♡ love language is physical touch and acts of service. he's always finding some excuse to be holding on to you. loves holding hands inside his pocket or walking with his arm around your shoulder. a big fan of having a hand close to your waist in crowded spaces. if you're having a bad day he's the first to try and make life easier for you. he'll take care of dinner or the laundry when he knows you're too tired or stressed to do it yourself.
♡ highly competitive. he loves little games with you, making ordinary tasks a bit of fun. when you go out he's always the first to initiate the drinking games. he won't admit it but he's a sore loser, but only for a moment.
♡ he loves a nickname. besides the standard "baby", he's the type to come up with something cute and unique for you. you're saved in his phone as the dumbass nickname you came up for each other one night.
♡ dramatic. he loves gossip lowkey. always animatedly explaining the tea to you. he uses his hands a lot when he talks.
♡ super sentimental. he's kept receipts from dates, postcards and has a photobooth film strip in the back of his phone case of the two of you smiling in one and kissing in the other (the last photo with his hand up your shirt is in his wallet).
♡ he remembers every detail about you. even before you started dating, he was the first to wish you happy birthday or remember an allergy. can recall insignificant things you said in conversation ages ago.
♡ he's a little meanie. loves to tease you about little things, often just to try and cheer you up. gets real cocky and arrogant but in a flirty way.
♡ he loves having his hair stroked. he'll lie in your lap after a long day and fall asleep to you running your hands through his soft strands. he secretly loves the various claw clips, butterfly clips and scrunchies you've put in his hair. the spare scrunchie you thought you left in his car he actually wore around his wrist for a week.
♡ he's bad at responding to texts but not with you. he'll answer you immediately and send the occasional long voice note when he's too lazy to type.
boyfriend!jean kirstein purposely annoying you with his stubble ˚.✦
“Jean, personal space,” you try, already knowing that it’s pointless. After telling your boyfriend that his beard couldn’t be considered one, he decided to become an annoying little shit, rubbing his stubble against your face every time he could.
“But I’m not bothering you, am I? There’s nothing in my soft and bare face that can be uncomfortable,” he says, as he presses his cheeks against yours, the little hairs not tickling but rasping against your cheek.
You sigh, trying to tilt your head away, but Jean just follows the movement like it’s a game he’s already winning. His arms are looped around your waist, holding you close on the couch and there’s that smug little smirk on his lips you can feel more than see.
“Jean,” you warn again. “It’s like sandpaper. You’re gonna leave my face red.”
He pulls back just enough to look at you, one eyebrow raised, all fake innocence. “Babe, I shaved this morning, what are you talking about? This is basically baby skin.” To prove his point he drags his jaw slowly along your neck, the short, prickly hairs scraping in a way that makes you squirm and slap at his shoulder.
“Ow, ow, stop! You’re such a little shit!”
Jean chuckles, the sound vibrating against your skin. “A little shit with a smooth face, right?” He nuzzles in again, this time aiming for the sensitive spot just under your ear, rubbing deliberately until you’re giggling and trying to push him off at the same time.
You manage to get a hand between you and pinch his cheek. “It’s not even a beard, it’s… angry peach fuzz that hates me.”
He gasps dramatically. “That’s it. Now I’m never shaving again.” But even as he says it, he’s already leaning back in, pressing his stubbly cheek to yours with extra pressure, grinning like an idiot. “Gotta make sure my ‘bare’ face leaves a lasting impression.”
You groan, but you’re smiling too, because even when he’s being the most annoying boyfriend on the planet, you kind of love how stupidly proud he is of his dumb little victory.
boyfriend!jean kirstein purposely annoying you with his stubble ˚.✦
“Jean, personal space,” you try, already knowing that it’s pointless. After telling your boyfriend that his beard couldn’t be considered one, he decided to become an annoying little shit, rubbing his stubble against your face every time he could.
“But I’m not bothering you, am I? There’s nothing in my soft and bare face that can be uncomfortable,” he says, as he presses his cheeks against yours, the little hairs not tickling but rasping against your cheek.
You sigh, trying to tilt your head away, but Jean just follows the movement like it’s a game he’s already winning. His arms are looped around your waist, holding you close on the couch and there’s that smug little smirk on his lips you can feel more than see.
“Jean,” you warn again. “It’s like sandpaper. You’re gonna leave my face red.”
He pulls back just enough to look at you, one eyebrow raised, all fake innocence. “Babe, I shaved this morning, what are you talking about? This is basically baby skin.” To prove his point he drags his jaw slowly along your neck, the short, prickly hairs scraping in a way that makes you squirm and slap at his shoulder.
“Ow, ow, stop! You’re such a little shit!”
Jean chuckles, the sound vibrating against your skin. “A little shit with a smooth face, right?” He nuzzles in again, this time aiming for the sensitive spot just under your ear, rubbing deliberately until you’re giggling and trying to push him off at the same time.
You manage to get a hand between you and pinch his cheek. “It’s not even a beard, it’s… angry peach fuzz that hates me.”
He gasps dramatically. “That’s it. Now I’m never shaving again.” But even as he says it, he’s already leaning back in, pressing his stubbly cheek to yours with extra pressure, grinning like an idiot. “Gotta make sure my ‘bare’ face leaves a lasting impression.”
You groan, but you’re smiling too, because even when he’s being the most annoying boyfriend on the planet, you kind of love how stupidly proud he is of his dumb little victory.
༄ a/n :: wrote this for my friend cause she loves jean especially art student! jean hehe ^^ (couldn’t find the artist @ to the fanart but credits to them)
༄ pairings :: art student! jean x fem! reader
༄ ꒰ fluff.ᐟ smut.ᐟ smut with plot.ᐟ p n v (unprotected).ᐟ jean gets freaky.ᐟ riding.ᐟ fingering.ᐟ wow how sweet jean paints u and then fucks u.ᐟ pet names (sweetheart, baby).ᐟ college au.ᐟ꒱
𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ❜ 𝐚𝐨𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ❜ 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 ❜
“𝐉𝐞𝐚𝐧, 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞? 𝐈 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐜𝐚𝐧’𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐞!” 𝐈 𝐠𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐝, stumbling slightly as Jean guided me forward by the hand.
Jean chuckled at my impatience. “Almost there, sweetheart. Just a few more steps.” He gently led me forward, guiding me every step of the way.
“You’re doing great,” he reassured me, his touch warm and comforting. “We’re almost at the studio.”
Jean opened the door with a soft creak, leading me into the quiet warmth of his studio.
“We’re in,” Jean murmured, guiding me across the threshold. I heard the soft creak of the studio door closing behind us, sealing us in a world that was entirely his.
The air was thick with the scent of paint and turpentine—familiar, comforting.
“Okay...now hold still,” he said gently, his fingers moving to untie the blindfold.
It slipped away slowly…light flooded my vision—but not as much as what I saw.
A massive canvas on the easel—me.
I was sitting at that little corner table of our favorite coffee shop, sunlight catching the rim of my mug and glinting in my hair. My lips were parted mid-laugh at something he’d said. Carefree. Loved. Seen.
“Oh…Jean…” I breathed, stepping closer in awe.
He watched my face carefully as I approached the canvas, studying my expression as I drank in the sight.
There were hundreds of tiny details in the painting he’d captured that I’d missed—the crinkle of my eyes in mid-laugh, the way the sun caught in my hair.
“Do you...like it?” he asked softly, his voice betraying a hint of nervousness. Did he really think I wouldn’t love it?
I reached out, my fingertips gently tracing the rough texture of the canvas and the paint that covered it. It felt like a tangible version of Jean’s memory—a moment frozen in time, immortalized and given form.
The way my hair fell across my face, the soft smile on my lips, the way my fingers curled around the handle of the mug of coffee…
“It’s incredible...” I whispered, my voice catching in my throat.
Jean approached me from behind, his arms encircling my waist. His chin came to rest on my shoulder as he watched me take in the painting.
His breath was warm against my neck, the familiar scent of him surrounding me in a cocoon of familiarity.
I leaned back into his embrace, feeling the solid warmth of his chest against my back.
“You don’t know how many hours I spent working on this,” he murmured. “I just... I wanted to capture you exactly as I see you. Beautiful. Alive. Mine.”
My heart ached with affection for this man. I turned my head to look at him, our faces inches apart. He was watching me intently, his gaze soft and filled with adoration.
“It’s the most incredible thing anyone has ever done for me,” I whispered, my eyes flitting back to the canvas.
He chuckled softly, ducking his head to press a tender kiss to my neck. “I would do anything for you,” he murmured against my skin. “Anything.”
I turned in his arms, facing him fully, and reached up to cup his face. My thumbs traced the sharp line of his jaw—his faint stubble tickling my fingertips.
“You’re so talented,” I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. “And so you.”
He smiled and leaned into my touch. “You’re my muse,” he said simply. “Everything beautiful about me comes from you.”
My heart swelled to bursting. To be someone’s muse, to be someone’s everything, was more than I could have hoped for.
I pressed myself closer to him, winding my arms around his waist, my face buried in the crook of his neck. He held me tightly, his lips finding my temple, my cheek, my jaw.
“I love you,” he whispered, the words warm against my skin. “So goddamn much.”
I melted into his touch, my heart swelling with every word, every kiss. I pulled back just enough so I could meet his gaze, my eyes glimmering up at him.
“I love you more,” I said softly, feeling his hands tighten around me.
He leaned down, his lips brushing against mine in soft, gentle pecks. My eyes fluttered closed, my heart skipping in beat with every touch.
He kissed me like he was worshiping me—slowly, reverently, savoring every moment. His hand came up to cup my jaw, tilting my head back just a bit so he could capture my lips more fully.
I could feel the love radiating off of him in waves, the adoration in every movement. I clutched the back of his shirt, anchoring myself in him.
I felt his smile beneath my lips—the subtle lift of his mouth as he kissed me. It made my heart ache with tenderness.
His thumb traced the line of my jaw, drawing me closer as he angled my head to deepen the kiss. I felt his joy in the subtle hum that rumbled from his chest.
My hands slid up to his hair, my fingers brushing through his ash-brown strands. He pulled me tightly against him, his arms wrapping around my waist like he was afraid to let go.
Jean took a step back, our lips parting reluctantly. “Come,” His hand found mine, his fingers lacing through mine with ease.
He led me toward his bedroom door, pulling me gently along. My heart beat wildly in my chest, the anticipation of what was to come almost unbearable.
Jean pushed open the door, revealing a simple but tidy room. The moonlight streamed in through the window, casting a soft glow across the bed.
He sat on the edge of the bed, his hand still clasped around mine. He tugged me gently forward, guiding me to straddle his lap.
I settled onto his lap, my knees on either side of him. His hands came to rest on my thighs, his fingers idly tracing small circles on the denim of my jeans.
Jean’s gaze was fixed on me. I reached up, my fingertips grazing the line of his jaw, tracing the faint stubble there.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, voice low and reverent. His hands slid higher on my thighs, pulling me gently closer until our hips aligned.
I leaned in, pressing my forehead to his. “So are you.” My breath ghosted over his lips as I spoke.
A soft chuckle rumbled from his chest—warm, intimate—and he closed the small distance between us with a slow, deep kiss that made my toes curl.
Our lips moved together, the kiss turning from soft to insistent, our tongues meeting in a dance as old as time.
Jean’s hands slid beneath my shirt, his palms hot against my bare skin. They moved up my sides, his touch leaving a trail of fire in their wake.
I arched into his touch, a soft moan escaping my lips. “Jean...” I whispered against his mouth, my fingers twisting in the fabric of his shirt.
Jean’s fingers slipped under the hem of my shirt, pushing it up and over my head in one swift motion. It fell to the floor, forgotten, as his hands roamed over my skin.
His mouth found my neck, his breath hot against my skin as he trailed kisses down the curve of my throat. I gasped, my fingers gripping his shoulders as he found that one spot that made me shiver.
His fingers traced the delicate curve of my spine, hooking gently under the strap before easing it free. The soft click of the clasp gave way, and I let my arms fall slightly, letting the straps slip off my shoulders and fell into the narrow space between us.
He didn’t stop after he unclamped my bra. His mouth just moved lower, leaving burning trails of kisses in his wake. His lips found the valley between my tits, his teeth scraping gently over the sensitive skin.
I tangled my hands in his hair, pulling him closer. My hips arched against him involuntarily, seeking more of his touch.
His hands cupped my bare breasts, thumbs brushing over my nipples with a teasing slowness that made me gasp. He leaned back just enough to watch my reaction, his dark eyes hungry as he rolled one peaked bud between his fingers, then the other, pulling and tugging.
My breath hitched as his mouth closed around my other nipple, his tongue swirling in wet, maddening circles. One hand slid down my stomach, fingers hooking into my waistband impatiently. “These are in the way,” he murmured against my skin, already reaching for the button.
I pushed off his chest, standing before him. My hips swaying as I turned away from him—my ass now fully facing him. I could feel his eyes burning into me as I hooked my thumbs into my waistband, shimmying out of my pants and underwear in one fluid, deliberate motion. They pooled at my feet, and I stepped free, kicking them aside.
He groaned low in his throat as I bent over slightly, pretending to stretch. His hands gripped my hips, pulling me back so he could press a kiss to the curve of my ass.
“Fuck,” he muttered, “you know I love this view.” Another kiss, this time with a small bite.
“C’mere,” he commanded, voice rough, pulling me backward until I was straddling his lap again, my back flush against his chest. His hands roamed immediately—up my stomach, over my ribs, and cupped my bare tits possessively.
I arched into his touch, head falling back onto his shoulder as he played with my tits—pinching, rolling, teasing my nipples until they were stiff peaks. “Look at these,” he murmured against my neck, “they’re so fucking perfect.”
His palms slid down from my tits, trailing fire over my stomach before landing on my thighs. He squeezed, thumbs inching inward, pushing my legs apart inch by agonizing inch.
“Wider,” he commanded, voice rough against my ear. I obeyed, spreading my legs until I felt his hardness pressing against my entrance, still caged by his pants.
A soft whimper escaped my lips as his fingers traced along my inner thigh, so close but not touching where I needed most.
“Jean...” I breathed, my voice trembling. His touch was maddeningly slow, teasing circles that inched higher, brushing the soaked curls between my legs.
“Please...” I moaned, my hips rocking slightly, chasing his hand.
He rested his head against my shoulder, his hot breath fanning across my skin as he watched my face like a starving man at a feast.
“Look at you,” he whispered, his fingers finally parting my folds, finding my swollen clit. “All wet and needy for me. Such a pretty little thing.” His thumb circled slowly, a torturous, light pressure.
My eyes fluttered shut, a soft cry escaping as his thumb found that perfect spot, rubbing in slow, deliberate circles. My head fell back against his shoulder, completely limp in his arms.
Every flick of his finger sent sparks shooting down my spine, my hips rocking against his hand helplessly. “Oh god, Jean—” I gasped, my voice thin and breathless.
“That’s it,” he encouraged softly, his other hand coming up to hold me against him, keeping me still for his slow torture.
“Just like that, sweetheart. Let me see you fall apart.” His thumb pressed harder, faster, the sound of my wetness filling the room as he worked me.
“Jean!” I cried out, my nails digging into his forearm as he added a finger, then another, slowly pushing them inside me.
He looked over my shoulder, watching as his long fingers disappeared into my tight heat. A low, satisfied groan rumbled in his chest.
“Fuck, look at that,” he murmured, curling his fingers slightly, pressing against that sweet spot inside me. “So goddamn tight, sweetheart.”
I followed his gaze, looking down between my legs, and nearly came right then. His artist fingers pumped in and out of me. It was so fucking dirty and hot—the same hands that created beautiful paintings were now buried deep inside my pussy.
“Fuck, Jean...” I whined, my thighs trembling around his hand. “Your fingers—they’re so deep—” Another sob escaped me as he added a third finger, stretching me deliciously.
“You like watching them fill you up?” he asked, his voice a dark purr against my ear. He curled them again, hitting that spot that made my vision whiten.
My head shot to the side, cheek pressing against his as I watched it happen—the shallow dip of his knuckles, the obscene glisten clinging to his skin on the pull-out, how wet I made him.
I grabbed his wrist, guiding his fingers deeper, fucking myself on his hand. He let me, going passive, letting me control the pace and depth. It felt surreal—like he’d disappeared, leaving just his fingers inside me while an invisible observer watched.
“That’s it, take what you need,” he whispered, his body still behind me, but his mind seemingly stepped back.
He pressed soft, worshipful kisses along my neck and shoulder, his stubble scratching pleasantly against my skin. He remained completely passive, letting me hump myself on his buried fingers like a desperate animal.
“Use them, baby,” he murmured, lips brushing my pulse point. “Ride my hand however you want.” My hips snapped back, fucking myself brutally on his still fingers.
Sweat beaded on my forehead, my breathing ragged as I chased my high. The wet squelch of his fingers pumping in and out of me filled the room, mixed with my broken moans. I felt like a mess—a needy, shameless slut fucking herself on her boyfriend’s hand.
“I’m—I’m gonna—!” I sobbed.
My walls clenched around his fingers desperately as the orgasm ripped through me. I collapsed against him, a trembling, whimpering mess, dripping wetness coating his hand as I rode out the waves.
“Jean...Jean...” I kept repeating his name like a prayer.
“I’m right here, sweetheart,” he whispered, lips against my damp temple as I shuddered through the aftershocks.
His fingers stayed inside me, feeling my pussy pulse and milk them greedily. “You did so well. Such a good girl for me.” He held me tight, letting me melt into him, a boneless, sobbing heap.
He slowly withdrew his fingers, the obscene pop sound making me shiver. Without a word, he guided his glistening fingers to my lips, pressing them against my mouth.
“Taste yourself, baby,” he commanded softly. I opened obediently, sucking my own essence off his long, talented fingers, swirling my tongue around them.
He let out a low groan against my ear, feeling how much of my wetness had soaked through his pants, dampening the fabric between my thighs. I was literally dripping down onto him, his lap now soaked from how wrecked I was.
“Jesus, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice thick with want. “You ruined my fucking pants and I don't even care.”
His cock ached, straining painfully against the wet fabric now—but he didn’t move yet, just let me ride out the last waves while still half-limp in his arms.
“Look at what you did to me,” he chuckled darkly, pressing his hardness harder against my ass. I could feel how wet I made him through the fabric, his cock outlined perfectly against my skin.
I rose slowly, Jean’s hungry eyes following every inch of my body as I unbuckled his belt. Pants and boxers came off in one pull, his thick cock springing free—already impossibly hard, glistening at the tip.
I settled back onto his lap, positioning the swollen head right between my slick folds. “Fuck—”
“Sweetheart, fuck...” he groaned as I started slowly jerking him off with my hand while my pussy lips slid along his length. I wasn’t even taking him inside yet, just using my hand and my wet pussy to tease his cock.
He loved when I took control like this—it drove him wild knowing I was using his cock for my pleasure. His hands gripped my hips loosely, letting me set the pace as I rubbed myself along his length, coating him in my juices.
“Use me, baby,” he groaned, his voice low and thick with desire. “Fuck my cock with your hand and your pretty pussy. I'm not going anywhere.”
I moaned softly, loving his dirty talk. My hand moved faster, twisting and pumping his length while my pussy lips clung to him, sliding up and down. I was so wet, his dick was completely coated in my arousal.
I jerked him off faster, my hand moving up and down his length with skill. He threw his head back, letting out low, dirty growls.
“Shit, baby—you jerk my dick so good.” I knew I did. I’d practiced on him countless times, learning what he liked.
His hips bucked up slightly, fucking my hand passively as I jerked him off expertly. Precum started leaking out, mixing with my pussy juices coating his cock.
“Your hand feels amazing, but fuck—your pussy feels even better.” I smirked, knowing exactly what I was doing to him.
He felt his climax building rapidly—too rapidly. The combination of my hand and pussy lips, the wet sounds, the way I was using him...he was losing control.
“Baby...fuck...I’m close,” he warned, his voice strained. His abs tensed, his balls drawing up tight.
I jerked him off faster, my hand flying up and down his length as my pussy lips clenched around the tip. I knew he was close, and I wanted to make him come undone.
“That’s it...fuck...right there...” he choked out, his eyes rolling back.
“Fuck!” He came hard, shooting load after load into my hand and all over the floor beneath us.
I kept jerking him off through his orgasm, using his cum to lube up his cock even more as I continued grinding my pussy lips against him. “Baby...stop...too sensitive...”
“Mmm, look at how much cum there is,” I purred, spreading his cum over his cock and balls with my hand. “You came so hard for me, baby.”
He lays back, panting and spent, his cock still hard but now incredibly sensitive. “Too much...fuck...”
I climbed off his lap slowly, turning to face him now that the intense handjob was over. God, he looked so sexy like this—completely ravished and chest heaving.
I lowered myself slowly until I was sitting fully on his dick again, earning a weak whimper from him. “Baby, I just came...it’s too sensitive...” he protested weakly, but he didn’t stop me.
I leaned down, pressing my bare chest against his still-shirted one, feeling his heartbeat racing against mine. “Shhh, just let me ride you soft...”
I kissed him softly, my tongue sliding against his as my hands moved down to the hem of his shirt. I started pushing it up. I wanted him completely bare, wanted to feel every inch of his skin against mine. He broke the kiss just long enough for me to pull his shirt off over his head, then captured my mouth again.
“Fuck, baby,” he muttered between kisses.
He moaned into my kiss snd deepened it, his arms instinctively wrapping around me to hold me close. His hands slid down to grip my ass as I started rocking gently on his sensitive dick.
His hands roamed over my back possessively, feeling every curve before sliding up to tangle in my hair. He deepened the kiss, exploring my mouth with hungry strokes.
I whimpered against him, my hips slowly rolling in a gentle rhythm on his softening but still hard dick.
I broke the kiss to start placing open-mouthed kisses down his neck, sucking and biting gently. I marked him everywhere—his jaw, his collarbone, his chest. He groaned and tilted his head back to give me better access, his hands squeezing my ass as I rode him gently.
I sucked bruises into his skin, marking what was mine. My teeth scraped over his Adam’s apple, his chest, his abs—everywhere I could reach.
“You’re mine,” I whispered against his skin, sucking a particularly dark mark right over his pounding heart.
He shivered underneath me, already getting hard again despite the sensitivity. “Yours, baby. Always yours.”
I slid one hand between us, wrapping my fingers around his hardening cock. I positioned him at my entrance, feeling the head press against my wetness.
He broke off a moan as I started to slowly sink down onto him, taking him inch by inch back inside me. His hands gripped my hips tightly.
“Oh God—Jean—” I cried out, my walls clenching around him as I bottomed out completely.
He groaned beneath me, his chest heaving. “Ride me, baby,” he commanded, his hands already guiding my hips.
I started moving—slow at first, grinding down on him while crying out every time he hit that perfect spot inside me.
I held onto his chest for leverage, my nails digging into his pecs as I rode him hard and fast. My pussy was so wet and messy from earlier, making lewd, slapping noises as I bounced up and down on his dick.
“Jean…fuck!” He felt so good, so deep—fucking me perfectly.
He watched his cock disappear into my greedy pussy over and over again, fucking me in that perfect view only he got. The sight of himself buried inside me made him groan loudly.
“So fucking sexy,” he praised, watching himself slide in and out. “Take all of it, baby. Fuck yourself on my dick.” His hands gripped my ass, helping lift me up and down.
He couldn’t tear his eyes away from where we were joined, mesmerized by the wet, glistening sight of his cock fucking in and out of me.
