during recess. You tripped on a rock and fell, skimming your elbow on the pavement. Jake walked with you to the nurse and sat with you while she bandaged you up, all while you cried from both the pain and the sting of the antibacterial topical. For the rest of recess, you sat on the bench, longingly watching all the other kids play. Jake was right beside you.
“Why don’t you go play with everyone else?” you asked him, sniffling. “Jay and Sunghoon are playing tag.”
“I don’t wanna,” he answered simply, legs swinging off the bench. “I wanna sit here with you.”
“Why?” you asked again, wiping your nose with the back of your sleeve. “This isn’t fun.”
“I won’t have fun if you don’t. I’ll stay with you.” He pointed to the bandaid on your elbow. “Does it still hurt?”
You nodded silently, your little hand rubbing at it soothingly. “But it’s just a boo-boo.”
“Can I try something?” Jake tilted his head, his unruly hair flopping into his eyes. “My mommy does this to my boo-boos. It makes them feel all better.”
You were willing to try just about anything to feel better, so you waited for him to do whatever it is he’s talking about. He leaned down and puckered his lips, dropping a short kiss right over the bandaid.
“Did it work?” he asked nervously.
Your crying stopped. You let out one last long, shaky sniffle and look at Jake with teary eyes. “It did. It doesn’t hurt anymore.”
He grinned brightly, smiling wide even though he was missing two of his front teeth. “I told you it makes them feel all better! It’s like magic.” He hops off the bench and holds out his hand. “Let’s go play now!”
You giggle and follow him, chasing him onto the playground to go play tag.
You smile fondly at the memory. Then an idea hits you. “Hey. Can I try something?”
He narrows his eyes at you, interest piqued. “Sure… what?”
You move in, face much closer to his than before. “Lucky for you, someone once told me the magic fix for boo-boos.” You swerve your head and plant a kiss right on his cheek, holding for a few seconds for good measure before pulling away. You can hear your heartbeat in your ears. “Did it work?” you ask quietly, eyes boring into his.
He nods slowly, then quickly, pupils blown and mouth slightly agape. “Yeah.” He swallows, flushed down to his neck, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “It did.”
You smile. “Good.” You turn away, walking to your front door. Right before you turn the handle, you look back at your best friend. “Goodnight, Worm.”
“Goodnight, Bug.” He waves at you, waiting to make sure you’re safe inside before he returns to his car.
Once inside, you watch him through the peephole, observing how he throws the sweater over his head again as he runs back to his car. The engine roars back to life, headlights shining down your street, and then he takes off. The second he disappears from your vision, you exhale deeply, leaning your head against the door.
You’re exhausted and confused, greatly looking forward to sleep even though it’s only 10:00 P.M. You drop your shoes by the door and walk into the kitchen to grab a glass of water, finding your mom sitting at the dining table. Surrounding her are various scraps of paper, which you recognize upon closer inspection as Valentine’s cards, all adorned with hearts and glitter.
“Hi, sweetheart,” she greets you when she hears you walk in. “I just remembered this box was stored up in the closet. It’s full of all your Valentines from when you were little.”
“Oh, wow,” you breathe out, taking a seat next to her and looking at all the notes splayed across the table. “I didn’t know you kept all of these.” You hang your purse off a chair and lay the bouquet next to you on the table.
“Of course I did,” she says. “I figured you’d want them one day. Aren’t they just adorable?” She sees the roses and nods at them. “That really is a beautiful bouquet.”
“They are,” you agree, noticing all the details close up. You look down at the roses again. “And it is.” Drawing attention back to the cards, you comment, “This is so cute, it’s like a mini time capsule.”
Concealed under a stack of valentines, you see a rounded corner, set apart from all the rectangle and square-cut cards. You pull it out and find that it’s a heart cut out of red construction paper, trimmed with lace around the edges. It’s messy in a way that’s cute, so obviously decorated by a little kid. The glitter glue is faded and some of the gems have fallen off, but you can still read the text written on it. Your heart stops.
To: Y/N
From: Jake
Scribbled out in Jake’s messy kindergarten handwriting is the exact same thing as what’s written on the Valentine he gave you yesterday. After making that connection, you quickly realize that it’s an entire replica of the card that you’re holding in your hands now. That had to have been on purpose. Were you supposed to know that? Is that why he looked like he was waiting for you to say something else, to notice something else?
“Mom,” you say, voice wobbly, “when is this one from?”
She glances over at what you’re holding and smiles when she recognizes it. “Aww, that was your Valentine’s Day in kindergarten. We had you guys make matching cards for each other and then exchange them. Mrs. Sim should still have Jake’s, too.”
You hum in response, eyes still taking in every detail of the card. “Do you mind if I take this to my room?”
“Of course you can,” she replies happily. “It’s yours anyway. I was just keeping it safe for a bit.” She eyes you a second longer, looking at you in that way only moms can. “Are you okay? After everything that happened tonight, I mean.”
“I am.” No, you’re not. “Nothing’s gonna change between me and Jake.” Yes, they already have. “We’re good.” Are you?
You give her a tight smile and retreat up to your bedroom, shutting the door behind you with a definitive click. You walk over to your desk, where you’d left Jake’s valentine from yesterday. Placing the old valentine right next to it, you gasp seeing them side by side. They’re nearly identical, from the color of glitter glue used to the placement of the stick on gems. He recreated what was probably the first valentine he ever gave you.
Your heart swells at the realization, tears welling up behind your eyes for what feels like the millionth time this night. You wipe them away quickly, trying to get a hold of your emotions again. It’s just so incredibly sweet that Jake would do such a thing. Sweet that he would put the effort in, sweet that he even remembered this ancient relic from over a decade ago. You just can’t help but wonder why. Why would he do all that just for a fake Valentine’s date you both knew wasn’t going to end well? Why would he show up with a gorgeous bouquet of roses and still give you a tulip because he knew they were your favorite? Was he really that invested in your little romantic ploy just for the fun of it?
Could it have been that he simply wanted to do those things? Just because he wanted to? For you?
Your head hurts. You need sleep. Putting your racing thoughts on pause, you decide to get ready for bed. You change into your favorite pajama pants and an old hoodie, your favorite. It’s not until you slip it over your head, wiggling your arms in the worn in, oversized sleeves, that you remember this used to be Jake’s hoodie. You freeze, staring at your wall, then let out a groan. You can’t escape the thought of him. He’s everywhere. This hoodie is his. There’s pictures of him plastered all over your bulletin board. The tulips he got you are sitting on your dresser, held by the vase he made. The ladybug Pillow Pet he got you is laying on your bed, staring back at you.
Your lives are so intertwined, Jake is basically apart of your entire existence.
You feel like your room is shrinking by the second, memoirs of Jake closing in on you faster and faster, so you retreat to your one reliable solace: your bed. You turn off the lights and slip under the covers, grabbing your phone for the first time since the restaurant.
Of course there’s notifications from him.
jakey <3:
hey
tonight was so fun
we did a great job!!
#FINALLYFREE
it was truly my deepest honor to be your fake boyfriend :)
also when u could
can you send the pics we took on ur phone??
thanks ur the best !
You type back a quick reply before opening your photos app.
you:
yes
gimme one sec
Scrolling to your gallery, you click through the pictures Jake had taken right before you’d gone into the restaurant. There’s multiple photos, all of you and Jake standing in front of the rose bush, grinning ear to ear. You unconsciously smile when you see them.
You select all the pictures and send them to your chat with Jake.
you:
[attachment: 7 images]
hereee
He reads the message instantly, notifying you that he’s been lurking, waiting for you to send them.
jakey <3
AAAAAAA
these turned out so niceee
we look so good
you:
yeah
they’re cute
Gun to your head, you could not explain why you’re being so dry. It’s like your brain doesn’t know how to respond anymore, overthinking every word your fingers type out. You start typing, dude my mom just showed me a valentine from like kindergarten that you gave to me lol. You delete it. You try again, hey, thanks again for agreeing to all this. i know it wasn’t easy and maybe made you confused like i am right now- backspaced immediately. What are you even trying to say?
Jake was always your go-to person for any and all of your qualms about life. But now, you feel like you can’t talk to him. Because how are you supposed to talk to him when you need to talk about him?
jakey <3:
are you typing out the declaration of independence rn
you
what
no
why?
jakey <3:
your little text bubble has been bubbling for like
five million years
you:
oh
oops
Jake’s own typing bubble pops up, then disappears, bubbles for fifteen seconds, and is gone again.
jakey <3:
are you ok?
you:
i’m fine
just tired
think i’m gonna go to bed now
jakey <3:
oh
okay
sweet dreams bug
Even though it irks your soul, you leave him on read. You don’t trust yourself to respond without saying something you’ll regret in the morning. You shut your phone off, plug it in on your nightstand, and collapse onto your bed. You clutch the ladybug Pillow Pet in your arms. Much to your surprise, sleep overtakes you almost immediately. Fake dating your best friend really takes it out of you.
It doesn’t feel like the peace lasts long, however. After what feels like only 15 minutes of sleep, you’re woken up by a recurring tapping sound at your window. You open one eye, squinting at the early morning light coming through your curtains. The sun’s up, so you’ve evidently been sleeping for more than 15 minutes, that’s for sure. You aimlessly grab around until you feel your hand wrap around your phone, yanking it off the charger and holding it up so you can check the time. Your screensaver displays 7:14 am. Too damn early on a Sunday morning for whatever’s going on outside your window. What is going on outside your window, anyway?
You crawl out of bed, limbs cramping from exhaustion as you walk toward your window. You yank open your curtains, hissing when the sunlight hits your face. Blinking rapidly as your eyes adjust to the light, you open your blinds and stare down at your yard. You blink again, frozen.
Jake is standing on your lawn, camped out below your bedroom window. Just like last time, he’s throwing pebbles up at your room, only this time, there’s no extravagant gifts or signs to win your affection. It’s just him.
You’re now wide awake.
You learned your lesson last time when you almost got hit in the face with a rock, so you don’t open the window, just pull up the blinds. When Jake finally sees you, his eyes go wide, like he wasn’t fully expecting you to wake up. He mouths something you can’t hear and you just stare at him dumbly. He makes a phone symbol with his hand, holding it up to his ear and then pointing back at you.
Catching his drift that he’s telling you to go get your phone, you scurry back to grab your phone where you left it thrown aside among your blankets and pillows. There’s already an incoming call from him when you pick it up. You answer right away, holding your phone up to your ear while you go back to the window, now able to hear and see Jake.
“Good morning,” he says casually, voice audible through the speaker.
“Good morning,” you reply back, albeit distractedly. “Uh, Jake?”
“Yeah?” He sounds like he’s holding his breath over the line.
You squint at him down below, crossing your arm under the one that’s holding the phone up. “It’s seven in the morning. Why are you in my yard?”
He laughs—that beautiful, rich, cheerful sound that makes your heart do a somersault in your chest. “Oh, right,” he murmurs, almost to himself, like he just realized this isn’t a normal thing to do. “I was worried about you.”
“About me?” You point to yourself, eyebrows raised.
He nods from his spot in your yard. “Yes, you. You were acting all weird last night when I texted you and…”
“And you what, Jake?” You bite your lip absentmindedly, nerves running rampant through you. You don’t even know what you want him to say, but you’re holding out hope for something.
“I didn’t know,” he starts off quiet and slow, “if I had messed things up last night. With you.”
You shut your eyes and let out a deep breath through your nose. Your body burns with embarrassment. Gosh, you’re such an idiot. Of course that’s why he’s so concerned. You had to go ahead and let your feelings almost come to surface, and now everything is messed up. He probably thinks you had a freaking stroke after what you pulled with that stupid cheek kiss last night. The magic solution for boo-boos? At your big age? He definitely thought some weird body swap happened in that moment, because why on earth would you act so out of character? It probably terrified him, maybe even made him uncomfortable. You’re his best friend, why are you going and catching feelings from a made-up relationship that was your idea in the first place? It’s pathetic. It’s humiliating. He probably came all the way over here so he could let you down easy in person. That’s even worse! What are you supposed to do now? Are you supposed to just pretend like this never happened? That you never jumped in without thinking, lost all your resolve, and came to the realization that your moms have been right all along: you and Jake are meant to be together? You want to curl up into a ball and never, ever uncoil. You start thinking of logical excuses for your dumb behavior. Sorry about that, I was temporarily possessed-
“I wasn’t sure if I crossed a line.” The heaviness in his voice makes you put a pin in your unrelenting thoughts. “If I scared you away.”
Your brain isn’t working. “Um,” you say intelligently. “What?”
He sighs deeply over the phone starts pacing back and forth in your yard. “Do you… do you think I was too much last night?”
Too much? Oh, Lord, he was everything. “No,” you answer honestly. “Is this about dinner? ‘Cause you were perfect.”
He chuckles in relief. “Oh, okay. Good, that’s good. I just,” he pauses, his steps also coming to a stop. “You looked kind of… terrified?” He turns the statement into a question, like he’s looking for confirmation.
Crap. You knew you should’ve practiced your poker face one more time. One stupid slip and everything blows up. Wait. Maybe he didn’t realize what exactly you were so afraid of. You cough. “Of what?”
“When I was telling the story of when I realized I wanted you.” The way he mentions it like it was a true tale makes you lightheaded. “I didn’t even finish it and you started choking on your water.”
Damn it, you’re too obvious. “Oh! That!” You try to laugh it off, which comes out way too loud and way too high pitched to be authentic, and he knows that. “That was completely unrelated.”
“Right,” he agrees, but you can tell from his tone he does not believe you one bit. He’s onto you. “And after, when I drove you home. You were looking at me like I was gonna whip out a machete and skin you alive.”
“Whoa,” you object, locking eyes with him through the window. “That because you just started randomly stripping in front of me-”
“I took my sweater off, I wasn’t going full nude,” he laughs fully, doubling over for a second before looking at you again. “I wasn’t aware my bare stomach was such a sensitive topic for you.”
Neither did you. But due to recent events, you’ve concluded that it very much is. “Shut up,” you tell him, fighting the burn in your face. “I was just surprised, that’s all.”
“Hm,” he hums. That’s all he does. It infuriates you.
“Look,” you start, beginning to realize you won’t win this time, “if you came over just to check on me, I assure you, I’m fine-”
“That’s not why I’m here.” Jake keeps his eyes on you, challenging, daring you to ask why.
You fall for it, hook, line, and sinker. “Then what are you doing here?” you ask tiredly.
Now it’s his turn to look like he’s on the verge of imminent explosion. His free hand starts fidgeting and he’s not looking at you anymore. Here it comes. He’s feeling bad because he doesn’t want to absolutely crush your soul with his clarification of your relationship: best friends and nothing more.
You don’t want to play this part anymore. You’re done. “Jake, you don’t have to.”
His head shoots up, confusion clear on his face. “What?”
“I know what you’re going to say,” you begin quickly, trying to get it out as fast as possible so you have to suffer for a shorter amount of time. “We don’t have to talk about it. We can just carry on like none of this ever happened, and just forever maintain that our moms were wrong.”
“Wrong about what?” he asks, voice airy. His eyes are wide again as he looks at you.
Every second of eye contact stings. You turn around and walk a few steps, eyes darting all around your room in hopes of finding a distraction. “You know what,” you laugh nervously. Seriously, what is going on? “Wrong about us being meant for each other, wrong that we’re a good couple-”
“What if I agree with them?”
Your whole body locks up on the spot. You take a short glance at your window. One step closer and you’d be able to see him again. You feel like you’ve started burning up and the blood in your veins has turned to ice, simultaneously.
“... what?” Your voice is barely above a whisper.
Jake laughs breathily, and you can picture it perfectly in your mind even though you can’t see him. “Can you just come down here, please? I’d rather not do this over the phone.”
You don’t answer him; you can’t. All you can do is hit the red button to end the call, grab a pair of slippers, and fumble with your doorknob before remembering your door swings out, not in. Out of the corner of your eye, you see a pack of gum sitting on your dresser. You grab a stick of gum and unwrap it quickly, shoving it into your mouth and chewing furiously. Just in case.
You stumble down the stairs, through the living room, and past the kitchen, but a pop of color catches your eye. You backtrack a few steps, taking a long look at the bouquet of roses Jake gave you before the date, now lying on your kitchen table.
Their deep red pigment is taunting you, a tantalizing reminder of the illusory hoax of a romance you just embarked on. A small jab at whatever it is you’re feeling right now. Then you realize they’re just dumb flowers, and Jake is waiting for you behind that door. You take off without a second thought.
The door swings open, slamming loudly behind you as you run out onto your lawn. He’s waiting there in the same spot, his back toward you. Jake hears you approach and turns around, smiling when he lays eyes on you.
“Hi,” he says softly.
“Hi,” you reply just as faintly.
He takes in your frazzled appearance, from your well-loved pajama pants, to your messy bedhead, to your tired yet bright eyes, to the oversized hoodie you’re wearing. He grins wider when he recognizes it as one of his own. “Nice hoodie.”
Your eyes expand like saucers and you wrap your arms around yourself like that hides the garment. You feel like you’ve been caught with some serious contraband and not just a hoodie. “I’ll give it back to you,” you rush to explain, ridden with guilt. “Today, if you want!”
“Keep it.” He laughs and takes a step closer toward you. “You wear it better, anyway.”
You blush, ducking your head to keep him from seeing. He notices anyway. He always notices.
“I found your valentine,” you say out of the blue, not wanting a single second of silence. “The original one.”
His eyes soften. “Really?”
You nod. “My mom was going through a whole box of old cards and stuff when I got home,” you share. “She said it was from kindergarten.”
“It is,” Jake confirms. “I’ve had it in my bottom drawer for ages now. The one you gave me.”
You weren’t expecting him to say that. You were in his room all the time and apparently had no idea he was storing nostalgic pieces of paper in there, right under your nose. You can’t help but ask, “Why?”
“My mom always wanted it to be kept safe,” he says, “but also said she wanted me to keep it close.” He stops, just looking at you, debating whether or not to continue. “Same with this.”
He reaches into the pocket of his jacket and pulls out a folded origami rose. The color is faded, edges frayed slightly by the passage of time.
He holds it up in front of you. “You gave me this with that card in kindergarten,” he says fondly, looking at it with adoration. “One day in second grade, I was mad at you. You kept calling me Worm all day at school, and I came home absolutely done with you.”
You don’t say anything, just listen intently. You’ve never heard this story before.
“It’s stupid, really, but I told my mom I didn’t want to be friends with you anymore,” he chuckles, reminiscing as he stares at the paper flower. “I said I was gonna throw this away because you made me mad and I didn’t want to see you.” His eyes fix on yours. “She sat me down and told me, ‘Jake,’” he begins, doing his best mom voice, which makes you laugh a bit. “‘Y/N is a very special friend to you. I think if you stopped being friends with her, you’d be very sad.’
And then she asked me, ‘How would you feel if she got a new best friend and started calling him Worm instead of you?’” He laughs louder, shaking his head. “Man, that made things even worse. That scared me, the thought of you hanging out with someone else. That’s when I decided I was never going to stop being your friend, and I was going to do everything in my power to make sure that you’d never want to bother anyone as much as you wanted to bother me.”
For some insane reason, your eyes start to water the more he goes on. You remember that day. You’d thought calling him Worm was funny; he was okay with it when you guys were outside of school, anyway. He became annoyed with you and didn’t say goodbye when he went home. That made you sad for the rest of the day. The next morning when you saw Jake, you expected him to still be mad at you. He wasn’t.
“I remember,” you laugh. “The next day at school, I thought you were gonna ignore me the whole day. I felt bad.” You smile at the memory. “You gave me a hug when I saw you.”
He scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah, first and last time for a long, long while.” He winces, “I could tell right away you hated it.”
“My opinion’s been swayed,” you say, testing. You look at him and give him a small, knowing smile. “I think I’m starting to get it now.”
He half smirks. “Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah.” You shift your focus off of his eyes because you can’t handle how he’s looking at you. Looking over his shoulder at the trees surrounding your house, you comment haphazardly, “Man, they really need to trim those hedges. Look at ‘em all overgrown and messy.”
“Y/N.” The tone in his voice makes you freeze again.
“Jake,” you respond in the same way, trying to disguise your internal panic. “What?”
“I don’t care about your foliage.” He takes one step closer to you. “And neither do you.”
“That’s not true,” you deny quickly, “I am very passionate about nature and gardening.”
He doesn’t break a smile, just takes another step. “You can’t grow a plant to save your life.”
“Well, that’s rude,” you scoff, your heart hammering in your ears as he closes in on you. “You know, I think if I really put my mind to it-”
“Y/N,” he repeats again, “why are we talking about vegetation?”
You purse your lips. “I…” No excuses come to mind. “I don’t know, Jake.”
Another step. “Do you even remember why you’re down here?”
“Because,” you swallow, the air all of a sudden feeling thick and heady. “You asked me to come down,” you recall, “so you could tell me why you’re really here.” You close your eyes for one second, take a deep breath, and bite the bullet. You lock eyes with him. “Why are you here, Jake?”
He just stares at you for around four seconds. You start to think, Oh, damn it, he’s trying to phrase how to let me down slowly, and brace yourself for impact. But then he moves forward again, hand reaching out. He freezes. Takes another hesitant step and retracts it. You hear him exhale audibly, heavily, before he surges forward so he’s standing right there in front of you.
“Oh, my gosh,” he says, “I can’t do this anymore. Screw it.”
You expect the rejection to come quick, bitter and stinging. It doesn’t happen.
Jake twirls the paper rose in his hand, looking at it as if it’s made of gold. “My mom never let me throw this away,” he reminds you. “She always said I’d regret it cause I might need it someday. I guess she was right.” He looks at you again. “Y/N, I’m losing my mind.”
Your throat is dryer than a desert. Somehow you will yourself to ask, “Over what?”
“You!” He laughs in disbelief, moving even closer. “I couldn’t sleep at all last night. Not a single second.” He temporizes whether or not he should keep going. “I…” he starts slow, choosing his words carefully. “I don’t want to ruin things. Between us, I mean.”
And so it starts, you believe. Next will come the line about how this was fun, but you really are better off staying friends. You look down, eyes lasering in on the blades of grass beneath your slippers.
“But I can’t help it.”
You so incredibly slowly raise your head to look him in the face. His pupils are blown, mouth slightly agape and his cheeks are slightly flushed.
Jake swallows, opens his mouth, then closes it again. “Y/N, I can’t pretend anymore.” His eyes survey yours, checking for any signs of discomfort or hesitation. He doesn’t find any and continues. “I know this was all just fake to get our moms off our backs,” he starts, “and I know none of it meant anything and it was all just a means to an end.” Both of his hands brush through his hair, gripping his scalp before dropping down again. “But I’ve never felt like something was more right. Ever. In my entire life.”
All you can do is stare at him, unable to even blink or nod or offer any sort of acknowledgment.
He goes on, “I don’t know if it’s all in my head and I’m just crazy or what,” he says, “but there’s no way you didn’t feel something these past few weeks… is there?”
You shake your head quickly, urging him to go on.
“I’ve been going insane ever since last night,” he says. “Well, for longer than that, but especially since last night. Being out with you, taking you on a date, holding your hand, getting to go on and on about how I adore you,” he gushes, eyes bright. “That was the best thing ever.” His smile flickers for a second, now unsure. “And it wasn’t real.”
“Jake…” you say, trying to find your voice. It’s shaky and subdued, but it’s there. “That was all just apart of the plan wasn’t it? All rehearsed lines and made up feelings.”
He lets out one short laugh, closes his eyes, then looks up to the sky like God is playing some cruel joke on him. “I should find it flattering that you think I’m that good of an actor.” He looks back at you. “Seriously, Y/N, do you think I’m freaking Christian Bale or something?” He sighs then goes quiet, so quiet you could swear you hear his heartbeat. “I wasn’t faking anything. I haven’t been for a while now.”
Letting his words hang in the air, you take a long few seconds to fully soak in what he’s saying. From his side, it’s been real. Since even before last night. You’re looking at him, but not really seeing him, his features blurring together by the second as your vision becomes hazy. It feels like the world is tilting on its axis.
“Hey,” he says upon noticing you looking dazed. His brows knit slightly with soft concern. “Are you okay?”
His voice shakes you out of it again. “Tell me you’re being one hundred percent serious right now,” you say instead of answering his question. “Swear on Layla.”
He changes his expression to an earnest one, eyes locked straight on yours. “I’m being fully honest with you. I swear on Layla, I’m the worst fake boyfriend ever.” His hands twitch at his sides, hesitant to touch you before he gives in, gently holding both of your hands in his. “I need to know,” he says quietly, just for you, “that it’s not just me. It’s not all in my head.” His eyes stare into yours, glassy and full of emotion.
You want to tell him of course it’s not in his head. You want to tell him that you feel the exact same, right down to the evident panic displayed in his eyes. But it needs to be right. You start thinking it over. For the first time in your life, you legitimately have no idea what to say to Jake. You just look at him with your lips parted, breath hitching every couple seconds like you’re about to say something, but then nothing comes out.
His body falters, doubt and embarrassment flashing across his face, head tilting down. His hands holding yours tremor, and you already know what he’s probably thinking. He read the situation wrong. You don’t feel the same. He has to go jump off a cliff now.
You hear sirens going on in your head when he tries to release his grip on you, his hands loosening and preparing to back away. You can’t let it be like this. In a frenzy fueled by adrenaline that’s kicked in way too late to be useful, you clutch his hands in yours.
“Stop,” you say hurriedly, voice strung with alarm. “It’s not.” You swallow, finally finding the words. “It’s not just you. It’s not all in your head.”
Jake slowly lifts his head, peeking his eyes at you. “It’s not?” he asks timidly.
You shake your head no, unable to stop explaining now that you’ve started. “I thought I messed up, that I would ruin our friendship if I let these… new feelings happen,” you explain. “It just felt so stupid to me, you know? I mean, after all these years we both spent, like, aggressively detesting a romantic relationship, I just,” you pause, thinking. “I felt like I’d be conforming to some dumb cliche.”
He laughs brokenly, easing the tension slightly. “I get it,” he says. “Really, I do. Except it just makes me feel kind of like an idiot. Like it took me this long to realize what everyone’s been saying forever.” He looks at you in full. “What was in front of me this whole time.”
Your entire body shivers, feeling like it’s been electrocuted and doused in water at the same time. You think back to the conversation you had in his kitchen about relationships of years past, or more so the lack thereof.
“Did you really mean what you said that night in the kitchen?” you ask. “When I asked you why you never really dated anybody?”
Jake facepalms, his eyes squeezed shut. “I was hoping you didn’t register that.” He drags his hand down his face with a groan. “Yeah. I did,” he admits. “I didn’t even think about what I was saying. It just came out.” He eyes you warily. “Do you… think that’s weird?”
You consider the big picture from Jake’s perspective. “Not really,” you answer. “If anything, you could blame it on being brainwashed by our moms. I’m sure there’s some psychological backup to that.”
“That would be a lie,” he confesses. “That has nothing to do with them and everything to do with you, Y/N.”
There he goes again with those perfectly crafted words that turns your stomach into a wildlife reserve for very active and annoying butterflies.
“The story of when I realized I was falling for you?” he recalls. “The one that I pitched and ‘altered?’ Completely accurate.” He smiles lopsidedly. “It’s how you’re always there. And I don’t mean the same always like how my mom’s always yelling at me to stop leaving my shoes by the door, or how we always have homework on Tuesdays.”
He reaches up and brushes away a strand of hair that’s been blown into your face by the light morning breeze. “I mean always as in, I can’t think of a single time I’ve needed you by my side and you weren’t there. The good, the bad, the ugly, the downright humiliating. You know it all, Y/N,” he breathes out. “You know me.” He locks eyes with you. “You’ve seen every version of me. Every birthday, every stupid phase, every pubescent hormonal imbalance—you saw all of it. And you stayed.”
Against your will, the tears in your eyes threaten to spill over upon hearing his impromptu speech. In your eyes, not having Jake in your life wasn’t even an option in any circumstance, especially not for something as minimal as a couple moody days or miscommunications. Your relationship was stronger than that. It was resolute, built on eighteen years of life spent together, things only the two of you understand, countless petty arguments that only strengthened your bond.
“If I had to picture myself with anyone, it’s not even a question,” he states firmly. “It would be you. No matter when you asked me, it would always be you.” He takes a long, deep breath. “I can’t imagine ever loving anyone the way I love you.”
You pout, fighting back the tears. Your heart is on the verge of explosion. “I feel the same way.”
“Y/N.” He takes hold of your hands again. “I mean it. I love you.”
“I know,” you say with a smile, feeling all sappy. “I love you too, Jake.”
“No, like,” he pants, running a hand through his hair once. “I love you. I’m in love with you.”
The world should explode right about now. Cracks should spread throughout the ground before you’re swallowed by an enormous sinkhole.
But it doesn’t.
In fact, it feels like quite the opposite. That horrible, heavy feeling that’s been in your chest for the past couple of weeks? Gone the second those words leave Jake’s mouth.
Your grin is so wide your cheeks ache. “I love you too, Jake,” you repeat again.
He smiles brightly, all the tension melting from his shoulders as he pulls you in for a hug. A real hug, one where you don’t care if it looks believable or not. You melt into his embrace, eyes fluttering shut as you take a deep breath, breathing him in. He smells like sunshine and his laundry detergent and that something so undeniably Jake. You wish you could turn it into a candle scent and keep it burning for the rest of your life. You sigh in content, nuzzling into his chest with a satisfied smile on your face. Everything feels right like this.
“Do you know what made me decide to finally suck it up and tell you?” he asks after a moment of comfortable silence, his cheek resting against the top of your head.
You hum in question, too happy to actually form words.
“It was what you said at dinner,” he says. “When you said we’d go back to being friends and nothing would change, I just wouldn’t kiss you and bring you flowers anymore.” He pulls back so that you’re still close but face to face now. “Hearing you say that felt like I was being robbed. I don’t want that,” he confesses. “I want to keep kissing you and bringing you flowers.”
A wave of warmth spreads over you. You feel lightheaded, but remain composed. “Yeah?” you breathe out, eyes flicking down to his lips, unable to help it.
His Adam’s apple bobs as he mirrors you, simply nodding. You wonder if this is going to hold out for long, but then he swoops down and kisses you warmly on the cheek. When he pulls away, you feel like your skin is burning where his lips touched.
“Was that… okay?” he asks nervously, unsure if he crossed a line.
You don’t smile. “No.”
He looks at you like you’ve just slapped him across the face again. “Wh-what?”
“It wasn’t okay,” you say quietly, leaning closer to him, lips almost brushing his. “You missed. Try again, Worm.”
His face breaks into a grin, the former worries leaving in an instant. “Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah.” You nod, smiling back at him.
Obediently following your orders, he closes the distance between you, and this time, fully presses his lips against yours. You shut your eyes instinctively, focusing on the feeling. His lips are warm and soft. It’s tentative at first, just a gentle pressure like he’s testing the waters, giving you time to shove him off if you wanted to. You don’t. You really don’t. You smile into the kiss at his bashfulness, hand coming up to comb through the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer to you and deepening the connection. Feeling your confidence, he meets you with equal fervor, hands reaching up to cup your face. You can feel him smile back against your lips, tilting his head slightly to change the angle, opening your mouth with his. He groans softly without meaning to, and you can’t help but giggle, pulling away slightly to catch your breath.
“What?” he asks breathlessly, eyes still closed, forehead pressed against yours.
“I just,” you laugh out faintly. “Wow.”
He opens his eyes. “Yeah,” he agrees, “wow.” He clicks his tongue. “You taste minty,” he says like he’s making a discovery, “and I know you didn’t take the time to brush your teeth before you came down here.” A knowing look comes across his face and you want to die. “Did you… chew gum before coming down to see me?” He smirks. “You were planning on kissing me, weren’t you?”
You flush so quickly it’s embarrassing. “No, I was not,” you deny, very much not true. “It’s just common courtesy to not have bad breath-“
“Nah,” he interrupts, still smiling. “You just wanted to kiss me.”
You roll your eyes, annoyed, and try to back away from him, but he wraps his arms around your waist, anchoring you to his body.
“Oh, shut up,” you laugh, pushing lightly against his chest. “If you’re gonna be a jerk about it, then I’ll just go back inside and act like this never-“
He cuts you off with another kiss, lips back against yours like they’re magnetized. He sighs happily, arms tightening around you as you kiss him back.
“You know you can’t just kiss me now whenever I’m arguing with you,” you say in between kisses.
“I know,” he says, then pecks you on the lips. “But,” he adds after another peck. “It’s worth a try.” He kisses you long, exhaling through his nose and holding you against him.
You could try to retort again, but you have a feeling that’s not going to get you very far right now. So you drop it, relishing fully in the moment. You’re here with Jake. The two of you together. For real. No performances, no staged affection or scripted drama. Just him and just you. You hate to admit it, but your moms have been right all along. It was always going to be you and Jake in the end.
Operation Big Fake Date with Jake was an astounding failure. And you couldn’t be more glad.
“Yeah, he’s over here,” your mom says into the phone. She’s on a call with Jake’s mom, who had no idea of her son’s whereabouts this morning. “They’re in the yard.” She takes a sip of her coffee, standing by the window and watching as Jake kisses you again and again. Shaking her head, she just chuckles lightly before walking back to the counter. “They sure do make up quick.”
a/n: holy freakin moly bro this took way longer than i thought but it's finally out and i am soooo gladdddd!!! this is the first full fic i've ever finished so it's lowkey my firstborn child </3 i hope you enjoy these idiots in love as much as i did :)
⋮ ⌗ ┆概要 ⨾ who are you if not sunghoon's favourite kind of cardio?
朴成训 𝔁 𝒻 .ᐟ读者 ── 1.7k
explicit content ⋆ smut (mdni)、condescending dom!sunghoon、sub!reader、established relationship、degradation/humiliation、breath play (reader asks sunghoon to put them in a chokehold)、unprotected sex (don't do this)、breeding kink、full nelson & magic mountain position、biting、petnames used: angel、baby、cocksleeve、dumb puppy、good/greedy/sweet girl、pervert、princess.⌇ℳ.list
⋮ ⌗ ┆便条 ⨾ this was written in a uhm...(horny) rage 😭 after reading this fic and having big boogie come on shuffle (hence the title), i gave this a go. someone also said my previous gym!hoon fic deserved a sequel, so this is my humble attempt 🙏🏾 hope you enjoy, much loveeeee! <333
"What's up? You seem…"
Under Sunghoon's watchful gaze, heaviness doesn't deter the antsy drum of your fingernails into the kitchen marble counter. Piercing skin into the flesh of your bottom lip, you've been watching him for the better part of the last five minutes. Eyes following the space Sunghoon's frame takes up of the room, presence imposing to the abandonment of your dimmed laptop. He's opted for a sleeveless shirt this time, jacked arms on full display with arm sleeves so loose, they expose pale slivers of skin marked in moon crescents of the very nails you gnaw on, consumed by nothing but the mundane. Observing your boyfriend make his protein shake, giving the bottle forceful shakes to mix its contents and your insides, engorged veins running his arms with the flex of his arms, his Adam's apple bobbing as he washes it down. You don't miss a second of it, not the dart of his tongue as he licks the edge of his lips of its reminiscent, tears nearly brought to your eyes as you stifle a pathetic whimper.
You should be used to it. The gymrat lifestyle your boyfriend's devoted himself to, the one you've reaped the benefits of and yet, here you are, shuffling in your seat because the sweats against your body are suffocating, skin simmering beneath the material while your boyfriend looks at you. Knowing, a sharp edge to the soft smile he gives, edged canine peeking out.
If only he knew you wanted it to sink into your skin.
"On edge."
A natural pause allows you to collect some semblance of composure, closed lids with a chest-emptying sigh before you look up again, sternness cemented into the knit of your eyebrows. Fingernails slowing their rhythm, only accentuating every point leaving your mouth.
"Don't tire yourself out," you say, head cocked to the side. "You've got work to do when you're back."
Amusement pulls his smile wider, inches his eyebrow up too. "Is that so?"
"Yeah."
You shift again, laboured chest rising and falling, uncomfortable with actions so blatantly obvious in his eyes. Must be why brightness streaks in them as he slugs his gym bag over his shoulder, his answer clear as day. "You go ahead and stretch,"
His hand lowers his hat, an overcast in his darkened eyes. "You'll need it."
And he leaves. Half hard through his grey sweats with the ticking time-bomb that is you.
Which is how you find yourself here, folded into his personal origami as his arms pin your legs to your ears, pounding into you without any regard.
"Didn't you want this, baby?" Sunghoon coos, ragged chuckle ringing in your ears. "So incessant on me fucking you but look at you now - can't get your big girl words out."
You gargle on some stupid retort, the sound choked in the saliva pooled in your mouth, lips parted to chase the breaths he won't let you catch. Muscles cry in fatigue, in no way helped by the advice you followed through with by stretching. Nails are left to weak scratches against Sunghoon's forearms, the leverage of the leaned back couch allowing him to knock deepest in you.
"You sat here waiting for me, making a mess of your flimsy underwear ── didn't even let me get through the door to beg for my cock. Is that what you are, angel?" Your head lolls back, swarmed with syrupy thoughts as he fucks up into you, hitting your sweet spot over and over again. "Some muscle obsessed cocksleeve? Something for me to fuck and use any way I want?"
Energy summons itself to nod your head, agreement sounding amidst the wet squelch of your cunt splashed back onto yours and Sunghoon's thighs. "I am, I am──ngh!"
His laugh's rich in your ear, cock pulsing in your walls refusing to let him go, body curling into itself to feel him press further in you, a groaned whimper leaving your kissed-red lips. "Well, aren't you a pleasure to use."
Your nails drag endlessly, streaking into his skin with no remorse, a sick turn of your stomach calling for scattered words. "Hoon, I─fuck, I'm gonna come again."
"Already? I've barely fucked you, baby," his reply comes with a sloppy few thrusts, hitched momentum in the desperate squeeze of your cunt. "Isn't this what you were on your knees for? Nosing along my balls like some dumb puppy,"
"You smelled good," you whine, slap of your ass echoing against his flexed thighs, him holding you like you're nothing. "Feel good too, fuck."
"Got a pervert for a girlfriend. I can't be surprised," he grunts, notching himself particularly hard to the knock of air out your lungs, strained and desperate for life. "Go on, since you're so easy. Come."
As much control as Sunghoon has over the body he sculpts in the gym, he has the same over your own, unearthing the orgasm ripping through you at his command. A scream unleashes the rawness of your vocal chords, dying into sob-like whimpers as moisture clumps your lashes together, body bucking erratically in a hold Sunghoon doesn't so much as flinch at, keeping you pinned and in plac through your orgasm.
Hazy at best is how your consciousness prevails, a mirage of the warm lights in your living room. Afternoon sunset pours through the windows, curtains you didn't think to close, one-track minded when you heard the lock turning at Sunghoon's arrival.
The arctic cold of the floor straightens your spine, figure having been moved to hunch over the poor coffee table you served tea and cake to friends not even a day ago, now being defiled as your hands splays against the polished oakwood. In the echo chamber of your breath, your ass lifts as Sunghoon's tip collects slick smeared between your folds, electricity lighting your spine.
"Mind if I fuck you more, baby?" he asks, voice dripping with the sweet condescending nature you latch onto, pleased moan feeding his ego. "I'll even get my arm around you, just how you like."
That grabs your attention. Instills life into your tired body with arms reaching back, spine bending with fingers spreading yourself for his taking. "Please, Hoonie. I need it, I need it so bad."
"Want my arm around you, hm angel?" his teasing knows no end, cock drenched in arousal as all he does is run his length along you, tip nudging into your hole to chip away at your soul. "Wanna get pumped full of my come?"
Your breasts peel off the coffee table with an insignificant burn, body squirming as your hips try backing into him. "Want it, Hoon. It's all I want,"
"I'll be good," you slur, cheek pressed into the table. Frustration keeps your lashes wet, face scrunched up miserably. "You know I'm good for it."
"God, you're sin," his patience reaches its limit, tip breaching further into your cunt welcoming him in. "Since you're so good ─ take it."
No time is spared for a response, his girthy length sliding into the mess of come coating your walls, the glide and stretch of him filling you bringing incoherent expressions of gratitude out your running mouth. He sets a punishing rhythm, folding himself over to press against your back, uniting you as one as his large arm hooks underneath your chin, locked in by the cross of his wrists while he fucks you with no escape.
It's the highlight of every life you've lived, a single high curling your toes and engulfing your senses and half-baked thoughts in all Sunghoon. He's so close like this, a waft of sandalwood and cinnamon embracing you in a familiar hug, hard ridges of his body sticking to yours with leftover sweat from the gym and now, his favourite cardio ─ stuffing you full of his cock with every bit of joy you voice.
Pleasure sings in every cell of your body, on cloud nine, aided by the restricted airflow given by the unforgiving cram of his arm, sandwiched in between his hard bicep and forearm. If you weren't so out of it, your teeth would make a home in his skin, no rigidness in your slack jaw.
"Think you're coherent enough to rub your clit for me or you just gonna come taking my cock?" he muses, breath fanning over the shell of your ear. "Talk to me, princess."
Your hand shakes on the table, wanting to move but unable to. "I can't─I can't move."
"Oh my greedy girl, I'll give it to you. Just keep squeezing me like that," his wrist separates from the other, leaning your body towards its side to keep you in a chokehold, hand venturing between your thighs. They shake from the force of his thrusts, shimmering with your slick and ghosted over before Sunghoon gets his fingers to rub over your clit. You howl in his hold, overstimulation bucking your poor body that begged for this, the simultaneous feel of his cock and fingers sending you to the edge. "Fuck, you're gonna be dripping with my come if you keep doing that."
"I'm close," you whimper, lips quivering with the anticipation building in your stomach, warm and rearranged in every way you love. "Give me your come ─ pleaseeee,"
"How can I say no when you're so sweet for me?" You hear him smile, feel the press of his lips against your sweat-layered temple before he starts rutting into you, pulling you into him as he chases his high. In the desperate pursuit, his fingers rub your clit faster, unearthing high-pitched moans vibrating off his skin as your cunt weeps around him, walls holding onto him for dear life. "You go first, needy girl. Come for me, I've got you."
And you do, so desperately moulded to his whims your body gives in, starlight streaking across your eyes as you come. Beyond the incessant slap of his hips against your skin, all you hear is the rush of your blood flooding through you, so weak to the explosive burst of euphoria your body operates on instinct, teeth sinking into the flesh of Sunghoon's arm, earning you a grunt.
"God, you're milking me, princess," he moans, words wobbled at their end. "Gonna give it to you - thank me like a good girl."
The 'thank yous' topple out your mouth like a mantra, plentiful and so true to their word, it pushes Sunghoon deep into your sweet spot, flooding your walls with hot come you push out, clenching in a frenzy as Sunghoon pulls out, watching your body shake in his aftermath.
"My sweet girl," you hear in the distance of your comedown, shoulder blades pressed in an adoring kiss. "Nothing beats you."
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pairing 𖢥 ₊°˖ spiderman!jake x f!reader ── .✦ fluff, rom-com, angst, slowburn, miscommunication!trope, classmates to lovers ft. guy-in-the-chair!sunghoon
wc 𖢥⊹✎ᝰ.ᐟ 25.4k ( ˶o˶˶o˶)
synopsis 𖢥 ⁺₊✧ keeping his secret identity...a secret? easy work. hiding his raging, massive, all-consuming crush on you? not so much. sim jaeyun has a lot on his plate: high school, late-night crime-fighting, a history final next week, and a painfully massive crush on his chemistry lab partner—you. and things are finally starting to look up—during the day, jake bonds with you over caffeine-fueled study sessions and at night, spider-man walks you home. but then you drop a bomb: you've got feelings for someone else. and that someone is...spider-man. and now, somehow, someway, jake is in a love triangle. with himself. turns out—falling for your lab partner and your friendly neighborhood hero? easy work. realizing they're the same guy? not so much.
warnings 𖢥⊹ ࣪ ˖ mentions of violence, blood, wounds // mild cursing // multiple kiss scenes bc jake is just so kissable whoops // slowslowburn // jakehoon bromance keeps me alive // jake pines & yearns & longs & yearns.. // concept of 'casual' dating // superhero & mcu elements & easter eggs :3 // jake is a loser but spider-man is a smooth-talker heh
°˖➴ .ᐟ 𖢥 addie ── FINALLY !!! i have finally, finally finished a full fic for the first time in literal forever and i'm actually so excited for this one bc i freaking love mcu & spiderman & jake so freaking much you guys dont understand...spidey was my first ever childhood crush i think i literally made a post abt it somewhere here on my blog ages ago...so my reaction when i got this anon request for this fic?? i cheered. ꉂ(˵˃ ᗜ ˂˵) ty for being patient with me and for all the words of support & encouragement & love throughout the process <333 if you've been here some time and read my other works you know i literally get myself way too indulged into the whole process,,,but i really did have so much freaking fun writing this so i really hope you guys like all 25k words of spidey!jake :3
sim jaeyun has a lot of secrets.
like the fact that he’s secretly (but not so secretly) a giant nerd and, frankly, a genius with the probable IQ of someone who can calculate pi to the 500th decimal in his head just for fun. or maybe the fact that he’s definitely smart enough to hack into the school’s database and find copies of the finals’ answer keys under ten minutes flat.
but he doesn’t. because again. sim jaeyun is a genius (and because he’s scared of getting caught. but mostly the genius thing).
sim jaeyun pours his milk before cereal. he sleeps on his stomach. he doesn’t separate his white socks from his colored ones. he’s terrified of cats. he loves rom-coms. he’s spider-man. he can’t fall asleep without his favorite build-a-bear. and he doesn’t know how to ride a bike.
but his most important secret?
he has the biggest crush on you.
so big that he’d say it’s more top-secret than the fact that he uses 5-in-1 men’s soap and being the city’s web-slinging, crime-fighting, red-and-blue spandex-wearing superhero.
and in all honestly—
it’s not like the latter is even that secret anymore.
because another thing about jake?
he sucks at keeping secrets.
he figured this out about two weeks into accepting his new life post-radioactive-spider-bite—right around the same time he decided yeah, sure, i can totally handle having powers and a double life. and not freaking out every time he accidentally shot a web out in his sleep.
he figured this out when park sunghoon, his longtime best friend, accidentally found jake’s suit in his room. and by accidentally, we mean jake just…left it lying out. on his bed. in plain sight. because he forgot to put it away the day sunghoon came over to share his history notes.
that was the day sunghoon declared himself jake’s “guy in the chair.”
so yeah.
jake sucks at keeping his spidey secret…a secret.
but his crush on you?
oh yeah.
that one’s highly classified (except from sunghoon. because again—guy in the chair).
“you should probably stop staring before it gets creepy.”
jake blinks.
he stops staring at you—across the cafeteria, laughing with your friends, completely unaware of how he’s most definitely about five seconds away from writing your name in bubble letters with a pink glitter pen on his notebook cover.
he turns his head toward the voice.
sunghoon, of course.
“actually, too late. it’s creepy,” sunghoon adds before casually chewing on the cafeteria pizza that’s always a little too suspiciously rubbery but no one ever questions it for their own sake.
jake sighs, his eyes going back to your figure across the busy room. “you think she’ll talk to me in chemistry today?”
sunghoon doesn’t even blink.
“she has to talk to you. you guys are literally lab partners.”
“that’s different,” jake mutters, chin in his hand, eyes never leaving you once. “i mean, i could ask what her favorite color is or something…”
sunghoon stares. jaw slack. full deadpan.
“that’s a joke, right? please tell me that’s a joke. because i don’t know what funnier—the fact that you have the pick up lines of a first grader, or the fact that even i know that you know you don’t have the guts to say anything to her that’s not directly related to ionic bonding.”
jake whips his head to his best friend, the look in his eyes being nothing less than betrayed, “i so totally can!”
“jake,” sunghoon says slowly, voice lowering, “you broke the test tube in your hand last week when she asked what your weekend plans were.”
a pause.
“then you ran out of the room. without saying anything.”
jake groans. drops his head into his arms on the table. “okay, i specifically remember saying we would never bring that up ever again.”
sunghoon chuckles, hands raised, “just saying.”
a brief silence falls over the table as jake lifts his head up in despair. he goes back to probably-definitely-not-so-subtly watching you from across the cafeteria.
“you should just…y’know—” sunghoon nudges jake’s side. “—get your lil buddy to help you out.”
jake freezes.
turns to his best friend in horror, “my…lil what now?”
sunghoon’s palm smacks the side of jake’s head before his voice drops to a whisper, “your alter ego, idiot.”
jake rubs the side of his head, staring at the way sunghoon is casually sitting there like this is a perfectly reasonable suggestion.
“you heard me,” sunghoon continues when jake makes no sign of responding, the look on his face enough to tell sunghoon he thinks he’s probably borderline psychotic. “go up to her as spider-man. be mysterious. say something cool. i bet she’ll be super impressed and instantly fall in love with you.”
“that is literally the worst idea you probably could’ve ever thought of.”
“is it?” sunghoon shrugs, smug as he leans back in his chair. “because seeing as your track record so far is either a) breaking glass around her, or b)…actually, no. yeah, that’s it. that’s all i got. your track record sucks, bro.”
jake groans for the nth time and lets his head thunk onto the table this time with a soft clunk. “i hate it here.”
“you’re not even going to consider it?”
jake lifts his head just enough to glare his eyes at sunghoon, “do you hear yourself? you want me to flirt with her…while wearing spandex. in full mask. while i talk like this—” his voice drops to the deeper, definitely-not-as-disguising-as-he-thinks-it-is tone he uses while saving the city at night. “‘hey. i know i’m wanted by, like, a hundred bad people out there, but also, what’s your favorite color?’”
sunghoon grins. “add a little web trick and shoulder touch and boom—she’s yours.”
jake deadpans at him, his voice returning to normal, “do you even like me? are we even friends?”
sunghoon shrugs. pops a fry in his mouth. thinks for a second. “you’re entertaining.”
jake groans again. slumps dramatically into his seat, staring at the too-bright fluorescent lights in the ceiling above him. “i can’t flirt as spider-man me,” he mutters. “that sounds like a nightmare. i can’t even talk to her as me me.”
“duh. that’s kinda the entire point.”
“and then what, huh?” jake dramatically throws his hands up. “i take her on a date while web-swinging through the city? and if i drop her?”
“i dunno,” sunghoon takes another unbothered bite of his rubber pizza. “use two webs? you’re the one with the sticky powers, i don’t know it works!”
jake lets out an exasperated sound.
sunghoon pats his back, attempting to be the supportive friend he is. “face it. it’s the only way she’s ever gonna know you’re slightly even remotely cool and do anything more than read books on like…i don’t know—how physics makes the earth spin or something.”
jake pouts. “i am cool!”
“you own a build-a-bear named woofy.”
“he’s a comfort object!”
“exactly. that’s why spider-man has to take the wheel from now on.”
jake stares at sunghoon, shakes his head, and starts packing up his completely untouched lunch.
“whatever. i’m going to chemistry,” he mutters, swinging his backpack around his shoulder with a huff, despite the fact that class doesn’t start for another twenty minutes.
and it’s not like he needs to get to class early to ask the teacher questions or get extra help on the homework or anything normal and productive like that—don’t be ridiculous.
because here’s the thing. jake getting to class early means one very important thing: he gets to his seat—the one next to yours—before you do.
which means you have to acknowledge him first. which is crucial.
because if the roles were reversed—jake does not trust himself to be able to acknowledge you first and say hi without choking on his own air or probably knocking over a glass beaker that wasn’t there before but would somehow magically appear because that’s just jake’s luck in the process.
regardless, it works. the system works. he’s perfected it by now. because it’s about half way through the school year and without fail, every time you walk into class and jake’s already sitting there—busy pretending like he’s reading some article on his laptop when in reality his senses are going haywire over being overwhelmed by your entire presence that he already felt from down the hallway—you always greet him first with the same airy, cheery tone in your voice, bright smile, hair flowing, perfume floating in the air—
"hi jake!"
jake's soul ascends.
he looks up (too fast), catches himself (too obvious), and tries to play it cool with a little nod and smile that definitely looks a little more like a grimace (too tragic).
"hey." nailed it.
you smile casually as you plop your backpack down on the lab table you share with him and start pulling out your notebooks for the day. and jake just stares ahead like a soldier at war. his hands are sweating. his feet are bouncing. his entire nervous system is screaming at him to say something, anything.
and as if the universe decided to play a casually cruel trick on him—
"...so what's your favorite color?"
"so, any fun weekend plans?"
both your voices overlap.
you both freeze.
turn to each other at the same time.
blink.
"oh—"
"—sorry, you go—"
"no, you first—"
"okay—wait—i, i forgot—"
silence.
you hold back a smile.
jake wishes to melt into the earth and hopes he never reincarnates.
"i was just gonna ask," you say, a small smile still playing on your lips that it makes jake's brain actively start doing 360s, "if you're doing anything this weekend."
jake short-circuits.
say something. be mysterious. be cool. be normal. channel spider-man. but maybe...not spider-man when you talk to him. spider-man when he talks to everyone else. "i'm...uh." he clears his throat. tries again. "probably just, y'know. working."
you tilt your head, eyes sparkling with curiosity, "working?"
"yeah," jake nods, too quickly for his own liking, then stops himself. "like—side gig."
if a side gig came with at least two new bruised ribs some nights and meant saving a city from criminals, but yeah, okay. sure. side gig.
your brows raise. "that's cool! what do you do?"
jake freezes.
panics.
what does he do.
he can't say spider-man.
he also can't say he has the molecular build of an eight-limbed arthropod and can stick onto walls with only his bare fingers.
and he definitely can't say i spend 70% of my free time thinking about you and the other 30% swinging off buildings.
"...delivery." he says it like he's mysterious. cool. totally normal.
you blink. as if waiting, as if expecting him to elaborate.
he blinks back at you.
"delivering...what?"
"...pizza."
(and he did once deliver a stolen pizza order back to its rightful owner after webbing the thief to a lamppost. that totally counts.)
"oh," you nod slowly, giving him a genuine smile. "that sounds fun!"
jake gives a thumbs up.
mentally smacks himself in the face repeatedly.
but then, his brain suddenly catches up to the situation at hand and before he can stop himself, he blurts—
"wait—uh, why do you ask?"
and then you break eye contact, glancing down at your notebook, and jake pretends not to notice your fingers suddenly fidgeting with one of your many too-colorful pens.
"well," you start, and jake is trying his very, very best to ignore the fact that his senses can pick up on your heart beat. "we've got the final coming up next week, and i don't know—you always seem like you know what you're doing in class, so—"
she thinks im smart? oh my god. she notices me? even when i’m not breaking glass? oh my god oh my god oh my—
"—i was hoping maybe we could study together?" you look up at him again, your eyes wide. "or go over the study guide one last time or something. but it's totally fine if you're busy working! and that makes sense, you probably don't even need to study, you're, like, uber smart and stuff, so—"
"no."
your words come to a halt and your mouth is left slack.
jake smacks himself. mentally. again.
and again.
"...oh, um—"
jake coughs suddenly, a little too loud, a little too forced. "sorry! i mean—no...no, i'm not busy. yes, i'm down. down. to study. together. yeah."
he takes note in the way your shoulders slightly relax and the way you release a breath of what sounds like relief and amusement at the same time.
then, a soft smile makes its way to your face again, "okay! okay, cool!"
jake doesn't know if he should scream, sob, or launch himself into the sun.
he smiles back. "cool."
there's a pause.
"wait—but what about work?" your head tilts slightly, a soft crease forming between your brows.
shit.
"oh. right," jake mutters, clearing his throat as his hand casually brushes through his hair as if he thought this one through (he, in fact, did not).
quick, lie—wait, no. casual lie. lying is not cool. don't lie to the girl you like. you're simply protecting her. be mysterious. be cool. be normal.
"i'm...sure the pizzas will be okay for a night! yeah. they have flexibility. my job, i mean. not the pizzas. my manager's chill."
your smile brightens at his answer and jake decides launching himself into the sun is dramatic. in fact, he thinks the sun came out today just for him.
"okay, yay!" you're beaming. "sounds like a plan."
jake also thinks his heart just tripped over itself.
"here, let me—" you rip off a corner of your notebook and start scribbling something down with one of your pens before sliding the slip of paper over to his side of the table, "—give you my number and you let me know when and where works best, yeah?"
and jake is simply a guy.
a guy entirely entranced.
it's the way you lean a little closer to the desk, tongue peeking out at the corner of your mouth in concentration. the way your hair shifts when you tilt your head, the gentle swish of it brushing over your shoulder. the way your bracelets softly clink together when your hands move. the way you smoothly push the small slip of paper with your number and name signed with a small smiley face towards him like it's no big deal.
jake stares at the paper like all those nights of manifesting finally paid off and this small slip of notebook paper is first proof that a manifestation journal really does work.
your name. your number. a tiny smile doodled next to it.
it's the cutest thing he's ever seen.
he looks at the note. then at you. then back at the note.
how did this happen. what did he say? was it the pizza lie? no, it couldn't have been the pizza lie.
"cool," jake eventually says, but he realizes he's said cool one too many times and it comes out so high-pitched, he's genuinely unsure if he said it out loud or just squeaked like a mouse.
and you just simply smile back at him, soft and sweet and light, and jake decides to revisit the potential idea of self launching into orbit.
and when the teacher enters the classroom, immediately starting the lecture, jake turns back to the front of the class, trying his very best to focus—
"pink."
it comes out as a low and soft whisper. jake's head jerks slightly towards you, and you're leaning in, just slightly enough for your shoulder to brush against his.
"...i—what?"
you smile, your eyes crinkled at their corners as you look at him, "my favorite color. it's pink."
then, you turn back to the whiteboard, already scribbling down your notes like you didn't just change the entire trajectory of jake's future.
jake doesn't move.
jake, in fact, doesn't hear a single word of whatever the teacher is saying about the synthesis and characterization of something-something-carbene-molecular-something.
all he knows is:
he's seeing you this weekend.
your favorite color is pink.
and tucked into the back of his phone is now a piece of corner notebook paper with your number on it.
and, of course, it's written in pink.
jake doesn’t know what he’s going to tell sunghoon about first—the fact that the favorite color pick-up line potentially worked, or that he has an actual study date with y–
wait.
“do you think it’s a study date?” jake’s voice is muffled by a peanut butter protein bar, his legs dangling off the edge of some random apartment building he deemed clean from bird poop to sit on.
there’s a long beat of silence from the other end of his phone that’s perched beside him on speaker, before sunghoon finally answers.
“i think it’s your chemistry lab partner…who needs to study for an exam…with her super genius bench partner,” sunghoon pauses. “but yeah. it’s definitely also a study date.
jake fist-pumps the air. “right?! that’s what i’m saying!” he leans back on one of his palms, staring down at the blur of streetlights and car headlights below, watching the tiny dots of normal people go about their normal people lives after their normal people days.
“god, i’m gonna say something dumb. i always say something dumb. i’m gonna probably tell her my favorite element is, like, carbon, or something. that’s not even a fun one,” jake sighs as he watches the sun slowly set along the skyline in front of him.
there’s a long, suffering sigh from the phone. “please, for the love of God and everything He created, do not tell her what your favorite element is.”
jake frowns, even though he knows sunghoon can’t see it. “you don’t think it’s charming?”
“remember what happened in the sixth grade when that girl asked for a pencil and you gave her an entire lecture on valence electrons and then she never spoke to you ever again?”
jake makes a face. “okay, but she didn’t specify what kind of lead she needed—”
“just…be normal,” sunghoon cuts in. “be jake.”
jake goes quiet.
because that’s just the problem, isn’t it?
because jake isn’t normal.
“normal” and “jake” haven’t belonged in the same sentence since he woke up one random morning with super strength, freakish reflexes, and abs (not that he’s complaining about the abs. but still. he knows his two-day-a-week gym habit and occasional protein bar didn’t cause them).
normal isn’t waking up in the middle of the night because your fingers literally fused to your bed frame. normal isn’t learning how to navigate puberty while also learning how different wrist angles shoot out different types of webs. normal isn’t lying to your mom about why your laundry always smells like burnt rubber and concrete dust and weirdly enough, hot dogs.
and normal definitely isn’t sitting a hundred feet above the city at 10PM on a friday night with your best friend on speaker and your spandex suit hidden under a hoodie, trying to decide if your biggest life crisis is:
a — the rise of petty city crime
or
b — the way your ridiculously pretty chemistry partner smiled at you and made you question your entire being in 0.2 seconds
but when he thinks about you?
when jake’s with you—he’s just jake. no suit, no webs, no…fear of potential death.
he feels like a regular teenage boy. the kind who worries about history finals and likes stupid memes and builds lego sets with his best friend on saturdays and has a crush on the cute girl in his chemistry class.
with you, he doesn’t feel like a science experiment. or a secret. or an accident waiting to happen.
he just feels like…jake.
“i just—dude. i didn’t even have to pull the spider-man card!” jake sits up a little, legs now swinging. “like. at all. she said i was smart! jake-smart. i didn’t need to save a cat or catch a bus or—”
“—instead,” sunghoon’s monotone voice cuts in, “you told her you deliver pizzas for fun and somehow it worked.”
“you’re the worst guy in the chair.”
“and yet, here we are. you’re still call—”
“wait” jake freezes. sits upright. his head tilts slightly. “hold on.”
something in the air hits him.
his senses prick. muscles tense. tingling. sounds slow, scents sharpen. the world zooms in all at once.
“i gotta go,” jake stands up, his voice muffled by shoving the rest of his protein bar into his mouth, already slipping his mask over his head.
“duty calls,” sunghoon replies casually, like this is the third time this week (it is). “be safe!”
“love you, bye!” jake says before the hanging up and shoving his phone into his backpack and thwipping it to the rooftop wall in one motion. it’ll probably still be there later. hopefully.
on most nights, it is still right where he left it, waiting patiently after the hours of his city-saving. but right now, jake couldn’t care any less about his belongings. he’s already airborne, swinging building to building with smooth, practiced ease. he follows the tug in his chest, the sense of something being slightly off. a scuffle. somewhere just a block or two away.
and on most nights, you’re careful. you’re observant, aware. you know how to check left, right, then left again before crossing the street. you stick to the well-lit sidewalks, don’t take shortcuts, avoid the sketchy alleyways your parents used to warn you about growing up.
and you also know, deep down, that you probably shouldn’t have stayed at this library this late. but here we are.
you’re barely a block from the bus stop you just got off at when it happens. a shadow moves—quick, low, but intentional. he’s stumbling. smirking. slurring.
your stomach drops immediately.
“hey, pretty thing,” he calls out, “where you off to this late?”
“not interested,” you mumble, clutching your bag closer to your body, steps picking up faster.
“oh, come onnn,” he draws. you hear his footsteps behind you. too close now. “just a little chat—”
you turn over your shoulder just in time to see his hand land slightly on your shoulder, just where your bag strap sits.
but before you can even react—
THWIP.
it happens before you can even blink.
the guy disappears. yanked off his feet. with a yelp, he’s slammed against the nearest parked car on the street with a heavy thud, followed by a line of white, sticky substance trapping his sides.
and suddenly, another one hits his hands.
then his ankles.
then his chest.
until it’s all around him and he’s stuck to the car like a decal himself.
you freeze, not knowing what just happened or what the hell you’re supposed to do now. your heart is racing, your brain playing catch-up, your breathing paused.
and as you’re staring at the man-shaped cocoon, wondering if this is what finally wills you into full-blown psychosis—
a figure drops from above. with absolutely zero subtlety. and lands directly in between you and said webbed-up guy in a crouch.
dressed in red and blue. head to toe. and so much spandex.
spider-man.
“wow,” he says deadpan, turning to point at the man-turned-car-decal. “okay. that was, like, a solid ten out of ten on the creep scale. would’ve been a nine, but then you touched her. so. automatic point deduction.”
the guy groans beneath the webbing. “what the—who the hell are you?”
spider-man throws his arms up in exasperation, gesturing to himself like it’s obvious.
“spider-man, dude. the webs? the spider logo on my chest? keep up.”
he then turns to you, brushing off the imaginary dust from his hands. “you know, if i had a nickel for every time some scuffy guy tried the whole grabby in an alley thing this week, i’d have like…four nickels.”
a beat.
you’re still frozen. eyes wide. jaw slack.
“which isn’t a lot. but it’s weird that it happened that many times. should probably do something about that. or i guess that’s my job.”
the man groans from behind him, squirming, “get this shit off me man—”
“shhh,” spider-man shushes him, raising a hand. “don’t speak. we’re in a delicate moment of justice here.”
then, he turns back to you, head tilting. the eyes of his mask dilate as they squint at you.
his voice softens. “hey. everything okay?”
and you’re still frozen.
because there are many things you don’t believe in. you don’t believe in narwhals. you don’t believe that tarot cards can predict your love life. you don’t believe in flushing ice down the toilet to make it snow the next day, and you probably, maybe, sometimes don’t believe in birds being government spies.
but spider-man? you didn’t know if you believed in him or not. sure, you’ve seen the headlines. heard the rumors, watched the blurry phone footage. but never with your own eyes. until now.
“uh…” you nod quickly, eyes still wide, mouth still slightly ajar. “i...yeah. thank you. for that.”
and jake tries his best to keep his cool. exhales behind the mask, trying to not completely lose it.
to not completely combust when the literal crush of his life is standing in front of him, somehow glowing even under a dim, flickering street light. to not think about the very real fact that he just saved you from whatever-he-refuses-to-think-about that he just saved you from.
so he gives a casual shrug.
“that’s what they pay me for.”
you blink. “you get paid?”
jake stills. “uh, well. no. not technically. emotionally, yes. and sometimes sweet old ladies buy me churros.”
you blink again, but this time, your lips twitch slightly. “…okay. right.”
jake clears his throat, straightening up, placing his hands on his hips all awkward again and then putting them down when he realizes he probably looks like a cheap superhero mascot like that.
this part—this part—he’s usually good at. web the creep. leave a note for the cops. call them in. that’s how it usually goes.
what doesn’t usually happen is…this.
saving the girl he likes. the girl who doesn’t know she’s the girl he likes. the girl who definitely doesn’t know he sits next to her in chemistry and pretends to read when she walks in.
the creep behind him groans again. jake spins around on his heels and double thwips a neat string of webs over the guy’s mouth.
“aaaaand silence,” jake mutters, nodding to himself. “look at that. instant peace. should’ve probably done that twenty seconds ago.”
he turns back around. and you’re smiling now. it’s small and slightly shaky, but it’s there. jake notices. of course jake notices.
“are you sure you’re okay?” his voice dips again, gentler now.
you nod. “yeah, i think so. seriously…thank you so much.”
and jake hesitates—heart thumping, nerves sweating, because you are literally standing in front of him and he has the mask of spider-man on right now but the confidence of jake from chemistry. but still, he manages, "get home safe, yeah? you shouldn’t be walking alone this late. city’s full of creeps and…men in spandex.”
you let out a quiet laugh. “noted.”
“cool,” jake lets out, throwing up an awkward thumbs up and he makes a mental note to stop using the word ‘cool’ and to stop using thumbs ups as a defense mechanism.
he clears his throat and takes a casual step back as you watch him, still unmoving, as if you’re still trying to convince yourself he’s real.
“alright,” jake says, pointing his hand up to the building behind you before saluting you goodbye with the other. “spider-man…away?”
he fires. latches perfectly. but the fact that he actually, out-loud, said ‘spider-man away’ gets to his head and so he doesn’t time the swing quite right and his foot hits the top of a recycling bin on the way up. and he really hopes you didn’t see it happen (you did).
he lands on the rooftop above you, immediately crouching down out of view, chest heaving as his brain catches up to his body, still processing what just happened. heart still hammering, fingers still tingling.
then, after waiting a few seconds, he peers his head carefully over the line of buildings down the street and watches your figure walk away. head down, bag hugged close, pace quicker now.
and of course, because he’s jake—and spider-man (but mostly because he’s jake)—he follows you from above. quiet, careful, out of sight. just to make sure you make it back okay.
and when you finally reach your apartment building and unlock the front door, he still waits.
waits until he sees a light flicker on in your bedroom window.
waits until he sees your figure draw your curtains closed.
waits until he knows you’re safe.
only then does he finally exhale.
he drops onto the roof of a nearby pizza place—the one that claims they sell dollar pizza but it’s really $1.49—pulls off his mask with one hand and runs the other through his completely wrecked hair.
“jesus christ, jake,” he mutters to himself, a hand dragging down his face. “spider-man away? really?”
he shakes his head at himself, partly in shame, partly in disbelief, but mostly in shame, then stretches out his legs, groans at the ache in his biceps, and swings back towards the first rooftop where he left his backpack.
and thank god it’s still there. because once he unwebs his bag and fishes through his textbooks, unknown food wrappers, and decathlon club fliers to take out his phone with just merely 12% battery left, he clicks on your contact. stares at the blank message field. then he types.
JAKE (10:42PM) :
hey! it’s jake (from chem lol)
hope your night’s going okay :)
also
still good to meet at the cafe near school tomorrow? maybe around noon?
he stares at it. rereads it six times.
changes lol to haha.
then back to lol.
deletes the smiley face.
then the whole message.
then retypes it word for word.
eventually, he hits send.
and jake, bless his heart, keeps staring at the screen. forgets it’s nearly 11PM. forgets that his mom, who thinks he’s in bed, is probably gonna check in on him any second now (and yes, jake is nearly a legal adult. but he also grew up with chronic nightmares, so. check ins are necessary at times).
but then his screen lights up.
your name. a single message.
Y/N (10:43PM) :
yes :)
he feels his entire body exhale.
or light up on fire. he’s not sure of the difference, honestly.
and jake’s also not sure how long he sits there smiling at his phone like an idiot.
he doesn’t remember swinging back home. he doesn’t remember sneaking back into his room through his fire escape. he doesn’t even remember showering and wincing at the sting of soap against his fresh cuts and scratches.
because all he’s thinking about is your text.
which is probably why he also forgets to set an alarm.
so when he wakes up the next day at 11:45AM, twenty minutes away from the café he promised to meet you at in fifteen minutes, and absolutely zero minutes ready to leave his place—he’s in full blown panic.
“oh crap, crap—ow, damn it—crap,” he’s mutters, runs into a chair, accidentally smears toothpaste on his hoodie sleeve, and grabs the first protein bar he sees—cookies & creme this time—before sprinting out the door. but not before kissing his mom on the cheek goodbye.
his hair is still damp. his backpack is half-zipped. he’s 85% sure he applied deodorant twice and toothpaste once. or maybe the other way around.
and by the time he barges into the corner café that sells overpriced matcha lattes with the grainy oat milk but has good lighting and free wifi and outlets to use so it’s deemed a good study spot anyways, he immediately zeroes in on you at the small corner table—pen in hand, sipping from a cup casually and not at all aware that your mere existence and the way the little beam of sunlight shining through the café windows reflecting on you is already sending his sleep deprived state into overdrive.
he makes—or more like stumbles—his way over, just in time for you to glance up and catch his eye.
“hey!” you smile, so warm and relaxed that it almost makes jake forget he sprinted over in mismatched socks. “you made it.”
“yeah—sorry,” jake exhales, pulling out the seat across from you and placing his stuff down. “i stayed up late, forgot to set an alarm, then couldn’t find matching socks, i had this blue one on and then a red—“
jake stops himself. looks at you. gives you a sheepish smile. “sorry. you don’t need to hear about the whole sock saga.”
you giggle as you look up at him, “what a shame, i was kinda invested to see where that was going.”
jake tries not to float.
“and it’s fine, jake. really. if it makes you feel any better, you’re only like twelve minutes late.”
jake lets out a nervous chuckle as he slides into the seat across from you, “thanks. i’m usually only, like, ten minutes late, so this is all new to me. including the study date part.”
jake freezes.
your eyebrow quirks.
why did he say that.
why. did. he. say. that.
a small smile tugs at your lips, “study date?”
jake’s eyes are frozen and blown wide as he stares at you in horror from across the table, stumbling over his own words, “i mean. i—no, not a date! unless…unless you wanted it to be a date, which is fine! not just fine! i mean, it’s fine if you wanted—i just assumed that—well sorry, i shouldn’t have assumed—that would be non-consensual and i’m really big on, like, mutual respect and consent and—”
he stops.
jake needs to stop. he should stop talking about consent before he even got to ask you how your morning’s been like a regular human being does.
your stare lingers for a beat longer before you break into laughter, hand flying to your mouth, the other holding onto the table in front of you to support yourself as you snort. “jake.”
jake sinks slightly in his seat. wishes he was sinking into the earth. “yeah?”
your laughter softens into something gentler, and you look up at him, sure and simple and steady. “it’s okay. let’s call it that. a study date.”
you know how your laptop sometimes freezes because it’s firing a million tasks at once and then the fan starts whirring violently before the entire thing decides to just shut off and it has to take a few minutes to recover before rebooting itself back up to be able to fully function again?
yeah. that’s what’s happening to jake. right now.
“oh. okay. cool. cool, cool, cool,” he tugs at the collar of his hoodie. stop it with the cool, jake, we talked about this. and whatever you do, do not throw up a—
he throws a thumbs up at you. puts it away. tries to recover. “i’m very…pro…studying.”
you grin at him. “clearly.”
the dating part? not so much.
and after that, thing settles. in that warm, weirdly comforting way things do when you’ve either known someone your entire life or just long enough to know you want to.
textbooks open, laptops propped, flashcards highlighted, questions exchanged, your iced matcha is slowly disappearing while jake’s iced americano just sits there untouched—slowly watering down because jake forgets coffee makes him jittery but he was in a state of panic when he got to the counter so…here we are.
“wait, can i ask you something kinda random?"
you glance up from your notes, giving jake a small nod. “yeah?”
jake’s eyes land on the back of your laptop and he gestures vaguely to it. “why is your laptop covered in like…fourteen different beluga stickers?”
your head tilts as you follow his gaze and—yup. it’s true. it’s covered with not only fourteen little cartoon belugas, but also otters, starfish, and a little whale in the corner that isn’t so little and cost you a whole whopping five dollars at the book fair.
you blink at it. “oh, right.” a small smile then tugs at your lips. “i’m kinda obsessed with ocean life. it’s, like…one of my things.”
and jake is silent. not because he’s judging. no, he recites the periodic table in alphabetical order to help him fall asleep at night, so he can’t judge. but because—god. you say that like it’s the most casual thing in the world and not the most adorable sentence he’s ever heard.
“like, belugas are my favorite sea animals,” you continue, your own voice picking up from your own excitement now. “they’re just so cute and squishy looking. and they always look like they’re smiling? and granted i’ve never met one, but if i did meet one, i just know it’d be kind.”
jake is still not saying anything.
he’s watching the way your hands move animatedly, the way your eyes light up, the way your voice lifts when you say the words “if i did meet one” like it’s the most natural thing in the world to meet a literal beluga.
“they do look pretty nice,” jake adds eventually, absolutely trying his best to fight the grin off his face. “for a whale, i mean.”
your eyes widen as you suddenly gasp and lean in over the table towards jake, catching him off guard. “okay, i’m gonna pretend you didn’t just say that.”
jake freezes. and he doesn’t know how and he doesn’t know when, but he’s pretty sure he messed up somehow just by trying to impress his crush by complimenting a beluga.
“belugas aren’t whales,” you say, matter of fact, “they’re actually a type of dolphin, despite the name. common mistake.”
“oh,” jake just blinks and nods like this is a totally normal conversation. like he isn’t currently being lectured by the cute girl from his chemistry class about beluga whales. beluga…dolphins? not whales.
his eyes flick briefly to your hands, still hovering mid-air, animated from your explanation. then to your face, your eyes sparkling just a little bit too much for him to blame it on the café lighting. and everything—every little detail jake seems to notice and learn about you—makes jake feel like his heart is about to beat out of his chest.
“sorry,” you pause, noticing his stare. “i just…i really love this kind of stuff. it’s all just so fascinating to me. it’s kinda like whenever you start freaking out over, i don’t know…cis-trans isomerism in alkenes?”
jake chokes on his spit. smooth.
“wait,” he’s coughing, sitting up straighter, “how do you know that i—wait, how do you even know about cis-trans isomerism?”
“what can i say? i’m observant,” you look at him over the rim of your cup as you take a sip, casually shrugging, a small smirk on your lips.
and jake just casually tries not to freak out.
because, sure, jake has had his fair share of realizations through out his lifetime. like the day he woke up and found out he could suddenly stop a bus with his bare hands. or the time he discovered he’s mildly allergic to cauliflower. but this? this might top the list.
because you notice things. about him. him. and it short-circuits his brain. just a little. maybe a lot.
jake tries not to smile too hard. tries not to read too much into it. tries not to wonder if you notice the way he leans closer during chemistry labs or the way his voice raises half a pitch when you talk to him or the way he purposely gets to class early just so he could talk to you before.
they’re the kind of thoughts that keep him up that night. the kind that plague his entire mind until the only thing he’s thinking about when he falls asleep that night and the only thing he’s thinking about when he wakes up the next morning is…you.
and for the next few days, that’s just about the most exciting thing that happens to jake. the next few days for him go pretty normal.
and by normal, jake means boring. and by boring, i mean on monday, spider-man stops a bodega robbery and gets a pat on the back from the police officer and a sprained ankle. on tuesday, he wakes up late and almost misses his history final (which honestly would’ve been preferable). and on wednesday, you text jake for help on a chemistry review question. which is actually very exciting and not at all boring nor normal, despite how hard jake tries his best to act normal.
on thursday, however, jake stays late in the school computer lab to tinker with his web shooter tech. and that’s when sunghoon pulls up in front of him, dropping two small pieces of paper on jake’s mess of wires and tools and notebook doodles.
“bada-bing, bada-boom,” sunghoon announces as he plops into the chair next to jake.
jake looks up. sunghoon’s spinning awkwardly slowly in the swivel chair, arms out like a king clearly waiting for applause.
jake squints at the slips of paper. then back up.
“sunghoon.”
“yes?”
“why are we binging and booming and why are there clown fish on my web shooters?”
sunghoon beams. the kind of beam that makes jake’s spider tingle feel immediately and instinctively nervous.
"because, my friend,” he begins proudly, “i am your guy-in-the-chair and thanks to me, you are now officially going on an aquarium date this weekend.”
jake blinks down at the two tickets. then looks up at sunghoon. blinks again. “wait. i’m going on a what with who now?”
sunghoon’s face falls flat. “with y/n, you idiot. who else would i be sending you to the aquarium with? me?”
jake’s jaw slackens. eyes widen. heartbeat pounding, “what—why, why, why, would you do that?”
sunghoon’s brows furrow as if the answer is the most obvious one in the world (and it is), “because you like her? and now you can take her to see those things she has fourteen of on her laptop that she likes so much. beluga whales or whatever they were.”
jake opens his mouth to argue—then shuts it. looks at sunghoon very, very, seriously. “beluga dolphins. they’re beluga dolphins. common mistake.”
and sunghoon could give two flying farts about beluga whales versus beluga dolphins versus beluga birds for all he knows, but because jake’s his best friend, he tries not to judge.
“…okayyyy, beluga dolphins.” he claps jake on the back and jake flinches. “anyways! you. y/n. aquarium date. this weekend. bada-bing. bada-boom.”
friday is the most un-normal and the most un-boring day of them all.
because on friday, right when jake slams his locker shut at the end of the day—ready to go home and debating if he should build his brand new imperial star destroyer lego set or practice different swinging techniques off the library roof—
“JAKE!”
and jake’s spidey sense could not have predicted what happens next. because before he can even register his own name, jake’s slammed into. stumbling. arms flailing. back hitting the lockers behind him.
and it’s you.
you, clinging to him in a hug. smiling. glowing.
and jake is dying. screaming. ascending.
“I GOT A 99,” you smile as you look up at him, eyes sparkling and wide.
jake swallows hard. his hards are still awkwardly hanging at his side, unsure whether to hug you back or just spontaneously combust into dust right then and there.
“wait. the chemistry exam?” he manages, voice higher than usual.
you nod so fast it’s a blur. “yes!—i think it’s a little stupid she docked me a single point just because i rounded wrong on that molarity question—which, yeah, i know you warned me about. but it’s fine. i’m literally a chemistry genius.”
jake lets out a breathy laugh, looking down at you—still warm, still wrapped around him, still lighting up like the literal sun in the middle of the school’s halls.