“That’s it...fuck...look at how deep you take me.” I was whimpering and crying out with each thrust. His gaze darted between my bouncing tits and his disappearing cock.
He reached up, one hand cupping the back of my head, bringing my lips down to his urgently. The kiss was desperate and possessive.
At the same time, our bare chests pressed together—my tits smashed against his, nipples rubbing and pebbling against his skin.
The full-body contact made him groan into my mouth, his cock somehow getting even harder inside me.
Between hungry kisses, I moaned softly, “Harder, Jean…” The words were almost whispered against his lips, but he heard them clearly.
He knew exactly what those words meant. His eyes darkened with understanding and lust.
His arms locked around my back, holding me down tight against him as he suddenly took complete control.
He started fucking the absolute shit out of me, his hips bucking up violently while holding me in place.
He was no longer letting me ride—he was pounding into me from below, using my body for his pleasure. I screamed out, my nails scratching down his chest.
“That’s right,” he growled against my lips, kissing me messily. “Take it, sweetheart...take my fucking dick. You asked for it hard, didn’t you?” He slammed into me over and over, his massive length hitting me in the exact right spot every single time.
He sat up abruptly, wrapping both arms around my ass and back to keep me in place. He continued fucking me senseless like this, his powerful thighs lifting me up and down his dick in a brutal pace.
I was wrapped around him completely, my tits bouncing in his face as he pounded me. “Jean!”
“Mmm, that’s it sweetheart,” he grunted against my ear, kissing my neck while never slowing down. His pace was relentless, inhuman almost.
“Scream my name.” He was holding all my weight easily, muscles bulging as he used me for pure pleasure.
“Fuck, my perfect girl...taking every fucking inch. Crying my name. You’re so good for me.” Each thrust made me see stars.
I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, holding on for dear life as he destroyed my pussy. I looked down at him between my shaking tits—his handsome face buried in my neck and chest, kissing and marking every inch of me while he fucked me senseless.
He looked up, finding my dazed, open mouth. Without hesitation, he captured my lips in a heated kiss, biting and sucking on them while continuing to pound into me. I moaned into his mouth, feeling his huge dick hit that perfect spot inside me over and over.
His massive length kissed my cervix perfectly each time, sending waves of pleasure and slight pain through me. He was hitting me in the most primal way possible.
“Jean...oh God...” I whimpered into his lips, my body starting to shake uncontrollably.
Our breaths mingled heavily, our faces so close that our noses brushed against each other. We were staring into each other's eyes intensely as he fucked me mercilessly.
The intimacy of the moment was overwhelming—our foreheads pressed together, lips parted and panting against each other's mouth.
“This would make such a beautiful painting,” he murmured, his voice hoarse with lust and emotion.
He was watching my face contort with pleasure, my mouth hang open, eyes glazed over. “The way I’m fucking you right now... the way you’re taking it...”
“The way you look at me...like I’m everything.” He groaned, his pace getting just a little rougher. “I'd paint us like this—me buried inside you, holding you up, our faces so close. Your tits bouncing, your eyes fucked out. Me looking at you like you're my entire world.” He kissed me softly.
“It would be my masterpiece.”
I couldn’t even form words anymore—just a continuous stream of helpless moans and whimpers. The thought of him capturing this moment on canvas, preserving this intimate act as art...it made me even hotter, my pussy clenching and gushing around his cock.
“Mmm, yes,” he encouraged, feeling me tighten. “That turns you on, doesn’t it?”
“The thought of me painting this...of immortalizing the way I fuck you, the way you take my dick.” He thrust deep and grinded his hips against mine.
“Maybe I’ll hang it in a gallery. Let the whole world see how I own this pussy.” He growled, biting my lip and sucking it into his mouth.
“Or maybe,” he purred against my mouth, “I’ll show it to my art professor. He’ll see my masterpiece—me nailing my girl to my dick—and give me the highest grade.”
The dirty, arrogant words pushed me over the edge. I came hard, my whole body shaking and convulsing as pleasure overwhelmed me.
My pussy clenched tightly around his cock, gushing juice all over him as I screamed out, my orgasm hitting me like a truck.
“FUCK! JEAN!”
As soon as my body tensed and my eyes rolled back, he knew I was coming. He caught me quickly, pulling me back down onto his dick as he kept thrusting. He used my body for his own release, his pace getting erratic and messy as he filled me with his hot cum.
“Ah, fuck!” He groaned, bottoming out inside me and holding still as he came hard. His arms wrapped tightly around my back, pinning me to his chest as he emptied his balls into my convulsing pussy.
“Take it all, sweetheart...” He buried his face in my neck, biting down gently as he filled me up.
We stayed like that for a long moment, both of us panting and sweaty. His softening cock was still inside me, leaking cum out around the edges.
He pressed gentle kisses to my neck, shoulder, and between the valley of my tits. His hands stroking my back soothingly as we came down from our highs.
When he finally pulled out carefully, a flood of our combined juices spilled out of me, landing on the sheets beneath us.
He cradled me against his chest, both of us still breathing heavily. “You’re fucking incredible,” he whispered, kissing my forehead. “My perfect muse.” He pulled me more comfortably against his body. “I’m definitely painting this scene tomorrow.”
I giggled, slapping his chest playfully. “You better not show it to anyone though,” I warned, giving him a look. He just laughed, pressing a kiss to my forehead.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he murmured against my skin, hand sliding possessively down to rest on the curve of my thigh.
Jean smirked against my skin, his hand sliding down to grip my thigh possessively. “Even though I’d love to show everyone how I destroy this pussy,” he murmured, voice low and satisfied.
“I’d rather keep it to myself. I’ll just jerk off to it. Probably use my own cum as paint—make it even more real. My actual seed on the canvas, capturing how I ruin you.” He pressed a kiss to my shoulder.
I shook my head, laughing breathlessly and slapping his chest again. “You freak,” I said fondly, but there was no mistaking how turned on I still was by his words. He just grinned, that arrogant, handsome smile that made my stomach flip.
“The best kind of freak,” he corrected, kissing me deeply. “Yours.”
We kissed deeply, slowly, savoring each other. It wasn't frantic or desperate anymore—just tender and intimate. He pulled me completely against his chest, my head resting on his shoulder, his arm wrapped securely around my waist.
I snuggled in, feeling safe and cherished. His other hand idly traced patterns on my back as we both drifted toward sleep, sticky and satisfied.
after a heated argument, jay unexpectedly shows up at your window on a rainy night, leaving you shocked and scrambling to figure out what he’s thinking. [wc: 1.8k]
PAIRING. boyfriend!loverboy!jay x girlfriend!reader
GENRE. fluff (mentions of argument idk?)
NOTE. why is it so hard to find red icons, this one doesn’t even match ikik. i personally like this story hehe.
it was nearing midnight when you finally finished your last math problem. the rain pattered softly against the window, filling your quiet room with a soothing rhythm. you leaned back in your chair, rubbing your tired eyes as your thoughts began to wander again.
no matter how much you tried to focus, your mind kept circling back to earlier today. to the argument.
it hadn’t ended well—not with an apology, not even with understanding. just sharp words exchanged and the sting of his retreating back. you hated leaving things like that, but pride had gotten the better of both of you. now, you were stuck replaying it, dissecting every detail, and wondering why he hadn’t called to fix things.
a sudden thud against your window snapped you out of your thoughts. you froze, heart immediately pounding.
what the hell was that?
the sound came again, softer this time, like a deliberate knock. panic rose in your chest as you stared at the closed curtains. it was late. no one should be at your window. especially not with your parents just down the hall.
slowly, you approached the window, your fingers trembling slightly as you hesitated at the edge of the curtain. taking a cautious peek, you gasped, your heart lurching.
“jay?” you mouthed, your voice barely audible in your shock.
sure enough, there he was, standing on the narrow ledge outside, drenched from head to toe. his dark hair clung to his forehead, raindrops rolling down his face, and his hoodie was soaked through, heavy with water. he raised a hand, giving you a sheepish wave, as if this were the most casual thing in the world.
you scrambled to unlock the window, sliding it open just enough to grab the front of his hoodie and yank him inside.
“jay!” you hissed, barely keeping your voice down as he stumbled into your room. “what the hell are you doing here?”
“nice to see you too,” he said, brushing a hand through his wet hair and looking entirely too composed for someone who had just climbed up a window in the rain.
“no, seriously, what are you thinking?” you demanded, your eyes wide as you stared at him in disbelief. “you could’ve hurt yourself, or—” you glanced anxiously at the door. “my parents could’ve caught you! are you insane?”
jay held up his hands in surrender, his lips twitching into a small smile. “relax, okay? i’m fine. no scratches, no bruises. just a little wet.”
“a little?” you shot back, gesturing at the puddle forming beneath his shoes. “jay, you’re soaked! what if you slipped or—”
“hey, i’m fine,” he interrupted gently, stepping closer and placing his hands on your shoulders. his thumbs brushed against the fabric of your sweater, his touch firm but calming. “breathe. i promise i’m okay.”
you glared at him, but your worry got the better of you as your eyes scanned him for any sign of injury. he was fine, thankfully, but that didn’t make his stunt any less ridiculous.
“why are you here?” you asked, your voice softer now but no less bewildered. “it’s late, it’s raining, and—” you lowered your voice to a whisper. “you know how my parents are.”
jay’s lips tugged into a smile, but this one was smaller, almost shy. he reached up to scratch the back of his neck, his gaze flickering to the floor for a moment before he met your eyes again.
“i couldn’t sleep,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “not after earlier. not after the way we left things.”
your heart clenched.
“jay…”
“i’m sorry,” he said quickly, stepping closer. his hands dropped from your shoulders to your waist, and his eyes were steady, sincere. “i’m so sorry. i shouldn’t have walked away like that. i shouldn’t have said half the things i did. you didn’t deserve that.”
you swallowed, your throat suddenly tight. “you didn’t either,” you murmured, guilt creeping into your voice.
jay shook his head. “it doesn’t matter. i just… i needed to fix this. to see you.”
you didn’t know what to say to that. his words hung heavy in the air, and despite your frustration, the warmth in your chest grew.
after a moment, jay shifted awkwardly, as if suddenly remembering how drenched he was. he rubbed the back of his neck again, glancing toward his hoodie pocket before looking back at you.
“also…” he started, his voice soft, almost hesitant. “i, uh, brought you something.”
you blinked, confused. “what?”
his hand slipped into his pocket, rummaging around for a second before he pulled something out. at first, you couldn’t tell what it was, but when he held it up, your breath hitched.
it was a familiar little tube.
“is that… my lip gloss?”
jay nodded, his lips curving into a small smile. “well, not yours. it’s the one you said you ran out of last week. figured you’d need it, so… i got you another.”
you stared at him, completely floored. “you climbed up my window… in the rain… for lip gloss?”
he winced slightly at your tone. “well, yeah. it’s your favorite shade, isn’t it?”
you didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. the absurdity of the situation was almost too much, but so was the fact that he remembered—a random little detail you’d mentioned in passing.
“you’re unbelievable,” you muttered, taking the tube from his hand.
“i know,” he said, his grin widening. “but you love me anyway.”
you rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at your lips despite yourself. “don’t push it.”
jay chuckled, his hands finding your waist again as he pulled you closer. “i mean it, though,” he murmured, his voice softer now. “i’m sorry, y/n. for everything. i hate fighting with you.”
“i hate it too,” you admitted quietly.
he tilted his head, his gaze searching yours. “then let’s not do it anymore, okay? or at least, let’s not leave things like that again.”
you nodded, the sincerity in his voice making your chest ache. “deal.”
jay smiled, leaning in to rest his forehead against yours. “good. now, can i stay here until the rain stops, or are you kicking me out?”
you sighed, pretending to think. “depends. are you going to make a puddle on my floor the whole time?”
he laughed, the sound warm and familiar. “i’ll try not to.”
“fine,” you said, stepping back to grab a towel from your closet. “but if we get caught, you’re explaining yourself.”
“deal,” he said again, his grin teasing. “but for now, i’ll just enjoy being here with you.”
and as much as you wanted to stay annoyed, you couldn’t help but smile.
you tossed the towel at him, watching as he caught it with a grin that was entirely too proud. “dry off before you catch a cold, romeo,” you muttered, crossing your arms to feign annoyance, though the corners of your lips betrayed you.
he ruffled his hair with the towel, his wet strands sticking up in every direction. “romeo, huh? that’s new.”
“don’t get used to it,” you quipped, looking away, suddenly all too aware of how small the room felt with him standing so close.
he dropped the towel onto the chair behind him and stepped closer, his movements slow and deliberate. “you’re cute when you’re pretending to be mad at me,” he said softly, his voice dropping to that familiar, gentle tone that always made your heart skip.
“i’m not pretending,” you shot back, but the way your voice wavered betrayed you.
jay’s lips twitched into a smirk as his fingers brushed against your cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “yeah? then why’s your face turning red?”
your breath hitched, and you took a step back instinctively, bumping into the edge of your desk. “it’s not—i’m not—”
“shy, huh?” he teased, stepping even closer until there was barely any space between you. “you’re adorable, you know that?”
you looked down, your cheeks burning as you tried to hide the flustered smile tugging at your lips. “you’re insufferable,” you mumbled.
jay tilted your chin up gently, his thumb brushing along your jaw. “and you’re the most beautiful girl i’ve ever seen.”
your breath caught, your eyes meeting his. there was something in his gaze—something soft and unyielding all at once. his sincerity was overwhelming, and you didn’t know what to do with it.
“jay…” you started, your voice barely a whisper.
“i mean it,” he interrupted, his hands settling on your waist, holding you as if you were something fragile. “you don’t even know, do you? how perfect you are. how lucky i am.”
you swallowed hard, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it. “stop it,” you murmured, trying to look away again, but his hand cupped your cheek, keeping your eyes on him.
“why?” he asked, his tone soft but teasing. “am i making you shy again?”
“you’re so annoying,” you muttered, though your voice had no real bite to it.
“and yet, you love me,” he said with a grin, leaning in so close you could feel the warmth of his breath against your lips.
your protests died in your throat as he closed the distance, his lips brushing yours in the gentlest, most tender kiss. it was slow, deliberate, as if he was trying to tell you everything he couldn’t put into words. his hands stayed steady on your waist, grounding you in the moment, while yours hesitated before finally resting against his chest.
when he pulled back just slightly, his forehead pressed against yours, you could still feel the warmth of his lips lingering on yours. “i’m sorry for making you upset,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the rain tapping against the window.
your chest tightened, the weight of his sincerity hitting you all at once. “i forgive you,” you whispered back. “but you’re still crazy for climbing up here like that.”
jay chuckled softly, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “what can i say? you’re worth the risk.”
you rolled your eyes, though the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you. “you’re impossible.”
“and you’re everything,” he murmured, kissing you again, this time with a little more certainty.
you melted into him, the world outside fading away as his arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer. for a moment, nothing else mattered—not the rain, not the argument, not even the fear of getting caught. it was just him.
➜ summary: jay’s always had everything. you were just the girl who followed him around until you became the one thing he couldn’t let go.
pairing: pjs x f!reader, wc: 16k words , genre: best friends to lovers, rich!jay, fluff, a wee lil angst w: rude jokes, cussing, kissing
When you were eight, your pet fish died. Jay, being the perfect friend, snuck out of his house, hoodie zipped up to his nose, and stood outside your door with a juice box and a Pokémon sticker. He didn’t say anything, just left them there with a note that read: “U ken yoos the stikr four yur dairi.”
He wasn’t the best speller, but he was the best friend you could ever ask for.
When you were thirteen, you stayed up until 3 a.m. on the phone, ranting about how some snotty new transfer from Australia, Sim Jaeyun said your feet looked “weirdly shaped.” Jay spent an hour trying to convince you that Jaeyun had a thumb that looked like Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson and couldn’t tell a mermaid from a fish so he didn’t deserve to have opinions.
When you turned seventeen, Jay gave you his favourite hoodie before flying to Seattle for a month to visit his relatives. You wore it religiously while he was gone, just to feel a little closer to him.
And till now somehow, Jay still orbited your everyday life.
“You’re late,” he said without looking up, eyes fixed on some game playing on the TV.
“I wasn’t even supposed to come today.”
“But you did,” he replied, finally turning to glance at you. His grin was lazy, a little smug. “Couldn’t stay away from The Jonginator 3000.”
“Gross,” you said, rolling your eyes. “Please never call yourself ever that again.”
You crossed the room and dropped onto the other end of the couch, knees curling up beside you as your shoulder brushed his. Jay made space for you without saying anything.
“Here,” you muttered, digging through your tote bag and tossing a bag of chips his way.
He caught it one-handed. “Oh, how you spoil me.”
“Well, that’s because you’re unbearable when you’re hungry.”
“And equally as charming when I’m full,” he added with a wink.
You bit back a smile, tilting your head with mock thoughtfulness. “Hm… I’m not sure that’s entirely accurate,” you said.
You liked to believe your friendship with Jay could weather even the strongest storms but lately, you weren’t so sure.
It wasn’t that anything had gone terribly wrong.
It was quieter than that. Slightly more subtle? Things had just… started to change. Not in ways you could clearly name, but in the little things.
You and Jay were friends. Best of friends, even.
Your mum had worked for his family for almost a decade, taking care of his grandmother, the same woman you’d come to call Grandma, too. Jay never minded. His grandmother never corrected you. If anything, she loved it. Jay was an only child, and without a granddaughter of her own, she’d folded you into her life without hesitation.
His family had always been kind. They treated your mum with respect, and you never felt looked down on.
But lately, something had started to shift. Nothing harsh or particularly cruel. Just… small things, little things you were starting to piece together.
Maybe it was the way people talked about the future now about colleges, cities, careers. Plans that didn’t involve waking up in your childhood bedroom. Plans that didn’t include walking into Jay’s room, knocking once before flopping onto his bed to rant about terrible Netflix documentaries you’d force him to watch.
But most of all, they were plans that didn’t include both of you.
Maybe it was the realisation that Jay was heading somewhere you couldn’t afford to follow.
And maybe Jay was starting to realise that too.
You loved him. Almost too much. You didn’t like putting a label on it. Romantic, platonic, it didn’t matter. All you knew was that he made you laugh when you wanted to cry, and he made you smile when you were knee-deep in anger.
And losing that? Losing him? Somehow, that scared you more than anything.
You’d left for the bathroom a little over five minutes ago, but it took nearly three just to get back to Jay’s room.
You were about to push open the door, fully prepared to return and absolutely obliterate him in the game you’d been playing, when you heard a voice.
“Baby,” his mum said gently.
You froze. Your hand hovered just above the doorknob. Something about her tone stopped you. It sounded serious… a little too serious for you to barge in like nothing.
So you didn’t.
You stayed where you were, just outside his door, waiting for the right moment to step in.
“Mom, I’m not going,” Jay said. You could hear the sound of him ruffling his hair, followed by a long sigh.
His mum exhaled softly. “Jong, it’s a tradition. The family went there. I went there. You—”
“I’m not going,” he repeated, firmer this time.
There was a pause.
“If this is about…” she began before letting out a deep breath. “Look, I love her. You know I do. I treat her like a daughter too, but baby, this is a big deal. You have one foot in the door and you’re throwing it all away?”
“Mom—”
“No, listen to me.” Her voice cracked slightly. “You can always come back to her, but this… this is a once-in-a-lifetime chance.”
A long stretch of silence followed, thick and heavy, before she spoke again, softer now but still thick with tension.
“I’m not saying she isn’t good for you. She is. She’s smart, she’s pretty. She’s… kind. But do you really think the two of you have anything in common besides growing up together?”
Oh. Oh. Oh…
So this was how they saw you: not bad, not unworthy…just not enough. Not for him.
“Baby,” she said, “the two of you are on different paths and…well, Jong, you were meant for greater things. Big things.”
Through the small crack in the doorframe, you caught a glimpse of Jay, sitting on the edge of his bed, brows furrowed, elbows resting on his knees. He wasn’t answering. He looked like he was thinking about it.
That hurt more than anything.
You backed away quietly, each step careful, like even your breath might give away that you had been listening. When you reached the top of the stairs, you glanced down at your feet, your socks, mismatched and worn. They had never felt like such a statement before. And now, in this house, with its icy cold Italian marble floors, they felt impossibly…prominent.
You were rushing toward the door when something made you pause. The second living room, the one you’d always walked past, never into. You turned, just a little, just enough to see it.
The walls were lined with frames. Studio portraits of Jay and his parents, always dressed to the nines, always looking like they belonged on the cover of some high-society magazine. There were formal family shots with his extended relatives, his cousins in their prep school uniforms, their parents with Rolexes and pearl earrings, champagne glasses in hand at some gala that probably changed the world without you knowing.
Then your eyes landed on the final frame tucked in the corner.
Jay, standing beside the minister at a government scholarship ceremony. A navy suit that fit him too well. His parents beaming on either side of him. The plaque in his hand gleaming. You remembered that day vaguely, he had texted you something self-deprecating about tripping on stage. You had laughed then.
You weren’t laughing now.
Because all of it somehow was starting to feel like a mockery of just how different your worlds really were. There was a bitter sting in your chest, and you weren’t sure if it was jealousy over a life you’d never live, or the ache of knowing someone you liked so much came from a place you could never quite reach.
While Jay had birthday dinners at restaurants you didn’t even know existed, yours were made of takeout leftovers and cakes baked in a neighbor’s oven. Jay had a whole wall of proof that he belonged. And all the while, you didn’t even have matching socks.
—
Jay: Did you just leave? Without saying goodbye? 🙁
You didn’t reply.
You were too deep in your own spiral…spinning, crashing, drowning in thoughts you didn’t ask to think. His mom had been right. About everything.
She hadn’t been cruel. She hadn’t even sounded angry. Just… honest. Like a mother trying to protect her son from making a mistake. And maybe you were the mistake. You knew she liked you. You knew the whole family did. But that didn’t change the fact that you’d always been her daughter, the caregiver’s daughter. Not one of them. Not really.
And for the first time in your life, you felt it, not just the distance, but the pity. Ten years of your mom’s hard work, all the quiet pride she carried, all the long nights and it suddenly felt like none of it mattered. You were just the tagalong. A nice girl with nowhere better to be.
You were never someone in that house. You were just... there.
Your phone lit up again.
Jay: I’m coming over.
Your eyes flew open. “Damn it–” you muttered, wiping your face with the sleeve of your hoodie.
You: Don’t.
Jay: Huh?
You: I’m fine.
Jay: But you left so soon?
You: I had to take a shit so I left.
There was a pause.
Jay: I have a bathroom, you idiot.
You: It’s too fancy. I like mine better.
Jay: LOL well at least say goodbye next time. I went around the house like an idiot looking for you for 10 whole minutes.
You stared at the screen, thumb hovering. You wanted to say more.
But you didn’t want him to pity you too.
—
Jungwon stood beside you, rhythmically tapping two fingers against your back, drumming out a song only he could hear. You hunched forward at the front desk, shoulders tense, chin propped against your palm as you glared at the dusty computer monitor displaying your completely empty Tuesday schedule.
You part timed at Goober Galaxy, an indoor playground targeted for kids ages 3 and up. Today was quiet. It was the perfect shift for a breakdown. Unfortunately, Jungwon hadn’t gotten the memo.
You swatted his hand away without even turning around. “Cut it out.”
He laughed, and leaned over the counter so that his chin now rested on his folded arms beside yours. “I’m bored,” he declared, eyes scanning your blank expression.