“you are,” he says, and it comes out softer than he expected.
and then you’re looking up at him again—close, glowing, happy—and jake swears the whole world pauses. like the only thing that has ever mattered to him is this exact moment. like someone hit pause on everything except you. the shouts, the lockers slamming, the overhead announcements—he doesn’t hear any of it.
all he knows is you. the way your smile curves just slightly more on one side. the scent of your shampoo. the feel of your arms around him and the way his pulse has never been louder in his entire life.
jake doesn’t think he’s ever felt this way about someone before.
and like you suddenly realize how long you’ve been holding onto him, or maybe just how close the two of you are—you slowly pull back. not all the way, just a half-step, your arms slipping from around his middle. you clear your throat, eyes flickering to a locker, then to a ceiling.
“um—thanks to you, though. seriously,” you say, voice softer now, “for all your help. and studying with me.”
and jake is still staring. still dazed. “oh! no, yeah. yeah yeah. totally. i had fun. it was fun.” he swallows again. please stop saying fun. “so fun.” yeah. he’s absolutely a lost cause.
but you laugh. and god, jake loves your laugh. he wants to bottle it up, carry it around in his pocket, and use it like a power-up when he’s out fighting criminals at night.
and it’s in that moment, somewhere between your grin and the sound of your giggle still ringing in his ears, that it hits him.
this is it.
this is the moment.
jake clears his throat. wipes his palms on the sides of his jeans like it’ll help. glances off to the side before looking back at you.
“listen, so um—” he’s already fumbling. “i was wondering—like if you’re free this weekend, and only if you really, really want to, seriously no pressure at all because i know you’re probably busy, but—”
he pauses. breathes. tries again. “—but if you’d be down, i, uh—i have two tickets to the aquarium. and since you’re really into the ocean and stuff i thought—”
“oh my god,” you interrupt, eyes lit up. “you got tickets to the aquarium?”
jake nods so fast he swears he looks like a bobblehead.
“yeah! well—no. technically sunghoon got the tickets but—”
“ohhh, like you and sunghoon were going to go together?” you tease, grinning now. “that actually sounds kind of fun—”
“wait. wait—no.” and jake nearly panics, his hands waving. “no, no, no, i mean—i’m trying to—”
jake inhales sharply. gets a grip. “do you want to go with me? this weekend? to the aquarium?”
“oh!” you blink up at him, clearly surprised—but not in a bad way. your voice goes a little softer. “like…just us?”
“yeah,” jake nods, trying to sound chill and not at all like he’s internally combusting. which is definitely, 100%, happening right now. “i mean—if you want. if you don’t, it’s totally cool. i’ll just…give the ticket to my mom or something. she likes fish. i think. probably. i’ve never actually asked—”
“jake.”
jake stops. looks at you again. “yeah?”
you smile. all fond and amused and sweet. “i’d love to go to the aquarium with you.”
and jake completely loses the grip he thought he had a strong hold of.
“wait, really?”
“really.”
“oh,” jake breathes. “cool. cool, cool, cool.”
you tilt your head, “you’re doing the repeating thing again.”
“i know,” jake groans, dragging a hand down his face. “i literally had a whole mental intervention about this, it’s not working—
you laugh. again. and jake ascends. again.
“okay,” you say, stepping back just enough. “aquarium this weekend. it’s a date.”
jake ascends a third time.
“right,” he says, barely recovering. “totally. i’ll—uh, i’ll text you the details?”
you nod, already backing away towards the main doors, “can’t wait!”
and forget the imperial star destroyer set or brand new swinging techniques. jake 100% knows what he’s doing tonight—and it’s sounding a lot like googling beluga dolphin facts.
later that night, jake’s perched on the edge of a random rooftop—one leg dangling off the ledge, a protein bar in one hand, his phone in the other, glowing with an article titled: top twelve facts about belugas that will shock you.
but then—his spidey senses prick.
because at exactly 10:32PM, like clockwork, your usual bus pulls up to the stop below the building he’s seated at.
okay. so maybe it’s not exactly a coincidence he’s here. and maybe this roof isn’t that random after all.
and maybe, just maybe, he’s made it a habit to make sure you get home safe every night. it started with just one night—making sure you got home safe after last week’s incident. then it turned into two. then three. then…every night. at exactly 10:32PM. now it’s a full-blown instinct he hasn’t admitted to anyone (especially not sunghoon) because, well…he likes making sure you get home safe. sue him.
when he sees your figure step off the bus, jake immediately straightens. the hairs on his arms prick up. his pulse quickens. his palm slightly sticks against the protein bar wrapper. and this is just a regular friday.
except—it really isn’t. because today, you—you, the very smart and very funny and very pretty ocean-loving girl who sits next to him in chemistry—hugged him today and agreed to go on a date with him and oh god.
so actually, nothing about today was regular. not even close. and nothing about what jake is about to do is regular.
instead of just watching from above like he has the past week…
he swings.
with a few quick, practiced motions, he webs himself building to building, bouncing off a wall to land neatly right in front of you on the sidewalk.
and you scream. “what the—oh my god—” you jolt back mid-step, instinctively clutching your bag closer to you.
“ah—sorry! sorry!” jake holds his hands up, immediately regretting his dramatic entrance. he straightens up from his crouch, brushing dust off his suit. “that probably looked a lot cooler in my head.”
you narrow your eyes, still trying to catch your breath, looking not totally convinced, “right.”
jake rubs the back of his neck awkwardly.
then, like it’s the most normal thing in the world to be nearly ambushed by a red-and-blue-suited vigilante, you simply adjust the bag on your shoulder, sidestep him, and continue walking down the sidewalk.
jake blinks behind the mask, stunned for a second, before quickly scrambling to catch up.
“you know,” he says, effortlessly falling into step beside you, “if i didn’t know any better, i thought we agreed you wouldn’t be walking home alone this late.”
you glance over, the corners of your mouth slightly tugging upwards, “and if i didn’t know any better, i’d say you’re starting to follow me, spidey.”
“woah,” jake fake-gasps. fake-clutches his chest as if offended. “spidey? oh wow. we’re already on nickname basis and i don’t even know yours.”
you snort. “y/n,” you say, finally looking at him fully. “it’s y/n.”
jake’s heart does a triple flip. he thinks he’s heard your name a thousand times already—slipped through conversations with sunghoon, when your teacher calls out your name during attendance, in his dreams—but somehow, this feels new.
he flashes a smile you can’t see behind his mask, “y/n.” he repeats it like it’s the most important thing he’s ever learned. he then points to himself. “spidey.”
you laugh again, this time loud and real and soft and sweet. and suddenly, jake’s night feels warmer.
“yeah, i got that,” you say, shaking your head. “thanks for the clarification, spidey.”
there’s a short silence after that—comfortably quiet, but not empty. both your footsteps crunch against a thin blanket of scattered leaves, the echoes of your steps bouncing off the dimly lit sidewalk. somewhere in the distance a dog barks faintly. a bus drives by.
“shouldn’t you be out—” you finally speak again, glancing up at him, “—stopping carjackings or getting churros from old ladies?”
jake hums, the sound low in his throat. be mysterious. be cool. be normal. "well yes,” he clears his throat and adjusts his web shooter just to do something with his hands, “but it’s also part of my duty as your friendly neighborhood spider-man to make sure the citizens of this city get home safe.”
you raise a brow, smirking, “is it also part of your duty to walk every single citizen home after saving them?”
“…well. not exactly,” he tries not to sound nervous. tries. “just the ones i think are…pretty.”
you freeze mid-step. your breath catches, feet stopping entirely.
jake does the same. his heart might actually fall out of his chest. “that’s—” he coughs, scratching the back of his neck. “that’s just you, by the way. if that wasn’t…super clear.”
your mouth parts. but no words come out. only your eyes react—wide, soft, blinking.
“oh—" you eventually say, softly and unsure, as if you’re trying to figure out if the literal spider-man is trying to flirt with you. “thanks? i think.”
and jake is 98% pretty sure he’s redder than his own suit right now. “yeah, yup. of course,” he says, voice cracking ever so slightly as his mind searches for anything, something else to talk about. “uh…so any fun plans this weekend?”
smooth. so smooth.
you blink, still looking at him a little weird, but your smile comes back almost instantly as you two start walking again, “actually yeah! i’m going to the aquarium tomorrow.”
jake’s heart does another little flip. yes. yes, yes. she still wants to go. she’s still going with me—
“with this guy,” you add casually, kicking a pebble in your way.
jake feels his heart do a little pause. “a guy?” he says, wincing when it comes out just a little too quickly, a little too high-pitched. “oh. a guy guy. wow. a guy.”
you nod along, completely oblivious, mind clearly elsewhere, “yeah, he’s pretty great. got us the tickets and everything.”
jake nods stiffly, staring straight ahead like the lamp post across the street is the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen in his entire life, “nice. that’s…really nice. sounds like a pretty solid dude.”
“totally,” you grin up at him, and it’s the kind of grin that makes jake’s lungs forget why they exist in the first place. the crinkle of your eyes, the curve of your mouth, the gentle ease in your voice—it all hits him at once. the most perfect storm.
“a little awkward,” you continue. “says ‘cool’ way too much. but he’s really sweet. and funny. and a genius.”
and jake combusts on the spot. jake thought he knew what happiness was. he thought getting accepted into the school’s robotics team felt good. he thought shaking hands with the mayor after saving him from a limo crash was peak fulfillment. he even thought finishing the millennium falcon lego set with sunghoon in a single night was the height of his serotonin levels. but this? hearing you talk about him—about jake—with that softness in your voice, that tilt in your smile, that warmth in your eyes?
oh yeah. this is what true happiness is.
and by the time jake returns back to earth, the two of you are approaching your apartment now—he recognizes the street by heart at this point.
you come to a stop in front of your building, turning to face him beneath the glow of the overhead lighting, “thanks for walking me, by the way.”
jake shrugs, hands shoved into the sides of his suit awkwardly, “it’s part of the job description. gotta make sure my favorite citizen gets home safe.”
you give him a look. one of those lingering ones that makes jake wonder. the kind that lasts a beat too long.
“…favorite, huh?” you raise a brow, lips quirking into a soft smile.
jake’s heart stutters. “top three, at least.”
you giggle again, shaking your head slightly, “night, spidey.”
“night, y/n,” he murmurs quietly before you go in, watching as you head inside. the door clicks shut behind you, and jake’s world immediately feels a little dimmer.
jake stands there in the quiet for a second.
and then—
he fist pumps the air in celebration, kicking his leg up like an animated character, “yes, yes, yes!”
with the goofiest grin under his mask, jake flings a web up toward the apartment building across the street and launches himself in one fluid motion. he lands with practiced ease, sitting in his usual spot just as the light flickers on in your bedroom window.
he’s still grinning.
still breathless.
still absolutely unable to believe what just happened.
with a newfound confidence, jake pulls out his phone from one of his suit pockets and unlocks it.
JAKE (10:54PM) :
hey! just wanted to say im excited for tomorrow :) hope you have a good night y/n
he doesn’t hesitate before hitting send this time.
and when he wakes up the next morning, jake is still smiling.
no nightmares. no forgotten alarms. no dreading history finals. just the lingering memory of yesterday—from the hug to the walk last night, from the way you smiled at him to the way you said ‘night, spidey’, from the way he swears your laugh is not permanently stored in his brain’s top five sounds of all time.
now, he’s staring up at the massive curved glass in front of him, a large ‘beluga whales here!’ sign above him. you’re already right up against the glass, peering inside like you’re looking at the most fascinating thing in the world.
and to you—it is.
to jake? his answer would be very different.
his answer would look a lot like you.
because you’re right there, next to him. shoulder brushing him. looking effortlessly beautiful in the soft dim blue light of the tank.
and jake is trying very, very hard to look calm, cool, and collected. despite the fact that he’s sweating through his button-up because he’s nervous, giddy, and definitely sprayed way too much cologne (two spritzes max, sunghoon said. jake did six. he panicked).
but you—you look completely at peace.
you’re smiling, your eyes lighting up with wonder, one palm pressed gently against the glass as you watch one of the belugas swim past.
“they’re literally smiling,” you whisper, completely in awe. “look at them. they’re so pretty.”
jake glances at you. then the belugas. then back at you.
he’s not entirely sure who you’re talking about anymore.
“yeah,” he says, a little breathlessly. “they’re…really pretty.”
at that, you turn to look at him and jake has to force himself to not look away. he smiles at you when your eyes meet his. and your smile is soft. soft and amused. like you knew what he was saying. like you’re choosing not to call him out on it.
“so,” you eventually say, tilting your head to look up at him. “on a scale of one to ten, how ridiculous does this shirt make me look?”
jake glances down at your outfit—you’re wearing an oversized t-shirt now layered over the outfit you picked out for today. it’s bright blue, has a cartoon fish giving a thumbs up, and across the front in bubbly letters sits, ‘fish makes life betta’.
your eyes landed on it the second you two walked past the gift shop. and you had to have it. immediately, of course.
jake had laughed at first when you turned to him, holding up the shirt against you, eyes wide. “should i buy this?” you asked, not a hint of sarcasm in your tone.
and that’s when jake realized, you meant it.
and that was also the exact moment jake realized he’s absolutely, undeniably, hopelessly gone for you.
“negative twelve,” jake says now, very seriously, despite the smirk on his face. “you look unironically very cool.”
you scoff, “you’re such a liar.”
jake shrugs, still grinning. “did that get me a couple more points at least?”
one of your eyebrows quirk, like you’re surprised by the sudden confidence. and honestly? so is jake.
there’s a beat—one of those soft, lingering ones carrying a silence that feels full with something unspoken. the kind that hums quietly below the surface. the kind jake could live inside forever.
then, your lips twitch into a smile. “mmm…maybe half a point. you’re up to, like, an 89.5%.”
jake lets out a soft, breathless laugh, eyes still on you, “i’ll take it. that’s like…a B plus.”
“better than what you got on the history final,” you say, already smirking.
jake’s eyes widen as he gasps, “hey—what!? that was so uncalled for.”
you laugh again, clearly enjoying this. “you got a 73, jake.”
“a 74!” he corrects you, his voice now a pitch higher. “it was curved! and i woke up late! blame it on sleep deprivation.”
“that…still sounds like barely passing to me.”
jake narrows his eyes at you playfully, “okay, you know what? i’m deducting your points for emotional damage. 99.5%.”
you gasp dramatically. “you can’t deduct points!”
“better than what you got on the chemistry final,” jake says, eyebrows quirked, feeling ridiculously proud of himself for that one.
your eyes widen—equal parts shocked and impressed, “touché, jake. touché.”
and jake just grins, heart pounding so fast he swears it’s about to break out of his ribcage and up and run.
your smile lingers for a little longer before you glance away for a moment, returning your gaze back to the tank in front of you, watching as the belugas swim past lazily, weightless and floating like clouds. and you think there’s something oddly calming about them. it makes the whole world slow down.
jake watches you instead.
the lights from the tank dance against your skin, your features glowing blue and soft and perfect. your hands are simply at your side, head tilted slightly as you follow their movements with your wide eyes. you’re not even saying anything—but you don’t need to.
jake swallows hard. takes half a step closer to you.
“hey,” he says quietly.
you look over.
“yeah?”
“i’m really glad you came today.”
your expression shifts—just a little. surprised, maybe. but then, it softens. into something gentle and honest.
“i’m glad you asked,” you say, just as quiet.
and jake is so close. so close, that he can feel the slight brush of your pinky against his own. and suddenly, the air feels heavier. tighter. packed with nerves and possibilities and hope and everything that makes jake’s senses want to scream into a pillow.
and jake, because he’s still jake, blurts out the first thing his brain lands on—
“let’s take a picture with a beluga!”
you blink. but then, your laugh bubbles up again as you nod, stepping close behind him as he’s already fumbling to pull out his phone.
the photo is slightly blurry. your shirt is bright and front and center. jake’s smile is too wide, and yours is somewhere between a laugh and a look—
one that’s angled towards him instead of the camera.
the walk back later that night is quiet. not the awkward quiet. not the quiet filled with weird tension. but soft quiet. warm quiet. the kind of quiet that settles over jake like his favorite blanket—thick and safe and familiar, the kind that jake feels whenever he’s tucked into bed after a night out around the city.
and when you two walk side by side, you’re close enough that jake can feel your sleeve brush against his every few steps.
and the sidewalk is wide. but neither of you move away. not even once.
street lamps shine above you, the city hums quietly around, and jake—who literally has the ability to swing between skyscrapers and soar through the air—feels like he’s floating for the first time in his life.
because he’s definitely not thinking about how he can catch the small traces of your perfume or how your hand keeps brushing his.
and he’s definitely not spiraling over whether or not you’re thinking about how his hands keep brushing yours back.
and right when he’s mentally trying to calculate just how fast his heart is currently beating (and if his calculations were correct, he thinks he’s at 142 beats per minute)—
you stop walking.
jake halts a half step ahead, blinking in surprise as he turns back to face you, “everything okay?”
you bite your bottom lip. squeeze your eyes shut for a second. “yeah. yeah—i just…” a breath. “i have to tell you something.”
and that knocks the air straight out of jake’s lungs.
he steps towards you instinctively, his steps quiet against the pavement until he’s standing right in front of you—frozen under the soft glow of the streetlight overhead.
“okay,” he says, trying to sound normal.
which is hard. because jake is currently experiencing what can only be described as sensory overload.
he tries to not notice the way you’re fiddling with the hem of your incredibly bright blue shirt. or the way you’re blinking too many times. or the way he can literally hear your heartbeat from where he’s standing. and he calculates 143 beats per minute. maybe 144.
“i—um…i actually didn’t really need help with chemistry,” you blurt, eyes still focused somewhere near his shoelaces in front of you. “i know exactly what cis-trans isomerism in alkenes is. not only because i thought it was really cute when you explained it in class that one time, but because i genuinely think it’s super cool so i did my research project on it last—”
you pause. “…which is super irrelevant. oh my god—wait, let me backtrack.”
then your words start tumbling.
“i just—i thought you were really cute. and smart. and witty. and honestly, probably a little awkward too but, like, in a cute way. and i didn’t know how else to talk to you outside of class. i figured you were too busy or not really into random girls asking to hang out. so i panicked. even though i have a 98 in chem right now.”
you stop. take a breath—finally.
jake, however, does not.
jake’s entire being has stopped functioning.
his brain is blank—no thoughts, just the steady, continuous static of oh my god, oh my god, oh my god. every nerve in his body is on high alert. his spidey senses are firing—heart pounding, breath caught, fingertips tingling. it’s like his body’s trying to prepare him for a fight, when really? he’s just trying his hardest not to melt into the ground.
and jake can feel everything. the warmth of the streetlight on his back. the shift in the breeze between you and him. the exact distance between your body and his. it’s all too much and not enough and jake is losing his mind.
and when you notice his frozen stare, you wince—your eyes squeezing shut again as you start mumbling, “oh my god. i’m so sorry. okay, let’s just forget i said—”
and jake, because he’s still jake, doesn’t think.
jake kisses you.
it happens before he can overthink it. which is entirely a lie, because jake always overthinks.
but this time, it happens before he could spiral through every worst case scenario. before he could remind himself of all the ways he could possibly screw this up.
all he knows is that you were standing there—rambling, flushed, perfect—and he just had to.
his hand finds your cheek instinctively, warm and unsure and trembling ever so slightly. and when his lips meet yours—it’s gentle. so gentle, like a question asked without words. like an answer given all at once.
and jake is still spiraling. his senses are everywhere—you smell like faint citrus and something a little like vanilla, your grip on his shirt is tight, and your lips are soft, so soft, moving with his like you two have known this rhythm forever.
everything is heightened for him. blurred and focused at the same time. and the kiss isn’t perfect—his nose bumps yours and you step too close and accidentally hit his shoe—but none of that matters.
because this is real.
because it’s you.
and when jake finally, slowly, pulls back—just barely—both of you are breathless.
both heartbeats loud enough for jake to hear. quite literally.
“you think i’m smart?”
you let out a small scoff as your eyes meet his, his shirt still under your grip, “out of everything that just happened, that’s what you’re focusing on?”
“i mean,” jake shrugs, helplessly smiling, “i’m just making sure i heard that part correctly.”
you laugh louder now—relieved and warm and everything jake wants to hold onto forever.
the rest of the night moves slower for jake. literally slower.
like neither of you want the moment to end—your steps gradually slowing the closer you get to your apartment building. jake keeps his hands in his pockets, fingers still tingling, goosebumps still on his skin. every now and then, he steals a glance your way, just to make sure this is real. that you’re real.
and when you reach the front of your apartment building, jake’s chest tightens the tiniest bit. you stop at the base of the stairs. so does he.
“well,” your voice is quiet as your eyes flick up to his. “i’ll see you at school on monday?”
jake nods, trying to look cool, calm, and collected even though he’s pretty sure he’s still at 142 beats. “yeah. for sure. monday.”
you smile, soft and a little shy. “night, jake.”
“night, y/n,” he echoes, offering a tiny, awkward wave that makes you smile as you slip through the door.
jake lingers for a second longer, watching until the door clicks shut.
then he spins on his heel, a giddy smile on his face, stumbles three steps down the sidewalk and—
“holy shi—” he physically clamps a hand over his mouth to keep himself from screaming.
jake fist-pumps the air. once. twice. spins in a circle. nearly trips and eats it on the curb. but he doesn’t care.
he kissed you.
he kissed you. and you kissed him back.
and jake is back to nearly launching into orbit.
his fingers are still trembling as he pulls his phone out from his pocket, text message already full of typos from typing too fast when the screen lights up—
incoming call : GUY IN CHAIR 🧠
“DUDE,” jake answers instantly, breathless and borderline yelling. “i was just about to text you—I KISSED HER!”
a beat.
“WHAT?!” sunghoon’s voice explodes over the phone. “you KISSED her? you KISSED HER? oh my god.”
jake is pacing now, still walking down the street but barely aware of it. “i know. it just happened. i don’t even know—like, we were walking, then she stopped and told me she didn’t even need chemistry help and that she just needed an excuse to talk to me and i literally blacked out so i don’t remember the rest—”
“oh my god. oh my god.”
“i KNOW.”
“like, wait—you kissed her-kissed her?”
“i KISSED her-kissed her, dude.”
“bro.”
“i know.”
they’re both beaming. celebrating. somewhere above him, a very confused old lady stares at jake from her window as he dances in the middle of the sidewalk like he just won the lottery.
“wait. wait, crap—” sunghoon cuts in, tone suddenly serious. “hang on, i called you for a reason.”
jake freezes mid-spin, “huh?”
“guy in chair duties,” sunghoon’s voice shifts. “there’s a call coming through the police scanner. armed robbery. bank on 23rd and main. it just came in, like, thirty seconds ago.”
jake stops. groans. “you’re kidding me,” he mutters under his breath.
“sorry, man.”
without missing a beat, jake glances around for any people—then ducks into the nearest alleyway.
“can’t a guy catch a break?” he mumbles, already yanking off his button up, his suit already underneath (because—obviously, you can never be too prepared), then bunches up the shirt and webs it to the brick wall in one fluid motion.
sunghoon’s voice buzzes through his phone, “good luck, spidey.”
jake pulls the mask over his face. “i’ll just tell you the rest on monday.”
“copy that.”
“thanks, hoon. spidey’s on it.”
turns out—spidey, in fact, was not on it.
he doesn’t know if he should blame it on the fact that he was mildly (extremely) mentally distracted by the memory of kissing you under the warm streetlight, or the fact that those robbers had insanely good aim, but either way:
jake comes home with a black eye, a rapidly darkening bruise on his cheekbone, a bullet graze burning across his left side, and what he’s 97% sure is a dislocated ankle.
“crap, crap, crap,” he mutters under his breath, wincing as he carefully locks the window behind him. he drops down from the ceiling with a thud, trying not to yelp out in pain when he lands on the ankle that he’s now 99% sure is dislocated. the apartment is quiet. his mom’s probably asleep. hopefully.
jake rips off his mask and immediately grimaces at his reflection in the mirror, “jesus.”
his right eye is already swelling. there’s dried blood going down the side of his face. his suit is slightly torn and singed and still sticky over the wound at his ribs. he presses a palm there, breathing through his teeth.
it’s fine. he’s fine. totally fine.
the shower was probably the most painful part of the night. every drop stings, and there’s something really, really humbling about trying to wash off dirt and dried blood while also replaying the moment you kissed him in perfect clarity over and over again in his head.
and jake’s been at this for a while now. out patrolling, out fighting crime, out throwing dad jokes to creeps at night. but he’s never had a night like this. not with this much chaos, not with this much feeling.
an unexpected bullet. a slam against concrete. some dumb goon with a perfect punch.
but right before it? you. you in an obnoxiously bright blue t-shirt saying ‘fish make life betta’. looking at him like that. kissing him like that.
by the time jake stumbles out of the bathroom, patched up with some teenage mutant ninja turtles bandages and wrapped in an oversized hoodie, he’s exhausted.
every limb aches. every muscle screams. every brain cell thinking of you.
and by the time monday rolls around and he wakes up to his alarm at 6:32AM—because he snoozed it for 32 extra minutes—jake frowns at what he sees.
his black eye looks worse, his face is, at least, five different shades of blue, purple, pink, and his ankle is still swollen. every step sends a jolt of pain up his body that even breathing feels like a core workout.
so jake does what any emotionally and physically fatigued teenage superhero would do.
he fakes food poisoning.
when his mom knocks on his door to get him up for school, jake meekly groans out a quick, “mooom. i’ve been projectile vomiting since, like, 3AM. i think it was the fish tacos.”
jake did not eat fish tacos.
but she buys it anyways, says something about him getting rest, and how she’s going to the store for medicine.
and jake sighs. mentally blesses his mom’s heart. attempts to fist pump weakly. fails. winces in pain. then, he turns his phone completely off, buries himself under his blanket, and with nothing but the hazy image of beluga whales, a reminder that he needs to wash his bloodied suit, and you—jake finally falls asleep.
the next thing jake can comprehend is more than twelve hours later. a lot more than twelve hours later. when he blinks awake—it’s pitch black, his body is still aching, his phone is dead, and—
there’s knocking.
soft, but persistent.
he stumbles out of bed with a groan and a wince, croaking out a low, “coming..” while he limps over with one arm holding his side before he whips his door open and—
it’s you.
jake blinks.
you blink.
your jaw drops.
“y/n,” jake blurts out, eyes wide. he rubs them once. twice. hopes, prays, this is just one of those weird fever dreams that feel way too real that he gets whenever he sleeps for too long.
but then you rush forward, brows furrowed and eyes flicking from his black eye, to the bruise on his cheek, to the way he’s leaning heavily on one leg with the other slightly elevated—
yeah.
this is not a fever dream.
“what are you—what—how—what are you doing here?” jake stammers, instantly turning around, nerves spiking as he quickly scans his room for any incriminating spidey-like props.
suit? mask? web shooters? where did he put that damn mask—
“i texted you, like, fourteen times,” you say following him in, concerned painted all over your face. “you didn’t show up to school. you weren’t answering. i panicked and your mom let me in—jake.”
you stop.
jake stops.
your voice drops.
“what in the world happened to you?”
jake did not plan for this part. well, he didn’t plan for any of this. “i—uh,” he turns to you, eyes wide. “i…fell.”
your eyes flick down to his knuckles—bruised, battered, and definitely the aftermath of punching something hard. you raise a brow.
jake follows your gaze. panics.
“jake—did you…get in a fight?”
“what?!” his voice goes an octave too high. he clears his throat. tries again. “no. no, no. i don’t—fights? me? no. i don’t—i don’t get into fights. that would be very…un-cool.”
you give him a look that says you clearly don’t buy it, but to his relief, you don’t push.
but because jake is still jake, he continues anyways. “i…i was biking—”
jake doesn’t know how to ride a bike.
“—without a helmet. bad idea, don’t do that. and then i hit this…massive pothole. huge. basically fell off and hit the curb and…and yeah.”
you blink at him. and jake’s panicking, so he’s still going.
“—and then a pigeon flew into me…?”
you blink again. “a pigeon.”
jake nods quickly, as if that could convince you anymore (it doesn’t). “a pigeon! you know how they are. dumb pigeons.”
there’s a pause. you stare at him from halfway across the room. jake stands there awkwardly with his hands by his side.
you sigh. cross your arms. “you’re a really bad liar.”
jake looks at the ground. his ears turn red. then he looks back at you with a small, sheepish smile on his face. “yeah,” he admits softly. “kinda am.”
jake moves to sit on the edge of the bed, and you take that as an invitation to sit next to him. there’s a silence between you two again as jake fiddles with the ends of his hoodie, his face warm from either the bruising, the fact that you just called him out, or the fact that somehow, someway, you’re here. in his room. on his bed.
you glance sideways to look at him. then at the floor. then back at him again. you nudge his knee with yours. “…well,” your voice comes out quiet. “are you okay? at least?”
jake looks up. meets your eyes.
and they're wide and worried and so completely focused on him. and for the second time in twenty-four hours, jake thinks his heart might literally give out.
he nods once. swallows. “yeah. yeah, i am. thanks, y/n.”
the moment lingers as the same warm hush settles again between you, like some kind of quiet, mutual agreement—like hey, i’m here, and yeah. i care. and no, i’m not going anywhere. and jake doesn’t know what to spiral about first.
the fact that:
you haven’t left.
you haven’t pried about why he looks like a literal punching bag.
you care.
you shift a little, reaching into the backpack that jake hadn’t even noticed you brought, and pull out a packet of neatly clipped papers.
“i brought the chem notes from today,” you say, holding them out in between you. “there was a pop quiz, and i figured you might want the stuff we reviewed after.”
jake blinks down at the packet, then up at you. then back at the packet. he tries to act normal when he brushes against your fingers when it takes he from your hand. fails spectacularly.
“and,” you continue, eyes flicking to his for a second before focusing somewhere behind him. notably, the crooked bill nye ‘science rules!’ poster taped to the wall. “i just…wanted to see you.”
and jake, quite literally, forgets how to form words for half a second, but you don’t notice. your knee is still against his and he thinks he’s memorized the smell of your shampoo at this point.
“anyways—” you clear your throat and the shyness in your tone makes jake forget how to breathe.
“—there’s this documentary they’re playing at the theater tomorrow.” you pause, as if gauging his reaction but jake’s pretty sure he’s blacked out right now. “it’s about—um—deep sea ecosystems? something about bioluminescence and predator-prey adaptations and this super weird jellyfish migration they just discovered.”
jake blinks hard. shakes himself back to reality. realizes this definitely, 100%, isn’t a fever dream. but surely, he’s dreamt of something like this before.
“that…sounds amazingly weird,” is all he can manage to say, nodding slowly.
“i figured,” you give a little half-shrug, “maybe you’d wanna go with me?” then you nudge his shoulder this time. “if you’re not still crippled by then, that is.”
there is a full three seconds of stunned, stunned silence.
then, jake scrambles to sit up straighter, eyes wide, “yes. yeah—yes, i’d love to. with you. to see the jellyfish. yeah.”
you smile at him, “cool.”
and jake can’t stop smiling back. he’s 98% pretty sure he looks like an idiot, but 100% knows he doesn’t care in the slightest.
you push up from the bed before grabbing your backpack and slinging it over your shoulder. “alright then,” you say, clapping your hands together. “i should go. rest up, okay?”
“i will. i will,” jake nods quickly, still a little dazed. “can’t be too crippled for tomorrow.”
you let out a soft laugh as he follows you to the front door. and when you step outside, you pause in the doorway—hovering like there’s still something on the tip of your tongue.
jake’s hand lingers on the doorknob. you glance up at him. open your mouth, then close it again.
then finally, quietly—you try again.
“i, um…” you tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “about the other night…”
jake’s heart rate spikes.
your eyes flicker up to meet his, and they’re a little unsure. as if searching.
“i wasn’t sure,” you admit. “when you didn’t show up to school and didn’t answer my texts…i didn’t know if maybe—”
you trail off for a second, then finish in one quick breath:
“if maybe you regretted it.”
and jake—bruised and aching and completely out of his mind for you—feels the air knocked out of him all over again.
his entire body goes still before he reboots all within 0.5 seconds. “no,” he says. fast. too fast, jake. “god, no.”
your eyes lift again.
“i didn’t regret it. not even a little bit,” his voice stumbles, his nerves are on fire, and his chest tightens with something dangerously close to hope. “i think…i think i relived it a million times in my head, honestly.
jake lets out a small chuckle—partly pathetic, but entirely sincere. “i meant it,” he murmurs. “every second of it.”
you shift your weight from foot to foot, “okay.” a reassured smile rests on your face. “just checking.”
jake exhales, rubs the back of his neck, and looks at you with something boyish and sorry. “i don’t regret it, but i do regret not checking my phone. that was stupid.”
you smirk at him, “a little bit.”
jake grins, releasing a short breath of relief as he leans a little against the doorframe, “i’ll do better.”
you hum, giving him a certain, knowing look.
“i’ll hold you to it,” your voice drops a little, and before jake can fully process the shift, you lean in—just barely, but yet just enough—and place the lightest kiss to his cheek.
and jake goes completely still. because it’s not dramatic, and it’s definitely not cinematic by any means.
not when you’re both standing in the middle of his apartment hallway, under a flickering light his super refuses to fix no matter how many maintenance requests his mom files. not when there’s a suspicious cloud of weed-scented air coming from the new college neighbors, who obviously do not care about the no smoking indoors sign. and especially not when jake’s ankle is still swollen, his ribs still sore, and he’s wearing star wars pajama pants with a hole in them that he’s praying you didn’t notice.
but it’s warm. and real. and so vulnerable it makes jake’s heart yearn in the most inconvenient way. like breathless honesty wrapped in nothing but silence and the glow of someone who cares.
you pull back slowly, your cheeks a shade pinker than before, your eyes still on his. and jake—well, he’s pretty sure his entire body is red head to toe. his cheek tingles from where your lips just were and his senses are so hyper-focused on you, he doesn’t even notice the pain of his wounds anymore.
“goodnight, jake,” you say finally before turning and going down the hall. and jake stands there, watching you—entirely, irrevocably, shamelessly, gone.
when you’re finally out of sight, jake finally stands up straight, snapping himself out of it and shuts the door behind him, limping his way back to his room when—
his eye catches the clock.
10:43PM.
crap.
you really need to stop walking home this late.
and suddenly, jake’s adrenaline kicks back in. not from the kiss. okay, maybe a little from the kiss. but mostly because it’s you, and you’re walking home alone, and, yeah, you live a five minute walk away from his but what if something happened, and then—
yeah.
with no hesitation, jake locks his room door, goes into his closet, and grabs his suit—still battered and bloodied and roughened up, but it’ll do.
two minutes and one-struggle-to-put-on-a-suit-when-half-crippled-later, jake is quietly hobbling out of his window, praying his mom is asleep.
he swings himself easily onto the rooftop of his own building, easily spotting you already a block down. he keeps to the rooftops, stealthily going from building to building until—
his damn ankle.
his ankle—which he clearly forgot about for a hot business second—catches on a loose gutter and the next thing jake knows is pain, the taste of concrete in his face, and a loud-and-not-so-subtle crash, bang, clang.
“crap, crap, shit—” jake stands up, dusting his suit off, one leg propped up as he balances on his good one. “ouch, god—”
“spidey?”
oh god.
jake freezes. peeks over the edge.
and there you are—fifty-something feet below, staring up at him, brows furrowed, arms crossed.
“oh—” jake gives an awkward wave from where he is. “—y/n! hey! hi. what’s—uh—what’s up?”
jake steps back to duck out of sight, muttering a stream of whispered curses to himself before inhaling sharply and flinging himself down from the rooftop, landing right in front of you with the composure of someone with a screaming ankle and bullet-shaped wound in their abdomen.
you arch a brow. “…is this the part where you admit you are following me, after all?”
jake straightens up slowly. and painfully.
“i—what? no. i was, uh…” he gestures vaguely down the block. he has no idea what he’s pointing to. “getting pizza. dollar slice. late night craving.”
“uh huh,” you squint, clearly not believing him. “if i promise to stop walking home this late, will you stop stalking me from rooftops?”
jake pauses. tilts his head. “define stalking.”
you let out a small laugh, half-exasperated, half-fond.
“fine then,” you say, shrugging, “c’mon then. you’re already out. i’m coming with you.”
jake blinks. “…coming with me to…where?”
“to get pizza,” you’re walking now, already turning without second thought. “duh.”
ten minutes and two lukewarm pizza slices later, you’re sitting shoulder to shoulder on your fire escape. the air is thick with humidity and smells faintly of marinara, melting cheese, and rusted metal. there’s a low buzz of cars below in the distance, and the stars up above are mostly hidden.
you’re chewing in silence. jake, on the other hand, is holding his slice in his hand in fear—too nervous to even lift his mask up to eat it. thankfully, you don’t notice. or if you do, you don’t mention it. either way, he’s relieved.
you knee bumps his. “so why do you do it?”
jake startles slightly, his eyes dragging over to you beneath his mask, “why do i…do what?”
you take another bite, still staring out across the street. “spider-man. why do you do what you do?”
he follows your gaze to the building you’re looking at. gives a weak shrug.
“i…didn’t really have a choice, i guess,” he offers quietly.
that makes you turn. “you’re being forced to do this?”
“no—no, not like that,” he’s quick to shake his head. then he pauses. thinks for a second. “it’s more like…one day, i woke up with these powers. and i realized i could do something with it, you know? like something good. and if i have the chance to…shouldn’t i?”
you’re silent for a second. then you glance over, studying the smooth fabric of his mask like you’re trying to see the face beneath it.
“so you fight crime and get beat up on the daily…willingly?” you shake your head, a small scoff escaping your nose. “you’re better than me, spidey.”
jake lets out a short breath—half of a laugh, half of a sigh. “someone has to. i mean, if i just sit back and watch bad things happen…then it’s like the bad things happen because of me.”
you nod slowly, your lips pressing together in thought. “yeah. that makes sense.”
there’s another pause. quiet, mutual. a pocket of space in the noise of the city where nothing exists but your knees pressed side by side and the pizza box going cold between you. you shift beside him, letting your legs dangle freely off the fire escape. “you’re a good guy,” you say eventually, turning to shoot him a soft smile.
jake swallows hard. his heart’s somewhere in his throat, and he doesn’t quite trust his own voice not to crack, so he simply nods—just once—and turns his gaze back out to the horizon.
“welp,” jake finally says, voice low, a little reserved, “i should probably get back to…you know. my thing.”
you tilt your head, eyes narrowing playfully. “like walking your favorite citizens back home?”
“that part—” jake scoffs under his breath, then smirks behind the mask, “—is already done.” then, because spider-man is still jake, he throws up a finger-gun for good measure. he hates himself.
you roll your eyes, but the same smile stays on your face, “you’re unbelievable, spider-man.”
“i try.”
jake slowly rises to stand on the narrow ledge, glancing down at you one more time. the moonlight hits your cheek just right. you’re still holding the crust of your pizza slice, legs swinging, your eyes slightly narrowed like you’re trying to figure something out. and for the third time in twenty-four hours, jake still feels like his heart might give out.
he gives you a little salute, meant to be casual, but he feels anything but. and then, without thinking—he says it.
“see you tomorrow.”
a beat of silence.
jake’s face blanks. his body completely stills.
you blink up at him.
“…tomorrow?”
crap. crap, crap, CRAP.
jake’s silence goes for a second too long. then he scrambles for cover.
“i mean—uh—hypothetically,” jake stammers, waving a gloved hand vaguely. “like, if you’re…out again. tomorrow. late at night. which you shouldn’t be. because, you know. laws.”
you give him a look. “laws?”
“yup,” he taps his chest with two fingers. “spidey laws.”
you let out a small giggle and lean back against the railing, arms loosely wrapped over your knees. “right. goodnight, spidey.”
jake clears his throat and bids a small, “night, y/n,” before shooting his web to the corner of the next building and swinging himself out of sight.
and jake doesn’t stop smiling the whole way home.
not even when he peels the suit off with a small wince. not even when he collapses into bed, muscles aching and bruises throbbing and heart racing.
but the panic eventually sets in.
and it’s early evening the next day by the time it does for jake.
jake stands in front of his closet, yanking hangers out as he quickly skims and tosses another outfit into the rejected pile.
sunghoon lies on the bed behind him, sprawled out horizontally, lazily twisting a rubik’s cube with one hand and scrolling on his phone with the other.
“you know,” sunghoon says without looking up, “it’s literally just a movie. actually, it’s barely even that. it’s a documentary.”
jake whips around, ignoring sunghoon’s comments, holding up a navy button-up in one hand and a graphic tee in the other. “which one says i-tried-but-didn’t-try-too-hard-because-i’m-not-100%-sure-what-we-are-quite-yet-but-just-enough-try?”
“…okay,” sunghoon says, twisting the cube into a perfect, one-colored side. “i’m just…gonna ignore everything you said. but go with the navy.”
“perfect,” jake grins at first, before his eyebrows furrow slightly. “wait, wait, wait. do you think she suspects anything?”
sunghoon lowers the cube. looks at jake. “about you liking her? bro, you kissed her—dude, it’s so obvi—she knows, trust me.”
“no,” jake hisses, yanking off his shirt and then buttoning the navy one on. “about me. like me me. like, spider-man me.”
sunghoon pauses. eyes jake. “what? why? what did you do?”
jake tries to fight back the dumb grin growing on his face as he runs his hand through his hair. “i walked her home.”
“okay…” sunghoon gives him a look that says he’s not impressed. “and i walked my grandma home last week, what’s your point—”
jake rolls his eyes and glances at him through the mirror. “as spider-man.”
“wait—” sunghoon gasps. “so you did end up using your lil guy!”
jake turns to sunghoon, face horrified, “can we please stop calling it my lil guy—”
but before sunghoon can respond, a sudden crackle of static cuts through the air from where jake’s police scanner sits on his cluttered desk.
“—reports of an assault in progress near 37th and bay. suspect is armed. five victims. officers en route. any nearby units respond.”
the air stills.
sunghoon immediately sits up.
jake’s head jerks towards the tracker.
sunghoon’s already reading the look in his best friend’s eyes, “don’t.”
jake doesn’t answer.
his eyes are locked on the scanner. his jaw tightens. his mind already racing.
assault in progress. you. suspect is armed. documentary. weird jelly fish. 37th and bay. you. five victims. y/n.
y/n. y/n. y/n.
sunghoon watches him carefully, like someone trying to talk a bomb out of detonating.
“jake. don’t even think about it.”
“i’m not!” jake blurts, too fast, too high, and the crack at the end gives him away.
sunghoon groans. “dude. you have another date. with y/n. you’ve been waiting for this for so long.”
“i—i know,” jake’s voice rises in panic. and he’s trying so hard not to panic. “but what if no one gets there in time? w—what if…it’s close. i can handle it. i’ll be quick.”
“jake.” sunghoon gapes at him. “quick? you literally limped up the stairs today. you barely beat that guy from the other day!”
jake doesn’t hear him.
in fact—
jake’s navy button-up is already off.
“i’ll be fine!”
“you still have a bullet scar in your stomach!”
“exactly, sunghoon. scar. practically healed. no biggie!”
sunghoon throws his hands up. “you can’t be serious—”
“i’ll be done and early to the theater. i swear, hoon.” jake is already tugging the suit halfway over his upper half, wincing at the movement but powering through. “i’ll swing in, swing out. three minutes, tops.”
sunghoon groans louder.
and jake is already yanking the window open.
“jake.” his friend’s voice softens slightly. “don’t blow this. you like her. she likes you.”
jake pauses, foot on the ledge, mask in hand. he turns back towards sunghoon, lips tight, shoulders tense.
“i do like her,” he murmurs.
he pulls the mask down over his head anyways.
“but you know me, sunghoon. you know i can’t be the guy who looks the other way.”
and sunghoon does know. of course he knows.
this was always a losing battle from the start. because he knows his best friend, he knows jake. knows his heart wasn’t just made of gold, but forged in it. soft and stubborn, foolish yet fearless. the kind of heart that doesn’t back down, even when it knows it should. the kind that tries anyways.
so sunghoon doesn’t push any further. he presses a hand to jake’s shoulder and gives it a firm pat.
“you better not be late.”
jake offers a crooked salute with two fingers—part promise, part apology—
and falls backwards out the window.
a flick of his wrist, a few shots of web, a sharp whoosh of air as jake swings into the wind—and the night cleans the rest of his loud thoughts out of his head.
because as much as he wants to see you—as much as he’s worrying about being late—he can’t think about that right now.
and so one fight, a couple hard punches to the gut, a potentially dislocated shoulder, and a webbed-up criminal later—
jake is limping his way back across a rooftop ledge, blood in his mouth and the taste of guilt already rising up like bile behind it.
he lands with a grunt just outside his window on the fire escape, cracking it open and tip-toeing in. he stumbles into his room—still half-messy from earlier—navy button-up on the floor, rubik’s cube on the bed.
jake groans softly, one hand pressed into his side, the other slowly dragging his mask off.
his jaw aches. his ribs throb. his other ankle is definitely going to bruise. but his heart?
sinks when he finally turns on his phone.
6 missed messages.
3 missed calls.
all from you.
Y/N (7:41PM) :
hey! just got here early :)) but no rush!!
Y/N (7:57PM) :
are u on ur way?
Y/N (8:03PM) :
jake? is everything okay?
Y/N (8:16PM) :
im going in now…meet me inside when u get here?
Y/N (9:45PM) :
jake if u forgot u can just tell me
Y/N (10:12PM) :
i hope ur okay
jake stares at the screen. sits on the edge of his bed, defeated. like he might fall apart.
because jake has seen a lot in his short lifetime.
he’s seen back alleyways soaked in red. he’s seen broken glass way too many times a teenager ever should. he’s seen someone take a swing at him with a crowbar. he’s seen bruises bloom on his ribs and vanish before anyone could ask questions. he’s seen criminals twice his size fall, and he’s seen friends—good people—get hurt anyways.
but this?
this wrecks him.
this has jake in shambles.
because he missed it. he missed you.
and before he could talk himself out of it—before he even knows what he’s going to say—he’s tapping on your name and pressing the call button.
it rings once. twice. three times.
“jake?” your voice is soft. cautious. like you didn’t know if you should answer, but did anyways.
jake swallows hard, voice caught in his throat.
“i’m sorry.”
a pause. it hangs in the air and jake already wants to scream.
“i’m so sorry,” he says again, voice low, words falling out fast, as if trying to outrun his own guilt gnawing at him. “i—i didn’t mean to—i was gonna be there, i swear i was gonna be there, but then something happened and—”
“hey,” your voice cuts through. not loud, not pressing, not angry. “it’s okay.”
but it’s far from it. not in jake’s head. not when the image of you sitting alone in the dark theater has already carved itself into his brain. not when he can hear the disappointment in your voice.
jake licks his lips. he can hear the shift of your weight rustling against your bed. maybe you’re curled up somewhere in the dark. maybe you’re still in the outfit you wore to the movies. maybe you cried, and maybe you didn’t. and maybe jake will never know.
“no, no it’s not,” jake manages. he winces—at the pain growing at his ribs, at the mess he’s made, at himself. “i—i didn’t even text, i—god, i’m such an idiot—”
“you’re not an idiot, jake,” you say. and your voice is tired, but never cold. “i was just…worried.”
“i’m okay. i promise. and i promise i didn’t forget,” he whispers. “not even a little.”
and there’s so much more jake wants to say.
“…did something happen?” you ask gently.
jake’s fingers tighten around the phone.
“yeah,” jake says, the sound barely coming out. “kind of.”
another beat passes. a small exhale from you.
“do you want to talk about it?”
and jake’s throat closes up.
because he wants to. god, he wants to.
he wants to tell you everything—about the fight, the chase, the guy with the knife, the way his side still burns, the way he pictured you waiting outside the theater for him with every swing and every hit he took and every punch.
he wants to tell you he didn’t forget. that you were the only thing on his mind the whole time.
but he can’t. he knows he can’t.
“…i—i can’t.”
you’re quiet again. but this time, jake can feel the shift even over the phone.
and it’s not annoyance, it’s not cold. jake doesn’t think a single bone in your body could ever hold an ounce of bitterness.
just disappointment. sadness.
“…okay.” your voice barely goes through. jake squeezes his eyes shut. his fist balls up the sheet under him. “i’m sorry,” he whispers again.
you inhale through your nose, “it’s okay. i just—i didn’t know if something happened. i didn’t know if you were hurt...or if i said something wrong.”
jake’s stomach twists—sharp and awfully close to throwing up. and this time, it’s not from the amount of times he took it to the gut today.
“no,” he blurts, too quickly but he doesn’t care. “no, it wasn’t you. you didn’t do anything wrong.”
another long, still silence.
“alright…well,” you murmur eventually, voice light in that way people use when they’re trying not to sound disappointed. “i’ll see you at school then, i guess?”
“yeah,” jake nods, even though you can’t see him. “yes. yeah, tomorrow.”
you don’t say anything else.
and neither does he.
you end the call first.
and jake stays frozen, still on the edge of his bed, phone still pressed to his ear even after the line goes dead with a soft click.
he shuts his eyes, letting the dark swallow him whole. and as he groans, rubbing a tired hand over his face—wincing at the physical pain, but mentally cursing at the emotional one—jake can’t stop hearing your voice in his head.
everything is too much.
halls buzzing, lockers slamming, sneakers squeaking. the overhead lights are way too bright, and the air smells like gym socks and cafeteria mystery meat.
and it’s all overwhelming. well, it should be, at least. especially for someone who has heightened senses that feels everything a hundred times more than the regular human being. sharper, louder, closer.
but jake barely notices any of it. he’s already halfway down the corridor, eyes immediately locking in on you the second he walked through those doors. and as far as he’s concerned, nothing else matters.
you’re at your locker, spinning the combination without looking, when jake finds himself next to you before he knows it.
he clears his throat, “hey.”
you glance over.
“oh,” you say, blinking. “hi.”
jake steps a little closer, a little hesitant, nerves jumbled in his gut. “look, y/n. i’m really sorry. i still am.”
you shake your head almost immediately, pulling out a book and shutting your locker gently. there’s a polite smile on your face as you look over at him, “jake. it’s okay. really.”
"it’s not—” he says, frowning, his voice coming out rougher than he intends. his ribs still hurt. his ankle’s still swollen. his face still bruised. but none of that stings half as much as the way you’re not meeting his eyes right now. “you had every right to be pissed—”
“i wasn’t pissed, jake,” you cut in gently. “i told you. you just worried me…that’s all.”
that makes jake shut up. his throat closes up. because worried might be worse. worried means you care. and he let you down anyway.
and that’s it for a moment. the silence that follows stretches a little too long—lockers clang in the background, someone yells about running late to class. the world keeps moving—but jake doesn’t.
“i’m glad you’re okay,” you finally say, voice quiet as your gaze skims across his face, lingering just a moment too long on the faint bruise along his jaw.
jake exhales slowly. tries not to flinch under the weight of your concern. because how? how can you still look at him like that—with care, with softness—when he doesn’t know what he even did to deserve it?
and the worst part is, he’s terrified he already lost you before he ever even earned you.
“…so,” he says, the word catching in his throat awkwardly yet hopeful all at once, “how about we try again?”
your head tilts, an unreadable curiosity replacing the worry in your eyes.
jake lets out an uneven breath of nervous laughter as he searches your eyes. “tomorrow night? you, me. that corner diner with the insane milkshakes and greasy burgers. then we can regret it together afterwards.”
you only look at him for a beat. then, just slightly, your shoulders relax. and jake watches it happen in real time—the way the tension lifts just slightly, the curve of a small smile tugging at your lips.
like sunlight cutting through a cloud. like a sign from the universe that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t completely ruin everything.
“okay,” you breathe, a small laugh escaping with it. “that…actually does sound kinda fun. maybe not the grease part, but…yeah. at least we can suffer together.”
you then step closer, nudging him lightly with your shoulder, a playful glint in your eye, “you’re paying, by the way.”
jake grips the straps of his backpack with both his hands, smiling at you like a child offered candy. “done and done.”
“alright, well,” you step back with a glance down the hall, “i should probably head to class.”
jake nods back, eyes still watching you, “yeah, yeah, right. me too.” but he doesn’t move. just keeps watching you, unsure if he should try pinching himself.
you look back at him one last time, “jake?”
jake’s half-way on his heels when he stops at the sound of your voice again. “yeah?”
“it really is okay,” you reassure. and it’s real. honest. grounded. and everything jake needs to hear.
he smiles, a little too lopsided and voice a little too fragile when he speaks again, “i’ll see you?”
“counting on it,” you grin before turning back and making your way to class.
the rest of the day blurs for jake. he aces the pop vocabulary quiz in english, he steals some of sunghoon’s fries from his tray, he accidentally dents his locker door when closing it because he forgets he has literal super strength.
but it all passes in a haze. muted and unimportant.
because the only thing that cuts through the noise is the thought of you.
every hour stalls. every minute another reminder that the best way to distract himself from the chaos of his head is the same thing that causes it in the first place—
seeing you.
obviously.
“you know,” his voice comes from above, playful and easy, “i probably sacrifice at least two churros a night just making sure you get home safe instead of saving the world out there.”
“jesus christ—” you jolt back, nearly tripping over your own feet as jake—spider-man—drops down beside you later that night on your walk back home. you instinctively swat at the air as if that threatens him. at all.
“wrong guy,” he quips, sticking the landing in a crouch and straightening up. “but i do appreciate the enthusiasm.”
your face drops and give him a deadpan stare. “you really gotta stop doing that.”
“me?” jake clutches his chest dramatically through the suit before jutting a thumb behind him towards absolutely nothing. “i could totally leave right now and earn myself some churros.”
you huff out a breath, rolling your eyes even as your lips twitch towards a smile, “then why are you still here, spidey?”
“because,” jake answers simply, falling into step beside you, “it’s part of my friendly-neighborhood-spider-man-civic-duties to make sure my favorite citizen gets home safe.”
you snort, shaking your head lightly as you tilt your head at him, “fine. let’s get going then.”
jake smiles beneath the mask—too wide, too hopeful, too much. and you don’t see it, but he feels it—feels you—in every corner of himself. and jake hates how badly he wishes this could just be him. no mask, no lies, no secret. just jake. just you.
once you two make it a block or two (jake lost count), jake coughs a little too awkwardly, breaking through the quiet, “sooo…what ended up happening with that aquarium guy?”
you falter for half a second. it’s quick, but jake notices. not because his jake-tingle makes him notice everything, but because he’s watching. especially you.
you start walking again just as fast, trying to pretend the question didn’t rattle you at all before you clear your throat, “what guy?”
“y’know,” jake gestures vaguely, hands flailing, “the guy-guy. the one who took you to see the belugas—”
oh no.
jake stops. shuts his mouth.
he did it again.
you stop too. turn to look at him slowly.
“…how do you know about the belugas?”
jake looks at you. the lenses of his mask widen. then narrow. blink. squint.
“i—uh—” jake rubs the back of his neck, the suit suddenly feeling a little too tight, a little too warm. “i saw a billboard. yeah. i was swinging around the other day and—and there was this massive ad. big and blue and very…beluga-like.”
there’s a beat.
reason #1115 why jake’s going to launch himself into orbit.
but you buy it anyways, settling with a small side-eye before walking again, “okay…right.”
“yeah,” jake exhales under his mask, recovering with a casual shrug, “anyways. belugas…the aquarium guy?”
you hum, the sound barely audible as if you’re thinking, “he’s…cool. he’s alright.”
and jake’s heart caves in a little.
okay, maybe a lot.
he pretends to nod, to be chill, to not feel like maybe he’s witnessing his entire world fall apart in front of him right now and he can’t do anything about it.
“damn,” he manages to squeak out, voice lighter than how he feels. “just alright?”
you glance at him briefly before looking back at the sidewalk, “no, no—he’s…he’s really nice,” you say and jake swears he can feel the syllables in your voice individually bruise his ribs. “he’s just…confusing. i don’t know.”
and jake, because he’s jake, watches you. watches the way your voice dips quieter. watches the way your shoulders curl in just a little, watches the way your mind trails off.
“confusing…” he says slowly, carefully, testing the ice. “like you…don’t like him?” and jake doesn’t know why he asked that. he doesn’t know if he wants to hear the answer.
“yes. no. i—i don’t know. i think i do.” a small pause. you kick a pebble. “but sometimes it’s hard to tell if he…if he actually cares? or if i made the whole thing up in my head.”
jake blinks hard. looks away. swallows. bites the inside of his cheek to keep everything in. because you didn’t make it up. not even a little. and god, if only you knew how desperately he cares—how much of his life he’s unintentionally rewritten around you.
his heart screams to tell you everything. that this is his chance, that he can fix everything right here, right now.
but his brain knows better.
“i think…you should give him a chance.”
you look up, surprised. and jake doesn’t know why—but that hurts too.
“seriously,” his eyes flick forward again. “he’d be lucky. you’re smart. and thoughtful. and…even though you have the survival instincts and awareness of a sea turtle, you’re…fun. and honestly kind of unbelievable.”
and for a spilt second, jake forgets.
forgets that he’s not just jake. forgets he’s not just a teenage boy talking to his crush. forgets that to you, right now, he’s not the awkward guy that stammers next to you in chemistry and accidentally breaks glass beakers in his hand. forgets that he’s spider-man—the one you seem to trust a little more freely than the boy who let you down.
and that’s what hurts the most.
because when you glance up at him now—there’s that feeling again.
the pocket of air that only ever exists between you and him. a space that feels warmer than the rest of the world, like the universe took a breath and exhaled only around the two of you.
and it’s always there, somehow—whether he’s wearing the mask or not. whether it’s spider-man and you eating cold pizza on your fire escape. whether it’s you and jake laughing over a lame pun your teacher used in class. and jake knows that air. craves it. has memorized the shape of silence it holds.
but right now, it feels more like spider-man gets to live in it. not jake. and that realization twists something sharp and quiet inside his chest.
because jake’s the one who likes you. jake’s the one who knows you like your matcha lattes even with the grainy oat milk that makes the texture weird. the one who knows you only ever take chemistry quizzes with your favorite pink pen because you think it gives you good luck. the one who gets to share sour patch kids with you under the lab table when you both think no one is looking. but jake’s the one who messed up.
and spider-man’s the one who gets to be here now.
he looks at you—you standing there, eyes soft, smile just a little sad—and he’s willing himself not to say anything stupid. not to ruin the moment. not to cross that line he drew. not to let it get to his head every time he realizes the only way he can be close to you right now…is by being someone else.
and so jake locks in.
the next morning, he wakes up early—which, in jake terms, really means waking up at his regular time and only hitting snooze twice instead of his usual six. he throws on a hoodie that he sniffed to make sure it smells like detergent and not like it’s overdue for a wash, looks in the mirror, and brushes his hair. like actually brushes it, and not just run his hands through it and hopes for the best. he walks the full twenty minutes to the café where he studied with you, orders your usual—the matcha latte with the grainy oat milk—adds a smiley face and heart on the side of the cup next to your name, and books it to school. he arrives early to school, for once, and goes straight to your locker—not before dodging a frisbee mid-air, a frantic girl running with an art project in hand, and a couple making out aggressively by the vending machine.
when you close your locker door shut, you look up surprised—jake in your view, holding the matcha out like an olive branch. if olive branches wore oversized hoodies and had a mild existential crisis fifteen minutes ago.
you blink. then you smile and take the cup. jake gives himself a mental high five. nailed it.
and when you softly ask him to walk to you to your first class? jake nearly does a backflip. (he doesn’t. he plays it cool. barely.)
when chemistry rolls around later in the day, jake’s the first one to say hi this time. when the teacher is busy not looking, jake leans in and says a really, really stupid joke about ionic bonds and valence electrons and regrets it immediately but you laugh. you laugh and jake’s day is immediately better than any other day he’s had this week. at some point, you nudge his knee and when jake looks down—your hand is there, holding out a pack of sour patch kids. jake takes it as a good sign. or maybe a sign of impending life-long romance. either way, he takes one and tries not to make it weird. (and he still does. he accidentally eats two at once and chokes a little. but it’s fine.)
when the bell rings and class is over, you’re both packing up when you glance over and smile at him, “I’m excited to see you later tonight.” and jake thinks he misheard. thinks he’s hearing things because just three weeks ago, the most he’s ever said to you was either something about the periodic table or…running out of the classroom after breaking a glass beaker with his bare hands. but then your hand lands on the sleeve of his hoodie and gives him the slightest squeeze, and jake malfunctions.
jake gives you a thumbs up. because he panicked.
he panicked and thumbs-upped (he will never learn).
but you smile anyways and say your cute little goodbye before leaving class.
and the rest of the school day is irrelevant to jake because the rest of the school day doesn’t involve you. well, except in his head. sure, jake goes to lunch. sunghoon won’t stop talking about the new valorant expansion pack and how his computer lags everytime he tries to peek a corner—but jake’s just thinking about how your hair looked in the sunlight this morning when you asked him to walk you to class. sure, jake gets his pop quiz back in history with a big, fat, b minus written on top in red marker. normally, he’d spiral, because he really should be getting his history grade up. and normally, he’d wince at the mental image of his mom scolding him later over it—but he’s too busy replaying your laugh in his head. sure, jake goes to robotics club after school. he’s supposed to help calibrate the parts for their new battle bot but he accidentally installs a cord backwards, and now the bot is stuck running in circles—because jake sim is currently preoccupied.
preoccupied mentally drafting a speech that goes something like, “hey, i like you. a lot. possibly way more than i should but i don’t really care because you always smell good and your smile makes me want to rip my hair out and the memory of kissing you is in my dreams everynight. can i be your boyfriend? please? maybe? i’ll buy you weird oat milk drinks forever and buy you more beluga stickers even though, respectfully, you probably shouldn’t own any more.”
it’s still a work in progress.
and later that evening, jake is pacing back and forth in his bedroom, mentally preparing himself for tonight. his spider-man suit lies crumpled somewhere in the back of his closet half-covered by a flannel, a calculus textbook, and one sock he still can’t find the missing half to. he makes a mental note to wash the suit. eventually. later. not tonight. tomorrow. whatever. not important.
because tonight, he’s just jake. just jake, a regular teenage boy. just jake, a regular teenage boy with no responsibilities except to make his crush and hopefully soon-to-be-girlfriend happy.
just jake, nervously fixing the collar of his nicest hoodie, debating whether or not to wear the cologne his mom got him two birthdays ago. just jake, combing his fingers through his hair and wondering if you like it better pushed back, down, up, messy, styled, or, hell, shaved off entirely because he will do it if it gets him one (1) smile from you. just jake, practically grinning to himself because he’s going to see you.
jake checks the time again. 7:24PM. he’s early, which is good. which is the plan. because early gives him time to get to the diner first. early gives him time to find the best booth, which is the one near the corner window so you two can watch the sunset together and sit far from the kitchen door to avoid the smell of peanut oil. early gives him time to breathe and mentally run through everything he wants to say.
hi y/n. you look really pretty. i missed you—wait no, you saw her literally three hours ago, don’t say that—i was thinking we could split the strawberry milkshake together—wait is she lactose intolerant?
jake grabs his phone, wallet, the flowers he picked up at the corner deli on the way home. it’s wrapped in too much plastic, a little crooked, one of the carnations is sticking out, but it’s pink and soft and entirely you coded.
and jake makes his way to the diner, sneakers scuffing against the sidewalk, heart doing backflips in his ribcage as he turns the corner and sees the neon lights of the diner come into view just a few more blocks down. one of the lights of the sign is flickering in and out, going back and forth from diner to din_r. it’s perfect. you’re perfect. he just needs to get there.
buzz. buzz.
jake looks down at his phone in hand.
incoming call : GUY IN CHAIR 🧠
“yo, i’m gonna call you in, like, a few hours,” jake answers without thinking, barely breaking his pace, “i’m on my way to the—”
“jake.” and sunghoon’s voice is tense. urgent. the kind of urgent that tightens something in jake’s chest.
jake stops.
“it’s bad. really, really bad,” sunghoon’s voice is strained and jake doesn’t like it. doesn’t like that feeling in his gut. the pull, the weight, the way his skin pricks, the way every muscle in his body tenses.
jake shuts his eyes closed. exhales sharply. runs a hand through his hair. “how bad?”
“like…warehouse near the port is up in flames and there’s a hostage situation and no one’s close enough to get there in time.”
and just like that, jake feels it. the way the air changes, that familiar shift in gravity. that tug in his chest like a string being pulled into two opposite directions.
jake doesn’t say anything. he looks back down the street, stares at the diner. he’s so close. so close to getting there. so close to getting to you. “i can’t, sunghoon. not tonight,” he swallows hard, his voice cracking on the words. “i—i don’t even have my suit.”
there’s a beat. “jake,” sunghoon says, softer yet not any less urgent. “they’ve got kids.”
jake’s eyes flutter closed again. presses the heel of his hand to his forehead like he can press the guilt away. he doesn’t move. and for a second—just one—he thinks maybe, maybe, he could keep walking. just this once. just tonight.
but he knows better.
the responsibility. the pull.
the price of the mask.
it’s never not there.
his grip tightens around the bouquet. the plastic crinkles. he sighs, slips out a curse word or two under his breath, and—
“jesus christ,” jake mumbles, already turning on his heel. “tell the fire department i’m on my way. and tell them to hurry.”
and jake’s already running—sprinting back in the opposite direction back to his apartment. sunghoon hangs up and jake?
jake doesn’t stop.
he doesn’t even look back.
jake doesn’t know what time it is. doesn’t care. smoke still clings to his skin, the faint sting of ash burned into the fabric of his suit. his lungs ache, and his hands are scraped raw from tearing open too many metal doors and carrying too many people to safety.
but he’s alive.
they’re alive.
and yet. all jake can think about—is you.
you, maybe waiting in that booth. you, maybe sipping a milkshake through a striped straw, twirling it slowly and glancing at the door every couple minutes. you, maybe checking your phone. frowning. getting up. leaving.
god.
he doesn’t even stop to change. just swings home, crawls through his fire escape, throws a hoodie over his soot-covered suit, runs a wet hand through his hair, and jumps back out the fire escape again. he swings and swings until he lands in an alleyway near the diner, tripping over a trash can and throwing a curse word at it as he stumbles into the street and—
runs into you.
your arms are crossed tight against your chest, your head’s down. you’re walking the other way, unaware of the chaos behind you.
jake’s voice cracks before it can even form your name. “—y/n. y/n, i—”
you stop mid-step, your head turning at the sound. and when you turn and see him, you pause—the expression on your face unreadable.
“jake?” your brows furrow. “what the hell—where did you even come from? and why do you smell like—” you stop yourself. exhale shortly. shake your head. “you know what? never mind. i—i’m going home.”
you turn again.
and jake panics.
he starts after you, picking up his pace to match yours “wait—look, y/n, i’m so, so, so sorry. i swear i can explain—”
that’s when you stop in your tracks. you turn, finally facing him. and the emotions written on your face are everywhere—confused, hurt, tired, and somewhere beneath all of that—still soft.
“okay,” you say, looking him in the eye. “then explain.”
jake opens his mouth.
closes it.
he swallows. his lips open again.
"i—"
his throat burns. and it’s not from inhaling a building’s worth of smoke from earlier.
"i can’t. it's...complicated."
silence.
you stare at him. eyes wide. quiet. sad. disappointed. the kind that hurts jake more than if you were angry.
when you speak up again, your voice is quiet, barely above a whisper, “look, jake. i don’t know what’s going on with you. and i’m not mad. but…you’re just really confusing. and clearly, you’ve got something going on.”
you take a breath and fold your arms tighter around yourself, “—and while this was fun and all…i just—i don’t know if this is going to work out anyways.”
jake blinks. his stomach drops. he takes a step closer. “wait—no, y/n, i—”
and you keep going. “plus,” you let out a small laugh but it’s the worst kind of laugh—the kind that’s awkward and forced, like it’s there only to preemptively make up for the words coming after. “i’m just gonna be honest with you.”
jake doesn’t breathe.
you look him in the eyes.
“i think i like someone else anyways.”
and that does it. jake’s world tilts sideways. the words hit him like a punch—no, worse, because he’s felt bad punches before. this feels like that moment in freefall right before the web catches you, except this time there’s no web. just the fall.
“you…like someone else?” is all jake manages to let out before the words get caught in his throat. he thinks he might throw up.
you nod. slowly. hesitantly. and jake feels like he’s unraveling.
he doesn’t know what to say. he wants to scream, he wants to cry, he wants to tear his stupid hoodie off and tell you everything.
that he missed the date because he was saving lives.
that he wanted to tell you he’s falling for you.
that he bought the damn bouquet and practiced a stupid speech and picked the booth with the best view and no peanut oil smell.
that he only missed it because he was trying to be good. good enough. worthy.
but all that comes out is air.
because he can’t tell you. because he shouldn’t tell you. because spider-man doesn’t get to be selfish. because jake doesn’t get to be just jake.
your fingers fidget as you glance back down at the ground. you rock slightly on your heels before your voice breaks the silence again, “but hey. no hard feelings, yeah? friends?”
and that might be the final blow.
and jake doesn’t even know how to respond. his brain stutters. because what is he supposed to say—”friends? no? actually, i wanted to ask you to be mine tonight, and now i can’t even tell you why i missed it?”
so instead, jake does what jake always does.
he pretends. he nods, forces a smile—too quick, too wide, the kind that pulls at his cheeks but doesn’t reach his eyes.
“yeah,” he says. his voice cracks, but he clears his throat like that’ll fix anything. “yeah. of course. friends.”
you nod back and offer a tight smile, “i’ll see you at school, then. goodnight.”
then you turn.
and you walk away.
jake doesn’t move. the weight of your footsteps fade, but the words still echo in his ears.
friends. someone else. no hard feelings.
his chest feels hollow. like someone scraped everything out and forgot to fill it back in. like he just lost something he never even got the chance to have in the first place.
and spider-man’s the one who saved the day. and it should feel like a win, but it doesn’t. because although spider-man saved the day, jake’s the one who let you down.
jake was too late. too late, too secretive.
too much of everything and still not enough of what you needed.
“maybe it’s not as bad as we think.” sunghoon’s voice is cautious, but not exactly convincing from his slouched position in jake’s desk chair, spinning slowly like he’s debating whether now’s a good time to leave (it’s not. he’s been trying for the past hour. jake made him stay.)
jake lets out a guttural groan in response, already face down on his bed, limbs sprawled out in distress. a pillow is smushed over his head, in attempt to block out the agonizing, soul-crushing reality that is his life.
“it’s over, sunghoon,” jake muffles into his mattress. “over with a capital O. capital V. all the damn letters—over before it even started.”
jake flips over, sending the pillow to the other side of the room, “she likes someone else,” he says hollowly, staring blankly at the ceiling. “i was so preoccupied with everything else that i didn’t even notice she—who else could she even—”
jake cuts himself off mid-rant. because it doesn’t matter.
doesn’t matter who you like.
doesn’t matter how it happened.
it just matters that it’s not him.
that you like someone.
and it’s not jake.
jake presses a hand to his head, “god. i’m such an idiot.”
sunghoon lets out a low whistle and starts fiddling with one of jake’s pens, “okay. you’re not an idiot. you did what you had to do, and you did the right thing.”
jake lets out a small sigh, quiet and defeated, finally looking at his friend, “but when do i get to stop sacrificing to do the right thing?”
silence stretches out between them. the ceiling fan above them whirs. the clang of metal pots and pans echo from down the hall—which means jake’s mom is attempting to make meatloaf again. which means the fire alarm will probably go off in ten minutes, maybe eight. the room smells faintly of jake’s two-birthdays-ago cologne, and the burnt tinge of unwashed spandex crumpled somewhere in the room.
sunghoon taps the pen against the desk, eventually breaking the silence, “so talk to her. as spidey.”
jake sits up in his bed and gives sunghoon a look.
“talk to her as spider-man, tell her to give ‘jake’ another chance,” sunghoon repeats, throwing air quotes around his friend’s name.
jake gestures to the ceiling. the wall. the existential void of absolute nothingness around him. “sunghoon. that’s…messed up. morally. ethically. logistically. probably emotionally.”
“i mean,” sunghoon shrugs casually as if this is the answer to all of jake’s problems, “spidey’s already friends with her, anyways. and you told me yourself—it feels like she’s closer to him than she is to you.”
jake throws both hands in the air. “WE’RE THE SAME PERSON.”
he then lets out an inhuman noise and flops backwards onto his bed again, “whatever, man. this is probably for the best anyway,” he mutters. “spider-man should’ve never gotten involved in the first place. it’s safer this way. especially for her.”
a beat passes. jake stares up at the glow-in-the-dark stars still stuck to his ceiling from the sixth grade. he blinks once.
“plus, let’s be honest. i’d probably screw it up more somehow. say something dumb and let it slip that it’s been me all along.” jake pauses. “—or honestly, she probably already knows i’m spider-man. which is even worse, because now she probably hates both versions of me.”
sunghoon’s quiet for a moment. just keeps spinning slowly in jake’s chair, the wheels creaking faintly. “…so what? you’re just gonna stop walking her back home now?” he finally says, lifting a brow. “isn’t that for her safety too?”
and yeah.
yeah, he has a point.
so jake doesn’t stop.
he just stops being seen.
and that’s what jake does for the next few days.
so jake falls into this routine without really meaning to. he goes home from school, puts on his suit (it’s clean now, don’t worry), and spends the next few hours either returning stolen bikes or webbing carjackers to brick walls or showing tourists the right direction.
and somehow, someway, jake still finds himself in the same spot at the end of the day—sitting crouched on the ledge of the rooftop across from your bus stop, a hoodie pulled over his mask, hands stuffed in his sleeves.
at 10:32PM, your bus rolls up right on the dot.
at 10:33PM, you step off. same oversized totebag on your shoulder. same way you pull your phone out and unlock it in the same three motions. same streetlight that flickers just before you pass it.
and jake watches you go home. makes sure you’re okay. makes sure you’re safe. all without making himself seen.
and only when your apartment window lights up does he finally feel okay, finally swings away, the wind cold and sharp in his lungs—but not as cold as the air around him whenever you’re not there.
he does this again the next night. and the next. and the next.
and at school, jake falls into rhythm here, too—if you can call it that.
you still sit next to him in chemistry. still copy formulas off the board. still hand in the same worksheets, laugh politely when the teacher makes a pun about avogadro’s number.
but you don’t share your sour patch kids anymore. and jake doesn’t make any stupid chemistry jokes to make you laugh either, because…he can’t think of any. because all the funny ones were ones he saved for you, and they don’t feel worth saying out loud anymore.
you talk to him, sure. when you need the answer to question six, or to ask if he got the quiz grade back. but there’s space between you now. quiet, aching space. and jake doesn’t know how to fill it.
but by the end of the week—
all routines fly out the window.
because it’s friday night. and jake swings to the usual rooftop across from your bus stop, a half-eaten churro in one hand—courtesy of the sweet old lady who bought it for him after he showed her where her train station is. because it’s 10:30PM when jake lands on the roof, tossing his backpack to the side when he looks up and—
he freezes.
because sitting there, cross-legged on the ledge—on his ledge—backlit by the moonlight and the yellow glow of the streetlamps below—is you.
jake chokes. he stumbles back, the eyes of his mask blown wide immediately, “what the—y/n?! what are you—how did you—wh—”
and you’re sitting there, blinking and staring at him, unfazed. like you’ve been waiting. you don’t move. you just raise a brow.
“okay, so first you start walking me home every night, then you stop showing up, but still choose to stalk me from a distance? i don’t get you, spider-man.”
and jake is so confused right now. “i—what’s going on?” jake sputters, arms half-raised in shock and disbelief. “how are you even here right now, how did you even get up here?”
“you’re not exactly subtle, y’know,” you deadpan, ignoring his question as you tilt your head up at him. “every night you walk me home? i know this is where you drop your bag off and wait for me to get off that bus. i know you sit on that rooftop across from my place to make sure i’m okay every night. your silhouette is literally not that subtle.” then you gesture vaguely around the rooftop. “also, the webs everywhere? kinda a dead giveaway, don’t you think?”
jake’s mouth opens. nothing comes out. and if it weren’t for the mask, he’d be catching flies.
you stand now, arms crossed tight as you take a step closer to him. you take a deep breath before you ramble, “i don’t know. i’m just—i’m so confused, spider-man. i told the guy i like that i liked someone else. and i don’t even know if that was true or if i just panicked. but the truth is, i don’t even know if the guy i actually like likes me back, or even knows how to talk to me, or if i’m just completely losing it—”
“—wait.” jake tilts his head, still frozen in his spot. “wait, which guy? like the guy-guy? aquarium guy?”
you groan and start pacing, squeezing your eyes shut like you’re trying to make sense of the situation as well.
“yes. yes, of course the guy-guy, aquarium guy—who else would i be talking about? there’s no other guy—”
“you just said you told the guy-guy you liked someone else.”
“i did! i think! i—look, i don’t know! maybe i said it just to protect myself from the fact that the guy-guy doesn’t like me back. but now i might actually like this other guy—”
“okay, okay—hold on, back up,” jake steps back to process. holds up both his hands. “so there’s guy-guy you maybe like…and now a new guy…?”
jake’s mind is reeling. his insides might come out. who is the new guy? is jake even guy-guy? no. yes. maybe? jake has to be guy-guy. or else he’s gonna scold sunghoon for being very unoriginal for the aquarium date idea.
you stop pacing. you turn to him with wide eyes, like you’re mentally begging yourself to shut up, don’t do it, but your mouth moves anyways.
“…you,” your voice is quiet. barely audible. but yet, so loud and clear and more than anything else jake has ever sensed before. “i like you.”
and for a second there, jake thinks maybe he misheard, because it sounded a lot like you just said you liked him. spider-man. and there’s absolutely no way. there’s no way you said that. there’s no way you meant that.
there’s no way this is happening.
there’s no way the girl he’s been hopelessly staring at from across the cafeteria for god knows how long now, the girl he’s been walking home at night to make sure she’s safe even she didn’t know, the girl that witnessed him choke on two sour patch kids at once in the middle of chemistry—is standing here. on this rooftop. telling him that this entire time he’s been tangled up in a love triangle…with himself?
and jake? jake is actively malfunctioning. he says nothing. he does nothing. he thinks nothing.
and you seem to take jake’s stunned silence as pure horror—
because you panic.
“oh my god. oh my god—i’m insane,” you whisper, moreso to yourself than him. “i knew it. i knew that guy-guy shattered my brain and messed me up so bad i’m actually losing it.”
you start pacing again. and jake’s legs don’t work, so he just watches.
“like—i don’t even know what you look like under that mask. what if you’re, like…thirty? what if you don’t even have a nose?” your voice rises in disbelief at your own choices. “what if i’m just projecting everything onto this idea of you, because you’re sweet and funny and walk me home and call me your favorite citizen and—god, i’m actually going delusional—”
jake takes a few more steps back, shaking his head once, then twice, like he’s trying to physically undo the entire past five minutes of his life. or reset his entire nervous system.
his hands fly to his hair as he turns away from you, staring up at the sky, muttering incoherent words to himself before he lets out a groan, “i—what the hell—i can’t believe i’m doing this, i’m gonna hurl. oh god—”
then, he turns around. takes one unsteady step towards you. his heart is racing. but without another word—
he yanks the mask off.
and his hair is a mess (from the mask). his cheeks flushed like he’s been sweating (he has). his eyes wide like he’s terrified (he is).
“y/n.”
your jaw drops.
you blink once. twice.
you stare at his face. at his hair. at jake.
“…JAKE?!”
your voice echos—loud. probably throughout the entire city, if jake’s being honest. your arms flail so wildly it looks like your brain is about to evacuate your body. you blink hard, like if you do it enough times, this fever dream might just break.