“Then go find something to do.”
“I like bothering you,” he said with a smile.
You turned to glare at him, grabbing the nearest pencil and holding it up like a weapon. “I’ll stab you with this.”
“Ooh, how scary,” he said, grinning wider.
“Shut up.”
You didn’t mean for it to come out as sharp as it did. Jungwon blinked, his smile faltering just a little but only for a second. You dropped the pencil back onto the desk and folded your arms, slumping deeper into your chair. You’d been like this all day: distracted, fogged over, stuck in your own head with thoughts of you and Jay.
It’d been two days since you left Jay’s house without saying goodbye. Two days since you’d heard his mother’s voice echoing in the hallway, reminding him that people like you didn’t belong in their world.
He’d been texting you ever since. But every time your phone lit up with his name, your heart clenched so hard it made you nauseous. You couldn’t answer. Not when you didn’t know how to exist next to him without feeling small.
You didn’t realize Jungwon had moved until he dropped onto the beanbag beside your stool with a dramatic huff, his legs splayed out in front of him, head tilted toward you.
“Okay,” he said, “seriously. Who is it?”
You didn’t answer.
“Come on,” he continued, tapping his foot against your shoe. “Tell the master of Women who has you acting up like this.”
“I highly doubt you even know what a woman is.”
You let out a breath through your nose and glanced at him. Jungwon’s dark hair tousled from where he’d been running his hand through it, polo shirt wrinkled, name tag barely hanging on. He was annoying and loud. But he was also one of the only people who understood what it meant to want more than you were allowed to have. You both had jobs instead of highly paid tutors, worn-out sneakers instead of new ones, savings goals that felt like they’d never be reached.
He didn’t know what was wrong. Not exactly. But he knew enough to ask.
Still, your voice caught in your throat. You couldn’t bring yourself to say it aloud: I overheard Jay’s mom say I don’t belong in his world and I think she’s right and now I can’t even look at him without wanting to cry.
So instead, you mumbled, “It’s nothing.”
Jungwon didn’t push. He just leaned back with a sigh and said, “You know I’ll keep annoying you until you tell me, right?”
You looked at him out of the corner of your eye. “I know.”
He grinned. “Cool. Just making sure we’re on the same page.”
You sighed then tilted your head toward him, your voice quiet. “D’you ever think we’ll be bigger than we are right now?”
Jungwon blinked, caught off guard. “I mean… I heard Mr. Kim say we stop growing after we turn 18, but I’m not too sure.” He tilted his head dramatically, thinking hard. “Though… I have been drinking more milk lately so all fingers crossed!”
You snorted, rolling your eyes. “You know that’s not what I meant! I meant... just us. Will we ever be bigger than this? Than who we are now?”
He looked at you, his smile fading into something gentler. You didn’t usually say things like this. “Like... spiritually? Emotionally? Or like tax bracket-wise?”
You stared at him flatly.
“Okay, okay,” he laughed, raising both hands in surrender. “I get it. You mean like, in the world.”
You nodded slowly, your voice tightening. “I mean…look at us….We’re just... two kids. Two random people in this giant fuckin’ world. And there are people out there who are so much bigger than us. So much more important. Doing things that matter. And we’re just here. Doing this.”
Jungwon leaned his head back against the beanbag, legs stretched out in front of him. He looked up at the ceiling for a long moment before shrugging. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “But I like where I am.”
You glanced at him, brows furrowed. “You like working for scraps?”
He didn’t hesitate. “Well... it’s a Tuesday afternoon, and I’m hanging out with the prettiest girl I know. So yeah. Not bad.”
You shoved his shoulder, trying not to smile. “Be serious, Won.”
His expression softened then, all teasing drained out of it. He shifted to face you more fully, his voice quieter. “Okay. You’re upset. And since it’s you, and you don’t get like this unless it’s something big, I’m guessing this is about Jay.”
You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to.
Jungwon reached out and gently poked your forehead. “Then let me say this clearly: you need to stop letting that big, overthinking brain of yours spiral.”
You exhaled shakily.
“I know Jay. Not like you do, obviously,” he added with a small grin, “but well enough. And I know, for a fact, that Jay doesn’t give a single fuck that we’re working at...” He looked around and grimaced. “Goober Fuckin’ Galaxy.”
You laughed.
“I’m serious,” he said, nudging your knee with his. “That guy looks at you like you invented…I don’t know…the freaking internet? It clearly doesn’t matter what job you have, or where you come from. You’re not small to him. Not to me. Not to Hee. Not to any of us.”
You didn’t reply, but something in your chest eased…just a little.
The bell above the entrance gave its usual pathetic worn out ding, but you didn’t look up…no one came to Goober Galaxy on a Tuesday. That was the whole point of working Tuesdays.
“Uh oh,” he muttered beside you, sitting up from his beanbag.
“What?” you asked, barely glancing over.
“Lover boy incoming.”
Your brows knit together as you turned and froze.
Jay was standing in the entrance, chest rising like he’d sprinted from the subway (which he’s probably never taken), hair tousled in that way that looked both accidental and annoyingly perfect. In one hand, he held a bouquet of white daisies wrapped in soft brown paper. In the other, a box of chocolates with a ribbon tied so tight it was starting to crumple the corner.
And then you noticed it, the faint red splotches blooming across his knuckles, creeping up his wrist. His grip didn’t falter. Jay was allergic to flowers. You’d known that since forever, since the day he sneezed through an entire spring picnic and blamed the pollen for his watery eyes.
Your heart twisted.
Suddenly, you felt awful. And soft. And maybe a little bit in love all over again.
He walked straight toward you, eyes never leaving your face, and you hated the way your breath caught.
“Hey,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “I’m sorry.”
You blinked, completely thrown. “What?”
“I’m sorry,” he said again, pushing the flowers into your hands like they might prove his sincerity. “I don’t know what I did. But whatever it is, I’m sorry, okay? I—I didn’t mean to upset you. I didn’t even realize something was wrong until you stopped replying and then I thought maybe it was something I said or maybe I looked at you weird and—”
“Jay—”
“I was going to come yesterday, but I didn’t want to be pushy. And then I tried calling again this morning but I figured maybe you were busy—”
“Jay.”
He finally paused, breath short, his eyes scanning your face with desperation. And just like that, your chest ached in another way.
He didn’t know. He thought he did something wrong. And he came all the way here just to apologize for a mistake he didn’t even understand.
You looked down at the daisies, hands curling around the brown paper. The stems were still wet. Fresh, which means he got the flowers that day.
God, he was sweet. Stupidly, painfully sweet.
Before you could say anything, Jungwon cleared his throat loudly from behind the counter. “Sooooo,” he drawled. “You got her flowers and chocolates? What do I get?”
Jay turned to look at him with the flattest, most unimpressed expression you’d ever seen. Without a word, he reached into his hoodie pocket, pulled out a single crumpled bill, and tossed it onto the counter.
“A dollar,” he said.
Jungwon stared at it. “That’s it?”
“You’re lucky I didn’t give you lint from my pocket.”
“Then…I’ll just have the dollar.” Jungwon muttered, pocketing the dollar.
Jay turned back to you, lips parted like he wanted to say more but the words didn’t come.
Jungwon hadn’t moved.
He was still standing there, hovering way too close, arms crossed, eyes bouncing between you and Jay like he was watching the tension build. His eyes crossing between you and Jay’s a silly grin on his stupid face.
You shot him a look. “Can you get lost?”
He raised an eyebrow, clearly unbothered. “It’s Tuesday. I’m bored. I wanna see how this plays out.”
“You want entertainment?”
“Desperately.”
You sighed through your nose, then shoved the box of chocolates into his chest without looking. “Here. Take this. Go sit in the ball pit and eat this.”
He stared at the box, then back at you. “These are from him, though.”
“I don’t care. Just go.”
A smug smile bloomed on his face as he clutched the box. “You know what? Say less.”
And with that, he strolled off, climbing into the nearest corner of a giant ball pit, where he immediately sprawled across the plastic balls.
You turned back to Jay, your eyes flicking upward to meet his.
He was still watching you, brows drawn just slightly. His arms were at his sides now, hands twitching like he wasn’t sure whether to reach for you or give you space. He didn’t know what he’d done, but he knew something had changed. And it was killing him.
You looked at the flowers still in your hands. You looked back at him. You weren’t sure which one made your chest hurt more.
So you said it.
“I heard what your mom said that day.”
His entire expression shifted subtly. His mouth parted, but he didn’t speak.
“I didn’t mean to,” you added, softer now. “I was coming back to the room and I just… I overheard the entire conversation.”
Jay’s shoulders tensed. He looked down for a second, then up again, jaw clenched, eyes searching your face.
You swallowed. “I wasn’t avoiding you because I was mad. I just… I don’t know...I didn’t know how to act.”
For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Just blinked slowly, like the words were still settling into place.
“Look,” Jay said finally, his voice low but firm, “you don’t have to worry about it. I’m not going anywhere—”
“Jay,” you cut in, your voice sharper than you meant, “I’m not worried about that.”
You looked down, fingers tightening around the bouquet of daisies in your hands. The stems crinkled slightly in your grip.
“I’m not mad about what she said,” you said quietly. “I’m just... she’s right.”.
His mouth opened slightly, brows drawing together like he didn’t understand how those words could’ve come from you. His chest rose as if to argue, but he didn’t speak yet. He couldn’t.
You lifted your gaze slowly, and your throat burned. “She’s right, Jay. We don’t have anything in common besides growing up together.”
He shook his head immediately, stepping closer. “You’re more than what she said—”
“Jay,” you said again, this time with a bitter laugh laced into it, “who are we kidding?”
He sighed when you cut him off.
“I work in a stupid kids’ playground called Goober Galaxy. You’re in every high-end after school academy, tutoring centre, test prep institute money can buy. You’re made to get straight A’s, made to end up at some fancy university. Made to do something big. I’m not.”
“I don’t care about any of that,” he said, his voice cracking just barely at the edges. “Do you think I ever looked at you and saw anything less?”
Jay exhaled shakily and ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his forehead. “I’ve liked you since the day you showed up behind your mom in that stupid little yellow dress you hated. You were hiding behind her, and God—” he let out a soft laugh, almost breathless, “The moment you sat beside me, you punched me in the shoulder and said I had a dumb name. I’ve liked you since then.”
Your eyes fluttered up to glance at him, but only for a second, before dropping back to your shoes. He reached out gently, fingers brushing under your chin, and tilted your face toward his.
“I loved that version of you,” he said, eyes locked onto yours. “I love this version of you. I’ve never thought you were less than me. Not even once. It’s always been you.”
The silence that followed clung to the air, thick and trembling.
You stared at him, barely breathing, barely able to believe this was real.
“Jay–”
“UH GUYS, CAN I COME OUT NOW?” Jungwon’s voice rang out, followed by a hacking cough. “I THINK I SWALLOWED THE RIBBON.”
You almost burst into laughter. Almost.
But instead, you did the one thing you’d been aching to do for far too long.
You leaned forward over the counter and kissed him.
Jay froze for just a split second, stunned. His hand hovered uncertainly beside you, like he didn’t know if he was allowed to touch you. But his eyes fluttered shut, and when you pulled away, his lips chased yours like he didn’t want it to end.
His cheeks flushed immediately. He laughed softly, a little dazed. “I didn’t think today would end up like this.”
You smirked. “Do you want me to take it back?”
He shook his head quickly, still smiling. “No. I just... I wish it wasn’t in front of—”
The both of you turned.
Jungwon was now sitting fully upright in the ball pit, legs criss-crossed, waving at you. A half-eaten piece of chocolate dangled from his fingers.
“I think I’m the first person to ever witness a love confession in Goober Galaxy,” he said. “A sentence that has never, ever been said before in the history of mankind.”
Jay groaned and dropped his head onto the counter with a thud. “Why are you like this?”
He tilted his head, beaming like he’d just officiated a wedding. “So… can I come out now?”
You and Jay both answered without missing a beat.
“No.”
—
The two of you had been dating for a whole month now and sneaking around had become a normal occurrence for the two of you.
A month of stolen glances, hushed giggles, and kisses behind closed doors. You came over under the same old pretense, “I’m just hanging out at Jay’s while waiting for Mom to finish work”. It was familiar. There was nothing to question.
Except now, every time you stepped into his room, the door clicked shut behind you and the rest of the world disappeared.
You’d start out pretending to study. Laptops open, notebooks flipped to blank pages, a pencil stuck behind your ear. Jay would sit beside you, his knee pressed against yours, trying really hard for maybe ten minutes. And then he’d look over.
You’d barely meet his eyes before his lips were on yours.
Usually, soft first then it goes deeper, slower, the kind of kissing that made you forget what time it was. It’d be 4:30 one moment and 6:00 the next. He’d push your hair behind your ear, you’d tug lightly on his hoodie, and the math textbook between you would be quietly shoved to the floor by someone’s feet.
It always ended the same way. A knock at the door. Your mom’s voice floating in, “Come on, time to head home!”
You’d jolt apart, breathless, cheeks burning, smoothing out your hair and reaching blindly for a notebook. “Okay!” you’d call out, voice a little too high. Jay would flop back onto his bed, dramatic and pouty.
Your mom would open the door, glance in, see the two of you surrounded by notes and open textbooks, and nod. “I’ll wait downstairs.”
“Just five more minutes,” you’d reply automatically.
She’d leave. And before you could even stand, Jay would hook a finger through your sleeve and pull you gently back down.
One last kiss. And then another. And then five more, because he always said one wasn’t enough. He’d press them to your cheeks, your nose, your forehead, grinning like an idiot.
“Do you really have to go?” he’d mumble, arms still around you.
“She’s literally my ride home.”
“I could give you a ride.”
You snorted and leaned back just enough to look at him. “You got your license like... five minutes ago.”
“Exactly. I’m freshly certified. I’m a responsible driver.”
“Jay,” you said flatly, “I heard what grandma said about you hitting the curb”
Jay groaned, dropping his head into the crook of your neck. “What a snitch.”
You laughed, pulling away gently as you stood up. “That’s a no, by the way. You’re not driving me home.”
Jay pouted, tugging lightly on your hand. “You don’t trust me?”
“I trust you. I just wanna go home in one piece tonight.”
Still pouting, he leaned up and kissed your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your mouth. “One day you’ll be begging me for a ride.”
“Sure. The day you stop kissing the curb.”
—
It was another ordinary day, or at least it had started that way. You were in Jay’s room, lying beside him with your head propped on your hand, half-listening to him ramble about something stupid Heeseung had texted. His hand was resting on your knee, your fingers loosely interlocked until the knock came.
The door creaked open a second later.
“Oh,” his mother said, her smile soft but surprised. “You’re here.”
You sat up immediately, your hand slipping out of his. You nodded politely, reaching for your bag even though you weren’t meant to leave for another hour. What used to feel like home now made your shoulders tense. Jay noticed. Of course he did.
“Are you staying for dinner?” his mother asked, stepping inside like she always had.
You shook your head quickly. “No. I was actually just about to leave.”
“So soon?” she pouted slightly. “You haven’t eaten dinner with us in a while.”
“I just have a lot of homework to get through,” you replied with a rehearsed smile, slinging your bag over your shoulder. You turned to Jay, silently asking if he’d stop you, if he’d ask you to stay. But he saw it. The unease in your body, the way your smile didn’t quite meet your eyes. He wanted to reach for you, to pull you back down and kiss the worry out of your forehead. But he didn’t.
He just nodded. Smiled like it didn’t hurt.
“Go,” he said gently.
And so you did.
The door clicked shut behind you.
Jay stood there for a beat, staring at the closed space you’d just filled. Then he turned back, meeting his mother’s gaze across the room.
She crossed her arms. “Is something wrong?” she asked, frowning now. “She hasn’t stayed for dinner in almost two months.”
“Nothing’s wrong, Mom.”
“I think there is.”
Jay exhaled, his jaw tight. And he hated it…hated how something that was once easy had turned into this sharp-edged discomfort. How your laughter had grown quieter. How he had to love you in secret all because the life carved out for him didn’t have room for anything outside of perfect.
Over the past two months, Jay had started to feel something sour curling inside him. A quiet resentment. Not towards you. Never you. But toward everything else. Toward the silent expectation to carry generations of ambition on his back. He loved his mother, God, he really did. But that love didn’t soften the frustration. It didn’t erase how badly things had shifted between you both since that night.
He had so many things to be grateful for. But all he’d ever really wanted was you. Just to be by your side. And somehow, even that felt like something he wasn’t allowed to have.
“Mom, drop it,” he said, voice flat.
She frowned, stepping further into the room. “Jongseong, you’ve been acting different since the day—”
“That’s because I’ve been talking, and you haven’t been listening,” he snapped.
Her expression faltered. “What do you want me to do, Jong? Your dad and I have worked tirelessly for this opportunity—”
“That I didn’t ask for!” His voice cracked, hands clenched at his sides.
“You are going to that university. It’s in your blood. It’s good for you. And deep down, you know it too. If I told her how important this is, how good it is for you, I’m pretty sure she’d be supportive.”
“Don’t tell her.”
She froze.
“Baby—”
“Don’t. Tell. Her.” he repeated, each word heavier than the last.
His mother blinked, visibly thrown by his tone. And Jay just stood there, chest heaving, trying to hold back the rest of the words rising in his throat. Because if he said more, he wasn’t sure what would come out.
He just knew this: She wasn’t allowed to take you from him, too.
—
The two of you had wandered into a small alleyway market off the main district, less glossy, more charm. Little stalls lined both sides, selling handmade accessories, mismatched shoes, thrifted bags with peeling zippers, and the kind of bracelets that cost just enough to mean something, but not enough to break a wallet.
You stopped in front of a table full of them, rows of braided cords, beaded charms, faded ribbons wrapped around thin, bendy wire. You held up one with small star-shaped beads, smiling a little to yourself.
Jay hovered beside you, hands shoved in his pockets, eyes scanning the stall. “You sure you want one of these?” he asked, not unkindly, just confused. “There’s a place down the street that does custom silver bands. We can go there. I’ll pay.”
You shook your head immediately, the smile slipping off your face. “I don’t want anything too expensive,” you said quietly. “I just want something pretty.”
Jay frowned. “Yeah, but we could get something prettier. Something that’ll last. I just—why not get something better?”
You didn’t say anything at first, just lowered your hand. Something in your chest twisted. He didn’t mean anything by it. You knew that. But it still hit the wrong nerve.
You turned to him, jaw tightening. “Just because I’m buying cheaper things doesn’t mean they’re ass, Jay.”
He blinked, startled. “I didn’t even mean it that way,” he said, voice low but tense. “I just meant—if there’s something you want, I’ll get it for you. That’s all. You don’t have to—”
“I don’t want anything,” you cut in, too fast, too sharp. “Not with your money.”
The silence that followed was instant.
Jay’s brows lifted slightly. He’d been reaching for your hand without even realizing it, but at that, he pulled back. Just a fraction. Just enough to make your heart drop. His expression didn’t shift much, just the tiniest flicker of hurt. But that was worse. You could tell when he was trying not to show it.
You reached for him quickly, fingers wrapping around his hand before he could pull away further. Your grip tightened, desperate.
“I’m sorry,” you said, softer this time. “I didn’t mean it. I just—sometimes I feel weird. I don’t know.”
Jay looked at you for a long moment. And then, wordlessly, he pulled you into his arms.
Your face pressed against his chest, your fists gripped onto the fabric of his hoodie. He didn’t say anything.
“I just want to give you everything,” he whispered after a long silence.
And even though your throat burned, you didn’t cry. You just nodded, clinging to him.
—
Jay stared long and hard at the framed certificates on the wall of his father’s office.
He’d been sitting there ever since he got back from your little date.
You’d cried for almost 30 minutes before finally falling asleep on his shoulder. He’d felt every quiet sob, the uneven rise and fall of your chest. Like being with him hurt.
He knew you loved him. God, he loved you just as much, probably more. But seeing you in that much pain simply because the two of you came from different worlds made his chest ache.
He didn’t care about any of it. Not the money. Not the future his parents had mapped out. Not the name on the wall in front of him.
But you did.
He didn’t know how to fix it. How to make you believe you were never less than him. That you’d always been the best part of his world.
“Jong?”
Jay’s head snapped up. His mother stood at the door, peeking through. He cleared his throat and quickly wiped away a single tear he hadn’t realised had fallen.
“Mom,” he said, nodding stiffly.
He hadn’t spoken to her since the last time she tried to push him into going.
Jay had already made peace with attending a good university in Korea. One that meant a thirty-minute drive from you. One that didn’t require a time zone between your hands. He didn’t care about prestige. He didn’t need legacy. He just needed you.
Because no place could feel like home unless you were there.
He wanted a small, lived-in apartment where the walls were filled with pictures of the two of you, some crooked, some blurry, all perfect. He wanted late mornings and lazy nights, strumming his guitar while you sat on his lap, flipping through TV channels.
He didn’t want boardrooms. He wanted breakfast in bed. He wanted you in his hoodie, laughing at something stupid, your legs tangled with his on the couch. He wanted to choose that life.
He just didn’t know how because his life wasn’t his.
His parents were successful, respectable, powerful, intimidating in every room they walked into. And Jay? He was their only child. The heir. The one meant to carry it all.
He didn’t want to seem ungrateful. He knew he was lucky. But sometimes…he wished he was at Goober Galaxy right next to you. Sweeping floors, handing out stickers, chasing after toddlers. Living the kind of life he got to choose.
He wished he could trade places with Jungwon, just for a moment. To know what it felt like to live freely, to love without strings.
But he wasn’t Jungwon.
He was stuck. Caged by expectations that didn’t belong to him. And no one had asked if he wanted them.
“Your dad wants to see you.”
Jay blinked. His mother was still standing in the doorway, phone in hand, the screen already lit up with a call. He swallowed. She passed it to him without another word.
Jay sat up straighter, the back of his neck already tensing as he accepted the phone. His father's face filled the screen, sharp suit, crisp tie, backdrop of a sleek conference room somewhere in Hong Kong. The time zone difference didn't matter. His father always made time when it came to lectures.
“Jongseong,” his father began without pleasantries, eyes narrowing slightly. “What’s this I hear about you not wanting to attend Oxford?”
Jay opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He glanced at the wall, at the same framed degree he’d been staring at moments earlier, and felt the familiar weight return to his chest.
With his mother, he always knew what to say. How to deflect, how to counter her logic with his own. But with his father… it was different.
With his father, Jay always felt like a little boy again.
Like he wasn’t the man of the house, but a kid sitting at the edge of a chair too big for him, trying not to swing his legs.
With his father gone so often, Jay had stepped into the role by default…holding things down, keeping things quiet, managing expectations. But every time his dad reappeared, even just through a screen, it was like the years peeled off and left him exposed.
He felt his mouth go dry. His fingers curled tightly around the edge of the phone.
“I’ve… decided not to go,” he said finally, voice quiet but steady.
There was a pause. A beat of silence that buzzed louder than any scolding.
“Decided?” his father repeated, eyes narrowing. “Jong, we don’t just decide things. You know that.”
His voice rose, firm and cold.
“We’re not like anyone else. Do you understand that? You don’t get to just throw away opportunities people would kill for.”
Jay swallowed again, throat tight. He wanted to argue. He wanted to say I don’t want it. I never did. But the words sat heavy in his chest, unmoving.
He didn’t want any of it. But how could he say that to a man who had spent his entire life building it?