“are you kidding me right now?!”
jake flinches. his eye twitches.
you immediately start pacing again—back and forth, borderline hyperventilating, “YOU? you’re spider-man?! YOU??” you shout again, turning to point at him like he committed fraud. “how—hell—you literally broke a glass beaker last month—this can’t be real—”
jake raises his hands defensively, “okay, to be fair, you caught me off guard by asking me—”
“OH MY GOD,” you groan, throwing a hand into your hair, fisting a small bunch. “i told you i liked you while you were you pretending not to be you. that’s…that’s messed up, jake!”
“okay—yes, i see how that was a little—”
“you…you called me pretty but ignored my texts but still walked me home that night and…i’m so confused right now.”
jake scratches the back of his neck with one hand, the other dropping uselessly to his side, mask still in hand, “well…yeah. but also, like, i thought you picked up on it.”
“WHY WOULD I THINK YOU’RE SPIDER-MAN?” you practically screech, your steps halting as you spin to face him, full disbelief painted all over your face.
jake blinks. “i don’t know! i figured the voice, the walk…literally anything—”
“i don’t listen to people’s walks, jake!” you pace faster now. like if you don’t move, you might actually implode.
jake makes a desperate, helpless noise before he tries again, “look, y/n—can..can you just stop for a second and—”
“no, jake! i’m spiraling!” your voice hits a new level of pitch that makes jake wince. again. “i told two different guys i liked them this week and it turns out they’re the same guy and somehow that makes it worse?! do you know how emotionally unstable this makes me? i ranted to you about YOU—and you let me! oh, you’re so done for jake si—”
and that’s when he does it.
jake shoots a web.
it catches your waist.
and your rant cuts off mid-sentence as you’re suddenly pulled into him.
with a small yelp, you crash into his chest, hands reflexively splayed across his alarmingly solid chest. your nose is inches from his collarbone, and jake’s hands settle on your waist, immediately grounding you in place.
and you don’t have time to orient yourself—and jake doesn’t give himself time to pause or doubt it before he does it.
jake kisses you.
no hesitation, no overthinking, just all of jake—crashing his lips onto yours, immediately silencing you.
and you don’t stop him.
you can’t stop him.
because your lips are already moving against his, messy and fast and a little too much. your fingers fist into the fabric of his suit like you’re trying to anchor yourself and you swear—you swear—you can feel his heartbeat under your fingertips. and all of the sudden, you’re hyperaware of everything. how his mouth is warm and desperate and tastes a little like cinnamon churros and familiarity. how the air between you is sharp, your noses brushing, breath mingling in short gasps—all too much and not enough all at once.
and when you pull away briefly to take a breath—realization hits you. your palm smacks against his chest once. then again. then rapid fire.
“wait, wait. wait. did you just web me?” the words tumble out of you in a half-laugh, half-accusation. and to be frank, you don’t know if you should be angry or attracted right now.
and jake’s still breathless, forehead practically resting against yours, as you feel his chest rise and fall with each shaky exhale. his voice is low, steady. a little hoarse.
“y/n—” jake whispers, so close you can feel the shape of the words against your mouth, “—shut up.”
and then he kisses you again. slower, this time. deeper. like an apology, like a confession, like something that feels way too big to name.
jake’s hand curls tighter around your waist, the other sliding up gently, carefully, until his fingers find the back of your neck, holding you there like he’s afraid you’ll disappear in his hold.
and all you can do is lean in. closer and closer, like if you press hard enough, you’ll disappear into him. disappear into that small pocket of space that only exists between you and him and never come back out.
it’s uncoordinated, a little too frantic. but it’s everything. the shock, the nerves, the confusion all blur into static. and this time, when jake pulls back, just barely, you cant help the tiny, unintentional whine that escapes your lips as you chase his without thinking.
jake exhales a breathless, shaky chuckle against you before he kisses you again. a quicker one this time. and then another. then one to the corner of your mouth. and then your jaw. and then he’s pulling back again, this time slower, eyes fluttering open just as yours do too, his hands still around you, the web still holding you against him.
“hi,” jake whispers. it’s soft and raw and boyish. and so, so real. “it’s me.”
his thumb brushes along your jaw as he swallows hard. your heart stumbles, your eyes searching his face—his stupidly soft brown eyes, the little scar on his chin, the mole near his cheek you’ve always noticed. it’s all him.
the boy who walked you home. the boy who doesn’t know how to talk to you in class. the boy you fell for. all this time.
you’re still pressed to his chest, body still tangled up in his arms, lips still tingling, mind still fuzzy. your voice comes out in a whisper, “i can’t believe it’s been you this entire time.”
he nods, a shy, crooked smile on his face, “it’s always been me.” and then his expression falters, just slightly. “i didn’t mean to lie to you. or miss our dates. i just…i didn’t know how to be this,” he gestures to his suit, “and how to be just jake, either.”
and you just blink, unmoving in his arms, still a little breathless. because there’s something in his voice. something fragile.
“so…so that day you missed school? and you were all beat up?”
jake presses his lips together, guilt painted all over his face, “yeah, i actually did get into a fight. i lied about that part.”
your eyes narrow, “with who, jake?”
jake shrugs like it’s no big deal. “some guy with six arms. real tentacle problem. you should’ve seen the damage i did on him though.”
your mouth gapes.
“i’m kidding—” jake laughs, eyes sparkling now as his nose slightly bumps against yours. “it was a bank robber. kind of. honestly, it’s all a blur now. all i remember was thinking about kissing you that same night after the aquarium.”
you let out a scoff, part processing, part amused. “and the diner night? when you suddenly showed up out of no where?”
jake nods, pulling you in just a little tighter. “suit was under my hoodie the entire time. not fun, by the way. spandex gets sweaty…fast.”
“gross,” you mutter, scrunching your nose as you instinctively tug your hands away from his chest—only to stop halfway, leaving them right where they are anyways. then, after a beat, you slap his chest again. “i can’t believe you told me to give yourself another chance. i don’t know if i should be mad at you or kiss you again.”
jake makes a face and gives a tiny shrug, “well, if you’re asking for my opinion…” he tilts his head. “i definitely have an answer. but i might be biased.”
you roll your eyes, letting out a small laugh as your hands find the back of his neck now. “this is insane, jake. you’re genuinely insane,” you whisper quietly, eyes flickering from the spider emblem on his chest then back to his face.
jake grins down at you, eyes bright, one hand brushing a stray strand of hair away from your cheek.
“yeah? well you like both jake and spider-man,” he tilts his head. “so i think that makes you just as insane.”
you gasp dramatically, smacking his arm like you’re offended. jake laughs, that easy, familiar sound filling the room between you—and the air goes warm again.
there it is. that space. the one he’s always had with you—except now, it’s his. fully his. not just spider-man’s, not a half-version hidden behind a mask.
just jake, who also happens to wear spandex and save the city.
just jake, who sucks at high school history and has feelings for the pretty girl in his chemistry class.
and just jake—who finally doesn’t have to choose between you and the suit.
you breathe in, watching him carefully. “so…” you begin. “now what?”
jake pauses.
and then he smirks.
that boyish, reckless, completely jake smirk.
”how about i take you on a proper date?”
your brows lift, your head tilts. “yeah.” you beam up at him. “i’d like that. tomorrow?”
jake shakes his head slowly, leaning in briefly with a mischievous smile on his face.
“now.”
you blink.
“…now?”
“JAKE—” your scream cuts through the sky as you’re being flung between skyscrapers, clinging yourself around jake’s neck, legs around his torso like your life depends on it.
which, to be fair, is quite literally the case right now.
“—WE’RE NEVER DOING THIS AGAIN—”
jake just laughs, a breathless, exhilarating sound—his mask back on, one arm tight around you as the other shoots another web out, latching onto the building you two swing past.
“are you sure?” he yells over the fast wind. “because you look like you’re having so much fun—“
“JAKE—“
another swing. another scream. another terrified, stupid, perfect laugh.
the city blurs below. the stars blur above.
and somewhere in between it all, you feel his heartbeat against yours.
jake’s grip tightens—instinctively, protectively—as you fly past neon signs and glowing windows and the tiny people beneath and the hum of a city that never sleeps.
and in that moment, your panic settles into something else. something warmer.
so don’t try to stop him.
you just hold on tighter.
𖢥⁺₊°˖ tenk u again for all the love & support, always <3 (& special ty for my love ronnie @heejamas for the beluga dolphins fun fact & being my support throughout this entire proces <333 hehehe)
best friends who share everything… including their side chick.
𓊆박성훈 & 심재윤& 박종성 x fem reader𓊇 baby, is it me or are you doing something to me? when you smile, it’s shining, but for some reason, you’re lying inside. dangerously, you’re beautiful. you slowly came to me, my dilemma like a habit. ─ baby don't like it, nct127 ⫶ 𐔌masterlist꒱
𓆩♡𓆪 wow hi :< it's been a minute since i wrote + something so long + smut?! + foursome?!?!?! ... i'm super sorry in advance if this is so shit because yk i don't reread my smut and this is genuinely just 10k of filth hahsheahs and i miss u guys so much kisses kisses kisses :x
word count 10k
content advisory heavy infidelity/cheating, lowkey polyamory? possessiveness, side chick, jay is a football player, jake is a nerd, toxic relationship, moral ambiguity, hoes before bros or whatever, no one's a good person here, mentioned of underage drinking (1), kinda sunghoon biased i'm so sorry, non proofread!
smut advisory foursome (fmmm), very nasty mayne, different sex scenes, squirt, fingering, cum stuffing, oral, fellatio, pussy licking/sucking, lots of making out jesus, dirty talk, profanity, locker room fucking, creampie, cumshot, tit play, jake's in love with your tits and sunghoon can't stop kissing you, flirting, jay's gentler than the others, jake is lowkey a softdom/sub, sunghoon's a hard-dom and mean, use of slut, whore, cumdump etc. doggy style, side-fucking, missionary, creampie after creampie, car sex, hotel sex... might miss out some but pls.
growing up as a trio—jake, sunghoon, and jay always, and always made sure that no secrets are kept from one another. from highschool, and attending the same college, they stuck together like glue—rooming in the same dorm block, sharing the same late–night runs, copying each other’s work despite not taking the same major but shared classes.
they called themselves 02z (and sunghoon always thought that it was corny) and no matter what happened, the rule was simple: no secrets. everything got laid out on the table—the good, the bad, the ugly, and the embarrassing.
and they’d proven it time and time again.
like the time jake got stupidly drunk at a house party at the age of seventeen, and jay had to haul his half–conscious ass back through the window of his bedroom while sunghoon knocked on the front door and entertained jake’s father from finding out.
or the time jay accidentally broke the school’s window and to prevent him from getting suspended and kicked out of the football team, jake stepped forward and took the blame—”i threw it too hard to impress a girl, sorry.” he flashed that innocent puppy smile and accepted the week’s detention without complaint. jay never forgot it and paid him back by covering his shifts for two whole weeks.
but the real payment was the tighter bond between them.
“ride or die,” sunghoon had said once. and in a world where friendships were shallow and people stabbed each other in the back, the three of them were unbreakable. like a stream of water, it cannot be cut—
but even the strongest stream can be diverted when the faucet is turned.
——
funny enough—the first time jay saw you was during one of his football friendly matches.
it was a casual friday afternoon game, nothing serious, just the medic faculty versus the business for bragging rights and free drinks afterward. jay was on the field in his number 99 jersey, sweat already soaking the back of his neck under the orange sun.
his girlfriend, minji, was sitting in the small bleachers with a couple of her friends, waving at him every time he glanced her way. he’d blown her a kiss before the whistle, the perfect boyfriend move that made his teammates tease him later.
and you weren’t even supposed to be there for him.
you were merely just a friend with one of the strikers in his team—and had come along because he (martin) had begged you to at least pretend to cheer so he doesn’t look like a loser. you sat on the grass near the sidelines, knees pulled up in those pretty shorts and prettier top.
you weren’t attention seeking or loud, but jay found his eyes travelling to you more often than he’d like to. light, genuine laughter that cut through the noise of the field and scored him square in the chest. he almost lost the ball.
and if it wasn’t after the match that everyone gathered near the benches to talk about what happened and martin pulled you in to join the conversation. you, being youself—ever so friendly and talkative you, even prettier up close and funnier than most girls he know—chatted with the rest of the boys like you’d known them for months.
jay stood there, still catching his breath, tower slung over his shoulder, watching you. the conversation flowed naturally and he found himself grinning wider than he should, eyes lingering on the way your lips curved when you smiled.
“you played so well. even if your team totally got lucky on that last goal,” you commented, casually sitting next to jay on the bench. jay laughed, humming. “yeah? that never happened by the way—so it was probably your luck.”
you raised an eyebrow, amused, turning your body slightly toward him. “you think so?”
the way you said it made something in his chest tighten in the best way possible. most girls would either just giggle or try too hard, but you looked like you were genuinely enjoying the back–and–forth.
he leaned back on the bench, resting his elbows behind him. his jersey clung to his chest, damp with sweat, but neither of you care. for once, he was grateful his girlfriend wasn’t around.
“maybe,” he replied, that smirk tugging at his lips. “or maybe you’re bad luck for the other team. every time you cheered us, their defense fell apart. i saw it.”
you let out the laugh that got him almost distracted on the field earlier—and shook your head. “you’re so smooth, jay. do you use that line on every girl who watches your game?”
uh, oh.
his smirk faltered for half a second. he let out a quick, awkward laugh and rubbed the back of his neck to play it cool. “of course not,” he said, chuckling a little too loudly. “that would be way too cheesy. i swear i’m not that kind of guy.”
you tilted your head, studying him with glint in your eyes. then, casually, almost too casually, you dropped it—
“i thought so! you kept blowing kisses to a girl earlier. i saw it.”
jay went quiet.
the easy smile on his face froze. his fingers tightened slightly around his water bottle as the words landed. he swore—he swore—he didn’t mean to come off as flirty or anything, but it just… came out naturally.
like it was just you.
for a moment, he didn’t know what to say. he hadn’t even realised you’d noticed that.
“yeah, well…” he started, voice trailing off. he looked away for a second, heartbeat drumming fast, searching for the right words that wouldn’t make him sound like a complete asshole.
before he could finish, you broke into a soft giggle and waved your hand lightly in front of him. “i’m just joking, hehe,” you said, mischievous. “relax. you don’t have to look so guilty.”
jay let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, the tension in his shoulder easing as he laughed along. you were teasing him, but the way you said it so playfully made his tummy flip.
he finally met your eyes, watching the way your lips curved when you smiled like that. relax. you don’t have to look so guilty. then, before he could talk himself out of it, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and held it out to you.
“put your number in,” he said, smoother and calmer now. “next time we play, you could be our lucky charm again.”
you’re not stupid. if anything, martin would’ve invited you to the next matches anyway. but you took the phone anyway—fingers brushed against his. you saved yourself as yn, followed with a little soccer ball emoji and handed it back.
“don’t blow me kisses though,” you teased lightly as you stood up, brushing invisible dust from your shorts.
jay watched your back as you walked away, phone warm in his hand, your contact staring back at him. it’s harmless—it’s just a number and you’re just a girl who was easy and fun to talk to.
but the further you got from him, the more it’s clear to jay that he was going to text you tonight.
and the first turn of the faucet happened—quietly, and completely without anyone knowing, not even jay himself.
——
“oh my gosh, my player,” you moaned sensually, tipping your head back as jay lifted you up around his waist with ease.
his strong hands gripped the back of your thighs, fingers digging into your soft skin as he pressed you against the cool metal locker. the contrast between the cold surface on your back and the heat of his body made you shiver.
jay’s mouth was on yours instantly—hungry, deep, messy, and horny. he kissed you like he’d been starving from it since the first whistle was blown, tongue sliding against yours while low groans rumbled deep from his chest.
“fuck baby, you feel so good like this,” he rasped between kisses, grinding his hard cock against your bare pussy. the thin fabric of his shorts was the only thing separating you, and you could feel every inch of him throbbing, already leaking like a little boy for you.
“my little reward.”
you wrapped your arms around his neck, fingers threading through his damp hair as you rocked your hips against him, chasing the friction. “hngh—you did so well… how are you so good at everything?” another sensual moan slipped from your lips when he shifted and rubbed the head of his cock against your swollen clit.
“am i?” his lips trailed down your jaw to your neck, sucking and biting lightly, leaving faint marks he knew he shouldn’t but couldn’t stop himself from making. one hand stayed under your thigh, holding you up effortlessly, while the other squeezed your tit, thumb flicking over your perky nipple until you whimpered.
“look at you,” he murmured against your skin, voice hoarse with list. “so fucking wet and ready for me after i won. you like being my secret celebration, baby?”
you nodded eagerly, pussy twitching and clenching around nothing but the idea of jay’s thick cock inside. sensing that—he pulled his shorts down just enough to free his cock, thick and heavy, tip glistening with a bead of precum.
“i want you—fuck me, please,” you cry out, leaning to kiss him.
without another word, jay lined himself up and pushed inside you in one slow, deep thrust—stretching you open, filling you completely. a broken moan tore from your throat as he bottomed out, walls clenching tight around him. the guy buried his face in your neck, groaning loudly at how perfectly you took him.
“shit… so tight,” he breathed, staying still to let you adjust—but not for long before he started moving, sensual, deep rolls of his hips that dragged his cock against every sensitive spot. “oh god, yesyesyes, just like that,”
the locker rattled with every thrust. your legs tightened around his waist, heels dragging into his lower back as he fucked you against the cool metal, mouth never leaving your skin. he kissed, licked, and sucked at your neck and collarbone while his pace gradually picked up, turning deeper and harder.
“mine tonight,” he whispered roughly, one hand slipping between your bodies to rub tight circles on your wet, sensitive clit. you moaned louder, bud ticklish and feeling like you were going to squirt—which you did, just seconds after.
jay’s so good and gentle with how he’s treating you it’s making your chest flutter. “yours, jay, yours,” you gasped as the head of his cock knocked against your cervix—jerking your body upwards with each pound.
“my pretty little trophy… taking my cock so well after the game.”
your moans grew louder, more desperate, echoing softly in the empty, locked, locker room as he drove into you again and again and again—sensual, hot, sinful, and so fucking good.
jay’s breathing turned ragged, forehead pressed to yours as he chased both your highs, the wet slap of your skin and your shared gasps filling the air. the player ended up cumming—shooting ropes and ropes of warm jizz on your pretty little face, landing some on your head.
seeing how well you’re cleaning his cock—jay realised he was far from done with you.
——
for sim jaeyun, everything had its place, neatly stacked in order of importance.
first came his family—always. then his friends (sunghoon and jay at top, then the rest of the people he knows). layla, his border collie, squeezed into that top tier too. studies came strongly after that because he believed it’s 100% his future—
and finally, only then—way down the list—came fun.
and fun included his girlfriend, chloe. she was sweet, understanding, and never complained when he told her he had to study late or hang out with the boys. jake liked that about her—she knew her place in his priorities, and she respected it.
he never meant to rearrange that list.
“sorry we can’t do this at my apartment,” jake said, rubbing the back of his neck. “my girlfriend’s been staying over a lot lately and… yeah. i didn’t wanna make you uncomfortable.”
you and jake shared multiple classes since the start of the semester, sitting in the same lecture halls but he’d never really talked to you. not until the professor paired you two together for a major project that counted half of the final grade.
now here you were—tucked away in a quiet, secluded corner of the library on the third floor. jake sat across from you, laptop open, highlighter between his teeth as he scribbled notes. you leaned back in your chair, legs crossed, a small knowing smile playing on your lips.
unlike the easy friendliness you’d shown jay, something about jake brought out a slightly different side of you—a bit more teasing, more… dominant? like you enjoyed watching the good boy squirm a little.
“that’s okay, jakey,” you replied, tilting your head, eyes locked onto his. “anywhere is fine at least we get it done, right?”
jake blinked, caught off guard by the nickname but didn’t comment on it. his cheeks warmed slightly, but he laughed it off. “yeah… exactly. studies first, you know? gotta keep priorities straight.”
you hummed, leaning forward on your elbow, chin resting on your hand as you watched him. jake had to do everything just from glancing at your cleavage sticking out from your shirt. the way your gaze lingered made the air between you feel a little heavier, more intimate—and jake figured this was why most girls wouldn’t want their boyfriends around a girl.
a pretty one at that too.
“that’s good. keeping everything in order like that, hehe.”
the words slipped out casually but jake’s ears turned pink anyway. he shifted in his seat, suddenly hyper–aware of how secluded this corner was—no one could really see the two of you back here.
he tried to steer the conversation back to the project, pointing at the screen as you scooted closer beside him. “so… for this second, i was thinking we could—”
“oh—you typed quantitative wrong here—”
you leaned in and pointed at the typo on his laptop screen. in the process, your chest brushed against his arm, soft and warm through your thin top that jake swore he felt the sponge of your bra.
jake froze.
his breath hitched, eyes widening for a split second as he felt the brief press of your chest against his bicep. a rush of heat shot straight through him and you felt the way he tensed up.
“oh—shit, sorry,” you said quickly, pulling back a little, though your voice didn’t sound even an ounce of guilt if he was being honest. “didn’t mean to interrupt you like that.”
his mouth went dry. he could still feel the ghost of the touch on his arm, and his brain was suddenly struggling to form normal sentences. “n—no, it’s okay,” he stammered, rubbing the back of his neck, cheeks now matching the pink of his ears.
“don’t worry about it.”
you bit your lip to hide a small smile, watching the way composed jake was suddenly flustered. the good boy who kept his priorities straight was starting to crack a little. instead of moving back, you stayed right where you were—shoulders almost touching his, close enough that your perfume filled his nostrils.
you pointed at the screen again, this time more carefully, your nails tapping on the lcd. your voice dropped softer, with a hint of light dominant slipping through.
“see? right here. fix it, jakey.”
jake swallowed hard, nodding quickly as his fingers moved to the keyboard. but it was hard to focus on the project anymore—not when every time you shifted even slightly, he became hyper–aware of how close you were, and how dangerous his mind was playing at.
that damn cleavage and top.
maybe it was because jake met you during one of his ‘studying’ sessions, but you were quick to climb up his carefully built hierarchy. just like jay, you were easy to talk to, quick with your thoughts, and somehow jake liked… being told what to do. shamelessly.
“you’re so good at this,” you hummed softly, scooting your chair just a tiny bit closer until your knee brushed his under the table. “what’s something you’re not good at?”
you meant the project—but you also knew men like jake would divert the meaning elsewhere. something jake’s not good at is probably standing on his morals and keeping his priorities straight.
not when he’s easily swayed like this.
——
just two months after that, jake’s stacked priorities crumbled.
parked in a quiet, dimly lit corner of the campus parking lot at 11:49 p.m., the backseat of his car fogged up. he had a chemistry exam the next day—yet here he was.
“jakey…” you whispered against his mouth, voice low and teasing as you cupped his cheeks, fingers tapping against his skin. “you’re thinking too much again.” you continued, straddling his lap and brushing your lips against his.
“it’s late…” he breathed, even as his hands gripped your waist tighter, pulling you down harder against the obvious bulge in his jeans. “test t’morrow… chloe… fuck, this is so wrong.”
you pouted playfully, rolling your hips and grinding against him in the meantime. “but you’ll ace the test tomorrow anyway, why bother?” you hummed, pressing your lips against him. jake groaned, head falling back against the seat. you purposely ignored the latter problem.
his morals screamed at him, but his body betrayed him completely.
clothes were pushed aside rather than fully removed—your skirt flipped up, panties pulled to the side, his jeans shoved down just enough. he had you on all fours, exactly how he liked it best: doggy style.
as all up for him to watch as it jiggles—yeah, fuck yeah. jake’s hands gripped your hips tightly as he pushed into you from behind in one, full, deep thrust—instantly burying himself deep with a broken moan.
“shit—you feel so good, yn,” he gasped, forehead pressing between your shoulder blades for a second. the angle was beyond perfect—the cramped car, and your tight, wet, cunt while being so deep he could feel every clench around him.
“uh huh? what else?”
he started moving, savouring the way your back arched for him, the way you pushed back to meet every thrust, the way your ass jiggled when his pelvis slapped ‘em. “so tight, your pussy’s so tight, yn,” he rasped, picking up his pace. jake’s hips snapped harder, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the space of the car. “i love it—love your pussy,”
jake’s cock was probably the longest you’ve had, reaching so deep your fingers, toys, and other boys had never been able to. “oh god, jakey, you’re so good,” you moaned aloud, palms flat against the fogged window.
“you’re ruining me,” jake groaned, one hand sliding up to push you down lower, chest pressed against the seat while your ass stayed up for him. “can’t stop thinkin’ about this—about you.”
his balls slapped against your wet pussy, dragging you velvet walls with each time he pulled out. you moaned sensually, gripping the edge of the seat as he fucked you faster, coming close. “then don’t stop, just do me all the time.”
that pushed him over the edge.
the boy’s grip tightened. he pulled you back onto his cock, deep with every thrust. the car rocked with his movements. “fuck, fuck, fuck,” he panted, sweat dripping down his temple, morals completely shattered as he took you exactly how he loved—deep, rough, playful.
“want your cum, gosh—fuck, cum all over me,” you gasped, saliva leaking out from the edge of your mouth. your pussy squelched with every thrust, juices splattering on the leather seat. what a shame to the girlfriend, really.
he leaned over you, one arm wrapped around your waist while the other braced beside your head, pounding into you harder as he began chasing his end. “shouldn’t… i really shouldn’t…” he groaned, voice strained and broken.
“c’mon, be a good boy—give it to me, cumcumcum,”
the praise pushed him over—with a final moan, jake pulled out of your dripping pussy. he flipped you onto your back in one motion, trapping you between his knees. his hand pumped his slick, wet cock furiously, eyes dark and wild as he hovered above you.
you looked up at him with a teasing glint in your eyes—lips parted, chest heaving, already arching your back and pushing your tits together for him. his abs tensed, jaw clenched tight.
“shit—i’m cumming—!”
thick liquidity, warm ropes of cum shot across your chest in messy spurts, painting your tits and collarbones white. some landed right on your nipple, dripping slowly down the curve which only caused jake to cum some more.
fuck, that’s so fucking hot—he thought, swallowing the lump in his throat as he kept stroking himself through it, milking every last drop until his cock twitched empty and his whole body shuddered.
you licked around your lips, smearing jake’s cum all over your pretty tits. it looked like you were lactating his cum.
“fuck… am i good enough, yn?” he murmured, chest heaving. “look at what you do to me.”
——
saturday night and sunghoon’s at a popular off–campus club with a group of his classmates. while he’s not much of a party guy, he came because one of them kept dragging him anyway, and he knew he couldn’t keep rejecting their advances for so long.
he’s sitting in the booth area, nursing drunks, bored, and detached while everyone else is loud and drunk. sunghoon doesn’t dance. doesn’t flirt. just watch.
that’s when he saw you.
you’re on the dance floor with your girlfriends, just being effortlessly sexy and attractive—the way your body swayed, hair sticking on your neck from the heat, the same curve of your smile that jay was starstrucked with.
and that damn black dress that hugged your curves just right.
sunghoon’s eyes locked on you instantly, he didn't smile when your eyes met his as well across the floor—just watching. instead of looking away shyly, you held his gaze for a few seconds, then your eyes travelled from the top of his head down to his shoes, and gave him a slow smile before turning back to your friends.
that was all it took for him.
sunghoon stood up, leaving his classmates’ drinks and stuffs on the table, and walked straight onto the crowd. he didn’t say anything at first—just slid in behind you, one hand slightly resting on your waist as he spun you around to meet him.
“hey,” he murmured, tall frame towering over you. “what’s that about?”
you tilted your head slightly, a playful, faux innocence smile playing on your lips. “what’s what about?”
his eyebrows furrowed just a fraction, but the corner of his mouth twitched—the tiniest hint of amusement and a thought of, wow, the audacity. his hand stayed on your waist, thumb pressing lightly into the fabric of your dress, holding you in place.
“that look you gave me,” he said, shrugging. “are you daring me?”
you let out a soft laugh that almost sounded like a scoff, eyes sparkling and laced with a kind of bratness that he never knew he was into. you didn’t pull away but instead stepped a little closer, letting your chest brush against his as you looked up at him through your lashes.
“and if i am?” you replied, sweetly. “what are you gonna do about it?”
morality had always been quite a blur to sunghoon.
he never lost sleep over it but rules, right and wrong, loyalty—they were just concepts that applied to other people. as long as it didn’t affect his image or his life or his close circle greatly, he didn’t care enough to draw hard lines.
and tonight, those blurry lines had just walked out of the club with him.
sunghoon didn’t say much as he guided you toward his black sedan by holding your hand in his. you glanced up at him, still wearing that same little smile. “you always drag girls out of clubs without asking their name?”
he unlocked the car with a soft beep and opened the front door for you. his eyes met yours—completely unbothered. “sunghoon,” he said simply. “and i don’t bring girls out anywhere.”
you let out a hum, but still slid into the front seat without hesitation. he followed right after, closing the door behind him. the inside of his car smelled strongly of his cologne, and as he started the engine, he didn’t bother with small talks. didn’t ask where you lived, nor did he offer to take you home.
sunghoon pulled out of the parking lot and drove toward the city centre with his one hand occasionally brushing your thigh. you watched the streetlights flicker across his jawline and the way his expression said nothing eventhough the tension between you two in the car reeked with want.
“so… where are we going?”
“a hotel. closer than my place.”
——
the door had barely clicked shut before sunghoon had you pressed against the wall, mouth crashing into yours in a deep. hungry kiss. there was nothing gentle about it—his lips moved against yours with need, tongue sliding in immediately to taste you as one hand gripped your jaw, and the other pressed on your hip.
and you—you kissed him back just as greedily, fingers digging into his shoulders, tugging at his shirt like you wanted it off yesterday. “ngh—hngh,” you moaned into his mouth, tongue intertwining and sucking on one another.
sunghoon broke the kiss only long enough to pull your dress up and over your head at once, letting it drop to the floor. his hands were on you instantly—squeezing your tits, sliding down to grip your ass, yanking you flush against him so you could feel how hard he was through his pants.
“fuck,” he muttered against your lips, voice low. he bit your bottom lip, then soothed it with his tongue before kissing you again, deeper this time.
you moaned into his mouth, hands working frantically to unbutton his shirt and push it off his shoulders. the moment his bare chest pressed against yours, sunghoon groaned and lifted you up. your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively as he carried you across the room, lips still on yours.
he dropped you onto the bed, the mattress dipping. before you could even catch your breath, sunghoon was crawling over you, shoving his pants and boxers fully down to free his thick, heavy cock.
and jesus—unlike jay or jake’s, sunghoon was packing.
“you’re so hot,” sunghoon licked his lips, hooked his fingers into your panties, ripped them down your legs, and spread your thighs wide open with his knees. he looked down at you for one brief second, then lined himself up.
“are you gonna fuck me? without even knowing my name?”
sunghoon paused, the corner of his mouth twitching into a cocky smirk. finally, he didn’t look cold. he pushed just the tip inside you, teasing, before answering.
“i know you, yn,”
your eyes almost widened, a mix of surprise and arousal flashing across your features.
“how?”
he leaned down closer, one hand gripping your thigh as he slowly sank another inch deeper, stretching your tight cunt open. “i overhead your friends,” he murmured, hissing through his teeth as your pussy engulfed him.
you let out a soft moan, back arching as the familiar burn of being stretched came back to you. “fuck… you’re really something, hoonie.”
sunghoon bottomed out with a groan, burying himself to the hilt inside you. for a second, he stayed still—letting you feel and adjust every inch of him, his grip on your thighs tightened. you arched your back, eyes half–lidded as you looked up at him, that spark still burning bright behind your eyes.
“fuck me good, hoonie,” you whispered, biting your bottom lip as you began palming and playing with your tits, tweaking the perky buds. “make it worth me leaving my friends for you.”
“shh—shut up and let me do the work.”
that night, sunghoon fucked you for hours—the bed creaked loudly beneath as he fucked you deep and fast, hips snapping against yours with every thrust. his hands held your thighs spread wide, keeping you open as he pounded. the wet sounds of your bodies echoing in the hotel room.
“fuck—your cunt feels s’good,” sunghoon moaned, tipping his head against the headrest, jaw clenched tight. you hovered right over his hard, slick cock. sunghoon’s eyes never left yours as you sank down onto him, taking every inch until your ass met his lap.
a broken moan left your lips at the deeper angle. sunghoon groaned too, his fingers digging harder. “look at you,” he murmured, eyes roaming over your face, your bouncing, marked, tits, lips parted in pleasure with your tongue sticking out.
fuck. this is why sunghoon loved cowgirl. watching every lewd, pretty expression, every flutter of your eyelashes, your mouth opened to moan his name—because of this cock.
you started moving, rolling your hips in sensual circles, then bouncing on his cock with more force. his hands guided you, but he let you do most of the work, just like he liked it. his gaze stayed locked on your face the entire time.
“you’re so big, hoonie, oh jesus fuck,” you moaned eagerly, biting your lip. with each time you bounced on it, the head of his cock kissed your cervix sweetly and it felt so fucking good. he pulled you down closer by the nape of your neck, and kissed you deeply while you rode him.
“that’s it… just like that, baby,” he rasped against your mouth, kissing the corner of your lips, then your cheek, then your jaw. “ride my cock like a good girl—let me see how pretty you look when you cum on me again.”
his free hand moved between your bodies to circle and pinch your perky buds. the combination made your rhythm falter, thighs shaking as you bounced faster, chasing the high.
sunghoon kept watching you—obsessed. he kissed you again and again, swallowing your moans, occasionally bucking his hips to meet your movements and driving himself even deeper.
“cummin’ soon, babe?” he murmured against your lips, now moving his hand to rub that sensitive, wet, clit. “cum on me—then i’ll fill you up.”
you could only moan his name as the pleasure built higher and higher, your hips moving desperately.
sunghoon, who never thought he’d ever cheat on sooha, let alone creampie another girl he just met raw—watched your face with almost possessive gaze. he had always been careful, even with someone who has little to no morals.
and you—who had literally never let anyone cum inside you before—were seconds away from letting him be the first.
your thighs shook as the orgasm crashed over you. “fuck—!” you cried out, clenching hard around him, hips stuttering as you came and squirted all over his cock. the feeling of your pussy pulsing and gushing around him pushed sunghoon over the edge.
thick, hot spurts of semen flooded inside you, filling you up the very first time. he kept thrusting through it, pushing his cum deeper.
one night stand—this won’t ruin anything for sunghoon.
right?
——
“so,” jay started, leaning back against the railing with that smirk of his, “valentine’s next week. you guys already got plans locked in?”
jake nodded, smiling. “don’t even say it. i booked the restaurant last month because i know she’ll kill me if i forget. we’ll probs just have dinner together.” he shook his head, sipping his canned beer. “gotta keep the girlfriend happy, right?”
sunghoon took a slow sip of his as well, shrugging and unbothered as ever. “i’ll probably just take sooha out on a breakfast and shopping. i got plans that night.”
jay raised an eyebrow, turning to him with curiousity. “oh? what are you doing that night?”
he didn’t even flinch, just stared down at the small puddle of water around the can opening where his mouth kissed it. “bringing yeji out,” he said, absentmindedly swirling the alcohol in the can. “she’s been begging me to take her out. figured valentine’s night is as good as any.”
jake let out a laugh, completely buying it. “damn, she’s gonna milk you dry.” he commented, then glanced at jay from where he’s sitting. “what about you? something big again?”
“nah, think minji wants something intimate this time.” he hummed, looking out at the yard—people were chatting, dancing, and drunk to their heads. “maybe i’ll cook and we’ll spend the day at mine. who knows.”
“what a romance.”
the three of them continued talking easily—hopping from one topic to another—arguing whose girlfriend was more demanding, whose more whipped, and reminiscing about things they’ll never get back.
none of them even knew that they each shared the same secret—and little did they know, she was walking around the party downstairs right under their noses.
down in the crowded kitchen, you leaned against the counter, red cup in hand, while heeseung stood in front of you—close enough that his arm rested on the counter beside your waist.
“oh, i don’t have a boyfriend,” you replied, taking a small sip from your cup while holding his gaze. heeseung grinned, leaning in a little closer and lowering his voice so only you could hear him over the loud music.
“good. because i’ve been wanting to ask you out for a while now. you’re always so hard to catch alone.” his fingers lightly tapped the counter next to your hip. “what do you say? let me take you somewhere nice this valentines?”
you bit your lip, pretending to think about it—
but before you could answer, a familiar voice cut through the noise.
“yn?”
sunghoon.
he was frowning. the usual expression on his face didn’t change much except for the tightness of his jaw, and the way his gaze flicked to heeseung’s hand near your hip.
heeseung turned his head, still smiling. “oh, hey man—”
sunghoon didn’t let him finish.
without a word, he reached out, wrapped his fingers around your waist and firmly pulled you away from the counter and away from heeseung. “come with me,” he said quietly, already leaving the kitchen.
you barely had time to shoot heeseung an apologetic smile before sunghoon guided you through the crowd, up the stairs, and into one of the empty guest rooms on the second floor. he closed the door—but didn’t lock it—the party noise instantly muffled.
“the fuck was that?” he asked, frowning and confused. “heeseung? really? you let him get that close to you?”
sunghoon took a step closer, towering over, eyes narrowed.
“i thought we had an understanding,” he continued, laced with unfair possessiveness. “you didn’t even tell me you’d be here—then i caught you with some dude flirting?”
before you could form a reply, his hand came up to grip your cheeks, forcing you to meet his gaze. “you couldn’t wait till i take you out on valentines?”
you looked up at him, a scoff escaped you—and a small smile tugged at your lips. “so you can have fun with sooha… but i can’t do the same with heeseung?”
his jaw tightened; and for a second, he just stared at you, thumb brushing over your lower lips. he let out a low, breathy scoff, almost a laugh—but there was no humour in it. “you’re really testing me,” he murmured, clicking his tongue.
“sooha’s my girlfriend. she gets breakfast and shopping because that’s what keeps everything quiet. you…” he paused, free hand slid down to your waist where he squeezed the flesh. “you get me at night. isn’t that better? i’m about to fuck you all night and you’re gettin’ jealous over some fucking breakfast?”
he tilted your head slightly, fingers digging into your flesh.
“don’t compare yourself to her. and don’t let another guy put his hands near you again.”
he crashed his lips against yours in a hungry, possessive kiss, gripping your jaw tighter as he devoured your mouth. the kiss was messy and intense—tongues sliding, teeth grazing, low groans between you.
you kissed him back just as fiercely, fingers threading into his hair and tugging hard, making him groan into your mouth.
“fuuuccckkk,” he grunted between the kiss—turning and walking you backwards until your legs hut the edge of the bed. without breaking the kiss, sunghoon pushed you down onto the mattress and climbed on top of you, body pressing into the sheets.
his hands roamed greedily—one sliding under your dress to grip your thigh, the other pinning your wrists above your head. “oh my, hngh,” you moaned softly, arching up into him as he ground his hips down against you. sunghoon bit your bottom lip, then soothed it with his tongue.
“always pissin’ me off—”
his phone suddenly started ringing on the nightstand.
sunghoon ignored it initially, lips moving down to your neck, sucking hard enough to leave another mark as the ringing continued. “jesus—shut the fuck up…” he murmured, merely glancing at his phone. he assumed it was just one of his friends, or just anyone but—
“sunghoon, you in here—?”
jake’s voice died in his throat. jay stood right beside him, phone in his hand—both of them froze in the doorway, eyes wide as they took in the scene.
you lying on the bed, dress hiked up, lips swollen from kissing. sunghoon on top of you, one hand under your dress, his lips glistened from saliva, hair messy from your fingers.
for a long, suffocating second, nobody moved.
sunghoon’s head snapped up, eyes widening in genuine shock, his expression completely shattered—he was caught. fucking caught. by his own bestfriends. they weren’t supposed to fucking know that he’s not loyal to sooha. the same two guys he swore loyalty to since teenangers.
the colour drained from his face.
jake and jay stared, wide–eyed, stunned.
“...yn?” jake breathed out first, voice barely above a whisper, like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. jay’s mouth opened, then closed—replaced by pure disbelief. instead of addressing the elephant in the room—which was sunghoon fucking cheating—your name came out first.
the realisation hit them both at the same time—how the fuck did all of them came to know you? if jay knew you because of his affair, and jake knew you too—and sunghoon too—then were they all having an affair with you?
they’d been secretly fucking the same girl for months—?!
you, still pinned under sunghoon, felt your stomach drop.
“oh my fucking gosh…” you whispered, eyes wide, a nervous laugh bubbling out of you before you could stop it. you propped yourself up on your elbows, hand flew up to cover your mouth, but it was useless.
the shock, the absurdity, the fact that you had been playing all three of them without any of them knowing… it was all crashing down at once.
sunghoon finally pulled his hand out from under your dress and sat up slightly. he looked between his two bestfriends, voice strained. “look—this isn’t what it looks like.”
jake let out a broken, disbelieving laugh. “you’re on top of her, dude.”
jay’s grip tightened—he stared at you like he was seeing you for the first time.
“you.. and sunghoon?” his voice cracked. “how long has this been going on?”
the room was thick and silent for half a second.
then it clicked.
sunghoon’s eyes narrowed and his eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he looked at jay—then slowly turned his head toward jake. the realisation hit him. “wait…” he muttered. “how the fuck do you know her?”
jake’s face went pale—he blinked rapidly and swallowed the lump in his throat. “yeah… how do you know yn?”
jay’s mouth opened, but no words came out at first. his gaze flicked between you and sunghoon, confusion turning into dawning horror. sunghoon sat up straighter, but not off you. all three boys were now staring directly at you.
“how do you know jay?”
“and how the hell do you know jake?”
“you and sunghoon—?”
now the focus shifted entirely on you.
you were still lying on the bed, dress rumpled, lips swollen, heart hammering in your chest. three pairs of eyes—shocked, jealous, and confused—were locked on you.
“i—”
you tried to sit up, tugging your dress down with shaky hands. “i—i didn’t know? ah, i swear… it just… happened? i mean—”
you were clearly flustered, words tumbling out in a nervous rush. “i never thought—i didn’t know you guys knew each other—?”
before you could finish, jake reached behind him and closed the door with a soft click, locking the four of you inside. both of them walked closer to the bed, their expressions shifting from confusion to something more of—betrayal and disbelief.
jay ran a hand through his hair, letting out a short laugh. “wow… you’ve been fucking all of us?” his voice was low, eyes wide. “our own friend group?”
why didn’t they blame each other—? you thought, swallowing the lump in your throat. you guys were the asshole cheaters in the first place! so they could cheat on their girlfriends, but god forbids a girl have fun with multiple guys?
“have you been playing us the whole time? jake asked. “letting jay fuck you, me, now sunghoon pinning you down like that?”
just as you were about to open your mouth, sunghoon squished your cheeks together and slammed his lips against yours roughly—teeth clashing and grazing your lips. you whimpered into the kiss, hands instinctively grabbing his shirt.
when sunghoon finally pulled back, you grasped for air. his thumb dragged across your botton lip. “there’s no point hiding anymore, is there?”
the tension snapped.
jay moved first, climbing onto the bed and grabbing your wrist, pulling you toward him. “c’mere, baby.” jake was right behind him, kneeling on your other side. sunghoon stayed where he was, between your knees, watching as his two bestfriends started touching you.
in seconds, your dress was being yanked up and over your head. hands were everywhere—jake’s mouth on your neck, jay’s hands squeezing your tits, sunghoon’s fingers hooking into your panties and dragging them down your legs.
you were panting, head spinning from the sudden overload.
“look at her,” jay murmured, voice thick as he pinched your nipple, eliciting a moan. “pretty little side chick… been taking all three of us like a whore.” jake groaned, kissing down your chest. “and we thought we were the only ones… fuck, that’s so hot.”
sunghoon gripped your jaw again, turning your face toward him. “open your mouth.”
the second you did, and he kissed you again—rough and deep—while jay and jake worked together pleasing your tits. jay’s hand wandered along your tummy—down to your bare, wet cunt.
his fingers slid between your folds, groaning when he felt how wet you already were. “shit, so soaked.”
“fuckin’ dripping for us already,” sunghoon said, moving to give jake a space to settle between your spread legs. “turn over,” sunghoon ordered, commanding as he grabbed your hips. “on your hands and knees now, c’mon.”
your body obeyed before your brain could catch up—which shocked jake a little since with him, you were never this obedient. you were flipped onto all fours in the middle of the bed, ass up, back arched, completely exposed.
jake gripped your asscheeks, spreading them wide enough as he leaned in and dragged his tongue slowly from your clit, all the way up to your dripping hole. “fuck, taste s’good,” he moaned, his cock beneath his pants twitched. he dove back in, licking and sucking messily while jay knelt in front of you. he tilted your chin up, hard cock already freed from his pants, thick and leaking.
“open that pretty mouth, baby.”
you parted your lips and he instantly pushed the head of his cock past them, sliding deep into your warm mouth with a satisfied groan. “oh, fuuuuck… your mouth always feels s’good…”
sunghoon stayed at your side, one hand already palming and stroking his cock while the other reached underneath to rub circles on your clit as jake french–kissed your pussy. “look at you,” sunghoon murmured. “what a slut… taking all taken men at once. this what you wanted, isn’t it?”
jake hummed against your pussy and you felt the curve of his mouth forming into a smile—the vibration making your thighs quiver. jay thrusted into your mouth, hand tangled in your hair. “been screwing each of us behind the other’s backs…” jay groaned, pushing deeper until you gagged.
“greedy little girl.”
your muffled moan around jay’s cock was the only answer they needed.
jake was the first to pull back from between your legs, shiny with your juices. he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, swimming with pure need. “i’m going first,” he said, settling behind you. “been dying to fuck you again since the last time.”
sunghoon and jay didn’t argue. they simply shifted positions.
jake moved behind you, gripping your hips tightly and lining up his hard cock with your dripping entrance. without any warning or heads up, he pushed in with one deep thrust—bottoming out in a single stroke.
“oh, fuuuck…” he groaned aloud, head falling back as your tight walls clenched around him. “still so ’ tight… missed this pussy so much.” jake started thrusting—deep strokes that rocked your body forward.
at the same time, sunghoon knelt in front of you. he grabbed your hair gently but firmly, guiding your mouth to his cock. “open up,” he ordered quietly. you obeyed, lips parting as he slid his thick length into your mouth. sunghoon let out a groan, eyes half–lidded as he watched you take him inch by inch.
jay moved to your side, kneeling close enough that his cock was right next to your face. your hand instinctively wrapped around his length, stroking his wet cock while you sucked his best friend’s.
the room filled with wet, porno sounds—jake’s hips slapping against your ass as he fucked you from behind, the slick sounds of your mouth working sunghoon’s dick, and your hand pumping jay’s length. every now and then, jake would slap you ass—gripping, squeezing, and spreading and watched as your asshole twitched.
“aw, pretty baby,” jay grunted, wrapping his bigger hand around yours as he guided you through it out. “taking all three of us so well, mm? perfect girl.”
next to him, sunghoon scoffed. jake panted and runted like a dog—gripping your hips harder as he pounded into you. “oh—hah—you feel so good, oh fuck, i missed this so much—missed you so much.”
sunghoon glanced at jake before his hand tightened in your hair, guiding your head as he picked up his pace fucking your mouth. “that’s it… suck me just like that—how you’d do with all the other guys, babe.”
jay groaned, hips twitching into your fist. “yeah—? do you have other guys you’re fucking aside us, yn?”
you instantly shook your head as much as you could with sunghoon’s cock buried in your mouth, a desperate, muffled, “mm—mm” vibrating around him.
“right,” sunghoon clicked his tongue. the memory of you getting hit on by heeseung playing in the back of his head. if you were able to hide jake and jay from him for months—who knew who else?
every thrust from jake pushed you forward onto sunghoon’s cock, forcing you to take him even deeper down your throat. you were gagging around him, drool slipping from the corners of your mouth but you kept sucking.
jake’s rhythm started to falter. his grip on your hips tightened almost painfully as he fucked you harder from behind. “hah—i’m close, oh god,” he groaned. “wanna fill you up—i can fill you up, right? hngh—you’ll let me?”
he slammed into you a few more times, deep and desperate, burying himself to the hilt. now—jay and sunghoon never knew jake was someone who’s into this but who were they to judge? the contrast between how you were with jake, sunghoon, and jay made them want to laugh.
with jay, you’re treated as the princess of the princess—sweet, gentle, kind words—like you’re the girlfriend. with jake, you got to order and command—and he’s always so fucking into being called a good boy. with sunghoon? with sunghoon—you’re the brat that needed some punishment.
you nodded your head and that was all jake needed.
“hah—cumming—” he rasped. you felt the first hot spurts of his cum flood deep inside you. the puppy boy kept grinding into you, milking every drop as he creampied you, his cock twitching. a low whine escaped your throat, muffled.
when jake finally pulled out, a thick trail of his cum leaked from your cunt.
“next,” jake panted, voice hoarse as he moved aside.
they filled you onto your back.
the player immediately took his place between your legs, but instead of fucking you missionary, he turned you slightly onto your side. he lifted your top leg, hooking it over his hip, and instantly slid his throbbing cock into your cum–filled cunt in one thrust.
“ah—! jay!” you moaned aloud, followed by jay’s groan. the warmth from jake’s cum wasn’t helping the situation at all. it felt so fucking good. “she’s so slippery with your cum, jake… so filthy.”
he started fucking you from the side—deep, rolling thrusts that let him hit every sensitive spot. you’re beyond embarrassed at this point. your creamy pussy that gushes cum with each thrust, how exposed and bare and wet you were for the other two boys to see.
you wondered if this was the consequences of your actions.
jake moved up beside your head, still breathing hard. he groped your tits greeding—how he loved them—squeezing and kneading, pinching your sweaty nipples as he leaned down to kiss and bite along your neck.
‘hngh—yn, i love these so much,” he muffled, sucking and tugging at your boobs. “so soft, you’re so squishy.”
sunghoon shifted to your other side, cupping your jaw and pulling you into a deep, messy kiss. his tongue slid against yours while jay continued fucking you from the side, the wet sounds of his cock plunging into your creampied pussy filling the room.
sunghoon kissed you like he couldn’t bear not doing anything while the other two boys had their fun. he was almost annoyed and pissed that they just had to interrupt him having you all to himself earlier.
“is this what you like?” jake murmured against your neck, his hands never stopping roaming. he groped your breasts, rolled your nipples between his fingers, then slid one hand down to rub your clit in lazy circles while jay thrusted into you. “taking jay’s dick right after i filled you up… you’re so hot, yn.”
“hngh—jay, oh fuck, you’re so big—” you moaned into sunghoon’s mouth in which he instantly shut you up. jay groaned, picking up the pace, hips snapping harder. “fuck. i can feel your cum every time i push in, jake. poor sweetheart, do you like this, baby?”
sunghoon pulled back from the kiss just enough to let you breathe, lips brushing yours. “answer him while he’s fucking you.”
your body trembled between the three guys as you answered: “yes, yes, yesyesyes—! i—i love all three of you, oh my fuck!” you cried out, chasing sunghoon’s lips as you began sucking his bottom lip. you moaned shamelessly into his mouth while jay’s cock dragged against your walls.
“we love you too.”
behind you, jay smirked—and jake couldn’t help from smiling.
“show us how much you love it, please?” jake murmured against your nipple, his fingers never slowing down—pressing and rubbing your clit. “squirt for us—make a mess all over jay’s dick.”
he began rubbing harder—and the pressure coiled fast. too fast.
before you knew it, your thighs started shaking uncontrollably. your back arched sharply as jake’s fingers and jay’s cock worked you together. “oh, i’m gonna—!”
you didn’t even get to finish.
with a loud, broken cry, you squired around jay’s cock. clear fluid gushed out of you, soaking jay’s hips, the sheets, and jake’s hand. your whole body convulsed, pussy clenching and pulsing violently.
“fuck—!” jay groaned, eyes rolling back as your walls squeezed him like a vice. the feeling of you squiring all over him while still full of jake’s cum pushed him over the edge. without any warning, he buried himself deep and came—thick ropes of cum shooting right inside.
he kept grinding into you through his orgasm, pushing every drop deeper as your squirt continued to leak around his cock.
sunghoon watched the while thing, still kissing you through your high, swallowing every broken moan and whimper.
when jay finally stilled, panting against your shoulder, the room was filled with heavy breathing and the obscene sound of cum and squirt dripping onto the sheets. jake leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your nipple while his fingers slowed on your oversensitive clit.
“good girl…” jay murmured, kissing your temple. “such a perfect girl.”
jay pulled out slowly, another mix of squirt and both their cum leaking out of your used cunt like whipped cream, jay smirked, giving your ass a squeeze.
“my turn.”
sunghoon didn’t waste a single second.
he moved between your legs, pushing them wide open as he settled on top of you in full missionary, his frame caged you in, eyes locked onto yours that always made your tummy flip. without warning, he slid two fingers deep into your cum–filled pussy, curcling them instantly.
“hah—hoonie—!” you gasped, back arching off the bed as he started fingering you—fast and deep, wet sounds loud and filthy as he stirred jake and jay’s cum inside you. “feel that, babe? he muttered. “so full already—yet so slutty for more.”
he pumped his fingers harder, scissoring them, pushing the mixed loads deeper while his thumb rub your swollen clit. your legs trembled around him, overstimulation making tears prick.
only when you were whimpering and gasping did sunghoon finally pull his fingers out. he brought them up to your mouth.
“clean ‘em.”
you obediently opened your lips, sucking his fingers clean of the messy mix of cum while he watched. then, he lined up his thick, needy cock—and pushed into you in one deep thrust, slow enough to let you feel every inch and veins of him.
a broken moan tore from your throat.
sunghoon bottomed out, holding your hips. “shit… so warm and wet,” he breathed, and began to move. his thrusts were hard and deliberate, hips snapping forward with every stroke, driving jake and jay’s cum even deeper.
he kept you in missionary the whole time—face to face, eyes locked, his body pressed flush against yours. one hand gripped your thigh, spreading you wider. the other slid up to wrap gently around your throat, holding you there.
“open your mouth.”
you obeyed instantly, lips paring, tongue slightly out naturally.
sunghoon leaned in first. he gathered spit in his mouth and let it drop slowly onto your tongue, watching with a smirk as it landed right on your tongue. jake moved in simultaneously, hovering above you as he spat directly into your open mouth, a thick string of saliva mixing with sunghoon’s. jay too—tilted your head upward gently before spitting into your mouth as well.
all three of their spit mixed together on your tongue—so fucking humiliating in the best way.
“swallow, baby, c’mon,” jay murmured, kissing your cheek. sunghoon tightened his grip on your throat just a little, you swallowed the thick saliva, throat bobbing under his palm. the taste of all three of them made your pussy clench hard around sunghoon’s cock.
“fuck, she just squeezed me,” sunghoon groaned, picking up the pace, fucking you harder. “such a nasty little cumslut.”
jake chuckled, leaning down to kiss the corner of your mouth as he palmed your tits. jay’s hand slid down to rub your clit as sunghoon pounded into you deeply—”nasty little girl, look at you,” jay murmured, caressing your hair.
“you love being used like this? who taught you to be so slutty, baby, hm?”
sunghoon’s eyes never left yours—your half–lidded, crossed, rolled to the back glossy eyes. he fucked you relentlessly, wet squelching sounds of his cock stirring the mixed cum inside you filling the room. his hand stayed around your throat as he fucked your cunt like a fleshlight, claming while jake had his fun with your tits, and jay continued teasing your clit from the side.
you were a complete mess—trembling, moaning, drooling… barely got to focus on the moving ceiling above. your tits bounced and jiggled with every thrust—a sight jake could cum alone.
sunghoon’s thrusts grew sharper, deeper, and more desperate. his grip on you throat tightened just a fraction as he groaned against your lips. “fuck… ‘m cummin’—”
he straightened up, canines digging into his bottom lip as he buried himself to the hilt and came hard. the hardest he’s ever ejaculated. thick, hot ropes of cum flooded and washed over deep inside you, mixing with the cum from jake and jay before.
as usual, he kept grinding into you, pushing every drop as deep as possible while his cock twitched inside your overused, overfilled pussy.
at the same time, the two boys kneeled on either side of your head—jerking themselves off furiously above you, breathing heavily. “shit, shit, shit,” jay rasped, thick spurts of cum landing across your tits and collarbones.
“oh, gosh, yn, please,” jake whimpered, following just right after as he painted your face and chest with more warm cum. their softened cocks rested on your chest, with jay’s twitching again as it rubbed your nipple.
you lay there, panting, body covered in their cum—tits glistening like you milked out semen, pussy leaking a creamy mix of all three of them, throat marked from sunghoon’s hands and jake’s bites, lips swollen from jay’s kisses.
the room was silent except for heavy breathing and panting.
sunghoon pulled out—agonisingly slow—watching his thick cum drip and burst out from your stretched hole. fuck—what a sight, he thought. he wasn’t sure if this would be the last time. your pussy twitched and spasmed around nothing, thighs trembling with orgasm as you shivered.
jay leaned to press a chaste kiss on your cheek. jake’s softened cock caressed your other cheek as the owner pumped the mixed cum back inside your puffy pussy with his fingers. sunghoon pressed a soft, loving kiss to your lips.
“you’re our secret girl now.”
you lay between them—as the three sworn, soulmates bestfriends who used to swear they had no secrets finally agreed on one secret:
they would share their perfect little side chick—away from their girlfriends, and away from all the other guys out there.
summary: back home for good after a semi-unsuccessful first year at university in a new city, you’re looking forward to getting back into the routines of your old life in the town you grew up in but the one person you’d been desperate to see doesn’t seem too pleased about your return :(
genre: angst.. ......... fluff, smut, college au, exes to lovers, second chance romance, slow burn
warnings: minors dni, british in a way that's not vague (might be vague.. it's hard to tell when ur british), so so long, sad heeseung, long paragraphs..
word count: 36,007 .. (apparently, i'm in a competition with myself to see who can write the longest fic)
playlist: seasons wave to earth, understand keshi
author's note: writing this fic was like pulling teeth and then cooking pasta out of it.. bUT IT'S DONE !!! also one of these scenes is smth i reworked from a fic i posted to wattpad in 2021.. thanks @asahicore for the beta u rock ! and as always be lmk ur thoughts (positive/negative/anything) 🤍
fic taglist: @enhastolemyheart
Lee Heeseung had often imagined what it would be like when he saw you again.
Sometimes, he envisioned you standing on his doorstep, playing with the cuffs of your sweater. Other times he’d dream up a chance encounter at the local grocery shop, where you’d be distracted and bump the end of your trolley into his. He’d even pictured a sun-soaked vacation, a gorgeous white sand beach where the temperature would be inching past the thirties. You, laying out on a patterned towel, lost in the pages of a book, and your pretty face obscured by its cover. Yet, even with the sun in his eyes and his poor vision, he’d recognise you without a doubt.
Regardless of circumstance or setting, in all of his hazy daydreams, you’d look up at him with unbridled love in your eyes and say the words he wanted to hear all those months ago: I choose you.
Heeseung had always imagined that his heart might glow in his chest, through his shirt like something from Jane the Virgin, and you’d know you made the wrong decision.
But sometimes, typically when in an alcohol-fuelled state of despondence, these images would be rougher around the edges. Heeseung would be hot, with bleach-blond hair and thick dark brows—a walking, talking beacon of sexual energy when you’d see him. In his head, it would happen at a party or a club somewhere, and he’d be too busy talking to another girl to notice you, his arm hanging off of her, lust clear in his eyes. Somehow, even in sweatpants and an old hoodie of his, you’d still look as beautiful as always.
“Heeseung,” you’d say, completely crushed with tears welling up in your eyes under furrowed brows. “I choose you.”
Reluctantly, he’d draw his eyes away from the girl and notice you, finally, and a smile would spread on his lips, a mean one, condescending. He’d shrug, wrapping his arm tighter around the girl and say, “You’re too late.” He wouldn’t mean it, but he’d say it just to drive you crazy. Make you beg him to take you back for months until he felt you’d suffered enough—as much as he had.
These thoughts were few and far between and mainly followed by hot, guilty tears rolling down his cheeks because he knew it was his fault. After all, he was the one to let you go.
For now though, the little round table in Mark’s backyard seats four, and, in the arms of a balmy summer night, Heeseung chooses the seat closest to the fence. The garden light is still busted so in his seat of choice, furthest from the kitchen door, he’ll go completely unnoticed but still see anyone who might join him outside.
His phone is freezing when he takes it from his pocket and unsurprisingly holds no notifications beyond the outsiiiide text he’d gotten from Jake before the party started. Through Instagram stories, Heeseung watches the night play out from the perspective of people who are enjoying themselves while ignoring the voice in his head that tells him he could be one of those people if he tried.
Maybe he was a fool for believing that tonight would go differently and that the boys would keep their ‘bro’s night’ promise for longer than it took to cross the threshold—but it’s not like he blames them. Maybe he was a fool for believing he would find more company than his somewhat abandoned bottle of Peroni that watches him mockingly from the glass table.
He grimaces after taking a sip from it, remembering that he was only ever carrying it around so his friends wouldn’t feel the need to load him with shots. Now he’s not so sure that would’ve been a bad thing, seeing as he’s completely sober and aware of the tightness in his chest as he scrolls through the text thread he’s had pinned for years. Its end came abruptly; revived only by an ignored blue bubble saying: i heard you’re back home for the summer..
Seeing it now, he regrets hitting send even more than he did two weeks ago. Heeseung hates himself for believing the boys when they said it was a good thing that you opened the message right away. “Means she’s thinking of u 2 dude,” was Jake's message to the group chat (along with four bicep emojis and two red exclamation marks). Jay replied: i hope you guys can talk things out! And Sunghoon didn’t say anything.
All your conversations bring up memories that hurt more than the last but he has to take a break when he reaches a text you sent last January: i had so much fun tonight, hee, idk how to thank u enough :((( i hope ur not in too much trouble.. i love you i love you and i’ll love you forever !!!
He ended up getting grounded for three weeks and lost car privileges for months after staying out four hours past curfew, but he’d do it a million times over if it meant he’d get to see you as happy as you were that night on the two-hour drive back, running your fingertips over the Sharpie autograph of your favourite author on the book’s front page—“Heeseung?”
His jaw falls slack and his whole body stiffens. If you don’t count old videos in his camera roll, Heeseung hasn’t heard your voice in over a year. The back door slides shut and when he finally lifts his head, he wants to throw up. Even without the glow of the kitchen lights on your face, he’d still be able to make out the cute point of your nose, and the slight curve of your soft lips. Unfortunately, the breakup only seems to have made you even more beautiful and he hates himself for wishing you were having a hard time too.
“Hey,” you say. “Can I sit?”
Regaining his mobility, he moves his shoulders in a stiff shrug. The sound of your chair scraping the concrete makes him cringe and he hates that you chose the seat closest to him.
“I didn’t think you’d be here tonight.”
Heeseung scoffs, his brows furrowing defensively. “You didn’t think I’d be at my friend’s party?”
You set your jaw. “Okay.”
An unbearable silence follows, so heavy he can feel it sitting on his shoulders, weighing him down. There’s no way to know how much time has passed but he feels less tense when you start to hum, drumming your fingers against the table to the beat of whatever song the kitchen door is struggling to muffle. If he doesn’t think too hard about the lingering quiet, it feels like everything is okay between you two.
His heart races when you giggle. “You still do that?”
“Do what?”
You smile before mirroring his expression, puffing up your cheeks and exhaling dramatically a few times. Due to the heat, nothing comes of it but you laugh anyway. “You always liked when it was cold enough out to see your breath. I remember having to nudge you every night of summer to get you to stop.”
To Heeseung, there’s something sinister about the fact that you can so easily bring up a memory you share with him. About the fact that even after what happened, his cheeks heat up just from seeing you grin. He deflates, unable to look at you, finding interest in the label on his bottle instead. It’s slightly curled up at its edge, and he runs his thumb over it a few times before peeling it off completely—with some struggle, leaving a sticky patch in its wake. Under your loaded stare, he folds it a little to make a square before trying to craft a swan or a crane (you were the one who knew these things) from the sticker.
Your hands are just as soft as he remembers when your fingers touch his, though it shocks him so much he drops the label, immediately withdrawing his hands and, for lack of a better option, sitting on them. Even softer than your hands is your voice when you say, “I don’t want things to be so tense between us.”
It must be easy, he thinks. For you to say something like that after dumping him. Heeseung wants to laugh, to let his head fall back and cackle from sheer disbelief; you really must have some nerve. Instead, a bitterness, raging and sour, works in his chest, choking the laughter into silence. It pushes his lips into a scowl as he lifts his head to look at you. You’re shivering with your arms crossed over your chest and Heeseung softens. Without thinking, he shrugs off his flannel to drape it over your shoulders, almost regretting it when he fixes his tongue to scold you playfully like he used to. Still too hot for a jacket, right, baby? he wants to say. This is the last time I’m doing this for you, next time you’re on your own. Heeseung figures that somewhere, in another reality where you’re still together, a version of him says these things but continues to give you his flannels and jackets anyway.
He’d give anything to be that Heeseung instead.
Over the last year, he’s been replacing the clothes in his wardrobe. He noticed that during your time together you steadily wore every t-shirt, flannel, and hoodie he owned. Now, as you thank him with a sincere smile, he realises he’ll have to donate his new favourite shirt too.
“What’s in your pocket?” you ask, reaching in to find out. A bleak carton of cigarettes sits full in your hands as you look over at him with wide eyes. “You smoke now?”
“No.” Heeseung shakes his head. “Never.”
Back and forth between your hands, the box and its contents rustle. “Really? Because this—” You pause to pull a lighter from the same pocket. “—and this tell me something different.”
“Sunghoon’s quitting again,” he explains, with air quotes around the word quitting.
“Oh.” You let out a laugh, nodding fondly. “He’s on, like, five weeks or something by now, though, right? Surely you don’t still need to carry these around for him.”
His head tilts so quickly he hurts his neck. With knitted brows, he inspects you. Nothing about your expression seems like you’re trying to hurt him, in truth, you look like you’re being quite sincere; your eyes are wide, curious, and your lips are quirked up at the corners with an amusement he adores. “Six,” he corrects. “How do you know?”
“He told me.”
“You guys still talk?”
A shoulder-dropping sigh falls from your mouth as you put the cigarettes and lighter back in his pocket, raking a hand through your hair. “You’re the only one who doesn’t talk to me anymore,” you say in a small voice.
The five of you stuck together in high school — where he and Jay first met you, Jake, and Sunghoon — and he knew it would be unreasonable for him to expect your shared friends, especially the youngest two whom you’d known longer, to turn on you. He also figured, given how close you’d grown to Jay, and his undying rationality, that his best friend would outright refuse to shun you on Heeseung’s behalf. Even though they didn’t need his permission, he told them that he didn’t want them to feel like they had to pick sides and that he was perfectly happy for them to keep talking to you. On one condition: that none of them tell him anything about you or your life without him unless you’re hurt—a condition they’ve clearly carried out more faithfully than Heeseung expected them to.
Bile rises in his throat thinking about all the things your friends have kept from him about your year away. His heart twists over mundane details like your class schedules and favourite things to eat for lunch, and his eyes sting with tears over the important stuff like new friends and, worst of all, new partners.
Heeseung jolts out of his chair, knocking the table so hard with his thighs that his bottle tips over. You’re quick to catch it. “My mum’s calling,” he blurts out, overwhelmed.
“Heeseung.”
“I really have to go.”
“Heeseung!” you call out, but he’s already back inside.
You don’t follow him.
But that was in June, and now it’s September.
While his friends complain about the chill of autumn, Heeseung’s just happy he can comfortably wear hoodies everywhere again. In a cool lecture hall, home to his Ethics and Responsibility class for the next few months, he relishes the feeling of soft cotton against his ears as he copies the course reading list into the first page of his notebook.
“Is someone sitting here?”
Heeseung’s stomach sinks to the floor. Reluctantly, he lifts his head, and through the gaps in his bangs, he sees you and the way your face falls when you see him, instantly looking around the room.
“Oh,” you say, eyes blown. “I’m sorry, I’ll just..” you trail off.
He scans the room, chewing his lip when he realises that, despite the lecturer not having arrived yet, the seat to his left, with his backpack on it, is the only empty one. “It’s okay,” he says, trying to seem nonchalant as he takes his bag from the chair and puts it on the floor.
“Thanks,” you mumble, frowning a little as you sit down.
In the light of day, he really sees you and a lone butterfly, one he was sure had died with the rest last year, flutters lazily in his stomach—wings buzzing against the lining, tickling him. Even with messy hair and tired bags under your eyes, you’re just as beautiful as the first time he saw you. It’s unfair, he thinks. That you could be dealing with this and still manage to look presentable. Jealousy kills the butterfly, stirring a pit in his belly at the thought that you were able to break up with him and continue with life as normal on the other end of the country, making new friends and new memories as if nothing happened.
Even when Dr. Kim comes in and starts the class, Heeseung can’t take his eyes off of you. You haven’t lost any of your mannerisms, he notices when you stick your tongue out a little while typing notes as the lecturer says them, barely looking up from your laptop to see the slides.
At the end of the lecture, all he has to show for it is the reading list and a couple of bullet points that seemed important as he copied them from your screen. Side by side, you silently walk down the stairs to leave the room, and the sight of Sunghoon through the doorway pulls a relieved sigh from Heeseung’s chest.
Sunghoon’s brows raise seeing you together and he clears his throat when you’re close enough. “Hey, you two! My little study buddies,” he says in a strained voice. “First day back! First day for you, YN, what was that like?” He sounds like he’s reading from a script as he walks between you.
Heeseung lets you answer, listening to your voice as he walks behind you down the stairs. He wonders if things will be this way forever, briefly contemplating throwing himself over the bannister so he doesn’t have to find out. If you’re uncomfortable, you don’t show it, talking excitedly with Sunghoon about the class, mentioning things Heeseung hadn’t even heard, despite having sat through the same hour-long introduction lecture as you. He trails behind the two of you all the way to the library, where Jay is sleeping with his chin on his arms and Jake is staring at the table of contents in his textbook. You cut yourself off, jogging over to the table they’re sitting at to wake Jay. As soon as you wrap your arms around him, he flinches, waking up with his brows pulled together.
“What are you doing?” Jay mumbles, trying to shake you off.
As Heeseung sits beside Jake, he skims over the front page of the textbook, trying to remember what tensile strength means. Sunghoon stands at the end of the table looking at his phone, and you sit next to Jay, pulling your seat a little closer and letting him rest his head on your shoulder. Heeseung looks away, trying to bury the unease building in his stomach.
Sunghoon breaks the silence. “Can we go get food?” And suddenly, you all stand up, filing out of the library towards the Tesco Express down the road.
Jay and Sunghoon take the lead, picking up their lunch without much thought before waiting in line at the self-checkout, while you, Jake, and Heeseung spend an ungodly amount of time weighing up options in front of the meal deals. Heeseung gets the same thing every time but looks at every single sandwich, drink, and snack option just in case before picking up his food.
“Just cheese is crazy, bro,” Jake says, shaking his head. “What’s wrong with you?”
Heeseung shrugs. “It’s reliable.”
“It’s absurd.”
You hum between the two of them, tilting your head thoughtfully. “I don’t know, I think it’s cute.” Your shoulders rise and fall in a casual shrug, almost as if you haven’t just paid Heeseung a compliment for the first time in a year and three months.
Jake’s eyebrows raise, a grin playing on his lips as he glances between the two of you when you step forward, pulling a just cheese sandwich from the shelf too. “Cute,” he repeats. “Sure.”
Outside, Jay and Sunghoon are sitting on a half-finished brick wall, and while normally, Heeseung would say something to interrupt Jay’s never-ending lecture series on making the most of your meal deal, he doesn’t want to draw attention to himself or the small smile he’s struggling to keep off his face.
“Hoon, think about it,” he says, resting his giant can of Red Bull on the stepped brick next to him. “A meal deal costs £3. You get a sandwich, a drink, and a snack, all for £3. You, foolishly, bought a sandwich, a snack, and a bottle of water, you gave them money.”
“Yeah, man, anyone who shops anywhere gives money, that’s, like, an entry-level requirement.”
“But I’m taking money from Tesco, you get it?”
Jake sighs, taking a seat next to Sunghoon. “You’re technically right, but you still paid for your food under a promotion Tesco created. If you really wanted to take from Tesco, you should be stealing your lunch. Also, the sandwich he got was £2.85, and there’s more water in his bottle than Red Bull in your can, so I actually think Hoon got the better offer today.”
Beside Heeseung, you roll your eyes, wrestling with a packet of crisps while juggling everything in your hands. Seeing your struggle, he reaches over, taking hold of your drink and sandwich. “Thanks,” you mumble, smiling. You glance towards Jay and Sunghoon, then back at Heeseung. “Are they always like this?”
He nods with a slight frown. A tiny laugh comes through your nose as you nod too.
During the walk back to campus, as you split your sandwich with Sunghoon, Heeseung has an unsettling realisation. If he wants to get you back, he’ll have to start out being your friend. He’s not too sure what that will look like, seeing as the two of you were friends for six weeks — that he spent hopelessly in love with you — before he asked you out. All he knows is he wants to be the one you share your lunch and link arms with unthinkingly. While he assumes that your shared friend group and three out of four classes will naturally lead to friendship, things might go better if he makes an effort.
He doesn’t.
Not today at least. The second and last class of the day ends much like the first, with a heading in his notebook, and slowly reviving butterflies in his stomach every time your knee bumps into his under the desk. Again, neither of you says much as you leave the class to go meet Jay in the library. He’s awake this time, grinning at the girl across from him.
“They’re so cute!”
“They’re talking.”
“Yeah, in a cute way. Look at the smile on his face,” you say as if anyone could miss Jay’s grin or the way it widens when he notices you and Heeseung staring.
Yunjin immediately looks over, waving before getting out of her seat to come over. She greets Heeseung with a hug before flinging her arms around you, gushing about how it’s been so long. Heeseung feels his brow raise when you giggle and say, “We hung out two weeks ago.”
She loosens her hold on you, looking down into your eyes with a shocked look. “Yeah, two weeks too many. What are you doing later?”
It feels like Heeseung skipped a chapter and his stomach hurts when he realises he has—a whole year's worth of the contents of your life. Of course, Jay already introduced Yunjin to you, of course, you’re already friends.
Leaving you with Yunjin in the library, Heeseung and Jay walk back to their flat. They take the long route home, through the winding bike path and over the creaky footbridge by Sunghoon’s old apartment. Jay is eerily quiet, only responding in nods and hums—this silence means one of two things, he’s either too exhausted to speak or he’s saving his words to reprimand Heeseung at home.
Outside their flat, Jay hesitates, gripping the handle tightly before turning to Heeseung. In his eyes is a familiar look, the one he typically wears before telling someone off and Heeseung bites his tongue lest he pisses Jay off even more. A few times, Jay opens his mouth but doesn’t speak, exhaling a deep sigh as he rests his head against the door. “I want you to know I’m on your side, sort of,” he says. “If it’s too hard being around YN, we can always hang out together instead, just us.”
Jay’s key clicks in the lock and Heeseung watches, shocked. He didn’t expect that at all.
“It’s not like it’s hard, just weird, you know?” Heeseung runs a hand through his hair, leaving his shoes by the door while Jay locks it before following him into the living room and sinking into the couch. “We have the same friends, so I can’t avoid her, but I don’t think I want to.”
“Like I said, we can just hang out on our own if we’re on campus.” Jay pauses for a beat, clearly pleased by whatever he’s thinking about as a smile spreads on his face. “It might do you some good being around her though, like, to see why none of us want to date her.”
The offer is generous and Heeseung spends a while considering it. But as Jay said, it probably would be a good thing to hang out with you if he wants to build the friendship he finds himself craving.
“It might also do you some good to, you know.. start looking nice again. It’s been a year, dude, and she’s back now, don’t you want her seeing what she’s missing out on?”
Heeseung cocks his head to the side, surprised and honestly a little offended. “Are you saying I’m ugly now?”
“No, I’m saying it probably wouldn’t hurt to put some essence in your hair, touch up your roots, and, you know, use deodorant.”
Reflexively, he grabs the pit of his hoodie, bringing it to his nose and sniffing furiously. The only thing he can smell is fresh detergent and he looks at Jay with a frown. “So you think I should change everything about myself basically.”
“I hate to be the one to say it..” Jay trails off, head falling back in contagious laughter. “Seriously though, if you want her back or, at least, want her to miss you, start putting some effort in.”
Heeseung’s eyes are wide as saucers. “She doesn’t miss me?”
“You spent the whole day together, why would she miss you?”
“So she doesn’t.”
“I didn’t say that.” Jay shrugs.
Outside, a cloud moves away from the sun, letting it shine right through the window and into Heeseung’s eyes. He squints a little, groaning before bringing his arm over his face to shield himself. Jay laughs and Heeseung flips him off. “You didn’t really say anything.”
“Are you crying?” Jay coos.
“Sure.”
“Too bad, I’m taking a nap. Club later?”
Heeseung grunts in response, considering taking a nap too.
A dramatic sigh tugs its way from Jay’s chest. “Look, it’s not my place to say, but she told me a few months ago she was miserable in first year, something about wanting to see some guy she dated in high school.”
“You knew she was coming back?” Heeseung practically jumps in his seat, sitting up straighter. “You knew I’d see her today and you let me leave the house looking like this?” It’s not like he looks bad in his oversized black hoodie and sweatpants but he might have taken the time to do more than run a hand through his hair this morning if he knew.
Jay holds his hands up defensively. “You said you didn’t want to hear anything about her unless she died. I was just doing what you told me to.”
“I think it goes without saying that that would’ve been a nice thing to know.”
“Noted.” Jay nods. “Club later?”
Despite saying no, Heeseung finds himself at the club anyway, having a friendly dance battle with Jay while you hype them up, filming blurry videos with your finger over the camera lens. Jake and Sunghoon came out too but went off to find girls.
Heeseung spent all of pres and the journey to the club worrying about being drunk around you. Or rather, worrying about being drunk around drunk you. Drunk you who typically gets clingy and oversentimental just looking at a bottle of vodka, or brings up old memories and uses pouty, gloss-coated lips to say things without thinking of the consequences. For better or for worse, you haven’t done any of that yet.
Between knocking back drinks and rivalling the club photographer, you find time to make a look of disgust every time a guy comes near you, immediately shaking your head and pressing yourself against Heeseung before mumbling an apology in his ear each time, even though he tells you it’s okay. Your admirers start to dwindle when he dances with you to a song you like, letting you hold his hand and pull him closer, all while wishing he’d stayed asleep on the couch.
It’s only when the fifth guy shows up with a stupid smirk on his face, that Heeseung speaks up. His arm finds your waist and he holds you close as he looks at the stranger. “Dude, leave her alone,” he says, angling his shoulder to him in an attempt to shield you. “She’s not interested.” The weight of his words is lost on him until the guy rolls his eyes, shrugging and mumbling whatever as he leaves.
He saw how uncomfortable you looked after being approached and hated how long it took for you to start enjoying yourself again, so in the moment, it seemed like the right thing to do. To look after you. But now, as he stands with his hand on your waist, his skin touching yours at the hem of your shirt, he’s starting to feel like he’s crossed a line. It’s the worst possible time to freeze in place but there’s nothing he can do about it, and Jay staring at him, with wide eyes and a dropped jaw, isn’t exactly helping.
With embarrassment burning his cheeks and neck, Heeseung finally looks down at you. You look almost as shocked as Jay for a split second before letting your hand rest on his chest, smiling. The moment feels endless until you lean up to his ear and Heeseung has to bend down a bit. “Thank you, Hee,” you say, still smiling when you pull back.
All he can do is nod, smiling too.
Over your head, he sees Jay grinning and the heat returns to his cheeks. As if suddenly aware of your position — your hands now resting on his shoulders, chests held together by your grip on each other — the smile falls from your face as you take a huge step back, bumping into Jay while Heeseung’s hand slips from your body.
“Let’s get more drinks!” you yell to Jay, slinging an arm over his shoulders to pull him away.
On his own, Heeseung dances to three whole songs, only stopping when Yoo Jimin wraps her arm around him, holding him in the world’s tightest hug. “Lee Heeseung, did I just see you all over a girl?” The interaction takes him by surprise, seeing as he hasn’t actually spoken to her since before summer. “Let’s go for drinks soon, to say congrats on finally moving on!”
This, of course, is when you and Jay finally return. Jimin notices before he does. “Be good to him,” she yells, smiling, and never letting go of Heeseung. “Bad breakup!”
You stand there, holding two drinks so tightly your hands start shaking, causing one to spill over your fingers. A strained smile spreads over your lips as you nod. “Right! I’ll try!”
As quickly as she appears, Jimin vanishes with a smile on her face, pleased with herself. You visibly relax, handing Heeseung his drink and swaying to the music again. Just like at high school parties, you let Jay sling his arm over your shoulders as you dance together. Back then, you’d dance with all of your friends while waiting for Heeseung to return, usually with a cup of water for you to drink, but tonight, with Heeseung standing there, it seems like he’s as good as dead according to you.
It’s around 2 a.m. when you and Jay decide you’ve had enough, with Jay struggling to keep his eyes open. After failing to locate Sunghoon and easily finding Jake with his cap on backwards and makeup all over his mouth and cheeks, the three of you let him know you’re going home.
As seems to be the unspoken rule amongst your friends, Jay walks between the two of you while trying to convince you both that if you had fun tonight, there’s no reason to regret having gone out. Even if it means you’ll be sitting in class holding your eyes open. Heeseung ignores him, conspiring out loud about Sunghoon’s whereabouts—getting lost on his way to the restroom or finding an ice rink out back.
For a while, you entertain him before sighing. “I saw in the chat, he said he’s out talking to a girl he saw wearing a band shirt—Nirvana.”
The notion is so surprising that Heeseung almost stops in his tracks. Jay voices his shock with a raised brow and an incredulous tone. “Hoon listens to Nirvana?”
“No, but she’s pretty. I had to send him a screenshot of their popular songs on Spotify when one of her friends came over looking for a lighter.”
At Jay’s request, you and Heeseung spend the rest of the walk back to your flat trying to name fifteen Nirvana songs. By the time you reach the lift in your building, you’ve successfully listed nine and the three of you stand inside while you look for your keys. On your doorstep, you pull Jay into a tight hug, whispering something in his ear that makes him laugh as he pats you on the back and says, “You probably could.”
Pathetically, Heeseung hopes you’ll hug him too. With no hesitation, you do, arms locking around his neck, leaving him with flushed cheeks and a racing heart. “Thanks for looking out for me,” you whisper, lingering by his ear before burying your face in the base of his neck.
Heeseung holds his breath, counting to twelve before you lean away from him, your arms in place as you look up into his eyes. “I’m always going to look out for you,” he manages to say. He can already hear Jay teasing him about it when they’re alone, but the smile on your face is worth it.
In your doorway, you wave goodbye and they wait outside until they hear your lock clicking before heading home, where Jay doesn’t tease Heeseung at all.
Turns out, getting home at 3 a.m. when he has a class at 10 o’clock doesn’t fit in amongst any of his better ideas, but still, he gets out of bed and gets ready, heeding Jay’s advice and scheduling a hair appointment on his way to class.
As soon as he sits down, he gets a text from Jay: thinking of getting smth pierced later, come with?
Heeseung: what is smth.
Jay: cartilage probs
Heeseung: im getting my roots done at 5
Jay: okayyyyyyy good shit man !!! tmrw?
Heeseung: 👍👍👍
It shouldn’t surprise Heeseung that you look good, but the sight of you walking through the door in your zip-up hoodie and jeans almost knocks the wind out of him. You’re holding your notebook to your chest, stopping in the middle of the stairs and sighing when the white strap of your tote bag slips from your shoulder to the crook of your elbow. You apologise to the people behind you before rushing up the stairs to Heeseung’s row, putting your things down and slumping into the seat beside him. The room suddenly feels warmer when you take off your hoodie and next to you and your bare arms, his heart starts to race.
“Do you have, like, an interview or something?” you ask, doodling in the margin of your notebook, filling the space with pretty butterflies that make his heart race.
Heeseung, who hasn’t looked for a job in two years, panics. “No?”
“Oh.” You nod slowly, looking away from him. “A date? Maybe?” There’s something in your voice that makes him want to say yes and see your reaction, but the look on your face makes his stomach turn.
“No, ne—just no.”
“You can tell me if you’re going on a date.”
“Why would I go on a date?”
You shrug, gesturing to his outfit. Heeseung looks down at himself and the cream-coloured cardigan he’s wearing. “You just look nice, that’s all,” you mumble after a while. Suddenly, Jay’s Prada loafers squeezing his toes doesn’t seem so bad and Heeseung sits through the whole lecture with a smile on his face.
The leaves yellowed on October first, and unfortunately for Heeseung, the last two weeks didn’t play out how he hoped they would. Of course, he knew that you flinging your arms around him and confessing your love was probably a far stretch. But this is torture. You only talk to him when the rest of the boys are around, and even then, you only say things like, what time does class start? and do you have a pen I can borrow?
His nice outfits don’t let up, but his hair is so long these days that you don’t take any notice of the throbbing hole through his cartilage that Jay somehow convinced him to get. Or so Heeseung tells himself because his ears stick out as far as his shoulders.
Today marks the first time he’s sat in the library during the day for more than ten minutes, and it’s surprisingly busy. Most of his library trips take place in the early hours of the morning, playing his way through the Papa’s Gameria franchise on the computer next to Jake, who spends several minutes at a time staring at his fancy engineering software before clicking the mouse and staring again. So seeing the steady flow of students come in and out, setting up camp at their tables with headphones and thick binders, while groups of friends whisper amongst themselves, leaning back in their seats and gasping every now and then feels like a culture shock.
There’s about an hour until your class finishes, and he’s been sitting here for two hours already since his Music and Identity class ended, wondering if he’s making a mistake by waiting for you. Especially because he knows you’re not expecting him to. He’s at a table right by the library’s entrance, so you’ll see him on the way out and it can feel like a chance encounter. Uncharacteristically, he’s used this time quite wisely, deciding to go through the reading he was given on the role music plays in maintaining cultural identity among diaspora communities and making notes in the margins of his handout until your class is done.
Impatience starts to settle in after thirty minutes so he texts you to see to ask if your class is over yet. Immediately, your response lights up his screen: yeah about an hour ago but i stayed home lmao what’s up :)
Staring down at the message, he sighs, thumbs hovering over the keyboard as he tries to come up with something to say. This goes on for a while until he realises what he’s doing and his heart clenches. How did you go from spending every waking moment texting each other to clutching at straws for a valid reason to talk?
At the very least, the smiley face you sent is doing wonders for his declining mood.
Heeseung settles on, “i just left office hours and wanted to know if anyone was still around haha,” before hiding his face with his hands.
oh nooooooo :( sorry dude, you reply. how’d it go?
In the six years he spent by your side, he’s never known you to use the word dude—at least not with him. By the looks of things, it seems like your time away was spent studying Jake’s texting patterns or a secret other thing that makes his head hurt when he thinks about it.
Sighing, Heeseung types back: good! had a couple questions after sem but it went well!
You react to the message with a heart but don’t reply. He doesn’t have enough time to think about what that might mean because Mark approaches the table, clutching the straps of his backpack with a grin on his face that makes Heeseung feel at ease, like a wide-eyed first year riddled with anxious excitement.
“You look good, man. You going somewhere nice later?” Mark asks, dapping him up.
Heeseung shakes his head. “Just home.”
“Nice.” Mark nods, gasping after a beat. “Did you hear? I made captain!”
“That’s major, dude, congrats! I knew you would.” If anyone deserves to be team captain, it’s Mark Lee. He was captain of the basketball team in high school and vetoed his spot to Heeseung when he graduated. Two years later, when Heeseung came to college, Mark had been enthusiastic about him joining the team too.
“I’ve been thinking that my first official act as captain should be getting you back on the team?” Mark’s voice tips up at the end, his brows raising hopefully.
The last time Heeseung was on the home court, he cried with the ball in his hands because he overheard someone in the crowd saying they didn’t think he could make the shot—they were right. He laughs, shaking his head. “Way too much pressure in uni basketball. Thanks for thinking of me, though.”
“I’m not giving up on you,” Mark says, crossing his arms over his chest. “Oh, I hear your birthday’s coming up, can I host?”
“Host what?”
Mark’s hands clap soundlessly as he laughs. “A party, obviously! Twenty’s a big one! I’ll text you the deets, alright?” he asks, though it doesn’t sound like Heeseung has a choice because Mark’s already walking away, still laughing to himself.
In Heeseung’s eyes, there’s nothing better than knocking back (more than) a few bottles of soju with friends and singing your heart out in the four walls of a karaoke room. Worried about killing the mood, he enjoys from a distance, staying glued to the booth, ad-libbing for the boys and polishing off their drinks as discreetly as he can. The table is adorned with a collection of empty bottles and buckets of feasted-upon fried chicken that still envelop the room in a mouth-watering aroma, while a green strobe light pierces the air as Jake and Sunghoon wrap up their cover of Party Rock Anthem.
By the time Jay manages to convince Heeseung to sing something, he’s four bottles in and searching for the most heart-wrenching ballad he can find. Sofa by Crush has always been his favourite karaoke song. Even when it first came out and he was in a happy relationship; even at home, alone in the kitchen, using a broom handle as a makeshift microphone, singing until his voice went hoarse and tears stained his shirt.
It feels like fate when the song’s title flashes across the screen in big bold letters and he knows there’s no real way to ignore destiny, so he chooses it and stands up from his seat. Weighed down by alcohol and an aching heart, he stumbles to the front of the room to stand with his back to his friends. Clutching the mic until his knuckles turn white, he takes a deep breath, letting the intro wash over him before singing. He gets through the first half of the song before practically caving in on himself, too moved by the lyrics to stay on two feet. To Heeseung’s credit, he’s always had a beautiful voice, so he’s not exactly tanking in that respect, but if he was even a tiny bit more cognisant, he’d scrape himself up from his knees and finish the rest of the song in the same light-hearted way everyone else had.
The lights shift through red and blue, casting a pretty glow over the dim space and streaking purples and pinks all over the walls—aesthetically, the room is as moody as Heeseung feels. If he had eyes on the back of his head (or picked himself and his dignity from the floor) he might notice the way everyone else in the room is struck by his sadness, with all three boys sitting in solemn silence as a drunk Jay records the whole thing.
Tired of watching his friend fall apart, Sunghoon gets up from his seat, muttering dick at Jay for filming before taking the phone from his hands and cutting off the recording. He lifts Heeseung at the armpits like a baby and takes the mic. Clearing his throat, Sunghoon half-heartedly finishes the rest of the song while Heeseung cries into his shoulder. Their duet scores them 63 points and Jay spends the next few minutes texting. Heeseung appreciates Sunghoon’s efforts, crying more as his emotions oscillate from love for his friend to yearning for you, all while Jake attempts to lift the mood with a genuinely moving performance of Highway to Hell. From the way he’s air-drumming and bouncing his leg to the song, anyone could tell that Sunghoon is desperate to join in, but holding back for Heeseung’s sake. With a hiccup, Heeseung wipes his tears with his sleeve and throws himself out to the front, accompanying Jake with an air guitar. It’s only during the start of the second verse that Jay and Sunghoon join in, and a full-fledged rock band moment falls upon them as if gifted from heaven.
After another hour of singing and drinking, Heeseung and Jay race up their apartment building’s stairs. Panting heavily, with his heart beating in his throat, Heeseung’s knees ache when he reaches the top — though caught up in catching his breath and the sight of you sleeping against the doorframe — he can’t even celebrate his win.
“Huh,” Jay says when he joins him. “How’d she get here?”
Heeseung can only shrug in response.
Suddenly self-conscious in your presence, he stands up straighter, pushing some of his hair off his forehead. Jay moves from behind him, approaching you, but Heeseung’s too hung up on the way you hold your jacket tight around your body to do the same. He wants to though—wants to help you out, pick you up and hold you in his arms, kiss your forehead and lovingly scold you for staying out in the cold. But he’s not drunk enough to convince himself you’ll take that well.
Instead, he remains glued to the spot, watching Jay wake you up, only mobilising when you’re on your feet, stretching your arms above your head. To you, the sliver of skin peeking out where your shirt ends and your jeans begin is a fleeting detail, lost entirely under a veil of just-risen drowsiness. Yet, to Heeseung, it’s everything. It’s enough to make him want to beg you for a second chance right then and there. But he’s not drunk enough to convince himself you’ll take that well either.
You’re talking with Jay and there’s a crease in your brow when Heeseung reaches you. Your voices were too quiet to make sense of with the distance but now he hears you loud and clear. “You told me almost two hours ago that you guys were leaving soon,” you sigh, rubbing your neck.
Jay snorts, missing the keyhole a few times before catching it. “Should’ve just joined in, stupid.”
“It was boy’s night and you made it very clear that I don’t count. And when I asked what bar you guys were at, you just said doesn’t matter, leaving in ten, and, by the way, none of it was spelt correctly. It felt like you were using code.”
“Caesar Cipher, perhaps?”
“Pig Latin, more like,” you scoff, leaning against the wall.
A mischievous grin spreads over Jay’s lips and Heeseung already hates whatever he’s about to say. “Ixnay on the Eeseunghay.” Yeah, Heeseung hates it. He glances between the two of you, picking up on the smile you can’t hide as you roll your eyes.
Your gaze finds Heeseung’s and your lips curl into a frown as you look back at Jay. “Otgay ityay.” You nod firmly.
From context — and memories of numerous private conversations the two of you used to have in his presence — he figures it’s Pig Latin, a linguistic puzzle more intricate than any the English language has ever thrown at him.
After a beat, you nod towards the open door. “Get inside.”
You follow the boys in and lock the door when Jay hands you his keys. He quickly heads to his room, leaving Heeseung shifting his weight from one foot to the other in the living room, staring at you. Save for Jay’s bedroom, all of the lights are off. The only light shines through the open blinds, a vivid orange beam coming from a streetlight outside, casting a harsh shadow over the room. The terminator line is stark—a clear partition between Heeseung, who’s standing in the shade, and you, who stands in front of the window, backlit by the warm light. You’re glowing. Or, at least, the lighting makes it look like you are—outlining all your edges in soft orange.
Absently, he plays with the zipper on his jacket—unsure of what’s going on or why you’re here at all. It takes a while, but the words finally escape him. “What are you doing here?” Simultaneously, you ask if he’s okay.
Even in the dark, your smile warms the room. For you and Heeseung, speaking in unison like that isn’t anything new, so it’s not enough to rouse a reaction from him—nonetheless, he smiles too. Whether by way of drunk optimism or his own sudden acceptance, Heeseung’s starting to feel as though maybe just being by your side, making you smile, might be enough for him.
“Jay texted me, and I wanted to check in and see how you’re doing.”
“What did he say?”
“That you were having a hard time.”
Heeseung nods slowly.
“Actually, he said—” You pause to check your phone. “—Jay said, worried but hyung he is m let down. I think he meant meltdown?”
“Hyung,” Heeseung repeats, tilting his head as if the word is foreign to him. A crease runs along his brow, Jay is way drunker than he let on.
“Huh,” you utter, tilting your head too. “I actually thought m let down would’ve gotten a bigger reaction out of you.”
A moment passes, and then another before Heeseung says, “You can sit if you want. I don’t know if you’re going to stay long or anything, but you can always sit here.”
You smile and he can hear it, watching you take your coat off before sitting on the couch. It’s a bit of a stretch from where you’re sitting but you reach over to turn on the lamp in the corner and Heeseung sits too, as far away as he can. You look comfortable, like you’re supposed to be there and the thought warms his heart.
“You didn’t have to come here. I’m happy you did but you didn’t have to,” he says after too long.
A frown tugs your lips down. “Of course, I did. I care about you, Heeseung, you know that.”
Now doesn’t seem like the time to argue, so he makes a mental note to mull over this later. “I know,” he lies, his voice nothing more than a mumble as he nods.
“Did you guys have fun?”
Deciding it best to pretend his Crush cover went well, he nods again, smiling as he thinks about the nice parts of boys’ night. With your encouragement, he talks happily for a while about their song choices and the way they all came together in the end. “I feel like we’d get on pretty well as an AC/DC tribute act.”
“Do you know what room you were in? There’s got to be a way for me to pull the security footage and see for myself.”
“I actually think Jimin works there, she might be able to hook you up.”
“Jimin?” you repeat in a different tone. The shift is so subtle that Heeseung barely picks up on it, never mind placing it or knowing what it might mean. If he were any more delusional, he might think you’re jealous, but the curiosity in your voice tells him to get out of his head.
“Yeah, this one girl in the year above,” he explains. “She transferred to humanities so we had a couple classes together last term.”
“Oh, cool.”
He really can’t work out your tone and it’s disconcerting. Maybe he should talk about Jimin some more. “She’s like mega smart, and really nice too. She was actually at the club that night! The girl I was talking to when you and Jay went to get drinks,” he says, suddenly remembering.
“Good for Jimin.”
“I think you’d like her.” He smiles. “You know, if you’re looking for friends or anything.”
You only nod, pressing your lips together and leaving Heeseung at a complete loss for words. He watches you chewing on the inside of your cheek, playing with the thread bracelet on your wrist. “I’ve always loved your voice,” you mumble, looking down.
“I know.. You used to beg me to stay up on the phone singing for you.” Heeseung presses his lips together after speaking, mentally locking them and throwing away the key.
You nod with a smile on your face that makes his stomach flutter. “You’re, like, the best guy ever.”
That makes sense. That Heeseung could be like, the best guy ever but not quite good enough to stay with. He mulls over your words and contemplates setting himself on fire. Standing up from the couch, he goes over to his room. From the doorway, he says, “You can share Jay’s bed, it’s too late to go home by yourself.”
Heeseung closes his door with plans to stay inside the whole night, but only manages an hour before he gets sick of the stale taste in his mouth. He leaves quietly, and in the light from outside, he sees you sleeping on the sofa with your hands tucked under your head. His heart sinks. Without much thought, he carries you to his room, tucks you in and runs away before doing something stupid like kissing your head to go and brush his teeth. Unlike you, he’s not afraid to wake Jay up, pushing the boy over to make room for himself on his bed, where he lays awake for hours trying to figure out what went wrong with you two until his head starts to hurt.
In the morning, Heeseung doesn’t see you before you leave, but he spends the better part of an hour with his ear pressed against Jay’s door, eavesdropping on your conversation. If you weren’t talking about him he might feel guilty about this, but you are, so..
“I just feel bad, you know? I don’t know how to fit into his life and I feel like I’m only making things harder for him by being here,” you say. “Harder for everyone.”
Heeseung grips the doorframe until his knuckles turn white. He’s spent too much time thinking about how to be your friend without actually trying to be, too caught up in his own feelings to see how he’s affecting everyone else. The corners of his lips droop at the thought.
“We’re happy to have you back, Heeseung too. He’s just.. hurting, you know? I’m not sure if you heard but he kind of got blindsided and dumped by his high school girlfriend,” Jay says.
You laugh drily and he pictures the way you roll your eyes. “Hey, uh, random Q, what do you know about Jimin?”
Jay’s quiet for a bit. Or he’s whispering. Heeseung presses his entire body to the door as if it’ll help. “Yoo Jimin?” he asks.
“Probably. Heeseung’s friend.”
“She’s cool,” he answers simply. “You’d like her.”
“So I keep hearing. What’s going on with them?”
“Nothing really. They met at some party last year, both pretty drunk, and somehow ended up in a random bedroom where she tried hooking up with him.” Jay’s words strike Heeseung like a jolt, his heart pounds and his stomach twists. It takes a lot for him and the knot in his stomach not to burst out of the room and clear things up. The main thing stopping him though, is that Jay’s telling the truth. “But he misread the whole thing and ended up detailing your entire relationship for two hours,” Jay adds after a while.
“And now?”
“Why do you care?” Jay’s tone is teasing but the question makes Heeseung spiral.
His mouth starts to dry up at the thought of you admitting that you don’t care, that you’re over him and just being nosy. Panic swells in his chest and he jumps away from the door as if it’s red hot, scrambling back under the covers of Jay’s bed and falling back asleep.
In the following two weeks, Heeseung finds himself mastering the art of avoidance. He fills his evenings with pick-up basketball games with Mark on random courts in the neighbourhood and rushes out of class before you have the chance to talk to him. Playing with Mark is fun, but he can’t ignore the regret festering within him, a persistent thorn in his side. Fortunately for him, Jay, whether knowingly or not, presents him with a potential turning point. He’s invited you and the boys over for pres before his party, instructing Heeseung to get his shit together and acknowledge your existence.
On the night before his birthday, the apartment echoes with your voice, yelling at Jake to get off the floor. Sunghoon’s cackles only get louder, filling the space. Behind his closed bedroom door, Heeseung catches a panicked glance of himself in the mirror, running a hand through his hair and adjusting his bangs. He lingers in his room as long as he can, trying to put off seeing you.
Jay opens the door without knocking, a lazy grin on his face and a slight sway in his stance that tells Heeseung he’s drunk already. “What are you doing? We’re waiting.”
“I don’t know,” he admits.
Rolling his eyes, Jay lets out a tired groan. It’s an unspoken scolding that Heeseung heeds immediately, following him into the kitchen, where Jake is messily pouring shots on the counter. He doesn’t see you anywhere, but Sunghoon distracts him, cheering and wrapping his arms around him—also drunk already. “She’s in Jay’s room, Yunjin called,” he says. “Oh, yeah, happy almost birthday, man. Twenty is crazy.”
By the looks of things, Sunghoon’s on a mission to kill Heeseung. Twenty shots for his twentieth birthday doesn’t sound like as much fun as Sunghoon thinks it does, it sounds like a punishment or a death sentence. Heeseung — put off by the smell of vodka — manages four shots before tapping out, deciding that he’d quite like to remember tonight and wake up on his birthday without a headache.
Heeseung’s eyes widen when you show up in the doorway, a confusing sense of surprise washing over him. It’s not like he didn’t know you were here; he heard you earlier. It’s just that your sudden presence catches him off guard. His heart skips a beat and a sudden rush of nerves courses through him. He takes in your appearance, his eyes tracing every inch of you before meeting your eyes. As you run your hand through your hair, you smile at him, so pretty and genuine that he can’t help grinning back.
Your dress is beautiful, of course—black satin, he thinks, with pretty pink ribbons tied into perfect bows on the top, and you’re the only girl Heeseung’s ever wanted in his life.
A whispered whoa falls from his lips, which seem to rest in an ‘o’ as he stares at you. You’re looking away from him now, focused on the tequila puddle Jake’s left on the counter, grabbing some paper towels to mop it up. Jay snorts beside him, nudging his ribs hard. “You’ll catch flies, Heeseung. Come on—decorum, please.”
Heeseung clears his throat, running a hand through his hair and wiping his palms on his pants, but he doesn’t make any moves towards you.
“Do something,” Jay mumbles.
He nods in response, repeating do something, over and over in his head until he finally approaches you. “Hey,” he says, breathless. His heart hammers in his chest when you look up at him, beaming.
“Heeseung,” you say. “Happy almost birthday. How’re you feeling?”
Before he has a chance to respond, you wrap your arms around his waist, and like it’s the most natural thing in the world, his arms fall around your shoulders, holding you close. It’s perfect. Some combination of your warm scent and alcohol causes the butterflies in his stomach to rage, fluttering so frantically he thinks he might be sick.
“Insane,” he admits.
He can hear you laughing, feeling your chuckles against his chest. “You know, what?” You lean away from him, arms still around his waist, eyes locked on his and a soft smile on your lips. “Me too.”
An odd weakness settles in his knees, a dizzying flutter alighting his entire body as he nods. Over his shoulder, Sunghoon calls for him, chanting, “More shots! More shots!” For a while, Heeseung ignores him, watching you until he feels his ears heating up at the top.
“I think I have to go,” he mumbles, eyes locked on your lips. They curl up into a crooked grin, and you use a hand to pat his chest.
“Good luck.”
Heeseung takes a deep breath when you let go of him, taking shaky steps towards his friend, who’s grinning widely enough to show his fangs. “Sorry to interrupt, I think you could use the help though,” Sunghoon says, holding out a shot glass to him.
He shakes his head at the shot, taking it from Sunghoon’s hand and placing it down on the table. “I need a minute.”
Sunghoon only shrugs, taking the drink himself, knocking it back with no visible reaction, and Heeseung thinks he must be a monster. “I really think you could fix things tonight,” he says afterwards, pouring another.
Instead of taking this in stride, Heeseung decides to pretend you don’t exist after hugging you—it’ll be easier that way. To him, this looks like staring at you in your pretty dress and snapping his neck in the opposite direction when you look over at him.
To appease Sunghoon, he takes another three shots and has to sit down, overwhelmed by the way his cheeks burn and how the kitchen starts to tilt around him. His mouth is oddly dry; a sensation that has nothing to do with you or the way you look in your dress. This time when you catch him staring, he smiles.
Even in his beyond-tipsy state, Jay manages to ensure everyone leaves the flat before requesting an Uber. Heeseung finds himself sitting cross-legged on the pavement, for some reason, scrolling through his camera roll.
“Car’s here, get up,” Jay eventually mumbles, nudging his back with the tip of his shoe.
With some stumbling, Heeseung stands up, dusts off his pants and heads to the car. Jay holds the door open for you, and as you slide across the backseat, your dress rides up. Heeseung screws his eyes shut, shaking his head to clear his thoughts, like resetting an etch-a-sketch. Jay’s hand claps his back as he instructs him to get in, which he does. Hesitantly, he slides into the middle seat, glancing to his right to see who’ll be joining you.
“You’ll thank me later!” Jay calls out, closing the door.
Before he even has a chance to shift over, your hand lands firmly on his knee, silently urging him to stay put. With a pounding heart, he complies. The back of his hand brushes against your thigh as he fastens his seatbelt, and the feeling of your soft skin against his leaves him breathless. He feels afloat when the car starts moving. A few minutes pass before you take your hand from his knee, mumbling an apology as you place it on your lap, idly playing with your fingers.
Mark lives about twenty minutes away, leaving Heeseung with something close to sixteen minutes to think of something to say. R&B from the early 2000s rumbles through the speakers in the car, vaguely explicit lyrics alluding to something he’s craving fill the space around the two of you, wrapped up in your warm vanilla scent and the fresh peppermint gum you’re chewing. To put it simply, there’s not a coherent thought in his head he could express that wouldn’t get him into trouble.
“I didn’t know you were on the basketball team,” you say after a while. “Well, I did know, but you know.”
“I don’t know,” he admits quietly because he has no idea what you’re talking about.
A beat passes before you speak again. “How was your day?”
The first thing on his mind is what falls from his lips. “You look beautiful,” Heeseung blurts out, trying to ignore the tinge of anxiety that’s irritating his stomach. “Your dress is.. It’s really pretty,” he adds, feeling as though he won’t lose anything by putting everything on the table.
“Thanks.” You smile. “You look beautiful too.”
Heeseung’s breath hitches in his throat and he looks down at his outfit in the dark. If Jay hadn’t interfered, he’d be wearing a hoodie and sweatpants right now, but he’s happy with the simple striped shirt and loose pants Jay suggested, even if it leaves him a little chilly. “It’s, uh, it’s actually my birthday party tonight,” he supplies uselessly.
You laugh, and it’s the best sound he’s ever heard. “I kind of just meant in general.”
“Me too.”
The car falls silent as he lets his head fall into the space between the headrests and closes his eyes. When you reach Mark’s house, he opens them and finds you staring with a smile. “I thought you fell asleep,” you say.
He shakes his head, sliding over the backseat and opening the door. He didn’t expect you to leave from the same side as him, but he likes the heat on his cheeks as he closes the door for you. Wordlessly, the two of you go through the gate and join Jay, Jake, and Sunghoon who are sitting cross-legged on the porch, giggling around a shared joint. He has no idea how they arrived before you did.
Heeseung isn’t sure how he loses you guys but it’s not until his third round of beer pong that he actually notices. Lee Jeno and his red eyes are a poor shot, barely managing to throw the ball without hitting Heeseung’s chest or dropping it before he gets to aim. He almost feels bad for the guy when he sinks another one of his cups, watching Jeno frown before pinching his nostrils shut and taking a big gulp.
Jay’s sudden presence startles him, though he’s quick to grin at his best friend. The smile isn’t returned. Instead, he leans up to Heeseung’s ear, yelling that YN’s crying before nudging his way out of the room. His heart sinks and he offers no explanation to Jeno, following Jay upstairs and into the bathroom where he finds you, sitting on the floor, crying into Sunghoon’s shirt while Jake watches with a frown, picking at his nails.
“What happened?”
Jake talks with a hushed tone while Sunghoon helps you up before leaving. “She didn’t say anything, she just asked us to go to the bathroom with her and started crying.” He opens his mouth to continue but Jay yanks him out of the room, closing the door.
“I’m not, like, upset or anything,” you say after a while, wiping your eyes with the back of your hands. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m sorry. I really didn’t want to ruin tonight for you so I told Jake not to say anything, but obviously, he didn’t listen.”
“Jake did the right thing telling Jay, none of us want to see you upset.”
“I’m not upset.” You hit Heeseung’s chest with a weak fist, crying more. “Why does everyone think I’m upset?”
“It might be the tears,” he offers, feeling good about making you smile.
“Yeah, maybe.”
“Are you using a new liner? Mascara? You still look good.”
You take a look in the mirror, resting your hands on the edge of the sink. “Yeah, I discovered waterproof makeup in first year.”
“Is it harder to take off?”
“Definitely, but it’s worth it, I think, for nights like this.”
“Yeah, right.” Heeseung nods, watching you carefully as he sits on the edge of the bathtub. It’s like being in high school, seeing you like this. Most of the parties you went to were spent in the bathroom, with Heeseung holding your hair back and trying to calm you down after throwing up. He misses all of it except the vomit. “Are you okay?”
Catching his gaze in the mirror, you nod but look down at your hands when he says your name. “It’s just a little harder being back than I thought it would be.”
“Oh.”
You sigh, playing with your hair as you sit down next to him. “Obviously it’s great seeing the guys all the time, seeing you all the time, but everything’s fucked and we act like strangers and it’s killing me not being able to just..” you trail off. Heeseung is clearly drunker than he feels because it looks like your eyes are stuck on his lips. After a beat you slide away from him, moving until your back hits the wall. A mixture of frustration and something else colours your face. “I just don’t like treating you like a stranger and I don’t know how to fix it.” Before he has a chance to think or to say anything you ask him for the time.
“It’s 12:23.”
“Happy birthday!” you say, smiling. “Am I the first to say it?”
“You’re always first.” Even last year, you sent a text at midnight, so Heeseung’s not sure why there’s a surprised look in your eyes or why it’s making him want to kiss you more than usual. “You don’t have to treat me like a stranger if you don’t want to,” he says carefully, trying to get you both back on track.
“I don’t know how I’m supposed to act around you.”
His voice is soft when he says, “Honestly, neither do I.”
“I wish I never left.”
“Everything happens for a reason, I guess.” Despite the small smile on his face, he’s still trying to understand what reason you had.
An exhaled laugh comes from your nose and you nudge him. “Were you secretly trying to get rid of me?”
“You caught me,” he sighs, holding out his hands in defeat. “I had this whole elaborate plan. I was going to fake my death, but you saved me the trouble. Thanks for that.”
Both of you share a genuine laugh and the tension in the air eases up a bit. Heeseung’s eyes meet yours; a brief moment of silence follows. You clear your throat. “I’m sorry for leaving. I really wish things could’ve been different.”
It can’t be your intention to hurt him by saying that, but you do, leaving Heeseung feeling the full spectrum of his emotions. A pang of hurt, of longing—hurting himself even more as he thinks about the could-have-beens. He purses his lips, looking down at his shoes. “Me too.” Sick of the tension, of his feelings, he glances at you, sitting up a little straighter. “How about we start fresh? Clean slate?”
“Clean slate?” you echo, raising an inquisitive brow.
Heeseung nods, determined, extending his hand for you to shake. “I’m Heeseung.”
“YN,” you chuckle, taking his hand in yours.
He holds onto it, a playful grin tugging at his lips. “Funny, you look just like my ex.”
Your eyes widen, amused. “Wow, Hee, you always know just what to say.”
The two of you sit quietly for a moment, but Heeseung’s just glad you’re not crying anymore. He feels lighter now, hopefully you do too. Standing up, he holds out a hand to help you get to your feet which you take, smiling up at him as you straighten out your dress.
“You know,” he says, clapping his hands together. “For a second there, I thought I’d need a manual on how to talk to you again, but I think we’re doing pretty well.”
Heeseung feels pleased with himself when you laugh, rolling your eyes and nudging his chest with your hand. “Shut up,” you say, light and playful.
“Are you ready to get back to the guys?”
You smile at him, nodding before quickly turning back to the mirror. “Do I look okay?”
It doesn’t make sense to Heeseung that a girl as beautiful as you could ever look just okay. Even with the slight swell to your glassy eyes, you’re the most perfect person he’s ever seen. But he can’t say that. So instead, he pulls a sharp breath through his teeth, tilting his head a bit and raising his hand in a horizontal gesture, his fingers wobbling as if balancing an imaginary scale. A non-committal sound escapes him, a soft eh before he laughs at the way your jaw drops.
You punch his arm. “Heeseung!”
“Come on, you know you look great,” he mumbles, looking away to hide the flush in his cheeks. The sound of your lips spreading into a smile makes his stomach flutter as he opens the door to find Jay, Jake, and Sunghoon sitting cross-legged in the hall in front of it.
“Birthday boy!” Jay yells, springing to his feet and flinging his arms around Heeseung.
“And YN!” Jake adds from his seat.
Heeseung hears you saying thanks to Jake before sitting next to him.
“So, did you two kiss and make up or what?” Jay’s attempt at whispering is futile and somehow Heeseung’s cheeks burn even more as he frees himself from his friend’s hold.
“Kiss, no. Make up, yes.”
“Playing the long game, I like it.” Jay grins, patting Heeseung on the back. “Sit down, let’s talk.”
Heeseung sits in the space next to Sunghoon, holding his legs awkwardly to his chest. He’s not entirely sure what’s happening and he feels like he’s not drunk enough anymore to fully relax into it, until you leave Jake’s side, crawling over to Heeseung and resting your head on his shoulder. In the dim hall, the boys shuffle around but it’s too dark to see what they’re doing—not that he cares much at this point, letting his head rest on top of yours and closing his eyes. It almost sounds quite pretty when they start singing Happy Birthday, and Jake has a tiny lunchbox cake in his hands when Heeseung opens his eyes. Its purple-frosted TWENT-HEE is disrupted by a half-smoked joint stuck in the centre which the flash on Sunghoon’s phone provides a makeshift flame for.
“Make a wish!” you squeal, clapping your hands.
It takes three attempts for Heeseung and Sunghoon to coordinate the timing between his exhale and Sunghoon turning the flash off, but the candle is blown out, and, right now. Heeseung has everything he’s ever wanted.
Almost.
Heeseung wakes up pressed against the wall with an arm wrapped around his waist. An embarrassing surge of excitement courses through him as he thinks about your conversation and puts his hand over yours. What he’s met with is less of the softness he’d anticipated, and more of the coarse skin and defined knuckles he’s come to recognise as Jake’s hand under the duvet. It only takes a look over his shoulder to make sense of why Heeseung’s nose is grazing his bedroom wall. Behind him is Jake, who’s being spooned by you, and behind you is Sunghoon who’s clinging onto your frame for dear life, even in his slumber. Evidently, Jay’s had a successful night and with his unwavering loyalty to Yunjin, it’s not hard to figure out what happened in the room across the hall.
With his eyes pressed shut, desperate to clutch some more sleep, he hears you mumbling. “Park Sunghoon, if you don’t wake up and let go of me, I’ll kill you,” you say with a tone that frightens Heeseung and sets off a flutter in his stomach. The yelp and thud that follow seem to wake Jake up and he crawls over you to get out of bed, stretching his arms out above his head and making no effort to step over Sunghoon on the floor. You roll over in the bed, wrapping an arm around Heeseung’s waist and pressing yourself into his side. “Happy birthday,” you say through a yawn before getting up.
He manages to mumble a thanks, butterflies running wild in his stomach and a flush creeping up his neck as he watches you leave the room, eyes stuck on the way your hips move in last night’s dress. He gets out of bed, sighing, untucking his shirt to cover the tightness in his pants before joining his friends in the kitchen.
Hungry but unmoving, you and the boys occupy the three seats at the small kitchen table, harping on about the different things as Jake whines, begging you to keep it down.
Heeseung’s first intense emotion as a sober twenty-year-old is betrayal. There are used dishes lying in the sink, plates, mugs, and pans — two of each — staring up at him, wafting the scent of a cooked breakfast, with no leftovers in sight, up to his nostrils. He sighs, wondering if it’s his responsibility as host, and eldest friend, to make more food for everyone, or if, as the birthday boy, he should sit around and wait for someone else to take action. Settling on the latter, he sights up on the countertop, sure to keep his back to you so he doesn’t have to see the low neckline of your dress.
Finally, Jay comes back, whistling an unfamiliar tune and twirling his keys on his finger when he reaches the kitchen. “Hello,” he says simply, leaning against the doorjamb as if he hadn’t single-handedly ruined Heeseung’s birthday.
Sunghoon rubs his eyes, looking in Jay’s direction. “So now, if I want a nice breakfast after a night out, do I have to fuck you?”
Jay’s cheeks flush as he looks at his feet. “I mean, I planned to cook for you guys when I got back.”
“I don’t want your sloppy seconds,” he scoffs, slumping in his chair.
“I do, Jay. Cook for me,” you say, gesturing toward Jay’s general direction making grabby hands at him.
With a gentle smile, he crosses the room and pats your head. “What are you in the mood for?”
“Anything,” you mumble into his shirt.
Jay nods, going over to the fridge. He stands in front of it with his hands on his hips, completely still for almost two minutes and Heeseung only approaches him because he’s worried about the outside heat getting on all the food through the open door.
“What are you doing?” he asks, uttering his first sentence of the morning.
Jay clears his throat, scratching the back of his neck as he leans towards Heeseung. “I, uh, finished the eggs, milk, and bacon.” A nervous look covers his face before he continues. “And we ate your Hello Kitty pancake mix,” he adds, mumbling like he doesn’t want to be heard.
Unfortunately, he is, and Heeseung’s mortified. “My Hello Kitty pancake mix?!” He takes a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. “YN got that for me, we were supposed to make those together.” His voice is as whiny as his volume will allow, and he struggles not to stomp his feet.
“Oh, you were? How’d that work out?” Jay’s words are cutting.
“Okay, ouch.”
“Dude, it was expiring next week. Plus, Yunjin just looked so cute when she saw it—I had to.”
“What if I wanted to make them this week?”
“You’ve had the box for two years,” Jay reminds him. “Think of Yunjin.”
With a sigh, Heeseung actually does think of Yunjin. Although the girl he envisions is different from the one Jay wants him to imagine.
They met on the first day of university. She had a guitar strapped to her back, and a huge amp in hand when she approached him. Her eyes were wide with nervousness or excitement; Heeseung couldn’t tell which. Immediately, she extended her free hand for him to shake. “Yunjin,” she said.
“No.” He shook his head while pointing at himself. “Heeseung.” From the way she laughed at his stupid joke, he knew she was the next girl Jay would fall for.
Jay had a habit of falling in love with the first girl to do something nice for him on any given day. And then the next girl. But after hearing Yunjin talk about her gap year, spent learning guitar seriously, Heeseung had a feeling things were going to change for his friend. He was right.
The memory, along with the satisfaction of having figured those two out from the beginning, brings a warm smile to Heeseung’s face. “You owe me.”
“Yeah, whatever. I owe you,” Jay scoffs, though the slight furrow in his brow suggests genuine remorse. “Just so you know, they weren’t special or anything.. just pancakes, you know?”
Heeseung chuckles despite himself. “Are you trying to make me feel better?”
“Maybe a little,” Jay shrugs. To his credit, it works.
At least until Heeseung’s stomach grumbles, a noisy reminder of why they’re standing there in the first place. He also learns the hard way that the fridge starts to beep when you leave it open too long. Jay laughs through his nose, closing the door with his elbow.
“What are we eating?”
Jay seems to think about this for a minute, tilting his head and suggesting McDonald’s.
If asked, Heeseung probably wouldn’t have said he pictured spending the morning of his twentieth birthday squished between Jake and Sunghoon in a sticky booth, but he’s here and can’t find anything to complain about as he inhales his breakfast. Too caught up in the way his hoodie drapes over you, he listens half-heartedly as you all quiz Jay on his night. It seems like he’s being pretty tight-lipped about the whole thing but the dreamy grin on his face is hard to miss.
Eventually, you all pile back into Jay’s car, with Heeseung sitting shotgun as a birthday gift, that he doesn’t get to fully enjoy because he falls asleep as soon as the car starts moving. He sinks into the front seat, a contented smile playing on his lips as the warmth of the sun and his full stomach lull him into a peaceful nap.
At home, he thanks Jay before crawling into bed where he replies to messages before letting his head fall into the pillow.
His eyes don’t even close all the way before you come into the room. “Can I nap in here?”
Heeseung nods, watching you get comfortable under his duvet. In a matter of seconds, you’re just an arm’s reach away, softly snoring with your back to him. Meanwhile, he spends four hours laying completely still, trying to convince himself that the heat radiating from your sleeping form doesn’t make him miss you more.
At around 3 p.m. when everyone wakes up, you and the boys hurry away for various mumbled reasons, leaving Heeseung home alone, trying to practise his surprised face for whenever you’re all back with cake and a gift.
You don’t return until Heeseung’s hair has started to dry after his shower, but you waste no time shuffling around the kitchen before coming back with a pretty cake and real candles with a real flame, singing for him again. With the way Jake’s rushing him, Heeseung can’t come up with a wish in time, so blows out the candles with a clear mind.
“Woo!” Jake cheers, clapping around a wrapped present that he immediately thrusts into Heeseung’s hands. “Open it!”
He barely gets to peel the first piece of tape before he jumps off the couch and kneels down next to him. “It’s LEGO! The Infinity Gauntlet, you know? And the best part is..” Jake pauses dramatically. “You get to put it together with your best friend, Jake! Right now!” His excitement is endearing even though he’s ruined the surprise. “The others can help too, I guess.”
You frown at him. “I paid for the kind lady at the LEGO store to gift wrap that for us.”
“Yeah, and she did great!” Jake grins. “Can I help you open it? Please, Heeseung, please. You’re taking forever.”
With a smile, Heeseung hands the box to Jake, letting him open it carefully before Sunghoon joins in, tearing the paper to shreds all while Jay records the whole moment like a proud father. All five of you are sitting on the floor now, covered in wrapping paper while Jake holds the LEGO set up like it’s his, blinking hard at the camera with a smile on his face, and it’s Heeseung’s favourite birthday yet.
my girl: who wants to take me on a date?
Heeseung knows he should probably change your contact name but the notification still makes his cheeks burn in a way he thinks he likes.
jake: heeseung probably
jake: idk tho
my girl: ok heeseung come to the museum with me for class
sunghoon: next time open with the museum thing holy shit.. i almost fucking volunteered
heeseung: when?
my girl: i would have rejected you hoon
my girl: whenever ur free !
Heeseung’s schedule always has a way of clearing up when it comes to you, and he skips pick-up with Mark to pick you up at your door that evening. You answer right when Heeseung knocks, sliding some rings onto your fingers with a smile on your face, saying, “Hello.”
“You..” Heeseung swallows, nodding his head. He’s doing his best not to check you out but he really can’t help it when your jeans seem to fit like they were made for you. “Hi,” he whispers.
“Hey.”
He clears his throat, finally managing to unstick his gaze from your thighs and gestures in the direction of the stairs. “Shall we?”
At the train station, you don’t object when Heeseung pays for your ticket, he didn’t mean to, his finger just clicked through for two tickets instead of one. He’s happy when you don’t make a big deal about it, only smiling and thanking him when he hands you the ticket. He stands close behind you, protective, letting the peak-time commuters nudge past him instead of you as you wait in line for the only working ticket barrier. You go through first and Heeseung quietly follows, trying to keep his eyes off your ass and praying that the rest of the day goes by more comfortably than it’s started.
The train is packed too, so you stand by the doors and, again, Heeseung stands maybe a little closer than necessary, his arm above his head gripping the yellow handrail. “Why did you want to go to the museum anyway?” he asks, gulping when you look up at him.
“I’ve always liked museums.” You shrug, playing with the buttons on your cardigan.
“I know, it’s just.. You said earlier you wanted to go for one of your classes.”
“Right. It’s a requirement for one of them. Visualising Culture,” you explain, looking him in the eyes. Suddenly nervous, he doesn’t trust his voice to speak so he nods, keeping his gaze fixed on yours. “Museum and Exhibition Studies.”
“Cool.”
“Yeah.” You nod and turn your head from him, looking through the window.
Your eyes are stuck on the trees outside, blurring into each other, and his eyes are stuck on the side of your face, staring shamelessly for the rest of the journey. A tinny voice announces the name of the station you’re approaching, and you nudge Heeseung gently, a silent signal that it’s time to leave. Silence seems to follow you out of the station and into the museum, but he tells himself he doesn’t mind.
For the last hour, you’ve been looking at artwork without taking note of anything or making comments, all while Heeseung observes you, wondering what you’re supposed to be doing for class. “What’s the point of this trip?” he finally asks.
Without backing away from the painting, you turn your head to look at him, raising a brow. “What do you mean?”
“Like, what’s your task?”
You chew on your lip for a bit before looking back at the painting. He can’t help but wonder if in all your time away you’ve been flexing some sort of elitist muscle, or if it’s come about as a result of your fancy exhibition studies class that you had to take a test to be accepted into. Finally, you lean away from the painting and use your phone to take a picture of the blurb before looking at him again.
“I wanted an excuse to get someone to come to the museum with me and I wanted it to be you.”
Your words are so cute and so honest that his heart warms in his chest, even as he ignores his sadness about the fact you felt like you needed an excuse to hang out. “You could have just asked me.”
Considering his words, you frown, tilting your head at him. “You make it sound so easy.”
“It is easy, or it should be, it’s us,” he says unthinkingly. Clearing his throat, he scratches the back of his neck. “I mean, that’s, like, the whole point of having friends, right? To hang out with them?”
“Well.. yes. I just.. I don’t know.”
Somehow, this makes perfect sense to Heeseung who only nods his head, moving on from the frame when you do. It’s nice watching you admire the art, to watch the soft smile that develops as your eyes scan the canvas.
You like looking at the paintings when no one else is, to get up close and try spotting the brush strokes. You like imagining the artist and how they might have felt as they painted, and when the paint is thick, protruding from the canvas, when you can see streaks of yellow peeking through a sludgy green. You have a lot to say about the paintings and how they make you feel, and how they don’t make you feel, finding something you like in all of them.
After a while, you grab Heeseung’s hand and excitedly pull him through all the Ancient Egypt stuff, and he’s too happy that his fingers are locked with yours to worry about his aching feet anymore, and you’re so cute with your wide grin that he doesn’t have the heart to tell you he’d like to sit down. He hates you a little when the two of you take turns writing your names in hieroglyphs, and you somehow manage to maintain your neat handwriting. But you make up for it by writing his name too, drawing a pretty butterfly at the end that makes his heart race.
You start rambling about shabtis and how people were typically buried with a few, depending on their wealth and status, but Tutankhamun was buried with something like four hundred, and some of them were even painted to look like him. “Look at how pretty this one is,” you say, grinning while holding your phone in his face with a picture of one. Your excitement peaks when you reach the big sarcophagus, and you let out a squeal when you open it and three kids run out, bursting into a fit of giggles. You’re excessively cute when you ask him to take a picture of you, and then make him take a video opening the front while you're ‘dead’ inside it. Which takes a few attempts because you’re laughing each time.
You tell him to delete those takes. He doesn’t.
Right when he’s expecting you to get out, you grab him by the wrist and pull him in with you, closing the front of it before letting go of him. Heeseung is certain he’s lived this exact moment before, but he was seventeen and you were giggling like crazy, feeling around in the dark for his shoulders to wrap your arms around before kissing him. He has no idea what he’s supposed to do or what you want him to do, and the feeling of your breath fanning his neck in the tight space isn’t helping.
Silent minutes pass by like hours until a kid pulls the sarcophagus open. The light is blinding but Heeseung steps out, relieved, almost thanking the kid for saving him. You’re fiddling with your necklace and struggling to meet his eyes. When you do though, you shoot him an easy grin, laughing to yourself about nothing.
“Do you want to get something to eat?” Drinks maybe?” you ask after a while, playing with the zipper on your jacket.
Heeseung takes you to a restaurant where university students he’s only seen on Instagram walk around like they own the place. A tired-looking guy comes to take your orders before you even have a chance to take your coat off so Heeseung asks for a minute and the waiter leaves. There’s something in his demeanour though that makes it seem like you only have one full minute to make up your minds.
“What do you want to drink?” you ask, holding the drinks menu out to him.
Heeseung closes it, sitting it on the table. “Probably a beer.”
You laugh at this. “You don’t have to act all manly in front of me.” There’s a soft look in your eyes like you mean it.
“I actually like beer these days.”
Your brows raise and your jaw drops before you utter the word whoa.
“What?” he asks, suddenly self-conscious.
You shrug, collecting yourself. “You’re just.. different now.”
The very prospect of being different is shocking to Heeseung who prides himself on being pretty consistent with his behaviour. His brows knit together as he tilts his head. “Because I like beer?” he asks, scoffing slightly at the mere suggestion.
“I mean, that’s part of it.” To his dismay, this seems to be the end of your sentence. He gives you a little nod, hoping you read his mind and elaborate like he wants you to. “You bleached your hair, pierced your cartilage, what’s next? Are you going to tell me you have a tattoo?”
Heeseung feels his breath catch in his throat when you say the word tattoo but you don’t seem to notice. “It’s been a year,” he points out, folding the corner of his napkin, pressing his thumb against it with enough pressure to leave a defined fold and have it stick up a little when he lets go.
“I know, it’s just.. weird, you know?” Your voice is small when you speak, soft and quiet, barely anything above the noise around you both.
Heeseung nods. He does know.
“You’re weird too.”
“How?” There’s a defensive tone to your voice that makes him chuckle.
“You’ve always been weird.”
A dramatic frown curves your lips and the waiter is back before you can object. Leaning forward slightly, he orders for both of you, the sharing platter of fried chicken, your French Martini, and his controversial draught beer. He doesn’t miss the way you raise your brows when he orders the beer, as if you’d been waiting to catch him out or something. After the waiter leaves, Heeseung meets your gaze briefly, matching the gentle smile on your lips before looking away.
The drinks only take a few minutes and you thank the waiter before looking over at Heeseung, a mischievous glint in your eyes as you slide your cocktail over to him. “Do you want to try?”
He nods, lifting the glass and moving the straw out of the way to take a sip from the rim. Nodding his head, he hums in approval, eyes widening. “It’s good.”
You lean back in your seat, twirling the straw when he hands the drink back to you. “Yeah?” you ask, smiling triumphantly as if you made it yourself. “A normal person would’ve used the straw.”
Heeseung can’t help but roll his eyes, liking the way you laugh. “Are you acting out because I called you weird?”
“A little.”
The waiter places the platter at the centre of the table with a small smile, that you match, clearly hungrier than you’d been letting on as you lick your lips at the sight of the chicken. Heeseung’s stomach grumbles quietly as the scent hits his nose and he feels like he hasn’t eaten in days when a plate lands in front of each of you. A comfortable familiarity settles over him when he lets you pick first, and he knows you feel it too from the sweet smile you give him before eyeing the food. You take a while considering every wing, even though all of the pieces are scarily identical, before picking one and Heeseung follows, choosing with much less care than you, but enjoying it nonetheless.
Under your light-hearted scrutiny, he orders a cocktail the next time the waiter comes around. It’s much better than his beer, and so quickly, one cocktail turns into two until both you and Heeseung are four drinks in, laughing over nothing and putting in an effort not to slur your words together.
Time seems to pass at the same rate as your drinks, though neither of you seems to notice until you check the time on your phone and your mouth falls into a gasp. Heeseung does the same when you show him your screen, you only have ten minutes to make the fifteen-minute walk back to the station so you can catch the last train.
He gets up to settle the bill as quickly as humanly possible before you grab him by the hand and book it out of the restaurant. Though breathless, he knows he can’t let up, running as fast as his legs will carry him as he tugs you along behind him. Somehow you still have it in you to cackle every time either of you trips up.
Out of breath, you both slump into the first seats you find, sobering up a little after the run. He looks at you and feels his heart snag in his chest. “You okay?” he asks, huffing out a breath that pushes his bangs into the air.
“No,” you whine, pouting and resting your head on Heeseung’s shoulder. He lets his head rest on top of yours reaching his hand out to grab your own. He squeezes it gently, in a way he hopes is comforting. You lock your fingers with his before he can pull away and Heeseung’s heart starts pounding again.
He doesn’t realise you’ve fallen asleep until the train reaches your stop and you don’t react. He doesn’t want to wake you up, nor does he want to let go of your hand, but he knows he has to. Heeseung nudges you gently, rousing you from your sleep. “Let’s go,” he mumbles.
Stretching your arms above your head, you nod while yawning.
You take tired steps alongside him on the short walk back to your apartment, not saying anything until you reach your doorstep when you yawn once more, looking up at him. “I actually had fun today, thanks for hanging out with me.”
“Actually?” Heeseung raises a brow. “Did you think you wouldn’t?”
You shrug, chewing on your lip. “I thought it might be awkward.”
“It kind of was.”
“Maybe,” you admit with a nod. “It was a pretty successful first date though.” Your eyes are like saucers as your hand flies up to cover your mouth. “Not in that way. I’m only saying ‘date’ because that’s what I said in the chat—I would’ve called it a date if Hoon came with me, you know? I didn’t see this as a date if that’s what you’re thinking. Because it wasn’t. And I didn’t.”
“Mhm,” Heeseung hums with a sceptical look on his face, finding amusement in watching you scramble to correct yourself. “First dates are always awkward, baby, don’t worry.” The endearment slips out before he can help it, his heart stopping in his chest until he sees you smiling.
“Well, yeah, but this wasn’t a date, baby.”
“Are you sure? I mean, you made me pay for your train ticket, I paid for dinner and drinks. As far as first dates go, I’ve been a perfect gentleman all night.”
“That you have.” You nod once, firmly. “I’m not going to pay you back or anything. And this is hardly our first date.”
Heeseung grins despite himself. “Is this your way of saying I can bill you for our other dates? Do you have savings?”
Your head falls back in laughter, the sound infectious as it falls from your lips. You sigh softly, straightening up after a beat and nudging his shoulder with your fist. “Stop making me laugh or I’ll do something stupid like kiss you.”
His heart races in his chest, caught between your laugh and the thought that maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing. “I feel like if we pulled up a typical date timeline we’d be right on track for that, don’t you think?”
“Heeseung,” you mumble, face softening. It doesn’t seem like you’re finding this funny anymore. Your gaze locks on his lips — a hyper focus that makes him press them together nervously — before snapping up to meet his eyes. You gulp. “Goodnight, thank you for today.”
“Anytime.”
“Don’t say that or I’ll take you up on it.”
Heeseung shrugs. “You say that like I’d have a problem with it.”
“You wouldn’t?”
“Never.”
A small laugh comes through your nose as you smile up at him. “I’ll see you, let me know when you get home.”
“Got it.”
Wordlessly, you open the door, crossing the threshold before saying goodnight again. Heeseung says it back, watching you shut the door and waiting for the lock to click before he leaves.
He’s never drinking with you again.
Heeseung feels like he’s settling into the role of your friend quite well. So well that he can spend time alone with you without the discomfort he felt in September. Maybe he’s taking liberties, bending the word friendship to suit him, but as you lie in his bed together, your head on his chest as you nap, he can’t bring himself to care too much. He knows he’ll get hurt by this at some point, but for now, he’s just happy to play with your hair and try his best to fall asleep too. You don’t stir when Jay opens the door, stopping dead in his tracks at the sight before him, tilting his head before closing the door quietly.
Sleep never reaches him, but he pretends to yawn, rubbing at his eyes when your alarm wakes you up, making a point to stretch his arms over his head and only respond to you in a lazy mumble when you speak. “Whose idea was it to nap between classes, again?”
“I think it was yours.”
“Damn,’ you mumble, yawning again before laying back down, head returning to his chest as if drawn by a magnet. “I think ten more minutes, fifteen, and then we wake up and go back.”
“Or we could skip?”
The suggestion makes you jolt upright, fully awake now. You let your eyes drag over his face, and maybe Heeseung’s being hopeful or straight-up imagining things, but your gaze lingers on his lips for more than a few seconds before you gulp and meet his eyes. “Lee Heeseung trying to skip class? I never thought I’d see the day.” A smile spreads over your lips, turning into a laugh as you throw your head back. “That was funny, Hee. Let’s go.’
Heeseung’s brows furrow, watching you stretch your arms out in front of you. Was it so hard to believe he would skip class if it meant spending more time with you? His lips settle into a pout. “I’m serious.”
“No, you’re scaring me. Come on, let’s go,” you say, making no attempts to get up.
To prove a point, Heeseung shifts under the covers, lying on his side with his back to you. “You go ahead, I’m staying.”
You sigh but don’t get out of bed, only lying down next to him and draping an arm over his waist. “Ten more minutes.” You press yourself against his back and he feels his heart racing. As quickly as he feels it, you stiffen behind him. “I’m not crossing a line, right? Holding you like this? It’s always been easier to sleep if you’re next to me,” you say into his shirt.
Remembering the way you would cuddle into his side during sleepovers, his heart aches, wondering if you had endured the same sleepless nights as him. Heeseung only lifts your arm to turn onto his back, pulling you onto his chest like you had been earlier. “Fifteen,” he says.
Seeing as neither of you bothered to set another alarm, you sleep through class, only waking up when it’s dark out and Jay comes back. “I bought dinner, come eat,” he says, leaving the door open on his way out.
Wordlessly, you both peel yourselves from bed, dragging your feet to the kitchen to wash your hands before joining Jay in the living room. Heeseung sits cross-legged on the floor by the coffee table while you and Jay sit on the couch. He’s not awake enough to fully register your conversation over the rustle of plastic takeout bags and his sudden overwhelming hunger, but you’re telling Jay to shut up, mumbling something and he lets out an exaggerated groan, clutching his chest when Heeseung turns around to hand over your food.
With his elbows on the table, he takes a bite from his burger and has to suppress a moan. Most of your conversation with Jay goes over his head and he doesn’t realise how much time has gone by until you’re standing at the door pulling on your shoes. Given the way Jay’s lying on the couch, Heeseung assumes he’s on walking-you-home duty and grabs a jacket before stuffing his feet into Jay’s slides.
The conversation is light as you walk together, Heeseung making sure he’s on the edge of the pavement the whole time and letting you talk about your friends. The walk has become so natural now that he only realises you’re approaching home when you take out your key to open the door to your building.
“Do you want to meet before class tomorrow? To go over the slides we missed today?” you ask, with something behind your eyes that Heeseung sleepily interprets as hope.
He nods, smiling at you and waiting for you to lock the door before he leaves.
Jay’s awake when Heeseung gets back home; he can’t say he’s surprised. Heeseung only nods at Jay, who sits on the couch, but he knows his flatmate well enough to know there’s a conversation coming because the TV is off and his laptop is shut. Heeseung makes it all the way to his door before Jay says anything. “You’re in way over your head.”
Heeseung sighs, not in the mood. “Okay. Night,” he says, opening the door.
By the time November arrives and Jake’s birthday approaches, everything is back to normal again. Turning nineteen, Jake celebrates with a modest pub crawl that spirals into a three-day bender, leaving him bedridden for nearly a week due to dehydration and fear of a test he’d forgotten to study for.
In standard Jake fashion, he manages to bounce back and sits across from Jay at his favourite restaurant only six days after his actual birthday. Considering the state he was in, it’s a wonder he can stomach the smell of alcohol, let alone down four cocktails without a pause. Jay and Sunghoon exchange sighs, each supporting one of Jake’s sleeping arms on their shoulders to carry him home.
“Cover the bill and let me know the amount. I’ll transfer you in the morning,” Jay mumbles before they leave.
You shake your head when Heeseung asks if you want to go home as well. “Unless you want to,” you say, all of your words blending together. “If you want to go home, we can. I don’t want you sitting here bored or anything.”
Heeseung smiles. “I’m not bored, we can stay as long as you like.” You seem to take this to heart, nodding and flagging down a waiter to order more drinks. “Let’s maybe slow down a little though,” he suggests.
He pours you a glass of water and makes you drink the whole thing, withholding your alcohol until you’ve finished the cold tteokbokki in front of you. Gradually, you become more coherent, wiping your face with your hands and sitting up a little straighter. You thank him when he pours soju for you and take tiny sips from the glass here and there, telling Heeseung about some of the friends you made while you were away. There’s Yizhuo—sweet, funny, and down-to-earth. And Minjeong—a quiet girl who needed a while to warm up to new people. You tell him about meeting her for the first time, how unsure she seemed when Yizhuo introduced you two, but by the end of the night, she was falling asleep next to you in bed with her arms and legs tangled around you.
“Do you miss them?” It’s a stupid question, anyone could tell from the fond smile on your face that you do.
A beat passes while you think about it before shrugging. “Not as much as I missed being here.” If he wasn’t watching you, or looking you straight in the eye, he probably would’ve missed the longing in your gaze.
He’s never known you to be subtle after a drink, and Heeseung knows he needs to nip this conversation in the bud before either of you says something you can’t take back. “How are you getting on with your research task?” he asks, while at the same time you say, “I’m so happy to be back.”
A short laugh slips out of you, a hand falling to the table before wrapping around your glass. You bring it up to your face but don’t drink, only looking down into it as if it’ll tell you what to say. “Are you happy I’m back?”
“Sure,” Heeseung says noncommittally.
You sigh, sinking into your seat a little. “I loved you. I still love you,” you mumble. “Even after all that.”
He’s not sure what to make of this, of anything you’re saying. It’s not like you had a messy breakup or anything. At least, he wouldn’t describe his long-term girlfriend breaking up with him and asking if they could be friends after as messy. Even in heartbreak, Heeseung was a reasonable person, and any reasonable person would’ve said no. Like he did.
“I still.. You’re still the one for me.”
His stomach lurches violently. “Don’t say that.” He gets out of his seat quicker than he means to and leaves you at the table, tapping his foot as he waits in line by the bar to pay the bill, praying he’s right about the two of you sitting at table ten when the cashier asks. With a folded receipt in his pocket and too much to think about, he returns to the table, only putting on his coat and mumbling, “Let’s go.”
For some reason, you don’t seem to mirror his urgency, only finishing off the drink you had left in one go and sitting for a bit longer. He takes your jacket from the back of your chair and holds it open for you, helping you into it when you finally stand up. “Thanks,” you giggle.
Heeseung says nothing.
The silence and fresh air outside are sobering as he watches an Uber driver through the app, very slowly moving from two minutes away to one before arriving. Maybe if you hadn’t said what you said at the table, he might have warmed to the idea of a forty-minute walk alone with you, but you did say those things and even the thought of this fifteen-minute car ride is unbearable when John (4.9 stars) pulls up on the curb outside. You thank Heeseung quietly when he opens the door for you, and against his better judgement, he walks over to the other side of the car and sits in the middle seat like he used to.
Slow R&B murmurs through the speakers as the driver pulls off while Heeseung hums along. His thigh is pressed against yours but he does his best not to think about it, only chewing his lip when you rest your head on his shoulder. He lets his head rest on top of yours before regretting it.
He doesn’t move.
It feels a little bit like the driver is playing Heeseung’s playlist, as every song he knows and loves seems to come on one after the other, steeping him in an odd comfort in the backseat of this car.
Your hand falls onto his knee so clumsily he’s sure it’s a mistake, so sure you’ll move it back into your lap that he’s genuinely surprised when you don’t. Unsure what to do, he chooses not to acknowledge it, acting like you sitting so close to him, like the feeling that no time has passed, doesn’t make his heart clench. Slowly but surely, your hand inches up his thigh—a motion Heeseung stops as soon as he realises, his hand falling heavily over yours and pushing it back to his knee. He thinks about keeping it there, but when he feels his thumb stroking your skin, he moves his hand immediately. You’ve obviously gotten the wrong idea. For a moment, he wonders if you’ve actually gotten the right idea. You have. But it can’t happen like this. After a few minutes, you move your hand again, and like before, Heeseung pushes it back, keeping his hand over yours and reminding himself not to move his thumb.
You’re drunk. This will pass.
Finally, the driver parks outside your building, and Heeseung’s sure his “thank you so much” holds the world’s sincerity in it as he unbuckles his seatbelt and practically leaps out of the car. He opens your door and has to undo your belt for you, helping you out and thanking the driver again.
There’s a couple leaving the building when the two of you reach the door, and with your arms wrapped around his, he thanks them when they hold it open.
The lift takes forever to come and Heeseung pushes the up button five times before it arrives. He lets the girl in fleecy pyjamas with a takeout bag in her hand go in first before following, pressing the button reading 7 before relaxing a bit. Under the protection of a stranger, he knows you won’t do anything. The journey to your floor feels like hours as the lift drags its way up the shaft—why does nothing share his urgency?
You don’t say anything until the elevator door swooshes shut behind you. “I love you, Heeseung. You know I love you.” You’re saying everything he’s been wanting you to say for ages, but the words make his words sting.
“Do you know where your keys are?” he asks, though you still have a ways to go before you reach your door.
“My pocket,” you mumble.
Heeseung finds your keys, unlocks the door and helps you in. As much as he wants to leave, he knows if he does, you won’t take your makeup off or change, so he holds your hair back for you as you brush your teeth and wash your face in the sink quietly.
In your bedroom, you search through your drawers, pulling out something to wear. He turns his back to you and ends up face-to-face with an old photo of the two of you from school.
“You can look, Hee.”
Drawn to the picture, he doesn’t reply. The boys are in it too, but it feels like you two are the focus. Everyone’s smiling at the camera except Heeseung, who — with his arm around you — stares at the side of your face with a lopsided smile. Happiness radiates from his being, lighting his eyes and face.
“I want you to look.” The softness and desperation in your voice tug his heart.
“Come on ba—” Heeseung sighs. “Just get dressed, yeah?”
You don’t say anything but he can hear the rustle of your clothes as you change.
Jealousy blooms in his chest, looking at himself three years ago. Happy and full of love for you and your friends, for life. Everything was so easy then. His chest tightens and he has to close his eyes.
Heeseung feels you next to him, hears your jewellery falling into the clay holder on your dresser and opens his eyes, looking at you. You’re in a t-shirt he’s sure belongs to Jake and struggling with the clasp on your necklace. He knows you want him to help but he feels like he can’t move.
“I know you don’t want to hear it, but I really do want to be with you,” you say when you finally get the necklace off. “And I know I’m too late, but I didn’t break up with you because I didn’t want to be with you.”
You’re so close the peppermint on your breath hits him like a wave. A distinct smell of citrus and summer, of Jake, comes from your body, mixed up with the scent of you in a way that makes him uneasy.
He gets a headache trying to make sense of your words, if it wasn’t that you didn’t want to be with him, then what was it? Even back then, you didn’t elaborate, you just repeated his name and the words: it’s not your fault, over and over until they sounded made up. Heeseung can’t entertain this conversation, not now. Not when you’re drunk and looking up at him with longing in your eyes. “I think we need to get you to bed,” Heeseung mumbles, taking a step back. “I’ll get you some water.”
“But I’m here now and we can be together again.”
“You moving was never the problem. You know that wasn’t the problem.” A tear slips down your cheek and he softens immediately. “I wanted to go with you, I was going to go with you.”
You wipe your eyes with the back of your hand, frowning. “This university was your dream. How could I let you give up your scholarship for me?”
“You were my dream,” he admits. “And it wasn’t your decision to make.”
“You would have made the wrong one.”
Heeseung scoffs. “Do you think breaking up was the right one?”
Your silence is brutally telling. You squeeze your eyes shut as if trying to magic yourself out of the conversation, but it only makes more tears fall. A realisation hits him like a truck: you’re thinking about it. A painful lump forms in his throat. How could you have anything to think about? How was breaking up with him, not the single worst decision you’ve ever made? He can’t believe you could have let go so easily if you loved him. Long distance wouldn’t have been easy, but surely if you loved him, you would have made it work. You would have tried. Heeseung wishes he hadn’t asked at all.
“I do,” you say finally, opening your eyes to look at him.
His heart is heavy in his chest. “Okay.”
“Heeseung.”
“What?”
A stomach-churning sob falls out of you. “I don’t know.”
Another silence weighs the room down and Heeseung knows what he needs to do. He sighs. “Let’s just.. I should go.”
You don’t put up a fight, you don’t say anything, only letting your shoulders droop before you sigh and lead Heeseung to the front door. He says goodbye as he puts his shoes on and all you do is watch as he leaves your apartment. He waits for you to close the door and lock it before walking away.
Heeseung walks all the way home and only cries when he closes his door, sliding down the back of it like something from a movie. With tears in his eyes, and his knees to his chest, he pulls out his phone to text you. I hope your hangover isn’t too bad, he types. Let’s only talk when we need to.
The two of you manage to hold this up, with you finding others to sit with during classes, and no one seeming to question Heeseung’s skipping plans or new close friendship with Mark’s group who he spends time with between classes instead. But as always, things have a funny way of going different to how Heeseung expected them to.
After three weeks of near radio silence, Jay barges into his room with his face scrunched up. “What are you doing?”
“Right now?” Heeseung asks, confused. Standing by the bed with the corner of his duvet in his hand, in nothing but his underwear, he thinks his plans look a little obvious. “I’m about to jerk off.”
Jay rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. “You know what I mean.”
“Evidently, I do not.”
“Why don’t you hang out with us anymore?” he asks, squinting at Heeseung.
“We’re hanging out right now.”
“Forgive me if I don’t count an impromptu circle jerk as hanging out.”
“I don’t.. want to do that.”
Jay clutches his chest. “I’m crushed.”
Heeseung studies his expression. Serious, an inch of concern pooling in his eyes. “We dated for six years, she dumped me, I turned into a shell of myself, but she moved back home and we’re all friends again, so I think things are looking up for me.”
A deep sigh leaves Jay as he sits on the bed. “What happened at the bar with YN three weeks ago when we all left?”
“Nothing out of the ordinary.”
“What exactly counts as ordinary for you two?”
Heeseung’s still trying to figure that out. He shrugs. “Making the right decisions.”
“So you’re okay?”
“Never better.’
“You don’t have to lie to me, you know?” There’s a sincere look on Jay’s face as he leans back on his hands.
“Which is why I’m being honest.”
It doesn’t seem like Jay’s going to let this go, but to Heeseung’s surprise, he smiles. “Perfect,” he says, standing up from the bed and walking over to the mirror where he checks himself out. “Because she and the guys are going to be here in ten. Put some clothes on.”
He does just that, pulling some shorts over his hips and a shirt over his head before pulling the two bean bag chairs stacked next to the couch to sit in front of the TV, claiming one of them with his body by sinking into it. The cosy material is soft against his thighs and he wonders why they don’t use them more.
Ten minutes go by like seconds when Jay gets up to answer the door, laughing at something one of you says before leading you all into the living room. He’s watching some show Jay left on, greeting you and the boys with a wave before turning back to the TV. Behind him, the four of you laugh and talk on the couch but Heeesung’s too wrapped up in an argument on screen to join in. His attention only falters when he reaches for the open six-pack on the coffee table. It’s barely out of his reach, so he turns around to take a beer, trying to ignore the way his heart sinks in his chest seeing you and Jay cuddled up together. It’s friendly, he knows that. Jay’s with Yunjin and you’re.. He’s still not sure, but it hurts nonetheless. You’re bickering over a bowl of popcorn and he only laughs when you throw a handful at him.
The red speaker Sunghoon’s holding chimes three times when he turns it on, a Frank Ocean thudding out of it that drowns out the show he’s watching, leaving him to follow along with the subtitles instead. But he can’t focus.
Heeseung tries to settle his heartache, comforting himself with the thought of the two of you in another reality. One where it’s him instead of Jay. Or one where you come over and sit with him, curling up in his lap, pouting because Jay’s being mean. He pictures himself stroking your hair and kissing away your pout, holding you into his chest when Jake and Sunghoon start teasing you. In this reality, however, he watches you peel Jay’s shirt from his chest and dump a handful of popcorn in the gap, cackling to yourself at the clear frustration he doesn’t verbalise. Heeseung sighs, looking back at the TV and taking a sad sip of his sad beer.
After a while, you fall into the beanbag next to him, sprawling out over the whole thing and looking at him. “Hey, Heeseung.”
“Hello.”
“I’m sorry about that night.” Your voice is quiet, clearly apologetic if the way you don’t meet his eyes is anything to go by.
“Okay.” Heeseung nods and a beat passes. “I meant what I said, what I texted you.” It hurts to say but it’s for the best. He stands up out of the beanbag, making a show of stretching his arms and legs before sinking into the couch next to Jake. Over Jake’s slouched form, Jay shoots him a look, arching a brow. Heeseung only stages a chuckle, shrugging before looking at the TV again. He can’t make sense of anything on the screen.
Sunghoon emerges from Jay’s room with a grin on his face, asking when you’re going to eat. In standard fashion, the four of you stand around Jay in the kitchen, bothering him by telling him what to do like he’s a child as he puts frozen pizza and some garlic bread in the oven.
“The middle one’s the timer,” Jake says, pointing at the knobs above the oven door. “It’s there so you can set how long the food needs to cook for, and after you set it, it’ll go off so you know it’s ready.”
“But it’s all up to you and your discretion. You can open the door whenever you want to check on everything,” you coo, patting his shoulder.
If Jay’s actually annoyed, nothing about his smile gives it away as he nods with a clenched fist, closing the door and sitting next to Heeseung on the countertop. Heeseung’s almost too busy focusing on the way his beer heats his stomach to notice the way you watch him with a small frown from barely an arm’s length away. Sunghoon picks up on your declining mood and thrusts an open bottle into your hand. “We like to drink with—” He’s cut off by Jay taking the bottle and setting it behind you on the counter, mumbling cut it out, dude, and tugging you out of the kitchen by the arm when he notices the tears in your eyes.
He hears Jay’s door close and nobody says anything until the timer goes off and Jay comes back alone, filling a plate with food and going back to his room.
“Thanks for dinner,” Jake says to the back of Jay’s head, offbeat and half smiling as he washes his hands in the sink.
Sitting at the table, he watches Jake and Sunghoon eat while pretending nothing’s wrong.
At the end of the night, when everyone’s gone home, Heeseung gets into bed, barely managing to pull the duvet up when there’s a knock at his door. “Yeah?” he calls out. Jay appears with his arms crossed over his chest. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he says quickly.
Jay regards him with a frown. “I didn’t even say anything.”
“You were going to.”
“Yeah.” He nods, and Heeseung prepares himself for a lecture. “I was going to say, I’m going home next week, for Christmas, so I was wondering if you wanted to go with me.”
The holidays go by in a soju and tteokguk-filled blur, with Heeseung choosing to stay at home until the day of his first class of the second semester so he doesn’t have to be around you. He tells himself it’s for the good of your friend group, as he watches you all make plans in the group chat through notification bubbles, so he doesn’t leave a read receipt.
The commute is more jarring than he realised. What had been a twenty-minute drive turns into an hour-long journey, including a thirty-minute walk to the train station ‘near’ house, fifteen minutes on the train into the city centre, and another fifteen minutes on foot to campus. He’s drenched in sweat despite the below-zero temperature and has to make a stop to the bathroom to sort himself out.
He arrives early at least, finding the room where his Ethnography: Theory and Practice 2 class is set to start in fifteen minutes. The only indicator that he’s in the right place is the lecturer’s name and contact information written in the top corner of a whiteboard, and Heeseung picks the seat furthest from the door. It’s an elective class and, judging by the nine empty chairs next to him, not a very popular one. He’s relieved at least that he’ll be able to start off the semester without running into anyone he knows, least of all you. As seats start filling up and the lecturer arrives, he’s feeling unusually lucky.
So, of course, you show up, running a hand through your hair as you walk through the open door, apologising for being late even though there are still two minutes until the class is scheduled to begin. Of course, the only empty seat is the one next to him, which you sit in without looking at him, making an effort to angle your body away from him. Of course, the lecturer assigns a presentation for two weeks time, pairing the class with the person they’re sitting beside. Neither you nor Heeseung say a word to each other, but you raise your hand when prompted to pick a topic to cover. He can’t help his irritation at you for making the decision without asking him, but you look so nice in your hoodie with your hair tied up that his annoyance settles before it has a chance to bloom.
“YN YLN and Heeseung Lee, we’ll do music and cultural expression,” you say, picking the topic he wanted to do anyway.
When class is over, you’re quick to get out of your seat, pulling on your jacket and stuffing your laptop back into your bag before leaving so quickly that Heeseung has to leave his stuff behind to go after you. You don’t stop walking when he calls out your name, and too scared to make a scene, he overtakes you, leaving you with no option but to stop in front of him.
“We should go to the library, get the research and shit out of the way ASAP,” he suggests.
You nod, crossing your arms over your chest.
“Yeah, okay, I’m going to get my stuff.”
You follow him back to class, watching from the door as he puts his things in his bag before putting on his jacket. You don’t say anything on the walk to the library, when you get there, or when you browse the Cultural Studies section. Heeseung glances at you and you’re chewing on your lip, crouching a bit to read the spines of the books on the lower shelves. “Are you alright?” he asks with genuine concern.
You look up at him, nodding.
“Are you sure? Because you haven’t said anything in an hour.”
This makes you straighten up, your brows furrowing in an expression he can’t figure out. “Sorry, Heeseung,” you say, your voice weak. “I’m just trying to figure out if you think I need to talk right now.”
“Obviously, a paired project is a situation where we need to talk.”
You sigh, muttering oh, my God, before you look at him. “You know what, I’m going home. Let’s do this tomorrow.”
“We have class in twenty minutes.”
“Yeah, I’ll read the slides when I get in.”
Unsure what to say, he watches you walk away, deciding that he should just go home too.
At the flat he hasn’t seen in five weeks, Heeseung feels slightly out of place, going straight to his room and into bed, not even getting up when he hears Jay coming home. Jay opens the door without knocking, his mouth falling into an excited ‘o’ shape. “Hey, stranger,” he says. “I thought you weren’t coming back, so I started advertising your room on Gumtree.”
“Any offers?”
“No one as good as you.” Heeseung doesn’t have to look at Jay to know he’s smiling. “Move over,” he mumbles, lifting the duvet.
Lazily, he rolls over in bed, making room for Jay who makes himself comfortable under the covers.
“What are you doing, Heeseung?”
“Trying to sleep.”
“Talk to me, help me understand.” Jay sighs and Heeseung’s lips curl into a frown. “You’re my best friend,” Jay says quietly, with a tenderness that strikes him.
“You’re my best friend,” Heeseung repeats like an affirmation.
“So why won’t you talk to me?”
There’s a subtle hurt in Jay’s voice that upsets Heeseung, who shifts around to lie on his back. “I don’t think there’s anything I can tell you that YN hasn’t already.”
“She only told me that she fucked up.”
Hearing it from someone else’s mouth makes it sound drastic, especially considering he’s the one who left. Again. But he’s too bitter to say that out loud so he bites his tongue. “Seems to be the theme in our relationship.” The words taste rotten when he says them.
“Just because you’re my best friend doesn’t mean you get to be a dick,” Jay says. “What happened?”
It takes some time but Heeseung explains everything, letting Jay ask questions and make comments until the end when he looks away, pressing his eyes shut and saying, “Oh.”
“Oh?”
“I don’t think I get it. Boy loves girl. Girl loves boy. Why can’t you just be together already?”
Everything sounds painfully simple when it’s put like that. But there’s too much between you both for it to go that way. It’s not like he didn’t want to be with you when you confessed, it’s that he didn’t know how he could without knowing why you left him in the first place. Without knowing what he did that was so terrible you couldn’t stand to be in a relationship with him, never mind the same area code.