“I—”
“Son,” his father’s voice dropped, deeper now, tinged with concern. “I didn’t… we didn’t build this by making decisions that went against our family. We built this by honouring tradition. By upholding it.”
“Dad—”
“We’re not just… anyone, Jongseong. You have to remember that. Even when it comes to the people we keep close.”
Jay’s eyes flicked to his mother, still standing in the doorway. Her gaze faltered just slightly.
So she told him. About you.
Of course she did.
And now it wasn’t just about the university anymore. It was about you. About everything he’d kept safe and sacred. Everything he thought he could keep separate.
—
You barged into his room with your bag slung over your right shoulder, hair slightly windblown..
“School was so boring!” you groaned, flopping straight onto his sofa. Without warning, you dropped your head onto his lap, staring up at the ceiling.
“But you wouldn’t guess what happened though,” you continued, grin creeping onto your face. “I got an A for Biology and Hee got an F, so now he has to retake the test. He looked like he was about to cry—”
You stopped mid-sentence.
Jay wasn’t laughing.
He wasn’t smiling.
His eyes were somewhere else, fixed on a spot just past you, like he wasn’t really here at all.
Your smile faltered.
You sat up slowly, shifting your weight until you were straddling his lap. His hands instinctively moved to your waist, but his gaze was still lost. So you reached for his face. Your hands cradled his jaw, thumbs pressing gently into the softness of his cheeks as you squished them together.
“Jay?” you said softly, brows furrowed. “Where’d you go?”
That finally pulled his eyes back to you.
He blinked, like surfacing from deep water, lips parted as if he’d forgotten how to speak.
“Jay?” you repeated, your voice quieter now, more cautious.
Jay shook his head quickly, almost like he was trying to shake something off. Then his hands tightened around your waist, grounding himself.
“Baby,” he murmured.
“You okay?” you asked, eyes searching his face.
He nodded. “Yeah. Fine.”
But he wasn’t. Not even close.
Ever since the call with his father, the decision had been made for him…he would be going to Oxford. It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t a discussion. It was a statement, sharp and final. There was no room to disagree, no room to even think.
Not that he had a choice. He never really did.
Jay had spent the entire night buried under the covers of his bed, staring blankly at the ceiling as the hours ticked by. His phone had lit up over and over again, messages from his mom, soft knocks at the door but he hadn’t moved.
He didn’t want to read what she had to say. He didn’t want to hear reassurances...not anymore. Because the truth was, nothing anyone said would make it feel any better.
And now here you were, sitting in his lap, smiling like the sun, laughing about your day, trusting that the world hadn’t just changed for him entirely.
He didn’t know how to tell you.
Didn’t know how to say he was leaving.
Didn’t know how to break your heart when you had only just handed it to him.
But he had to.
Because he was leaving.
At this point, it wasn’t about academics. It wasn’t about prestige. It was about control.
His father thought this was the cleanest way to fix things.
Remove the distraction.
Remove the attachment.
Remove you.
Jay felt it in his chest, this sick, sinking sense of being packaged up and delivered to a life he never chose. Like this would be better. Like this would make things easier. Not for him. But for them.
—
You were worried.
Jay wasn’t acting like himself. He wasn’t snarky, or smug, or sarcastic in the way you’d come to love. He wasn’t cracking jokes or teasing you every time you said something dumb. He was quiet and distracted.
Jay was usually good at hiding things. But today… today, whatever it was had cracked through.
So naturally, you turned to the two most emotionally stunted people you knew.
“I think he’s broken,” you declared, arms folded on the table in front of you. “Like, actually broken.”
Jungwon blinked. “Did you try turning him off and back on again?”
“I’m serious, Won,” you said, glaring at Jungwon, “He hasn’t texted me all day. And yesterday, he...was so different? I don’t know what’s wrong but it’s not nothing.”
“Have you considered…” Jungwon began, “that he’s just constipated?”
“Jungwon, I swear to God—”
“I’m just saying, emotional constipation and actual constipation are cousins.”
“Please shut up,” you muttered, face in your hands.
Across from you, Heeseung was flipping through his notebook like he wasn’t listening. But then he spoke, casually, without even looking up.
“Why don’t you plan something lowkey for him?” he said. “Like, something you guys used to do. Remind him what home feels like. He clearly needs it.”
You and Jungwon both froze.
Then slowly, you turned to look at him.
Heeseung glanced up, blinking at your silence. “What?”
Jungwon pointed at him dramatically. “Holy shit, that’s the first good idea you’ve ever had.”
You side-eyed Jungwon. “You haven’t had a good idea today either, Won.”
“Yeah, but I usually do,” he shrugged, sipping his drink. “So this makes up for it.”
Still, you leaned back in your chair, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you let the idea settle.
Something simple. Something that would pull Jay out of whatever fog he was in and back into the version of himself he only ever seemed to be around you.
Maybe Heeseung was right. Maybe it wasn’t about fixing anything. Maybe it was about reminding him that he was loved.
–
You sat on the edge of the sofa, elbows resting on your knees, hands fidgeting with the sleeve of your hoodie. Jay was upstairs grabbing something, his keys maybe, or a jacket, or just taking forever like he always did. You’d planned everything with Jungwon and Heeseung down to the detail. A quiet dinner at your place. His favourite food, his favourite people, and a homemade banner Jungwon insisted on duct-taping across your kitchen ceiling.
You tapped your feet against the floor, eyes flicking between the staircase and the coffee table in front of you.
“Oh—hey!”
You hadn’t expected to run into his mom.
She came out from the hallway with a small stack of neatly folded towels, pausing slightly when she saw you there. Then her face relaxed into a smile, almost like the kind you couldn’t quite read.
“Oh, you’re here early,” she said lightly, crossing into the living room. “Jong’s still upstairs?”
You nodded, forcing a smile. “Yeah. Said he’d just be a minute.”
She set the towels down on the armchair, smoothing one absent-mindedly. “How have you been? It feels like I haven’t seen you properly in ages.”
You stiffened slightly. Not out of rudeness. Just… because you never knew how to be around her anymore. Not since that night.
Still, you tried to keep your voice even. “I’ve been okay. School’s been a little hectic.”
“Mmm, I remember those days,” she said fondly. “So much pressure to figure everything out. Especially now.”
She gave you a knowing look, and you tried to return it, even though your stomach twisted.
A moment of silence passed. You glanced down at your hands.
“I really haven’t seen you around much,” she added gently, “Not even for dinner.”
You gave a small shrug. “I’ve just been… busy.”
Her gaze flicked to the corner of the room, almost like she wanted to say more. But then she smiled again, too quickly.
“I’m actually waiting for a delivery,” she said, as if to fill the quiet. “Should be arriving soon.”
“Oh?” you said, seizing the normalcy in her tone. “Something exciting?”
She waved a hand. “Just a new luggage set.”
Your eyebrows lifted slightly. “Ooh, another vacation, Mrs. Park?”
She laughed softly. “Oh, no, not for me. It’s for Jay, we’re giving it to him before he goes to Oxford.”
And just like that, the world stopped.
The words didn’t even sound dramatic. Just a casual statement, something said mid-sentence, in passing.
But your brain latched onto it like it was the only thing that mattered.
Your mouth opened slightly, but no sound came out.
Oxford…
Oxford?
Jay was going to Oxford.
Your chest constricted. “Oxford?” you repeated, and you hated how your voice sounded small and uncertain.
Mrs. Park blinked, like she was only just realizing what she said. “Oh… oh, didn’t he tell you?”
Your heart dropped.
Your ears started to ring.
“He’s been accepted for early enrolment,” she continued, her smile faltering just slightly. “We’ve been sorting everything out this week. He’ll finish his last semester online and leave by the end of next month.”
End of next month.
That was four weeks.
Four weeks.
Four weeks left with Jay, and he hadn’t said a word.
“I thought you knew,” she said gently. “I’m so sorry, I assumed—”
But you didn’t hear the rest.
You could barely hear anything past the blood rushing in your ears. Your throat tightened. The lump rising felt sharp, like glass.
You nodded. Or at least you think you did. Some vague, stiff movement that looked enough like understanding to make her stop talking.
Upstairs, you heard Jay’s door creak open. His voice called out, cheerful and completely unaware.
“You ready?”
You stood up too fast, your legs unsteady. The smile you threw on felt like someone else’s.
Because right now, your heart was already cracking.
And he didn’t even know yet.
–
Jay was finally driving you. In his new car.
It was sleek, glossy black, still smelling faintly of showroom leather. The dashboard glowed with lights, the music system softly playing an instrumental track you barely registered. You’d never ridden in a car with him driving before. A month ago, that would’ve made you tease him endlessly, maybe fake a scream when he made a sharp turn, joke that your life was in his hands now. He would’ve laughed, reached over to pinch your knee, and said something stupid like, "Relax, I got my license in one try."
But now, you just sat there… quiet.
Your hands stayed clamped in your lap, fingers twisting into each other until you found the skin along your thumb and picked. You pulled. Peeled the hangnail until a thin trail of red welled up against your nail bed. You rubbed it away quickly with the sleeve of your hoodie.
Jay’s eyes flicked over from the road. Then back. Then again.
“You okay?” he asked carefully, hands still gripping the wheel. “You haven’t said a word since we left.”
You nodded. You didn’t trust yourself to speak. Because how could you?
How could you turn to him and ask ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ How could you ask ‘Was I supposed to find out from your mom? Like a stranger?’
You wanted to scream. You wanted to cry and beat your fists against the dashboard and shake the truth out of him.
“Baby?”
His voice pulled you out of your spiral. Your head snapped up.
“Huh?”
Jay glanced over again. “Something’s clearly going on.”
“I’m fine,” you muttered, your voice too tight to be convincing.
He didn’t buy it. “Is this because I’ve been acting weird? I swear it’s all good now. I’m good.”
You shook your head and tried to laugh, but the sound came out cracked and hollow. “No, no. I just—”
Jay gave you a look. “Now I know you’re lying. You’re not about to pass that off as your real laugh.”
“I guess I’m just… worried, that’s all,” you said, brushing a loose thread off your jeans.
Jay’s brows knit. “Worried about what?”
You stared out the window, watching the blur of trees and apartment buildings pass. Your voice dropped. “The future.”
He didn’t press.
He turned onto your street, easing the car to a slow stop right outside your house. The engine purred into silence, but the tension between you roared. Still, you didn’t move. You didn’t speak.
He waited, hoping, maybe, that you’d open up. That you’d say something. But you didn’t. You just shrugged, gave him a vague “I guess,” and unbuckled your seatbelt like the conversation had ended.
The car locks clicked open.
You were already halfway out the door.
Jay cursed softly under his breath and slammed his door shut a second later, jogging after you. You’d unlocked your front door with shaky fingers and were about to step in when he caught up.
“You’re mad,” he said from behind you.
“I’m not mad.”
“Yes, you are.” His voice was tense now. “Baby, c’mon, did… did I do something? I’m sorry. I really am.”
You stopped in the hallway. Still didn’t turn.
Your heart thudded in your chest, hard and loud. You didn’t want to look at him because you knew that if you did, you knew everything would fall apart. You’d been holding it together and he was tugging on the last thread without even knowing it.
But it was the way he apologised, when he didn’t even know what for, that did it.
You turned.
Your eyes were red. Not just teary, bloodshot, swollen, like you hadn’t slept in days. You weren’t crying yet, but your expression… it was wrecked. Like someone trying to hold back a flood that had already started leaking.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” you whispered.
Jay froze. He looked at you like you’d just split him open.
“Tell you what?” he asked softly, though the dread was already sinking into his eyes.
“That you were going.”
Jay’s lips parted, but no sound came out.
And then the pain hit again, your words echoing off the hallway walls, hanging between you like smoke.
“I…” He tried. God, he tried.
But the words didn’t come.
Because how could he explain it? How could he say, ‘I didn’t want to see this look on your face?’ How could he say, ‘I tried fighting for us but it wasn’t enough?’
You shook your head slowly. “You were going to leave without telling me.”
“No,” he said quickly. “No, it wasn’t like that.”
“Then what was it?”
Jay stepped closer, voice trembling now. “I didn’t want to lie. I just… I kept waiting for the right time. But every time I saw you, I couldn’t do it. I didn’t want to see you look at me like I was already gone.”
“But you are,” you choked out. “Aren’t you?”
His face crumpled.
“I didn’t choose this.”
“Not telling me was a choice. Your choice.”
Jay dragged a hand down his face, chest rising with shallow breaths. He looked older in that moment.
“I tried to stay. I told my dad I didn’t want to go. I told him this—” he gestured between the two of you, eyes glassy, “you — this is what matters to me. But he didn’t care. He never does.”
Your lip trembled, but you held it. “Then you should’ve told me.”
“I know,” he whispered. “I know.”
He took another step. Close enough to touch now, but he didn’t. Not yet.
“I was scared you’d hate me.”
You looked up at him then and for the first time, he saw it all: the betrayal, the grief, the love.
“I don’t hate you,” you said, voice breaking. “I just didn’t want to be the last to know you were leaving.”
Jay’s breath hitched. His shoulders dropped.
“I’m not trying to leave you,” he said, so quietly it almost sounded like a plea. “They’re just making me go. Please.”
You didn’t answer. Your throat was too tight.
He stepped forward, slowly, gently cupping your face with both hands.
“You’re the only thing I don’t want to leave behind.”
And this time, when the tears came, you didn’t stop them.
Your face crumpled as you collapsed into his chest, your arms wrapping tightly around his middle like you were afraid he’d disappear if you let go. Jay held you immediately, his hands splaying across your back, his cheek resting against the top of your head. .
“I’m not leaving,” he said suddenly, the words tumbling out in a single breath.
You blinked up at him through wet lashes. “What?”
“I’m not leaving,” he repeated, more firmly now. “I never wanted to go. I’m not going. I’m staying.”
You pulled back slightly, brows furrowing. “Jongseong… you can’t just up and ignore your parents—”
“I’m not ignoring them,” he cut in, “I’m just finally standing up for myself. Look. I don’t even want to go. If I’m not allowed to make my own choices about my own future, then what am I? A puppet?”
“Jong…”
“God, I love them,” he said, dragging a hand through his hair, frustrated but honest. “I love my parents so much. But if they truly give a shit then they’ll just have to respect me enough to let me make my own decisions. They can’t keep deciding my life for me and call it parenting because it’s not.”
You hesitated. “Jong, you’re not doing this solely for me, are you?”
Jay sighed.
“I’ll admit that a huge part of me wants to stay because of you,” he said, not flinching. “Of course I do. But it’s not just that.”
He stepped back slightly, just enough to look you in the eye. “I don’t want to be living somewhere where I don't know anyone. I don’t want to start over. I don’t want to wake up in a city that doesn’t have you, Hee, or Won. And c’mon, there are good schools here — great ones, even. I can still make something of myself without crossing an ocean for a name, all while being here…with you.”
You searched his face, your chest tight.
“But your dad—”
“Can live with my decision,” Jay said, quiet but certain. “I’ve been pretending I could live with this, but I can’t. Not anymore.”
He took your hands, thumbs brushing over your still-shaking fingers.
“I’m happier when I’m with you,” he said, voice cracking just slightly. “When I’m here. With you guys. Near the people who make me feel like I’m already enough.”
You swallowed hard. His grip tightened.
“I’m not giving that up for a future that doesn’t even feel like mine. So please…don’t make me go.”
You breathed, like you’d been holding it in, “Okay.”
He sighed like the weight pressing on his chest had finally loosened.
And then he kissed you.
There was no hesitation, no inch of space left between you. It wasn’t delicate or careful, it was immediate, all heat.
His hands slipped from yours and rose to cradle your face, palms warm against your cheeks, thumbs brushing the corners of your mouth like he needed to feel you. His lips crashed into yours.
Your breath hitched in your throat. You leaned into him instinctively, your hands fisting in the fabric of his hoodie, pulling him closer. He tilted his head slightly, deepening the kiss. His nose brushed against yours, his lips parting against your bottom lip, tasting the salt of your tears.
It wasn’t perfect. It was messy, and rushed, and aching. His mouth trembled just a little when he kissed you. Jay’s thumb traced along your jaw, slow and reverent, while his other hand slid behind your neck.
Your knees felt weak. Your lungs burned. But none of that mattered. Because he was kissing you.
“So… like, uh… do we come out now or…?”
You and Jay froze.
From behind the sofa, Jungwon slowly popped his head out, holding a cake with “Stop Being Sad!” scrawled messily across the top in blue icing. Heeseung followed a beat later, scratching the back of his neck.
“We could, like… pretend we aren’t here,” Heeseung muttered, glancing down at the cake as if he suddenly regretted every life choice that led him to this moment.
You and Jay instinctively pulled apart, both of you flushed and teary-eyed, your breaths still uneven. It wasn’t exactly how you wanted to be seen.
Jungwon winced at the sight of you two. “Uh. Sorry? We were gonna jump out and yell surprise, but like… then you guys were fighting then the next thing we knew you were kissing so–”
Jay dragged a hand down his face with a low groan. “Oh my god. What are you guys even doing here?”
“We were going to throw a surprise feel-better party,” Heeseung said flatly, lifting a plastic bag of takeout containers, “but if I’m being honest, I think we're the ones more surprised.”
Heeseung sighed before continuing, “We even brought your favorite food. Well… kinda. I think Jungwon ate half the fries while we were waiting.”
Jay didn’t say anything. Just let out a slow breath and sank into the sofa, his body folding inward like something was caving in. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped in front of him. His thumbs rubbed together, a nervous habit. One you’d seen since you were kids.
But Jay didn’t look at anyone.
His eyes were fixed on the floor, staring through it.
You watched him from across the room, your own shoulders still tense, fingers curled around the frayed edge of your hoodie sleeve. He hadn’t said much since the kiss. Since the apology. Since he told you he was staying. And now, sitting there in your living room, he looked smaller somehow.
He was staying. But that decision came with consequences and Jay knew exactly who he had to face next.
The thought of confronting his father made his chest tighten. Not just in fear but in something closer to shame. Not because he regretted his choice. But because he knew what that choice would cost him. What it had always cost him.
The memory came back before he could stop it. A flicker of a younger version of himself, standing in the marble foyer of his family’s house, backpack still on, heart pounding after sneaking back in too late. His father’s voice slicing through the silence. “You skipped prep school?” His tone wasn’t surprised. It was more like disappointment. And then the yelling came and it didn’t stop. Not till three hours later.
But all Jay could remember was the way your face had looked earlier that day, eyes wide and glowing under a canopy of fairy lights at the amusement park. The way your hand had never let go of his. How you’d smiled like the whole world had finally opened up for you. And how, just for that one afternoon, he didn’t care about anything. He just wanted you to feel like someone had chosen you.
And now, he was choosing you again.
Except this time, he had no idea how to explain that to the man who had spent his whole life choosing everything for him.
The room had gone quiet, heavy with the things no one wanted to say aloud.
Jungwon, seated cross-legged on the floor by the coffee table, glanced up and studied Jay’s profile for a moment. Then, gently, he asked, “Thinking about how you wanna talk to your dad?”
Jay’s jaw tightened. He nodded once, not looking up. “Yep.” The word left his mouth flat, clipped, like he didn’t trust himself to say anything more.
He leaned in further, pressing his hands together, elbows braced against his thighs. His voice dropped to a murmur. “I don’t even know how to start. It’s like… the moment I stand in front of him, I’m twelve again.”
You moved before you could stop yourself.
Quietly, you crossed the room and eased down beside him on the sofa. The cushion dipped beneath your weight, your knee brushing his. His shoulders didn’t flinch, but they didn’t relax either.
You slipped your hand into his.
Jay blinked. Looked down at your fingers curled around his.
And when you spoke, your voice was soft. “Do you want me to be there?”
He didn’t answer right away.
Instead, he stared at your joined hands, breathing slowly through his nose like he was trying to think. But you could see the shift. The hesitation that made your stomach turn.
When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
Your brows pulled together. “What do you mean?”
Jay let go of your hand slowly. He rubbed his palm against his jeans and sat back slightly, like creating space might help him form the words he was scared to say.
“I just… I think it might be easier if I go alone,” he said. “He’ll be less... intense. If it’s just me.”
You frowned. “Jay.”
He didn’t look at you.
“That’s not the real reason, is it?”
Jay shut his eyes, jaw clenched. Then, reluctantly, he nodded. “No. It’s not.”
“Then what?” you asked, barely above a whisper.
He hesitated. Again. And when he finally spoke, it was carefull.
“He just… doesn’t understand,” Jay said slowly. “Why I want to stay. Why that matters more than prestige or legacy or whatever. And bringing you into that conversation might just… complicate things. He’s upset. It’ll pass.”
But you heard it.
The way he didn’t say it.
You sat back slightly, looking at him now, “Complicate things,” you repeated.
Jay nodded faintly.
You stared at him for a moment, piecing it together. And then your voice came out flat. “You mean to say... they don’t think I belong in your world.”
Jay’s head snapped up, eyes wide. “No. Those aren’t my words. I’d never—”
“But they’re his,” you said softly. Not accusatory. Just… hurt.
Jay’s voice broke as he reached for you again. “I…I don’t agree with anything they’re saying.”
But the words, even as warm and trembling and full of love as they were, couldn’t take back what you already knew.
You blinked hard.
“It’s funny…I really thought they liked me,” you said, more to yourself than him. “I really did. I thought I was like family.”
“You are. To me, you always have been.”
But that wasn’t the same.
You looked down at your lap, your fingers now curled in on themselves. “So all this time… they just smiled at me and still thought I wasn’t enough.”
Jay’s hands fell to his sides. His voice cracked. “It’s not about you—”
“It is, though,” you whispered. “That’s exactly what it is.”
He didn’t argue. Because he knew. And you knew he knew.
You looked down at your lap, your fingers now curled in on themselves. “So all this time… they just smiled at me and still thought I wasn’t enough.”
Jay’s hands fell uselessly to his sides. His voice cracked, almost a whisper. “It’s not about you—”
“It is, though,” you said, quieter now. “That’s exactly what it is.”
No one spoke.
Not you, not Jay and not Jungwon or Heeseung, who had been silently sitting off to the side, exchanging hesitant glances as if trying to gauge whether they should stay or disappear. The silence wasn’t awkward. It was heavy.
Then, slowly, you stood up.
“Thanks for coming, guys,” you said, your voice strained but steady. “I just… I think I need some time alone.”
Jungwon blinked, rising immediately without protest. “Of course,” he said gently, grabbing his jacket.
“Take all the time you need,” Heeseung added, pulling Jungwon by the arm, guiding him out of the room.
And just like that, it was only you and Jay.
He hadn’t moved. But his eyes never left you, still wide, still searching, like he was waiting for some version of you to reach back out and say this wasn’t real. That you didn’t mean it.
You exhaled sharply, hugging your arms across your chest. “Jong, I need time. Alone.”
He rose to his feet, almost stumbling forward. “I can’t possibly leave you alone with all these thoughts—”
“With what thoughts?” you snapped, voice wobbling. “That your parents think I’m not good enough for you?”
Your throat tightened as tears welled up again, threatening to fall. “For the record, Jay, I’m precious to other people too.”
And that cracked something in him.
Jay’s breath caught in his chest as he watched you fall apart in front of him.
He couldn’t speak. He should’ve swallowed his fear. Should’ve protected you better. But instead, here you were, crumbling under the weight of his parents’ ignorance and all he could do was watch it happen.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice hoarse.
You were already shaking your head. “Jay, they’re right,” you said, your voice cracking as tears spilled down your cheeks. “I’m crying because they’re right.”
“No,” he said quickly, stepping closer.
“They’re not—”
“Look at us!” you cut in. “From the moment we got together till now, we’ve been fighting over the same thing. Me and you. We don’t belong in the same world. And you know it.”
Jay flinched.
You took a breath but it came out in pieces. “What’s gonna happen in the future, huh? When you’re out there doing all these big world things and I’m just… I’m just stuck. Working at a stupid kids’ playground, scraping money together just so I can go out with my friends like a normal person?”
You couldn’t breathe between sentences now. It was all tumbling out, everything you’d been burying deep inside.
“No,” he muttered under his breath. Then louder, “Enough.”
You startled at the sharpness in his voice.
“That’s enough,” he said again, stepping forward in two long strides before pulling you into his chest. His arms wrapped around you so tightly. “Stop. Please,” he whispered against your hair. “Just stop.”
You didn’t fight it. You were too tired. Too worn. You just stood there, pressed against him, your hands balled.
“I love you,” Jay said suddenly, voice rough. “I fucking love you. How can you even say that? That you’re not enough?”
He pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands cradling your face now, his forehead pressed to yours.
“I don’t care about status. I don’t care what my parents built. I don’t care about any of it. The only thing I care about is you.”
His chest rose and fell too fast, like he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs.
“I spend day and night thinking only about you. I always think about you. Dreaming that someday, I’ll get to wake up next to you and not have to keep it a secret. That I can walk out into the world and tell everyone that you’re mine. That I chose you. Over everything.”
You didn’t speak, didn’t move. Your heart felt like it was breaking and being stitched back together at the same time.
“I don’t care where we live,” he said fiercely. “I don’t care if it’s some shabby motel room or a one-room apartment over a laundromat. I just care that you’re there. Right beside me. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
His voice softened, cracked down the middle.
“If my mom and dad can’t see that? Then fine. Whatever. Let them be blind. Because… the only thing I’ve ever really wanted, the only thing that’s ever mattered, is this.”
He gripped your face tighter, thumbs brushing your tear-streaked cheeks. “Us. Our relationship. You.”
Your chest shook with the sob you hadn’t meant to let out.
And this time, when you collapsed into him, it wasn’t from sadness.
It was from the unbearable weight of being unconditionally loved.
–
Jay’s house had always been intimidating in a quiet, understated way not because it was large or lavish (although it was), but because of the tension that wafted it in the air. A kind of coldness that never really went away, even when his mom was smiling or his dad was out of town. You felt it now more than ever as you stood in the hallway outside his father’s office, the sound of your heels clicking against the marble floor echoing louder than you wanted it to.
You were in a pretty little dress, nothing flashy, just enough to look presentable. Your hair was done in a half ponytail, neat and soft, something you’d fixed just before you came even though you knew it wouldn’t change anything. Jay had decided to bring you with him. After everything, the two of you had spent the night talking, curled up together on your couch, deciding that no matter what happened in that room, you would walk out together.
Even if that meant Jay leaving with three suitcases and no home to return to.
When the heavy double doors to the office opened, thunder cracked outside, almost like the sky itself was warning you. Jay flinched. So did you. But still, he stepped in first, fingers tightly curled around yours, and you followed behind him into the room.
His father sat behind his massive mahogany desk, posture straight, glasses perched low on his nose, the blue light from his laptop casting sharp shadows across his face. He looked like any other wealthy middle-aged man, if you were being honest, if you didn’t know better, you’d never guess how much power his voice held over Jay. How that man could reduce him to something so small with a few words.
“Close the door,” his father said without looking up.
Jay obeyed wordlessly. The soft click of the door shutting made your heart pound louder in your ears.
The silence was unbearable. The only sounds in the room were the quiet clack of his father’s typing, the occasional pop from the crackling fire in the fireplace, and the rush of blood in your ears. You could feel Jay’s hand trembling in yours as he led you closer toward the desk.
His mother sat just to the side in one of the leather armchairs, perfectly composed. She looked at your joined hands, then up at you both. Her expression was unreadable, but when she exhaled, you caught the faintest trace of defeat in it.
Jay stopped just a step short of the desk. You could feel the tension in his body, the rigid line of his shoulders, the way he shifted his weight slightly from one foot to the other like he was grounding himself.
He cleared his throat.
“I’m not going.”
The typing stopped.
The silence that followed was louder than anything else that had come before it. His father slowly closed the laptop, fingers steepled over it as he raised his head. And then, he smiled.
Not a kind smile. Not even a confused one.
It was the kind of smile you gave when you thought someone was playing a prank on you. Condescending. Amused, but in that way that made you feel small.
“Not going?” he repeated, voice low but laced with ice. He leaned back in his chair. “And who exactly made that decision?”
Jay’s grip on your hand tightened.
“I did,” he said, voice steady but strained. “Because it’s my life.”
There was a moment where the room stood still.
Then came the slam.
THWACK.
His father’s palm hit the desk with a force that made you flinch and Jay instinctively step a little in front of you.
His dad’s face darkened, his voice rising now. “You did?” he echoed. “You decided to throw away Oxford. Throw away everything we’ve worked for. Everything I’ve sacrificed for this family. For what? Her?”
Jay didn’t respond.
His father’s eyes flicked to you, cold and sharp. You tried not to shrink under it, but it was hard, your chest felt like it was caving in on itself. He continued, now addressing his son with pointed disgust. “I always knew you were impulsive, but I didn’t think you were stupid. Do you understand what you’re giving up?”
Jay stayed still. Then slowly, he nodded.
“I do,” he said softly. “And I’m still not going.”
His dad scoffed, jaw tightening. “This isn’t just about you. This is about our name. Our reputation. Do you think you can waltz out of this house and pretend like your choices don’t affect the rest of us? Do you think—”
Jay stepped forward then.
“I’m not pretending. I know they affect you. But this—” he motioned between you and him, “this affects me too. And for once, I’m choosing the life I want to live.”
You could feel your lungs struggle for air.
Jay’s mom shifted in her seat, something soft flickering across her face. Her eyes moved back to the two of you, and this time, it lingered.
His dad rose to his feet.
“Then you can pack your things,” he said coldly. “And leave.”
Jay didn’t say a word. He just grabbed your hand and pulled you out of the office like the walls themselves were going to swallow him whole if he didn’t move fast enough. The last glimpse you caught before the door shut was his father, still standing, his expression unreadable save for the sharp stare he gave you and his mother, her eyes lingering on you.
Then you were in his room. The room you’d spent so many years in. The room where you studied on the floor for hours, where you once fell asleep watching movies with your legs tangled together. But now, it felt different. Felt almost unfamiliar despite the million times you’ve been in there.
Jay was moving fast, throwing open his wardrobe doors, yanking shirts and jackets off hangers, pulling drawers open and emptying clothes into an open suitcase. It was all happening so fast you could barely process it. You stood there, frozen by the door, the click of the doorknob behind you still echoing in your ears.
You couldn’t move. You couldn’t speak. Your limbs were locked in place like your body had gone into shock. Guilt rose steadily in your chest, thick and choking.
“Baby…” your voice was quiet, barely more than a whisper. “I don’t think… shouldn’t we talk? Shouldn’t there be more to it than just this?”
Jay didn’t stop packing. He only glanced at you briefly, his eyes hard, lips set. “Talk about what?” he said sharply. “They’re never going to listen.”
You walked over to him slowly, your hand reaching for his arm, grounding yourself. “I just… I don’t want to be the reason you stop talking to your family. This is heavy, Jay. This burden—it’s heavy as hell.” Your voice cracked near the end, and you hated it. Hated how weak you sounded. Hated how helpless this all felt.
Jay finally paused, his shoulders still heaving with frustration. He turned to you, placed both hands gently on your shoulders, thumbs brushing your skin as if that alone could reassure you. His voice dropped, low and tender, full of a kind of pain that was older than this moment.
“Baby, this isn’t about them right now. It’s about me. About trying to live my own life. I’m so tired of living a version of me that only exists to please them. I’ve been the perfect son for years, and now…” His hands tightened, eyes boring into yours. “Now I’m just trying to take my life back.”
You looked up at him for a long second, your breath caught in your chest, and then you slowly nodded. Wordlessly, you stepped beside him and knelt, beginning to fold the wrinkled clothes he had shoved into his suitcase. You couldn’t fix anything, not really, but you could help him pack.
He watched you for a moment. The way your eyes were lowered, expression unreadable. Guilt settled heavy in his stomach. He knew you were hurting not because of something you did, but simply because of who you were. And how his family had decided that was somehow… not enough.
Then he felt it.
Eyes on him.
Jay turned toward the door.
His mother stood there, a hand still clutched lightly against the frame, her face soft and wet with tears. Her gaze flickered from him to you, back again. “Jong…” she said, her voice cracking. “Don’t go.”
His heart squeezed. God, he’d always had a soft spot for her. For the way she brushed the hair from his eyes when he was sick, for the quiet way she defended him during family dinners. She loved him and he knew that. But when it came to standing up to his father, she never stood a chance.
“Mom…” he said, his voice breaking.
“Jong, please,” she whispered again.
He looked down. Then at you. You stood slowly now, standing behind him, your hands twisted tightly together, fingers fidgeting in a desperate attempt to stay grounded.
Jay swallowed hard. “I’m not going,” he said, barely more than a breath. “And if it’s too much for you or Dad to handle, then I’ll leave.”
His mother stepped into the room, shaking her head, eyes red. “I tried talking to your father—”
“He’s not going to change his mind, Mom.”
“He can. We can try.”
Jay let out a bitter laugh, short and sharp. “I’ve been trying. For years. And nothing’s ever budged.”
She stepped closer, voice pleading now. “What if you went? Just for now? You could visit every few months—”
“Because I don’t want to!” Jay’s voice rose, his frustration boiling over, his fists clenched at his sides. “The love of my life is here. I want to be here. My friends are here. You’re here. I don’t want to go somewhere where I don’t know anyone, where I have to pretend like I’m someone I’m not.”
He was crying now. A mess of breathless anger and heartbreak. He looked at his mom, desperate for her to see him. To see you.
“You used to tell me stories, remember?” he said, voice trembling. “How Dad courted you for three years. How you didn’t even like him at first, but he waited. You told me about your love story growing up. And now what? I don’t get to have one?”
His voice broke completely.
“I’m in love with her, Mom,” he whispered, his hand reaching behind to find yours again. “And I can’t let you or Dad take her away from me.”
The door slammed open with a violent crack, bouncing off the wall behind it. You jumped, your breath caught in your throat as Jay instinctively turned, stepping back to shield you behind him.
His father stood in the doorway, tall and unmoving. His expression was unreadable.
Jay stiffened in front of you, his fingers twitching slightly at his sides as he positioned himself like a barrier. He didn’t say anything. Neither did you. It was like the two of you were back in school, caught sneaking out past curfew, facing down a teacher.
“You’re comparing whatever you have with her to the story of your mother and me,” his father said, his voice calm but sharp, every syllable slicing through the room like glass. “So tell me, Jongseong. What makes you so sure she’s the one?”
Jay blinked. “What?”
The question caught him off guard. Of all the things his father could’ve said… that wasn’t it.
His father took a slow step forward, hands still tucked neatly into his pockets. “You’re willing to give up your education. Your future. Everything your mother and I worked for. You’re willing to throw it all away for her.” He didn’t look at you when he said it, only at Jay. “So explain to me. What makes you think the two of you are so special? What makes you believe this is real? That it’s not just some immature, irresponsible decision for a—” his voice dipped, “—a passing fling.”
You felt the breath leave your lungs.
Jay’s shoulders tightened in front of you, his jaw clenching so tightly you could see the muscles twitch. He didn’t move at first. Just stood there.
You swallowed hard, your eyes locked on the back of Jay’s hoodie, your fingers trembling at your sides.
Jay turned slowly, just enough to glance back at you. His eyes met yours for the briefest second.
He looked back at his father, drawing a breath.
“I know,” Jay said, voice steady, though it cracked faintly at the edges. “I know because I’ve never felt like this about anyone before. I’ve never fought this hard for anything before. And it’s not a fling. It’s her. It’s always been her.”
His father raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “And that’s supposed to be enough? A feeling?”
“No,” Jay replied, firmer now. “It’s not just a feeling. It’s the fact that I see my entire life with her. Not just today. Not just tomorrow. All of it. I don’t care if we’re rich or broke or living in a shoebox apartment. I want her there with me. I want to wake up next to her, argue with her over dumb things, bring her coffee when she’s tired, learn how to braid our daughter’s hair if we ever have one…that’s how sure I am.”
You blinked, your heart thudding so hard it hurt.
Jay stepped forward, his voice rising slightly. “You want to know what makes this real? It’s that when I think about what makes me feel safe, what makes me feel like I have a home, it’s her. Not a country, not a job, not a title. It’s her.”
He turned and reached for your hand again, threading your fingers through his, holding you tightly like he was afraid the world might tear you away at any moment.
“And if you can’t see that,” Jay said, looking directly into his father’s eyes now, “then maybe it’s not me who’s being reckless. Maybe it’s you for thinking love has to come with a some sort of societal hierarchy.”
The room fell silent again.
Jay’s father didn’t move. His face didn’t change.
“Then so be it,” he said.
Jay stiffened, not expecting him to fold, at least not like this.
“I expect three schools you’re planning to apply to. On my desk. Monday morning.” His gaze flicked between the two of you, briefly, unreadable. “Top three in the country. Or you’re going to Oxford. That’s the deal.”
And just like that, he turned and left.
The sound of his shoes against the hardwood echoed down the hall. The door clicked shut behind him.
You turned slowly to Jay, still gripping his hand, still trying to find your footing.
His eyes were locked on the door his father had disappeared behind. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t move.
You gently brushed your thumb against the back of his hand. “Jong?”
He blinked, once. Then again. And finally turned to look at you.
“He didn’t say no,” he murmured, voice hoarse. “He didn’t… shut the door.”
“No,” you said softly, stepping closer. “He didn’t.”
Jay nodded slowly, but the tension didn’t leave his shoulders. Not completely.
Because this wasn’t a win.
But it wasn’t a loss either.
–
Things at home were still tense. No one had said much since the confrontation. His dad mostly kept to himself. His mom cooked in silence. Meals were eaten quickly and apart. It felt like everyone was walking on glass, afraid one wrong step would crack it all open again.
You were at Jay’s place, waiting for your mom to finish work so she could swing by and pick you up. The rain had just stopped outside, leaving the windows streaked with droplets, a quiet stillness hanging in the air like the whole world was holding its breath.
You were both sitting cross-legged on his bed, half under the covers, half sprawled out with glossy brochures scattered between the pillows and across the floor. Jay was holding one upside down, dramatically squinting at it.
“Do you think they give scholarships for people who have a traumatic past?” you asked, grinning.
He scoffed. “Please. I deserve a full ride just for surviving my father.”
You laughed, nudging his arm. He retaliated by leaning in, pressing a teasing kiss to your temple, then one to your nose, and then your lips, just a light brush, slow and sweet.
“You’re distracting me,” you mumbled against his mouth.
“Mm,” he hummed, grinning. “Good.”
You rolled your eyes, about to swat his shoulder again when the door creaked open.
Both of you froze.
Jay’s mom stood at the doorway, a brochure in her hand, her expression unreadable. She cleared her throat gently. “How about this one?” she asked, her voice even.
You blinked. Jay sat up straighter. “Huh?”
She walked in and handed the brochure over, and as you took it, your fingers grazed hers. It was another local university, one that hadn’t been on either of your lists but was known and reputable. A place his father wouldn’t hate.
And then you understood.
She was helping. In her own way.
Your lips parted slightly.
Jay’s mom sat down beside you on the bed, smoothing her skirt down as she exhaled.
“I’m sorry,” she said, eyes flickering to yours. “For everything you’ve gone through these past few months. I wish you told me the truth. I wish you told me you and Jongseong were together. I would’ve fought harder for the both of you.”
Your throat tightened. You swallowed hard.
“But then again,” she continued, her voice lowering, “I was wrong. You heard what I said that day… about you not being in our world. And I was wrong for thinking that.”
She turned toward you more fully, her tone warm but earnest. “What Jong said was right. At the end of the day, we’re all just people. Status, names, connections… they shouldn’t matter. And I’m sorry I ever made you feel like they did.”
You nodded slowly, blinking through the sting in your eyes. You weren’t sure what to say, maybe because there was too much to say.
–
The sun was merciless, high above the stadium, baking the crowd in waves of heat and happiness. You were squinting into your mom’s phone camera, standing shoulder to shoulder with Jay, both of you dressed in identical deep navy cap and gowns.
Your mortarboard was already slightly crooked. Jay’s tassel kept swaying into his mouth.
“Mom,” you groaned, “that’s like the hundredth picture you’ve taken just today.”
Your mother didn’t even look up from her camera. “And?”
Mrs. Park, standing right beside her, chuckled warmly, nudging your mom like they were old best friends now which, frankly, they kind of always had been. “The two of you look so cute in your cap and gown,” she cooed. “We have to document this. For memory sake, c’mon!”
Jay groaned under his breath but smiled anyway. You rolled your eyes dramatically.
“A little kiss for the camera?” your mom added with a wink.
“Gross, Mom,” you muttered, already turning your head away.
Too late.
Jay took your chin gently and turned your face back toward him, leaning in to press a quick kiss to your cheek. “I won’t say no to a free kiss,” he murmured, smug.
You shoved his chest lightly, but the laughter broke through before you could even pretend to be mad. “Ugh. You’re lucky you’re cute.”
Behind you, a familiar voice cut through. “Okay, lovebirds, let’s not forget who the actual valedictorian is.”
You turned just in time to see Jungwon walking up, cap perfectly straight, robe pressed to perfection, not a single wrinkle in sight.
And then, Heeseung who was trailing behind him, in a gown that looked like it had been stuffed into a bag.
The sleeves were slightly too short, the zipper was half-stuck, and it hung off one shoulder.
“I can’t believe my parents didn’t spring for a second gown,” Heeseung said, exasperated, lifting a loose sleeve. “I’m stuck wearing my brother’s ratty one from two years ago. I found a mint in the pocket. Unwrapped, by the way. I swear to God, he’s the filthiest creature on Earth.”
Jungwon didn’t even pause. “You look stupid.”
Heeseung blinked back at Jungwon, completely deadpan. “Thank you, Jungwon. As always, a pillar of encouragement.”
Jay snorted into his sleeve. You were already wheezing, clutching your side as the two of them launched into another round of sarcastic bickering that made you question how either of them made it to graduation.
“Oh…hold on,” Heeseung suddenly perked up, biting his lip and raising a brow. “Some girls from the junior classes just showed up to congratulate me.”
You rolled your eyes. Jay muttered, “Here we go…”
“If you’ll excuse me,” Heeseung said, already straightening his sad excuse of a gown, “Won, you’re coming with.”
Jungwon blinked. “And why the hell would I do that?”
“I need a wingman. Jay’s taken, and I need someone to distract the extras while I move in on the main event.”
“Stop talking,” Jungwon said immediately.
“C’mon, please?”
“Just stop talking and I’ll go.”
“Sweet. Let’s go,” Heeseung grinned, already dragging him away.
You and Jay watched them go.
“Are we… sure he graduated?” you asked.
“Honestly?” Jay shrugged. “A miracle.”
But then, a throat cleared.
You turned, laughter freezing in your throat.
Jay’s father stood a few feet away in a crisp suit, arms crossed, sunglasses pushed up on his head. He didn’t say a word right away. Just looked at the two of you, at Jay in his cap and gown, hand intertwined with yours.
Jay’s hand stiffened slightly in yours. You looked at him and caught the faintest flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.
To be fair, since the Monday Jay had placed the list of his top university applications on his father’s desk and then got into those schools, no less, there hadn’t been much conversation. Just the occasional grunt, nod, or one-word answer. It wasn’t new. Jay never expected his father to be warm. He could live without it. Had done so for most of his life.
But right now, Jay held his breath.
His father stepped forward, slow but sure, gaze unreadable. You tightened your grip on Jay’s hand without realizing it.
He stopped in front of Jay. His eyes scanned him once then paused on the crumpled gown, the slightly crooked cap, and then your intertwined hands.
“Well,” he said, voice low. “You wore the cap properly.”
Jay blinked, unsure if that was a jab or a compliment. He opened his mouth, then closed it again.
And then, Jay’s father reached out.
To you.
He adjusted the tassel on your cap, gently sweeping it from the left to the right side.
“You’ve graduated too,” he said, not looking at you directly, but something in his tone softer than before. “Should wear it properly.”
You didn’t move.
Then his father stepped back. He looked at Jay for a long beat, something tight in his jaw, but his voice steadier this time.
“You did good,” he said. “Better than expected.”
That was it.
Jay’s lips twitched, the faintest ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Because those few short words, that deadpan delivery, that subtle nod was his father’s way. And Jay knew, as frustrating and emotionally constipated as it was, that was as close as he’d ever get to hearing “I’m proud of you” out loud.
Before either of you could say anything, Mr. Park had already turned away, his footsteps slow and composed as he made his way through the crowd. He nodded at your mother and Mrs. Park in passing, the gesture polite.
Then, weaving through the field, he crossed paths with Heeseung who, at that moment, was mid–peace sign, tongue out, and clearly trying to impress a group of younger girls.
Mr. Park came to a halt. Looked him up. Then down.
“Fix your collar, boy,” he said in the most unimpressed tone known to man, “You look stupid.”
Heeseung blinked. He turned to Jungwon, stunned. You and Jay were already doubled over trying not to laugh.
A minute later, Heeseung made his way back to the two of you.
“Guys,” he said, eyes wide, “who was that and why was he mean?”
Jay rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh, that’s… my dad.”
“Oh,” Heeseung said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Well, he seems lovely.”
“That’s because you’re an asshole,” Heeseung snapped.
You turned toward Jay, stifling your laugh behind your hand as Heeseung and Jungwon continued to bicker beside you.
Jay slipped his hand into yours giving it a gentle squeeze. His thumb brushed over your knuckles absentmindedly, and when you glanced up, his gaze was already on you.
“Hard to believe we made it here,” he murmured.
You smiled, stepping closer until your forehead touched his. “Well… I kinda had a feeling we’d make it.”
“Weren’t you the same person who cried for two hours because you thought I was leaving?”
You rolled your eyes. “Oh, shut up.”
“Still… I would’ve chosen you,” he said quietly, just for you. “Even if it meant packing up and leaving with nothing but you.”
You leaned in, kissed him gently, then pulled back just enough to speak. “Lucky for you,” you said, your smile matching his, “I came with everything we need.”
“Okay, kids! Group photo!” Mrs. Park called out, already motioning for you, Jay, Heeseung, and Jungwon to squeeze together.
You groaned playfully, but there was no use resisting. Jay laced his fingers with yours and tugged you forward, Heeseung fixed his borrowed gown while Jungwon rolled his eyes and tried to smooth his already-perfect one.
“Closer!” your mom called, squinting at the screen. “Act like you like each other!”
Heeseung threw an arm over Jay’s shoulder. “That’s a big ask.”
“Oh, as if you’re any better.” Jungwon scoffed, flicking Heeseung’s forehead.
“Smile!” Mrs. Park added, then laughed. “Okay, last one and then we’ll go for dinner!”
The four of you leaned in, grinning wide for the camera. Jay’s hand slid to your waist and pulled you in, close and quick, pressing a kiss to your cheek just as the shutter clicked.