A beat passes before Heeseung speaks. “There was something wrong, and instead of trying to fix it, she just.. gave up. I would’ve done anything she asked me to. I could’ve changed, could’ve fixed things, but she didn’t even tell me.”
“Maybe she didn’t feel like she could. I don’t think she wanted to hurt you, Heeseung.”
“But she did.”
“Yeah,” Jay admits, sympathy lacing the word.
“How can I be with her knowing there’s some awful part of me she hates?”
“It’s not like that, not really.”
“What’s it like then?”
“I’m not sure it’s my place to say.”
Heeseung laughs, shaking his head. “Do you keep my secrets as dutifully as you keep hers?”
“Are you kidding? She doesn’t even know you have secrets.” Jay sounds exhausted as he speaks, and it’s the last sound to come from him until a few minutes pass and Heeseung hears him snoring.
You didn’t reply when Heeseung texted you asking to meet in the library before class, but you show up anyway, pulling out the seat across from him and dumping your bag on the table. “I don’t know if you saw the email, but the partner work is just for the presentation.”
“Cool.” he nods, relieved.
“I think after that, I’ll start hanging out with Yunjin instead, so you’re not uncomfortable.”
Heeseung frowns, shaking his head. “I’m not uncomfortable around you,” he says. “I just don’t.. get you. You dump me and move as far away as you can. Now you’re back and what? You love me again?”
You furrow your brows, inspecting him for a moment before you speak. “I don’t love you again, Heeseung. I’ve loved you this whole time.”
“So why didn’t you choose me? I just wanted you to choose me.” He’s too anxious to know the truth to worry about how desperate he must sound. Until he notices that the guys sitting at the other end of the tables are watching him, their brows arched sharply in a mixture of shock and curiosity. Heeseung runs a hand over his face, hoping the motion might wipe away the flush burning his cheeks.
“You wanted me to choose you over my future?”
“I could’ve been your future, part of it. I’d never ask you to choose me over university, you know I wouldn’t. I’m saying you could’ve had both.”
“It wasn’t as easy as that.”
“Why not?”
“Heeseung,” you say like it’s an answer.
“Just tell me why you didn’t want me. That’s all I want to know.”
The following silence makes him consider packing up abruptly and faking an emergency. He’s sure he could probably fake his death if he slumps in his chair slowly enough.
You sigh heavily, interrupting his train of thought—now, he’s wondering if he even wants to know. “Because you would’ve put me first,” you say, avoiding his gaze. “If I stayed here or moved away, I would’ve been your top priority and I couldn’t let you throw away everything you worked for, for me.”
“I loved you, of course, you were my top priority.” He can’t believe he even has to say it, can’t believe you might have thought you weren’t the single most important thing in his life.
“Heeseung, you were sacrificing your life for me. You missed your cousin’s engagement party to help me study for a history test, you deferred your scholarship entry by a year just so we could go to college at the same time. How could I keep letting you miss out on your life?”
“Deferring my entry wasn’t just for you,” he lies. “And it’s not like I missed the wedding.”
“But I think you would’ve if I stubbed my toe.”
“Would that be such a bad thing?”
You sigh again, shaking your head. “Do you hear yourself? You can’t keep living like that, you can’t just throw everything away. You’re such a hard worker, Heeseung, and I’d hate to see you waste that over some girl.”
“But you’re you. You weren’t just ‘some girl’ you were my girl.” He doesn’t mean to say it but it’s true. “We were in high school and I was studying constantly; it didn’t matter back then. And you were so far away, it’s not like I could feasibly drop everything and go to you every time something happened.”
“Heeseung.”
“You had a choice.”
“Heeseung.”
The way you’re saying his name reminds him of your breakup—the pink walls of your childhood bedroom and the pictures of the two of you stuck up all over them, in frames on your desk, and stickers on your light switch. How they seemed to close in around him as he put all of his energy into staying on two feet, instead of falling to the floor and begging you on hands and knees to stay with him.
“Why didn’t you just tell me? I’ve spent the last year and a half wondering what I did wrong, I don’t understand why you didn’t just tell me.” We could’ve tried, he wants to say. I could have changed and we could’ve tried.
“I didn’t want you to lose that. I felt really lucky that you loved me like that, and I didn’t want to rob someone else of it, you know. I thought maybe you’d find a balance with someone someday, but I didn’t think that person would be me.”
Heeseung has to put in an effort to stop his jaw from dropping. How could there ever be someone else? How could you ever think he could have someone else? There’s so much he wants to say, to ask, but he can tell by the way you press your lips together that you’re done with the conversation.
“It’s not too late.”
You tilt your head at him. “What?”
“In your room that night, you said you were too late,” he explains. “I love you.”
“Still?”
His heart shifts uncomfortably in his chest at the tone of your voice and the way your eyebrows shoot up. “Always,” he says.
A smile starts to curve your lips, but it slips before it has a chance to bloom, stifled happiness that you cover with your hands, hiding your face completely. “I don’t think we should talk about this here.” Your palms muffle the words but not their impact; you’re right and he knows it.
It’s been a year—the longest of his life, and the hard part is already over. He knows now and he’ll do anything he can to fix it. “Right.” Heeseung nods but you’re not looking at him. He’s going to fix it. For now, though, he says, “What’s our research topic again?” Despite having had Music and Cultural Expression typed into the search bar since before you arrived.
With Heeseung’s work ethic and your commitment to being the best, the presentation goes quite smoothly. You make no mistakes, and Heeseung, distracted by how pretty you look in professional attire, manages to stumble through the script he’d rehearsed. The two of you even win the first place prize — satisfaction that you got a perfect score — and celebrate with coffee afterwards.
Between the four walls of the campus café, you and Heeseung sip lattes that taste like temperature — still too hot to have a real flavour — and laugh with each other about something Jay said when you all hung out last night. Neither of you mentions your conversation from two weeks ago, deciding instead to fall into the patterns of your first term together: napping in his bed after class and coming up with excuses for alone time. He makes an effort to follow through with his commitments, even when you ask him to hang out, to show you that he’s different now. If you’ve noticed, you haven’t said anything about it, but Heeseung tells himself it’s a good thing while missing shots on the court with Mark, too hung up on you to focus on anything else. The only thing left is to figure out a way to be yours again and do everything he can to make sure he doesn’t lose you.
Over your shoulder, through the window, the sun slips below the horizon, casting long shadows around the café. He takes a deep breath when he looks at you, smiling down at your phone as you take a picture of your half-drunk latte and the milky swirls still peeking through your coffee. A tangible determination settles in his chest as evening’s first stars appear in the sky, he knows one thing for sure: he has to grab the chance to be yours again with both hands, and once it’s his, he won’t let go this time.
The café may be clearing out, but his heart is full of hope and for the time being, sitting with you as a friend is.. fine.
You’d often imagined what it would be like if you hadn’t broken up with Lee Heeseung.
Most of your first year was spent daydreaming about him in all of your usual hangouts. Sometimes, at drinks with your friends, you envisioned him showing up, a smile on his face as he apologised for being late. He’d slide into the booth next to you, wrap his arm around your shoulders and kiss your cheek. Other times you imagined him showing up to surprise you, sitting on a bench in the quad and grinning when he saw you leaving. He’d run up to you with open arms and a bouquet in his hand, wrapping you in a hug and whispering that he missed you too much to wait another day to see you. You would even fall asleep thinking about FaceTime calls that stayed on overnight or drunken texts after the club, misspelt I love yous and can’t wait to see yous filling your text thread.
You didn’t tell your new friends much about him, briefly mentioning a partner you’d watched some film with or an artist he liked if they came up, and most nights were spent begging Jay to send you Heeseung’s social media posts and tell you every detail of the day they had without you. Based on accounts from Jay, Jake, and Sunghoon, it seemed like he was getting on well, a fact that — while hurtful — pushed you to try and do the same. After a month of avoiding your flatmates, you finally managed to connect with them, going to various social events around campus and rolling your eyes any time a drunk guy complimented you.
This is why it took you by surprise to see him at Mark Lee’s party in the summer—sitting alone in the garden, in sweatpants and a flannel, looking at his phone with a deep frown etched over his lips. When you think about it, it feels like so long has passed since then and it’s hard to believe it wasn’t even a year ago.
Being back in Heeseung’s life has been more challenging than you thought it would be when you filled out your transfer application. Especially in the weeks since you finished your presentation together, since you suggested the library might not have been the right place for the conversation you were having and never followed up on.
Now doesn’t seem like the right time either—you’re sitting on the floor in Jake and Sunghoon’s living room with your back against the couch, sharing a blanket with Heeseung. Jay left about an hour ago to go to Yunjin’s, leaving the four of you to your own devices. You know you can’t bring it up with Jake and Sunghoon around, but you’ve had plenty of opportunities to over the last month.
When you finished your celebratory lattes, Heeseung walked you home. The sky was a perfect inky black, and it was cold enough to see your breath, just the way he liked, so cold he offered you his jacket to wear. He didn’t say anything about it, only shrugging it off and setting it gently over your shoulders, shocking you so much that you stopped walking. The scent of his cologne, dark and woody, was overwhelming as you slid your arms into the sleeves, zipping it up and after three paces without you, Heeseung turned his head with wide eyes. You could have said it then, you wanted to say it then, but you bit your tongue and thanked him instead. He smiled, gulping when you closed the gap, you should have kissed him, he was close enough, his lips just a tip-toe and tilted head away, but you hugged him instead.
After that, the two of you had all the time in the world together. Between your shared classes and going for meals alone. All the time you’d spend in his living room together, cosy on the couch when Jay would go to sleep. So many moments to talk, to get back together, but the words would die in your throat every time you thought them. It all seemed too cheesy or not cheesy enough, too dramatic or too casual, you couldn’t strike a balance and had no idea how to even find one.
Last night was probably the most jarring occasion. Yunjin and Chaewon had been trying to convince you to go the club all week but you just weren’t in the mood. They seemed happy enough when you suggested hosting pres—but now you think they’d been hoping you’d be so drunk you’d just agree to go out. Yunjin brought half a litre of vodka and Chaewon brought a soup flask with enough murky cocktail in it to feed a small family. Together, the three of you drank and gossiped around the small table in your living room, with Chaewon’s phone in a glass to amplify her playlist. After taking a whiff of whatever she brought, you and Yunjin decided — for everyone’s wellbeing — to hide her flask and take shots of vodka, finishing off the cider you had left in the fridge.
“Please come out,” Yunjin begged. “I’ll feel bad leaving you here, all pretty and drunk by yourself.”
“I’ll feel bad too!” Chaewon added, clasping her hands. “Not bad enough to stay with you, but I’ll probably have less fun.”
You shook your head. “I don’t even have an outfit.” The words were like music to their ears and you regretted them as soon as you said them. Both girls grabbed you by the hand, tugging you to your room and flinging open your wardrobe. Yunjin looked for a top and Chaewon for a skirt, though both of them gasped when they saw the dress you wore for Heeseung’s birthday. Chaewon pulled it from the rack, holding it out in front of her.
“We won’t pay for anything if you wear this,” she squealed before she and Yunjin started chanting: Free booze! Free booze!
You sighed, thinking of Heeseung and shook your head again. That dress, though beautiful, hadn’t been enough for him to lose all composure and skip the party in favour of fucking you into the mattress, and you didn’t love the idea of guys that weren’t him ogling you all night. “Anything but that dress.”
Yunjin and Chaewon seemed sad, but you were able to distract them by bringing out the disaster cocktail the oldest girl brewed earlier, pouring each of them half a glass and ordering an Uber to come and take them away. You promised them you’d go out next time, locking your pinkies with theirs and closing the door behind them.
Alone in your room, with nothing but thoughts of Heeseung to keep you company, you called him. He answered right away. You can’t remember exactly what you said but you remember the soft sigh he let out when you said it. You could practically see him tilting his head, weighing his options.
“I’m trying to get a paper finished, it’s due Monday,” he said finally.
“But it’s Thursday.”
“Yeah, and I want to have my weekend free. If you’re still up when I’m done, I’ll come over, okay?”
You nodded. “Okay.”
Heeseung hung up after that and you got out of bed to clean up, hoping the time would fly. It didn’t, but your flat was clean again so you pretended not to mind.
He called you after midnight. “Do you still want me to come over?” he asked, breathless.
“Please.” There was a knock on your door after you spoke and you mumbled hold on before going to check it. Warped by the peephole, you saw Heeseung standing there, holding his phone to his ear and playing with the zipper on his jacket. He hugged you when you opened the door, asking if you were okay. “Perfect,” you said, looking into his eyes.
His pretty face scrunched up and he pinched his nostrils shut with his fingers, turning his head. “Well, you smell like a distillery.”
Heeseung stood in the doorway of the bathroom while you brushed your teeth, grinning every time his eyes met yours in the mirror. Tell him now, you thought. You have to tell him now. Those thoughts nagged you as you gargled mouthwash, plagued you when you hugged him again and tortured you when he carried you to bed.
He stiffened when kissed his jaw. “You can’t do that,” he mumbled, setting you down under the duvet. “Not now.”
Then when? you wanted to say. “I’m sorry,” you said.
Heeseung sighed, shaking his head. “No, it’s just.. It’s okay.”
Neither of you spoke after that, you made room for him on the bed and he lay down next to you, let you rest your head on his chest and played with your hair until you fell asleep. He was gone when you woke up in the morning but he left a glass of water and some paracetamol on your end table, along with a note.
I had to go to class and you wouldn’t wake up :( We’ll talk about everything soon, we have to. See you at Jake and Sunghoon’s later?
— Your Hee.
If you hadn’t been drunk he might have been okay with the kiss, he might have looked down at you and kissed you properly. You might have talked last night, fixed things—you’ve never regretted drinking so much in your life.
Things are better tonight at least. You’ve been nursing the same can of cider since you arrived a few hours ago and Heeseung’s only had two sips of his beer, so hopefully, if you get some alone time, the two of you can finally talk. You’re still not sure what you should say, if you should apologise for waiting so long, for leaving in the first place. It seemed like a good idea at the time, applying elsewhere. You didn’t even think you’d get in but you knew you’d never forgive yourself if you didn’t at least take the chance. It seemed like a sign when the acceptance letter reached your inbox before the term had finished, an unconditional offer to a high-ranking university, you couldn’t pass it up. And knowing Heeseung as well as you did, you knew he’d do anything to be by your side when you needed him, you knew he’d drop everything to move with you if you let him. You’d owe him forever. It wouldn’t be fair on either of you.
You called Jay in tears after a month away, telling him you made a mistake, that you needed to come back and had already filled out a transfer application. He convinced you to at least stay until the end of term, to actually make friends with the girls you were living with and see how you felt. A week later, he, Jake and Sunghoon showed up on your doorstep with chocolate and booze, hoping your room was big enough for all of them to stay for the weekend, it wasn’t, not really, but for three nights, the four of you slept head to toe in your bed after eating your body weights in pizza and ice cream. There was no talk of Heeseung, even though you begged them, and by the time they left, you felt much better. At the end of your first year, you quietly submitted your transfer application and shared a tearful goodbye with Yizhuo and Minjeong before finally flying back home. The boys seemed happy to have you back, even if it meant sneaking around to hang out with you—A nudge pulls you out of your thoughts, Heeseung.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
When you look at him, it feels like the wind has been knocked out of you. His eyes are brimmed with concern, wide and beautiful, a deep brown you’ll never get sick of. His lips are curved into a soft pout, a crease running along his brow that you want to smooth out.
Heeseung relaxes a little when you nod, but he seems unconvinced. “You sure?”
You reach up to poke his cheek, grinning when he turns his head, trying to fight a smile. “I’m good,” you say, pressing a dimple into his cheek anyway.
He holds your finger in his hands, unclenching your fist and locking his fingers with yours. A wide grin stretches over your lips as you plead with your cheeks to stop burning. Jake’s hand interrupts the moment, falling from the couch, limp and curled into a fist that smacks the back of your head. He’s fast asleep, not stirring at all even when Heeseung laughs.
Unfortunately, you lose rock, paper, scissors and have to wake Jake up. He shifts a little on the couch when you shake him, whining at you to stop and scrunching up his face at you. Heeseung and Sunghoon eventually sigh, grabbing him by the arms and legs to carry him to bed.
Both boys return, laughing about something and Heeseung sits down next to you again while Sunghoon leans in the doorway, yawning. “You two can have my room,” he says, cutting his eyes at you. “No funny business though, I just changed my sheets.”
You chuckle nervously and Heeseung makes a show of hiding his face in the crook of your neck, much to Sunghoon’s visible dismay. He clutches the doorframe so hard you see his knuckles paling and uses his free hand to point a stern finger in your direction. “I mean it,” is the last thing he says before leaving.
“Sorry,” Heeseung mumbles when the door closes. “It’s just so funny teasing him.” He’s grinning when he lifts his head and runs a shaking hand through his hair. “Anyway, you still haven’t told me about your group project.”
A sigh curls out of you, dramatic and loud as you let your head fall back against the couch at the thought of it. You brought it up in passing on Monday after class and spent the rest of the week pretending it didn’t exist.
“Damn,” he mutters. “That bad?”
You don’t have many friends in your Archaeology class, but you always look forward to it — because you’re covering Ancient Egypt — and enjoy it. But this morning, you slept in, arriving late, to find your lecturer assigning groups for a project weighing 25% of your final grade. She put the groups together based on where people were sitting, which left you, standing in the doorway fighting for breath, being added to a group of boys you shared a seminar with last term. They never contributed, and rarely showed up, constantly sending messages in the class Whatsapp group to ask if anyone had the tutorial answers. The sinking feeling that your project was doomed before it began plagued you throughout the lecture and all the way to lunch with Yunjin afterwards. Even though it doesn’t have anything to do with the story, you tell him in meticulous detail about your time with her that day. Thankfully, you’re sober so don’t admit that you spent a lot of the meal exchanging increasingly ridiculous ideas to get him back.
Heeseung is just as beautiful and good at listening as always, nodding his head and uhm-ing and ah-ing at all the right parts. Until his gaze changes for a split second into something so soft and so sweet that it leaves a mark on your heart. “I was pissed about it earlier, but now I’m here, with you, and I want you to be my boyfriend again,” you say, jaw hanging open as soon as the words come out.
His eyes widen, lips parting in shock. Then his brows furrow, pushing a crease into his forehead.
“I know what you’re going to say and I’m sorry.” You start running damage control and pray that Jake or Sunghoon will wake up and come back. “I really didn’t mean to say that, especially not now when we haven’t talked about everything. But you looked at me, Heeseung. You really looked at me just now and I can’t pretend I don’t want to be with you. I’m sorry, really, but it’s your fault I said that.”
Mortified, you cover your face with your hands. “Can you say something now?” you ask, mumbling into the heels of your palms.
All he says is your name and a pit forms in your stomach. “God, anything but that,” you groan.
Heeseung chuckles, which you think is a good thing. “Would it be better if I called you baby?”
“In what context?”
Holding your breath, you watch as he presses his lips together, humming as he tilts his head. “Term of endearment between a girlfriend and her boyfriend.”
You lift your head, separating your fingers to see him properly through the space and the pit in your stomach dissolves into something live, butterflies fluttering in a frenzy from the look on his face. The gentle curve of his lips, the warmth in his eyes, and the slight flush on his cheeks all make your head spin.
“Really?”
Heeseung nods so hard his hair follows the movement. “Yes, baby.”
“Can we kiss now?”
“Maybe if you move your hands out of the way.”
“I don’t like maybe.”
“Definitely if you move your hands out of the way,” he corrects.
You can’t bring yourself to move, worried that the sudden motion might disrupt something, might knock you out of the moment. Heeseung laughs, so softly it sounds like an exhale, as he takes your wrists in his hands, tugging gently. With your face in full view, his eyes flit over your features for a beat before he cups your cheek in his hand, dragging his thumb over the soft skin of your lips.
You don’t even realise he’s leaning in until his lips touch yours. There’s a rush of something in your chest, an intense warmth surrounding your heart. His lips are softer than ever, gentle as he kisses you like you might break—you think you might. Nothing is better than this, better than having Heeseung’s lips on yours after all this time. You lean into him completely, pressing your body impossibly close to his and twirling your fingers around the hair at the nape of his neck.
“I love you,” he whispers, barely pulling away. “I love you so much.”
You can’t bring yourself to reply, emotions too close to the surface, tears too close to spilling. Instead, you smile into the kiss, somehow holding him closer and hoping he’ll understand. He pulls back, just enough to gaze into your eyes with a look of pure affection. He doesn’t press for words, a reassuring smile tugging his lips.
He understands, Heeseung always understands.
Sunghoon’s sheets are soft against your skin when you wake up, tickling your nose with the scent of detergent and Heeseung’s shampoo—fresh and light. Your hand finds its way into his hair, fingers curling around the strands as Heeseung watches you with a soft smile, eyes scanning your features, taking you in. He lets his hand rest on your cheek, thumb stroking the skin there and his eyes flick up to meet yours. You feel like a teenager, a giddy smile gracing your lips, giggles tumbling out at the tickly feeling of lovestruck butterflies rumbling in your stomach. Heeseung beams, nuzzling into the touch of your hand as his eyes flutter shut.
“If we’re going to work out this time—I want us to work out, but we need to talk,” you say after a beat.
Heeseung’s brows raise like he can’t believe what you’re saying, his lips pushing into a pout. “We are going to work out, of course we’re going to work out.” His voice is still raspy from sleep, a deep hoarseness that’s too sexy for the cute way he’s chewing on his lip, doe-eyed and sweet as his eyes scan your face.
“I know, baby, I want that.” You nod, using your hand to push his hair out of his face. It’s so long now it’s starting to cover his eyes, the soft blond strands curling into his eyelashes. “But you have to say no to me, you know? I want you to have a life of your own, we both should.”
“No.”
“No?” You press your eyes shut, sighing. “What do you mean, no?”
“I’m starting now.”
“I’m serious, Hee, this is serious.”
He pouts for a second before nodding. “I’m serious too. I can say no to you, I will say no to you.”
You can’t help your scepticism, raising your brow at him as you inspect his face. There’s nothing about his expression that suggests he’s not being serious, nothing in those huge eyes seeming insincere. But you know Heeseung, you’ve been with Heeseung, and you know better than anyone, there’s nothing he wouldn’t do if it meant spending time with you, so you have to ask. “So from now on, if I text you when you’re in class or out with friends, and I tell you I want to see you, what are you going to do?”
Heeseung sighs. “I’m going to text back and say that I’m.. busy.” His lips curl into a frown. “My heart will be super heavy though.”
“But you’ll do it? You won’t see me until you’re free?”
“I’ll do it, I won’t leave or anything.”
“Do you promise?”
“Yeah, baby, I promise.” When you smile at him, Heeseung leans in to seal his promise with a kiss, his lips meeting yours softly.
You flinch when the door opens and Heeseung chuckles against your lips, but he doesn’t stop kissing you. Over his head, you see Sunghoon standing in the doorway, hair dripping water on the floor with a towel wrapped around his hips.
Sunghoon sighs, loud and dramatic, his head falling back. “I specifically said no funny business,” he mutters. “Quit looking at me.” He comes into the room and lifts the duvet over your heads.
Under the covers, Heeseung pulls away, poking his head out and laughing. “We’re just kissing.”
“Yeah, with your shirt off. Why is your shirt off?”
“She wanted to wear—”
Sunghoon cuts him off with a gasp, pulling the duvet back. “Wait, why are you kissing?”
“I can’t kiss my girlfriend?”
The word makes your cheeks burn and you hide your face in Heeseung’s chest. His lips find the top of your head, kissing you as he wraps his arms around you.
Sunghoon groans at the sight. “I haven’t missed this at all,” he says. “Who else knows?”
“Just you so far.”
You can hear Sunghoon grinning when he drops the duvet back over your heads and shuffles around the room, getting ready for skating. Heeseung calls you cute and holds you closer. “I’ve missed you so much, missed this,” he mumbles into your hair. “I love you.”
Dating Heeseung again is better than anything you could have imagined, even if it has only been two weeks. He’s everything you’ve ever wanted and more, and even the simple things he does make you smile so hard your face aches. Like when he picks up snacks for you after class or sends you pictures of sweet things he wrote about you in his old diary. Chaewon and Yunjin comment that you seem happier, that you’re glowing, and you can’t help the giggles that always escape and the flush that burns your cheeks when you mention your boyfriend, Heeseung.
Even under the pressure of taking on a group project by yourself, you find yourself fighting a grin in the library just thinking about him. Your class finished an hour ago and you’re doing research in the computer lab while waiting for him so you can go back home together. With a crease in your brow, you try to make sense of conflicting articles on the origin of the Great Pyramid of Giza, happy when your phone lights up with a text.
hee: we should go on a date tonight !!! how does the fair sound?
you: sounds good :D
hee: ❤️
As if sensing that plans have been made without him, Sunghoon sends a message to the group chat asking who wants to go to the Spring Fair in the city centre tonight.
you: hee and i are alr going :/
sunghoon: awesome i can meet u at hee’s in a few hours?
You really can’t find the heart to tell Sunghoon it’s a date so you decide not to say anything, only feeling worse when Jay replies.
jay: sounds good :D
hee: it’s a date dumbass, you’re not invited.
sunghoon: ok.. i can still go
jake: time?
With your date set and whatever else the boys are planning in the group chat, you manage to finish up your work in time for Heeseung to show up with a grin on his face as you pack up your notebook. Excitement stirs in your stomach when he locks his fingers with yours and you’ve never looked forward to the sticky heat of a night in spring as much as you are right now.
“How was class?” you ask, squeezing his hand.
Heeseung grins at you, swinging your hands between your bodies as you weave through tables to leave the library. “Turns out I focus really well when you’re not sitting with me.”
“Oh, really?”
“Mm.” He nods, biting his lip.
“I can sit with other people if it’ll help you focus.”
“No!” he whines, loud enough to draw side eyes from the students around you before the tips of his ears burn red and he pulls you out of the library at lightspeed.
When you reach his flat, Jay’s sitting on the couch grinning at something on his phone, so distracted he doesn’t even realise you’ve arrived until you sit down next to him. He’s got a lot to say about his mock trial and tells you everything, all while you’re cuddled up to Heeseung, with your head on his shoulder.
You blink and the sun’s gone down, Jay isn’t around anymore and Heeseung’s arms are around your waist, holding you close. “Hey,” he says when you stir. “The boys left already, you just looked so cute sleeping that I didn’t want to wake you.”
There’s a wet patch on his sweater where your mouth was that you try to wipe away. It doesn’t budge. And a burning flush attacks your cheeks and neck when Heeseung uses his thumb to wipe some of the drool by your mouth. “So cute.” He chuckles. “Should we get going?”
You spend the whole journey to the city centre with your hand in Heeseung’s, trying to fight the butterflies in your stomach every time he smiles at you. It’s weird. To have been with him for so long, yet still feel giddy when he looks at you. This is new though, you suppose, to live away from home and see him whenever you want. Absence really does make the heart grow fonder and you can’t help the grin on your face at the thought of spending infinite nights like this, with him.
The Spring Fair is alive with laughter and squeals of delight that you can hear from around the corner. Winking lights spill onto the pavement in rapid succession, somehow showing the whole spectrum at once. Heeseung is bursting with excitement, running down the street with you in tow, desperately trying to keep up with his stride and regulate your breathing. His eyes are huge when you reach the gates, scanning the area for the churros he’s been talking about for the entire walk and he gasps when he sees the stall, pulling you along with him. You have to weave through the crowd, dipping and dodging tired locals and excited tourists as you call out apologies to everyone Heeseung bumps into. The first night is always packed like this, so full it’s hard to believe the fair runs for six whole weeks.
You share a heart-shaped churro and pose for the photos he wants to take, your heart swelling with affection as you pretend to be embarrassed when he buys matching character headbands for you both. Two years ago, Heeseung would’ve told you that headbands aren’t a good use of your money and bought them anyway, but today, he spent fifteen minutes trying on and taking photos with each character before finding the perfect pair. You can’t help but grin as he puts the headband on for you, a sense of excitement blooming inside you, so great it’s overwhelming.
Heeseung buys a blue raspberry slushy in an obnoxiously large reusable cup with two straws, and as he clutches his head with each brain freeze, chuckles pour out of you, only increasing when he pouts.
At every opportunity, the two of you take selfies, and the grin on his face in each one warms your heart. He posts his favourite to his story, showing you all the compliments he’s getting in his DMs, all aimed at you. He seems so proud and excited to be with you, and butterflies go mad in your stomach as he reads some of them out to you, agreeing with and adding to the messages.
“You’re so beautiful, baby. I think I might delete the picture,” he says, frowning as the story replies pour in.
The look on his face makes you laugh, struggling to talk but trying anyway. “But I love it.”
Heeseung puts his phone away, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. “I love you,” he says, using his free hand to tip your chin towards him. He grins when you say it back, tracing his thumb along your jaw. An odd stillness hits you, in the midst of vibrant chaos. Flashes of multi-coloured LEDs dance in orange and purple strobes over his face and your breath hitches in your throat. His eyes are pretty and wide, flicking from your eyes to your mouth a few times as a flame starts to burn in your stomach, low and scorching.
“I love you,” you repeat, tip-toeing to close the gap.
You kiss him, slow and sweet to savour the sugary taste on his lips as they move against yours. His tongue slips into your mouth, deepening the kiss and the taste of syrupy artificial fruit, leaving you craving more, craving him. A pop goes out in the air and you flinch in Heeseung’s arms. He chuckles against your lips before he pulls away, looking up. Trails of pink and gold paint the sky above, vibrant sparks spreading everywhere as a few more go off. If you weren’t so busy trying to catch your breath, you might appreciate their beauty, but you are and the next pop only startles you too.
Heeseung looks down at you, his slightly swollen lips curving into a grin. “How are you so cute?” he coos. “And don’t most people want fireworks to go off when they kiss someone?”
“It’s probably a sensation thing, Heeseung.” You know it’s a sensation thing. The first time he kissed you, it felt like you were floating on air, as if Sunghoon’s basement, cold and dark, was the most romantic place on Earth. You were sweaty and nervous, sitting cross-legged on the floor next to Heeseung while the boys were sleeping. He was the one to lean in and he kissed the tip of your nose by accident.
“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters. “Come here.” His voice is so deep and raspy that it spurs the flame on, burning higher, hotter, until it’s the only thing you can think about. His hand finds your jaw again, pulling you towards him to kiss you. Of course, you can’t resist; he’s Heeseung.
The kiss is rife with neediness, whether from you or Heeseung you can’t tell, but you’re tugging at his hair and he’s clutching at your t-shirt, both of you struggling to get enough of the other. You nip at his bottom lip with your teeth and a heady sigh falls from his mouth into yours, brewing a storm in your mind, a thick fog obscuring everything but thoughts of him.
At the sound of a forced throat clearing, you break away from Heeseung, seeing an elderly lady with a steaming cup in her hand and a disgruntled look on her face. She extends an arm, gesturing behind you. When you follow the direction of her hand, you see a bench that you’re standing right in front of. Heeseung grabs your hand, mumbling an apology and tugging you as far away as possible. You struggle to stifle a laugh at the redness of his ears against his hair.
A huge ride swings and spins into the air, catching your attention, though Heeseung seems to be more interested in the way Jake stands by the entrance with a scowl on his face. Jake waves you over when he sees you, grinning and hugging you both like it’s been years since he saw you.
“Jay and Hoon are..” he trails off, using his arm to vaguely gesture towards the sky.
“Man,” Heeseung whispers, pointing a reverent finger to the sky, “R.I.P.”
Countless fireworks shoot up noisily, painting the dark sky, and Heeseung’s arms fall heavily around your shoulders, his body warm against your back. If not for the way Jake’s flinching next to you, covering his ears with his hands and ducking slightly at the bang of each one, it might feel like the two of you are alone in the moment. Alone despite the chatter, the laughter and squeals. Just you and Heeseung.
And Jake.
Heeseung is amazing at fair games, especially the ring toss. But a tired-looking man in a business suit wins the Hello Kitty plush you’d been eyeing for the snotty toddler wrapped around his leg, so you settle for the Kuromi plush instead. Heeseung says it’s cuter. You agree.
His voice is soft when he asks, “Maybe we can go on the Ferris wheel later?” This is a far cry from the boy of sixteen who fainted at an amusement park just from seeing the drop on the biggest ride there. When you look up at him, his eyes are wide, boring into you, holding the stars in his pupils with a grin across his blue-stained lips, and how could you say no to that face?
The platform by the Ferris wheel is sticky under your shoes, making you cringe with every step you take towards the front of the line. Heeseung’s grip on your hand is tighter than you think it’s ever been when he realises that you’re next to get on. This might be the most scared you’ve ever seen him, your poor boyfriend with his overpriced Kuromi headband shivering beside you.
You frown at the sight, reaching up to kiss his cheek. “We don’t have to do this, Hee,” you say.
He tries to play it cool, shrugging with a nonchalance that doesn’t match the fear in his eyes. “I want to,” he assures, though his voice lacks conviction.
“Are you sure?” The way he flinches when the ride operator opens the gate gives you his answer, but Heeseung is firm in his words as he pulls you towards the cart, despite wincing when the operator locks you in. “Baby,” you whisper, touching his cheek. “It’s not too late to get out.”
In what appears to be a display of his bravery, he makes a show of rocking the carriage — only to be told off by the operator (who can’t be older than sixteen) — and cheering (with no conviction) about nothing in particular. You can’t help but laugh, the cart shaking slightly as you let your head fall back and you only laugh harder when Heeseung gasps because of it.
He flinches again when the ride starts moving, an unsettling creak sending you forward just enough to allow the next victims — according to Heeseung — to get on the ride. When the last of them board, the wheel sets off in a slow spin and he spends the entire first rotation with his eyes clamped shut, only opening them after a while when he thinks the ride is over.
The wheel creaks more than what you think is necessary and he only grows more and more outwardly uncomfortable, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth and gripping the safety bar above your laps until his knuckles turn white.
“Would it make you feel better if I held your hand?” you coo, holding your left hand out to him.
He rolls his eyes but takes your hand in his, holding it between his palms. Seemingly at ease, Heeseung shifts slightly in his seat to close the tiny gap between you, pressing his knee into yours.
Even in the distance, the fair’s LED lights are beautiful, melting away into flashing bokeh before your eyes as the carriage inches higher and higher. You almost forget your company, leaning over the edge to get a better look, only for Heeseung to put his arm on your arm, mumbling, “Stop it.”
His skin is warm despite the slight chill that comes with your increasing altitude, and you wish the carriage was smaller—cramped even, forcing the two of you together so tightly that you have no choice but to become one. You sit in the quiet of the night, excitement on the fairground growing quieter as the wheel spins, agonisingly slow, until eventually it’s just the two of you—you and Heeseung: the only people in the moment.
The only people in the world.
“Why are we even on this thing?” you whisper, squeezing his hand.
Heeseung shrugs his shoulders as gently as he can manage so as not to rock the carriage. His eyes are big when he looks at you, holding your gaze intently. “I wanted to be romantic.”
Oh, Heeseung, you think, pressing your lips into a frown. He’s the sweetest person in the world and just the thought of it makes your stomach flutter. “You’re plenty romantic,” you say sincerely.
He scoffs. “Yeah, because pretending you didn’t exist for a year is romantic.”
“Yes! Very!” You chuckle, nodding your head.
Again, he rolls his eyes at you but he uses his hand to hold your face, pulling you in. His kiss tastes like candy floss and the blue raspberry slushy you shared earlier, lips soft, relaxed against your own. Your hand reaches for his thigh, meeting instead with the squished plushy between your bodies and you can’t help but laugh.
With your presentation out of the way, you and the guys are all sitting in Heeseung and Jay’s living room for the first night of Spring break. You’ve just about reached your limit, cuddling into Heeseung’s side with your eyes closed, sleepily listening to the conversation. It’s unintelligible, more laughter and wheezes than anything else.
You shift your way into Heeseung’s lap after a while, moving around to get comfortable. It only takes two movements for him to grab you by the waist, holding you still. You try again, and his lips catch the shell of your ear. “Relax, baby. What’s up?”
“Nothing,” you admit, moving around again until he sighs, relieved, you think. A wicked grin spreads over your lips when you feel him getting hard, grinding down on him a little and liking the warmth that spreads in your stomach from having him pressed against you.
“Stop it,” he whispers, kissing the spot behind your ear.
You heed the warning but can’t help the thoughts filling your mind, though you try to ignore them, laughing at something Sunghoon said about Jake’s ugly hat and shoes. Jake doesn’t find it as funny as the rest of you seem to.
Another hour passes by in the same way before the boys stumble into Jay’s room, calling out a slurred goodnight to you and Heeseung on the couch. You stand up first, holding out a hand for him to take and giggling when he presses a kiss to the back of it.
In his room, he stares at a spot on the wall as you close the door, a contemplative look on his face. “Are you okay?” you ask, but he doesn’t look at you, only nodding his head with a crease along his brow.
You kiss him, a featherlight touch of your lips against his. It’s soft for a while, sweet and sincere until he clutches your shirt like his life depends on it. Heeseung’s hands are all over you, stroking and squeezing every part of you he can reach. Overwhelming heat burns your skin under his touch. He inhales sharply through his nose when you reach for his waistband, tugging the drawstring free but he grabs your wrist, stopping you. He keeps kissing you, keeps trying and frowns when you pull away.
“You don’t want this?”
He tilts his head, looking down at you with concern flooding his wide eyes. “Do you think we’re going too fast?” His voice is quiet and he chews on his lip after speaking.
“We’ve been together for six years.”
“A month,” he corrects, looking at his feet.
As badly as you want him, you don’t want him doing anything he’s not ready for, so you wiggle your arm free from his grip, dropping it at your side. He lifts his head to look at you, brows knitted together, the sweetest thing you’ve ever seen. “I don’t want to rush you.”
“It’s not that.” He shakes his head with wide eyes. “I just don’t want us doing anything you’ll regret.”
“I’m not going to regret this, I don’t regret anything we’ve done, Heeseung,” you say, holding his face in your hands.
He closes his eyes, nodding.
“Do you want to stop?”
“Never,” he whispers and the word has you falling to your knees.
It’s hard to see his exact expression in only the dim glow of the streetlights outside, but you can clearly see the way he’s watching you. The way his eyes are lidded as he chews on his bottom lip, watching you reach for the buckle on his belt. Heeseung threads his fingers through your hair, groaning, and for a few seconds, you’re hypnotised. Too wrapped up in tipsiness and lust to move your fingers, completely focused on the way his breath starts to pick up before you’ve even done anything. You’re starting to think it might be enough for him just to see you like this, on your knees for him, wide-eyed and eager.
Whether on purpose or not, Heeseung tugs on your hair gently, pulling you from your trance. His blunt fingernails scratch at the back of your head as you undo his belt, tugging his jeans down. He steps out of them as soon as he can, smiling when you toss them behind you. Too worked up to wait, you push your face against him. You take a minute to hold his covered cock between your lips, shuddering at the feeling of the damp spot at the top of it. Heeseung grunts, bucking his hips. He looks like sin when you lock eyes with him, licking a strip to the top of his waistband, sucking and nipping at the skin and coarse hair there.
“Quit teasing,” he says, still keeping control of his voice.
You blink up at him sweetly, shaking your head. “I’m not,” you mumble, pulling his underwear down.
Heeseung’s dick smacks his stomach with a wet sound that makes you clench around nothing, and you sit back on your heels to admire him. Maybe it’s from time, or your unbearable desire, but he looks bigger, thicker, and much prettier than you remember. When you finally drag your eyes from his dick, you notice a mark on his hip, right above where his thigh starts. It’s a smudge of something dark, inky almost. You furrow your brows, licking the pad of your thumb to try and get rid of it. He practically flinches when you touch it, moving away from you. The increased distance between you and the low lighting only further obscures it—when you rub at the mark it doesn’t budge.
“What is this?”
“It’s nothing,” he says, sitting down on the bed and covering it with his hand.
If it was anyone other than Heeseung, you might have thought it was a tattoo, but you can’t make sense of the thought so it slips your mind as soon as it occurs. You reach for the lamp on his bedside table, flicking it on, losing your breath at the sight of his skin glowing golden in the light, and the tip of his cock is a tempting, glossy red. You can’t help but take him in your hand, stroking him slowly.
“Tell me, baby.”
“It’s a bruise,” he manages through a gasp, licking his lips.
Your thumb swipes over his slit and he crumbles. “Heeseung.”
“Butterfly, it’s a butterfly.”
A fuzzy warmth starts to bloom in your chest, overwhelming you. “Lay down,” you say, voice as soft as it’s ever been.
Heeseung obliges, linking his fingers with yours when you move his hand from his thigh. Under the light, you can see it clearly, dark strokes of ink forming a pretty butterfly, tiny, and heart-achingly familiar.
“Is it..” You trail off, moving your lips around words that you can’t get out as tears sting your eyes. “Did I draw this?” Leaning over him, you get as close as you can, using your finger to trace the shape.
Sitting up on his elbows, he looks down at you with a worried look on his face as he nods. “Do you hate it?”
“I love it.. it’s perfect.” You let go of his hand, using the back of your fingers to wipe at your eyes.
Heeseung sits up, letting his hand cup your cheek and looking at you. He uses his thumb to wipe some of the tears you missed before leaning down and kissing you. His lips move slowly with yours, he’s being gentle, so gentle that you hear your heart thudding in your ears.
“Come sit,” he mumbles against your mouth, helping you up and guiding you into his lap, a whine falling out of him when you sit on his cock and you mumble an apology that you don’t mean.
“When did.. Why did you..”
His shoulders rise and fall in a shrug. “My first birthday I spent without you. I just wanted to have something for you.”
You’ve seen it and you’ve heard it from him, but you still can’t make sense of it. “But you’re.. you’re Heeseung. You’d never get a tattoo, you told me that.”
“I’ll probably never get another tattoo, it hurt like hell,” he says, frowning.
“You’re such a sweetheart.” You cradle his face in your hands, gazing into his eyes, your sweet Heeseung. So different yet so incredibly similar. “You’re, like, obsessed with me.”
There’s a loud adoration in his eyes that makes your stomach turn. “How could I not be?” His smile is wide even though his lips are smushed a little by the way you’re holding his face.
Heeseung tilts his chin towards you so you kiss him, the two of you passing moans and whines between your mouths as you grind on him, his hands gripping your waist under your shirt. He shudders under you, rutting his hips against yours with a groan. He’s harder than ever underneath you, his cock hot between your thighs, pressed up against your core in the most maddening way. It can’t be comfortable for him, the friction from your underwear but he seems like he’s enjoying it just as much as you, maybe more, you think, when he starts throbbing.
Conscious of the boys across the hall, you try your best to be quiet, though Heeseung doesn’t share your concern, his lips parting too wide to keep kissing you and his head falling back as he lets a whine out into the air. His nails dig into your skin, hips speeding up more than you can keep up with as he trembles, clearly so close to the edge that you moan at the sight of him all fucked out in front of you. You chew on your lip, watching his whole face scrunch up before falling to your shoulder, his cum leaking out all over your panties and the tops of your thighs. A grin covers your lips while your pussy aches from the heat of his release and the feeling of his staggered breath hitting your skin. When he finally sits up, sweat slicks the column of his neck and chest, a nervous look in his eyes that he can’t quite bring to meet yours.
“This is j—” Heeseung cuts you off by covering your mouth with his palm.
“I remember. You don’t have to say it, baby, I remember.”
“You were so cute that day,” you say when he moves his hand. Butterflies fill your stomach when you think about it, the first time you ever did anything with each other, with anyone. He was fifteen, with cute round glasses perched on the end of his nose and teeth too big for his mouth, finishing in his jeans with you in his lap.
“You don’t think I’m cute anymore?” he asks, frowning.
“You’re always cute.”
Heeseung grins at your words, so wide and sweet your heart races. He kisses you gently and slips his hand into your underwear, his finger trailing the length of your pussy slowly, groaning into your mouth at how wet you are. You whine into the kiss when he strokes your clit and gasp when he pushes a finger into you easily. Gradually, he adds more fingers, fucking you open on his knuckles and watching as you fall apart.
His lips move from yours, falling to your neck so he can kiss and suck the sensitive skin there. “You feel so good, baby. My sweet girl,” he mumbles, breath searing your skin. The words make you clench, your stomach fluttering relentlessly as he uses his thumb to press on your clit, the pressure enough to make you spiral. It’s all too much too fast and before long, you’re squirming and mewling in Heeseung’s arms, finishing all over his fingers.
Immediately, an excruciating flush burns every inch of your body as you hide your face in his neck to catch your breath. His arms wrap around you and he whispers sweet nothings into your hair while stroking your back.
Ever since that night in his room, all your senses feel heightened when Heeseung is around.
And it doesn’t help that you spend every waking moment with him. Whether in his flat or yours, you’re joined at the hip and it’s near impossible not to pounce on him. In your stomach blooms a heat you haven’t felt in years. An all-consuming flame that makes you hold your breath when he cuddles you; makes you look away when he strips before showering.
He’s taken a liking to shirtlessness, only seeming to remember that the garments exist when he has to leave the house—which isn’t often now that classes have ended. This sudden cotton allergy plagues you, burning the image of his ever-increasing muscle definition and the tattoo on his hip into your memory, so deeply they’re the only things you see when you close your eyes at night.
Even when Heeseung’s being romantic, cooking dinner for the two of you and almost burning his finger with a match while lighting a candle, you’re thinking about him fucking you. When he goes out with the boys and stumbles into your flat, drunk, with a crushed bouquet in his hands, you’re thinking about what might have happened if you’d gone out too. If he’d finger you in the back of a taxi or take you against the door when you got back.
Weeks go by like this until you finally reach your limit.
There’s nothing overtly sexual about the way Heeseung’s sitting. About the way his lashes kiss his cheeks when he blinks, or the way his hair sits in a sleepy mess on his forehead. But it’s Heeseung. So these things existing on him drive you crazy.
Given the lack of privacy in your family homes — by way of an open-door rule when visiting each other — you and Heeseung didn’t have many opportunities to have sex that didn’t involve being tangled around one another in the backseat of his car. And even those occasions were few and far between.
With the only three brain cells that seem to function around your shirtless boyfriend and your head on the doorjamb, you begin to scheme. It doesn’t have to be elaborate—just a way to get Heeseung to fuck you without you having to bring it up.
“What’s up, baby?” he asks, finally looking over at you. His voice pulls you out of your thoughts, with a raspiness to it that makes your thoughts run wild. From head to toe, his eyes drag over your body, his tongue coming out to run over his lips.
Clearly, a very delicate, well-timed conversation is in order and the gears in your mind scrape against each other, turning egregiously as you try to figure out how to start the conversation. “I want you to fuck me,” you blurt out. Not the most delicate approach, but the way Heeseung’s eyes widen suggests you might be on the right track. “I didn’t mean to say that,” you admit sheepishly.
He chuckles deeply in a way you haven’t heard in years. “So you don’t want me to fuck you?” There’s a challenge in his question, evident from his raised brow, the setting aside of his phone, and the way he sits up straight. The movement forces the duvet to slip a little, falling from above his belly button to his hips in one fell — effortlessly sexy — swoop.
In spite of this, you can’t help but roll your eyes at him. How could you be standing there, in nothing but his t-shirt, asking him to fuck you and he’s caught up on semantics? “That’s not what I’m saying.”
“What are you saying?” When you don’t say anything, Heeseung lifts the duvet from his body entirely, grinning when your gaze locks on his hips. His pyjama pants are sitting low enough to show off the waistband of his underwear, and they don’t do anything to hide the way his hard cock pushes against them.
Heeseung towers over you, overwhelming you and the space of the doorframe as his mouth quirks up at one corner. “You want it, baby?” he asks, his voice soft as he cups your face in his hand, using his thumb to trace your lips.
His face dips down to yours and you can’t resist reaching up to kiss him, whining at the contact as you move your lips in sync with his. The sounds he’s making are dizzying, deep groans you feel in your chest. His hand grips your waist, pulling you as close as possible so you can feel him, hard and thick, pressing against you.
You whimper when he pulls away, chasing his kiss, but Heeseung only chuckles. “Say the word and I’m yours,” he whispers, looking down at you with those big eyes.
“I’m not going to beg.”
He smiles sweetly, a soft curve of his lips summoning butterflies. “Suit yourself,” he says, leaning down to press a kiss to the base of your neck and leaving the room.
Flustered, you follow him, flinging your arms around his waist and pressing your face into his back. “Okay, I’m going to beg.”
“I’m listening.”
“I need you,” you mumble into his skin.
“You have me.”
Even though his words and the way his lips audibly split into a grin make your heart race, you can’t help your frustration. “Heeseung,” you say, pleading with him.
He frees himself from your grip, turning around. When you look up at him, he’s watching you closely through lidded eyes, his lips parted in a soft pout that makes your heart melt. His arms wrapped around your shoulders, holding you close enough to feel him pressing against you. “I’m all yours, baby. What’s up?”
“Why are you torturing me?”
This makes him smile as he shakes his head. “I’m not.”
“Please.”
He brings a hand up to your face, his thumb stroking your cheek and you can’t help but nuzzle into his palm. “Please what?”
“You know what I need and I can’t go any longer without it,” you mumble into his hand. Heeseung only raises a brow and you sigh. Somehow, your want for him is greater than your embarrassment so you sigh, looking him in the eye. “If you want to, please, please, fuck me, Heeseung. Any way you want, baby, just promise me you’ll do it. I need it, need you.”
A shit-eating grin takes over his face as he leans down to press a kiss to your forehead. “Was that so hard?” he asks, frowning when you don’t reply. “Don’t get all moody, baby, talk to me.”
Heeseung picks you up, holding you close as you wrap your legs around his waist. Both of his hands are spread over your ass and you’re too embarrassed to say anything, chewing your lip and staring at the little mole on his forehead.
“Need me to fuck you ‘til you can talk again?” There’s a roughness to his voice that makes your cheeks flush, but you can’t help but laugh, head falling back in a fit of cackles.
“What are you talking about?”
His pretty lips come together in a pout before he speaks. “I don’t know.” He shrugs, the tips of his ears burning red as he carries you to his room, using his foot to close the door behind him. “I’m rusty.”
You shake your head before kissing his forehead. “You’re perfect.”
Heeseung sets you down on the bed gently, crawling over you. “I like seeing you in my shirts,” he says, clutching the fabric in his fists, tugging a little.
“Someone has to wear them.”
A breathy laugh falls from his lips. “What?” He tilts his head, leaning away from you to sit back on his heels. “You don’t like seeing me like this?”
It’s hard to find a balance between missing his warmth and looking at his body. Staring at the definition that marks his chest and stomach and the way his muscles stick out over his biceps, you can feel yourself leaking at the sight of him. Your eyes catch on his waistband, on the strip of hair that’s cut off by the start of the fabric before falling to the bulge in his pants.
“You’re looking at me like I’m your next meal,” he mumbles, leaning back over you with a deep flush on his cheeks and neck.
“I think I want you to be.”
“You think?”
You nod eagerly, anticipation swirling in your stomach.
“Anything I can do to make you certain?” Heeseung’s voice is thick with something you think could be enough to make you finish.
“Whatever you want,” you say, desperate.
He chews on his lip, considering you for a while before kissing your cheek. Once more, he sits up, tugging at your waist. “First, I want this shirt out of my way,” he says with a smile.
Immediately, you lean off the bed to let him take it off, tossing it behind him. “Anything else?”
Heeseung’s too busy staring to speak, taking you in hungrily with a jarring combination of lust and adoration behind his eyes. You thought you’d feel shy about him seeing you after so long, but you’ve never felt more comfortable in your life as he reaches down to lock his fingers with yours. He brings your hand up to his mouth, kissing the back of it. “You’re so pretty,” he says against your skin.
There’s no stopping the flutter in your stomach or the smile that spreads over your lips. You tell him you love him and he says it back as he leans back down to kiss you slowly, his tongue licking into your mouth at an agonising pace, a line of saliva connecting you to him when he pulls away.
“I want to get my head between your legs,” he mumbles, letting his hand dip between your spread thighs. “So wet already?” he asks, dragging your slick up to your clit, rubbing it with a featherlight touch that leaves a whine slipping from your lips. “Will you let me?”
You nod.
Heeseung smiles and you match it before he dips his head into the crook of your neck, kissing the skin there for a minute. His breath and wet mouth are hot, burning a trail down to your collarbone and chest, where he gets distracted, pulling one of your nipples between his lips.
Your stomach twists at the sight of him, his pretty, pouty lips sucking and biting at your sensitive skin, the way he’s moaning against you, using his thick fingers to tug and pinch your other breast. It takes him a while to move on but you don’t complain, even when he presses tickly kisses to your stomach.
When he reaches your legs, he gets off the bed, kneels on the floor and hooks his arms around your thighs to pull you towards him. You feel exposed when he uses his thumbs to spread you, staring at your pussy with wide eyes, his lips parted a little until his head falls back with a groan.
“Missed this pussy. Been thinking about it so much, all the time. So beautiful, baby.” He manages to drag his gaze from between your legs to lock eyes with you. “You’re so beautiful, baby.” His lips touch your thighs, kissing the soft skin there, sucking marks into it and biting softly. The sting is subtle but it makes you clench, a movement that isn’t lost on him. “You’re so needy, huh? You want me that bad?” he asks, looking up with a tilted head.
You mumble the word ‘no’ and shake your head. “Need you.” The words come out of their own accord, nothing more than a desperate whine that makes Heeseung press his eyes shut. You watch as he shifts on the floor, leaning in and giving you the attention you deserve.
Heeseung’s nose grazes your slit and you gasp at the sudden contact, flinging your head back into the pillows when he licks a strip from there to your clit, giving it a quick peck.
You card your fingers through his hair, gripping at the strands so hard it must hurt, but he doesn’t seem to mind, going slow despite the way you’re trying to rut against his face. He kisses the spot above your clit, his tongue poking out to lick at the skin there, only hitting the bud a few times and the anticipation is enough to make you spiral.
Time stands still, all concept of it demolished when, finally, he wraps his lips around your swollen clit, running his tongue over it with a pressure that leaves you shaking against the sheets. Moans pour out of you like water from a faucet with nothing but pleasure and Heeseung’s sweet mouth crossing your mind.
It doesn’t seem like he’s ever going to stop, only coming up for air for a brief moment before sticking a finger into you and attaching his mouth to your clit, burying himself in your wetness. The stretch is minimal, barely registering in the waves of pleasure crashing over you, until he adds a second finger, thick and rigid as he works you open for him. By the time his third finger enters, you have to pull him away by his hair, struggling to find the words to say and settling on a whiny cry of his name.
“Hmm?” He looks up at you, face covered in slick that shines on his chin and nose, shoulders rising and falling heavily, but his fingers don’t let up, curling towards your belly button torturously slow.
“Want to cum with you inside.”
Heeseung’s eyes darken and he licks his lips. “Yeah?”
“Uh-huh, and I don’t want you using a condom either, want you to fill me up.”
“Are you sure?”
You nod. “I’m still on the pill and you’re the only person I’ve ever been with.”
Heeseung wastes no time standing up from the floor, watching hungrily as you sigh at the emptiness, moving up on the bed. He uses his fist to pump his cock slowly, sighing when he drags his thumb over his tip. A beat passes before he grins, boyish and handsome while crawling over you again. His face softens and his eyes burn into yours as he cups your cheek in his palm. “You sure about this?”
“I’m sure, Heeseung, you’re all I want,” you whisper, pecking his lips.
“Me too.”
He uses his free hand to reach for his cock, rubbing his tip over your clit and chewing on his lip. He lets his cock split your folds, grinding his length against you, rubbing your cunt with a wet sound that fills the room. Heeseung straightens up and you moan when he spits into his palm, stroking himself before pressing the head of his cock to your entrance. You hold your breath, bracing for the stretch and crying out when he pushes in. His head falls forward with a sigh, his hair tickling your forehead.
“I missed you,” he groans when he bottoms out, his thumb running over your lips. A moan slips out of him when you open your mouth, running your thumb over the pad of his finger and sucking on it. “Missed these pretty lips, this pussy. Don’t know how I got on without it.” His words and the feeling of him inside after so long only make you dizzy, knowing that he wanted you like you wanted him. He watches you with parted lips, rocking his hips tenderly against yours.
“Faster, Hee,” you whisper. “Harder.”
Heeseung’s brows knit together and he slows to a pace that lets you feel single vein and inch of him as he bottoms out before pulling almost all the way out. “Can you take it?” he asks, a jarring tone to his voice that you think is a challenge.
You nod desperately. “Please.”
The word flips a switch for him and he speeds up, thrusting so hard, so deep that your back arches off the bed as his tip nudges your g-spot each time. Just when it all starts to feel too much, Heeseung lifts one of your legs, hitting deeper than he has before and tangling up a knot in your stomach.
“You’re so good, baby, so good for me.” His eyes are dark and lidded, full of all the love in the world as he gazes into yours, a tangible love that overwhelms you, eating you alive along with his praise.
Sweltering heat stretches through every part of your body at the drag of him inside, the push and pull of his cock along your stuttering walls. It’s enough to make you shiver and a cry of his name rips out of you when he starts rubbing your clit again, pushing the bud in slow circles that make you screw your eyes shut.
“That’s it. Cum for me, baby, make a mess,” he whispers and that’s as much as you can take.
Stars flash behind your closed eyes as every single part of your body sets alight, dazed by Heeseung’s whines and the feeling of being full, finally being full, until both ends of the knot tug and tug, leaving you with nothing but a hoarse moan that dies in your throat as your orgasm hits you like a truck.
A lewd squelch accompanies each of his thrusts as they get sloppier and sloppier, losing their rhythm and intensity. It seems like he’s right there with you though when he collapses on top of you, his head falling into the crook of your neck and his moans slipping out like music to your ears.
It’s hard not to fall apart under him, but you try your best, dragging your nails over the toned muscles of his back while telling him you love him over and over until he finishes. Both of you are trembling, fighting for breath and whining as Heeseung sloppily fucks you full of his cum. The sound is downright pornographic, loud and wet as your cum mixes with his for the first time in so long. An inexplicable intimacy so thick it hangs in the air, perching on your shoulders as he looks into your eyes.
Heeseung slows down after a while, stopping completely but not pulling out yet, keeping you full and aching around him. When he catches his breath, he gives you a dreamy smile, thanking you before pressing soft kisses to every part of your face he can reach.
You whine when he pulls out, missing him as soon as he’s gone. Despite your sensitivity, you want to beg him to come back, to slip back into you and stay forever, though Heeseung has other plans. He sits between your legs, dragging a lazy finger up your slit and watching with a smile as cum leaks out. You squirm against the sheets, pushing your head into the pillow when he uses two fingers to push it back in.
“Wish I could keep you full like this forever,” he mumbles absently, curling his fingers.
All you can do is sigh happily. Long minutes go by until he takes his fingers out of you, reaching behind him for his shirt to wipe you up before leaning down to your face, mumbling against your lips to come and shower with him.
You’ve never showered with Heeseung before and a voice in your head tells you to press your cheek against the tile and let him have you again, but you’re way too sleepy for that. The warmth of the water and his big hands roaming your body do nothing to help, only forcing your eyes to fall shut as you lean back against Heeseung’s chest, willing yourself to stay awake.
Once you’re all showered and clean, you only feel sleepier, standing on the plush bath mat in front of the steamed-up mirror. Droplets of water trickle down your skin and you can’t help but revel in the warmth of the room around you. Wrapped snugly in a soft, fluffy towel, you find yourself too tired to follow Heeseung out, slathering some of the expensive moisturiser Jay keeps in the bathroom over your skin. You peer into the mirror, though you don’t see much, and for a moment, it’s just you and the steady trickle of water from the showerhead. The bathroom smells like Heeseung’s minty shower gel and you miss him already, but you take your time anyway, savouring the moment and everything that came before it.
You find him in his room when you’re done, tucking the last corner of a fitted sheet around his mattress.
“You want to nap, baby?” he asks when he sees you, holding out a clean shirt for you to wear.
“Mm,” you hum, nodding your head and dropping the towel so he can put the shirt over your head.
“Let me just fix the pillowcases, yeah?”
You nod, slumping into his desk chair and watching the muscles in his back shift and flex as he moves around the room, dumping the dirty bedding into his laundry basket and slipping the clean linen over his pillows. He pulls the duvet back and pats the mattress, grinning when you shake your head and make grabby hands in his direction,
Heeseung stretches his arms above his head and comes over to you but you stop him before he can pick you up.
“I’m going grocery shopping with Yunjin later and I need a pound for the trolley, do you have any?” you ask through a yawn.
He scratches his chin, thinking about it. “If I do, they’re in my wallet,” he says, reaching for it on the desk and handing it to you before taking a seat on the end of his bed.
When you pull on the zipper to open the coin slot, you find a shiny pound coin and a folded piece of lined paper. You leave the coin where it is and hold the paper between two fingers for him to see. “What’s this?”
Immediately, he hides his face with his hands but you can still see the flush on his ears. You’re not sure what reaction you were expecting, but despite your curiosity, you won’t look at it if he doesn’t want you to. “Sorry, baby,” you say, putting it back. “Forget I asked.”
Heeseung sighs, looking up at you through the gaps in his fingers. “You can look if you want, it’s nothing bad, just mildly humiliating.”
Nervous anticipation settles over your body and you can’t help but laugh a little, feeling your breath catch in your throat when you unfold the crumpled and creased paper. It’s blank. You arch a curious brow at Heeseung, who, though still slightly embarrassed, gestures for you to turn it over.
What meets your eyes on the other side leaves you stunned. There, inked in blue with delicate care yet bearing the natural imperfections of a hand-drawn butterfly, was a familiar image. It’s the very same butterfly you drew in your notebook on a spring date with him four years ago. Your fingers tremble as you trace the lines, your heart racing as you remember how he’d torn it from the page, eyes full of appreciation for the simple drawing.
Tears well up in your eyes when it dawns on you. It’s the very same butterfly he has tattooed on his hip, a permanent reminder of your love that endured separation and time.
Your voice is weak as you look up at him, quivering with emotion. “You kept it after all these years,” you whisper.
Heeseung smiles, his eyes full of love. “I never let go of what matters to me.”
Anonymous asked: Being arranged to jay in a marriage and hes distant at first but notices his new partner who has a nice plush ass, wide hips and plump tits. His brain goes mmm breeding material but youre just an innocent girl with a pornstar body?
WORDCOUNT: 1.1k
NOTE: tumblr wouldn't let me answer it as an ask :/ also, not proofread.
So, you're in an arranged marriage for more than one reason. Rather than being "innocent", you're just a total bimbo. Fr, everything you've ever wanted or needed has been handed to you on a silver platter. Your parents are super protective of you though, mostly out of fear that you'd be taken advantage of, right? right.
So, you've never had a boyfriend, no girlfriend, no friends [outside of the maids and nannies that you spend so much time with.] You were homeschooled, never expected to go to college either, because why work if you're already well taken care of and financially protected?
Your parents suggest an arranged marriage, mostly so they can choose and judge who you will be spending your life with. They don't trust you to go out into the world and find someone suitable, after all, so....why not make an arranged marriage work for the whole family?
Jay is the first son of a rich C.E.O and is expected to take over the business sooner rather than later. He's polite, bordering too-stoic, but very much a good man in your parent's eyes. He appears to see the arrangement as a business deal rather than anything else, after all, he was raised much like you were except...he's a man. He has needs, and they are frequently met by using the lovely little black card. He's not looking for love anyway, the late nights to the VIP club lounges is really all he needs.
Until he saw you.
Until he fucking saw you.
What he thought would be a great boost to business and a good little photo op, where you're married to him but both of you just do your own thing....turns into, well-
"Shit, are you a virgin?" Jay shushes you before you can answer. Your little whimper of "It hurts" ringing too loudly in his ears. Still, he feels the nod as he presses your face into the pillows with a hand at the back of your neck.
His eyes roll back in pleasure at your nod. Honestly, with a body like that? A virgin? He'd have figured you've fucked around by now. But you haven't, and that just might be the greatest thing he's heard all fucking day. So, he points his hips with intention now, penetrating deep. If at all because he can't fucking help it.
"Can't believe they're just giving you to me."
You can't answer with the corner of the pillow in your mouth and all, but even if you could, you wouldn't know what to say to him.
Marriage. Business. He'd support you, wait on you hand and foot? Yes. That's what you expected. Honestly, the idea of sex has been forbidden from you for so long that you half expected your father to keep that rule with Jay too, even after marriage.
And here you are, meeting him briefly at his house just a week before the wedding. Your driver had dropped you off, the intention of the visit being to finalize all of the wedding details and put in any last opinions considering neither of you are planning it.
You really didn't expect to find yourself face down on Jay's bed, where he ushered you the moment he saw you. Muttering something along the lines of "You're alone? Fucking finally."
It's not like you entirely mind either, it's not like he didn't immediately make out with you all the way to his bedroom. It's not like you didn't make out with him right back, even if you were surprised. It's really just the fact that you were totally unprepared to have a cock that big shoved in you for the first time on a Monday afternoon.
You've wondered for years what it was like to have sex, anyway, always fumbling around with your fingers and never quite feeling as good or as full as you do now.
It's overwhelmingly hot, pleasurable, even. And the fact that Jay is handsome only makes this that much better. You'll be marrying him next week anyway, why does it matter if you're letting him do this right now?
After next week, your father will no longer be controlling what you do. It'll be Jay, if he wants to. You can only imagine the amount of sex the two of you will be having after it's official, so...you enjoy it.
Moaning, groaning, feeling that pit in your stomach intensify with each push of his cock inside of you, his breath on your shoulder, whispering filth to you between questions to get to know you.
To anyone else, it would seem insane. But the fact of the matter is, you've never actually been together alone. Never had the opportunity to really get to know each other.
"You want kids?" He had whispered right against your neck, pushing deeper into you and holding himself there.
You nod.
"How many?" He half-groans.
You managed to moan out a "4", which had him moving faster, harder.
"Yeah?" He hummed, kissing your prickled skin and well aware that you're going to have him wrapped around your fucking pinky. "You feel that?"
And there it is, the feeling of his cock pulsing inside of you, thick ropes of cum shooting deep against your cervix, the promise of pregnancy coming along side the ring he's about to put on your finger.
You moan out, surprised by how you can feel it spilling out of you with each sensitive thrust he offers to you, seemingly pushing his cum in and out of you while simultaneously snaking his hand under you to reach your clit.
A whine falls from your lips at the sudden orgasm, so so sensitive, a feeling so intense and new because even when you played with yourself, never did you reach climax like this. You shake under him, clenching his spent length through your own orgasm until he gently pulls out and flips you over.
He eyes you over, only now able to see you this closely because he finally got you alone without one of your parent's attached to your side. You really are totally his fucking type. And you're all his.
"I think this is going to work out." He mumbles, inspecting you even more closely, ashamed that he didn't even get your top off before pressing you down on his bed. Embarrassed that he didn't have you facing him through your first time.
He'll make it up to you next time.
"I'll take good care of you, and I'll be more gentle too." He continues, watching you try to regain your balance of breath. "I didn't know you were a virgin..."
You smile, eyes drowsy, suddenly feeling very sleepy...comfortable. Knowing that this will be the very bed you'll be sleeping in soon enough.
"It's okay." You whisper, clearing your throat and then repeating it in a more confident voice. "If I didn't like it, I would just tell my dad."
Jay's eyes widen, fear reaching his expression as he stares down at you, but you're quick to reassure him.
Money, sex, and a lifetime of feeling like luck was never really on your side—until the universe decided to fuck with you in the most inconvenient way possible. What started as simple coexisting turned into something more when you paid a little too much attention to your quiet, awkward, painfully responsible roommate—who, on paper, is a complete fucking loser. But, hey, he’s not that bad!
In which Sim Jaeyun becomes the only genuinely good, unfairly lucky thing that’s ever happened to you… and just like everything else in your life, good things have a way of slipping right through your fingers. So now you have to figure it out, fix it, or risk losing the only thing that ever felt right before you run Out of Luck.
1: AGAINST THE ODDS
content tags and warnings: roommate au! romantic comedy, jake is an engineering student x volleyball varsity player reader, ANGST for this chapter! profanities, jake has braces! hopeless romantic reader (she almost get off), internal conflict, jake is such an awkward introverted baby (he likes lego and collects hot-wheels), burning slowburn (slow pacing i swear), superstitious beliefs, lots of awkward erm moments, jake is secretly a simp, reader is pathetic, ft. karina, other kpop idols and robots as side characters. explicit content (smut): sub! jake, virginity loss, handjob, lots of kissing, grinding, unprotected sex. (WC: 35.2K)
Unlucky with money, unlucky in your love life, unlucky in your sex life too, which felt like a cruel fucking trifecta to kick off 2026.
As if the universe had taken one look at you and decided to stack the odds just to see how much you could take before cracking. You rang in the new year under the table eating grapes, promising yourself things would get better even though you didn't really believe it, because every year started the same way—broke, tired, horny, and stuck pretending you had your shit together when you absolutely didn't.
Well... this year, your varsity scholarship barely did more than keep you enrolled, covering tuition and some little allowance, nothing else, which meant every other expense came straight out of your pocket, and college was already draining you dry without rent, utilities, groceries, and all the other bullshit that came with trying to survive in the city.
You worked your ass off, trained until your muscles screamed, counted every dollar like it might disappear if you didn't watch it closely enough, and still it never felt like enough, the numbers never quite lining up no matter how careful you were. Living alone had been a nice idea, but it died fast once you actually looked at the prices, reality slapping you hard enough that you didn't bother pretending anymore.
That was how you ended up scanning roommate listings with a pit in your stomach, sitting through awkward interviews, nodding politely while doing mental math in your head, telling yourself you could deal with almost anyone if it meant splitting the bills and not drowning.
That was how you ended up with a roommate. Andddd your roommate was a boy named Sim Jaeyun.
"Is he like so handsome and hot?" Karina yelled as she spiked the ball straight at you, and you dropped to your knees on the covered court to receive it. "Most people fall in love with their roommates! Take it as a chance—remember when Coach made you eat grapes under the table during New Year's? They said you'd meet your true love within the year. It's a sign!"
No. What the fuck.
Because Sim Jaeyun was... different, and that was putting it nicely. Geeky was the first word that always popped into your head whenever you thought about him, followed closely by awkward as hell, because the first time you met him during that short, painfully quiet interview, he stuttered through half his sentences and wouldn't stop fidgeting with his hands like they had a mind of their own, tapping, twisting, pulling at his sleeves until you wondered if he was going to vibrate right out of the chair.
Still, annoyingly enough, he was better than most of the people who applied—clean record, stable background, no weird red flags on paper—which was how he made the cut despite the whole mess of nerves.
The first week really sealed it for you, though, because when you came back from training one night, you found him sprawled on the living room floor for hours, surrounded by Lego pieces, carefully snapping them together with this intense focus, and you just stood there for a moment, eyebrow twitching, face twisting before you could stop yourself. You weren't trying to be judgmental—at least that's what you told yourself—but watching a grown man play with Legos like that weirded you the fuck out, and the word loser lodged itself in your brain whether you liked it or not.
Sometimes you'd pass by his room and sneak a glance inside, catching sight of his tiny model cars lined up neatly on a shelf, perfectly arranged, and every time it made your stomach tighten with secondhand embarrassment, because this was the guy you were stuck sharing a space with, the supposed "true love" the universe was trying to shove into your life, and you already knew there was no fucking way.
"Come on, tell me more about this roommate of yours, why are you so quiet about it? It's been like five months," Karina laughed, and you couldn't help yourself as you spiked the ball straight toward her face, irritation snapping through your arm, only for her to catch it effortlessly and fling it right back at you like it was nothing.
You scoffed as you received it, rolling your shoulders, already annoyed at how easily she brushed you off.
"It's nothing special like you're trying to romanticize, okay?" you shot back. "All I know is he's an engineering major with this weird-ass Lego and tiny car obsession, and whenever he actually talks—which is rare as hell—it's always about practical shit like the rent, the electricity bill, or some absentminded 'hi' if we happen to cross paths at the exact right second."
"Oooh, a nerdy type?" Karina teased, eyes lighting up as she bounced on her feet, clearly enjoying this way too much. "So he's not that talkative? Why don't you try asking him more?"
"Why would I?" you shot back, eyebrow lifting just as the shrill sound of the coach's whistle cut through the air, making both of you snap your heads toward the court as he signaled for a break.
You grabbed your towel and water bottle, walking alongside Karina toward the bench, sweat clinging to your skin while she kept running her mouth like she always did. "Because it's for the thrill," she continued, lowering her voice only slightly, hands hovering in the air as if she were pitching some grand idea. "I mean, you literally told us you want to get laid but you don't do hookups, so hello? The opportunity is right there in your fucking apartment. Grab it. So you don't have to masturbate all the time."
"Jesus, no," you muttered, unscrewing your bottle and taking a long drink, water spilling down your chin as you scoffed. "I bet that man is a fucking virgin," you added without hesitation, already pushing off the bench and heading back toward the court as the break ended, trying to leave the whole conversation behind with your towel tossed over your shoulder.
"And what if he was?" Karina shouted after you. "Are you not curious at all? You're not even talking about it, and it's a man. It's a big deal!"
You clenched your jaw as you took your position, telling yourself to shut it out, to focus on the ball, the court, the rhythm of your body moving the way it always had, but her words slipped under your skin anyway.
It wasn't like Sim Jaeyun—Jake, as he awkwardly introduced himself—was unattractive, and that realization annoyed you even more, because technically, objectively, he had the kind of face people trusted without thinking twice. Innocent-looking, pale skin that never seemed to tan no matter how much time passed, a pointed nose, plump lips that curved into an almost shy smile, and those stupid braces flashing whenever he talked about something painfully mundane like daily water consumption, as if that was the most important thing in the world.
And fuck, speaking of masturbation, that thought made you shift uncomfortably because you did it—a lot—at least you used to, but somewhere along the line it had stopped, and you couldn't even pinpoint when or why. Maybe it was the brutal training schedule, the constant exhaustion, your body collapsing into bed every night without energy for anything else, or maybe it was the fact that you were now living with a boy, his quiet presence seeping into your routines in ways you didn't want to think about too closely... wait NO, you were not going to let Karina's words worm their way into your head, not when you had bigger priorities, like finally getting some long-overdue "me time" with your own body. You'd barely had the space to breathe, let alone touch yourself properly, and now there was the added complication of sharing an apartment with a guy.
Thin walls, shared spaces, the constant awareness that someone else existed just a few steps away made everything feel awkward and exposed, like privacy had become this fragile thing you had to tiptoe around. But then... why the fuck were you letting his weird shy-boy aura control what you did with your own body in your own apartment? Get a grip. It was 2026, for fuck's sake, and women didn't have to shrink themselves or pretend they didn't have needs, didn't want pleasure, didn't get horny. It wasn't embarrassing to want it, to crave it, to take care of yourself, and you refused to feel guilty about it. You decided right then that you were masturbating tonight, no excuses, no letting some awkward roommate situation dictate your life.
When you got home, you dumped your bag by the door and locked yourself in your room, kicking off your shoes and collapsing onto the bed, trying to force your muscles to relax and your mind to shut the hell up.
Jake was just some innocent presence in your thoughts, nothing more, but... maybe he really was some timid little virgin. He was so damn quiet, so careful, that doing something dirty under the same roof almost felt wrong, like you were corrupting the space just by wanting it. And of course, the more you tried not to think about him, the more firmly he lodged himself in your head, sooo stubborn and intrusive.
"Shit," you breathed, shifting on the bed as your fingers slid between your thighs, touching yourself slowly. "Stop thinking, stop thinking, fuck," you whispered, eyes squeezing shut, but the moment you did, your brain betrayed you, flashing an image of him sitting in the living room, hunched over his stupid Lego sets, completely absorbed and unaware.
Your eyes flew open when you felt how wet you were getting, heat pooling low in your belly, because suddenly the idea of getting off in the same space where he always sat, that couch where he spent hours building his little towers, started to turn you on. You imagined yourself sprawled there instead, hand buried between your thighs, touching yourself openly while he sat just a few feet away, quiet and focused, oblivious or maybe not, and the image sent a dirty thrill through you that made your breath hitch. What the fuck?!
"Weirdo," you thought, jaw tightening as your fingers moved faster. You're a fucking weirdo, and yet you didn't stop, didn't pull your hand away, because your body didn't give a shit about shame.
You let out a soft, broken sound as your hand finally slid where the tension had been coiling all night, nudging your underwear aside, your pulse spiking when your brain betrayed you again with the idea of him noticing, of him catching you in the act, the possibility alone pouring gasoline on an already reckless fire. You couldn't stop imagining his reaction if he walked in and saw you sprawled on the couch, touching yourself without shame—eyes blown wide, jaw slack, stuttering over some useless apology while his ears burned red—or worse, the thought that he wouldn't even realize what you were doing, that he'd sit there beside you completely oblivious while your body unraveled, sent an uneasy shiver down your spine that had nothing to do with pleasure.
Dude? You barely even talked to him. You shared a space, not a life, and your brain choosing this to fixate on made you feel unhinged in the most irritating way.
"Shit," you muttered out loud, dragging yourself back into reality when a sudden noise broke through your haze. Some kind of rummaging echoing from outside your room.
Your eyebrows knitted together in irritation as you shoved yourself off the bed, fixing your clothes, wiping your hands and padded across the floor. When you opened the door and stepped into the living room, the sight waiting for you, Jake was face down on the floor, his arms spread out. And circling nearby, bumping into his side, was a little round vacuum robot, whirring around.
This was it. This was the image your brain had been spiraling over all night. You stared at him for a long second, annoyance with disbelief, and the tension draining out of you in one sharp exhale. What a fucking loser.
"Uhh, hey," you said. You walked a little closer, looking down at him with your arms crossed. "Are you okay?" Your eyes flicked toward the robot, then back to him. "Where the hell did that come from?"
Jake pushed himself up on his elbows, his hair messy and sticking to his forehead, his glasses tilted crooked on his face. His cheeks were red—whether from embarrassment or just hitting the floor, you couldn't tell. "Ah... uh... my friend gave it to me," he muttered quickly. He didn't look up at you once, his eyes glued to the floor as if meeting your gaze would make him combust. "I-It's, uh... I fixed it. There's still an error but... uhhh, it would help us clean... you know."
You narrowed your eyes at the little robot, watching it bump clumsily against the leg of the table, circle around for a second, and then slam itself into the same spot again.
"Uh... I thought these things were supposed to, like, go the other way when they hit something?" You raised your eyebrow, arms folded as you leaned against the wall, still focused on the thing rolling around.
"It's still not fixed," Jake admitted under his breath, his tone shrinking down even more. He sat himself upright, knees bent, scratching at the back of his head. "W-Wait, I... I'll just turn it off."
You watched him scramble toward the robot, his movements frantic, It almost made you laugh, how hard he tried not to fuck up while he was clearly already fucking up. His shoulders were tense, his breath a little quick, and you could practically feel how badly he wanted this scene to end and you thought he was some kind of idiot.
The thing was, after that day, your eyes didn't really stop following him.
Okaaay, it was nothing, just the result of sharing the same damn space with another person, bound to notice shit when you lived under the same roof, and if anyone was to blame, it was Karina and her big mouth planting stupid ideas in your head. Still, it felt like some traitorous part of your brain had started recording him without permission, filing away details you had no reason to care about, noticing patterns you definitely didn't ask for.
In the mornings, when you dragged yourself out of bed half-dead and sore, there he was in the kitchen, quiet as always, pouring chocolate almond milk into a mug and sipping it like some kind of kid who never grew out of comfort drinks. No coffee, no energy drink, no caffeine-fueled desperation like a normal college student, just fucking chocolate almond milk, and it made you wrinkle your nose every time because who the hell does that and survives?
When you mentioned it to Karina one day during warm-ups, she didn't even hesitate. "Okay, I bet his cum tastes good," she said casually, and you stopped mid–jumping jack, staring at her like she'd lost her goddamn mind, heat crawling up your neck despite yourself.