You squeaked in surprise, eyes wide, but the warmth on your face gave you away instantly.
“Now that’s burned into our graduation photo. Great,” Jungwon groaned.
“Unless… you want all of us to kiss you too?” Heeseung suggested, wiggling his brows.
Jungwon blinked. “No. I don’t really… I don’t want that.”
“Oh, come on,” you teased, already leaning in.
“Let’s do it,” Jay said, grinning.
Before Jungwon could escape, the three of you planted a kiss on his cheeks all at once.
every time someone writes my baby jean kirstein as a jerk fuck boy, cheater, toxic, disrespectful to women and extremely popular, an angel loses his wings; because he would literally be the og yearner, he's a big loser who thinks he's a popular guy, bro could never use women, he would be a hopeless romantic, a soft spoken man, nervous around the girl he likes, respectful, overprotective, he would always put the person he loves first, probably the best boyfriend/husband in this world.
in which you and your best friend end up sharing a bed on a weekend getaway and everything changes
pairing: best friend!jay x fem!reader || wc: 9.7k || cw: fluff, smut! best friends to lovers, kissing, making out, praise, fingering, oral (f. rec), breast + nipple play, p in v, protected sex (we cheered!!), dirty talk, use of petnames, light-hearted teasing, swearing, slight hair pulling, slight marking, multiple orgasms, cum eating, playful restrain (just once, nothing too serious), so much lovemaking and sweetness :c (they’re so in love it’s almost disgusting) || warnings: +18 content, mdni!!! || a/n: i was so excited to write this oh my god,,, istg i never knew i was so into these tropes before </3 tysm to the lovely (non)anon for the request ilysm
you are the kind of person who packs too many scarves “just in case.” you are loud when you laugh, bad at parallel parking, and you still have that mixtape (yes, the old one) shoved behind a stack of books. you keep small things from your past — ticket stubs, a friendship bracelet jay made you when you were twelve — because they feel like proof that some parts of you don’t have to change. you are the one who still drags your feet through childhood neighborhoods when you’re nostalgic, who knows every stupid joke jay ever makes by heart. you are the person who, when things go wrong, texts him four words and somehow feels like the world rights itself: "please, pick me up."
jay is the steady one, he carries himself like someone who’s always been slightly ahead of the rest of the world. jay is the person who remembers your weird food order and sends you memes at two a.m. when you’re stressed. jay is the friend who will shove half your suitcase into his bag because you insist on carrying everything. he’s been there since backyard forts and playground vows. he’s the one with a measured laugh that comes late and soft, with hands that are always busy — checking a schedule, fixing the strap on your backpack, reaching for the jar of coffee without thinking. he is both impossibly steady and wildly impulsive. best friends since childhood, he knows which part of your pizza you always give up and can read the exact tone in your voice that means you need him without you having to say a word. he knows you in a way most people never will.
you’ve been planning this weekend for weeks: two nights away from the city, a small coastal town with a hotel that promises sea views and soft linen. the trip is a way for you to “decompress,” though you both know it’s a selfish excuse to spend some time with the person you adore the most. you both need the quiet; you both crave the plainness of two people who can be entirely themselves without the rest of the world.
you meet at jay’s apartment early on saturday. he’s already waiting by the door in an old band tee and jeans, hair messed up like he’s been up later than normal. when you walk in, he grins. “ready for an escape?” he asks, voice half-joke, half-relief.
“always,” you say, dropping your bag and grabbing the travel mug he hands you. it’s still warm. you both stand in the doorway for a second, jay nudges your shoulder. “let’s go get some fresh air.”
the drive there is effortless because he makes it so. windows down, music up. jay is a playlist master: he builds the soundtrack like he’s building the mood. his selections are small treasures — an old ballad you loved in high school, a song that you used to hum after an exam, a track you two once danced to in the kitchen at two in the morning. he sings along with the music, fingers drumming the steering wheel, and you watch the way sunlight lines his jaw when he smiles at a lyric. conversation is a steady stream of anecdotes, inside jokes, and comfortable silences where no one feels the need to fill the space.
“remember when we tried to build that tree fort?” jay asks, voice soft with the kind of fondness that makes the corners of your eyes crinkle.
“the one we almost set on fire?” you remind him, though the memory is fuzzy and ridiculous. you both laugh like it’s a secret you’ve shared too many times.
“i’ve got a vivid memory of my dad panicking and running when he saw you trying to light the lighter,” jay says, and you snort, pushing your hair back with a hand.
“you were the one who suggested setting the leaves on fire!” you point out.
“that’s because you were the one who suggested having a fireplace!” he retorts.
“nuh-uh, i was the architect. you were the disaster specialist.”
he grins, eyes warm. “okay, i’ll accept that title. disaster specialist. it fits.”
by the time the coastline unfurls, the town greets you with warm light and a salty breeze that makes your scalp tingle.
the plan is simple: wander, eat, and do nothing you would normally schedule. the first stop is a small café with mismatched chairs and a chalkboard menu. you both order the same thing without planning it. “of course we did,” jay says when the server walks away. “we’re synced.”
you sit, and conversation moves between silly and comfortable. you talk about the dumb things you did in school, the band practices that always ended in pizza, the way jay once tried to convince you that he could beatbox. you both laugh until your stomachs ache. “you sounded like a dying walrus,” you say, wincing with the memory.
“i was talented,” jay protests, mock-hurt. “and you never appreciated artistry.”
“i did appreciate it,” you lie, smiling. the truth is, you appreciated everything about him — the way he told stories, how his eyes crinkled when he laughed, the soft way he checked if you were okay.
after coffee, you wander down the pier together. the sea stretches into a steady horizon, glittering under the afternoon sun; warmth settles on the back of your neck and the breeze smells like salt and summer. jay walks just half a step ahead, hands tucked into his pockets, until something catches his eye: a seagull swoops down, triumphant, clutching someone’s sandwich in its beak.
“i wonder what that reminds me of…” he says, voice dripping with mischief.
you glare at him, already knowing where this is going. “don’t.”
he smirks. “jay—”
“i’m just saying, it’s impressive. most people only get their sandwich stolen once.”
you elbow him sharply. “i was six, and you were the one supposedly taking care of my food, you moron!”
he laughs, the sound bright and familiar, and nudges a puddle with his shoe. a thin arc of water sprays your jeans
“jay!” you yelp.
he shrugs innocently. “oops.”
you flick water back at him with your fingers — which, somehow, only splashes your own shoes. he bursts out laughing.
“that was the saddest attempt i’ve ever—”
before he can finish, you launch a real attack: kicking at the puddle with enough force to send a wave toward him. he dodges, still laughing, and you chase him down the pier, both of you splashing like children who’ve never grown up. your laughter mixes with the cries of gulls and the hush of the sea. it feels stupid and perfect.
when you finally slow down, breathless and damp, you notice a couple of people walking by — older, maybe tourists — who glance at the two of you and smile. one of them nudges the other, and there’s a tiny, knowing look passed between them. the kind of look people give when they see two people who clearly adore each other, even if neither of them is saying it out loud yet. jay notices, too. he tilts his head towards them, then towards you.
“what was that about?” he asks, light but curious.
you shrug, suddenly aware of how close he’s standing, his shoulder brushing yours.
“no idea,” you say — though your heart knows exactly.
after your clothes have been dried by the sun, you stop at a surf shack and decide to try the foam boards. “how hard can it be?” jay asks, grinning. he’s confident, and you know that sometimes his body can do the things his voice promises. the sea is cold but the sun makes up for it. you fall more than you stand, both of you laughing at each other’s ungraceful attempts. when you finally ride a small, sloppy wave, it feels like a victory. as the sun starts to lower, you both sit on a towel and watch the light go gold. jay tells a story about being lost when he was a kid — how he ended up in an ice cream truck because he followed the smell.
you tell him about a karaoke night with your friends which ended in a sore throat the next morning. jay watches your face as you talk like he’s memorizing it. when he tells his story, you see him soften in a way that surprises you: his voice drops, and his hands move in wide, careful circles as if tracing a figure on the sand.
dinner is small and warm. fairy lights hang low. you split a plate and an extra dessert because jay insists. “there’s always room for more dessert,” he says like it’s a moral code he follows strictly. you eat and joke and the conversation turns to the stuff that matters in tiny ways — your worries, the internships you both consider, the small fears.
the drive to the hotel is quiet in a comfortable way, you both feel tired in the best kind of way.
the hotel is a low building with whitewashed walls and a small, flourishing garden. it smells like lemon and seawater at the door, and for a beat you feel like you’ve stepped into a postcard. jay parks in a spot that has been gloriously unclaimed, and you step out together, shoulder to shoulder — the sort of unspoken choreography that makes you both laugh at how simple it feels.
the hotel lobby is cozy: wood floors, an old chandelier, and the receptionist offers a smile that’s almost too sincere. you move like one unit — jay on your left, his hand occasionally brushing the small of your back when the pavement dents or the door takes a gust of wind.
“welcome,” the receptionist says, handing you a key each. the keys are small metal things on old-fashioned loops. jay takes both and jokes about keeping them safe like they’re tiny treasures. the check-in goes smoothly. there’s a mild disappointment in the clerk’s face when he says over the computer, “we have you down for a double room… oh.” the clerk’s face changes. “i’m so sorry,” he says, scrolling. “there was a booking error. and— um—”
your stomach does a small, reflexive flip. “what kind of error?” you ask.
“the hotel is overbooked tonight. it looks like someone else booked your room — the double room with twin beds,” he explains, apologetic. “i’m so sorry. we can bump you up to a suite tomorrow, no costs, but tonight… we only have one room available. a standard double with one bed. it’s most likely a mistake on our end, but i can offer a complimentary breakfast, free minibar and a late checkout to make up for it.”
for a second, the news feels like a comic misstep. you both stand there blinking like two people on a sitcom. “one bed?” you repeat, because the idea is ridiculous and, somehow, makes your pulse skip.
you and jay exchange a glance so practiced it feels like a private joke handed down through years. jay’s brow arches, eyes searching your face as if to see how you’ll react. there’s a moment where you both silently consider demanding a refund and stomping out, but the tiredness in your limbs argues for a place to rest. you’ve come for quiet, and a little awkward intimacy in a single bed is still better than having to drive to the closest hotel possible.
jay rubs his forehead, then shrugs like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “we can share,” he says, the kind of simple solution he’s always offered when things go sideways.
“or i can sleep on the floor,” you offer, half-joke, half-serious. “i have a flexible spine.” he laughs.
“no way. we’re grown-ups. we’ll share.” his voice is steady. you feel easier because he always makes the small panic smaller.
“we’ll take it,” jay says finally, his voice steady. “one room. one bed. seems… cozy.”
the receptionist’s smile brightens like the problem is solved. you both pay the fee for the two nights and grab your keys. the elevator ride up is bright with awkward jokes. jay jokes about who will get which side of the bed, about knee territory.
“i get the window side,” you say, claiming it like a prize.
“fine, i get the remote,” he counters. “and the top sheet.”
the room is not big, but it is simple and kind, a wide window faces the ocean. the bed looks smaller than in the picture, white sheets tucked into a neat fold, but it still takes up most part of the room. there’s a vase with fresh flowers on the bedside table and a note from management, apologizing for the mix-up. there’s a soft hum in the air-conditioning, and the town’s urgency feels miles away.
you both make rituals out of mundane things: tossing your bags in a corner, ordering two glasses of iced water and a plate of fries to share. jay takes the window seat, tucking his feet under him and watching the waves. you sit on the edge of the bed, legs crossed, and the two of you settle into the unpretentious ease that’s defined your friendship for years.
“should we go out after this?” you ask after a while. “walk the beach near here? grab some snacks for later?”
jay glances at you and then the bed, a tiny smirk threatening mischief. “or,” he says slowly, “we could stay here, watch that awful romcom on the hotel channel, and eat these fries until our stomachs hurt.”
you groan, but you can’t keep the smile off your face. “eat fries until our stomachs hurt… what are we, twelve?”
you spend the late afternoon (after eating the whole plate of fries, that is) wandering the coastal streets: an old bookshop tucked between a fishmonger and a café, a little stall selling the most amazing scented candles, an ice cream place where jay insists you try a flavor called sea-salt caramel that you didn’t believe would be good but turns out to be divine. you throw yourself into the city’s rhythm — quiet markets, low-slung houses with wind-bent palms, the tang of salt on your lips. the sun slants golden and the ocean is a constant mood, a low storyboard of waves that outlines your day.
when evening comes, you head to a local bistro and order some plates to share. the conversation is easy, sometimes nostalgic, sometimes teasing. you revisit old embarrassments as though they are moments you both cherish, and you discover new quick truths: jay’s soft spot for an old childhood teacher, how he still hums that ridiculous jingle he used to perform for neighborhood kids, the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles like he’s remembering something sweet. you find yourself leaning in more than usual, drawn to small gestures that have always been there but suddenly feel more luminous.
“do you ever think about how different things would be if we hadn’t been stuck living two houses apart?” you ask, swirling the rim of your glass.
jay pauses, lifting his fork like he’s considering the question as carefully as a strategic play. “no,” he says eventually. “maybe it would be different. but i like the way we’ve been pegged to each other — like a pair of constant variables. you know?”
you do. you know because jay has been constant in your calculus of life — the equation that solved itself with him in it. “i like it too,” you say, and mean it.
back at the hotel, the night unfurls with small rituals. you brush your teeth in the bathroom together because it feels like something you’ve always done, even though it’s oddly intimate, and you both laugh when a toothbrush falls and clatters. you change into pajamas in the same room, without looking at each other. it’s no big deal, because there’s years of trust there.
after closing the balcony’s door, you come back to the room while jay reads aloud the silly poem that was printed on the hotel pamphlet, turning it into a mock-serious performance.
“i have the perfect plan for tomorrow’s night,” he announces in a dramatic whisper, making you snort. “we conquer the buffet and then we empty the mini bar which, by the way, is free because of the hotel room thing.”
“incredible strategy, commander,” you mumble, tossing a pillow at him.
when you crawl into bed, the mattress feels even smaller than you thought. you both lie down on your backs, the covers tucked and your knees up. the hotel window shows the sliver moon and a smear of town lights. you don’t turn off the lamps because it feels like the night wants to be watched.
“i can feel it already… destiny. fate. the universe preparing to kick us with food poisoning from the buffet and—”
“what are you doing?” you ask, and he just grins.
“i’m narrating our lives. also, i never get to be dramatic out loud with anyone except you.”
the warmth in your chest is a gentle pressure.
you settle closer, legs tangling accidentally, and the bed feels too familiar and too intimate at once. there’s nothing sudden or electric in that moment — just the friendly gravity that has always existed between you two, the small ease that comes from a thousand shared food, errands and late-night confessions.
the distance closes so naturally you barely register it. one moment you’re side by side, and the next his foot nudges yours, a small accidental press that sends a quiet ripple through your chest. he doesn’t joke like he usually does. he just looks at you for a second — too long, too gentle — before glancing back at the ceiling. then, jay shifts, trying to get comfortable, and ends up knocking your knee.
“sorry,” he says softly — then adds, “but also… it’s your fault for having knees.” you snort, but you don’t move away. neither does he.
jay reaches for the remote, tapping your ankle with it. “okay,” he announces, “since your knees started this war, i get to pick the movie.”
“that’s not how this works,” you mutter, but you’re already smiling.
he scrolls until he finds a romcom with a 23% rating and a poster that looks like it was made in microsoft paint.
“perfect,” he declares.
“that looks terrible.”
“exactly, a cinematic masterpiece.”
he presses play, and the two of you settle closer, shoulders brushing as the opening credits flash like a warning.
later, long after the film fades and the television hums low, you find yourselves wide awake.
it’s the kind of quiet that makes every sound amplified; the ticking clock sounds like an orchestra. the ocean mutters in the background; a faint glow from the street below paints the curtains silver. you lie on opposite sides at first, an unconscious measure of space between your shoulders, but there’s something in the air that nudges at the perimeter.
you start with small talk — funny comments about the hotel’s art, the exact color of the blanket, how the protagonist of the last movie was an idiot — and then sink into quieter conversation. then you talk about work, about the small mistakes and the things that made you proud that day. the conversation is slow and easy. you nudge his knee with your foot and he squeezes your ankle in return, not even looking at you. the small touches are normal for you; they mean nothing more than warmth in the moment, but they make your heart skip a beat.
after a while the talk goes softer. jay says, “i’m glad we did this.” you answer, “me too.” he turns his head to look at you, face lit by the moonlight and softer than you remember in normal days.
“i don’t like being away from all of this,” he says, voice quiet. “i mean, from home, from my friends, from my family… from you.”
you feel a little jolt. “from me?” you ask, trying to make your voice casual.
“yeah. it’s weird,” he says, fingers tracing an absent path on the sheet. “i just… i like this. being with you like this. no pretending. no schedules. just us two.”
“i feel the same,” you say, and you mean it.
the room hums. you reach for his hand; your fingers fit his the way they always have. his grip tightens, then loosens, like he’s deciding how much to say. the closeness is comfortable and also suddenly sharper. you both stay awake, talking in half sentences, the kind of talk that means more than the words.
“do you ever think about how long it’s been?” jay asks suddenly, voice soft, not a joke this time.
“how long it’s been… since what?” you reply, turning your head to look at him.
“us,” he says. “you and me. the whole best friends thing. like… how long we’ve had each other.” there’s a hitch at the edge of his voice that makes you sit up a little.
he looks smaller now, exposed in the low glow of the lamp. your heart tugs at the rawness of the moment — the way time has folded you into adjacent lives.
“since kids,” you say, because the answer comes easily. “since we were both too young to know better. you were the one who taught me how to ride a bike after four tries and three scraped knees.”
he laughs then, because he remembers the bandages awkwardly wrapped on your knees.
“and you were the one who hid my vintage baseball cap because you thought it was stupid,” he reminds you, teasing but tender.
you roll your eyes. “it was stupid.”
“so was my hair, that’s why i wanted to hide it,” he says, and you both grin at the shared memory before a comfortable silence settles.
then, like an accidental gradual pull, his hand finds yours again. it’s easy and familiar: fingers slipping into those well-known places, a reflex that has always belonged only to you two. tonight, though, the touch feels charged, like it’s more meaningful than ever. for a second your fingers intertwine, and you turn to look at him fully, as if the light will reveal new shapes.
you tell him a small thing you’ve been holding for a while — how you worry about moving forward and losing pieces of your life that felt safe. he listens and then says, simply, “we’ll keep the important parts. we’ll keep the parts that matter. you’ll never lose me. ever.” his voice is calm but there’s an undercurrent of something else — care that feels weightier than usual.
the mood shifts in little ways. when you laugh, his look lingers. when you reach for the blanket and he helps you pull it, his hand covers yours a fraction longer than it needs to. you both notice but don’t comment. the night tightens from easy to intimate in a way that feels new. you lie facing each other now, closer than when you first got in bed. your shoulders almost touch. the two of you lie close enough that, if you wanted, you could trace the outline of his face with your thumb.
“remember when we used to stay up making forts?” you ask, voice small, half-trying to be playful.
“i remember you stealing my flashlight and refusing to share,” jay replies. he smiles, then grows quiet. his hand caresses yours under the cover, fingers warm around yours, his thumb drawing little circles that slow your breathing. “i like being near you,” he says again, but this time the words sound like a confession instead of a casual note. they hang between you, bright and risky.
you can feel your heart speed up. you look at him, really look — at the line of his jaw, the way his eyelashes shadow his cheek, the little scar on his nose.
the hotel room is full of the sound of quiet breathing. the air between you is different now — thiner, charged. you squeeze his hand back and the touch feels like a dare. the shift is gentle but certain: you both feel it, like the tide turning under the shore. you don’t fall asleep, neither of you do. you stay awake with your hands intertwined. what you’ve said is not yet the confession you both are afraid and eager to say, but it’s close enough. so much that the space between your faces feels like a wall you’re both willing to break.
“you’re quiet,” you murmur.
“i’m thinking,” he replies, looking at the ceiling as if the words are hiding up there. “about how different everything would be if i didn’t approach you that day at your porch, if we treated each other like strangers.” he turns his head slightly to meet your eyes. “but we’re not strangers, are we?”
you shake your head. “no. we’re… us.”
“us,” he says, saying the word like it’s a small, sacred thing. jay props himself up on an elbow, the lamp throwing shadows that make his face more serious than you usually see it. “i think i used to think that best friends were supposed to be… a constant. like okay, safe, habitual. and that was enough. but lately—” he pauses, fingers trailing idle patterns on the bedsheet. “lately i can’t tell whether what i feel is just familiarity or something else. something that makes me… not okay with you being with anyone else.”
the sentence drops, and your chest tightens in a way that spins your stomach. you liked to guess that, in small private moments, maybe jay felt things he didn’t say — the same things you felt — but he’s never voiced it like this. the admission is raw and honeyed at the same time.
“do you want to say it?” he asks suddenly, voice so soft it could be mistaken for sleep talking. he’s facing you now, eyes open and honest, the moonlight in the window making his skin look paler and a little electric.
you let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding. “say what?” you ask, though you already know.
“you know what it is... that,” he says, and his mouth quirks — nervous, silly, resigned. “that thing between us. that i’m tired of pretending doesn’t exist.” he swallows. “i’m tired of pretending i don’t think about you like that.”
your heart stutters. you feel it as a physical thing, as if someone has flicked a switch and warmth is flooding the room. you laugh, a small, incredulous sound that shakes with relief.
“you mean…” you begin, voice small.
“i mean,” he cuts in, not harshly but with a gravity that lands heavy, “i think i like you. more than a friend. and it’s been creeping up on me, and i don’t know when it started exactly, but i know when i notice it now. and it terrifies me because you’re my person. and the idea of losing you to… anything else makes my chest hurt in a way i don’t like.”
“you’re serious.”
“i’m extremely serious. i wouldn’t joke about this.” jay’s hand tightens around yours. “i—i’ve been stupid about it. scared, i guess. scared of what it would do to us. but i can’t keep pretending that i don’t care in a different way.” he breathes, “i like you. like-like you. more than best-friend-like.”
you stare at him for a second — at the honest way his lips tremble when he says the words — and your throat goes dry. the air between you tilts. your heart beats so fast you’re sure he can hear it; a dozen little memories — of his hand brushing yours, of the way he looked at you after your high school show, of how he'd walk you home after parties, of the way he always lent you his jacket — assemble into a shape that suddenly seems obvious. your fingers are limp in the space where his had been; you reach for them without thinking, and his hand closes around yours like a soft, heavy promise.
“i was so sure,” you say finally, and your voice is barely more than a rustle against the linens. “i was sure i was the one being an idiot. that it was only me who wanted more and—” you stop because the words begin to rearrange themselves into something urgent. you inhale, collecting courage. “jay i… i feel the same.”
jay’s shoulders deflate, a laugh escaping him that’s half disbelief and half joy. his face is a map of every possible emotion at once: relief that blooms into disbelief, then something tender and almost shy, like embarrassment and happiness braided together. he swallows audibly, then slides off the edge of the bed to sit beside you, thumb brushing your knuckles in a motion so slow it could be prayer.
“you do?” he asks, voice cracking. “you like me too?”