That was also when you started noticing his schedule, because it was painfully predictable in a way that almost felt unsettling. Out of the apartment by eight, back by five, every single day, like his life ran on rails and deviation wasn't an option, and when you realized he actually went to bed at eight in the fucking evening, you nearly laughed out loud. Nobody did that. Nobody except him, apparently, which finally explained why the apartment was always dark and dead silent when you stumbled home late, and why that stupid little sign taped to the wall—Please don't turn the lights on—existed at all. He actually lived by that shit!
"Isn't he so cute and healthy?!" Karina cooed the second you mentioned it, pinching your cheeks between her fingers like you were some kind of toy, and you immediately scoffed, swatting her hand away with a slap. She laughed, completely unfazed, while you rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt, already regretting ever opening your mouth in the first place.
You were absolutely going to blame her for all of this, because if she hadn't started running her mouth about your roommate like he was some kind of rare fucking specimen, none of these thoughts would've taken root. What was so malicious about having a boy roommate anyway? It wasn't a love story, it wasn't fate, it wasn't some goddamn porn plot waiting to happen— and you were getting real tired of your own brain trying to spin it into something bigger than it was, especially when you were flat on your back staring at the ceiling, hands resting on your stomach, forcing yourself to breathe like everything was normal.
"Uh... h-hello..." Three soft knocks landed on your door, followed by another quiet, hesitant "hi," and your chest tightened instantly, irritation floating with the fact that of course it had to be him, the very devil that had been squatting in your thoughts nonstop.
You sighed, staring up at the ceiling for a beat longer like maybe ignoring him would make him disappear, but then another knock came, a little firmer this time, and your eyebrow twitched as annoyance finally won out. You sat up with a sharp movement, clicked your tongue, and stood, swinging the door open hard, only to be met with Jake standing there with his shoulders hunched in that familiar way, back slightly scrunched, an awkward smile tugging at his lips.
"Hi..." he mumble as he scratched at the back of his neck, and your eyes dropped immediately, not out of kindness but because you didn't feel like dealing with his face yet, landing instead on his feet.
Dinosaur slippers. Bright, stupid dinosaur slippers, tapping softly against the floor as he shifted his weight.
"I-I wanted to give you the advance payment... u-uh..." he trailed off, fumbling with something in his hands, and you just stood there, watching him struggle.
He finally managed to hold it out to you, bills slightly wrinkled, that same awkward smile glued to his lips, and your eyes betrayed you by drifting up instead of staying where they should've been. Pointed nose, plump lips, the shine of his braces catching the light when he swallowed nervously—fuck, this was absolutely Karina's fault, because somehow, without warning, he looked more attractive than he ever had before.
"Jake," you said, scratching at your ear and straightening your posture, refusing to look directly at him as you took the money from his hand, your fingers brushing his for half a second too long, your heartbeat kicking stupidly hard at the contact.
"Hm?" he responded softly, and you bit your lip, finally lifting your gaze to him, your brain screaming at you to shut up while your mouth had other plans. Ask him something normal... just a question— casual, harmless question— because you were only... a little interested, and that didn't mean shit.
"Do you have a girlfriend?" The words slipped out before you could stop them, blunt and way too direct, and you mentally slapped yourself immediately, because great, now you sounded like the weird one.
"H-huh?" His face went red almost instantly, color blooming across his cheeks as he fumbled with the fabric of his pajama pants, wiping his hands over and over. "I—I don't have..." he said quietly, trailing off as if the sentence itself embarrassed him.
You pressed your lips together and looked away, nodding like that was nothing to react to, crossing your arms and staring down at the floor before glancing back up at him again. "You haven't had anyone?" Fuck, stupid, dumb decision! You cursed yourself again, because apparently you'd lost all sense tonight.
"Uh... I had one b-back in high school," he admitted, eyes still avoiding yours. "But it didn't work."
"Ah," you nodded, forcing a neutral tone you didn't entirely feel, shifting your weight as you stood there in the doorway with money in your hand, suddenly aware that what started as an annoying, harmless question had cracked something open, and now neither of you seemed quite sure how to close it again.
You weren't even sure how you managed to fall asleep that night, because the embarrassment clung to you heavier than exhaustion ever did, replaying the scene over and over until your head hurt. When morning came, you stayed in your room longer than usual, listening for movement outside, making damn sure he wasn't in the living room or the kitchen or anywhere you might accidentally run into him, because the thought of seeing his face after that made your stomach knot. You slipped out only when the apartment was quiet, grabbing your things and leaving like a coward.
Stupid. Idiot. So fucking dumb. You and him barely talked, and suddenly you were asking personal questions like you had any right to them. What the hell would he think? That you were weird? Desperate? Bored? You groaned to yourself, dragging a hand down your face as you walked, already hating how much space the whole thing was taking up in your head.
"This is all your fault," you snapped later, shoving Karina's shoulder as you told her what happened, only for her to burst out laughing.
"Admit it," she said, grinning wide. "You're interested. I mean, something pushed you to talk to him and even ask personal shit."
"It wouldn't be like that if you weren't planting ideas in my head," you hissed back, glaring at her, pointing at your head.
"Oh, dear, dear," she mocked, shaking her head as she leaned in and traced stupid little hearts over your chest with her finger. "You wouldn't be affected at all if it wasn't already there. Stop denying it and just accept it fully."
"Let's think about progress," she continued, clearly enjoying this way too much. "Next time, talk to him more. Ask what songs he listens to, what food he likes—"
"Shut up," you cut in immediately, heat crawling up your neck as you folded your arms tighter. "It's embarrassing."
"No. Listen to me," Karina said, grabbing your shoulder and physically turning you back toward her like she wasn't about to let you escape this. "He's single. And I swear I don't even know him, but from everything you've told me, he's perfect for you. When you see him, don't act all awkward and twitchy. Be confident. Stand straight. Shoulders back. Don't cross your arms like you're about to fight someone." She started counting on her fingers. "Maintain eye contact—even though he won't, that's your advantage. Smile a little. Ask him something normal, like what he's working on, or why he drinks chocolate almond milk, or anything. And if he stutters? Don't jump in. Let him finish. Let him drown a little."
You stared at her with your lips pursed, face twisted in pure secondhand embarrassment. "And why exactly should I listen to you?"
"Because I'm right," she said instantly. Then she tilted her head, eyes narrowing. "Is he your type or not?"
You swallowed. "No. What the fuck."
She didn't miss a beat. "But would you fuck him?"
Silence, your brain running in useless circles while Karina just watched you like she already knew the answer. You exhaled slowly, shoulders sagging. "...Why... not," you muttered.
You hated how much her words stuck with you, hated how they pushed at something you'd been trying to ignore, because when you got home from practice later that evening, there he was in the living room.
Jake was sitting on the floor, legs folded awkwardly as he unscrewed the little vacuum robot, fiddling with its insides before setting it down and watching it.
The moment it rolled in your direction, you saw him stiffen, shoulders tightening before he forced that same awkward smile onto his face.
You paused, heart thudding harder than necessary, Karina's voice echoing in your head, and forced yourself to do exactly what she'd said. You lifted your chin, met his eyes even when he almost looked away, and spoke first.
"Hi," you said, steadying your voice as you held the eye contact.
"Hi," he replied softly, and you watched his throat bob as he swallowed, hands hovering uselessly near the robot.
Your gaze drifted to the little vacuum circling around aimlessly, bumping once against the wall before correcting itself. "...So it's fixed now?" you asked casually, even as you swallowed the lump forming in your throat.
"Y-Yeah," he nodded quickly. "D-Don't worry, it's just a battery issue. It w-won't affect the electric bill."
Of course that was his first concern. You huffed internally, dropped your bag onto the table, and before you could overthink it, you walked straight over and sat down next to him on the floor. Close. He stiffened instantly, shoulders locking up as he subtly scooted a few inches away, trying—and failing—to make it look natural.
"Have you had dinner?" you asked, keeping your tone light, like Karina's voice wasn't screaming instructions in your head. "I was thinking of ordering something. You wanna check?"
Normal. This was normal. Roommates did this shit all the time. It wasn't weird unless someone made it weird.
"Uh—I already a-ate—"
"What about chicken?" you cut, sitting up straighter as you scrolled through your phone and angled it toward him, a poor excuse to lean closer. "Or burgers? Wait—shit, I'm actually on a diet right now. Are you okay with veggies?"
You waited, and... nothing. When you finally looked at him, you realized he was barely breathing, blinking like he'd forgotten how, eyes fixed somewhere over your shoulder like looking at you directly might short-circuit him. "Uh... I already ate," he repeated, voice dropping smaller.
"Oh."
Before you could recover, he stood abruptly, movement jerky, still refusing to meet your eyes as he pointed vaguely toward his room. "I—I need to, uh... I have something to do," he said, bowing slightly out of pure habit before retreating, the door opening and closing with a soft final click.
You stared at the door for a long second before letting your phone drop onto the table, sinking back with a long sigh. Fuck. That went great.
"Maybe he just got overwhelmed?" Karina said the next day, eyebrows raised as she watched you slump forward, elbows on your knees, retelling the disaster. "You did tell me you kind of talk a lot. Or he's just shy as hell."
"What if he thinks I'm weird?" you muttered, rubbing a hand over your face, trying to replay everything from his side.
"No," she said immediately. "Absolutely not. We will try again. Casual questions only. Like... ask about the weather. It's raining today, right?"
And you did. You actually tried. You walked fast all the way home, phone clutched in your hand as you kept checking the time, timing it just right for when Jake was usually in the living room. 6:39 p.m. You fumbled with your keys, nearly tripping over your own feet as you pushed the door open, breath a little too rushed, and thank fuck—there he was, sitting on the couch, eyes glued to the TV.
You pretended to stretch your shoulders as you stepped inside, rolling your neck like you were just another exhausted student coming home, your jersey lifting slightly and revealing more of your black shorts than necessary.
"It's so rainy, fuck," you complained aloud. "I didn't bring an umbrella, so I ran all the way from the university. God, my body hurts," you added, letting out a small groan with your eyes closed, even though it was a lie—you ran because training went overtime and because you didn't want to miss another chance to talk to him.
Silence.
When he didn't respond, you cracked one eye open, then the other, glancing toward him only to find him still completely fixated on the TV, posture relaxed, attention fully absorbed. Your mouth fell open slightly, irritation bubbling up, and when you drifted a little closer to your room under the excuse of passing by. That was when you finally caught what he was watching—some kind of documentary, planets and stars filling the screen, a calm narrator talking about galaxies, gravity, and shit you barely remembered from high school.
You paused, blinking. Seriously? This was his way of relaxing? Sitting there quietly, absorbing new information like it was entertainment? You scoffed under your breath, suddenly feeling stupid, because now talking about the weather felt painfully dumb in comparison, like small talk he wouldn't even care about. Without another word, you turned and went into your room, shutting the door a little harder and dropping onto your bed before forcing yourself to open your notes and study for quizzes you barely cared about.
"Don't give up," Karina said firmly, gripping your shoulders when you sagged forward on the bench, this rare break finally giving you room to breathe after weeks of nonstop training with the city-wide university tournament looming over your head.
"He can barely look at me," you snapped, pointing at yourself, teeth gritted in frustration.
"Because you're too hot and beautiful," she shot back without missing a beat. "He's overwhelmed. He's probably thinking you're so so hot that his brain is literally short-circuiting every time you talk to him. Think about it—it's been a long time since his last relationship." She smoothed your hair like she was calming a feral animal, tone softening.
You both went quiet after that, and you stared off to the side, chewing on the thought despite yourself. Right. Maybe he really was just awkward because it'd been a long time. Maybe you were coming on too strong without realizing it. You needed to be subtle, calmer, casual, like you didn't give a shit even if part of you very clearly did. Play it cool.
That night, you came home with two cups of ramen swinging lightly from your hand, your chest rose and fell from the walk up the stairs, shoulders finally dropping in relief when you stepped inside and saw Jake in the living room. He was crouched on the floor again, tools scattered around him as he fiddled with another robot you'd never seen before, while the stupid circular vacuum from before rolled lazily around the room.
"Hi," you said, still catching your breath.
He looked up at you, eyes wide and innocent for half a second before that familiar awkward smile kicked in, forced and shy all at once, and fuck, the sight of it irritated you because he was unfairly cute in a way that made no sense. "Hi," he replied softly.
You lifted the two ramen cups and walked toward the table, setting your bag down as casually as you could manage. "I bought two," you said, shrugging like it was no big deal. "Got my daily sports allowance and wanted to treat myself... then I thought of you." You shuffled the plastic lids, pretending to be more focused on that than the way his attention locked onto you. "You're probably hungry, right?"
You didn't wait for his answer. You slid one of the ramen cups toward him and finally met his eyes, holding his gaze just long enough to make your point clear without saying it outright, your mouth curling into a small smile. "...Right?"
"U-Uh... t-thank you," he whispered as he shrank in on himself, shoulders curling forward while he opened the container. He flashed you that same awkward, almost childish smile again, and fuck, he's really really so cute.
You sat across from him at the table, the two of you eating in silence, the only sounds the soft slurp of noodles and the faint hum of the appliances around you. You poked at your ramen with your chopsticks more than you actually ate, stealing glances at him while he chewed, trying to find an opening that didn't feel forced, something that wouldn't send him running again. "Soo..." you started, dragging the word out like a test. "You're a scholar too?"
Jake nodded before he even spoke, eyes lifting briefly before darting away again. "Yes," he said.
You nodded back like you were genuinely interested, leaning your elbow on the table. "How much allowance do they give you?" you asked. "Or is it the same as mine? I heard academic scholars can apply outside the university too, like government stuff."
He nodded again, eyes flicking up to you for half a second before he went back to biting his noodles, slurping softly like that was easier than talking. You kept going anyway, because silence made your skin crawl. "Sometimes I wish I was smart instead of just... sport-inclined," you admitted with a half-laugh, slumping your shoulders for emphasis. "Like, what the hell am I supposed to do after I decide I'm done with volleyball?"
You looked at him, waiting, hoping, and the silence stretched out so long it felt loud, ringing in your ears until you swore you could hear imaginary crickets chirping in your head. Embarrassment crept up your neck, heat blooming as you realized this was it again—you talking, oversharing, filling space while he stayed quiet.
"I'm done for now," you said abruptly, clacking your chopsticks against the plastic before snapping the lid shut, forcing a smile that felt stiff on your face. You stood, shoved the ramen into the fridge with more force and retreated to your room, closing the door behind you.
Bitch, you thought, dropping onto your bed and staring at the ceiling. All you ever do is embarrass yourself!
The next morning, Sunday dragged itself, and the only thing on your schedule was volleyball training, which somehow made it worse. Your body ached in that familiar, dull way, muscles stiff and protesting as you forced yourself out of bed and into the living room to pack your bag, movements sluggish. You were halfway through shoving your gear inside when you realized the bathroom door was open, steam drifting lazily into the hallway, and you froze mid-motion when he stepped out.
Jake stood there with a towel slung over his shoulder, hair still damp and sticking up in odd places, dressed in his usual comfortable home clothes like it was any other morning, and for a split second your brain short-circuited. What the hell? It was Sunday. He never woke up early on Sundays!
The sight of him caught you so off guard that your mouth moved before your thoughts caught up. "A-Are you done?" you asked, forcing a stiff smile and immediately wanting to slap yourself for stuttering like an idiot.
He nodded, eyes sliding away from yours almost instantly, stepping past you with that small, polite bow he always did. The air felt weirdly tight after he passed, and you stood there for a moment longer than necessary, staring at the bathroom door.
By the time you were on the court with Karina, dropping your bag down beside hers and joining her for stretches. "I swear he's not interested," you muttered, brow scrunched as you stretched out your legs. "I might just give up."
"Wow," Karina replied dryly, glancing at you. "Good morning to you too."
You rolled your eyes and pushed into a half split, focusing on your breathing. "Everything is your fault," you went on, shifting your weight, arching your back to stretch deeper. "And yeah, okay, I admit he's cute and attractive and whatever, but—ugh." You abandoned the stretch altogether, dropping onto the floor and flailing your hands in frustration. "He won't even talk to me, no matter what I try or what you tell me to do."
"Maybe because—" Karina started.
"No," you cut her off immediately, rubbing your face. "I'm done. Why am I even doing this?" You weren't sure if the question was meant for her or yourself, and that uncertainty only made it worse.
You didn't even know what you wanted—maybe you wanted him in your bed, maybe you were just bored, lonely, horny, maybe you wanted a boyfriend, or maybe you just wanted something to break the monotony of your days.
Fuck, you honestly didn't know.You pushed yourself up to your feet with a sharp exhale, forcing your shoulders back as training began, telling yourself this was it, that you were un-crushing him, that whatever weird hold he'd had on your thoughts was gone. You just needed to focus, sweat it out, forget the way he'd looked that morning, forget the way your chest had tightened for no good reason, and move the hell on!
And so you went back to not caring about him—or at least you tried to. You kept things strictly transactional, clipped conversations that revolved around rent, water bills, electrical bills, and nothing else, the kind of exchanges that didn't require eye contact or emotion or the risk of awkward pauses. You timed your routines carefully, stayed in your room more, wore your headphones even when nothing was playing.
Somehow, though, the apartment got weirder instead of quieter.
At some point, there were suddenly two circular vacuum robots roaming the place, one pink and one white, bumping lazily into furniture like bored pets, and then there was a third one that made you pause the first time you saw it. This one had a small screen instead of a blank surface, animated eyes blinking as it rolled around the house, looping endlessly in wide, slow circles like it was patrolling its territory. It was unsettling in a way you couldn't quite explain, especially the way it behaved whenever you came home.
The first time it happened, you stepped through the front door, already halfway to your room when the robot rolled toward you, stopping just short of your feet. Its eyes widened slightly on the screen, focusing on you, and then a soft, robotic voice chimed, "Hi."
You stopped, stared at it, and after a second of confused silence, answered back without thinking. "Hi," you muttered, eyebrows knitting together as you watched it blink like it was pleased with the response. You shook your head and went to your room.
But it kept happening. Every time you came home after training at 7:30, without fail, the robot would find you, roll closer, look up at you with those stupid animated eyes, and greet you. "Hi." Over and over again, like some kind of programmed acknowledgment that you existed, and it annoyed you! Part of you wondered why a machine noticed you more consistently than the person who built it?
Whatever.
When tournament month finally hit, it felt less like a schedule and more like a slow, grinding punishment that refused to end. Hell week stretched into hell weeks, days bleeding into each other until your body stopped distinguishing between soreness and exhaustion, and your mind lived in a constant fog of drills, scrimmages, ice packs, and shouted instructions. Your team kept winning—somehow—defeating other universities one after another, which meant you qualified for the next rounds, which also meant more training, longer hours, heavier pressure. Victory didn't feel like relief anymore; it felt like another door slamming shut behind you.
After one match, you stood on the edge of the court, hands on your hips, chest heaving as you watched people filter out of the bleachers. Couples laughed, friends clapped each other on the back, families waved and called out names, and you wondered, not for the first time, what it would be like to just be normal—to be a regular college student who watched sports for fun instead of bleeding for it, who cheered and went home without their knees screaming or shoulders burning. Would life be easier that way? Would you have more space in your head for things that weren't survival and performance and pushing yourself past your limits?
And then your thoughts drifted further. Would you have found a lover by now? If your life wasn't so wrapped up in training? Someone you met in a theory class, bonding over shared misery and late-night study sessions, or someone introduced through friends, a clean, easy connection that didn't feel so fucking complicated.
The idea made your chest tighten, and you frowned at yourself, annoyed. Why were you suddenly like this? Why so emotional, so restless? Were you really that lonely? What the hell was wrong with being single anyway? You'd been fine before. You had friends. You had people to talk to. You weren't isolated!
Except you knew it wasn't the same. You watched your teammates get swallowed into hugs after the match, hands squeezing shoulders, foreheads pressed together, quiet comfort exchanged even without words, and you felt it then—a sharp, stupid ache. While they leaned into someone else's warmth, you retreated to the back room alone, wiping sweat off your face, peeling off your jersey, changing in silence. Maybe this was just who you were—someone who got jealous not because you lacked people, but because everyone else seemed to have that person, someone to lean on when their body gave out, when the day finally caught up with them.
By the time you dragged yourself home, your limbs felt heavy, movements are sluggish as you kicked off your shoes and let the door shut behind you. The familiar hums filling the space as the robots whirled around the floor, doing their endless loops. One of them—the one with the animated eyes—rolled toward you like it always did, eyes blinking up at you before that same neutral voice chimed.
"Hi."
"Hi," you replied automatically. Normally you would've gone straight to your room, but lately Jake had been staying holed up behind his door, and the living room felt strangely empty without him.
You dropped your bag, pulled a beer from it, popped it open, and took a long drink before letting yourself sink down onto the floor. The robot lingered nearby, hovering like it was waiting for something.
You stared at it for a second, exhaled slowly, and shook your head. "Do you know how to say anything besides hi?" you asked it quietly.
The robot blinked, its animated eyes widening and shrinking in a way that almost felt intentional, and you huffed out a weak smile despite yourself. Your fingers hovered over its smooth, round surface, stopping just short of touching it. "I don't really know shit about these things," you muttered, gesturing vaguely at it, "but aren't you supposed to be, like... a comfort robot or something? The kind people put on their desks so they don't feel so damn alone." You tilted your head, squinting at it. "But you're round. And you roll. You're like... a vacuum with feelings."
The robot blinked again.
You took another sip of your beer, the bitterness sitting heavy on your tongue. "I think I'm so lonely I might cry," you admitted, voice cracking just a little as a hiccup slipped out of you. You set the beer aside and started peeling off your protective gear, fingers clumsy, dropping the pads onto the floor one by one. Bruises bloomed across your skin—dark, ugly marks layered over older ones.
"I don't want to be a libero anymore," you said flatly, staring down at your legs. "God, why am I not rich? Or smart? Or just... lucky for once."
You looked back at the robot, its eyes fixed on you like it was actually listening. "I wish I had someone," you continued. "Someone who'd hug me after games. Someone I could talk to when training's over and my body feels like it's about to give out." You scoffed and lifted a finger, pointing at it like you were lecturing. "You know my teammates? Let me introduce you, since apparently you're the only thing paying attention right now."
"So there's Karina," you said, holding up one finger. "She's our setter, loud as hell, always running her mouth, and yeah—she's dating the basketball captain." Another finger. "Rei's the youngest, dating some art dancer who comes to all her games and cries like a baby." Another. "Giselle's gay, she's in a relationship, and Ningning's with her. I swear they fight all the time, but it's kinda cute because they're both middle blockers and stubborn as shit." You kept going, listing names, relationships, connections, until your hand dropped back into your lap. "Winter—well, that's not even her real name. And Yunjin, Yuna, Yeji, Ryujin... all in relationships."
You leaned back against the sofa, sliding down slightly as you sat on the floor, staring up at the ceiling like it might have answers. "Everyone has someone," you whispered.
"Why... am I such a fucking loser?" you laughed, the sound is too loud in the quiet apartment, echoing for a second before it died out. The laugh collapsed in on itself, and you buried your face in your hands, shoulders shaking as tears burned behind your eyes. You didn't bother wiping them away when they spilled over, there was no one around to see you break—just a robot blinking back at you, silently witnessing everything you'd been holding in for far too long.
"I want someone," you choked out into your palm, the words are so ugly and bare, pathetic in a way that hurt to admit out loud. You dragged your hands down your face and looked at the robot again, eyes wet, vision blurry. "God, that sounded so fucking sad," you laughed weakly.
"Maybe you should ask your owner to build me one of those realistic human robots." You sniffed, wiping your nose with the back of your hand. "Ask him to make one for me, yeah? Since apparently I can't even talk to him like a normal person."
Your laugh came again, tears still sliding down your cheeks as you shook your head. You leaned back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling, words spilling out now that you'd opened the floodgates. "I want him to make me a boyfriend with high emotional intelligence," you said bitterly, counting it off in your head like a stupid wish list. "Someone who'd cook me healthy meals that actually fit my training, because finding decent food is a nightmare. Someone who'd show up to every tournament, even the shitty ones, and cheer for me."
Your voice dropped. "Someone who'd listen. Someone who wouldn't freak out when I'm exhausted or pissed or quiet. Someone who'd talk to me through the hard days instead of making me feel like I'm too much." You swallowed, chest tight, then let out a shaky breath. "And yeah," you added, snorting through your tears, "someone who'd fuck me hard enough to knock the stress out of my body and make me forget everything else for a while. How does that sound, huh?"
For a second, there was only the low hum of the apartment. Then the robot's screen shifted, animated eyes changing as a little emoticon popped up—round, pink, unmistakably blushing.
Your eyes widened. Then you burst out laughing, real laughter this time. "No fucking way," you said between laughs, wiping at your face. "Did you just blush at that?" You leaned closer, still grinning like an idiot through tear-streaked cheeks. "Are you programmed with PG-13 only or what?"
The robot blinked once, then shook its round body side to side like it was offended. You gasped dramatically, pointing at it. "Oh my god. You are judging me." You sniffed, then tilted your head. "Okay, smartass. What does the fox say?"
The screen flickered. Suddenly the robot's eyes morphed into exaggerated fox eyes, whiskers popping up on either side as its little screen started wobbling in place.
"Tingining-ngining-ngining."
You choked on your own laughter, hands slapping against the floor as you doubled over. "No—no way—stop," you wheezed, laughing harder as the robot kept dancing, completely unbothered. Tears streamed down your face again, but this time they were from laughing so hard your chest hurt.
You stayed there for hours after that, talking absolute nonsense to it, asking stupid questions, daring it to do random shit, reacting like it was some kind of miracle instead of a rolling piece of metal with a screen. At some point your words slowed, your body sagged, and without even realizing it, you slid down where you sat, head resting against the sofa, eyes finally drifting shut.
Morning came and you woke up confused, the first thing you registered being how soft everything felt. You were lying on the sofa, not the floor like you remembered, a blanket pulled up around you, tucked snugly enough. You blinked, staring at the ceiling, then shifted slightly and froze. Your skin felt... warm. Not sore in the usual way. When you pushed the blanket aside, you saw neat bandages wrapped around your bruises, carefully placed, clean, and faintly scented with something herbal that made your muscles relax just breathing it in.
"What the fuck..." you murmured, sitting up slowly. Your head wasn't pounding. You weren't dizzy. You definitely weren't drunk enough to forget doing this. You glanced around the living room, heart starting to thump harder as pieces didn't line up. The robot sat docked in its corner, screen dark. The apartment was quiet—too quiet.
You dragged the blanket tighter around yourself, staring at your own hands. Did you do this? No. You would've remembered bandaging yourself. And the smell, so warm, so clean, so comforting—it wasn't yours. Your chest fluttered uncomfortably. Of course you weren't stupid. You weren't that fucking oblivious. Someone had moved you. Someone had carefully lifted your dead weight off the floor, arranged you on the sofa, wrapped a blanket around you like you were fragile instead of a grown woman who could bench half the team. Someone had cleaned you up, bandaged your bruises, and let you sleep it off instead of waking you or leaving you there like a mess. And there was really only one person in that apartment who would've done it.
Jake.
Jake.
Heat start crawling up your neck as your brain started filling in the blanks you didn't want answers to. Why the fuck would he do that? You stared down at the bandages again, fingers hovering over them. You didn't remember waking up. You didn't remember him touching you. It was only a beer, sure, but you'd been emotional, rambling, spilling your guts to a robot like a lunatic.
God. What if you'd talked in your sleep? What if you'd laughed too loud, cried harder, said something you shouldn't have? Worse—what if you'd drunkenly confessed how fucking lonely you were, how badly you wanted someone, how much you'd been thinking about him without ever meaning to? The thought made your face burn. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
You couldn't look at him after that. You didn't even try.
For the next few days, you turned into a ghost in your own apartment, timing everything around him without even meaning to. Training ended at 6:30, but you didn't go home until eleven, sometimes closer to midnight, killing time wherever you could—late dinners, extra stretching or workouts, pointless walks—until you finally started crashing at Ryujin's place in the next building over. Her couch became familiar, her fridge raided, her complaints ignored. Anything to avoid running into him in the living room, anything to avoid seeing that awkward smile and wondering what the fuck he knew about you now.
Your head wasn't in the game either, and it showed.
"You seriously need to stop pulling faces on court," Ryujin said one afternoon, shoving her phone in your face while you were still catching your breath. Sweat dripped down your temples as you squinted at the screen, instantly recognizing the photo—your body low in a squat, eyes sharp, eyebrow raised, jaw set like you were ready to kill someone. The sports journalist had caught you mid-focus, mid-intimidation, and it was already blowing up on the university page.
"What do you want me to do?" you snapped, irritated, pushing the phone away. "Smile at the other team?"
"At least look... approachable?" she said, shrugging. "I mean, that's your default face, yeah, but you know when I first met you, I thought you hated me."
You glanced at her, pausing.
"You didn't talk to me for weeks when I joined," she continued, stretching her calves casually. "I legit thought I pissed you off somehow. Then one day you just asked me to grab lunch with you like nothing happened, and that's when I realized you were actually nice. Just... intense."
You scoffed, rubbing the back of your neck. "That's just how I am."
Unfortunately for you, that day lined up perfectly with everyone else having a life. Ryujin had a date with her girlfriend, Karina was off doing couple shit with hers, and you were left with too much energy and nowhere to dump it. You went to the gym even though training had ended early, pushing yourself through another pointless workout just to avoid going home, until your muscles finally protested enough to force you to stop. By the time you dragged yourself back to the apartment, it was already 7:04 PM.
You unlocked the door and stepped inside, pretending to be deeply invested in your phone as you kicked off your shoes and slid them into the rack beside your roommate's. The apartment was calm in that familiar way, and right on cue, there he was— Jake was fresh out of the bathroom, towel slung loosely over his shoulder, wearing those ridiculous dinosaur slippers. Seven o'clock. Of course. You could already tell he was winding down, getting ready for his absurdly early bedtime.
Your eyes met for half a second. You looked away immediately, pulse kicking hard against your ribs. You walked past him like you didn't care, thumb scrolling mindlessly through takeout apps you weren't even reading, already reaching for your bedroom doorknob when his voice stopped you.
"I—I always... uh... cook food f-for dinner..."
You froze, fingers tightening around the knob as your brain scrambled to process what you'd just heard. You turned your head slightly, not fully facing him, afraid that if you did your face would give you away. He was standing a few steps behind you, shoulders tense, eyes glued somewhere near the floor.
"I-If you want to eat," he added quickly, words tripping over each other, "uh... it's on the table..."
Before you could say anything—before you could even decide what the hell you wanted to say—he retreated, practically speed-walking into his room and shutting the door.
You stood there in the hallway, hand still on the doorknob, staring at nothing. What the fuck was that?
You could order takeout. Obviously. That had been the plan. But this was the first time he'd actually initiated anything. Was this his way of talking to you? Of trying? Why were you even overthinking this? It was just food. Fucking food. "Get a grip," you muttered, yanking off your varsity jacket and tossing it over the chair. Curiosity won anyway. You walked toward the table and lifted the food cover, already telling yourself it was just about saving money, nothing else.
Your mouth watered instantly. In front of you was a Chicken breast that are perfectly cooked. Sweet potato, roasted just enough. Steamed broccoli, still bright green, not soggy, not sad. This is kind of meal athletes killed themselves. The kind of meal you'd complained about not having time or money to prep a hundred times. "You've gotta be fucking kidding me," you whispered. This was exactly what your body needed. You might've laughed if you weren't so close to crying. After weeks of exhaustion, shitty schedules, loneliness you pretended didn't exist, here was this quiet, nerdy, awkward roommate who barely looked you in the eye—coincedently cooking the perfect post-training dinner.
You didn't even bother pretending to be civilized about it. You dropped into the chair and dug in like you hadn't eaten in days, shoveling food into your mouth with zero shame, chewing fast, shoulders finally loosening as real fuel hit your system. The chicken was tender, the sweet potato was so soft, the broccoli exactly how you liked it, and you were too busy inhaling everything to notice the soft whirring near your feet.
"Hi," the robot chirped, rolling up beside your chair like it always did.
You waved it off vaguely, mouth full, head down, focused on the plate. It didn't even cross your mind then that the robot hadn't been greeting you lately when you came home past midnight, that it used to roll toward you every time. You were too hungry, too focused, too busy scraping the plate clean to notice anything beyond the food in front of you.
The next day, you came home a little earlier than usual, around eight. Training had been brutal, your legs shaking by the time you unlocked the door, and you were already mentally preparing yourself for instant noodles or whatever garbage you could throw together without collapsing. Instead, you stopped short.
Another meal sat on the table.
This time it was tofu stir-fry with rice, still covered, steam faintly trapped beneath the lid. The robot sat docked beside the table like it was guarding the food, screen dark, finally resting. You glanced toward the sink and noticed a single plate already washed and set aside—proof that Jake had eaten earlier. Your stomach growled embarrassingly loud.
You didn't overthink it. You just sat down and ate, quietly this time. God's perfect, it was convenience. Timing. Coincidence. That he probably cooked in bulk and didn't want leftovers to go bad. You definitely didn't think about how the portions were always just right for you, or how the meals lined up perfectly with your training load.
And then it kept happening.
The next day. And the day after that. And the day after that. Sometimes you came home early and ate while he was already locked in his room. Sometimes you came home late and the food was still there, waiting. You rarely saw him. You rarely spoke. But you ate. Every night.
Every night, no matter what time you came home, there was food waiting. Always balanced. Always exactly what your body needed, like someone had been paying attention—really paying attention—to what an exhausted athlete needed to survive. You stopped ordering takeout without even realizing it. Your fridge stayed full longer. Your energy during training didn't crash as hard. Your muscles recovered faster.
"You're gaining weight," your coach said one afternoon, flipping through his clipboard as he read off numbers.
Your heart jumped. "Huh? Is that a bad thing?" you asked, nerves creeping up your spine.
He raised an eyebrow, then snorted. "No. It's a good thing." He looked up at you, "I've been telling you to eat more for months. Looks like you're finally listening." He closed the clipboard and stepped closer, ruffling your hair roughly. "Finals are coming up. You need more muscle if you want to keep up your defense."
You laughed awkwardly, nodding along. Don't think about it too much. Don't think about it too much. Don't think about it too much. It's healthy, right? That's all that matters. Your body feels better, stronger, steadier during drills. You don't feel like you're about to collapse halfway through practice anymore. Whatever you're eating is exactly what your body needs. Exactly what it's been begging for. And yeah—fuck—it's also exactly what your heart didn't know it was starving for, but you're not touching that thought. Not with a ten-foot pole.
"What if he's purposely cooking too much so you'll eat?" Karina had said earlier, lips curled into that wicked smile she always wore when she knew she was poking at something sensitive.
No. Absolutely not. You refused to let that sink in. You wouldn't let her words crawl under your skin and set everything on fire again. Roommates do this shit. People share food. People are nice without ulterior motives. It's normal. It's fucking normal. Just because you're a hopeless romantic doesn't mean you get to project that onto someone who's clearly just... kind. Assuming otherwise would make things awkward again, and you were done with awkward.
With training dismissed early that day, you stopped by the grocery store on your way home, wandering the aisles without much thought until something familiar caught your eye. Chocolate almond milk. The same brand. The one he always drank in the mornings. You stared at it for a second longer before grabbing and tossing it into your basket.
You got home at 5:30 PM sharp.
The smell of savory cooking hit you the moment you stepped inside. Jake stood in the kitchen wearing an apron, moving carefully between the counter and the stove. Soft music played in the background, Cigarettes After Sex, of all things.
When he noticed you, he startled like he'd been caught. His eyes widened, body jerking awkwardly as he took a step back, then forward, clearly unsure what to do with himself. "Y-You're h-here— wait—"
"Groceries," you said quietly, cutting him off before he could spiral, offering a small smile as you set the plastic bag on the table. You pulled out the carton of almond milk and held it up slightly. "I bought you this."
He stared at it, his mouth fell open just a little, eyes flicking from the carton to your face and back again, cheeks already starting to color.
"I've been eating your food for a week," you added, shrugging lightly, forcing your voice to stay steady. "Consider it a thank you."
"T-Thank you," he whispered, eyes flicking up to yours for half a second before he turned his back, shoulders hunching slightly as he went back to stirring whatever was on the stove.
You busied yourself with the groceries, unloading them one by one. Yogurts into the fridge. Vegetables in the crisper. Almond milk placed carefully on the shelf where you'd seen his before. When you were done, you grabbed your bag, already planning to retreat to your room and give both of you space, because that was safer.
"H-Hey." His voice stopped you mid-step.
You turned around slowly, heart doing that stupid stutter again, and found him standing by the table with two plates in his hands. He set them down carefully, and for a moment he actually held your gaze. Really held it. The eye contact made something like an electric flicker through you that you almost looked away first—but then he broke it, eyes darting off to the side like he'd just realized what he was doing.
"Let's— I-I cooked dinner," he said, words tumbling over each other. "There's a-a lot, so l-let's share."
Fuck. You swallowed, nodded, and quietly took a seat across from him before your mouth could betray you by saying something stupid. You both served yourselves rice in silence, the clink of utensils and the low hum of the music filling the space between you. The food was good and for a few minutes you just ate, letting the tension settle instead of fighting it.
"You listen to CAS?" you asked eventually, nodding toward the speaker.
He froze for a split second, shoulders tensing. "Y-Yeah," he said softly. "I... uh... it helps me focus. And... relax." He glanced up at you, then away again, fingers tightening around his chopsticks. "Y-You?"
"Casual listener," you replied, reaching for the rice bowl again without thinking, scooping out another generous serving and plopping it onto your plate. "I prefer loud music. Like, really loud." You shrugged, already chewing as you talked, words slightly muffled because that was just how you ate. "It helps me focus during workouts, especially during hard training days. Phonk music, mostly. Some of my teammates are into it, so I kinda adopted it." You rambled on, barely realizing how much food you'd shoved into your mouth, cheeks full, posture relaxed in a way you hadn't been around him before.
There was a brief pause, you were still chewing when Jake quietly leaned forward and placed the last slice of meat onto your plate. The movement made you stop mid-bite. Your eyes dropped to the food, then lifted slowly to him, finding him watching you with that same awkward concentration, lips pressed together before they curved into a small, uncertain smile.
"I-I listen to music similar to CAS," he continued, voice gaining a bit of momentum like he was warming up. "A-And wave to earth too, b-because it helps me calm my mind. Makes it easier to sleep early." He scratched the back of his neck, clearly rambling now, which somehow made it worse in the best way.
Your brain short-circuited. Fully. You stared at him for a second too long, then forced yourself to finish chewing, swallowing slowly as you tried to get your thoughts back in order.
"I—" you started, then stopped, laughing awkwardly under your breath. "Yeah. That... checks out." You gestured vaguely with your chopsticks. "I mean, I noticed you go to bed at eight." You let out another small laugh, embarrassment creeping in fast. "That stupid sign on the wall finally made sense."
His ears turned red almost instantly. "S-Sorry," he blurted out. "I didn't mean to be... annoying."
"It's not annoying," you said immediately, a little too fast, shaking your head like your life depended on clearing that up. The last thing you wanted was for him to retreat back into himself again. "It's just... different." You hesitated, then added more softly, "Kinda impressive, actually. Most college students have completely fucked body clocks and awful habits." You snorted lightly. "Speaking from experience."
He nodded, relief loosening his shoulders just a bit. "Uh... yeah. I-I try not to pick up bad habits," he said. "I-I value time a lot. What we do and what we eat affects how our body p-performs." He gestured vaguely at the table, at the food. "If I get sick, a-a lot of time gets w-wasted."
You stared at him, chopsticks paused halfway to your mouth.
Okay. What the fuck. This guy went to bed at eight, didn't drink caffeine, cooked balanced meals, and talked wisely about time and health. Made you want to smack yourself for ever writing him off as just some awkward nerd with Lego sets and robots. You could feel it now, that pull in your chest, that annoying curiosity digging deeper, urging you to peel back more layers you hadn't even known were there.
And God help you, he was talking. Actually talking. To you.
"Yeah," you said, finally swallowing your bite. "You're right." You leaned back slightly in your chair, lips twitching as you tried to play it off. "Teach me your ways, then. I clearly need your level of dedication." What the fuck are you saying?
He blinked, then let out a small, surprised sound that might've been a laugh. "I-I'm not that dedicated," he said quickly, waving a hand like he was swatting the idea away. "Just... organized."
"Sure," you replied, smirking faintly. "That's what all disciplined people say."
He ducked his head, embarrassed again, but this time it was lighter in the air. Less tension.
And it made it really fucking hard to pretend you didn't care.
The next day proved that. You didn't even linger after training like you usually did. No extra laps, no pointless cooldowns, no killing time just to avoid going home. You showered, changed, and headed straight back, heart thudding with a stupid mix of anticipation and denial. When you opened the apartment door, the familiar sounds of the soft whirr of the robot vacuums roaming the floor and the muted clatter of pans from the kitchen greeted you immediately. He was cooking again!
"I bought apples," you said, setting the bag down on the table.
Jake glanced over his shoulder, offered you a quiet, "Hi," paired with that same awkward smile that somehow felt less awkward every time you saw it. He turned back to the stove, setting down plates—rice, and vegetable soup. And yeah, his dinners were always exactly what you were supposed to be eating after training. Jackpot was an understatement.
"Is it okay if I eat with you?" you asked, already pulling out a chair and sitting down like you'd made the decision before finishing the sentence. "I mean, you cook for yourself."
"Of course... I-It's okay," he said quickly, nodding.
You watched him a little too closely, waiting, hoping he'd say more instead of retreating into silence. He hesitated, eyes flicking toward you, then away, lips parting as if he was debating with himself. "I-I've been cooking more these days," he admitted. "B-Because... uh... I was thinking of gaining weight myself, b-but I think my appetite c-can't really keep up."
"Ohhh," you said, snapping your fingers. "Yeah, that makes sense." You leaned forward, already getting animated without realizing it. "You're gonna need a loooot of protein for that. My coach never shuts up about it, especially for me. Defense needs muscle, apparently." You laughed lightly, rambling now, turning toward him with an easy smile as you scooped soup straight into your rice. "My budget's always shit though, so I rely on protein powders and gym meals."
He nodded slowly, listening, before going quiet again and digging into his food. Somehow, that quiet didn't feel awkward. It felt comfortable.
You didn't notice how relaxed you looked, how your shoulders dropped, how your expression softened as you ate. You didn't notice how naturally you mirrored his pace, slowing down, breathing easier. You definitely didn't notice the way your heart jumped when he picked up one of the apples you'd bought, peeled it carefully, and slid it onto your plate without a word.
Your pulse spiked, so stupid and fast. "Thanks," you murmured, suddenly very aware of him sitting across from you, of how close this all felt without crossing any lines.
God, don't read into it too much. You told yourself that firmly. He's just nice. He's your roommate. He cooks. He shares. He listens.
But fuck—how were you not supposed to like him when he made space for you so quietly, when being around him started to feel like rest?
"It felt nice," you sighed, sprawled flat on the court with your arms stretched above your head. Sweat cooled against your skin as the basketball players ran laps around you. Karina sat beside you, legs crossed, phone in hand, thumbs flying across the screen. She glanced down at you, eyebrows lifting slowly, curiosity sharpening her expression as she clocked how distant you looked.
"What exactly feels nice?" she asked, frowning. "Because it sure as hell isn't sharing the court with these fuckers. Our training schedule's been cut all week." She tilted her chin toward the far end of the court, where her boyfriend was jogging past, shirt clinging to him. She grimaced. "Look at him. I bet he smells like an ass."
You huffed out a weak laugh but didn't move, eyes fixed on the ceiling lights glowing overhead. "It just... feels nice," you repeated. Your voice dipped as the thought finally slipped out. "Am I really that lonely that I start liking someone just because they pay a little attention to me?" You swallowed, jaw tightening. "I mean, I already knew I was fucked the moment I caught myself thinking about him while touching myself, and we hadn't even had a proper conversation. Just you, planting bullshit ideas in my head like a menace."
"Oh my God," Karina gasped, dropping her phone instantly. She rolled onto the floor beside you, mirroring your position but turning onto her side to face you, eyes wide and way too excited for your liking. "Is this about your cute nerd roommate again?"
You didn't answer. You kept staring at the lights, blinking slowly, letting the words tumble out because once they started, it felt impossible to stop. "He cooks extra food without making it a thing," you said. "Like it's nothing. And I eat it. And sometimes I talk. Just starting dumb shit about my day. And that night I passed out on the floor, he carried me to the couch and wrapped my bruises, and I woke up with bandages that actually helped." Your throat tightened. "So what, Karina? Am I really that pathetic for feeling like this?"
Karina stared at you for a long moment, her teasing expression finally softening. She reached out and poked your forehead. "First of all, shut up," she said gently. "Second of all, you're not pathetic. You're human." She sighed and lay back, hands folded on her stomach. "You're exhausted. You train like a beast, you carry your team, and you come home to an empty room most nights. Of course small kindness feels huge right now."
You turned your head slightly, finally looking at her. "But what if I'm just projecting?" you asked. "What if I'm clinging to scraps because I don't want to feel alone anymore?"
"That's called being aware," she replied. "Not desperate." She nudged your shoulder. "And listen to me. You're not imagining things out of nowhere. He didn't have to cook extra. He didn't have to move you. He didn't have to take care of your bruises. Those are choices." She paused, then added carefully, "Does that mean he's in love with you? No. But it means you're not crazy for feeling something."
You exhaled slowly, chest easing just a little. "I don't even know what I want," you admitted. "I just know it feels... safe. And that scares the shit out of me."
Karina smiled softly. "Good. It should scare you a little. That means it matters. Lmao." She squeezed your hand. "Just don't rush it. Let it breathe. You're allowed to want someone. You're allowed to be taken care of sometimes."
You smiled faintly to yourself. Right. Don't rush. Go with the flow. Let it breathe. Jake probably had no idea what was spiraling around in your head anyway. You could keep this normal, no stupid fantasies. There was nothing to lose if you kept it like that... right?
"You can call them Whitey, Pinky, and Bumble," Jake said casually, gesturing toward the living room.
You followed his hand. The two vacuum robots were roaming around like usual, bumping gently into chair legs and correcting themselves. The pink one spun lazily near the couch, the white one hovered closer to the dining table, and Bumble—the one with the animated eyes—was docked near the TV, screen dimmed as she recharged.
You almost snorted. It was stupid how endearing it felt. Any other time, with any other guy, you'd probably be weirded the fuck out. But with Jake? It just slid into place too easily, like another quiet, odd piece of him you were already getting used to. White robot: Whitey. Pink robot: Pinky. And Bumble... because apparently it's soft blue glow reminded him of a bumblebee.
"That's... very on the nose," you said, lips twitching as Whitey rolled dangerously close to your foot. You shifted your leg, and the robot obediently veered away. "Does your course actually teach you this stuff, or are you just secretly a scientist?"
Jake let out a small, embarrassed laugh. "Uh... I'm a civil engineer," he said, rubbing the back of his ear. "B-But I have a friend. He's... uh... computer and electrical engineering." He hesitated, words tangling like they always did when he tried to explain himself. "We... sometimes make things."
You leaned back against the chair, listening.
"Bumble was... uh..." He paused, glancing toward the robot like he was checking if she could hear him. "She was supposed to be a vacuum robot for desks. It was for our Grade 12 STEM research. But our teacher said vacuum robots were too common, and we... didn't know enough about coding back then." He shrugged awkwardly. "So we just... continued it anyway. Changed her design. That's why she's small."
Oh.
You blinked. Of course he had friends like that. Smart, curious, building things just because they could. Of course he carried projects from years ago instead of throwing them away. And of course he called the robot she, like she was a person, or a pet, or something he cared about.
"That's actually kind of impressive," you said honestly, eyes flicking back to Bumble. "You kept working on her even after the project ended."
Jake's shoulders lifted slightly, then dropped. "I... didn't want to waste it," he said quietly. "Time, I mean."
And there it was again, that quiet, infuriatingly gentle way he treated time and effort, like both were fragile things you weren't supposed to waste or throw around carelessly. God, he was cute.
You hated how easily it slipped past your defenses, how your brain kept screaming don't read into it while your body already had its own stupid opinions. Still, you couldn't deny it anymore, not even to yourself. Something had shifted. Maybe a door cracked open, maybe you'd just stopped bracing so hard, but suddenly there was space between you that didn't feel awkward or tense. It felt... safe. Comfortable. Like you didn't have to perform or fill the silence for once. And the fucked up part was, what you'd said earlier was true.
It really did feel nice.
"I... cook for breakfast," he said one morning while you were tying your shoes, backpack already slung over your shoulder, half-awake and mentally preparing yourself to survive another long day. "D-do you want to eat before you go?"
You should've said no. You almost always grabbed coffee and whatever sad snack you could find on campus, ate standing up, rushed through everything like your life. But you just nodded, sitting at the table in the early morning light, eating something warm and balanced while he moved quietly around the kitchen, you realized your shoulders weren't tight for once. You weren't rushing. You weren't thinking about the next thing you had to do.
It felt nice. Way too nice.
Later that week, after a practice match wrapped up earlier than expected, you found yourself standing outside his door, heart beating faster than it should've over something so stupid. You knocked anyway. When he opened the door a minute later, one earphone dangling loose, hair slightly messy, that familiar awkward smile creeping onto his face, you almost chickened out.
"Am I... disturbing you or something?" you asked, forcing a casual tone that didn't quite hide the nerves twisting in your gut. He shook his head, and you felt the tension in your shoulders finally ease.
"Uh... I was just fixing my books," he said. "Why?"
You took a breath, then another. "I bought snacks. Chips and stuff," you said, holding up the bag. "I was just wondering if you... wanted to watch a movie with me."
Immediately your brain started spiraling, tearing you apart for how you phrased it. Too direct. Too demanding. You should've softened it, given him an out, made it sound like an optional, no-pressure thing. God, what if this was crossing some invisible roommate line? You braced yourself for rejection, already rehearsing how you'd laugh it off, how you'd pretend you weren't embarrassed if he said no. You told yourself it was fine. You hoped he'd be gentle about it if he did.
"Uh, sure," he said after a beat, smiling that shy, crooked smile. "Let me fix my things quick."
You ended up on the couch together, a polite distance between you, snacks spread across the table. 50 First Dates played on the screen, and even though some scenes were objectively funny, you found yourself holding back, afraid of laughing too loud. You were hyperaware of everything—your posture, the way you chewed, the way your knee bounced slightly with leftover adrenaline.
Then Jake laughed, mouth full of chips, a soft, unguarded sound that slipped out before he could stop it. You froze, turning to look at him, watching the way his shoulders hunched as he laughed, how genuine it was, how unfiltered. And fuck. Something loosened in you. You smiled before you could stop yourself, then laughed too.
It felt nice, and you weren't used to nice things sticking around without demanding something in return.
Jake wasn't some mystery anymore, not really, at least not on paper. Third-year Civil Engineering student, double scholar, university-funded and government-backed, the kind of résumé that made professors nod approvingly and parents brag to relatives. President's Lister every damn semester, GWA floating between 1.27 and 1.46. You learned these things not because he bragged—he never did—but because papers were left on the table, emails popped up on his phone screen when it lit up, certificates tucked neatly into folders he handled with care. He was impressive in a way that didn't shove itself in your face.
As a roommate, Jake was... steady. Organized without being controlling, balanced in a way that made you painfully aware of how messy your own routines were. He slept at eight, woke up early, moved through the apartment. You noticed small things you shouldn't have been paying attention to, like how he liked sour candy and kept a stash hidden in one drawer, how his fingers fidgeted when he was nervous or thinking too hard, how he couldn't leave broken things alone. A loose screw, a cracked hinge —he'd insist it was still usable, still salvageable, like throwing something away felt wrong to him on a fundamental level. Sometimes you wondered if that applied to people too, if he believed everything and everyone could be fixed if you just gave it enough patience.
You noticed more than you meant to. Jake liked stars, documentaries about space that played quietly in the background while he worked, liked the ocean even though he rarely talked about it, liked anything that revolved around science or math or systems that made sense. It was almost funny how predictable he was once you paid attention, how comforting that predictability became without you realizing it. You caught yourself syncing your schedule around his without meaning to, coming home earlier, lingering longer, listening for his footsteps like it mattered whether he was there or not.
It felt nice going home to someone, where the apartment didn't feel empty when you unlocked the door. Having someone to talk to, even if the conversations were simple and sometimes awkward, felt like relief after days filled with noise and expectations. Having someone prepare meals that actually made your body feel better instead of worse, someone who noticed when you were too tired to cook and never made you feel guilty for it, felt dangerously close to being taken care of. And doing nothing together—sitting on opposite ends of the couch, eating in silence, watching something stupid, sharing space without pressure.
"There's a typhoon coming up, and God help me with this heavy rainfall," Ryujin groaned dramatically, flopping onto the gym bleachers with her hands pressed against her temples. You could hear the rain hammering against the roof above. "My body is so fucking sore, finals are coming, and you're telling me I still have to endure a goddamn storm outside?" Her voice cracked at the end.
"You all act as if we're not aiming for nationals," Giselle said, bouncing the ball with an almost lazy precision, her eyes flicking sideways at the group of basketball players lounging at the edge of the court. They were obnoxiously loud, laughing and showing off, and Giselle's glare could've frozen them mid-air if that were even possible. She tossed the ball in your direction, and you tightened your grip, flexing your fingers around the ball, feeling the familiar pressure in your palms that meant focus—control. You set yourself, crouched low, and spiked it with everything you had.
"They are already giving out tickets for the finals," Rei whined from the sidelines, dragging her towel across her shoulders as she leaned against the wall. "My boyfriend won't shut up because everyone is hyped about it. It's gonna sell out in like, five minutes." You snorted because, as usual, she was dramatic about everything, and as usual, you were the only one sitting there without someone to care or argue or plan with.
"Coach gave us tickets for our friends, right? Only two each! I need three for my boyfriend and his friends. Can some of you spare an extra?" Winter demanded, arms flailing slightly as she leaned toward Ningning and Giselle. "Giselle, give me yours! Ningning, come on, you're on our team!"
"No. We're giving them to our other friends," Ningning said sharply, slapping Winter's hands away.
"Not fair! I'll treat you to Taco Bell if you just give me one!" Winter snapped back. The rest of the team was clustered around, debating, negotiating, trading possibilities.
"Winter," you muttered, rolling your eyes even as you adjusted your feet and tossed the ball into the air, "just take my tickets. I don't have friends to give them to anyway." You tossed the volleyball up and down in your hands, practicing your set.
You could feel her gaze burning on you, even though you weren't looking directly. "Really?! Like, both of your tickets?" she pressed, a note of disbelief in her voice.
You barely had time to nod before the ball smacked you straight in the face, ricocheting sideways, and suddenly your brain betrayed you. Out of nowhere, an image of Jake popped into your head—his stupid braces smile, the one that twisted your stomach every time you saw it, the one that made you stupidly aware of your own heartbeat and that little thrill you always swore wasn't there. You blinked, flustered, and hit the ball again, flinching slightly as the team waited.
"Actually... just one," you said quickly, fumbling for a way to sound casual. Karina let out a sharp whistle behind you, and Winter's lips pouted in mock outrage. "I was... planning to give it to my... friend," you added, stumbling over the lie.
"Wow, suddenly you have a friend!" Winter exclaimed with mock indignation, "but fine, that's cool! You promise that one is mine, no taking it back, ha!"
If you asked him to watch your game... would that be too personal? It wasn't like you were asking him to cheer for you, or scream your name from the stands, or wait for you after with flowers and sweaty hugs like your teammates' partners did. It was just a game. An outdoor thing... Still, it felt like crossing some invisible line, like letting him see a part of your life that didn't exist inside shared rent. Letting him see you as more than just his roommate who ate his food and sat beside him on the couch.
You told yourself not to overthink it, even though overthinking was already happening at full speed. It was normal. He was your roommate. You talked now. You shared meals. Of course you'd invite him. That's what normal people did, right? That's what people who weren't emotionally fucked did.
The thunder cracked overhead and rain poured down by the time you got home, your clothes damp, your muscles aching, your head buzzing with too many thoughts, the familiar hum of the TV filling the space. Jake was on the couch, exactly where you half-expected him to be, watching one of his documentaries, posture straightening the second he noticed you. You dropped your bag onto the table and rolled your shoulders.
"Hi," he said softly, eyes flicking up to meet yours before darting away again.
"Hi," you replied, sitting down beside him with that same respectful distance you'd both somehow agreed on without ever discussing it. Your eyes drifted to the screen, absorbing nothing of whatever science-heavy topic was playing.
The silence stretched, like both of you were waiting for permission to speak.
"I made salad earlier—"
"Are you interested in sports—"
You both stopped at the exact same time, voices colliding awkwardly in the air. You turned toward him, mouth slightly open, blinking in surprise, and he mirrored you perfectly, eyes wide behind his glasses.
"You first," you said, exhaling a short laugh to break the tension.
He cleared his throat, nodding toward the dining table. "I made salad earlier. If you want to... I didn't expect you to be here early, so I didn't get to cook dinner right away..." His words tumbled out unevenly.
"Ah," you leaned back, glancing down at your feet. "It's okay. Coach said we should go home early to relax anyway. I'll eat it later. Thank you." Your voice softened without you meaning it to.
Another pause settled in. The documentary kept playing, some distant narration about oceans or planets or whatever, but neither of you were listening anymore. "So..." he started, breath hitching slightly as he stared at the floor. "What were you saying?"
This was it. Your chest tightened as you inhaled deeply, bracing yourself, forcing the words out before you could chicken out. "Are you interested in watching the tournament finals on the 24th?" you asked, eyes flicking toward him before darting away again. "I have a ticket, and I figured I could give it to you... if you want to."
The seconds that followed felt cruelly loud. You could hear the clock ticking, your heartbeat pounding in your ears, the rain still hammering outside. You stared at the floor, then at him, then anywhere but his face, mentally preparing yourself for whatever came next.
"I'm—" he began, and you looked at him despite yourself. His mouth opened and closed like he was searching for the right words, hands fidgeting in his lap. Another beat passed, then another. "T-thank you," he said finally, voice quiet, apologetic. "But I'm not really into that... especially with big crowds. S-sorry." He squeezed his eyes shut afterward, like he was bracing for impact.
Oh.
Of course. It made sense. Crowds, noises, people—it was everything he avoided. You'd known that before you even asked. The game would start at six-thirty, probably end close to eight if it dragged on, loud and packed and overwhelming. Saying yes would've been completely out of character for him.
You forced a small nod, a smile you hoped looked convincing. "It's okay," you said quickly. "I figured. Just thought I'd ask."
And that should've been the end of it. You'd tried. You'd done the brave thing. That was enough. So why did disappointment settle in your chest anyway. Why did it sting more than you expected, like you'd been quietly hoping for something you had no right to hope for?
You were considered lucky, at least according to every bullshit horoscope Karina ever forced you to listen to during some booth event you never even wanted to attend. Apparently, the stars loved you. Apparently, fate had a soft spot for you. She once read aloud that you were supposed to fall down a flight of stairs when you were four years old, crack your head open, ruin everything before it even began, but some divine intervention stepped in and said no, not today. You survived childhood without dramatic tragedy, without scars that people could point at and say, see, that's where it all went wrong.
Back in elementary school, during tryouts, you didn't even know what defense really meant. You just knew you were fast, stubborn, and didn't like backing down when something came flying at you. Everyone else flinched, screamed, covered their faces, cried when the ball hit too hard. When the coach spiked it straight toward you, you reacted without thinking, arms locking, wrists steady. The ball bounced back clean, and just like that, you were a libero. Just like that, people said you were lucky, like it wasn't your reflexes, your pain tolerance, your refusal to be scared that made it happen.
Because luck, real luck, was supposed to feel good, and most of the time it didn't. On the court, when you spiked and the middle blockers mistimed their jump and sent the ball out of bounds, earning your team the point, you didn't feel joy. You just reset your stance and waited for the next play.
When allowance day came and you counted your money and realized you had just enough left to afford ramen for the week, people called you lucky, joked about your budgeting skills. You weren't happy then either. You were relieved, maybe, but relief tasted nothing like happiness.
And when your teammates whispered about how lucky you were for hooking up with that handsome men's volleyball player, the one everyone drooled over, they didn't know he was gay and spiraling through an identity crisis, and they sure as hell didn't know how awkward and hollow the sex was. They envied you. You lay there afterward staring at the ceiling, feeling nothing but discomfort and regret, wondering how something everyone hyped up could feel so fucking empty.
You were unlucky in the kind of life you wanted but couldn't seem to reach, no matter how many points you saved, how many games you won, how many scholarships you earned. You worked hard, you pushed your body past exhaustion, you sacrificed sleep and weekends and normal college shit, and yet when it came to the softer parts of living, the parts people took for granted, you always seemed to come up short. Love didn't land where it was supposed to. Comfort felt temporary, like something borrowed that could be taken back at any moment.
"God, aren't they being misogynistic?" Karina's voice exploded through your phone, echoing slightly because someone else in the group call was yelling at the same time. It was already past 10:36 in the evening and the Viber group call lit up your screen, faces popping in and out, voices overlapping, screenshots being spammed into the chat. One of them showed the Men's Volleyball Team's group chat from your university, their messages dripping with mockery, acting like your qualification to the finals was some kind of joke. Saying you wouldn't survive Men's Volleyball, telling you to stop being egoistic, laughing about how you "wouldn't even win against them" if you played on their side.
You turned the volume down as you started packing your things for tomorrow. Your mind was tired, body sore, and halfway through, you remembered your other bag was still in the living room. You scratched behind your ear and stood, phone still pressed between your shoulder and cheek, listening to the call as you padded out of your room. You didn't turn on the main lights, already knowing Jake would be asleep by now.
"I mean, it's completely different when it comes to force, agility, speed," you said calmly. "But skills? That's not gendered. The best response is no response. Their egos are just bruised because they didn't qualify. With that attitude, I doubt they ever will." You sighed softly, ducking into the living room and kneeling by your bag. "God help those boys."
"Like?!" Giselle yelled through the phone, her face practically vibrating with rage on your screen. "They're being fucking misogynistic! Did you see their group chat? They're mocking you specifically for being fierce during matches! Look at this shit—'I can't wait for them to lose tomorrow, let's see if her fierce face stays then.' Bitch, I'm about to throw hands. Tell me to do something and I will."
You lowered the volume again, a small laugh slipping out despite yourself. Honestly, if you were being real, you didn't care that much. Not because it wasn't wrong, but because you were too damn tired to give their words any big deal. You started pulling unnecessary things out of your gym bag, tossing wrappers and old tape into the bin. Men talking shit was practically background noise at this point.
Then your hand froze. The ticket slipped into view between your fingers. You held it there, two fingers pinching the corner, staring at it like it might say something back. The girls were still yelling in the background, voices overlapping, insults flying freely now.
"They're giving small dick energy," Yunjin chimed in loudly. "I mean, it's obvious. There's literally no imprint when they wear gray shorts."
You barely reacted. Your eyes stayed on the ticket, chest tight, thoughts drifting somewhere else entirely. Jake's awkward smile. His quiet apologies. The way he'd shut his eyes when he said no, like he hated disappointing you even when he hadn't done anything wrong. Sighs, he is so cute.
Without letting yourself think any further, you opened the bin and dropped the ticket inside. You grabbed your bag, stood up, and walked back into your room, shutting the door behind you with careful quiet.
When finals finally rolled around, you found yourself moving in circles, literally and figuratively, as the coach herded you into a tight formation at center court. Everyone's hands were linked, fingers brushing, gripping just enough to feel grounded. The coach, in his usual way, told you all to close your eyes and "ask the universe for guidance."
You closed your eyes, not because you believed in any divine intervention, not really. You were too much of a realist for that. Still, it felt nice, comforting even, to pretend. To hope. To imagine the universe leaned in and whispered, Yeah, you can do this. You will win, but not because of luck—because you earned it. Your shoulders loosened slightly, the tension in your jaw softening as you let yourself breathe into the ritual, even as every fiber of your body screamed with exhaustion from training.
Around you, the girls were buzzing with energy, eyes closed but faces alight, humming a silent rhythm of anticipation. Their drive from yesterday had carried over—Karina's fist clenched in quiet determination, Giselle bouncing slightly on her heels, Winter rocking back on the balls of her feet like she was about to launch herself forward. You felt a twinge of envy—how easy it seemed for them to throw themselves into hope, to lean on belief, even if it was in some hokey pre-game ritual. You, meanwhile, were caught in this weird limbo between wanting to believe in the magic of it and knowing, deep down, that you relied on nothing but your own hands and legs to make anything happen.
Hm.
What else could tonight bring? Maybe a good meal after? You glanced at your teammates, at the VIP section with its flowers and loud supporters, thinking about how nice it would be if someone threw a bouquet your way too. Not that you deserved one—hell, your muscles were probably going to scream at you tomorrow regardless. You almost snorted at yourself. Ridiculous. Wanting someone to soothe your sore body, to run a hand over a knot in your shoulder, to be there after everything, like it was some kind of reward for existing.
You could picture the universe rolling its eyes if it were a person. Slapping you upside the head. Really? You want that too? Just for surviving a volleyball match?
The corners of your lips twitched into a small, ironic smile as you closed your eyes again. You tried not to think about Jake—the way he cooked extra portions, the way he smiled awkwardly when he handed them to you. Not that it had anything to do with the universe or magic or divine intervention. Not really. And yet, as your fingers brushed against the hands of your teammates, as your legs trembled in anticipation of the first whistle, a tiny, secret part of you hoped he was somewhere out there, watching or thinking of you, maybe even wishing for you in his quiet, careful way. Geez, so out of reach.
The whistle blew.
Finals was hell in the most honest way possible, finals dragged on longer than your lungs wanted and demanded more than your body should reasonably give. It was the most intense match of the season, not just because of the score, but because of what was hanging over everyone's heads. Regionals. You didn't just want it, you needed it. You had refused to back down this far. You were not about to stop now, not when nationals were just one brutal step closer.
The crowd roared every time you sprinted out of bounds, every time you threw your body after that fucking ball like it owed you money. You barely felt the sting when your chest slammed against the floor after a dive, only thinking it as something to deal with later. Adrenaline was pumping so hard your heartbeat felt louder than the whistles, louder than the screams. You pushed yourself up, sweat blurring your vision as you glanced at the other team, then back at your own. Everyone looked wrecked. Knees bent, hands on thighs, jerseys soaked through. You were all running on fumes and stubbornness at this point.
Your chest heaved as you sucked in air, the scoreboard flashing in the corner of your vision. Big mistake. Numbers swam in your head. Forty. Thirty-nine. Too close. Way too close. The noise pressed in on you from every direction, cheers crashing over your thoughts until it felt like your skull might split open. Fuck. Don't look. Don't think. You needed to make it into regionals. Regionals. You needed to make it—
Huh?
Your eyes flicked to the VIP section without meaning to, drawn by something that didn't belong. Someone stiff. Someone painfully familiar. For half a second, your brain refused to process it, like it was some fucked-up hallucination brought on by exhaustion. But no. He was real. Sitting there in a Type D university uniform, shoulders tense, posture straight like he didn't know what to do with himself in a place this loud, this crowded. Jake. Your nerdy, early-sleeping, crowd-hating roommate. And in his left hand, of all things, he was holding a blue balloon.
What the fuck was Jake doing here?
Your heart stuttered, not from the game this time, but from the sheer wrongness of it. It was past eight!
When his gaze finally met yours, it was like the rest of the gym dropped out of existence. He gave you that same awkward, painfully familiar smile, the one that always looked like it was halfway between nervous and sincere. Then, slowly, he lifted his hand and waved. The crowd was deafening, chants and stomping and whistles crashing over each other, but somehow you still caught it. His lips moved, barely forming the words, but you read them clear as day.
Bring it home.
Your throat closed. Championship. He meant championship. And fuck, you didn't know how something so simple could rearrange you from the inside out. People always said liking someone made you stupid, made you corny, made you weak. Maybe it did. Because suddenly your chest felt too full, like someone had plugged you straight into a charger you didn't even know you were running on empty from. You dragged your eyes back to the court, licked your dry lips, tried to flatten your expression—but it was useless. The smile crept up anyway. You were smiling. Inside the fucking court. In the middle of finals. Like an idiot.
The whistle blew again, and instead of dread, something hot surged through you. You felt full. Fueled. Like the last hours of exhaustion had been replaced with pure, reckless purpose. Your legs moved before you thought, sprinting, cutting, diving. You hit the floor hard, again and again, arms burning as you popped the ball up just in time. The pain was there, sure, but it didn't slow you down.
You got up grinning, clapping for your teammates, shouting encouragement you never fucking shouted before.
They stared at you like you'd lost your mind. Probably because you had. You never did this shit. You were the quiet one, the focused one, the one who saved the ball and moved on. But now you were smiling at them, slapping hands, nodding like yeah, we've fucking got this. And weirdly, it worked.
You planted your feet again, wiping your sweaty palms against your shorts, lungs burning as you bent into position.
For regionals. For your team. For the boy in the VIP section holding a blue balloon like an idiot, who had no fucking idea he'd just become your lucky charm.
The serve came flying toward you.
And you didn't miss.
Your arms burned as the ball ricocheted cleanly upward, exactly where it needed to go—and then the whistle screamed through the gym. For half a second, everything froze. Your lungs forgot how to work. Your legs locked like they'd finally decided they were done carrying you.
"And just like that, with the score of 50–43, Decelis Academy earns the champion title!"
The roar hit you like a fucking wave. It crashed into your chest, into your ears, into your bones. Your knees buckled, and if your teammates hadn't swarmed you immediately, you would've kissed the floor right there. Arms wrapped around you, lifting you up, spinning you, screaming into your hair. You screamed too hands flying to your face as tears spilled without permission. Your body shook, adrenaline still screaming even though the fight was over.
You did it. You fucking did it! The students from your university went feral in the stands, chants echoing, banners waving. Someone shoved a towel over your shoulders, someone else slapped your back hard enough to knock the air out of you. When they finally set you down, your legs wobbled like jelly, barely holding your weight. The trophy hadn't even been handed out yet, the awards still being organized, but your chest was already too full. Too loud. Too alive.
And then your eyes went to the bleachers.
He was standing. Not sitting stiff anymore, not hiding behind his shoulders—standing, gripping the rail. Your nerdy little roommate. Your heart did that stupid thing again, skipping like it always did around him. Without thinking, without waiting, your feet moved on their own, carrying you toward him.
"Hi," you said when you reached him, breathless, sweaty, grinning like a fucking idiot.
"Hi," he replied, and his eyes—God, his eyes—were shining. Bright. Wide. Almost overwhelmed. "Y-You looked so cool," he said, words tumbling out faster than usual. "With all the defense, and the jumps, and the spikes, and the serves—" His hands moved as he spoke, clumsy little gestures like he was trying to reenact the whole game at once.
Your heart softened so hard it almost hurt. You laughed. "It's already nine," you said, teasing, tilting your head. "You're supposed to be asleep."
He smiled and looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. "I couldn't miss something s-so cool," he admitted. "I don't know what other words to use, but... losing an hour or two of sleep is worth it." Then his brows pulled together, concern slipping in. "You dived really hard though. Does it hurt?" He pressed a hand to his own chest like he felt it too.
You laughed again, shaking your head. This—this was the longest he'd ever talked to you without tripping over himself, and fuck, it was endearing as hell. "It's no big deal," you said lightly, tapping your foot against the ground. "I'm trained for that." Then, quieter, more honest, "Thanks for watching. It... feels nice. Knowing someone out there was actually watching me."
You glanced away, embarrassed by your own sincerity, then looked back just as he reached down and pulled something up from behind his chair.
Your heart fucking stopped.
The universe had jokes, apparently. Personal ones.
"Uh... f-for you," he said, holding it out with both hands. "For bringing pride to the Academy. And for... being the coolest roommate ever." He let out a nervous laugh. It was a LEGO bouquet. Big colorful bouquet, wrapped in pink. Painfully thoughtful. Flowers that wouldn't die. Flowers that fit him perfectly.
Your vision blurred before you even realized what was happening. You didn't think and didn't hesitate. You just moved—vaulting forward, ignoring the metal barrier between the court and the bleachers, throwing yourself straight into him. Your face buried against his neck. You clutched the bouquet awkwardly as your other arm wrapped around him like you were afraid he'd disappear.
He froze at first, breath hitching, body stiff with surprise.
Then—slowly, carefully—his free arm came around your waist. It was hesitant in that painfully sincere way, like he was asking permission without words. His hand pressed flat against your back, warm through the thin fabric of your jersey, and after a second it began to move—small, slow circles that comforted you, that reached somewhere deep inside your chest and eased something you didn't even realize had been clenched for years.
"Thank you," you whispered, voice breaking despite your effort to hold it together.
The tears still came anyway. It felt nice—no, it felt right. You trained your body to take hits, to throw yourself into floors, to stand tall and hard and unshakable. But here you were, soft as hell for a boy who held you like you might shatter if he squeezed too hard.
You slowly pulled back from the hug, and the distance between you was barely anything. Too close. Intimate in a way that made your breath hitch. You noticed everything at once—how sharp his nose was up close, how full his lips were when he wasn't biting them, how his skin smelled clean and familiar. Your arms were still looped around him, your fingers resting against his back and you were staring at his face like your brain had short-circuited.
His cheeks were flushed red, eyes wide, frozen.
"S-sorry," you blurted, snapping back to reality and pulling away.
Before the silence could swallow you whole, your teammates shouted your name, waving you over, yelling about awards and photos and medals. You swallowed hard, nodding as you stepped back, heart still beating stupidly fast.
You hesitated, then handed him the LEGO bouquet. "Hold this for me?" you said, already half-turning away before he could answer.
As you walked back toward the court, you bit down on your lip so hard it almost hurt, trying to stop the grin that threatened to split your face open. You swung your arms back and forth like that might shake the feeling out of your system. It didn't help. Not even a little. You could already imagine Karina's smug, knowing smile from a mile away.
Sure enough—
"Care to introduce us to your companion?" Karina teased, nudging you with her shoulder as medals were placed around your neck.
You rolled your eyes, cheeks burning.
The celebration dragged on—photos, cheers, teammates getting swallowed by their partners, hugs turning into kisses, laughter spilling everywhere. When it finally became too much, you slipped away from the crowd.
And Jake was still there. Sitting on the bench. Waiting. Like he hadn't even considered leaving without you.
"Let's go home?" you asked softly, adjusting the strap of your bag on your shoulder, suddenly very aware of how tired your body was now that the adrenaline was fading.
He nodded immediately and stood up, a little too fast. His gaze dropped to your bag, then back up to you, then away again. He gestured vaguely toward it, fingers twitching at his side.
You frowned slightly. "Hm?" you asked, lifting your head to look at him, confused.
"Uh..." He scratched the back of his head, lips pressing together like he was debating something internally. His ears were already red. Without waiting for your response, he stepped closer and carefully took the bag from your shoulder, sliding the strap off you and onto himself instead. He left you holding only the LEGO bouquet.
"Oh," you said, letting out a small, awkward laugh.
You glanced around at the lingering crowd, then back at him, then anywhere but directly at his face. You swung your upper half just to bleed off the urge to scream, or laugh, or do something completely unhinged like grab his hand or kiss his stupid, careful mouth. Your heart was still racing, your muscles still buzzing, and now this—this quiet, domestic kind of care—was hitting you harder.
The silence between you stretched as you walked back to the apartment. It wasn't awkward, not really, but it was loud in its own way. You could feel every unsaid thing vibrating in the air. You wanted to say something—anything—but every possible sentence felt like a trap you'd fall into and embarrass yourself with. So you stayed quiet. Let your footsteps match his. Let the city noise do the talking for you.
When you finally stepped inside the apartment, you froze.
The table was covered in foil and containers—different shapes, different sizes, way more food than two people needed. And there, lined up neatly in the living room like little soldiers, were Whitey, Pinky, and Bumble, powered down, silent for once, which means only one thing. Jake had been here before the finals. Long before.
Your brain immediately went to war with itself.
Did he cook all of this before going to your game? Where the hell did he even get the ticket? How did he manage his time—his precious, carefully scheduled time—to cook this much? Did he order it instead? Was this planned? Was this normal?
Why did he watch your game?
You watched him set your bag down gently on the couch. He moved toward the table, fumbling with the food covers, suddenly clumsy again.
"Uh... y'know, I—I wasn't supposed to watch," he started, almost rushed. "I ordered a bunch of meals for you to eat after, but... I—" He stopped himself, staring at the food like it might give him the right words. He scratched at his ear, shoulders curling inward. "Uh... I..."
"Thank you," you said, cutting him off gently before he could spiral any further.
He looked at you with wide eyes, you smiled at him and nodded as you sat down in the living room, the tension easing just enough to breathe again.
As usual, you ate in silence. And as usual, you ate comfortably around him. Shoving food into your mouth, muttering little "mm" sounds between bites, nodding at how good everything tasted, even closing your eyes like you were savoring.
And God, Jake really was the best roommate you'd ever accidentally asked the universe for.
If you thought about it too long, he felt like the only lucky thing that had ever landed in your life without strings attached. How being around him made you happy. How you didn't have to plan your words or armor yourself up. How you could be tired, bruised, vulnerable, and still be met with care instead of judgment.
When you finally finished eating, you leaned back with a satisfied sigh. "Thank you for the meal!" you said brightly, reaching out and slapping his back in a burst of affection.
Jake arched forward slightly and let out a soft whine, clearly not expecting it.
"Shit—sorry!" you laughed immediately, panic and amusement colliding as you rubbed the spot you'd hit. "I forget you're not built like one of my teammates."
He huffed out a shy laugh, shaking his head, ears red again.
By the time everything was packed up and wiped down, it was already past eleven. There were no leftovers—of course there weren't. Your body had burned through everything like fuel dumped straight into a fire. You stretched your arms over your head and volunteered to wash the dishes, half-joking that it was the least you could do after eating like a starved animal. Jake protested at first, shaking his head and mumbling something about it being fine, but after a bit of back and forth he gave in, hovering awkwardly nearby like he wasn't sure whether to help or get out of your way.
You worked side by side in silence, the comfortable kind this time. Plates clinking, water running. It felt domestic in a way that made you uneasy.
When you finished and wiped your hands dry, you crouched near Bumble, who was shut down and charging by the wall. It felt weird that it didn't greet you tonight. You had half a mind to flick it on just to hear that familiar robotic "Hi." You wanted to tell it everything—that you won, that you were heading to regionals, that you earned a title you'd bled for. That somehow—against all odds—you were developing feelings for its awkward, gentle owner without even meaning to. You snorted softly at yourself and patted Bumble's rounded top "I'll tell you tomorrow," you whispered, like it could hear you.
You grabbed a towel and headed to the bathroom. The hot water hit your skin and you hissed, muscles screaming in protest, bruises blooming darker under the steam. You leaned your forehead against the tile and let yourself breathe, replaying flashes of the night—Jake in the crowd, the balloon, the Lego bouquet, his arms around you. Fuck. You shook your head hard, rinsed off, and wrapped the towel around yourself before your thoughts went somewhere dangerous.
When you stepped back into the living room, hair damp and towel slung over your shoulder, you expected the lights to be dimmed and Jake to be long asleep like usual.
Instead, you froze.
He was still there, crouched near the wall, focused on powering down the vacuum robots one by one. Whitey and Pinky blinked to life, then began their slow, looping rounds across the floor, humming softly.
"Oh," you said before you could stop yourself. "You're... still not asleep."
Jake glanced up, startled, then pushed himself to his feet. "Y-Yeah," he replied, rubbing the back of his neck. "I... uh... I needed to shut them down properly. They, um... run better if I don't leave it for the morning."
You nodded and sat down on the couch, absently rubbing your hair with the towel, watching Whitey bump gently into the leg of the coffee table before redirecting itself. Your body sank into the cushions, heavy and spent, but your mind was still buzzing.
"Thanks," you added quietly, not looking at him. "For... everything. Tonight."
It suddenly sounded too intimate, too loaded, and you immediately regretted not cushioning it with a joke or some careless shrug. You could almost predict what would happen next—his shoulders stiffening, that polite little cough, the retreat.