“i do,” you confirm, before you can overthink it. “i’ve wanted this — wanted you — for a while. and i’ve been trying to tell myself i was imagining things. i kept thinking if i said it out loud everything would change, and i was scared.” your voice thins and then steadies. “but i’m tired of being scared.” you let out a breath, laugh-crying a little. “i’m tired of pretending it hasn’t been you for ages.”
he cups your face, thumb brushing your cheek, and the gesture is tender and sudden. “hey, don’t be scared,” he whispers. “i don’t want to lose us either. but i don’t want to ignore this.”
“so… what do we do?” you whisper, the question monumental in the small room.
your faces are inches apart; you can almost count the soft baby hairs at his temple.
“we start,” he says, and the word feels like a vow. “we try, slowly, brick by brick, step by step. we don’t have to figure out the rest tonight.” you nod, slow and certain.
after seconds of silence, you finally break it.
“i want to,” you echo.
jay opens his mouth, then closes it. “are you sure?” you nod. “you know if we cross this line it’s going to be very hard to—”
“jay,” you stop him, looking into his eyes. “just kiss me already”
and then, in a moment that feels both like a cliff and landing, jay leans in. his lips find yours with a tenderness you’d only imagined in stolen movie scenes. it’s tentative at first — warm, probing — as if he’s afraid to wake something delicate, and you know he’s trying to be gentle because the moment matters. but the kiss soon deepens, becomes a conversation in itself. your hands find the familiar places — the little dip behind his ear, the nape of his neck — and he responds by threading his fingers through your hair, steadying himself against the newness of the feeling.
the world outside the window hums as if nothing at all has changed, but everything has. when he pulls back for air, his forehead rests against yours and both of you are breathless, eyes bright and shaking. you both pull back with nervous smiles that turn into laughter because everything feels suddenly lighter and impossibly good.
“god, i can’t believe we’re actually doing this, can you?” jay laughs, looking into your eyes.
you answer by kissing him deeper. this time there’s less carefulness and more hunger — years of small touches and bedside talks turning into something braver. your mouth opens under his, and the world narrows to the taste of him. you feel his breath hitch, a small sound that is part shock, part sweetness.
his hands are not tentative anymore. they travel down your sides, find the curve of your waist, pull you flush against him. you can feel the line of his ribs under the shirt, the steady beat of his heart, a drum that matches yours. he mumbles against your mouth, “i like you. so much. it’s stupid. it’s everything.”
“i love you,” you say before you can stop yourself — your words tumbling out in the dark and landing between you. you don’t take them back. you mean them; the truth feels heavy and right.
jay freezes for the tiniest second, disbelief and joy warring on his face. then he smiles like he’s been given a map to something he’s been searching for without knowing. “god, i love you, i love you too,” he says, and his voice is near-breaking. he says it again, this time firmer, like anchoring himself. “i’ve loved you for ages.”
you both breathe, the confession settling like a warm blanket. then the awkward, perfect, dangerous part: you both laugh because you’re unbelievably relieved and because it feels ridiculous to be this dramatic about words you should have said way sooner.
“so,” jay says, cheek pressed to yours, “now what?”
“now,” you answer, “we stop pretending we don’t want each other?” you murmur, tracing small, teasing, nervous circles on his chest with your fingertip, savoring the steady heat under your skin.
jay chuckles, shaking his head. “you’re impossible.” the he licks his lips, leaning against your ear. “but i wouldn’t have you any other way.”
he kisses your temple, then drags his mouth down your neck in slow, tender strokes that make you shiver. “is it okay if i show you how much i’ve wanted this, then?” he asks, the question gentler than the rest. you nod. “let me make this easy for you,” he murmurs, voice huskier now.
he slides his hand down to the small of your back and pulls you flush against him. the contact is immediate, grounding. his mouth finds yours again, deeper this time — hungry but still careful, wanting to memorize your reactions. you kiss him back with the same mix of desperation and care.
you can feel the change move through you like heat. jay’s hands are not shy; they explore your curves as if they’ve been waiting for permission. you hook your legs around him, instinctively, and the motion brings you both closer. the covers rustle; the room shrinks to the two of you. you laugh breathlessly against his lips. “we’re idiots,” you whisper.
“big idiots,” he replies, smiling into the kiss, then his voice drops. “i’ve wanted you for so long.” he breaks the kiss just enough to look at you, his forehead resting against yours.
the room condenses to the sound of your breaths and the soft rustle of the covers. the lamps throw a golden halo around you both, and the world outside the window recedes into a wash of distant traffic and the ocean’s hush. his hand slides up your side, careful, asking permission with the lightest pressure; you answer by angling your hip toward him. the motion is tiny, but it says everything you couldn’t say with words.
he keeps talking when he kisses you — low reassurances, little jokes that make you hiccup-laugh between soft, searching kisses. “i could do this forever,” he murmurs against your throat. “i will be very annoying and very attentive. is that okay?” you nod, because yes, yes, yes. your voice would betray you if you tried to say anything else.
suddenly, the room grows even hotter. he begins with soft worship — hands mapping your shoulders, the line of your collarbone, the dip of your neck. his mouth follows, leaving kisses that turn into gentle suckles, slow and intimate. every little noise he makes — soft groans, the way his breath catches — makes your pulse quicken.
as his kisses travel further, his hands move with purpose. he peels your shirt up slowly, as if practiced, just as if he was a man who had been rehearsing this exact scene in his head a hundred times. you help as he pauses to kiss the skin he reveals, fingers fumbling at the hem because you want him close, you want nothing between you. the fabric slips away and leaves you bare to the cool air and his eyes.
jay drinks in the sight quietly like it’s the first time he’s seeing you. “you’re beautiful,” he whispers, cheeks flushed and voice thick. it’s clumsy and perfect. “i mean it.”
you feel heat bloom in your chest. “you too,” you breathe. “you’re so, so beautiful.”
his hands find your waist again, pulling you until your bodies are flush. he kisses your throat, then your collarbone, lingering at points that make your back arch. his lips are everywhere, each kiss slow and worshipful. when his hand finds your breast, he cups it like it’s fragile, thumbs rolling your nipple with gentle, exploratory pressure. you gasp.
“you’re so perfect, baby,” he breathes, voice raw. when he finally takes a nipple into his mouth, it’s like a small electric shock — sharp and delicious. he sucks with a mix of need and adoration that makes your knees weak. you moan, which makes him hum against your breast, pleased and needy.
“do you want me to stop?” he murmurs against your skin, suddenly cautious.
“no,” you say, breathless. “jay, please, don’t stop.”
encouraged, jay’s mouth moves lower, trailing to the curve of your ribs, the slope of your belly. his hands keep you steady, one at the small of your back, the other sliding between you to trace the line of your hip. he breathes around your navel and then looks up at you, eyes dark with want. “are you sure? i don’t want to rush anything you’re not ready for.” he asks again, though the question is almost theatrical now, given the way your both lusting for each other.
you respond with your own hands, sliding up the back of his pajama shirt, feeling the tension of his muscles. “i’m sure. i want you. i’ve imagined this so many times,” you confess. “i want you so much, jay. i need you so much it hurts.” the confession is private, painful, but liberating to say.
he smiles like someone who finally got permission for something he’s been dreaming of. he answers by settling between your legs, careful as if you might break, but his eyes are bright and fierce with want. you can’t help but moan at the sight of your best friend licking his lip, so eager for your body, for you. “then… should i go on? i’m dying to taste you,” he says, voice low and breathy. you answer by nodding. “words, pretty girl, i need words.” he chuckles, caressing your skin.
you swallow, your throat caught between letting out a laugh or a sob of desperation. “god, jay, yes, please,” you groan, certain. your fingers tighten in the sheet, not out of fear but because you need something to steady you — something that isn’t him for a second, until your breath evens out and you remember how safe his hands always feel.
his hands keep hold of your hips, thumbs pressed into the skin. then his mouth is right there, a kiss low on your belly, slow and adoring, and when his tongue finally slips out it’s like heat and velvet at once. he starts at the curve beneath your ribs, lapping a smooth line down towards your center. the first touch makes you jerk, breath hitching; he hums against you, the sound vibrating through his chest and into you, pleased and hungry.
“fuck.” he groans, closing his eyes. and you feel yourself getting even wetter.
he doesn’t rush. that’s the first thing you notice, really notice, while your pulse is hammering against your ribs and the room feels too small for all the air you suddenly need. jay stays on his knees at the edge of the bed, palms sliding slow up the backs of your thighs like he has all the time in the world. his eyes flick up to yours, soft and dark and a little wrecked, and he smiles, small, reverent.
“you’re shaking,” he whispers, thumb stroking the crease where your leg meets your hip. “i’ve got you, okay? we can slow down.”
you shake your head before the words even form. “don’t you dare.”
he laughs, quiet, the sound warm against your skin. “okay. okay, baby.”
then he lowers his mouth and kisses you there, once, gentle, right over the cotton of your underwear, like he’s saying hello to something sacred. the second kiss is open-mouthed, hotter, and you feel the heat of his breath soak through the fabric. your hips jerk without permission as a moan escapes your throat.
he hooks his fingers in the waistband and drags the last scrap of clothing down your legs, slow enough that you feel every inch of air replacing it. when you’re bare, he just looks for a long second, eyes glassy, lips parted, like he’s trying to memorize you.
“baby,” he says, reverent. “look at you. you’re so fucking pretty i can’t think straight. god,” he breathes. “you’re so pretty. how are you this pretty everywhere?”
you try to laugh, but it comes out shaky. he kisses the inside of your knee, then higher, open-mouthed and lazy, like he’s tasting dessert he’s waited years for. every press of his lips is paired with a new praise whispered against your skin.
“so soft… you taste so good already. i’ve been dreaming about this for so long.”
the praise lands warm in your chest. he lowers himself between your thighs. his palms slide under you, lifting you gently toward his mouth like an offering.
the first touch of his tongue is soft, just a slow, flat lick from entrance to clit that makes your hips jerk, your back arch clean off the mattress. he groans like you’ve hurt him, arms banding under your thighs to hold you open.
“fuck, there it is,” he says, voice rough with wonder. “that’s my girl.”
he licks again, deeper this time, parting you with the tip of his tongue, tasting you like he’s starved. when he circles your clit, gentle, lazy circles, your breath catches so hard it sounds like a sob. he pulls back just enough to speak.
“you taste so good, sweetheart. i've been dreaming about this. been dying to know what you sound like when you let go for me.”
he settles in like it’s his life’s work. tongue flat and broad at first, just feeling you, learning every twitch and sigh. then he narrows it, circles your clit once, twice, light enough to make you crazy. you thread fingers into his hair and he hums approval, the vibration rolling straight through you.
“don’t be shy, pull harder,” he says against you. “i want to feel you.”
you do. he rewards you by sliding one finger inside, slow, eyes locked on your face to watch every flicker. when you clench around him he curses softly, adds a second, curls them just right.
“perfect,” he whispers. “so perfect for me. you always were.”
he seals his mouth over you and sucks, soft at first, then harder when your fingers fist in his hair. every time you tug, he groans like it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him. his tongue dips inside you, slow thrusts that match the roll of his thumb over your clit, and the room fills with the wet sounds of him devouring you.
“jay,” you whimper, thighs trembling on either side of his head.
“i know, baby,” he soothes, voice muffled. “i know. just let me take care of you.”
the way he curls his fingers, slow and perfect, stroking the exact spot, makes your back arch clean off the bed. his mouth never leaves your clit, licking, sucking, fluttering, sucking again until your legs try to close on instinct. he just gentles them open with his shoulders, kissing the inside of your thigh.
“stay open for me, love. wanna see all of you. wanna watch you fall apart on my tongue.”
he finds a rhythm that makes your thighs start to tremble, mouth relentless, fingers steady and deep. every time you get close he backs off just enough to keep you teetering, kissing your clit like an apology before he starts again. you’re babbling his name, pleas, broken little sounds you didn’t know you could make.
“jay, please, i’m so close i can’t—”
“i know, baby, i know. let me take care of you. you deserve it, you deserve everything.”
he sucks your clit gently, crooking his fingers at the same time, and the orgasm rolls over you slow and huge, like a wave that starts at your toes and crashes behind your eyes. you cry out, hips grinding against his face, and he works you through it, soft licks and praises the whole time.
“you’re doing so good for me,” he mumbles, kissing your thighs. “my beautiful girl, i love watching you fall apart.”
when you finally fall against the pillows, he crawls up your body, kissing every inch he passes, until he’s hovering over you, mouth shiny, eyes dazed.
“you look so pretty like this,” he whispers, voice cracked open.
you don’t waste another second: you pull him down into a kiss and taste yourself on his tongue. it’s filthy and perfect. he groans into your mouth, hips rolling instinctively against yours.
“i need you,” he says against your lips. “i need to be inside you. can i?” he says it like a prayer, lips brushing yours.
you nod, frantic. “yes. yes, jay, please.”
he pulls back just far enough to reach for the nightstand drawer. his fingers close around the little foil square and you both freeze for half a heartbeat, staring at it like it’s evidence.
a slow, wicked grin spreads across your face even as your cheeks burn.
“wait,” you breathe, propping yourself up on your elbows, hair falling messily over one shoulder. “did you… pack condoms for our little platonic weekend getaway?”
jay’s ears go scarlet. he tries to look dignified and fails completely. “i—”
“be honest,” you tease, poking his chest. “did you stand in the drugstore aisle going “hmm, better grab a three-pack just in case my best friend finally lets me ruin our friendship”?”
he groans, dropping his forehead to your collarbone, but he’s laughing, muffled and embarrassed. “shut up.”
“no, no, i need details.” you tilt his chin up so he has to meet your eyes. “how many scenarios did you run in that pretty head? did you practice this moment in the mirror?”
“i hate you,” he mutters, but he’s grinning so wide the crinckles by their eyes are showing. “i threw them in at the last second, okay? i told myself it was… responsible. like life-jacket thinking. just in case we, i don’t know, got on a boat, got shipwrecked and needed to improvise a water pouch or something.”
you burst out laughing, the sound bright in the quiet room. “a water pouch. smooth, park.”
he hides his face in your neck, voice muffled. “i was delusional and hopeful and terrified all at once. sue me.”
you soften, running your fingers through his hair. “so you’ve been carrying around the possibility of us for months?”
he lifts his head, eyes suddenly serious even while his cheeks are still pink. “years,” he corrects quietly. “i just finally grew a spine tonight.”
the laughter fades into something tender and huge. you cup his jaw, thumb brushing the corner of his mouth. “come here, you optimistic little boy scout.”
he kisses you again, slower this time, like he’s trying to say thank you and sorry and finally all at once.
you take the packet from his unsteady fingers, tear it open with your teeth because you can’t resist the way his breath catches, as much as you can’t stand not touching him another second. when you roll the condom down his length he’s trembling, biting his lip so hard you’re worried he’ll leave marks.
you guide him back to you with both hands on his hips, fingers pressing gentle crescents into his skin. he’s shaking, fine tremors running through his shoulders, his thighs his breath, like every nerve is lit up and waiting for permission. when the blunt head of him nudges against you, he stops. just stops. forehead dropping to yours, noses brushing, sharing the same ragged air.
“tell me again,” he breathes, voice shredded. “please.”
you cup his face, thumb sweeping the sharp line of his cheekbone. “i love you, jay,” you say, clear and steady even though your heart is sprinting. “i want you. i want this. i only ever wanted this with you.”
his eyes flutter shut for a second, like the words are almost too much. when they open again they’re glassy, stunned, impossibly soft.
and because you can’t help yourself, because you need to see him laugh one more time before everything changes forever, you lean up and whisper against his mouth, “for the record… best emergency preparedness ever.”
a broken laugh punches out of him, half sob, half joy. “you’re the worst,” he chokes, but he’s smiling so wide it almost dimples both cheeks.
then the smile fades into something raw, and he pushes in.
slow. god, so slow you feel every single inch like it’s being carved into you. the stretch is perfect, almost too much, and you both exhale shakily when he’s halfway. he pauses again, sweat beading at his temple, jaw clenched so tight you can see the muscle jump, you hear him swear under his breath.
“it’s okay, jay,” you whisper, stroking his back. “i’ve got you too.”
he nods against your forehead and sinks the rest of the way in one smooth, trembling glide until there’s no space left between you. the sound he makes is wrecked, animal, grateful. he bottoms out and just stays there, buried to the hilt, pulsing inside you, breathing like he’s run miles.
“fuck,” he says, voice cracking on the single syllable. “fuck, you feel,” he swallows hard, tries again. “you feel like home. like every place i’ve ever wanted to be.”
your throat closes. you wrap your legs higher around his waist, ankles locking at the small of his back, and the tiny shift in angle makes you both gasp.
“move,” you beg quietly. “please move.”
he does.
long, unhurried strokes that drag over every sensitive spot like he already knows your body by heart. he watches your face the whole time, eyes dark and awed, lips parted. every time he pulls almost all the way out and slides back in he whispers something new against your skin.
“i love you,” he mumbles. “you’re so warm, so perfect… fuck, i can’t believe i get to call you mine.”
you meet him halfway, rolling your hips up, nails raking lightly down his spine. the rhythm builds steady and deep, not fast, never fast, like you have years to make up for and all the time in the world to do it. the headboard taps softly against the wall in a lazy, hypnotic beat that matches the hush of the ocean outside.
he kisses you constantly, messy, open-mouthed, swallowing every sound you make. when he angles his hips just right you see stars; your back arches and he groans like it hurts him how good you feel.
“right there, yeah? you want it there?” he asks, voice hoarse, doing it again, again, and again.
you can’t answer with words, just nod frantically and pull him down for a kiss that’s more teeth and tongue and pure need. sweat gathers where your bodies are pressed together, skin sliding slick and perfect. the room smells like salt and sex and the faint lemon of hotel soap and jay, always jay.
he buries his face in your neck, kissing the skin there, sucking gentle marks. the rhythm stays slow, deep, grinding on every thrust so his pelvis rubs your clit and you see stars. you can feel another orgasm building, softer this time, deeper.
“jay,” you whimper, clutching at his shoulders. “i’m close again.”
“i know,” he breathes, lifting his head to watch you. “i want you to come around me this time. i want to feel you let go while i’m inside you.”
he slips a hand between you, thumb finding your clit with devastating accuracy, and circles once, twice, gentle but relentless. your thighs start to shake against his sides and the orgasm rolls through you like warm honey, endless and shattering. you clench hard around him, crying out his name into his mouth, and the feeling of you coming undone around him finally breaks his control.
he thrusts deep one last time and stays there, hips stuttering, face buried in the damp curve of your neck. you feel him pulse inside you, again and again, each throb matched by a broken whisper of your name like it’s the only word he remembers until he finally spills inside you.
“jay, i love you,” you’re able to whimper. “i love you so much.”
after, he doesn’t pull out right away. he stays inside you, kissing your face, your closed eyelids, the tip of your nose, until you’re both giggling breathlessly at how tender it all is. his arms are trembling as they hold his weight off your chest, breath sawing in and out against your throat. you stroke his hair, his back, the nape of his neck, anywhere you can reach, until the shaking stops.
when he finally pulls out it’s careful, almost reluctant. eventually he ties off the condom and collapses beside you, pulling you into his chest. your legs tangle automatically. the room smells like sex and salt air and the two of you. he lifts his head. his eyes are a little red, wet at the corners, and he looks so young and stunned and happy it punches the air out of you.
“hi,” he whispers, voice completely shot.
you laugh, watery and wrecked. “hi.”
you end up half on top of him, cheek over his heart, one of his hands splayed possessively across your lower back, the other tangled in your hair. your legs are still intertwined, sticky and perfect.
the room is quiet except for breathing and the far-off shush of waves. moonlight has shifted; silver stripes paint his collarbone, the slope of your shoulder.
after a minute he starts laughing, soft and disbelieving.
“what?” you mumble into his skin.
“i just had sex with my best friend,” he says, like he’s testing the sentence for flaws and finding none. “and it was,” his voice cracks again. “it was the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
you press a kiss over his heart. “same.”
he squeezes you tighter. “we’re gonna be so annoying now.”
“the most annoying,” you agree, smiling against his chest. “oh, and, for the record, i’m not letting you leave this bed until we have to check out.”
“deal.” he tips your chin up, eyes shining.
for a long time you just breathe together. his fingers trace mindless patterns on your back.
“so,” he says finally, voice hoarse and soft, “what do we do now?”
you press your smile into his collarbone. “we date, i guess?”
he huffs a laugh. “yeah. we date. like, officially. you’re my girlfriend.”
the word makes something warm unfurl in your chest. “and you’re my boyfriend.”
“boyfriend,” he repeats, testing it, grinning. “i like that. a lot.”
you prop your chin on his chest to look at him. “people are gonna lose their minds.”
“let them.” he brushes your hair back. “my mom is gonna cry happy tears, and my own dad is gonna threaten to kill me if i hurt you.”
you snort. “he’ll have to get in line behind your grandma.”
jay’s quiet for a second, thumb stroking your cheek. “are you scared?”
you think about it, his thumb stroking your hip.
“a little,” you admit. “but mostly i’m… relieved.”
you turn in his arms so you’re face to face again.
“just so you know... i want mornings,” he says suddenly. “i want to wake up and make your coffee the way you like it, too much sugar, no matter how wrong it is. i want to argue about whose turn it is to do dishes and then make out against the fridge anyway. i want boring tuesday nights on the couch and big stupid anniversary trips and,” his voice cracks a little, “and i want to come home to you for the rest of my life, if you’ll let me.”
tears prick your eyes without warning.
“yes,” you whisper. “yes to all of it.”
he kisses you again, slow and sweet, like sealing a vow.
“i’ve been scared for years that one day you’d bring someone home and i’d have to smile and be happy for you while my chest caved in.” jay confesses. “but this is better. this is so much better.”
you kiss the center of his palm. “no more pretending.”
“no more pretending,” he echoes. “i get to hold your hand in public. kiss you when i want. tell everyone you’re mine.”
“possessive you is unexpectedly hot,” you tease.
he rolls you gently so you’re under him again, wrists pinned lightly above your head. “you have no idea.”
you arch up to kiss him, slow and lazy. when you break apart he rests his forehead against yours.
“we’ll take it slow with everyone else,” he says seriously. “we’ll tell our families first. then the group chat can explode. but us... we don’t have to figure everything out tonight. we just keep being us, but now i get to love you out loud.”
your eyes sting a little. “i like the sound of that.”
he kisses the tip of your nose. “good. because i plan on being disgustingly in love with you for a very long time.”
you laugh, watery. “disgustingly in love?”
“oh yeah. i’m talking matching halloween costumes, instagram hard launch in like, a week, writing songs about you… the whole cringe package.”
“i can’t wait.” you smile.
he settles beside you again, pulling the sheet up over both of you. you curl into his side, ear over his heart.
“jay?”
“mhm?”
“i’m really glad the hotel messed up the booking.
he laughs, the sound rumbling under your cheek. “me too, baby. me too.”
you talk until the sky outside starts to pale. about stupid little things — who gets the left side of the bed at home, whether you’ll keep separate toothbrushes at each other’s places or just share, if you’ll tell your friends or let them figure it out when you don’t stop touching each other —, and big things — moving in together one day, maybe in a year, maybe sooner; how you’ll handle fights when they come, because they will; how you’ll protect this new, bright thing between you.
and every time one of you starts to worry, the other kisses it quiet.
at some point you must doze off, because you wake to jay pressing soft kisses to your shoulder, whispering, “morning, girlfriend.”
you smile into the pillow. “morning, boyfriend.”
outside, the waves keep rolling in, steady and sure, just like the two of you now, finally on the same page.
boyfriend!jean kirstein purposely annoying you with his stubble ˚.✦
“Jean, personal space,” you try, already knowing that it’s pointless. After telling your boyfriend that his beard couldn’t be considered one, he decided to become an annoying little shit, rubbing his stubble against your face every time he could.
“But I’m not bothering you, am I? There’s nothing in my soft and bare face that can be uncomfortable,” he says, as he presses his cheeks against yours, the little hairs not tickling but rasping against your cheek.
You sigh, trying to tilt your head away, but Jean just follows the movement like it’s a game he’s already winning. His arms are looped around your waist, holding you close on the couch and there’s that smug little smirk on his lips you can feel more than see.
“Jean,” you warn again. “It’s like sandpaper. You’re gonna leave my face red.”
He pulls back just enough to look at you, one eyebrow raised, all fake innocence. “Babe, I shaved this morning, what are you talking about? This is basically baby skin.” To prove his point he drags his jaw slowly along your neck, the short, prickly hairs scraping in a way that makes you squirm and slap at his shoulder.
“Ow, ow, stop! You’re such a little shit!”
Jean chuckles, the sound vibrating against your skin. “A little shit with a smooth face, right?” He nuzzles in again, this time aiming for the sensitive spot just under your ear, rubbing deliberately until you’re giggling and trying to push him off at the same time.
You manage to get a hand between you and pinch his cheek. “It’s not even a beard, it’s… angry peach fuzz that hates me.”
He gasps dramatically. “That’s it. Now I’m never shaving again.” But even as he says it, he’s already leaning back in, pressing his stubbly cheek to yours with extra pressure, grinning like an idiot. “Gotta make sure my ‘bare’ face leaves a lasting impression.”
You groan, but you’re smiling too, because even when he’s being the most annoying boyfriend on the planet, you kind of love how stupidly proud he is of his dumb little victory.
Summary: New York, 1960s. You're a jazz bar singer who's dedicated your lonely life to music. Jean Kirstein is a weary businessman who finds meaning in your music.
Tags: Jean Kirstein is inspired by Donald Draper, madmen refernces, cunnilingus, creampie, p in v, Jean kirstein is half french, making out in a cab, making out, Jean is desperate lowkey, a tons of praising, pet names, my phone is lagging
MDNI
Standing on the stage of "Rattazzi" the luxurious bar, for probably the hundredth time, you feel a multitude of eyes on you. Your dark blue dress with a knee-high slit and your graceful, smooth locks shimmer under the warm spotlight.
Like a siren, you capture the attention of every person in the room. Your voice is captivating, making their hearts flutter. The musicians behind you play soft jazz, complemented by the bliss of your voice.
Everyone's eyes are fixed on you. Admiration is written on each of their faces. You glance at each one, sometimes spotting those you've seen before at your performances. Your gaze sweeps across the tables, and each time you approach a certain spot, your heart begins to flutter and change tempo to a frantic speed.
As always, you find him in his usual place. You don't rush to meet his gaze right away, scanning the rest of the bar first, keeping the tantalizing intrigue to yourself, giving yourself and him time.
He always sits in the same place, no further, no closer. He always drinks the same scotch. He always watches the same singer - you - and disappears until the next day of your performance. He did the same thing now.
It's been a tough day. Your manager is pressuring you, signing contracts on your behalf with people you don't want to deal with. You're a beautiful young woman in a world of wild men. You're surviving, forced to play by their rules. Which is why you still haven't been able to find the love of your life.
Everyone who knows you sees you as a piece of meat, a toy. They don't take you seriously. In a world where can't give anyone your all, you gave your all to the stage.
You needed to catch your breath, to take your mind off those clinging eyes. So, after leaving "Rattazzi", you settled into the "P.J. Clarke's", not bothering to change into your stage attire.
Ordering a whiskey and soda, you down the glass, feeling the liquid pleasantly burn your throat. Without giving yourself time to catch your breath, you repeated the order. The bartender peered at your expression with interest, but politely spared you any comments or uninvited dialogue.
When a soda appeared in front of you instead of the third whiskey, you looked questioningly at the bartender. At that moment, he handed you a note.
"Spare yourself the morning headache." J.
The bartender pointed to a man sitting at one of the tables. You cautiously turned around, and your heart skipped a beat. It was him. Your quiet listener, with whom you'd never exchanged words before, and you didn't need to. Silent glances were enough.
He'd already bought you a drink at the bar once, but being tired and overworked, you couldn't think of a better option than to leave. Although, of course, the main reason was that you were afraid to trust a man. In a world where you'd only ever had your heart broken, you didn't want to be alone again, picking it up piece by piece.
But he won't let you sleep peacefully. Showing up at your performances, he's become so ingrained in your head that, without even realizing it, he's become a frequent guest in your dreams.
You want to approach him, to say something. At least to thank him. But you're afraid. However, the next moment, you had to thank heaven for him standing up and walking over to the bar, sitting at the next stool.
"Forgive me if that was impudent of me." He took off his hat, placing it on the counter.
'So that's what his voice sounds like.' You think.
"Oh, actually I wanted to thank you." You spoke, clutching the glass in your hands.
For some reason, you thought he was nervous too. As if he'd been trying to muster up his courage the whole time he'd been sitting alone at the table.
"No need to thank me, it's nothing."
His voice was soft and velvety. It combined weariness, calm, and a certain comfort. Even as a singer yourself, you wanted to listen to it.
"Just tell me if there's anything else I can do for you. Everyone has tough days. It's important not to be alone."
Damn, he speaks so beautifully. Even the simplest words from his lips sound like poetry. He's so captivating that you forget to answer him.
"Forgive me if I'm intruding. I have no intention of disturbing your peace." He barely reached for his hat, but your voice stopped him.
"You're not disturbing me at all. Honestly, you've brought me the peace. Otherwise, I'd have gotten drunk. Thank you." You said softly, sipping your soda.
"I'm glad I helped in some way. However, one "no" from you and I'll be gone; I don't want to disturb you." A brief silence. "It must be hard to endure so many glances in an evening?"
It was as if he read you like an open book. As if he'd come not to a performance, but to a conversation with you, where, through your glances, he understood absolutely everything.
"You could say that. But don't let it bother you. As you said, everyone has tough days." You drained your glass, still finding it difficult to look him in the eye. The scent of his perfume wafted through your eyes, clouding your mind like alcohol.
"I also said it's important not to be alone."
You looked up at him, seeing a slight smile on his face, and couldn't help but smile too. Even sitting there, it was clear he was a very tall man. He was very handsome in general. His ash-brown hair was perfectly combed, his eyebrows were thin, and his jawline was sharper than a knife. His sharp eyes could pierce you, but they looked at you cautiously. A dark circles were visible beneath them. He must have worked hard.
Without bothering you with questions, he put on his hat and rose from the table. Yes, he really was very tall.
"Would you like to take a walk?" He gallantly extended his hand, helping you up from the bar.
New York at night was mesmerizing, the streetlights shimmering with colors. It was especially pleasant to have such a man and his scent nearby. You walked side by side, only your shoulders brushing, and at first, you were both silent.
"Tell me about yourself, J." You finally broke the silence, and your question made him smile.
"Jean Kirstein. I work in advertising."
"Advertising? What exactly do you do?"
"I develop advertising concepts with my team, attend client meetings at bars, and go on business trips. Nothing special."
"That sounds interesting. So, you...take clients to the bar where I perform, too?" For some reason, you felt sad.
"No, no. I always go to your perfomances alone. Those disgusting rich people will never understand the art of your music. I'd hate to share such beauty with them."
A sigh of relief, but your heart began to beat faster.
'How beautifully he speaks.'
"So you understand it? The art of my music?"
"I'd like to believe so. At the very least, I interpret it to suit my own life."
"That's exactly how I want my music to be received by listeners. As for me, there's no need to adapt to my perception if I'm a singer. After all, everyone lives their lives differently." You reason, walking side by side with him.
"Then I'm doing everything right." He looked down at his feet and, sighing, continued. "You know, I should thank you for your music. When I was feeling down, I'd come to "Rattazzi" and listen to you. And I'd truly forget what had previously driven me crazy. You saved me. Thank you for that."
"Don't thank me. I'm doing what I love. What saves you saves me."
"Then we're even." He smiled, looking in your direction.
"I guess so." You met his gaze.
A cool wind cut through your skin, causing you to involuntarily press closer to Jean, searching for even the slightest source of warmth. Naturally, he noticed it immediately. Without hesitation, he pulled off his coat, and it settled on your shoulders.
"Sorry I didn't do this sooner. I should have known you'd be cold in a dress."
"Please don't apologize. It was my fault for going out like that. Thank you so much." You hugged the jacket to yourself, warming yourself. The scent of his expensive perfume now enveloped your body. "Where are we even going?"
"Honestly, I forgot myself while talking to you. We're just walking straight ahead." He cleared his throat. "But you seem cold outside?"
"A little, but it's okay." You lie, but only to prolong the time with him.
"I'd invite you over, but that would sound like I'm trying to lure you into bed." He awkwardly turned away.
"No, it's fine. I wouldn't thinm that"
"Then I'll catch a cab."
He hailed a passing taxi and opened the door for you, then climbed in next. The car headed towards Jean's address.
You sit so close, and even though the car is warmer than outside, you snuggle into him again. His cheek brushes the top of your head; it seems he's been waiting for this.
You lift your head and see that his gaze is fixed on you. He's so close that you can hear his even, slightly ragged breathing. It's as if Jean is afraid to scare you off by making the first move. So you decide to take it yourself.
You carefully move your face closer to his, and see him doing the same. Then you decide to close your eyes, surrendering to what's about to happen. Your lips finally touch in a tender, warm kiss. But after a few seconds, you break the kiss, studying each other's reactions. Seeing the green light in your eyes, he continues, connecting again in a more passionate kiss. He gently placed his hand on your cheek, tracing it with his thumb. Your hand clutched his shoulder, as if you were about to collapse.
The car stopped. Jean generously paid for the ride and, taking your hand, led you into a large apartment complex.
The elevator doors closed behind you, he quickly pressed the button for the 99th floor, and without wasting a second, he pressed you against the elevator wall, causing you to gasp in surprise.
"Sorry, did I hurt you?" He pressed his forehead to yours.
"No, it's okay."
And you were kissing each other again, as if this was your life's purpose. One of Jean's hands held the elevator wall, while the other found its place on your waist, perfectly accentuated by the sparkly dress.
"You're so beautiful." His lips hungrily moved from yours to your cheeks, to your forehead, to your chin. From the way he sighed, you could tell he'd been craving this for a long time.
"Fuck, you're so beautiful, my god." He continued to whisper between kisses. However, he was interrupted by the ding of the elevator stopping.
He led you again, holding your hand. Quickly opening the door to his apartment, he let you in and slammed it behind him.
You looked around and saw a luxurious penthouse with expensive wooden furniture. A large TV box stood in the living room, leaving no doubt about Jean's wealth. The interior, in shades of brown, burgundy, and gold, gave the apartment a rich feel. Jean definitely had taste. The room smelled like a bar: of alcohol and perfume. Jean himself smelled almost exactly like it.
You took off your jacket and wanted to hang it up somewhere, but Jean picked it up and tossed it on the floor. He didn't care about it right now.
He led you into the bedroom by the waist, and you stood right over his large, high king-size bed. However, he took his time.
"Tell me you want this. I won't dare touch you without your permission." He whispered in your ear, leaving a trail of lips along the way.
"I really want this, Jean. I need you." Your hand moved to the back of his head, your fingers slowly combing through his hair, causing him to close his eyes.
"Good. Let me take off your dress."
You turned around, giving him access to the zipper on your dress. The clasp creaked, and you felt your breathing ease. Jean carefully pulled the dress off your shoulders, immediately covering them with hot kisses. The dress slid down your body, revealing you in just your underwear.
"You're gorgeous."
However, he noticed the blush rising on your cheeks and the way you involuntarily tried to cover your body with your hand.
"Are you embarrassed? Look at yourself, you have a perfect body. No need to hide yourself." He ran his hand over your skin, causing goosebumps to rise in his wake. "I can't take my eyes off you."
You listened silently to his compliments, wondering when you'd last heard anything like that about yourself, other than nasty comments from drunks.
You reached for his shirt, unbuttoning the buttons with trembling fingers. Then you pulled his undershirt off, revealing his toned body. Jean clearly worked out regularly. He wasn't a super-muscled guy or, on the contrary, a skeleton. This was the body you'd always considered ideal in a man. The body you'd fantasized about on lonely nights.
Your hand slid over his chest, his sculpted abs. Without giving you much time to admire him, he gently cupped your chin and captured your lips again. Jean took his time, but the kiss was so passionate, like thousands of flames mingling into a single, searing bonfire. You'd forgotten that just half an hour ago you'd been freezing on the streets of New York. Now you see this city from a large window 99 stories up, and you feel warm. Hot, even.
He slowly lays you down on the bed and hovers over you, never breaking the kiss. His tongue glides between your lips, and you part them, inviting him in. Now his and your tongues are intertwined in a single vine, moving in unison. He lets out a low sigh, matching dozens of yours.
Your fingers run through his hair, tangling the strands you'd tousled in the car. He begins kissing your neck, leaving hot, wet trails and a wave of goosebumps in his wake. You tilt your head back, giving him more access, and he begins to cover every accessible area of your skin with his warmth. Moaning under his touch, you can only lie there and feel your body being worshiped. However, Jean doesn't demand anything else.
After kissing your entire neck, he moved lower, sliding his tongue along your collarbones. Then lower still, reaching the edge of your bra.
"Can I take it off? Please." His light brown eyes were filled with animalistic need; it all brought him a wave of pleasure.
"Y-yes, of course."
He lifted you from underneath and, with a deft flick of his hand, unclasped your bra, pulling it off with excruciating slowness.
"So beautiful. Damn, I've never seen a woman more beautiful than you." His lips were on you again, first in the valley between your breasts, then on one hardened nipple, while his fingers played with the other. All of this created an incredible feeling of intoxication, causing your toes to curl.
Without lingering in one place for too long, he moved even lower. Jean's tongue deftly glided over the curves of your body. He kisses your stomach, reaching the hem of your panties. Instead of taking them off, he slowly spreads your legs, positioning himself between them. Just short of touching you, he returns that pleading look in his eyes, as if he desperately needs to touch you there. "May I..?"
"Yes, please.."
He slowly runs his middle finger over the now-wet fabric. You both sighed simultaneously: you from the pleasure of feeling it, he from the pleasure of seeing it and being the cause.
After a couple of slow strokes, he moves the fabric aside, finally revealing the sweetest part. Your folds have long been wet, glistening under the light of his chandelier. His eyes play with both lust and tenderness, and it's unclear whether he balances effortlessly between them or is actually struggling between the two.
His finger is there again, but without the interference of the fabric, and it makes you squirm from the warmth of his fingers.
"Already so wet for me? I barely touched you." He smiled, continuing to move his fingers.
Then he lowers his face to your cunt, and you completely lose your composure as his tongue touches your swollen folds. His name leaves your lips with such need that goosebumps run through him. He knows he's damn hard, but first, he wants to focus on your pleasure.
Jean's tongue swirls with such precision and speed that it creates a perfect rhythm. You feel your head go dizzy, long since carried away by the wave of pleasure. Your fingers grip the sheets, and he intertwines the fingers of his other hand with his, supporting you.
"Fuck, so sweet. You're so sweet." He eats you out like he hasn't eaten in hundreds of days, and now it's time to feast. The room fills with the slurping of his tongue against your cunt and your moans.
As if you weren't dizzy enough, he decided to add his fingers, carefully entering you with one. Then, slowly, the second one entered you. His long fingers reached spots you couldn't reach on your own.
He slowly pulled them out and then back in, playing with your clit with his tongue. When you got used to his fingers inside you, he began to spread them, stretching you for more. Your back arched and your hips moved toward him, but he held you back by hip with his hand, preventing you from moving.
"Can you stay still for me, ma belle? Gotta stretch you open, okay?" He spoke to you tenderly, continuing to pleasure you with his tongue and fingers.
"Of course, sorry. It's just...fuck, it feels so good." You responded, breathing heavily, trying for him.
"I know. I know, pretty. You'll feel even better soon, ma jolie."
"Are you French?" Your question, asked between moans, caught him off guard.
"Only a half." He smiled, continuing to pleasure you, spreading his fingers inside you.
You felt especially good when he touched that sensitive spot. And now, when he does it again, you feel a volcano awaken inside you. He noticed how your legs trembled and your body tensed, so he sped up the movements of his tongue and fingers. As the "volcano" erupted, you forgot everything except his name, which you clung to so desperately.
"Jean! Jean!" He uttered, accompanied by moans and ragged breaths.
"You're doing so good, cum for me, beautiful." He praised you as your hole squeezed his fingers.
When the wave of orgasm passed, he lifted himself up, and you noticed how his lips and chin glistened, drenched in your arousal. But Jean seemed only too happy about it.
He hovered over you and kissed you, letting you taste your own arousal. Kissing and lightly nibbling your lips, he involuntarily began to rub his bulge against your thighs.
"Can we continue? Or are you tired?" He asked in a whisper, silently praying that you wanted more.
"Yes, of course. I need you inside me, Jean." You drawled, sending shivers down his spine.
"Fuck, Angel. I feel like a madman with you."
He wastes no time unbuckling his belt, then the fly of his perfectly pressed pants. Then he pulls down his boxers. Now you see how big he is. Not ridiculously big, but impressive.
Jean reached for the nightstand for a condom, but you stopped him.
"That's not necessary, I'm on the pill."
"Are you sure?"
Your nod was enough. He's above you again, his hand to your mouth. You immediately understand for what, and spit into it.
"Good girl." He lubes up his cock and spreads your legs. "Spread those pretty legs wider for me, dear."
You do as he says with obvious impatience. And your body language doesn't go unnoticed.
"So eager for me, aren't you?" He smirked lightly, brushing the head of his cock, leaking pre-cum, against your entrance.
"Jean, please..." You whine with anticipation.
"Please what, ma belle? Tell me what you need." He gently stroked your hair, feigning confusion.
"Please put it inside me." If only you knew how much he wanted it, but held back to please you before.
"You want it that much, hmm? Who am I to deny you?" He slowly moved his head along your entrance again. "Now breathe."
And you felt a pleasant stretch inside. His hard cock entered you slowly, causing your toes to curl and your head to tilt back. Jean bowed his head, exhaling heavily. "Fuck, so tight even after all that stretching."
"Jean!" You moaned, holding onto his broad, strong back.
"I know, honey, I know." He tried to soothe you, even though he himself was on the verge of losing his mind.
"Fuck...I can't..." Your eyes sparkled with the pleasure that enveloped you completely. But Jean was there, looking at your cheek and kissing your face relentlessly.
"Yes, you can. See how good you're taking me already?" He repeated the praise over and over, mixing english and french. It seemed he wasn't even aware of the pace.
After a moment, he began to move inside you. Back and forth. Your voices and sighs blended into a single symphony of meaningless words.
"You sound even more beautiful in bed than on stage. Please keep saying my name, angel." He pleaded with you with the most desperate look on his face. He sped up inside you. Back and forth. You're gasping for air, scratching his back, and he keeps kissing your face like you can slip out of his hands.
When it became too much for him, he buried his face in the crook of your neck. "How are you feeling, beautiful? Is it enough?"
Oh.
He fucks you like he's given you a second wind, and he dares to ask if it's enough?
"Jean...you're so good...oh my god." Your voice cracks, trying to say something coherent, but you feel too dizzy to care.
You thought he was as deep inside you as possible, when he manages to go even deeper, reaching a sensitive spot. You feel your vision blur as tears start to form again. It doesn't hurt, no. He would never allow himself to do that. You cry from how pleasantly Jean Kirstein moves inside you.
"Fuuuuck, ma belle." He himself is barely holding on, though. Seeing the tears in your eyes, he began to collect them with his lips, continuing to cover your face with kisses. The taste of your fluid on his tongue mingled with the taste of your tears.
Still moving inside you, he began to massage your clit with his fingers, driving you completely crazy.
"Jeaaaan...'m so close..."
"Me too, honey. We're gonna cum together, yeah?" His breathing became even more ragged, his moans grew louder.
A few more measured, sweet thrusts, and you both tensed, looking into each other's eyes.
And it came. The most pleasant and gracious orgasm of your life. You both felt transported to paradise for a while. It was impossible to feel such tempting pleasure in the real world.
You felt him fill you with his seed. Warmth spread throughout your body as you are recovering from the wave of orgasm.
"Gorgeous. You're so gorgeous. So perfect." He couldn't stop praising you. He could go on an on praising you endlessly.
He pulled out and stroked your legs with his hands. His lips covered your neck and shoulders with kisses.
"Do you need anything? I can order some food and I have a TV." He asked, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear.
"No, thanks. Right now I only need you. And a shower a little later." You laid your head on his chest, and Jean covered you both with a blanket.
"Of course." He kissed the top of your head. "How are you feeling?"
"Dizzy and sleepy. But I've never felt so good."
"Me too. You were magical." He stroked your forearms with soothing movements. "Sing me one of your songs."
Inumaki lives by the idea that his dorm is also yours. You know his key code to get in, he has a drawer dedicated to your stuff, your second toothbrush sits against his, and he always stocks up on your favourite snacks and drinks.
When he returns to Jujutsu high, well after midnight and stepping quietly through the hallways, his bed always seems to have a visitor. You, buried beneath the covers in one of his t-shirts, tiny pyjama shorts hugging your thighs, squeezing your child shared teddy in deep sleep.
He strips quickly, too exhausted to throw on pyjamas and slips behind you, only in boxers, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you flush against his chest. His head dips into the curve of your neck, lips pressing feathery kisses against the exposed skin and inhaling deeply.
Sleep soon overtakes him, bodies pressed up against each other and providing familial warmth, breaths in sync even when unaware.
In the mornings, when you finally awake encased in Inumaki’s arms, you stretch your own above your head, rolling to face him and placing little kisses on his nose. His face crumples up slightly, cursed speech marks moving with his skin as he slowly rouses from slumber.
These mornings are filled with soft love, gentle touches, lingering kisses, and little hums of communication. The pain in his throat from the previous mission subsides the more he stares at you, the more you press your soft lips against his, curing his mouth from any evil it has committed.
During the weekend, when students are finally allowed time to relax, you choose to spend it lounging around your boyfriend’s dorm instead of your own. You sit in his lap whilst he plays video games, cover his face in hello kitty stickers, cover his wall in pictures of you two, mess up his bed every time you sprawl out on it, and force him to watch your favourite youtubers together.
It is one evening, however, eating dinner on Inumaki’s lap as he plays fortnite that you turn to face him, tapping him on the cheek. His focus is redirected over to you for a few seconds before he glances back at the screen again, placing his character in a safe place.
“I have a question,” you begin shyly.
“Salmon?”
“Do I stay in your dorm too much? You can tell me to leave if I do.” His brow twitches in concern, one hand already reaching for his phone. “I don’t want to annoy you by constantly being in your space.”
His fingers furiously type before presenting a message on his notes app.
you don’t stay in my dorm too much. i love it when you stay for days at a time and i’d never tell you to leave >:( you can never annoy me baby <33
You immediately wrap your arms around his neck, pressing a wet smooch against his cheek. “Thank you, Inu. I was getting worried. Are you sure sure?”
He nods firmly, nudging the controller into your hands. A silent affirmation that he did want you here. Always.
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