Sure enough, you heard him clear his throat, footsteps padding toward his room, and you exhaled slowly. Do not be stupid about it.
The door clicked shut. You were already settling deeper into the couch, telling your heart to calm the fuck down, when the door opened again. You frowned, lifting your head just in time to see Jake step back into the living room with a small cloth in his hand. He didn't look at you right away. Instead, he moved to the refrigerator, rummaging around. You watched him with a crease between your brows, confused.
When he turned back around, your breath caught. He crossed the space between you without rushing, then knelt down in front of the couch. Your eyes widened as he gently took hold of your foot, so careful, his gaze fixed on the angry bruises blooming along your shin and ankle. Up close, they looked worse—swollen, and darkening.
"Wait—you don't have to," you blurted, heat rushing up your neck. You reached for him instinctively, fingers closing around his wrist as if to stop him, suddenly hyper-aware of how close he was.
He shook his head before you could pull away. "J-Just... let me," he said quietly, his voice steadier than you'd ever heard it. "Please."
The word please was was sincere. Caring. Like this was something he wanted to do, not something he felt obligated to offer. Your grip loosened without you even realizing it, fingers slipping from his wrist as you gave a small nod, surrendering.
The cloth was cool when it touched your skin, and you hissed softly before the ache eased just enough to make you sag back against the couch. Jake worked carefully, dabbing, not pressing too hard, his movements slow like he was afraid of hurting you. You watched him from above, the way his brows knitted in concentration, the way his thumb hovered before every touch as if silently asking permission.
In that moment, with your legs aching and your heart doing stupid, hopeful things, you felt it clearly—like the universe had finally thrown you a bone. You swallowed, blinking back the sudden sting behind your eyes, and let yourself wish—just a little—that this wasn't the end of it. That maybe, if you were brave enough, it could become something more.
The rain was relentless, hammering down on the campus like it wanted to wash everything away. You weren't supposed to be here—technically, the university might announce a suspension for this one-day anniversary celebration, and yet, here you were, dragged into anywhere by your batchmates. Booths sprawled across the open field, tents flapping violently in the wind, people shouting over the rainfall, trying to make their sales, their events, their little festivals matter despite the downpour. Your mind was flying, your focus already zeroed in on the smell of food wafting through the air.
Your batchmates were bouncing around like hyperactive ping-pong balls, dragging you to every booth, explaining every club, organization, or activity. You smiled, nodded, occasionally talking back, but your attention was already elsewhere. You made a beeline for the food tents, because at least there you could indulge without pretending to care too much about the rest of. You handed over your allowance, little coins and bills disappearing faster than you could count, but it didn't matter. You were eating! You were alive!
"This is Caramelized Banana! It's a banana with melted sugar on top. We also have banana wrapped, no sugar, or with sugar, and you can dip it in our chocolate syrup! It's a recipe popular in the Philippines—" You nodded, intrigued despite yourself, and bought one, your teeth sinking into the warm sweetness. You didn't even mind the vendor's continued spiel, too busy savoring the sticky sugar sliding down your fingers.
"Nachos with a lot of melted cheese! Would you like that? Buy here, come!" Oh, cheese. You couldn't say no. You grabbed it, scarfed down the gooey chips, and licked your fingers. The crowd barely mattered, the wet grass barely mattered—you had your food and that was enough.
"Nasi Goreng, originated from Malaysia, and we also have Murtabak with curry dipping sauce—" One you hadn't tried before, hm, promising. You bought it anyway, letting the unfamiliar spice surprise you.
You wandered, hands overloaded with plates, cups, skewers, dripping food and drink. You smiled at familiar faces, waved at acquaintances, all without really stopping, just enjoying the simple pleasure of eating. But then, of course, you saw Karina, by the Engineering booth. And just like some magnetic pull, she was staring right at you, that big, wide, infuriatingly cheerful grin on her face.
Your first instinct was to turn on your heel and walk fast, hoping she wouldn't catch up. Ha. Of course, she did, slinging an arm around your shoulder and tugging you in the direction she wanted.
"Come on," she sing-songed, leaning heavily into you. "You're really not interested in the Engineering booths? That's wild." She grinned, nuzzling her nose against your cheek in that infuriatingly intimate way she had. "I saw your cute little roommate earlier, you know. Passing papers to the Grade 12 students. He looked all serious and responsible. Wanna say hi? Let's go say hi."
You huffed through the banana cue still in your mouth, your cheeks hollowing as you chewed. Three days had passed since the finals, three days of rest and light training, but your mind was still a battlefield. Thoughts of him kept creeping in, and the more you tried to ignore them, the louder they became. You wanted to avoid him—yes, goddamn yes—but at the same time, every fiber of you ached to see him, to be near him, to steal a moment that wasn't really yours.
Karina jabbed your side playfully again, practically dragging you forward, and you let yourself be led, cheeks flaming hotter with each step. Your stomach was twisting like a knot of nerves and excitement as she maneuvered you through the rain-slicked paths, past other tents, right to the Engineering booth where Jake was standing. Flyers were scattered across the table, little models of buildings precariously balanced on top, and he was carefully carrying one in his hands.
"O-Oh, hi," he stammered when his gaze landed on you. You forced a small, awkward smile and waved, trying to look casual, though your knees threatened to buckle under the intensity of your own heartbeat. His eyes flicked to Karina, who was grinning and waving energetically at him, and you could feel her elbows nudging you forward with impatience.
"Hi! I'm Karina, her friend!" she chirped, pointing at you. She looped her arms around yours in a sort of gesture, pressing her hip gently against yours, signaling you to do something—anything—so you wouldn't freeze completely.
"Hi, I'm Jake..." he said, his words catching slightly as he placed the tiny building models on the table with deliberate care, his gaze snapping back to you immediately. Karina squealed again, poking your side for emphasis, and you could barely focus on anything except the way his eyes met yours.
The past three days, he had been almost invisible in the apartment, buried in whatever work the booth had demanded. You had tried to cook dinner once, thinking maybe it would be a way to reach out, but you burned the rice, cursing yourself under your breath. After that, you'd stuck to ordering takeout, leaving it neatly on the table for him, only to be met with his quiet thanks and a promise to sleep early because of his busy schedule. Talking to him directly had always been this impossible thing, a wall of nerves and hesitation that you could never figure out how to scale.
"Uh..." you said finally. "What's around your booth?" You felt Karina pinch your back sharply, a mischievous jab reminding you to ask more, not less.
"M-Mostly, just models and blueprints of b-buildings. N-nothing special, sorry—our plan was to encourage the Grade 12 students to enroll in our c-courses... that's why..."
You nodded, staring at the mini-building he had just placed down, but your gaze inevitably wandered to his hands. White, slender, pale hands, veiny in the softest, most perfect way. Hands that looked like they could build worlds or crush them, delicate and capable at the same time. You swallowed hard, blinking, your mind wandering to impossible thoughts—holding those hands, wrapping yours around them. It was infuriating how unfairly perfect he was in every little way, how nothing about him seemed flawed, nothing you could grasp onto to stop yourself from melting quietly inside.
"The fuck are you doing? Ask him more!" Karina hissed into your ear, breaking through your daze and making you jump slightly.
"Uh... you want some food?" you blurted, holding up the banana cue you still had, dipping it in chocolate sauce with trembling hands. Your fingers shook as you offered it to him, locking eyes with his as if your courage depended on it. You could see the sudden widening of his eyes behind his glasses, a tiny flare of surprise that made your stomach twist. "It's a banana with sugar... I roamed around the area and ate all of their food. Haha..." You tried to laugh lightly, hoping it sounded casual instead of awkward.
Jake's hands were still slightly dusty from handling the models, and he rubbed them awkwardly on his pants. "Uh... D-Do you have alcohol wipes or—"
"It's okay, just take a bite. I'll hold it for you," you said quickly, forcing your voice calm even though your heart was hammering. Your feet tapped nervously against the ground as you leaned slightly forward, the tiniest tremor of excitement running up your spine.
Then he leaned forward, slowly, cautiously, and took a bite. Your fingers tightened around the stick as you watched him, the small tunnel of the booth around you fading until all you could see was him. Karina's muffled clap from the side snapped you briefly back, and you caught her giving you a sly thumbs-up, eyes closed in encouragement as if saying, Finally, you're doing it.
God, Jake is so handsome it knocks the air clean out of you. Your brain short-circuits in the dumbest way possible, every thought evaporating until there's nothing left but him—standing there, biting into your food. You watch his lips close around the banana, the faint shine of chocolate at the corner of his mouth, the way his jaw moves when he chews. He nods softly, murmuring a quiet thanks, his palm hovering over his mouth as if he's embarrassed to be seen enjoying it too much.
You don't move. You barely breathe. It's humiliating how sensitive you suddenly feel to everything—how close he is, how warm the air feels between you, how one small movement from him makes your stomach flip. Seconds pass, maybe minutes, you're not sure. Then Jake looks up and catches you staring, really staring, and your chest tightens painfully because fuck, you didn't even try to hide it.
Karina, bless her soul, steps in before you can combust on the spot. "Jake? Right?" she says brightly, already reaching out to clap a hand on his shoulder. He jumps a little at the contact, stiff as a board. "Actually, my friend Sangwon—you know Sangwon? Yeah? He's an engineer. He's gonna take over the booth with Leo in a bit." She gestures wildly behind her, where Sangwon and Leo are walking past with drinks in their hands. "What if you two just roam around the area? My friend here is a loner," she adds, squeezing your arm hard, "and it might be nice for you to walk instead of being stuck here all day, hmm?"
Jake freezes completely, eyes darting between Karina and you. Sangwon and Leo stop mid-step, staring at Karina. "Are you fucking with me?" Sangwon mutters, incredulous. Leo just blinks, mouth open.
"Shut up," Karina snaps without looking at them.
"Actually—" you finally manage to speak, like you just woke up from a dream. You clear your throat and glance at Jake, trying not to melt under the way his attention snaps back to you instantly. "I saw at the other booth... the sponsored one... they were selling Hot Wheels."
"Really?!" Jake's eyes widen so much they practically light up behind his glasses. The shift is immediate and endearing as hell, all his stiffness melting into pure, unfiltered excitement. "Like... the die-cast ones? Or the limited edition—" He cuts himself off, realizing he's rambling.
You smile before you can stop yourself. You don't even know what are the die cast or the limited editions but— "I think I saw some limited ones," you say. "Near the food stalls."
Karina grins, "see?" she declares. "Go. Walk. Talk. I'll handle the booth." She physically pushes Jake a step away from the table, then nudges you forward too.
Jake hesitates, fingers twitching at his sides, then looks at you like he's asking permission without saying it. "I-If... if you don't mind," he says quietly.
You shrug, pretending your heart isn't slamming against your ribs. "Yeah. I don't mind."
And just like that, you're walking side by side, away from the booth. Your shoulders almost brush, close enough that you're hyper-aware of it, but neither of you moves away.
"How do you know I like Hot Wheels?" Jake asks after a moment.
You shrug, like it's nothing, like it didn't take weeks of quiet observation to notice. "Dunno," you say casually. "Every time I talk about rent or bills and you open your door, I just... notice the tiny cars." You glance at him, then gesture vaguely behind you. "They're lined up. Organized. Very... you."
He lets out a small, embarrassed laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. You continue before you can second-guess yourself. "But you kinda like everything, right? Stars. Oceans. Dinosaurs. All that science stuff." You pause, then add, "There's a lot of booths here that reminded me of you." The moment the words leave your mouth, you bite your lip.
"Really?" he says, stopping for half a second just to look at you properly. Not a quick glance—an actual look. His eyes search your face like he's checking if you're joking, if this is some kind of tease. When he realizes you're not, his ears turn red almost instantly. "Let's take a look then," he adds, a little brighter.
You nod, grateful for the excuse to look away, and guide him toward the booth you spotted earlier. The Hot Wheels stand is crowded with students leaning over glass cases, bright lights reflecting off tiny polished cars. Rows and rows of them—limited editions, old-school designs, racing models, cartoonish ones.
"Oh my God," Jake breathes. The words slip out before he can stop them, and you swear you've never seen him look so openly excited. He leans closer to the glass, hands clasped behind his back like a kid trying not to press his face against a window. "Th-This is— I've never seen this many in one place."
You watch him instead of the cars. The way his eyes light up, the way he rocks slightly on his heels, trying to contain himself. It hits you then—this is what it looks like when someone feels safe enough to be fully themselves.
"These ones are rare," you say, pointing at a row near the back, pretending you know more than you do. "I heard people were lining up early for them."
Jake leans in closer, his arm brushing yours accidentally. "Y-Yeah," he says, "I've only seen pictures of these online."
You're not even really looking at the cars anymore. You're watching him—how his focus sharpens, how his shoulders loosen, how this small joy pulls him out of his shell. Then, without thinking too much about it, he reaches out and lightly wraps his fingers around your forearm. "C-Come here," he murmurs, already tugging you a step to the side. "Take a look at this."
He points at a single car nestled among the others. "That one," he says, "It's a Super Treasure Hunt. See the 'TH' logo?" He leans closer to the glass, his grip on you tightening just a fraction. "They don't make a lot of them. People s-search for years sometimes."
"And... what about it?" you ask, heat creeps up your neck. Your cheeks flush, not just from the closeness, but from the way he's still holding you—thumb resting against your skin. You don't pull away. You don't want to.
Jake finally realizes what he's doing and stiffens slightly, his fingers twitching like he's about to let go. "S-Sorry," he starts, panicking, "I didn't mean to—"
"It's okay," you cut in quickly, turning your arm just enough that his hand stays where it is. You meet his eyes. "You're excited. I get it."
His mouth opens, then closes, then he lets out a small, breathy laugh. "I, uh... I just—" He swallows. "I think it's c-cool. When something small means that much."
You smile without thinking, slow and soft, nodding along. Yeah. Totally relatable. Your life has been built on small things that meant everything.
You and him end up roaming around the booths despite the shit weather, rain misting the air and soaking the edges of banners and tents. For once, you don't care. For once, you're not rushing, not counting time, not worrying about training schedules or what comes next. And really—this is the first time you see him like this. Not just Jake-the-roommate, or Jake-the-awkward-genius, but Jake letting himself exist out loud.
"It's my first time roaming around this much," he says, eyes wide as he takes everything in. His hand is still loosely wrapped around your arm. "Wow... I think there's a lot more compared to last year." His other hand is full of paper bags from the Hot Wheels booth.
You hum, letting him talk, letting him lead, and he really does. He points things out with this quiet excitement that sneaks up on you. The biology booth makes him stop dead in his tracks. "And that one—" he says, tugging you closer, voice lifting despite himself. "They're doing dissections. Look, that's a scorpion—see how detailed it is? And they patched it up themselves. That's so cool." His words tumble over each other, hands moving.
Then he's already dragging you again, apologizing under his breath but smiling all the same, pulling you toward a booth filled with wires, blinking LEDs, half-built machines. You figure it's IT or robotics—something adjacent to his world. His eyes light up immediately, pupils blown wide.
"This one—" he says, pointing at a small rectangular robot with tiny arms and legs. "It's an emo robot. Originally meant to sit on desks." He wiggles his finger in front of it, and the robot mirrors the motion, its digital eyes shifting expressions. Jake laughs under his breath, soft and fond. "I wanted one before, but it was expensive. So maybe Bumble can be an improvisation." He glances at you. "Someday... what do you think?"
You look at the robot, then back at him, then shake your head lightly. "I think I like Bumble more," you say honestly. "She greets me. Judges me silently."
He snorts before he can stop himself, clapping a hand over his mouth. And God—there it is again. That sound. That real laugh. It makes something warm bloom in your chest.
"Y-Yeah," he says, smiling openly now. "She does that."
And somehow, after that, everything loosens. The tension you didn't even realize you were carrying melts into the background as the two of you keep walking, drifting from booth to booth, laughing more than you expect to. It's awkward, yeah—there are pauses, stutters, moments where you both talk at once and then stop—but it's the good kind. He points at everything like a kid seeing the world for the first time, rambling about random facts, half-formed theories, things he read once and never forgot. And you listen. Really listen. Not because you feel like you have to, but because hearing him talk like this feels... comforting.
You catch yourself smiling for no damn reason, nodding along while he explains why certain materials work better in buildings or why he likes models more than finished structures. He talks with his hands, fingers fidgeting when he gets excited, eyes lighting up in a way that makes your chest ache a little.
"They said after this," you say eventually, glancing up at the sky, "judging by the weather, the government might suspend classes." The clouds above are heavy and gray, the wind sharp enough to bite through your clothes.
You're halfway through the walk back when the sky finally gives up pretending. Rain pours down all at once, soaking you in seconds. You both stop, startled, then look at each other like idiots before breaking into a run. Jake hugs the paper bags to his chest, trying—and failing—to shield them with his body.
"Oh no—!" he yelps, slipping slightly, and you grab his arm without thinking, dragging him forward.
You fumble with your keys at the door, hands slick and shaking, rain blurring your vision as you finally get it open. The two of you stumble inside, slamming the door shut behind you, breathing hard. For a second there's just the sound of rain pounding against the walls and your own uneven breaths.
Then you look at each other.
And you both lose it.
Laughter bursts out of you, echoing through the apartment. Water drips from your hair, down your face, soaking your clothes. Jake's curls are plastered to his forehead, his glasses fogged, his braces flashing as he grins and pushes his wet hair back with his palm.
God. He looks ridiculous. And beautiful.
Your chest feels warm, too full, as you watch him walk over and carefully set the bags on the couch like he's still worried about them, even now. He glances back at you, cheeks flushed, eyes bright, still smiling like this moment.
"We should immediately shower and change our clothes," he said, voice still a little breathless from laughing.
By the time you wrapped yourself in a towel and crawled into bed, your body finally gave in. The government suspension announcement came not long after. Continuous heavy rainfall. Classes canceled. City on standby. You stared at the window instead, watching water race down the glass in uneven lines, your mind is finally quiet. Just an unfamiliar sense of peace.
You didn't even realize how long you'd been lying there until a soft knock pulled you out of it.
It was too early for you to feel human again, too early to leave the bed—but of course, it was Jake. Standing at your door, holding a bowl with both hands. "Uh... I made b-breakfast," he said. "Porridge. With egg." He hesitated, then added, "If you're hungry."
God. You could live like this forever.
After washing the dishes together—your hands bumping once, both of you apologizing at the same time—you leaned against the counter, watching him wipe the table with careful strokes.
"Do you think it'll take weeks?" you asked, glancing at your phone. "Another typhoon's coming, right? Friday, I think."
He shrugged, pushing his glasses up his nose. "Dunno. Our profs already sent some online activities." He paused, then added, almost apologetic, "I still have to study."
"Sucks to be you," you said, grinning. "I just wanna be lazy all day. But also... being lazy gets boring fast."
He lifted his head then, eyes flicking up to meet yours. There was a brief pause, like he was debating with himself, fingers fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. "Wanna b-build a Lego with me?"
Oh fuck. Your heart did that stupid thing again—jumping, twisting. You nodded anyway, too fast, too eager. "Yeah," you said. "Sure. Why not."
That was how you ended up on the living room floor, legs folded awkwardly, backs against the couch, Lego pieces scattered everywhere. Jake sat close—but not too close—careful in the way he always was, knees tucked in, sleeves pushed up as his fingers worked with quiet focus. He explained things as he went, apologizing every time he thought he was talking too much, which only made you want to hear more. You kept stealing glances at him, the way his brow furrowed when a piece didn't fit, the little hum he made under his breath when he figured it out.
And it didn't stop there.
The next morning, the rain was still relentless, hammering against the windows with no mercy, wind howling. You were half-awake, wrapped in a blanket, when Jake hovered near the couch, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "Uh... do you wanna watch a series?" he asked, holding his tablet. "I—I started it last week. It's... kinda long."
You agreed before your brain could catch up, again.
That's how you ended up watching a chess series together, bodies sunk into the couch, knees occasionally brushing. You didn't understand half of it, but you liked the way he watched—leaning forward, eyes sharp, fully absorbed. You pointed at the screen when the female lead pulled off some insane move, eyebrows raised. "I don't get how it works," you said honestly, "but she's cool as hell."
He smiled at that, a real one, eyes lighting up. "Y-Yeah. She is." He hesitated, then added, softer, "She's really smart."
Hours slipped by without either of you noticing. Episodes blurred together. You asked questions, most of them are dumb ones, sometimes ones that made him pause and think. When the character lost a crucial match, you frowned at the screen. "Why did she lose?"
Jake straightened a bit. "B-Because she got checkmated," he said gently. "There's... rules. A lot of patterns. Math, too." He leaned forward, pointing at the paused screen. "Her queen is trapped here. If she moves it, her king's exposed. No safe squares left."
You nodded slowly, pretending you understood more than you did, eyes flicking between the screen and him. He kept explaining anyway, hands moving as he talked, sketching invisible boards in the air.
Night fell without ceremony. The rain didn't let up. At some point, you realized your head had tipped onto his shoulder, your body was warm and heavy against his side. He stiffened for half a second, then relaxed, breathing evening. Neither of you said anything. The show kept playing. Your eyes drifted shut.
Another morning arrived with rain slamming against the windows like it was angry at the city itself. The wind howled, rattling the glass hard enough that it felt alive. Your phone buzzed with the announcement before you even checked the time: University Suspension — Classes Cancelled Until Further Notice. You stared at the screen for a second, then let yourself fall back against the couch with a breathy laugh. Trapped. Stuck. Whatever word people wanted to use. You didn't mind it. Not when being stuck meant him.
What surprised you most was him. Jake, who used to barely look at you without stuttering himself into knots, was the one filling the space now. He suggested things quietly but confidently—movies, games, stupid little activities that somehow filled the hours without feeling forced. He brought out board games you didn't even know he owned, set up playlists that hummed softly in the background. It was like once the outside world paused, he stepped forward like this was where he belonged.
"Wow," you said, staring down at the chessboard. "I can't believe we were just watching a chess series, and now we're actually playing." You picked up a random piece—no idea what it was—and shoved it forward. "This is unfair. I couldn't even comprehend a single rule."
You glanced up at Jake, expecting a laugh or at least a smug look, but he was focused—elbows on his knees, chin tilted down, eyes fixed on the board and cute as hell.
"You can't place it there," he said calmly, reaching out before you could protest. His fingers brushed yours as he lifted the piece you'd just moved, the contact brief but electric, like your skin had suddenly woken up. He shifted it to another square, "I can eat you."
You froze. He froze too. Then his eyes widened, panic flashing across his face as he realized what he'd just said. "Y–Your piece," he corrected quickly, voice dropping, ears turning red. "I mean. The piece. I'll take it."
You stared at him for a second. And then you laughed, leaning back on your hands as the sound spilled out of you. "Holy shit," you said, grinning. "Buy me dinner first, nerd."
He let out a strangled sound somewhere between a cough and a laugh, covering his mouth with his hand as his shoulders shook. "I—I didn't mean it like that," he muttered, mortified.
"I know," you said, still smiling. You leaned forward again, elbows resting on your knees, eyes dropping to the board like you were suddenly very invested in this stupid little war of wooden pieces. Your fingers traced the edge of a pawn absentmindedly. "But I don't mind..."
"Mind... what?" he asked, tentative, eyes flicking up to you and then away again like he was afraid of what he might see on your face.
You didn't even give yourself time to overthink it, you were just done pretending you didn't feel this pull. "You eating me." —and your mouth moved before your brain could chicken out. Fuck. You were flirting. You were actually, openly flirting.
Jake froze like you'd hit a pause button on him. His hand hovered over one of his pieces, then he snapped back to life and shoved it forward a little too fast, the wood clacking loudly against the board. You leaned forward too, mirroring him, reaching for one of your pieces and sliding it closer to his side of the board, deliberately slow, deliberately close. You lifted your eyes to his face, watching the way his blush deepened, spreading from his ears down his neck.
"My piece," you added quickly, lips twitching. "I mean." You pulled it back with a grin that told him you absolutely did not mean just that.
He swallowed hard as he moved again, taking your piece this time, fingers trembling just slightly. You caught the way his Adam's apple bobbed when he gulped, the way his jaw tightened like he was trying very hard to keep it together. God, he was cute like this—unraveled but trying, flustered but still playing, still sitting there with you instead of running for his room.
"I—I..." he started, then stopped, exhaling through his nose. "I know," he said finally, like he was bracing himself. "Your turn."
You didn't move right away. You just looked at the board, then at him, heart thudding harder than it had any right to over a chess game and a few words loaded with way too much meaning. Slowly, you picked up a piece and nudged it forward, smiling faintly to yourself as if you were enjoying how this felt far more than you should.
"Okie," you said lightly, then—just to be an asshole—you shoved another random chess piece forward. Jake scratched his head, blinking at the board.
"You can't move it from the back to the front, it's the Queen. You're exposing it," he said, a hint of impatience creeping into his voice. You almost laughed at how serious he was, brows furrowed, already reaching out to fix your mistake.
The next few hours blurred into him lecturing you about chess pieces, strategies, positioning, endgames, openings—things you half-listened to while watching the way his hands moved.
It didn't shock you at all that most of your pieces were eaten, one by one, until the board looked pitiful on your side. He leaned back slightly, studying it, then glanced up at you. "You're cornered," he said, almost apologetic.
"Sucks," you muttered, staring at your lonely queen. You tilted your head, eyes flicking up to his. "But I'm facing your queen. Is it not a checkmate?"
Jake blinked. Once. Twice. Then he leaned forward again, squinting at the board, lips parted in concentration. You watched him closely, the way his shoulders tensed, the way he bit his lower lip without realizing it. After a long moment, he froze, realization dawning on his face. "...Shit," he breathed.
You grinned, resting your chin on your palm. "Guess I win."
"Y-You didn't even know what you were doing!" he said.
"Nah!" You clapped your hands loudly, then you pointed straight at him like you'd just defeated a final boss. "You lose, loser!" You stuck your tongue out without shame, leaning into the childish victory.
You pushed yourself up from the floor and climbed onto the couch, ignoring the scattered chess pieces. You did a slow spin, arms swaying dramatically, hips moving just enough to be obnoxious. "Bow to your champion!" you declared, laughing at your own stupidity as you were trying to annoy him. But you stopped mid-twirl.
Jake wasn't annoyed, he wasn't scrambling to defend himself. He was just staring at you. A wide smile stretched across his face, braces flashing. His eyes were bright, crinkled at the corners, completely unguarded. He looked at you like you were something entertaining and precious at the same time.
Your stomach flipped. The teasing energy drained out of you in an instant. You stepped down from the couch and sat back on the floor across from him, suddenly more aware of the space between you. The chessboard sat abandoned, pieces knocked over like the game didn't matter anymore.
"So," you said, clearing your throat as you folded your legs under you. You tilted your head slightly, trying to keep the playful tone even though your pulse had started racing. "Do winners have a prize?"
Jake's smile softened immediately. He looked down at his hands, then rubbed the back of his ear, and right on cue, the tips turned red. He pressed his lips together, then bit the lower one gently like he was thinking too hard. His feet shuffled against the floor, restless, nervous energy buzzing off him.
At first, you weren't sure what he was thinking. Maybe he thought you meant snacks. Maybe he was calculating some logical reward system in his head. But the longer he stayed quiet, the more your mind spiraled. Is he thinking what you're thinking? Or are you just being delusional? Your heart pounded louder, drowning out the rain for a second. He kept biting his lip, glancing up at you and then away again. His fingers curled into the fabric of his sweatpants.
"I—" he started, then stopped. He inhaled slowly, steadying himself. "What kind of prize?" he asked.
You leaned forward just slightly, enough that your knees were only inches away from his. "I don't know," you said, watching his face carefully. "You're the one who lost."
His eyes lifted to yours, and this time, he didn't look away. The storm outside continued raging, wind howling, rain pounding relentlessly, but inside, everything was suspended in this quiet, dangerous pause. You could see the conflict in his expression—the nervousness, the want, the restraint. He swallowed again. "I can... cook?" he offered, almost shyly. "Or... d-do the dishes for a week?"
You stared at him for a second. And then you laughed softly, shaking your head. Of course he would offer something practical. Of course he'd default to taking care of you in the safest way possible. "You're such a nerd," you murmured.
He smiled again, uncertain. "Is that... not okay?"
You looked up at the ceiling, pretending to think about it. Your teeth caught your lower lip as your mind spiraled. If you say this, you're crossing the line. If you say this, you're not just flirting anymore—you're stepping over that invisible boundary that kept things safe. If you say this, you might lose the easy mornings, the quiet dinners — But then again... what the hell were you so scared of?
"What about a kiss?" you asked, finally looking back at him, forcing your voice to stay steady. You watched it happen in real time—the shift in his face. His eyes widened just slightly, then softened, then panicked. Color bloomed across his cheeks, spreading down his neck in a slow, undeniable flush. His lips parted like he was about to speak, but no sound came out. For a second, you regretted it.
"Forget it," you said quickly, nerves snapping at you. You moved to stand, heart racing, ready to laugh it off, ready to run before you saw rejection in his eyes. But you didn't get far when a firm hand wrapped around your wrist. It wasn't rough, but it wasn't hesitant either. It caught you mid-motion and pulled you back down with enough strength to surprise you. A small yelp escaped your throat, cut short when you felt his lips against yours.
Your eyes flew open. Jake's were closed, brows slightly furrowed like he was concentrating too hard. His lips were soft—warmer than you expected. He kissed you like he did everything else: carefully at first, uncertain. You could feel the inexperience in the way he tilted his head a little too abruptly, the way his mouth moved like he wasn't sure what rhythm to follow.
Your shock melted fast. You closed your eyes and leaned in properly this time, pushing the chessboard out of the way with a clatter of wooden pieces hitting the floor. Your hands slid up to his shoulders, gripping them, feeling the solid warmth beneath his shirt. He let out the smallest, breathy sound against your mouth, half a whine, half a gasp.
The cold wind outside rattled the windows, but the room felt like it was closing in, warm with the sound of your breathing mixing together. You moved your lips more deliberately, guiding the kiss, pressing closer. When you brushed your tongue lightly against his bottom lip—slow, asking—he froze for a split second before he opened up. A quiet, shaky moan slipped from him as you deepened it, tasting him, feeling the way his hands tightened around your waist. His fingers dug in just enough to make you aware of them.
Still kissing him, you shifted your weight and swung a leg over, settling onto his lap without breaking contact. He inhaled sharply into your mouth at the movement, his grip adjusting to keep you steady. You could feel how tense he was beneath you, how his whole body seemed lit up by every point of contact. Your hands slid from his shoulders to the back of his neck, fingers threading lightly into his hair. You pulled him closer, and this time, he responded without pause—kissing you back with more confidence. A sharp gasp escaped you when his grip on your waist tightened suddenly, pulling your body flush against his. The pressure of him beneath the thin fabric of his pajama pants was obvious. Your head spun so fast you didn't even think about pulling away for air. It felt like your bodies had turned into magnets, stuck together with a force neither of you had the will to fight.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck.
Your hips shifted slowly, a roll meant to test him. You refused to break the kiss, and when the heat between your legs pressed directly against the tense outline beneath you, a quiet moan slipped from your throat before you could stop it. The sound vibrated between your mouths. That was when Jake broke the kiss.
Your lips chased his, catching his bottom lip between your teeth before he could pull too far away. The separation was reluctant, both of you breathing hard like you'd just sprinted a mile. Your chest rose and fell rapidly while you stayed seated on his lap, fingers still tangled in his hair like you might drag him back if he dared move too far.
"What— why?" you asked, your voice still shaky and breathless.
Jake's face was flushed a deep red, spreading from his cheeks all the way to the tips of his ears. His glasses had fogged slightly from the heat between you. For a second he just stared at you, then he shook his head once, almost frustrated, and pulled his glasses off. Without much care he tossed them somewhere toward the floor beside the couch where they landed with a faint clatter. Before you could even react, his hands returned to you and he leaned forward again, capturing your mouth in another kiss.
This one was different. There was nothing hesitant about it anymore. His grip on your waist was firmer, fingers digging into the fabric of your shirt. A small squeal escaped you when he suddenly stood, lifting you effortlessly like you weighed nothing. The sudden movement made your arms tighten around his neck while your legs wrapped around his waist, locking you against him. The new position pressed your bodies together even closer, heat building fast between you as he carried you across the room without breaking the kiss for more than a second.
Your mind tried to catch up, tried to ask what the hell was about to happen next, but the thought dissolved the moment his mouth found yours again. Overthinking felt impossible now. The only thing that mattered was the feeling of his lips, the warmth of his hands, the way your pulse pounded in your ears. You had spent too long ignoring the tension between you, pretending it wasn't there.
Right now you didn't care about tomorrow, or consequences, or whatever awkwardness might follow.
Right now you just wanted him.
Jake's breathing had turned uneven by the time your mouth drifted away from his lips. Your kisses trailed along the corner of his mouth, brushing his cheek before moving down to his jaw. You nipped lightly at the warm skin there, feeling the way his body tensed beneath your hold. One of his hands slid up your back while the other steadied you against him, fingers flexing slightly like he wasn't entirely sure where to touch first. "Where?" he whispered.
The word barely made it out before your teeth grazed his skin again. You could feel his pulse under your lips. You didn't answer, instead, you dragged your mouth slowly along his jaw toward his ear, letting the silence stretch while his grip on you tightened almost unconsciously. Your fingers brushed through the hair at the back of his neck again, tugging making him inhale sharply.
Then you finally murmured your answer against his ear. "Your room"
Your cunt fluttered at the sound of your own words, heat pooling wet as a low, long whine escaped him. You barely had time to register the sensation before you were being carried again, the familiar weightless surge of being lifted making your stomach knot with anticipation and arousal. The world blurred around you, furniture and light flashing past as he moved. You tried to hold onto something, but there was nothing to hold onto except him. Every nerve ending in your body was awake, every touch of his hand, every movement of his body against yours, sending sparks you didn't even know you could feel.
When he finally lowered you onto the bed, it was gentle despite the desperation in his hold. His hands guided you, careful, cradling your head like you were made of something fragile he didn't want to break. The bed beneath you was soft, yielding under your weight, but somehow it didn't lessen the intimacy of the moment—the way he leaned over you, holding you steady, letting you both pause before the next wave hit. You froze for a heartbeat, just staring at him.
Seeing Jake without his glasses was like seeing him stripped bare in a way you hadn't noticed before. His eyes were glossy and brilliant, gleaming with something almost otherworldly. There was a kind of intensity in them, like the stars he loved to watch in those documentaries he'd obsess over, but alive, raw, and focused entirely on you. You could see a storm of desire and confusion, clarity and hesitation all tangled up behind those shining orbs, and even though you didn't understand all of it, it made something coil tight in your chest.
You just leaned in, pressing your lips against him, trailing soft, hungry kisses across his nose, the tip of his chin, the curve of his cheeks, letting your hands wander freely over the hard lines of his triceps, feeling the muscle tense and flex under your touch.
"Still with me?" you whispered, your teeth grazing his jaw as you tugged lightly, testing him, teasing him, feeling the shiver roll down his spine. Your hands drifted to his, guiding them up your body, threading his fingers through the fabric of your shirt, pressing them to your chest. "Is this okay?" you asked, your eyes locked on his, searching, and needing him to answer without words.
Jake gasped sharply, chest rising and falling, his eyes wide, pupils blown, and the flush spreading across his face so deep it looked almost painful. His cock twitched insistently beneath his pajama pants. Every nerve in his body screamed for more, as if your hands on him had awakened something he had been holding back. You moved slowly, coaxing him, rubbing him through the fabric, kneading the hard length of him in small, teasing motions while letting your fingers drift over the edges of his hips and down the side of his thighs. At first, his hands hovered uncertainly, until he finally mirrored you, sliding over your chest, kneading your breasts softly, fingers gentle yet unsteady.
A shared whine broke through your lips almost without thought. You couldn't bear the waiting any longer. Your hands fumbled at your top, ripping it free along with the bra in one shameless movement. The sudden freedom of your bare skin against the cool air made you shiver, and you felt him lean closer immediately, drawing in your scent as if it intoxicated him. He found the confidence to follow your earlier movements, pressing his mouth to your jaw, nibbling in small, sharp bites that made you wince, pulling a low moan from your chest despite the sting.
"Pretty," he whispered in a way that made you question if you'd imagined it. "So... so, pretty." He repeated it, a breathless chant, before diving back into your lips with renewed hunger.
You lost track of time, swallowed whole by the rhythm of his mouth and the press of his body against yours. His arms wrapped tighter around you, fingers pressing against your back and shoulders. Your bare breasts brushed against the fabric of his shirt, and the friction made your stomach coil tight with heat. You wanted more—you wanted all of it—but you were afraid to ask, afraid that if you broke the kiss to say so, he would retreat into awkwardness and the fragile tension you'd built would shatter. So instead, you cut the kiss abruptly, pressing the back of his head against your chest, guiding him where you wanted without speaking.
"Nghh," you moaned, tilting your head back, arching your back, letting him explore freely. His lips closed around your nipple, sucking with the inexperience of someone trying to mimic what they thought they should do. It was awkward but it sent shocks through your body. You felt him adapt, he swirled his tongue over your areola, teasing, learning, feeling. You guided one of his hands into your other breast, holding the back of his palm against your skin as he kneaded gently, and your eyes closed, lost in sensation.
He seemed to catch every nuance in your reactions, every small gasp that slipped out of your mouth, every tremor that ran through your body when he touched the right spot. His tongue flicked slowly between your nipples while his thumbs moved in steady circles around them, rough pads grazing the sensitive skin again and again. The sensation made your breath hitch sharply, another helpless gasp leaving your throat as your fingers curled into his hair. Jake stayed there for a long moment, almost stubborn about it, alternating between sucking, licking, and pressing soft kisses against your chest.
Eventually he pulled away, his lips lingering for a second before he leaned back up to capture your mouth again.
Oh boy, Jake must really love kissing.
You dragged him closer, one hand gripping the back of his neck while your body shifted beneath him. Your hips rolled upward without thinking, pressing into him, searching for friction. The kiss quickly turned messy as both of you started moving at the same time, your bodies grinding together clumsily on the bed. Each time your hips pushed up you felt the hard pressure of him through the fabric between you, and the contact made a low sound rumble from his chest.
"Re... move," you muttered between kisses, the word breaking apart as your lips kept bumping into his. Your fingers tugged impatiently at his shirt, pulling at the fabric.
Jake let out another strained whine before pulling away. He fumbled with his clothes quickly, clearly not thinking about grace or neatness. His shirt disappeared first, tossed somewhere beside the bed, and then his hands went straight for the waistband of his pajama pants. In his rush he dragged them down together with his boxers, pushing the fabric down his hips in one impatient motion.
"Oh..." you whispered before you could stop yourself, your body shifting backward slightly against the mattress.
Jake stood there for a second, breathing heavily, chest rising and falling while he looked at you, trying to read your reaction. But your attention had already dropped lower. Your gaze locked on him, on the obvious heat and color of his cock, the flushed pink that leaned almost red under the soft light in the room. You could see the veins along the base, the damp shine at the tip where precum had already gathered. It looked almost angry, twitching slightly with each breath he took.
How the hell had Jake—your awkward, nerdy, always-overthinking roommate—been hiding something like that?
Jake noticed where you were looking. His shoulders shifted awkwardly and his hand moved as if he wanted to cover himself, the embarrassment creeping back onto his face. But before he could actually hide anything, you moved. You pushed yourself up onto your knees on the mattress and reached forward, catching his wrist and pulling it aside. Your other hand slid forward immediately after, your palm wrapping around his cock.
"No— ahh—" Jake's head tipped back the moment your hand closed around him.
You felt the warmth of it against your palm, and your fingers tightened slightly without thinking. His reaction made you reach up with your free hand, grabbing lightly at the back of his neck and pulling him down toward you again. Your lips crashed back into his before he could say anything else. The angle was awkward now, with him half leaning over you and most of his weight pressing down onto the mattress while your hand stayed wrapped around him. His hips kept shifting forward, brushing against your palm. You deepened the kiss, your mouth moving slowly against his while your hand finally started to move. Your grip circled him carefully at first, sliding upward and then back down in a slow motion as you tested the rhythm.
Jake's moan burst straight into your mouth. His entire body jerked in response, hips twitching sharply against your hand. His legs tensed, muscles tightening as if he'd been hit with a sudden wave of sensation he wasn't prepared for. The sound he made this time was even more desperate, muffled by the kiss.
And then you felt the sudden spurt against your hand, the unmistakable wetness as his body reacted faster than either of you expected. Your movement slowed automatically, your mind catching up with what had just happened.
Oh... Oh.
Jake pulled away from your mouth so suddenly, his breath ragged and uneven as he immediately buried his face into the crook of your neck. The movement was clumsy like he was trying to disappear somewhere inside you. His entire body collapsed forward, and you swore the air left your lungs for a second under the full weight of him. He wasn't holding himself up anymore—he was just draped over you, chest pressed to yours, arms braced awkwardly on either side of your shoulders. You could feel how hot his skin was, how fast his heart was pounding against you. One of his hands quickly grabbed your wrist and gently pulled your hand away from him. He didn't say anything. He just breathed hard against your neck, warm bursts of air brushing your skin while his body stayed tense.
A small patch of warmth spreading slowly against your neck. At first you thought it was just his breath, or sweat from how heated everything had gotten but — "Are you..." you paused, confused, one hand coming up to touch his back carefully, fingers brushing along his spine. "Crying?"
"Sorry I cum too fast," he whimpered into your neck, his voice muffled and shaking as he buried his face deeper against your skin. His head shook slightly as he said it, the motion rubbing his cheek against you.
Your eyes widened immediately. "Hey—no, it's okay, shhh, stop—" You started patting his back quickly, almost awkwardly, because the sudden shift in mood caught you completely off guard. His shoulders trembled under your hands as his quiet crying turned louder, broken breaths hitching against your skin. You didn't even understand what exactly had upset him so much — like, he was still hard, twitching against your thigh.
"Shhh, stop crying," you said again, your palm moving slowly up and down his back in an attempt to calm him. Your fingers traced small circles between his shoulder blades, trying to soothe him.
"So—sorry," he hiccupped, the word breaking apart in his throat. His arms slid fully around your back now, hugging you tightly.
"I told you, it's fine," you murmured, your voice gentler now. You kept rubbing his back while staring up at the ceiling, trying to piece together what the hell had just happened in the last few minutes. "It's really fine. You don't have to freak out about it." After a moment you hesitated before asking carefully, "Do you want to stop—"
"No."
The answer came out as a strained whine before you could even finish the question. His voice cracked around the word, his hips shifted again against yours, the movement dragging his still-hard cock against your thigh through the mess he'd already made. The mattress creaked softly beneath both of you as his weight shifted forward, his body clinging to yours. He held onto you tighter, arms wrapped around your back, face still buried deep in your neck like he couldn't bear the embarrassment of looking at you.
You stared at the ceiling for a second, processing the situation, then exhaled sharply and shoved at his shoulders. "Okay— move."
With more strength than he expected, you pushed him back, forcing him to roll off you so you could sit up. The sudden shift made him blink in confusion, his hair messy and his face still flushed as he stared at you. You tossed your hair back over your shoulder, chest rising and falling as you quickly reached down and tugged your bottoms off your hips. The fabric peeled away easily, damp where your arousal had soaked through, and you didn't even bother hiding it. Jake watched the entire thing, his chest still heaving as his eyes dragged over your body.
Swinging your leg over him, you straddled his hips and settled directly over his shaft. The moment your weight pressed down, he sucked in a sharp breath and shut his eyes tight, his head tipping back against the pillow. Your panties were still clinging to you, the wet patch obvious against the thin fabric as you slowly started grinding your hips down against him. The friction made your stomach tighten immediately, your clit dragging over his cock with every slow roll of your hips.
"First time?" you asked, like you weren't currently rubbing your soaked panties all over his cock. Your hands braced on the mattress on either side of his shoulders as you leaned forward slightly, adjusting your rhythm. You rolled your hips in small circles, testing different angles, letting the pressure build while watching his reactions closely.
Jake nodded quickly, eyes still shut. His hands moved to your hips automatically, gripping them tight.
Your movements sped up a little and the change in pace made him whine louder, the sound escaping his throat in a helpless, high note that made your stomach flutter. His fingers dug into your skin, nails pressing hard into the soft flesh of your hips, and you actually winced at the pressure. His entire body tensed beneath you, thighs tightening, his breathing breaking into uneven gasps.
And then it happened again. His hips jerked sharply upward with another loud whine, the movement uncontrolled as he came.
"Ahh— sorry! Sorry! Sorry! Please, please, please—" he panicked immediately, his eyes snapping open wide. Fresh tears were already shining in them again as his body trembled beneath you. His cock twitched visibly between your thighs, another small spurt of cum leaking from the flushed tip as he tried to catch his breath. The poor guy looked like he was having a full crisis.
Meanwhile, you just moaned. The friction hadn't stopped for you. Your hips had kept moving through his entire meltdown, chasing the pressure building between your legs.
Your hands moved to push his hand away from your hips so you could pull back, assuming his frantic "please" meant he was getting overwhelmed.
But his hands didn't let go. Not even a little. Instead, his grip tightened. You blinked in confusion as he actively tried to guide your hips again, pulling you forward so your soaked panties slid against his cock once more. The thing was still hard—still angry and flushed and twitching despite the fact that he had already finished twice in less than a few minutes.
What the hell? How can this man cum so fast yet still not go soft?
"Please, please, please," he whined again, his voice breaking as he suddenly sat up. His arms wrapped tightly around you, pulling your body flush against his chest as he started guiding your hips with both hands. The motion forced your grinding to continue, your soaked panties dragging over the sensitive head of his cock again and again. Each pass made him shudder violently. His breath kept catching in his throat, little helpless sounds escaping him every time your hips rolled forward. The mattress creaked beneath you with every movement, the room filled with the mix of his shaky whining and your heavier breathing.
Still wrapped in his arms, you shifted slightly in his lap. One hand slid down between your bodies and hooked into the side of your panties, dragging the damp fabric aside.
The moment your bare cunt brushed against his cock, Jake's reaction was loud, a broken moan tearing out of him, you leaned forward quickly and kissed him hard to shut him up, swallowing the noise before it could get any louder.
If he kept whining like that—face flushed, voice trembling—you were pretty sure you'd lose control just from hearing him. Fuck. His mouth was warm and messy against yours, his breathing still shaking as your hips kept moving slowly against him.
Your hand slipped down to his cock, fingers wrapping around it again. He wasn't fully soft, not even close, but there was still a slight give to him under your palm. You pulled back from the kiss just enough for both of you to breathe, your foreheads almost touching while your breaths mixed together. Your eyes stayed locked on his as you guided him between your legs.
Slowly, deliberately, you started rubbing the length of him against your cunt, dragging the tip along your slick folds. Your hand moved with controlled rhythm, sliding him up and down, occasionally letting the head bump against your entrance before pulling him away again.
"Lay down for me," you murmured. You guided him backward onto the mattress, one hand pressing lightly against his chest until he sank into the pillows. Your own body hovered above him as you stayed straddled over his hips. You were painfully wet by now, your stomach tight with the need for friction that grinding alone hadn't been able to satisfy. Even so, you stayed patient with him. Your fingers brushed over his face, pushing some messy strands of hair away from his forehead before trailing down his cheek. You kept eye contact the whole time, your hand gliding over his chest.
Slowly, you lowered yourself. The first contact made your mouth fall open slightly. The tip of him pressed against you, and you paused there for a moment just to breathe. Your legs trembled faintly as you started easing yourself down inch by inch. Jake's whining came back louder than before, almost helpless as his hands shot up to grip your hips. His head spun with the sensation, ears ringing as the tight heat of your pussy slowly took him in. Meanwhile your breathing grew heavier the further you sank down, your body adjusting to the stretch.
By the time you were fully seated on him, he was hard again, completely, filling you while your thighs trembled on either side of his hips.
"F–fuck," you muttered under your breath, biting down on your lower lip as you braced your hands against his chest. You lifted your hips slightly, letting a little of him slide out before lowering yourself again in a slow, controlled motion. The stretch made your face tighten, your brows pulling together as you focused more on the building pleasure than the sharp edge of discomfort from his size. "Fuck... fuck, fuck!"
Jake looked like he was barely holding himself together beneath you. A faint vein stood out along his forehead, his teeth pressing into his lip as he tried to keep quiet. He was clearly trying to control himself, trying not to lose it too fast again. But your hips told a different story. The way you moved, the sight of your body rising and lowering on top of him, the expression on your face as you adjusted to the feeling—it all dragged him closer to the edge again.
"Wait— wait... ahh," he groaned suddenly. Your hands slid from his chest down toward his knees as you shifted your weight, adjusting your position slightly. The new angle changed the way he felt inside you, and Jake let out another broken sound the moment you started moving again. You rolled your hips carefully at first, searching for the spot that felt right, letting your body experiment with the motion until the pressure finally lined up the way you needed.
A loud moan tore out of you as your hips sped up without thinking, your body chasing the sensation as you kept hitting the same spot again and again. Jake reacted just as quickly, sitting up to distract himself, his mouth finding your chest as he pressed against you. His arms wrapped around your back while his tongue dragged over your nipples, the contact making your whining grow louder with every movement.
Your vision blurred slightly as the sensation kept building, the pressure inside your body tightening in slow, relentless waves that refused to ease up. It felt like sparks were going off behind your eyes, tiny bursts of light flickering every time your hips dropped back down onto him. You were riding him harder now without even realizing it. The bed creaked beneath both of you with every movement, your thighs burning as they worked to keep you balanced while your body chased the pressure building deep in your stomach. Each roll of your hips dragged another broken breath from your lungs, your fingers tightening against his shoulders as the heat between your legs kept climbing higher.
Jake suddenly bit down on your breast. The sharp sting hit at the same moment his body jerked beneath you. His cock throbbed hard inside you as he came again, another hot pulse spilling deep while his hips twitched helplessly under your weight.
"Shit!" you cried out, the sudden jolt of sensation ripping straight through your body.
Jake only answered with a muffled whine against your chest, his mouth still pressed to your skin, hot bursts of air hitting your breast while his teeth loosened and his lips dragged weakly over the spot he'd bitten. His shoulders trembled under your hands, and you could feel the way his body struggled to handle the sensation as it moved through him.
Your hips didn't stop moving even with his body shaking under you, you kept rocking against him, your body chasing the last stretch of the high that hadn't quite broken yet. The movement forced more small sounds out of him, soft whines and broken breaths that vibrated directly into your chest where his face stayed buried. The heat between you felt overwhelming, your bodies still pressed close together while the tension inside you continued to wind tighter and tighter.
"Little more... little more— please," you breathed out as the pressure finally climbed to the edge.
Your legs trembled where they were wrapped around his hips, muscles tightening as the feeling crested higher. Your arms slid up around his shoulders, pulling him closer into you while your body reacted, tightening around him as the sensation finally tipped over. Your hips stuttered slightly but didn't stop, still rocking against him as the wave rolled through your body.
For a moment everything felt hot and heavy and loud in your head. What almost made you laugh, though, was the fact that Jake still hadn't stopped. His cock was still twitching inside you while your body clenched around him, another weak pulse followed the last. It felt like you were still milking him dry while your body finished riding out the tail end of your own high.
"Hah..." you breathed out shakily, your hips slowed, your body still moving slightly while you tried to steady yourself. Your chest rose and fell unevenly, lungs dragging in deep breaths as the tension slowly drained from your muscles. The moment stretched out quietly around you, the room filled only with the sound of both of you breathing and the faint rustle of sheets under your shifting weight.
Eventually your strength gave out. Your body leaned forward, pressing closer to him as the last of the tension faded from your limbs. You tilted your head down and brushed a soft kiss against his lips. It lingered there for a second, both of you still catching your breath as his mouth responded weakly beneath yours.
As your body finally relaxed, you let yourself slump forward and collapse gently against his shoulder, your cheek resting against his skin while your chest rose and fell heavily. Jake stayed still beneath you, arms loose around your back as you feel the world around you collapsed.
Sometimes, the universe had a sick sense of humor. It let you taste something so perfect just long enough for you to believe in it, only to remind you the next morning that happiness wasn't something you were allowed to hold on to without consequences. Maybe that was the lesson life kept trying to shove down your throat. Not every good moment turns into a good life.
Luck was temporary, a fleeting thing people grabbed with desperate hands. It felt real when it happened—bright and full and intoxicating—but it never stayed long. Because every time the universe handed you something good, there was always that lurking feeling in the back of your head that a disaster was waiting right around the corner, ready to collect the price.
You woke up to the sound of wind slamming violently against the windows. The glass rattled in its frame, branches scraping somewhere outside like fingers clawing at the walls. You groaned under your breath and rolled onto your back, one hand dragging lazily across your face before scratching the back of your head. Your body felt heavy, muscles loose from sleep, your brain foggy as hell. For a moment everything felt blurry—your surroundings, your thoughts, the slow realization creeping in that something wasn't quite right. Then you stretched your arms above your head, arching your back slightly, and your eyes opened fully.
You weren't in your room. The ceiling looked different. Your stomach flipped when the memory from last night flickered somewhere in the back of your mind... And Jake wasn't beside you.
"Huh?" you muttered to yourself, the confusion hitting you all at once. You sat up quickly, the blanket sliding down to your lap as you scanned the room. His desk lamp was off, the room dim except for the gray light leaking through the curtains from the storm outside. That was when you noticed the small pill sitting neatly on the bedside table beside a glass of water.
You reached for it slowly, fingers curling around the foil packet as your eyes squinted to read the label. Plan B. You stared at it for a long moment, turning it between your fingers. You were still dressed in your own clothes—same shirt, same shorts from yesterday. The apartment was quiet except for the storm raging outside, and when you glanced toward the corner of the room, you noticed the power strip lights were dead.
No electricity. Ah...right. The storm. You rubbed your face with one hand and slid out of the bed, walking over to the window to push it shut more firmly. The wind was forcing cold air through the cracks, when you finished, you stepped into the hallway and padded slowly toward the living room.
"Hey," you sighed in relief the moment you saw him.
Jake stood near the kitchen counter, quietly cleaning up the snack wrappers and empty cups left behind from earlier.
Your shoulders relaxed instantly at the sight of him. You walked closer. "Just clean it in the morning. It's really dark in here. You could trip on something." Your hand reached out automatically, fingers brushing his shoulder in a familiar, comfortable gesture. "I mean it's like—what—11:45 PM? Let's just go back to bed—"
"Uh." He cut you off. Your smile faded immediately when he gently removed your hand from his shoulder without even looking at you. He tossed the trash bag into the bin, his back stiff as he turned slightly away. It felt like someone had flipped a switch.
No, worse. It felt like everything had reset back to the beginning.
"Jake?" you said carefully. You stepped toward him, but before you could say anything else, he brushed past you and walked straight down the hallway. The door to his room shut with a quiet click, and you were left standing there in the middle of the living room. Confused. Frozen.
"Jake?" you called again, your voice smaller now as you walked toward his door. Your chest tightened, questions crashing into your head all at once.
What did you do? Everything had felt fine. More than fine. You were laughing, he looked happy. You were happy. So what the hell changed?
Maybe he was just overwhelmed. Maybe this was new to him. Jake wasn't the type of guy who would just shut someone out after something that intimate... right? Right?
You rested your hand lightly against the door, staring at the wood like you could see through it. "I'll give you time," you said quietly through the door. "Just... talk to me, okay?"
But he never did. The next morning came, then the day after that, and then the days kept piling on top of each other. Every time you knocked on his door, there was no answer. Sometimes you tried the doorknob just in case, hoping maybe it had been left unlocked by accident, but it never was. Always locked. Always shut. You would linger in the living room longer than usual, pretending to scroll through your phone or watch something, just waiting for the sound of his door opening. It never happened.
When classes started again, the pattern became obvious. Jake would leave ridiculously early, long before you even woke up. His shoes would be gone from the rack by the door, his bag missing from the chair. Sometimes the only proof he'd even been home was the faint smell of his almond milk lingering in the kitchen or the clean plate drying on the rack. And Sundays—God, Sundays were the worst. That used to be the one day he was always around, fixing something in the apartment, tinkering with his stupid robots or cooking meals. Now you would wake up, step into the living room, and the place would feel hollow.
You never found him there anymore. And every night before eight, the same thing happened. His room stayed dark and empty. Is he avoiding you? Dumbass. Of course he is. How naive could you be to pretend you hadn't noticed already? The signs were right there! He wasn't busy. He wasn't overwhelmed. He was avoiding you.
You didn't fucking understand. That was the worst part. If he had said something—anything—you could've dealt with it. You could've argued with him, yelled at him, laughed it off if it turned out to be something stupid. But this silence? This cowardly disappearing act? It drove you insane.
You wanted to talk to him.
Hell, you wanted to curse him out.
After you had sex, that's it? That's fucking it? What the hell was going on inside his head? You kept replaying that night over and over in your mind, trying to find the moment where everything went wrong. The chess game. The teasing. The kiss. The way he had looked at you like he wanted you just as much as you wanted him.
You're n0t dumb, you refuse to be dumb. You are fucking sure he felt that pull too. You are not delusional, right? You felt it! You fucking felt it in your hands, in your body, in your soul.
"I had sex," you said flatly, staring into nothing.
Ryujin barely reacted at first, just giving you a quick side glance as she continued bouncing the against the wall. It was the start of regional training, but your head was somewhere else entirely. Karina was off in Japan, living her best life, leaving you here dealing with whatever the hell this was. Figures. Of course she'd disappear right when you actually needed someone to scream at.
"Congrats?" Ryujin finally said, catching the ball and tossing it lightly in her hands. "What's with the long face?"
You watched the ball leave her hand again, hit the wall, bounce back in the same rhythm. You shrugged, forcing your shoulders to move like it didn't matter. "I don't know. He's not talking to me."
Ryujin's lips pressed into a thin line as she caught the ball again, this time pausing for a second before throwing it harder. "He?" she repeated, tone already shifting into something judgmental. "As usual. Men are usually like that. Don't expect anything from them, really—"
"He—" you cut her off. You exhaled hard, running your hand through your hair as your irritation flared up. "He is not like those other men." And the way you said it was defensive. You weren't letting her lump him into that category. Not him.
"I'm his first," you added, like you were trying to convince both her and yourself at the same time. "It must've been... awkward for him. I don't know. Maybe he didn't like it, maybe that's why he's avoiding me. I'm sure—"
Your hand pressed against your chest, fingers gripping your shirt like you could physically hold onto the feeling buried there. You turned to look at her fully now, your expression tighter, more serious than before.
"I'm sure he likes me," you said, voice lower, more vulnerable than you wanted it to be. "But... why won't he talk to me?"
Ryujin stared at you for a long second, like she was trying to figure out how deep you were already in before deciding how hard she needed to hit you with reality. Then she let out a sharp sigh. She crouched down in front of you, dropping the ball to the floor where it rolled a little before settling between her feet, forgotten.
"Look," she started, hands lifting and gesturing in the air like she was trying to physically piece her thoughts together. "I—I'm not good at this shit, okay? I don't do... whatever the hell this is." She paused, sucking in a breath before pointing straight at you. "I like girls. I don't deal with men and their bullshit. But you—" her finger jabbed lightly toward your chest again. "Did you seriously just let your guard down with a man because you think he's not like the rest of those fuckers?"
"You don't get it—" you tried to cut in, frustration rising immediately, your brows pulling together as your hands clenched at your sides, you had to defend Jake.
"I do not," she shot back just as fast, her voice is sharp as her words, it was cutting right through you. She straightened slightly but stayed crouched in front of you, her eyes locked onto yours. "I'm not the one who got fucked and then ghosted. That's you."
For a second you couldn't even respond. Your jaw tightened, your throat going dry, but she didn't stop.
"You're the one who knows him," she continued. "You're the one who keeps telling me all this shit about how he's different, how he's nice or whag." She exhaled through her nose, shaking her head slightly. "So yeah, I'm gonna say whatever the hell I want because you're the one feeding me all of that, and now you're sitting here confused like this came out of nowhere."
You swallowed hard, your chest tightening as her words started sinking in deeper than you wanted them to. Because she wasn't entirely wrong. Even Karina would say that to your face even though she started this all. Because,look at you. What the hell happen to you?
"But he's not like that," you insisted again, though your voice wasn't as strong this time. "He wouldn't just... use me and leave. That's not him."
Ryujin tilted her head slightly, studying your face like she was trying to decide if you actually believed that or if you were just desperately clinging to it.
"Then what is it?" she asked. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks exactly like that."
You opened your mouth, ready to argue, ready to defend him again—but nothing came out. Because you didn't know.
Your mind scrambled for an explanation, something that made sense, something that fit the version of Jake you had built in your head. The quiet guy who cooked for you, who stayed up to watch your games, who held you gently like you mattered.
That Jake wouldn't just disappear. Right?
"He's not... confident," you said finally, grasping at something, anything. "He overthinks. He gets overwhelmed. Maybe he just doesn't know what to do after... after everything."
Ryujin didn't immediately respond. She just watched you. "Okay," she said after a moment, nodding slowly. "Let's say you're right. Let's say he's just overwhelmed or confused or whatever the hell excuse you want to give him." She leaned forward a little, her gaze narrowing. "Then why isn't he talking to you?"
Right...
"Because if he actually liked you the way you think he does," she continued, "he wouldn't just leave you hanging like this. He'd at least try. Even if he's awkward. Even if he's bad at it. He'd try."
Your chest tightened again, your fingers curling into your shirt as you looked away from her, your thoughts spiraling.
You hated how that made sense.
"I'm not saying he doesn't like you," Ryujin added, exhaling as she picked the ball back up and held it loosely in her hands. "But liking someone and actually doing something about it? Two very different things."
Then she tossed the ball lightly toward you, snapping you out of your thoughts.
"Talk to him," she said simply.
You blinked, catching it automatically.
"He's avoiding me," you muttered, the frustration creeping back in.
"Then corner him," she shot back without hesitation. "You're telling me you can chase down a ball flying out of bounds but you can't corner that one?"
Ryujin stood up fully now, rolling her shoulders before glancing down at you one last time.
"Stop overthinking what he feels," she added,"You're already doing enough of that for the both of you. Just get your answer straight from him."
She paused, then added— "And if he still runs? Then you'll know exactly what kind of guy he is."
Your steps were sharp and fast as you made your way back to the apartment. The towel hung loosely over your shoulder, damp from training, your hair still slightly wet from sweat, as your mind was too busy running in circles, replaying his silence, replaying that night over and over until it made your chest feel tight.
You weren't going to let this drag on anymore.
Your grip tightened around the plastic bag in your hand, the thin material crinkling loudly as your fingers dug into it. You inhaled deeply like you were preparing yourself for something bigger than just a conversation. Maybe this was it—the point where everything either made sense or completely fell apart.
You weren't even sure which one you were more afraid of.
You exhaled sharply and stopped in front of your door, staring at it for a second longer. You didn't believe in fate. But right now, you found yourself hoping—just a little—that whatever the hell this was would finally lead somewhere. That all this confusion, all this frustration, wouldn't just end in nothing.
You pushed the door open with another exhale and there he was.
Jake stood in the living room, slightly hunched over as he turned on the robots one by one. Whitey buzzed to life first, then Pinky, while Bumble sat near the TV, its faint light flickering on. The scene looked so normal, so painfully familiar, like nothing had changed.
Except everything had.
He froze the second he saw you. His eyes widened behind his glasses, his whole body going stiff. Your jaw tightened. Of course he looked shocked. You weren't supposed to be here this early. You were supposed to be at training, sweating it out, you had just ran away from your training when it was supposed to be a short fucking break.
Your gaze didn't leave him, watching every small movement as he scrambled slightly. His hand hovered awkwardly near the table, his body already shifting like he was about to move—probably toward his room, probably to shut the door again, probably to run.
Not this time. Before he could even take a full step, you moved.
Your feet carried you across the room in seconds, your hand shooting out to grab his shoulder and shove him back before he could react. His back hit the wall, the impact making him wince, a strained sound slipping past his lips as his body tensed. "H-Hurts..." he muttered, teeth clenching as his eyes squeezed shut for a second.
And yeah, for a split second, you felt it—that flicker of guilt in your chest. But it didn't last. Your hands pressed harder against his shoulders, keeping him there, pinning him in place before he could even think about slipping away again. You could feel the tension in his body, the way he stiffened under your touch, but he didn't push you off. He didn't try to fight back.
"Let's talk, Jake." Your voice came out firm, leaving no room for excuses this time.
His eyes opened slowly, meeting yours, and you saw it again. That same look. Conflicted. Overwhelmed.
"I—" he started, his voice catching immediately, like the words got stuck somewhere in his throat. His hands twitched at his sides, unsure, restless, like he didn't know where to put them or what to do with them.
You leaned in just slightly. "No," you cut him off, shaking your head. "You don't get to 'I—' your way out of this again."Your grip on his shoulders tightened just a bit. "You've been avoiding me for days," you continued. "Locked doors, leaving early, disappearing on weekends—what the hell is that, Jake?"
He swallowed hard, his gaze flickering away from yours for a second before snapping back, like he couldn't decide where to look. "I wasn't—" he tried again, weaker this time.
"You were," you cut in immediately, your expression is pained. "Don't lie to me. Not now."
Silence fell between you for a moment, filled only by the faint whirring of the robots moving around the floor like nothing was happening.
Your chest rose and fell with a deep breath before you forced the words out. "Was it a mistake?" you asked, eyes locked on him, searching for anything—any reaction, any sign that this wasn't all in your head.
The silence stretched for a second too long, and you pushed again, your voice tightening despite yourself. "Because if it was," you continued, "then just say it. Don't do this shit where you pretend I don't exist."
Jake didn't answer. He didn't even look at you.
His head stayed slightly turned away, his gaze fixed somewhere past your shoulder like you weren't even there. You watched his lips press together, then part slightly as he bit down on the inside of it, nervous and restless. His fingers twitched at his sides, fidgeting in that familiar way you used to find endearing—tapping against his thigh, curling and uncurling like he didn't know what to do with them.
Now it just pissed you off.
"Jake," you whispered, your voice dropping. Your hand moved without thinking, fingers brushing against his cheek, turning his face toward you despite the resistance. His skin was warm under your touch, his jaw tense, and when his eyes finally met yours, it only made your chest ache more. "Those things we did... was it just a mistake?" you asked again. "Talk to me. I— I thought we... we were going somewhere." Your voice faltered, breaking in the middle of your sentence. "Is it... just me?"
You hated how the quetion made you sound so small.
You didn't even realize you were crying until a tear slipped down your cheek, warm against your skin.
"I like you too much," you admitted, your voice trembling now, barely holding together. "Is that wrong?" You sniffed, your lips shaking as you tried to keep yourself from completely falling apart in front of him. But Jake—he still wasn't saying anything. He wasn't moving. He wasn't even looking at you properly anymore, his gaze dropping again like he couldn't handle it.
Like he couldn't handle you.
"Talk to me, please," you said again, more desperate this time. Your fingers tapped lightly against his cheek, not harsh, just enough to get his attention, to pull him back to you. You leaned forward until your forehead pressed against his, your eyes closing as your tears kept falling, your grip on his face tightening just a little like you were afraid he'd slip away if you let go. "Just... say something," you whispered, your breath uneven, your whole body tense with the wait.
Maybe he just needed time.
Maybe he wasn't good with words.
Maybe he just needed a push.
But how long were you supposed to wait?
"Talk to me, fuck it!" you suddenly snapped, your voice breaking as it rose, the frustration and hurt finally spilling over. Your hands dropped from his face back to his shoulders, gripping him again, harder this time. You felt him flinch under your touch, his body trembling slightly as he shook his head.
"Sorry... Jake... please," you muttered again, your voice dropping back down, almost pleading now. Your grip loosened without you realizing it, your fingers slipping from his shoulders as something cold settled in your chest. The moment his hands gently moved yours away—careful, hesitant, but firm enough to create distance—it felt like everything just... stopped.
Like the world paused right there.
"I like you too much, is that wrong?" you repeated, but this time it came out emptier. Your arms fell to your sides, your gaze dropping to the floor because you couldn't keep looking at him anymore. "It's pathetic," you let out a weak, humorless breath. "And I'm still here, choosing to be open about it, getting fucking desperate over you." Your fingers curled into fists at your sides as you forced yourself to look up again, your eyes glassy but steady. "Tell me... do I really not mean anything to you?"
You lifted your hand slightly, pointing at his chest, right over his heart.Your throat felt tight, dry, like every word you were about to say had to claw its way out, and still, you forced it. You needed to hear it. Needed him to say it straight instead of hiding behind silence. Needed something solid, even if it fucking hurt.
"S-sorry." He shook his head, not even meeting your eyes, and that alone felt worse than anything he could've said. "I—I... I don't think I feel the same way, that's why I-I feel guilty... on what happen... Sorry." The words stumbled out of him, broken and unsure, but they landed heavy, each one hitting you like a punch you didn't even try to dodge.
You were the one who dropped your head this time, your gaze falling to the floor as your mouth parted slightly, like you were about to say something—but nothing came out. Your ears started ringing loud, drowning out everything else. Everything blurred into this distant, muted noise while your mind tried to catch up, tried to process what the fuck he just said. It didn't make sense. It didn't line up with anything you felt, anything you thought you saw in him. Your chest tightened, breath coming in shallow, uneven pulls like your body forgot how to do something as basic as breathing.
"Sorry..." he said again, softer this time, like repeating it would somehow make it better, like it would fix anything. It didn't. It just made your vision blur more, tears spilling out faster than you could stop them, your face heating up with it as you stood there, stuck, unable to move forward or back.
"T-The things you d-did? T-The things w-we did?" Your voice cracked, stuttering over itself as you tried to piece together something that would make this make sense. But it didn't. None of it fucking did. Bullshit. This was bullshit. You were still denying it even as it was being shoved right in your face, because accepting it felt worse than anything else. What was he even saying? That it meant nothing? That you meant nothing? That all of that—every look, every touch—was just... what? A mistake?
"I-I just want to be a g-good roommate b-because I-I can't b-be vocal like a normal person... Uh... I'm sorry—" He kept going, stumbling through his explanation, but it only made your head spin more, your frustration bubbling up underneath the hurt. His words felt disconnected, like excuses that didn't match what actually happened between you.
"We had sex." You cut through it, your voice barely above a whisper, but it hit harder than anything else you said. Your eyes darted anywhere but at him—walls, floor, the stupid edge of the table—like maybe one of them would give you an answer, something to hold onto. But there was nothing. Just that same suffocating silence pressing in around you.
"I-I'm s-sorry, really. P-Please." His foot tapped nervously against the floor, the sound sharp and repetitive, grating against your already fraying nerves.
You shook your head slowly, the motion weak, almost disbelieving, as the plastic bag slipped from your hand without you even noticing. It hit the floor with a soft crumple before spilling open, the Hot Wheels cars tumbling out and scattering across the tiles.
Jake's eyes dropped immediately, widening as he stared at the mess, his chest tightening visibly. But you didn't follow his gaze. You couldn't. Your focus stayed unfixed, your steps already moving backward as your fists clenched and unclenched at your sides, your body didn't know what to do with all the shit building up inside you.
"Sorry." The word left your mouth, not even sounding like it belonged to you. It wasn't clear what you were apologizing for anymore—your feelings, your assumptions, yourself—but it was the only thing you could manage before turning away.
You walked out, leaving everything behind. The hallway felt narrow, too suffocating, like the walls were closing in the longer you stayed there, so you kept moving, one step after another, not even caring where the hell you were going as long as it was away. Your breathing was uneven, chest rising too fast, like you couldn't get enough air no matter how hard you tried.
You sniffled harshly, dragging the back of your hand across your face, smearing tears you couldn't seem to fucking stop. It was frustrating—annoying as hell—because you hated crying like this.
"Stop," you muttered under your breath. "Just fucking stop." But it didn't listen. The tears kept coming, blurring your vision until everything in front of you looked warped and unstable.
By the time you reached the stairwell, your steps had already turned sloppy, careless. You barely held onto the railing, your grip loose, your focus shot. Your eyes stung, your nose clogged, your head pounding with everything you were trying—and failing—to process. You took a step down, then another, too fast, too unsteady—
—and your foot slipped.
"Shit!" The curse tore out of you as your body lurched forward, your balance completely gone. You didn't even have time to catch yourself before you went down hard, your back hitting first, then your shoulder, then your face grazing against the edge of a step. The impact knocked the air out of you, an ugly sound leaving your throat as pain shot through your body.
For a moment, you just stayed there, sprawled awkwardly on the cold concrete, your body stunned. The pain registered slowly—your back aching, your limbs sore, your face throbbing—but none of it hit as hard as what was already twisting inside your chest. It was dull compared to that. Almost nothing.
You pushed yourself up slowly, wincing as your body protested, your hand pressing against the floor for support. Warm liquid dripped down over your lips, and when you touched your nose, your fingers came away stained red. Blood. Of course. You let out a weak, humorless breath, almost a laugh but not quite, your shoulders shaking for all the wrong reasons.
You just... gave up.
You dragged yourself to the side, leaning heavily against the wall, your body curling in on itself like you were trying to make yourself smaller, less visible, less there. Your palm covered your face, but it didn't do shit to muffle the sound that came out of you—a broken, shaky whine that turned into full-on crying before you could stop it. Your chest hurt, your throat burned, your head spun, and everything—everything—felt like too much.
It fucking hurt.
Not just your body, not just the sting on your face or the soreness creeping into your muscles.
You were that lonely, weren't you? A pathetic loser crying in a stairwell because she got rejected. Because she let herself believe something that wasn't even real to begin with.
You let out a shaky breath, your hand tightening against your face as if you could press the thought away. "I told you so," you muttered to yourself. You sounded fucking ridiculous. Delusional, even. Thinking it meant something. Thinking he meant something.
Of course you were the one who initiated it. Of course you were the one who crossed the line first. Sex in college was normal—casual, meaningless, easy to walk away from. People did it all the time!
You fucking hated it. Because you weren't built for that.
In the end, it all lined up, didn't it?
Unlucky with money. Unlucky with sex. Unlucky with love.
You let out a weak, broken laugh that dissolved immediately into another sob, your body curling tighter against the wall as if that would hold you together.
Dear Engene, if there’s even a small chance that this wasn’t Heeseung’s decision, then we have to fight for him. And if it was… at least we’ll be able to say we stood by him. That we tried. That we fought.
Summary: Jungwon has always held himself back. As a hybrid, he knows better than anyone how dangerous his instincts can be—especially when it comes to you. No matter how much he loves you, no matter how much he wants you, he keeps his distance, afraid that losing control would only end up hurting the one person he wants to protect the most. But control isn’t something he can hold onto forever. When his heat begins to take over, restraint slowly turns into struggle, and struggle into something far more fragile. The closer he gets to his limit, the harder it becomes to draw the line between love and instinct, between protecting you and wanting you. And when that line finally breaks— Both of you are forced to face what it truly means to trust each other, even in the most dangerous moments.
Pairing: hybrid! boyfriend jungwon x nonhybrid! fem reader
Warning: Smut / Explicit sexual content, Heavy sexual scenes, Porn with Plot, Suggestive language, rough!Jungwon, unprotected sex (wrap it you guys), knotting
High school sweethearts, people liked to call you. The kind of couple that felt inevitable—like the two of you had been gently pushed toward each other by something unseen, long before either of you realized it yourselves. People would smile when they saw you together, whispering about how well you fit, how natural it all looked.
And maybe they were right. Because being with Jungwon never felt forced. It was easy in a way that didn’t need effort, didn’t need explanation. You simply existed side by side, and somehow, that was enough.
Jungwon is a cat hybrid. More specifically—a ragdoll. It showed in everything about him. In the softness of his presence, in the quiet way he moved, in the gentle nature that seemed to follow him wherever he went. Ragdolls were known for their calm temperament, their tendency to relax completely in the presence of someone they trusted.
His blond strands caught the light easily, shimmering faintly whenever it hit just right. Under the soft glow of the lamp or the muted flicker of the television, his hair almost looked lighter—like threads of gold woven between softer tones. It framed his face in a way that made him look even gentler than he already was.
Ragdoll hybrids were known for being affectionate. For craving touch. For seeking warmth. And Jungwon was exactly like that. He held you, stayed close, lingered in your space like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Jungwon had always loved you in his own quiet ways. It was in the little things—the way he would lean into you during long study sessions, his head resting against your shoulder as if it belonged there, his weight warm and grounding. The way his fingers would find yours without hesitation when you walked together, slipping between them with a familiarity that made your chest feel full.
Sometimes, his tail would brush against your leg—slow, absentminded, almost instinctive. Not teasing, not intentional. Just… there. Like his body naturally reached for you even when he wasn’t thinking about it. As if being close to you wasn’t a choice he had to make. It was something he simply did.
He was always patient with you. Gentle in ways that made you feel safe without even realizing it. Jungwon had never raised his voice at you—not once. Even when things were difficult, even when misunderstandings lingered longer than they should have, he never let his words turn sharp. There was a softness to him, something steady and careful, like he was always thinking about how his actions might affect you.
And when you had your bad days—the kind that made everything feel heavier than it should—he was always there. Not loud. Not overwhelming. Just there.
A quiet presence beside you, offering comfort in small, careful ways. A hand resting over yours. A soft call of your name. Gentle words that didn’t try to fix everything, but somehow made it easier to breathe.
He knew how to take care of you. He wasn’t the type to show affection openly. In public, everything between you stayed subtle—soft glances that lingered just a second longer than necessary, fleeting touches that could be easily missed if someone wasn’t paying attention. The kind of closeness that existed in the space between you, quiet and unspoken.
But you noticed. You always did. And behind closed doors… It was different. The distance he kept in public would disappear the moment you were alone. He would sit closer, touch more freely, linger longer. His voice would soften even more, his guard lowering in a way only you were allowed to see.
There were nights where you barely left each other’s side—talking, resting, existing in that shared silence that never felt empty. In those moments, the world outside didn’t matter. It was just you and him. And you were inseparable.
You and Jungwon sat side by side on the sofa, the room dim except for the soft, shifting glow of the television. The blue and red flashes from the screen painted faint colors across the walls, across your skin, across him. It was his turn to pick the movie tonight, and without hesitation, he had chosen Spider-Man—something he had been quietly excited about since earlier, even if he didn’t say it outright.
You shifted closer to him, letting your body lean into his side before resting your head gently against his shoulder. The fabric of his shirt was warm beneath your cheek, carrying the faintest trace of his scent—something soft, familiar, something that always made you feel at ease without needing to think about it.
It was comfortable. Too comfortable. The kind of comfort that made time blur at the edges. A large bowl of popcorn rested on your lap, still warm, the buttery smell lingering between you. Every now and then, you would reach in without looking, fingers brushing lightly against the rim—or sometimes against his hand when he did the same.
His gaze remained fixed on the screen, eyes following every movement with quiet focus, his expression calm, absorbed in the story unfolding in front of him. He looked so composed, so unaffected—like nothing could pull his attention away.
His hand rested on your waist. It wasn’t gripping, not possessive—just there. Warm, steady, grounding. His palm curved naturally against your side as if it had always belonged there, his thumb moving in slow, absentminded circles against the fabric of your shirt. A small, repetitive motion.
Each slow movement sending a faint warmth spreading through your chest, subtle but persistent, like something building quietly beneath the surface. Without thinking, you leaned into him a little more, your head settling deeper against his shoulder. Your fingers tightened slightly around the edge of the bowl, then relaxed again as you tried to focus on the movie instead of the way his hand felt against you.
His eyes remained on the screen, his expression unchanged, as if nothing had shifted at all. But his hand pressed just a little more firmly against your waist now, the warmth of his touch more noticeable, more present.
Like he had become aware of you. Of how close you were. You swallowed softly, your gaze drifting away from the screen for a moment, lingering somewhere in the space between the two of you. Because this—this was how he always was. Close. Gentle. Careful. Just enough to make your heart race a little faster. And never enough to cross the line.
Jungwon leaned down without warning, pressing a soft, fleeting kiss against your cheek. It was light—gentle, like everything else he did—but enough to make you break into a quiet giggle, your nose scrunching slightly as his hair brushed against your skin, the soft strands tickling your face.
“Hey—” you laughed under your breath, tilting your head away just a little, though the smile never left your lips.
He pulled back just enough to look at you, a small, fond smile settling on his face. There was something warm in his gaze, something soft that always made your chest feel a little tighter.
“We should watch Cinderella next time,” he said, voice low and easy.
The light from the screen caught in his eyes, making them glimmer—dark and bright all at once, like polished obsidian reflecting something gentle beneath the surface.
You turned your head slightly, closing the small distance between you, and pressed a quick kiss to the corner of his lips.
Your smile lingered, playful, a little teasing.
“Can we watch Beauty and the Beast instead?”
For a moment, he didn’t answer. Instead, Jungwon leaned closer, his face dipping toward the crook of your neck. You felt the soft brush of his nose against your skin, the warmth of his breath following right after. He nuzzled you lightly—slow, unhurried, almost instinctive.
“As you wish, princess,” he murmured, his voice softer now, quieter, the words barely more than a breath against your skin.
Jungwon had always looked at you like that. Like you were something precious. There was a softness in his eyes whenever they settled on you—something warm, steady, and full of quiet affection that never seemed to fade. And his smile, it was gentle as ever, the kind that came easily when it was meant just for you. It always did something to your heart.
“Should we go to bed, princess?”
His voice broke through the quiet, low and familiar. Before you could answer, he reached for the remote, turning off the TV. The room dimmed instantly, the soft glow disappearing and leaving behind only the faint ambient light from the hallway.
Jungwon carefully took the bowl of popcorn from your lap, moving toward the kitchen to pour the leftovers into a container. It was such a small thing, but so him—tidy, thoughtful, always taking care of the little details without being asked.
You stayed on the sofa for a moment longer, humming softly to yourself as the quiet settled around you. Then, slowly, you pushed yourself up and made your way toward the bedroom, your steps unhurried, familiar with the path even in the dim light.
The room felt calm. Comfortable. Lived-in.
You reached for your usual pajamas, the soft fabric already comforting in your hands, before heading into the bathroom to change. Behind you, you could hear Jungwon moving around the room, the faint rustle of fabric as he reached for his own clothes—a simple tank top and a pair of boxers.
A routine. Something you had done countless times before. A moment later, the bathroom door clicked softly behind you. And not long after, Jungwon followed. Maybe, to others, it would seem a little odd.
A couple who had been together for three years—high school sweethearts, inseparable in every way—and yet still changing separately, still keeping that quiet distance when it came to things like this.
But that wasn’t even the strangest part. Because if anyone knew the truth—that you and Jungwon had never gone further than this, never crossed that invisible line despite all the time you had spent together—
They would be even more surprised.
Jungwon had a habit of holding you when he slept. Not loosely, not absentmindedly, but close. Like, even in his sleep, he needed to make sure you were still there.
You were always the one tucked against him, your back pressed to his chest, your body fitting into his like it had been made to. The little spoon, every single night without fail. And Jungwon—
He was always right behind you.
One arm draped securely around your waist, pulling you just close enough that there was no space left between you. His hold was gentle, never too tight, but firm in a way that made you feel grounded. Safe.
His tail would curl loosely around your legs, the soft fur brushing against your skin in slow, rhythmic movements. Sometimes it would sway, sometimes it would still—but on nights like this, it moved gently, almost like a quiet lullaby meant only for you.
Back and forth. Back and forth. As if he was guiding you to sleep without even realizing it. You could feel his heartbeat through his chest, steady and calm against your back. Each beat slow, consistent—something you had grown used to over the years, something that always seemed to ease the noise in your mind. It was comforting.
Jungwon would hum sometimes, barely audible, the sound low and soft in the quiet of the room. It wasn’t a song you recognized—just a simple melody, something instinctive, something that seemed to come naturally to him. It vibrated faintly against you, warm and soothing.
His hand rested against your stomach, fingers moving in slow, gentle motions, tracing small patterns over the fabric of your shirt. There was nothing rushed about it, nothing demanding—just soft, repetitive touches, like he was grounding himself as much as he was comforting you. Like he needed this, too.
There was something about Jungwon’s touch that always lingered. Soft. Careful. Intentional. Sometimes it made your breath catch. Sometimes it made your heart race, just a little.
And yet—he never crossed the line.
Jungwon had always been clear about that. About consent. About you. About waiting. He had told you before, in that quiet, steady voice of his, that he would never rush you into something you weren’t ready for. That it didn’t matter how long it took. That what mattered was that you felt safe. Comfortable. Sure. Because he knew.
He knew that a part of you was still hesitant, still unsure when it came to things like that. That there was a quiet fear you hadn’t fully let go of yet, something you needed time to understand, to face at your own pace.
And he respected that without question. Never pushing. Never asking for more than you could give. It was something you were deeply grateful for. More than you could ever put into words. And even with that boundary, nothing else between you ever changed.
He still held you just as close, his arms wrapping around you like they always did. He still pressed soft kisses against your cheek, your forehead, sometimes lingering just a second longer than necessary. He was still warm. Still gentle. Still yours in every way that mattered.
Mina’s voice wasn’t loud, but there was a clear note of surprise in it—her eyes widening slightly as she looked at you across the table, like she was waiting for you to correct yourself. You paused, fingers tightening a little around your drink.
“…No,” you answered after a second, your voice quieter than you intended.
A small nod followed, almost hesitant—like saying it out loud made it feel more real than it had before. At first, it had never felt like a big deal. Jungwon was gentle. Careful. Always in control of himself in a way that felt reassuring, not strange. You had simply assumed that was just how he was. That your relationship didn’t need to look like everyone else’s.
But Mina’s reaction—the way her brows slowly pulled together, the faint crease forming between them, her lips parting like she was about to say something but stopping herself. It made something uncomfortable stir in your chest.
“You’re serious?” she asked again, softer this time, but no less surprised.
You gave another small nod, eyes dropping briefly to your drink. The condensation on the glass felt cold against your fingers, but not enough to stop the thoughts creeping in. Because now, you were thinking about it.
Was it… not normal?
Your mind drifted—unwanted, uninvited—to the way Mina talked about her own relationship so casually. The way she mentioned things like it was natural, expected.
He had never. Not once. A quiet unease settled deeper in your chest, heavier than before. Because for the first time, the thought came, clear and impossible to ignore—was there something wrong? With him. With you?
“Is it… wrong?”
Your voice came out quieter than you expected, almost uncertain, like you weren’t sure you should even be asking. Mina blinked at you, clearly caught off guard—not just by the question, but by the hesitation behind it.
“Wrong?” she repeated, her tone softening immediately.
You shifted slightly in your seat, fingers fidgeting against the cold surface of your glass. Your eyes dropped, avoiding hers for a moment.
“I mean…” you hesitated, lips pressing together before you spoke again, “is it weird? That he’s never—”
You trailed off, unable to finish the sentence, the words feeling too heavy once they reached your throat. For a brief moment, there was silence.
Mina leaned back slightly, her expression no longer surprised, but contemplative.
“I wouldn’t say it’s wrong,” she said slowly, choosing her words with more care this time. “But… it is a little unusual.”
Unusual.
“Hey—” Mina leaned forward again, her tone gentler now. “That doesn’t mean something’s bad, okay? Every hybrid is different. Every relationship too.”
You nodded. But the reassurance didn’t quite settle the way it was supposed to. Because even if it wasn’t wrong… It still wasn’t normal. And for some reason, that bothered you more than you expected.
“But, what about your boyfriend?” you asked carefully, “Isn’t he a hybrid too?”
Mina paused for a moment, like she had expected the question.
“Yeah,” she nodded, leaning back slightly in her seat. “He is.”
Your fingers tightened a little around your glass, the cool surface no longer grounding—just something to hold onto.
“And…?” you prompted softly, your gaze flickering up to meet hers before dropping again.
Mina exhaled through a small, almost awkward laugh.
“He goes into rut,” she admitted, like it was the most normal thing in the world. “Not all the time, but… yeah. It happens.”
Your heart sank, just a little.
“He gets clingy, more sensitive,” she continued, unaware of how each word settled heavier in your chest. “Sometimes it’s hard for him to control, but—” she shrugged lightly, “that’s just how it is with hybrids.”
Just how it is.
You nodded slowly, even though something inside you felt off. Because Jungwon had never been like that. Never once.
You were just an ordinary person. No heightened senses. No instincts beyond what you could see, hear, or touch. You couldn’t smell the subtle changes in the air the way other hybrids could. You couldn’t pick up on the quiet shifts in pheromones, the invisible signals that something was happening beneath the surface.
To you, everything looked the same. Felt the same. If something changed in a hybrid—if their instincts stirred, if something deeper took over—You wouldn’t know. Not unless they showed you.
And Jungwon, he never did. So you were left with guesses. With assumptions. With questions that had no clear answers. Because if there was something you were supposed to notice, something you were supposed to understand you had no way of knowing.
And maybe that was what made it worse.
The kitchen felt unusually quiet. Only the sound of running water filled the space—steady, soft, almost too loud against the silence. Your hands moved on their own, washing the dishes one by one, the faint clink of plates and glass echoing in a way it normally didn’t.
Usually, you would have music playing. Something light. Something to keep your thoughts from wandering. But today, you couldn’t bring yourself to turn it on. Your mind was already too loud. Mina’s words lingered, replaying in the back of your head like something you couldn’t shut off.
Unusual.
Your fingers tightened slightly around the plate, the soap slipping against your skin as you exhaled slowly. At first, you told yourself it didn’t matter. That Jungwon was just different. That what you had with him was enough. And it was. It had always been.
So why did it bother you now?
Your gaze dropped to the water swirling down the drain, unfocused. Jungwon was affectionate. Close. Warm. Everything he did felt real. Except—he had never gone further.
You swallowed, chest tightening just a little. Because no matter how much you tried to ignore it, the thought kept coming back—
Was he holding himself back?
Or…
Did he just not want you like that?
Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t notice the soft sound of the door opening. Didn’t hear the quiet steps approaching. Not until warmth wrapped around you from behind.
You startled slightly, breath catching as a pair of arms slipped around your waist, pulling you gently back against a familiar chest.
“Jungwon…” you murmured, your voice softer than you expected.
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he leaned down, his nose brushing against the crook of your neck, nuzzling into your skin like it was the most natural thing in the world. You felt his breath there—warm, slow—as he inhaled deeply. It was something he always did. Every time he came home.
A quiet, soft purr rumbled from his chest, low and steady, vibrating faintly against your back. Content. Relaxed. His hold tightened just a little, not enough to trap you, but enough to keep you close. One hand resting over your stomach, the other settling at your side as he stayed there, unmoving. Just breathing you in.
And for a moment, everything else faded. The noise in your head. The questions. The doubt. All of it softened under his touch.
Before you could fully gather your thoughts, Jungwon gently turned you in his arms. The movement was slow, careful—like he didn’t want to startle you again. His hands lingered at your waist as you faced him, and for a moment, everything else faded into the background. The kind of smile that always made your chest tighten, your thoughts falter for just a second too long.
“I’m home, princess.”
His voice was low, familiar, laced with that quiet affection he never seemed to run out of. Before you could respond, he leaned in, closing the small distance between you. His lips brushed against yours—gentle, unhurried. A soft kiss. It lingered just enough for you to feel it.
There was a faint taste of strawberry chocolate, subtle but unmistakable, something that made the moment feel softer, more intimate than it already was. When he pulled back, it wasn’t far. Close enough that you could still feel his breath, still see the softness in his eyes as he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered.
You smiled softly at him, your hand lifting to brush his blond strands away from his eyes. The silky hair slipped easily between your fingers, revealing his gaze more clearly.
“Sorry,” you murmured, your voice quiet, a little sheepish. “I didn’t hear you, baby.”
Your touch lingered for a moment longer than necessary, fingertips grazing lightly against his temple before pulling away. Jungwon’s eyes softened at your words, the corners crinkling just slightly as he leaned into your touch for a brief second longer, like he didn’t want you to pull away just yet.
“It’s okay,” he murmured, voice low and gentle. “You seemed… distracted.”
His hand lifted, brushing lightly against your wrist before sliding down to lace his fingers with yours. The motion was slow, familiar—something he had done countless times before, yet it still made your chest tighten just a little.
“You alright?” he asked softly.
You hesitated. Just for a second. Because you could say yes. You always did. It would be easier that way—quieter, safer, something that wouldn’t change the gentle atmosphere between you. But the words caught in your throat. Your gaze dropped slightly, your fingers tightening just a little around his.
“…Yeah,” you said, but it came out softer than usual. Less certain.
Jungwon noticed. His thumb brushed slowly over your knuckles, a small, soothing motion, but his eyes didn’t leave your face this time. There was something more attentive in his gaze now, more focused.
Like he was waiting. Not pushing.
“Did something happen?” he asked, quieter now.
The question you had been avoiding all day rose back to the surface. Heavy. Uncomfortable. Impossible to ignore. Your lips parted slightly, your breath catching as you debated whether to say it out loud. Whether to finally ask.
“…Jungwon,” you started, your voice barely above a whisper.
Then you hesitated again. Because once you said it, there was no taking it back.
Your fingers tightened slightly around his, grounding yourself.
“I’ve been thinking about something… Mina said,” you admitted, eyes flickering up to meet his before dropping again.
He stayed quiet, patient, waiting. You swallowed.
“…She asked if I’ve ever seen you go into rut.”
The words felt heavier out loud.
“I told her no,” you continued, quieter. “Because I haven’t.”
Your grip on his shirt tightened just a little. A small pause. “…Is that normal?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper. Then, softer—“…or is it because of me?”
Jungwon didn’t answer right away. He simply listened—quiet, attentive—his eyes never leaving yours as your words settled between you. Then, slowly, his thumb resumed its gentle motion against your hand.
“It’s not because of you,” he said softly. His voice was calm. Certain. “I use suppressants,” he continued, gaze softening slightly. “So you don’t have to see me like that.”
You blinked. Surprised.
“…Suppressants?” you echoed, your brows knitting faintly.
He nodded, his grip on you steady, reassuring.
“You don’t have to worry about it,” he added gently. “It’s nothing you did. Nothing you’re lacking.”
But instead of easing—Something in your chest tightened. Your fingers curled slightly into his shirt.
“…Then why?” you asked, quieter this time. “Why would you need to do that?”
You looked up at him, confusion slipping into your expression.
“I’m your girlfriend.”
Jungwon fell quiet for a moment. Not distant, just careful. Like he was weighing every word before letting it reach you. His hand slowly lifted, warm against your skin as he cupped your cheek. His thumb brushed over it in a soft, absentminded motion, grounding—gentle.
“Because I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, voice low and steady. You stilled, your breath catching slightly at the softness in his tone.
“When hybrids go into rut…” he continued, gaze lowering for a brief second before returning to you, more serious now, “we’re not the same.”
There was a quiet tension in his expression, something restrained.
“Instinct takes over. It’s… harder to think. Harder to stop.”
His brows pulled together faintly, like he didn’t quite like admitting it out loud. “I wouldn’t be able to control myself the way I do now,” he added, quieter. “And I don’t ever want to risk going too far with you.”
Your chest tightened. His thumb brushed your cheek again, slower this time, more deliberate—like he was trying to soothe something he couldn’t see.
“You’re still new to all of this,” he murmured. “And I know you’re scared, even if you don’t always say it.”
There was no teasing in his voice. No impatience. Just quiet understanding.
“I’d rather hold back,” he continued, eyes softening as they searched yours, “than ever make you feel overwhelmed… or hurt.”
His hand slipped from your cheek to your hand, fingers intertwining with yours again, grounding, familiar.
“So I chose to wait,” he said gently. “To make sure that when it happens… it’s because we both want it.”
His grip tightened just slightly. Reassuring. Certain.
“Not because of instinct,” he added softly. “But because it’s the right time for us.”
Before you could say anything, Jungwon pulled you into him. His arms wrapped around you firmly, one hand pressing gently against the back of your head, guiding you into his chest. The embrace was warm, secure—like he was trying to shield you from something you couldn’t even see.
“You don’t have to think about it like that,” he murmured softly against your hair.
His hand moved slowly, soothingly, brushing up and down your back in a steady rhythm. Calming. Grounding.
“It’s not because you’re lacking anything,” he continued, voice quieter now, almost a whisper. “And it’s not because I don’t want you.”
His hold tightened just slightly.
“I love you,” he said, the words gentle but firm. “More than that.”
You could hear it in the way his voice softened. Feel it in the way he held you closer. “I just…” he paused briefly, his fingers curling slightly against your back. “…I couldn’t live with myself if I ever hurt you.”
The confession was quiet. Heavy in a different way. So instead, he held you closer—like this was the only thing that mattered.
“And I don’t ever want you to feel scared with me,” he added softly, his cheek resting against the top of your head.
His hand slid up, gently cradling you again. Protective. Careful.
You knew you shouldn’t think about it this much. Jungwon had already told you not to—his voice still lingering in your mind, soft and certain. And you believed him. You knew he loved you. It was in everything he did, everything he was. But your thoughts didn’t listen.
Because beneath that reassurance, there was something else. You couldn’t stop thinking about how much he was holding back. How effortlessly he hid it, like it didn’t cost him anything. Like choosing restraint over instinct was easy.
Like you weren’t the reason he had to.
Your chest tightened at the thought. Because no matter how gently he framed it, he was still denying a part of himself. For you. You didn’t understand it. You weren’t a hybrid. You didn’t know what it felt like—those instincts, that pull, that loss of control he spoke about so carefully. You tried to imagine it. Tried to put yourself in his place. But it always fell short. Because there was a side of Jungwon that lived beyond your understanding.
You sat across from Jay, your laptop open between you, the assignment neatly laid out on the screen. The quiet tapping of keys filled the space, steady and calm—but your own hands had slowed, fingers hovering without typing.
Your focus had drifted again.
Jay leaned back slightly, scrolling through the material with ease. His black ears twitched faintly at the smallest sounds, subtle and instinctive—movements you couldn’t even register.
Jay is a hybrid. Just like Jungwon. Your fingers stilled completely, your gaze lifting toward him for a brief moment before dropping again. There was a small tension in your chest, something that had been building all day.
Because Jay would understand. In a way you couldn’t. Your lips pressed together, hesitating. The question lingered, heavy on your tongue. Should you ask?
Jay had noticed. Your gaze flickering toward him, too often to be accidental. His scrolling slowed before stopping completely, his eyes lifting from the screen to meet yours. One of his brows quirked slightly, a subtle expression of curiosity forming on his face.
“…What?” he asked, tone casual but knowing.
There was a brief pause. His ears twitched faintly, as if picking up on something unspoken, something lingering in the air between you. “You’ve been staring,” he added, a hint of amusement slipping into his voice.
“Jay… can I ask you something?” you said carefully, your voice quieter than before. He didn’t look surprised.
“Sure.”
You hesitated for a brief second, fingers curling slightly against your laptop before continuing.
“…You have a human girlfriend, right?”
Jay’s gaze stayed on you, steady, waiting—but he gave a small nod. The silence stretched for just a moment. Long enough for your nerves to settle in your chest. Then you asked—
“…Do you ever have to restrain yourself for her?”
The question came out softer than you intended. More vulnerable. Jay’s expression shifted, just slightly. The casual ease from before faded into something more thoughtful as he studied you—like he was trying to understand what you were really asking.
Jay didn’t answer right away. His gaze lingered on you for a moment, like he was trying to understand what you really meant behind the question.
Then he exhaled softly, leaning back in his chair. “…Not fully,” he admitted, his tone calm and honest. “I don’t suppress it completely or anything—but I do keep it in check.”
He lifted a hand to the back of his neck, rubbing it lightly as his ears flicked once. “I just make sure it doesn’t get to a point where it makes her uncomfortable,” he added, quieter. “Instinct can be… a lot.”
Jay shrugged slightly, looking back at you. “So yeah, I hold back when I need to—but not by forcing everything down. Just enough to make sure she’s okay.”
His words settled in your chest. Different from Jungwon. And somehow—that difference made everything feel more complicated.
Jay studied you for a moment longer, something softer settling into his expression.
“I don’t really know why you’re asking me this all of a sudden,” he said, his tone quieter now—less casual, more certain. He leaned forward slightly, resting his arm on the table, eyes steady on yours.
“But I do know one thing.”
A small pause.
“Jungwon really loves you.”
There was no hesitation in his voice.
No doubt.
“He cherishes you,” Jay continued, more gently. “A lot more than you probably realize.”
His ears flicked faintly, his gaze softening just a little. “He’s not holding back because he has to,” he added. “He’s doing it because he doesn’t want you to get hurt.”
You lowered your gaze, fingers tightening slightly against the edge of your laptop. “I know that,” you said softly, your voice almost fragile. “I know he loves me.” You hesitated, breath catching before you continued, “But… I don’t want him to keep holding back.”
Your words came slower now, more careful, like you were choosing each one with intention. “I know it’s hard for him. I can see it.” Your grip loosened, but the tightness in your chest remained, your eyes briefly lifting before dropping again. “I just… I just want to help.”
The confession lingered between you—quiet, but heavy in a way that couldn’t be ignored.
Jay was quiet for a moment, his gaze steady as he took in your words, like he was weighing them carefully before responding. “You don’t have to rush that,” he said finally, voice calm but firm. “If he’s holding back, it’s because he chose to. For you.”
He leaned back slightly, arms crossing loosely as his ears twitched once. “Helping him doesn’t mean pushing him past that line. It means letting him move at his own pace.” His eyes softened just a little. “Talk to him,” Jay added. “Not like this—guessing, overthinking. Just… be honest with him. Let him know you’re not scared, that you trust him.”
A small pause settled between you before he continued, quieter this time.
“And then let him decide what to do with that.”
His words weren’t complicated. But they felt grounded. Real. Like something you could actually hold onto.
Jungwon noticed it right away—he couldn’t not notice. At first, it was subtle enough to ignore. You had always been affectionate, always close, always warm in a way that grounded him. But this felt different. Your hugs lingered longer, tighter, your fingers curling into his clothes like you were afraid to let go. You kept tucking yourself into him, face buried against his neck, your breath warm against his skin as if that was the only place you felt steady.
Even your kisses had changed—no longer just soft, but rushed, feverish, almost desperate. It made his brows knit slightly, confusion settling in as he tried to make sense of it. This wasn’t entirely like you. Gently, he pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands resting on your arms in a quiet attempt to ground you. “…Hey,” he murmured, voice soft with concern. “What’s going on?”
You didn’t answer—and somehow, that worried him even more.
Like today—just as you woke up, you didn’t even hesitate. You immediately slipped into Jungwon’s lap, wrapping yourself around him, arms and legs locking tight in a koala-like hug. At first, he only thought you were being clingy for attention, acting cute the way you sometimes did in the mornings. But then you shifted, pressing closer, stirring slightly in his hold like you were searching for something—something he couldn’t quite understand.
His hands hovered for a second before settling on you, a faint crease forming between his brows. Because this didn’t feel like simple affection anymore. There was something else in the way you held onto him—something restless, almost uncertain—and he didn’t know what it meant.
Jungwon didn’t dislike it—if anything, he liked it more than he should. He liked how you clung to him, how naturally you fit against him, how you sought him out without hesitation. There was something about it that made his chest tighten in a way that felt good.
But at the same time—It was getting harder.
Harder to keep himself in check when you pressed this close, when your touch lingered like that, when you held onto him as if you needed him more than before. His arms tightened around you instinctively, but there was a tension beneath it now—something he was actively trying to hold back. And that was exactly what worried him. Because the more you leaned into him like this, the harder it became for him to stay in control.
“You know you shouldn’t rely on suppressants too much,” Dr. Kim said, eyes focused as he checked Jungwon’s condition, his tone calm but firm.
Jungwon stayed still, jaw slightly tense as he looked away, already knowing what was coming. The faint scent of antiseptic filled the room, making everything feel colder, more clinical than he liked.
“It’s not meant for long-term use like this,” the doctor continued, adjusting his notes. “Your body will start pushing back eventually. Side effects won’t stay mild forever.”
A brief silence followed. Jungwon exhaled quietly, fingers curling against his palm. “…I know.” But knowing didn’t make it easier.
Dr. Kim paused for a moment, studying Jungwon’s expression before letting out a quiet sigh.
“Then you need another approach,” he said, setting the clipboard aside. “Relying on suppressants alone isn’t sustainable.”
Jungwon’s brows knit slightly, his gaze dropping. “…What kind of approach?”
The doctor’s tone softened, but his words stayed firm. “Control doesn’t always mean forcing everything down. Sometimes it means… adjusting. Finding a balance instead of complete restraint.”
A brief pause lingered.
“You should communicate with your partner,” Dr. Kim added, watching him carefully. “Set boundaries, understand your limits—together. Your instincts aren’t something you can erase, but they can be managed safely if both sides are aware.”
Jungwon stayed quiet, the suggestion settling heavier than he expected.
Dr. Kim had said it before—more than once, every month like clockwork. Maybe the wording changed, maybe the tone shifted slightly, but the meaning always stayed the same: communicate, adjust, stop relying on suppressants alone. And every time, Jungwon listened. He nodded. He understood. But he never followed through, because knowing what to do and actually doing it were two completely different things.
His jaw tightened slightly as he looked away, the doctor’s words lingering in his mind long after the appointment ended. Because how was he supposed to explain something like that to you? How was he supposed to say it without making you scared—or worse, without crossing a line he could never take back? So instead, he stayed silent, choosing the easier option, even if it was slowly becoming the harder one.
Jungwon went home with a weight settling deep in his chest, heavier than usual, the doctor’s words still looping in his mind in a way he couldn’t shut off. By the time he stepped inside, his shoulders were tense, his thoughts still tangled—until his gaze landed on you. You were already home, curled up on the sofa, fast asleep. It wasn’t unusual; he had seen this plenty of times before, you dozing off with something playing softly in the background or your tablet still in your hand.
But this time felt different. His steps slowed as his eyes lingered a little longer, noticing what you were wearing—a thin set of pajamas, softer and lighter than usual, the fabric resting close against your body. The shorts were shorter too, more than what you normally wear. Jungwon stilled, and for a brief second, everything else slipped from his mind.
Jungwon slowly lowered himself beside you, one knee touching the floor as he leaned closer. His hand reached out almost instinctively, fingers brushing gently through your hair, careful not to wake you too abruptly.
“Baby…” he called softly, his voice low and warm, barely above a whisper.
You stirred slightly under his touch.
“You should wear something warmer,” he murmured, thumb lightly smoothing a strand away from your face. “I don’t want you to catch a cold.”
You slowly stirred, your eyes fluttering open, immediately meeting Jungwon’s gaze. His expression softened into that familiar, tender smile—the one that always made something in your chest ease.
Without saying a word, you lifted your hand slightly, a quiet invitation. He understood instantly. Jungwon shifted closer, one arm sliding around you as he gently pulled you into his embrace, careful but firm. In one smooth motion, he guided you onto his lap, holding you securely like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Now nestled against him, you didn’t hesitate. You leaned in, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck, your breath warm against his skin as your arms wrapped around him again.
“Won…” you murmured softly against his neck, your voice still laced with sleep, barely more than a breath.
“Hmm?” he responded, his voice lower now, softer.
You slowly lifted your face from his neck, your eyes meeting his—those familiar, feline-like eyes that always seemed to see right through you. Your hand came up without hesitation, fingers brushing gently along his cheek, slow and tender.
“You’re home, baby,” you whispered.
For a moment, Jungwon didn’t answer. His gaze stayed on you, something unreadable flickering in his eyes as his hand instinctively tightened against your waist, pulling you just a little closer.
“…Yeah,” he finally murmured, voice quieter than before.
“Did you go somewhere?” you asked softly, your thumb still brushing along his cheek, your gaze steady on his.
“…Yeah,” he admitted, his hand still resting at your waist, holding you close. “Just… had something to take care of.”
“Where?” you asked, your voice still soft, but more awake now—curious, searching.
Jungwon’s hand stilled for a brief second against your side. He looked at you, really looked at you this time, as if weighing something in his mind.
“…The clinic,” he said finally, voice quiet.
There was a pause.
“Just a check-up,” he added, like it was nothing.
You knew. You didn’t need him to say it out loud to understand—the clinic, the check-ups, the suppressants. Your chest tightened slightly as it all fell into place, a quiet heaviness settling in. Even if Jungwon acted like it didn’t matter, like it was nothing, you knew it wasn’t that simple. It had to be hard for him too.
“Wonnie…” you called softly, your eyes searching his, trying to reach whatever he was keeping buried. He didn’t pull away; he stayed, listening. “You know… it’s okay,” you whispered, your hand still resting gently against his cheek. There was a small pause before you continued, your voice softer but steadier. “You don’t always have to hold it back. You don’t have to do everything alone.”
Your fingers brushed lightly against his skin, grounding, sincere. “I’m your girlfriend,” you added quietly. “You can trust me.”
Jungwon froze, because of your words. They weren’t light, and they weren’t easy to accept. And somehow, that made everything feel even heavier.
Jungwon understood. He understood more than you probably realized—that you loved him, that you were willing, that you were trying to ease something you knew was hurting him. He could see it in your eyes, hear it in the way your voice softened, feel it in the way you held onto him.
And that was exactly why he couldn’t accept it.
His grip on you tightened slightly, not out of desire, but restraint. Because his feelings for you ran too deep—far too deep to blur that line just because he was struggling. He didn’t want to take advantage of you, not when his instincts were heightened, not when he knew he wasn’t thinking as clearly as he should.
You trusted him. But he didn’t trust himself.
He exhaled slowly, his hand coming up to cup your cheek, gentler this time—careful, almost fragile. Because the last thing he ever wanted was for you to give up something, to sacrifice something, just to make things easier for him. He loved you too much for that.
“I know that, baby… I believe in you,” Jungwon replied, his voice low and steady, carrying the weight of his emotions beneath the calm.
Jungwon’s fingers gently traced the line of your jaw, his touch deliberate but soft, as if grounding himself in the moment. He pressed a slow kiss to your temple, letting the warmth of your closeness settle him, even as the tension inside him lingered. “I just… I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmured, voice almost a whisper, his eyes searching yours for understanding.
Jungwon’s fingers gently traced the line of your jaw, his touch deliberate but soft, as if grounding himself in the moment. He pressed a slow kiss to your temple, letting the warmth of your closeness settle him, even as the tension inside him lingered. “I just… I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmured, voice almost a whisper, his eyes searching yours for understanding.
“Won… you’d never hurt me,” you murmured, your eyes glistening as they met his. The vulnerability in your gaze softened him further, and for a moment, the weight pressing on his chest seemed to ease, replaced by the quiet reassurance of your trust.
"Then, why won't you do it? Why didn't you want to have sex with me? I want to do it with you, too Won. If you're worried that you're gonna hurt me, we can set boundaries."
Jungwon’s gaze softened, a mixture of longing and restraint flickering in his eyes. He shook his head slowly, fingers tightening slightly where they rested on your waist. “It’s not that I don’t want to… I want you too,” he admitted, voice low and careful, “But I can’t risk hurting you. I can’t take that chance, not even with boundaries. Not because I don’t trust you—but because I don’t trust myself.”
He let the words hang between you, heavy but honest, his chest rising and falling with the weight of restraint and care.
You couldn’t hold it back anymore. Tears spilled freely down your cheeks, your body trembling as you pressed closer to him. “Won…” you choked out, your voice breaking, “I just… I just want to be close to you.”
Jungwon’s heart clenched at the sight. He wrapped his arms around you tighter, his own throat tight as he tried to soothe you. “Shh… it’s okay, baby,” he murmured, his voice thick. “I’m here… I’m not going anywhere.”
But even as he whispered the words, his own eyes stung with unshed tears. Seeing you cry hurt him in a way nothing else could, and he couldn’t stop the sorrow from creeping through him. His face buried in your hair, he let a tear slip quietly, matching yours, his chest tightening with the mix of love and helplessness.
You felt his warmth, his trembling hands, and realized—he was crying too. Two hearts breaking in quiet solidarity, clinging to each other in a storm of unspoken emotions.
Jungwon sat there, thumbs flying over the buttons of the controller, but it was like his hands were moving on autopilot. The screen flickered with his character’s failures, each loss stacking on top of the last, and no matter how much he tried to focus, the game slipped through his fingers. He bit his lower lip, jaw tight, trying to salvage it, but the outcome was inevitable—another defeat.
Jay, leaning against the doorway with arms crossed, watched him for a moment, eyebrow raised. There was a pause, a subtle shift in his expression, as if he’d just pieced something together. Something wasn’t right with Jungwon, and Jay’s sharp gaze didn’t miss it.
Jay leaned a little closer, voice low but firm. “Hey… you’re off today, huh?” he asked, tilting his head. His eyes softened as he studied Jungwon, noticing the tension around his shoulders, the way his hands trembled slightly on the controller.
Jungwon didn’t answer right away. He stared at the screen, blinking rapidly, like he was trying to force himself into the game—but it wasn’t working. His chest felt tight, heavy with something he couldn’t push aside, no matter how much he wanted to.
Jay let out a quiet sigh, stepping nearer. “Look, man. You’re not hiding it from me. Something’s eating at you. Talk to me.”
Jungwon finally lowered the controller, shoulders slumping, eyes dark and unreadable for a moment. “It’s nothing,” he muttered, voice barely above a whisper. But the way his fingers fidgeted betrayed him, and Jay’s expression hardened with quiet understanding.
Jay didn’t buy Jungwon’s words. He scooted closer and sat beside him, leaning just enough to make his presence felt without crowding him.
“Is it about your girlfriend?” he asked, cutting straight to the point. His tone was calm, but there was a sharpness in his gaze—he wasn’t letting Jungwon slide past this one.
Jungwon stiffened, fingers gripping the controller a little too tightly, jaw clenching. He avoided Jay’s eyes, staring at the screen as if the pixels could answer for him. But Jay knew better. He’d seen that look before.
Jay’s voice was calm, but deliberate. “You know, a few days ago your girlfriend suddenly asked me something.”
Jungwon’s gaze stayed glued to the screen, thumbs moving, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed him.
“She asked me… if I ever restrain myself with my girlfriend,” Jay continued, watching him closely, letting the words settle between them.
Jay shifted his gaze toward Jungwon, his eyes steady. “And I said… not fully,” he admitted, letting the words hang in the air.
Jungwon didn’t look away from the screen, his thumbs still moving over the buttons, but the tension in his shoulders deepened. He let out a quiet, almost imperceptible sigh, and for a moment, the room felt heavier—filled with unspoken thoughts neither of them wanted to voice.
Jay leaned back slightly, his eyes steady on Jungwon. “I know you restrain yourself for her. You don’t want to hurt her. But…” He paused, letting the words hang in the air, soft but firm. “…You need to believe in yourself.”
Jungwon’s shoulders slumped slightly, his gaze dropping to the controller in his hands. “And… I didn’t believe in myself,” he admitted quietly, the words heavy with a mix of frustration and resignation.
“Hey… it’s okay,” he said gently. “You can believe in yourself. You’ve always been careful because you care—but that doesn’t mean you’re incapable. You just need to trust that you can handle it, that you’re strong enough to protect her and still be with her the way you want.”
He reached out, lightly tapping Jungwon’s shoulder for emphasis. “It’s not about never making mistakes—it’s about knowing you won’t let them break you or her. You’ve got this, man. I know you do.”
Jay’s tone was calm, steady, and patient as he said, “My girlfriend is also a regular human. At first, I was scared too—scared that my animalistic side might hurt her. But we communicated, we set our boundaries, and it worked. You can do the same.”
Jungwon exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. “I’m worried,” he began, his voice tight. “The suppressant… It’s not working like it used to. Its effect is decreasing, and my rut is coming. I… I can barely hold it now.”
He looked down at the controller, gripping it almost too tightly. “I’m scared, man. I don’t want to hurt her. I don’t want to put her in danger just because I can’t control myself. I thought I could manage it, but now…” His words trailed off, heavy with worry, unspoken fears pressing on his chest.
Jay leaned back slightly, studying him carefully. “Hey,” he said, his tone steady but gentle, “I get it. I really do. But stressing yourself out alone isn’t going to help either. You’ve been handling this all by yourself for too long.”
He placed a hand on Jungwon’s shoulder, firm but not forceful. “You can plan for it. You can communicate, set boundaries, even get help if you need it. It doesn’t make you weak—it makes you responsible. And trust me, you’re not going to hurt her if you actually think this through instead of bottling it up.”
Jay’s gaze met his, serious but reassuring. “You’re not alone in this, Won. You’ve got options. And you’re not failing just because it’s hard.”
Mina hummed lowly, the sound soft but deliberate, clearly deep in thought as she processed your story about the past few days with Jungwon. Her eyes narrowed slightly, lips pressed together, as if she was weighing every detail, trying to piece together what it all meant.
After a long pause, Mina finally spoke, her voice calm but steady.
“You’re worried about him… and about yourself,” she said, tilting her head slightly. “But you can’t carry all of this alone. You need a plan—a way to handle it without putting either of you in danger.”
Her gaze met yours, sharp yet gentle, as if urging you to trust her insight.
Mina leaned back slightly, tapping her chin thoughtfully.
“There’s something that might help,” she said, her tone careful. “It’s called Veromon perfume."
“Since Jungwon’s a cat hybrid, you might want to try the veromon perfume that contains catnip extract. It’s subtle, but it can help him relax—loosen that tension he’s carrying around.”
She gave you a small, reassuring smile. “It won’t override him or anything, just help him feel calmer when his rut comes.”
You tilted your head slightly, thinking. “Veromon perfume… I’ve heard about it before, but I’m not really sure how it works,” you admitted, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of your sleeve.
Mina nodded, as if expecting your hesitation. “It’s not complicated,” she explained gently. “It’s made with natural pheromones and extracts—like the catnip one I mentioned for Jungwon. It doesn’t force anything, it just subtly signals safety and calm to hybrids. Think of it like a gentle nudge for him to relax around you.”
You blinked, processing the information, a mix of curiosity and hesitation crossing your face. “So… it won’t make him act weird or, you know, uncontrollable?” you asked, your voice cautious.
Mina shook her head with a small smile. “No, nothing like that. It just eases tension. Especially for cat hybrids like Jungwon—it helps them feel safe without overriding their instincts. You’re still in control, and he’ll still be himself.”
You exhaled slowly, feeling a little relief wash over you. It sounded… safe. And maybe, just maybe, it could help both of you.
Mina leaned back slightly, folding her arms. “The key is subtlety,” she explained. “A few drops behind your ears, or on your pulse points—nothing too much. You don’t want it to be overwhelming. Just enough for him to notice and relax.”
You nodded, trying to imagine it. It felt strange, relying on something like a perfume to influence him, but at the same time… maybe it was worth trying. Anything to ease the tension, for both of you.
What Jungwon had been afraid of finally came. His rut.
It didn’t happen all at once—at first, it was subtle. A lingering restlessness, a heat settling under his skin that he couldn’t shake off. His thoughts grew foggy, harder to control, and even the smallest things began to irritate him.
But then it worsened. His breathing turned heavier, uneven, his body running hotter than usual as the suppressant failed to keep it down. Every sensation felt heightened, overwhelming—his instincts clawing their way to the surface no matter how much he tried to push them back.
And the worst part, you were on his mind. Constantly. Jungwon clenched his jaw, gripping the edge of the table as he tried to steady himself. He knew this was coming. He prepared for it. But knowing didn’t make it easier—didn’t make the fear go away. Because this time he wasn’t sure if he could hold himself back.
He had taken the medicine—he did—but nothing changed.
The familiar relief never came. No calm, no easing of the heat crawling under his skin. Just the same restless tension, tightening, building, refusing to be suppressed.
Jungwon exhaled shakily, dragging a hand down his face. He didn’t want to worry. He kept telling himself it would pass, that maybe it just needed time—but deep down, he knew better.
A hybrid in rut is dangerous.
It wasn’t something to take lightly. Not something you could just ignore and hope for the best. That’s why suppressants existed in the first place—why, without them, hybrids were told to isolate themselves, lock themselves away until it was over.
Because losing control wasn’t just a possibility. It was a risk. And right now— with the medicine failing and his instincts growing louder by the second—Jungwon could feel that risk getting closer.
He was supposed to go with you to the amusement park. After everything that happened—the argument, the tears you both couldn’t hold back, the way you ended up crying together in each other’s arms—he had promised. A quiet, fragile promise to make it up to you. To make you smile again.
And he meant it. He wanted to go.
Jungwon leaned against the wall, his breath uneven as he pressed a hand to his chest, trying to steady himself. This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. His rut wasn’t due yet—he had time. He always had time.
Except this time it came faster. Too fast. Faster than he predicted. Faster than he could prepare for. It had never happened like this before. A flicker of panic crossed his face as the realization settled in, heavy and suffocating. If it was this intense this early—then what would happen later?
What was he supposed to do about you?
Jungwon groaned softly, frustration laced through the sound as he dragged a hand through his hair, gripping it for a moment like he was trying to ground himself.
While Jungwon wrestled with his frustration in his apartment, you had already finished getting ready. The soft rustle of your outfit settled as you gave yourself one last look, fingers smoothing down the fabric absentmindedly.
Just as you were about to step out, your eyes caught something on the table. The perfume.
That perfume.
You paused, your hand hovering midair as Mina’s words echoed faintly in your mind. For a second, you simply stared at it, hesitation creeping in, your thoughts tangling between uncertainty and quiet hope.
You stepped closer, your fingers brushing lightly against the bottle as if testing its presence. It felt… normal. Too normal, considering what it was supposed to do.
For a moment, you hesitated.
Was this really the right way?
Your lips pressed together, mind drifting back to Jungwon—his conflicted eyes, the way his voice softened when he reassured you, even when he was the one struggling.
You didn’t want to control him. You just wanted to help. Exhaling slowly, you picked it up. The glass felt cool against your skin as you turned it slightly, watching the liquid catch the light.
“…Just a little,” you murmured to yourself.
Carefully, you dabbed a small amount onto your wrist, then behind your ear—just like Mina suggested. Subtle. Barely there. But enough. As the faint scent settled around you, your heart began to beat a little faster, not from the perfume, but from what might happen next.
You glanced at the bottle one more time before slipping it carefully into your bag, your fingers lingering for a second longer than necessary. Then, with a quiet breath, you straightened up and headed for the door, your hand wrapping around the handle as a brief hesitation settled in your chest—just enough for doubt to whisper again. But this time, you didn’t let it stop you. You stepped out, closing the door softly behind you, the faint presence of the perfume tucked away with you, along with all the uncertainty of what was waiting ahead.
When you arrived at the amusement park, something felt off. At first, you thought it was just your nerves—the lingering thoughts about Jungwon, the perfume, everything weighing on your mind. But the feeling didn’t fade; instead, it grew stronger. It took you a moment to notice it—the stares. Not everyone, but enough to make you uneasy, and most of them were hybrids.
Your steps slowed as your eyes flickered around, catching glances that lingered just a little too long before turning away. A knot formed in your chest, confusion settling in. It didn’t make sense. You weren’t wearing anything revealing—just a simple dress over jeans, a cardigan wrapped around you. Comfortable. Modest. Normal. So why were they looking at you like that?
A faint unease crept up your spine as a thought brushed the edge of your mind, and without realizing it, your hand tightened around the strap of your bag.
Then it got worse.
A few of the hybrids didn’t even bother hiding it anymore—low whistles, murmured comments, voices calling out in ways that made your skin crawl. It was subtle to others, maybe, but not to you. Not when every sound felt directed, every glance heavier than before. This had never happened to you. Not here. Not anywhere. Your chest tightened as fear slowly replaced confusion.
Jungwon wasn’t here yet.
The thought hit harder than it should have, making your fingers curl tighter around your bag strap as your eyes darted around again, searching—hoping—to catch even a glimpse of him. But he was nowhere to be seen. And the longer you stood there alone, the more aware you became of just how exposed you felt.
Your heartbeat picked up, each second stretching uncomfortably as unease settled deep in your stomach. Something was wrong. And now you were starting to feel scared.
You were so caught up in your thoughts—the stares, the unease, the growing fear curling in your chest—that you didn’t notice them approaching.
Not until they were right in front of you. Two male hybrids stand in front of you.
Your breath hitched as your steps came to an abrupt stop, your eyes lifting—only to be met with two figures standing far too close. Too close. One on each side, their presence suddenly overwhelming, cutting off your path without you even realizing when it happened. They had cornered you.
A sharp wave of panic surged through your chest as your gaze flickered between them, your grip tightening around your bag. Your mind went blank for a second, heart pounding loudly in your ears as the space around you seemed to shrink.
“What a beautiful girl,” one of them said, a slow grin spreading across his face as his eyes roamed over you in a way that made your skin crawl. “Are you alone, pretty girl?”
Your throat tightened instantly, the words lodging somewhere between fear and disbelief. Up close, their presence felt even heavier—suffocating. You could feel the heat of their bodies, the way they leaned just enough to invade your space without even touching you.
Your fingers clenched harder around your bag strap, knuckles paling as your pulse hammered wildly in your chest. Instinct screamed at you to step back—but there was nowhere to go. One stood too close in front of you, the other slightly to the side, effectively trapping you in place.
Your lips parted, but no words came out. Just the faint, shaky sound of your breath.
One of them moved closer, too close, his hand lifting before settling on your shoulder as if he had every right to touch you. You flinched, your body going rigid as he leaned in, his nose brushing faintly against your hair. For a brief second, everything felt frozen.
Then he inhaled. A grin slowly spread across his face.
“Wow…” he murmured, voice dropping into something more dangerous, more certain. “You smell so good, don’t you?”
A shiver ran down your spine, sharp and uncontrollable. And then it hit you.
No—
That perfume.
“Please…” your voice finally came out, small and trembling, barely steady enough to hold itself together. “Let go of me.”
Your words hung in the air, fragile—almost breakable—as your fingers tightened even more around your bag, your whole body tense, waiting. Hoping they would actually listen.
For a split second, neither of them moved. Then— a low chuckle slipped from one of them.
“Did you hear that?” he muttered, glancing at the other, amusement flickering in his eyes. “She’s asking nicely.”
The hand on your shoulder didn’t leave. If anything, his grip tightened just a little more.
The other one shifted closer, close enough that you had to tilt your head back slightly just to keep space between you. His hand hovered near your arm, fingers twitching like he was deciding whether to touch you next.
“Don’t be like that,” one of them murmured, voice dipped in something that made your stomach twist. His fingers trailed just slightly, testing, like he was waiting to see if you would fight back.
You did.
Your hand jerked away, heart pounding violently as panic surged through you. “Stop—” you tried, but your voice came out uneven, thinner than you wanted it to be.
A soft laugh followed.
“Cute,” the other one said, stepping in even closer, close enough that you could feel his breath. “She’s nervous.”
“Don’t be scared,” he said softly, but there was nothing comforting about it. “We just want to—”
“Hey.”
The voice cut through the air sharply. Cold. Familiar. Everything froze.
The two hybrids paused, their attention snapping away from you as a presence approached—heavy, controlled, dangerous in a completely different way.
Jungwon.
He stood a few steps away, eyes locked on them—no, on the hand still gripping your shoulder. His expression wasn’t loud, wasn’t explosive.
But it was worse. Tight. Dark.
“Take your hand off her.”
His voice was low, steady—but underneath it, something coiled, ready to snap. For the first time since they cornered you, the grip on your shoulder loosened.
Everything stopped. The hand hovering near you froze mid-air. Both of them turned at the same time, irritation flickering across their faces—until they saw him.
Jungwon.
He didn’t rush. He didn’t need to. Each step he took was measured, controlled, his gaze locked onto them with a quiet intensity that made the air feel heavier. There was no hesitation in him, no uncertainty—only something dark simmering beneath the surface.
“I said,” he repeated, voice lower now, more dangerous, “let go.”
This time— They listened.
Silence lingered for a moment after they let go—thick, heavy, almost suffocating. Then Jungwon moved. He stepped closer, closing the distance between you with the same measured pace, each step controlled, deliberate. But now that he was near—too near—you could see it clearly.
There was no smile on his face. No softness. Nothing gentle in his expression at all. Just anger.
Not loud, not explosive—but something far colder, far more restrained. The kind that sat quietly beneath the surface, tightening every line of his face, sharpening his gaze as it flickered over you.
Checking. Assessing. Your breath caught again—but this time, not because of them. Because the way he looked at you now—It scared you.
He stopped right in front of you, close enough that you could feel the tension radiating off him. His jaw tightened slightly, eyes lingering on your wrist, then your shoulder, then your face—like he was making sure you were still in one piece.
But he didn’t reach out. Didn’t touch you. Didn’t say anything at first.
Your fingers curled tighter around your bag strap, your body still tense, still caught between the fading fear of what just happened—and the new, unfamiliar fear settling in your chest.
Silence lingered between you—thick, suffocating, pressing down on your chest until it felt hard to breathe. Jungwon didn’t look away.
“Do you understand what you’re doing right now?”
His voice was cold. No warmth. None of the softness you were used to—none of the quiet gentleness that usually grounded you. His eyes held yours, sharp and unyielding, and it made your stomach twist.
“Do you know what perfume you’re using?” he continued, his tone still controlled—but barely. “Do you understand how dangerous it is to wear it?”
Your fingers tightened instinctively around your bag strap, your pulse still uneven, your thoughts struggling to catch up. You wanted to answer—you really did—but the words wouldn’t come.
Because the way he was looking at you—it didn’t feel like concern. It felt like anger.
Jungwon’s jaw clenched, the muscle ticking as he forced himself to stay composed. His gaze dropped for a split second—to your wrist, your shoulder—before snapping back to your face, something darker flickering beneath the surface.
“You have no idea,” he muttered, quieter now, but heavier, “what that scent does to them.”
His hand twitched slightly at his side—like he wanted to reach for you—but he stopped himself, fingers curling into a fist instead.
“Do you think I’m overreacting?” he asked, voice dropping even lower, strained now. “You were just cornered.”
Before you could say anything, Jungwon moved, his hand closing firmly around your wrist, not rough but far from gentle, just enough to make it clear he wasn’t giving you a choice. “Let’s go.” No explanation, no room for argument. Your breath hitched as he turned and pulled you along, your steps stumbling for a second before you managed to keep up, your free hand clutching your bag while your mind raced.
“Jungwon—wait—” you tried, your voice still shaky, still catching on everything you hadn’t said, but he didn’t slow down, didn’t look back, his grip tightening slightly like a silent warning, like he couldn’t afford to let you go—not here, not now. “We’re leaving,” he said, short and final.
The amusement park faded behind you into a blur of lights and distant noise, the excitement you once felt replaced by something heavy settling deep in your chest. This wasn’t how today was supposed to go—you were supposed to laugh, to spend time together, to forget everything else even just for a little while—but now every plan quietly fell apart with each step he took.
Jungwon didn’t stop until you were far enough, until the crowd thinned and the air felt less suffocating; only then did his pace slow, yet he still didn’t let go, not even for a second, and somehow that grip felt less like reassurance and more like control.
The ride home was quiet. Jungwon didn’t say a word as you boarded the bus, his hand still around your wrist until you were both seated. Only then did he finally let go—but not completely. Instead, he shrugged off his jacket and draped it over your shoulders, pulling it close, shielding you as if trying to erase your presence from everyone else. From them.
He shifted closer, his arm resting just behind you, not quite touching—but enough to box you in, to keep others at a distance. Anyone who passed by wouldn’t get close enough. Wouldn’t notice. Wouldn’t smell you.
You sat there in silence, wrapped in his warmth, your fingers gripping the fabric of his jacket as your thoughts grew heavier with each passing second. Because now you understood. This wasn’t just about what happened earlier. It was about him, too.
Jungwon’s jaw remained tight, his gaze fixed ahead, but you could see it—the restraint in the way his fingers curled slightly against his own knee, the controlled rise and fall of his breathing, like he was holding something back. Holding himself back.
And that realization settled deep in your chest, heavy and uncomfortable. You didn’t say anything—couldn’t. Because suddenly, the guilt crept in. He had to hold himself together—had to fight against something just to sit this close to you without hurting you.
By the time you arrived at Jungwon’s apartment, the tension hadn’t eased—it had only grown heavier. The moment the door closed behind you, it became impossible to ignore. Jungwon was barely holding himself together, his breathing uneven and jagged, like every inhale scraped against his throat. Sweat clung to his skin, dampening the strands of his hair, tracing down the side of his face and disappearing beneath his collar, while his ears burned red, the flush spreading down his neck in a deep, unmistakable hue. You had never seen him like this before—not this shaken, not this overwhelmed.
He turned away from you almost immediately, one hand bracing against the wall as his shoulders rose and fell sharply, his other hand curling into a fist at his side, knuckles paling as he tried to steady himself. “Stay there,” he muttered, voice strained, rougher than you’d ever heard it, “don’t come any closer.” It wasn’t harsh, and it wasn’t anger—it was restraint, and somehow that made your chest tighten even more.
You stood frozen near the door, still wrapped in his jacket, your fingers clutching the fabric as you watched him struggle to regain control, the silence stretching between you, filled only by the sound of his uneven breathing, and in that moment, you realized just how much he was fighting against himself.
Something in your chest broke. Before you could stop yourself, tears welled up, slipping down your cheeks as your grip on his jacket loosened. The silence, the distance, the way he kept pushing you away, it hurt more than you expected. “Jungwon…” your voice trembled as you stepped forward anyway.
He tensed immediately. “I told you—” he started, his voice sharper now, a warning barely held in place, but you reached for him first. Your fingers wrapped around his hand, warm and shaking, and that was when he froze.
“I’m okay,” you whispered, your voice unsteady, breaking between breaths as more tears fell. “You don’t have to hold back like this… you don’t have to hurt yourself trying to stay away from me.”
For a split second, something in him snapped. His hand twitched in your grasp, his shoulders tightening as his head turned slightly, like he was this close to losing control. Anger flickered across his face, sharp and sudden. Like a reflex, like if he didn’t push you away now, something worse would happen.
But then he saw you.
The tears. The way your fingers trembled around his hand.
And just like that, the anger stalled. Not gone—but restrained again, barely. His breathing hitched, rough and uneven, his gaze dropping to where you held him before slowly lifting back to your face. There was something raw in his expression now, something dangerously close to breaking.
“…You don’t understand,” he said, voice low, strained, like every word cost him something. His fingers tightened slightly against yours—not enough to hurt, but enough to show how close he was to his limit, how much he was holding back—and how easily that control could slip.
Before he could pull away—before he could say anything else—you moved.
This time, you didn’t stop yourself.
You stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him, holding him tightly, your face pressing against his chest as if that alone could close the distance he kept forcing between you. For a split second, everything froze.
Jungwon’s body went rigid under your touch, every muscle tensing at once, his breath catching sharply like the contact burned. His hands hovered in the air, unsure, like he didn’t know whether to push you away or hold you back.
You held on anyway. Tighter.
“I don’t care…” your voice came out muffled against him, trembling but certain, your fingers clutching the fabric of his shirt. “I don’t care what happens… I don’t care what you’ll do to me.”
Your heart was pounding so hard it hurt, but you didn’t let go. Because the fear was still there, but something else had taken over it.
Jungwon’s breathing faltered completely, turning uneven, almost broken as your warmth sank into him. His hands slowly lowered, stopping just short of touching you, fingers twitching like he was fighting himself all over again.
“Do you even hear yourself right now…?” he muttered, voice strained, barely holding together. But he didn’t push you away. Didn’t move. Didn’t break the hold.
“I don’t care anymore.”
The words left your lips before you could take them back—soft, trembling, but certain.
And that was it. Something in Jungwon snapped.
His hands moved suddenly, gripping you tight—almost desperate—as he pulled you back just enough to look at you. His eyes were dark, conflicted, barely holding onto restraint, like he was still deciding, still fighting himself.
For a split second—he hesitated. And then he gave in.
The air in the small apartment hung heavy with his scent—musky, primal, like damp earth after rain mixed with something sharper, more urgent, flooding your nostrils and making your pulse hammer in your throat. You could feel the low rumble vibrating from his chest, a growl that wasn't quite human, pressing into your ribs as his hands gripped your hips, claws pricking just enough through your thin shirt to sting without breaking skin.
"Fuck," he rasped, voice roughened to gravel, his breath hot and ragged against your lips. "Can't... can't hold back anymore. Need you. Now." The words weren't a plea—they were a warning, laced with the raw edge of his hybrid instincts overriding everything else. His tail coiled around your thigh, pulling you flush against him, and you felt the hard ridge of his cock straining through his jeans, thick and insistent against your belly. Heat radiated from him, his skin fever-flushed under the faint sheen of sweat that carried that intoxicating musk deeper into your lungs.
His lips crashed against yours, hungry and unrestrained, nothing like the careful control he had been forcing onto himself before. There was urgency in it, something overwhelming, like everything he had been holding back finally broke all at once. His grip tightened as he pulled you closer, closing any space between you as if he couldn’t bear the distance anymore.
You barely had time to gasp before his mouth crashed into yours. It wasn't a kiss—it was a claiming. His lips bruised yours with bruising force, teeth nipping at your lower lip hard enough to draw a coppery tang of blood that he licked away with a guttural groan. The taste exploded on your tongue as his tongue invaded, hot and demanding, his tongue thrusting deep like he was fucking your mouth already. Saliva slicked between you, dripping down your chin as he devoured you, the wet, obscene sounds of sucking and licking filling the living room—smack of lips, his low, hungry growls vibrating straight to your core.
The rut had him feral, every sense overwhelmed—your scent driving him mad, the salt of your skin on his tongue, the way your heart thundered under his palm. He kissed you like he was starving, like you'd disappear if he stopped, his body a wall of heat and muscle caging you in, promising no escape until he'd wrung every drop of pleasure from you.
Jungwon didn’t give you time to think.
The kiss deepened, slower now but no less intense, as he guided you backward step by step, his hand firm at your side. There was a desperation in the way he held you, in the way his fingers tightened and loosened like he was still trying—failing—to control himself.
You barely noticed where he was leading you until your steps faltered. The back of your knees hit the edge of the bed. A small gasp left your lips, the motion breaking the rhythm for just a second—but that was all it took. And he pushed you down onto the bed.
Your back slamming into the mattress before you could draw breath, the springs groaning under the sudden weight. He loomed over you, blues wild and unblinking, chest heaving with pants that filled the dim room with the sharp tang of his rut-sweat and your mingled arousal.
"Fuck these," he growled, voice a guttural rasp as his hands fisted the collar of your long cardigan. The fabric shredded under his claws with a sharp ripping sound, buttons pinging off the headboard like scattered bullets, exposing the thin straps of your dress beneath.
He didn't pause—his mouth latched back onto yours in a bruising clash of teeth and tongue, saliva-slick and desperate, while his fingers hooked into the hem of your jeans. The zipper rasped violently as he yanked, denim tearing at the seams with wet pops of thread snapping, the rough drag scraping your thighs raw as he peeled them down and off in one savage pull. Your panties clung briefly, sodden and sheer, before he shredded those too, the elastic snapping against your hips with a sting that made you gasp into his mouth.
Naked now except for the ruined dress bunched at your waist, cool air kissed your exposed skin, pebbling your nipples to aching points and raising gooseflesh along your arms. But his heat smothered it instantly—his body crashed down, knees bracketing your thighs, cock grinding heavy and leaking against your bare mound through his pants, the wet fabric smearing pre-cum across your clit. He broke the kiss with a suck on your lower lip, fangs grazing, then dove for your neck. His mouth sealed over your pulse, sucking hard enough to hollow his cheeks, the pull sending liquid fire straight to your core. Faint bruises already bloomed from the living room, but he attacked anew, teeth sinking in rhythmic bites—mark, suck, lick—the wet suction loud in the quiet room, mingled with his hungry moans vibrating bone-deep. The metallic hint of blood teased your skin as he lapped it away, tongue rough like velvet sandpaper, marking you as his territory with purple welts that throbbed hotly.
"Everyone's gonna see," he murmured against your throat, voice wrecked and possessive, breath scorching the fresh hickeys. "Know you're mine. Filled with my cum." His tail lashed across your calves, fur tickling sensitively, while one hand shoved the dress straps down your shoulders, baring your chest fully. Cool air tightened your nipples further, but then his mouth was there—lips wrapping around one peak, sucking with brutal force that made your back arch off the bed. The wet slurp echoed as he tugged, teeth grazing the sensitive bud, tongue flicking mercilessly while his claws raked lightly down your sides, leaving faint red trails that burned deliciously. He switched breasts, lavishing the other with the same harsh worship, saliva dripping cool down your ribs, your skin slick and shining under the bedside lamp's glow.
Your hands fisted his hair, tugging at the soft strands between his twitching cat ears, eliciting a deeper growl that rumbled through your bones. He shoved your thighs wider with his knees, spreading you obscenely, cool air hitting your dripping pussy and making you clench around nothing. The scent of your slick arousal thickened the air, musky and sweet, drawing another primal rumble from him. "Look at this perfect cunt," he rasped, eyes flicking down as he released your nipple with a pop, strings of spit connecting his lips to the reddened peak. "Drenched for my rut. Gonna devour it."
He slid down your body in a fluid prowl, shoulders wedging your legs apart until your knees hooked over them, heels digging into the mattress. His claws pricked your inner thighs, holding you splayed as his face hovered inches from your core—hot breath ghosting over your swollen clit, making it twitch. Then he struck, mouth latching onto your pussy with ravenous force. Tongue plunged deep first, spearing into your entrance, thrusting in crude, fucking motions that scooped your slick back out, the obscene squelch filling the room as he growled into you. The vibration hummed straight through your walls, clenching greedily around the intrusion.
He ate you like a beast, no finesse—just harsh, unrelenting suction on your clit that hollowed his cheeks, lips bruised-red from pressure, fangs grazing your folds without mercy. Spit and your juices mingled, dripping down your ass to soak the sheets, the wet smacks and slurps punctuated by his guttural moans—"Taste so fucking good, pussy made for me"—as his nose nudged your clit while his tongue lashed deeper. Claws dug into your thighs hard enough to leave welts, pinning you as your hips bucked wildly, chasing the brutal pleasure. He sucked your clit between his teeth, nipping sharply before soothing with rough laps, then two fingers shoved inside alongside his tongue, curling viciously against that spongy spot that made stars explode behind your eyes.
Your breath came in shattered whimpers, thighs quivering around his head, the fur of his ears brushing your skin as they flicked with his focus. His tail coiled around your ankle, anchoring you as he feasted, rut driving him to wring every drop from you—harsh, messy, animalistic, your cries echoing off the walls as tension coiled tighter in your belly, threatening to snap.
The rut clawed at him from the inside, a relentless fire scorching his veins, turning every lap of his tongue into a battle he was losing. He tried—fuck, he tried—to temper it, muscles in his jaw flexing as he forced a slower stroke, but the scent of your pussy, thick and heady like ripe fruit drenched in honey, snapped his restraint like dry twig. A guttural snarl vibrated from his chest straight into your core, the sound raw and broken, as his claws dug deeper into your thighs—pricking skin now, tiny beads of blood welling under the tips, the sharp sting blooming hot amid the overwhelming pleasure-pain.
"Can't... stop," he groaned against your folds, the words muffled and wrecked, hot breath fanning your clit before his mouth descended again with punishing force. Lips sealed around the swollen nub, sucking so harshly it felt like he was trying to pull your soul through it—vacuum-tight, unrelenting, the pull dragging a keening wail from your throat. Tears spilled hot down your temples, soaking into your hair as your body jerked, hips bucking involuntarily against the brutality. His tongue lashed next, flat and rough like a cat's, rasping over your clit in savage drags that ignited nerves raw from overstimulation, then plunged into your entrance, fucking deep and fast, curling to grind that devastating spot inside.
Tears streamed freely now, your vision blurring as sobs tore from your chest—half pain, half ecstasy so intense it fractured you. "Jungwon—too much, hurts," you gasped, voice cracking, hands shoving weakly at his hair, fingers tangling in the black strands between his ears. But he didn't stop; the rut owned him, pupils blown black, sweat slicking his brow as he panted hotly into your pussy. "Need it," he rasped, voice hoarse and pleading, golden eyes locking on your tear-streaked face with haunted desperation. "Need you crying on my tongue. So fucking sweet when you break." His claws retracted just a fraction—not enough to spare you the bite, but enough to keep from shredding flesh—as he redoubled his assault, sucking your clit between his teeth and humming low, the vibration rattling your bones.
Your thighs quivered uncontrollably around his head, muscles burning from the strain of holding position, slick gushing in response to the invasion, coating his chin and throat in glossy sheen. The coil in your belly wound impossibly tighter, pain blurring into white-hot bliss, every harsh suck and thrust pushing you higher even as sobs wracked your body. He drank you down greedily, swallowing with audible gulps, the salty tang of your arousal mixed with faint copper from your nicked thighs driving his rut wilder. "Come on my face," he demanded mid-lap, fangs scraping your clit as he sucked harder, fingers pistoning ruthlessly, hooking that spot until your walls spasmed. "Cry and soak me, baby—fuck, gonna breed this pussy after."
Tears poured as the orgasm crashed, a shattering wave that ripped a scream from your raw throat, body convulsing under the onslaught. He didn't relent, eating through it harshly, prolonging the peak until black spots danced in your vision, his growls turning triumphant and savage as your release flooded his mouth. Only then did he slow, just a fraction, licking long and possessive over your twitching folds, tasting his victory while his rut raged on, cock throbbing visibly against the mattress, promising more devastation to come.
Jungwon's tongue gave one final, possessive drag through your spasming folds, lapping up the gush of your release with a shuddering groan that rumbled against your oversensitive clit. Tears still streaked your cheeks, breath hitching in sobs as he reared up between your thighs, his face glistening with your slick—chin dripping, lips swollen and bruised-red from his own ferocity.
He shoved his pants down with one clawed hand, the fabric rasping over his hips, and his cock sprang free—heavy, monstrous, thicker than your wrist and longer than anything you'd imagined, veined ridges pulsing under flushed skin, the fat head already weeping thick ropes of pre-cum that splattered hot across your mound. The sheer size made your breath catch, a fresh wave of fear-laced arousal twisting in your gut. "Jungwon… it's too big," you whimpered, voice trembling, hands pressing weakly against his chest where sweat-slicked muscle jumped under your palms. But he was beyond reason, a low, animal snarl curling his lips to bare fangs as his claws pinned your wrists above your head, stretching you taut against the mattress.
"Gonna take it," he growled, voice distorted to a guttural rasp, hips jerking forward as the blunt head notched at your entrance, slick from his spit and your tears mingling with fresh arousal. "Virgin pussy's mine. Gonna ruin it for anyone else." No gentleness now—the beast devoured. He thrust in without mercy, the stretch immediate and excruciating, your walls yielding painfully around his girth, burning like fire as inch after impossible inch forced its way inside. You screamed, the sound raw and shattering, back bowing off the bed as tears flooded anew, hot trails carving paths down your face. It felt like being split open, his cock a searing brand dragging against untouched nerves, the ridges catching and pulling at your fluttering walls.
He didn't stop—couldn't, rut instincts overriding everything, hips snapping forward in brutal increments until he bottomed out, balls slapping heavy against your ass with a wet smack. The fullness was agony, your pussy clamped vise-tight around him, every vein and throb pulsing visibly against your stretched skin, the metallic tang of your faint blood-tinged slick hitting the air from your torn virginity. "Fuck—so tight," he snarled, fangs sinking into your shoulder—not breaking skin, but marking deep purple as his tail coiled around your waist like a vice, holding you impaled. Pain lanced through you, sharp and unrelenting, sobs choking your throat as you thrashed weakly, nails raking his back, drawing red lines that only spurred him on.
The usual Jungwon was gone, buried under layers of feral hunger; this beast rutted into you with savage abandon, pulling back just enough to slam home again, the obscene squelch of your pussy struggling around his girth echoing with each punishing drive. His claws pricked your wrists, pinning harder, while his free hand gripped your hip, claws gouging bruises as he angled deeper, grinding the head against your cervix with teeth-gritted grunts. Sweat poured off him, dripping salty onto your chest, mingling with your tears, the bedframe creaking rhythmically under the onslaught—thud-thud-thud against the wall. "Take it—scream for me," he rasped hotly into your ear, tongue lapping sweat from your neck, fangs nipping your earlobe as his pace turned frantic, hips pistoning like a machine.
Pain blurred into something darker, hotter, your body betraying you with clenches around his invading cock, slick easing the burn just enough to let sparks of pleasure flicker amid the torment. He devoured you wholly, mouth claiming yours in a sloppy, fang-filled kiss—tongue thrusting deep as his cock mirrored below, saliva swapping with your whimpers. His tail tightened, fur rasping sensitive skin, while his ears twitched at every cry, drinking in your distress like fuel. Balls slapped wetly, heavy and full, promising the flood he craved to breed you with. "Mine to break," he growled mid-thrust, eyes wild and unseeing, rut turning him into the predator devouring his prey, no escape until he'd filled you to bursting.
Jungwon's thrusts devolved into mindless frenzy, hips slamming with bone-jarring force, the bedframe protesting in sharp creaks that matched the wet, brutal slaps of skin on skin. His blue eyes glazed over, pupils drowned in black, ears flattened to his skull as the rut consumed him utterly—fangs bared in a perpetual snarl, tail thrashing wildly, knocking the lamp off the nightstand with a crash that shattered glass across the floor. Sweat poured in rivulets down his back, soaking the sheets beneath you, his musky scent thickening the air until it choked your lungs. Every drive of his massive cock stretched you to breaking, ridges dragging fire along your walls, the head battering your cervix relentlessly. "Fuck—pussy's sucking me in," he snarled incoherently, voice a beastly rumble, claws raking bloody furrows down your sides as pleasure-pain twisted his face into something feral and unrecognizable.
It was too much—the burn, the fullness, the endless pounding that blurred agony into overload. Tears streamed endlessly, sobs wracking your chest as your body trembled on the edge of shattering. "Jungwon—stop, hurts too much!" you cried, voice fracturing into screams, fists pounding his sweat-slicked chest with desperate thuds, nails scraping over flexing pecs. But the rut blinded him; he only growled louder, hips grinding deeper, and then you felt it—the base of his cock swelling, the knot inflating with ruthless insistence, thicker than his wrist already, stretching your entrance impossibly wider. Pain exploded white-hot, a vise clamping around the burgeoning bulge as it forced its way inside, locking him flush against you with a final, savage thrust. Your scream peaked, raw and piercing, walls spasming in futile protest around the seal, every pulse of his knot throbbing like a heartbeat against your abused nerves.
The world narrowed to that excruciating fullness, tears blinding you, body quaking as sobs tore free unchecked. He was knotting you—claiming you as mate in the most primal hybrid way, the swell plugging you airtight, his balls drawing tight to flood you deep. But the pain snapped something in him; his eyes cleared fractionally, golden slits widening in horror as awareness crashed back. "Shit—baby?" His voice cracked, the beast receding just enough, ears perking uncertainly as he stilled, knot pulsing inescapably inside you. It was too late—the knot throbbed huge and unyielding, tying you together for what felt like eternity, his cock twitching as hot spurts of cum began erupting, painting your womb in thick, endless ropes that overflowed around the seal, leaking sticky warmth down your ass.
Guilt flooded his face, fangs retracting as the gentle Jungwon resurfaced, eyes glistening with his own tears. "Oh god, I'm sorry—fuck, I hurt you," he whispered brokenly, voice soft now, trembling as he released your wrists immediately, claws sheathed fully. His hands cupped your face instead, thumbs brushing away tears with feather-light strokes, calluses rough but careful against your flushed cheeks. "Shh, my love, I've got you. Breathe with me—nice and slow." He leaned down, forehead pressing to yours, nose nuzzling your temple as his tail loosened its vise, curling gently around your calf in soothing circles, the fur soft and warm against your skin.
You whimpered, fists still weakly shoving at his chest, body shuddering around the knot's insistent pressure, but he didn't move an inch—locked as he was—only rocked his hips in the tiniest increments, barely-there grinds that nudged pleasure through the pain without jarring. "You're so brave, taking me like this," he murmured reassuringly, lips peppering your eyelids, your tear-streaked cheeks with kisses soft as whispers, tasting the salt on his tongue. One hand slid between your joined bodies carefully, fingers circling your clit with the lightest touch—gentle flicks, no pressure, coaxing sparks amid the ache. "That's it, feel how good we fit? My perfect mate. Knot's keeping us close—safe. I'm not going anywhere."
His free arm banded around your back, pulling you into his chest as he rolled you both sideways onto the mattress, cocooning you in his warmth without dislodging the knot. Spooned now, his body curved protectively around yours, breath syncing with yours in slow, deliberate inhales—chest rising and falling against your back, the rumble of a soothing purr vibrating from his throat, low and steady like a heartbeat. "Hurts less now? Tell me, baby—anything you need." He nuzzled your nape, fangs fully sheathed, licking apologetically at the bruises he'd left, tongue warm and tender. Cum continued pulsing inside you in lazy waves, the fullness shifting from torment to a deep, grounding pressure as his reassurances washed over you, guilt etching lines around his eyes even as the rut simmered beneath.
Minutes stretched, his knot unyielding but the pain ebbing under his care—circling fingers on your clit building slow heat, purr rumbling nonstop, kisses trailing your shoulder. "Love you so much—never meant to hurt," he whispered, voice thick with remorse, holding you through every throb until, finally, the swell began to soften, the barest hint of give promising release, but he lingered gentle, ensuring you felt cherished, not claimed by force.
Time blurred in the haze of his gentle ministrations, the knot's relentless throb gradually softening after what felt like hours, the pressure easing from excruciating fullness to a tender ache deep inside. Jungwon's purr never faltered, a constant vibration against your back as he stroked your hair, whispered endless "I love yous" into your ear, his tail draped loosely over your hip like a weighted blanket. Finally, a subtle give—his hips shifted experimentally, the knot deflating enough to allow withdrawal with a slow, careful twist. He pulled out inch by torturous inch, the drag of his softening cock and ridges sending aftershocks rippling through your oversensitive walls, a gush of his thick cum following immediately.
He groaned low at the sight, blue eyes darkening as ropes of pearly white flooded from your puffy, reddened pussy—copious, viscous strands spilling onto the soaked sheets, pooling warm and sticky between your thighs, the sheer volume testament to his rut's claim. The musky, salty scent bloomed heavy in the air, mingling with your slick and faint blood, making his ears twitch even as guilt twisted his features. "God, look at that—filled you so full," he murmured, voice husky but laced with awe and regret, one clawed finger gently parting your folds to watch more leak out, the obscene drip pulling a shiver from you.
You were overwhelmed, body a trembling wreck—limbs quaking uncontrollably from the pain, the intensity, the emotional whiplash, shudders wracking you in waves that made your teeth chatter. Fresh tears welled, not from hurt now but sheer exhaustion, every muscle limp and twitching as sobs bubbled up weakly. Jungwon hushed you instantly, gathering you into his arms like fragile glass, lifting you effortlessly from the ruined bed despite his own rut-weakened state. "Easy, baby—I've got you. All clean now, promise." He carried you to the bathroom, the tile cool under your feet as he sat you on the closed toilet lid, running warm water in the sink with practiced care.
A soft washcloth soaked through, wrung gently—no claws extended, his touch feather-light as he parted your thighs with murmured apologies. He cleaned you meticulously, the warm cloth gliding soothingly over your swollen pussy, wiping away the mess of cum and slick in slow circles that avoided pressure, dipping just enough to ease the ache inside without intrusion. The faint sting faded under his tenderness, water rinsing pink-tinged evidence of your virginity away, his free hand rubbing calming circles on your knee. "Such a good girl for me," he praised softly, nose brushing your forehead, inhaling your scent with a contented rumble. Up your body he went—chest, neck, face—erasing sweat and tears until you glistened fresh.
Back in the bedroom, he stripped the soiled sheets in quick, efficient motions, remaking the bed with clean linens from the closet, the crisp fabric smelling faintly of lavender detergent. From the drawer, he pulled your favorite pajamas—soft cotton shorts and a loose tank, oversized on your frame—dressing you with reverent slowness, fingers lingering to smooth fabric over bruises, kissing each mark as it disappeared under cloth. "Sleep now, my mate," he whispered, sliding you under the covers, the mattress dipping as he spooned behind you, arm banding securely around your waist, tail curling over your legs to tuck you close.
His purr resumed, deeper now, a lullaby vibration that seeped into your bones, chasing away tremors as his lips pressed to your nape. "Rest, love. I'm here—won't let go." Exhaustion pulled you under swiftly, his warmth and steady heartbeat lulling you into dreamless sleep, safe in the arms of the gentle Jungwon fully returned.
Morning came quietly. Soft light slipped through the curtains, casting a gentle glow across the room, a stark contrast to the intensity of the night before. You stirred slightly, a faint ache settling in your body as you became aware of the soreness in your lower half, a reminder that made you inhale softly.
Beside you, Jungwon was already awake. He hadn’t moved far—if at all.
He stayed close, his arm carefully wrapped around you as if afraid you might break, his gaze fixed on your face with something heavy lingering in his eyes. Guilt. It was written all over him, in the way his fingers hesitated before brushing lightly against your arm, in the tension that hadn’t fully left his body.
“I’m sorry…” his voice came out low, rough, barely above a whisper. “I hurt you.”
You turned your head slightly to look at him, your expression softer than he expected. Despite everything, despite the lingering discomfort, you didn’t pull away. Instead, your hand found his, gently holding it.
“I love you more,” you murmured, your voice still a little weak but steady. “I wanted to help you… it’s okay. I’m your girlfriend.”
Your words hit him harder than anything else.
For a moment, he just stared at you—silent—before his gaze softened, something conflicted but grateful settling deep within him. He leaned down, pressing a careful, lingering kiss against your forehead, far gentler than anything from the night before.
“Don’t move too much,” he said quietly, his tone softer now. “I’ll make breakfast.”
True to his word, he didn’t take long. When he returned, he helped you sit up, keeping you close against him, one arm supporting you as he brought the food over. The warmth of his body stayed steady behind you, grounding, protective.
“Eat,” he murmured.
You didn’t have to lift a finger.
He fed you slowly, patiently, each movement careful, like he was trying to make up for everything without saying it outright. Between each bite, his hold on you never loosened, his presence gentle but constant.
And this time, there was no restraint. Only quiet care.
The rest of the morning moved slower. Jungwon didn’t rush anything—not your movements, not your recovery, not even the quiet between you. After you finished eating, he stayed right where he was, his arms still around you, holding you close like he was afraid that letting go might somehow undo everything.
His fingers brushed gently along your arm, absent-minded, careful—so different from the night before that it almost felt like two different people.
“…Does it hurt a lot?” he asked after a while, his voice quieter now, stripped of that earlier tension.
You shifted slightly in his hold, a small wince slipping past before you could hide it. He noticed immediately. His grip tightened—not enough to hurt, just enough to steady you.
“I told you not to move too much,” he murmured, a hint of frustration slipping through, but it wasn’t directed at you. It never was.
You let out a small breath, leaning back against him more fully. “I’m okay,” you said softly. “Really.”
Silence settled again—but this time, it wasn’t heavy. It was… warm.
Jungwon rested his chin lightly against the top of your head, his hold loosening just enough to be comfortable, his thumb brushing slow, soothing circles against your arm.
“…Next time,” he started, then paused, his voice tightening slightly. “I won’t lose control like that.”
You tilted your head just enough to glance up at him. There was that guilt again. Still lingering. Still eating at him. Your hand lifted, resting over his where it held you, giving it a small squeeze.
“There’s nothing to fix,” you whispered. “I chose to stay.”
He didn’t respond right away. But his hold on you shifted—pulling you just a little closer. And this time, when he pressed a kiss against your hair, it was soft. Careful. Like he was learning how to hold you all over again.
A/N : Hello everyone, it’s been a while, hasn’t it?
work has been… a lot lately. i’ve been pulling 14-hour days, so writing only happens in whatever spare moments i can steal. at first, i was planning to post the original draft i’d been working on, but along the way, i ended up changing quite a bit—so this is the version you’re getting now.
i hope you enjoy the story. it’s definitely a bit of a rollercoaster.
thank you for staying with me ♡
