“hi.” jake greeted you once the door swung open, a faint smile accompanying him.
the corners of your lips tugged upwards easily as you looked jake up and down with hidden fondness—which probably wasn’t discreet to anyone who wasn’t jake.
you stepped aside, allowing him to enter before starting to walk off. he silently tailed after you, hands dug in the pockets of his hoodie while you led him to the living room.
the tv had already been switched on in preparation, and you wordlessly patted the spot next to you, signaling for him to take a seat. jake cautiously lowered himself, daringly closer than the last time both of you found yourself in similar spot, yet neither of you took it upon you to say it.
the moment was cut short once jake’s attention landed on the table in front of him, his eyes suddenly wide with surprise. “did you buy these?” he nearly exclaimed. how he hadn’t noticed the two plates, each holding a slice of tres leches cake, was beyond him.
“i made them.”
“they look good.” he remarked, his arm reaching to grab a plate before remembering his limits. he looked over at you, expecting some form of approval before taking one. you simply nodded, a silent gesture which was enough for jake to lean forward, taking the fork in his hand and admiring the creation in front of him.
you chuckled. “thanks. should we start the movie?” you leaned over to grab the other plate before settling back against the cushion behind you. you picked up the remote, ready to browse through the movies categorised as rom-com when it suddenly hit you.
“wait actually—” you didn’t finish your sentence, instead jumping to your feet before rushing out of the room. jake’s fork was frozen midair, unsure of whether to wait for you or continue eating.
it was less than a minute later that you re-entered the room, this time with none other than clover in your arms. “i told you she missed you.”
jake’s face lit up, watching clover nuzzled into your elbow. “missed me, but wasn’t here to greet me.” he raised an eyebrow before bringing the fork to his mouth, relishing the flavours of the cake.
you sat down with a soft hum, stroking clover who relaxed in your lap. “she gets shy around cute guys.” you said with casually.
jake’s second bite didn’t go as smoothly as his first. he coughed at the impact your words had on him, the sweet treat suddenly burning the back of his throat. he must’ve heard you wrong, he thought. but the small, knowing smile that grew on your face as you barely spared him a glance made him dare to think otherwise.
“let’s watch this.” you decided, and jake didn’t protest, too caught up in trying to process the casualness of your flirtation.
the movie began. you and jake continued to eat what was left of the cake, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t taking sneaky glances his way whenever he put another bite of your food in his mouth, the obvious enjoyment on his face making you smile inwardly.
by the 30th minute, clover had settled into jake’s lap, his sturdy hands moving over her in a slow, rhythmic pattern that somehow held your attention more than the film itself.
“i think she really likes you.” you muttered loud enough for jake’s head to turn. the confusion lasted barely a second before he softly laughed, looking down at the topic of discussion in question. “how can you tell?” jake asked, using both his hands to rub her.
you watched in silence at the way clover seemed to ease right into his palm, at the way jake’s hands handled her with nothing but pure care. and in that moment you thought, who wouldn’t like jake?
someone filled with so much love in him, and care for those around him, was hard not to fall for.
“she looks comfortable.” you observed. “i think she feels safe with you, or likes being near you.”
the room seemed to grow quieter after that, the movie fading into a background noise as your words lingered.
you’re sure the implications didn’t go unnoticed by him. how just like clover, you seemed to share the same sentiment for being around him.
but then again, this was jake—the kind of guy who approached affection with hesitation.
it was hard not to fall for him.
with jake’s presence so close beside you, you could barely pay any attention to the movie. you felt the brush of his sleeve against your arm every so often, and you’re not exactly sure how and when the distance placed between you became nearly nonexistent, but it felt all too natural. too domestic.
so you took a risk. you leaned closer—just a little bit more, to gauge his reaction.
jake stilled, before slowly relaxing. a small, breathy exhale following.
he didn’t move away, which felt like encouragement. you placed your head on his shoulder with precision, making sure to give him enough time to stop you. jake let you, his body still stiff. you noticed, of course.
“sorry” you whispered, suddenly growing too conscious of your impulsive action. jake shook his head, unable to turn and look at you. “no.. it’s okay.” he assured you.
his body felt rigid beneath you. “you’re tense.” you pointed out, slowly lifting your head back up. you barely got away before jake’s hand shot out, placed on your temple as he lowered you back onto the line of his shoulder.
without a word, he adjusted himself, angling his body for your head you lean more comfortably.
you could feel an eruption of various feelings in your lower abdomen, unable to hide the ecstatic smile.
you really couldn’t care less about the movie, not when you were pressed into jake’s side, and he seemed into it.
you almost let out a laugh at the irony of it all. would you have told yourself a few months earlier that you’d be in this position—jake sat in your living room, caressing clover as if she was his daughter, and your head rested on him, you would’ve found it ridiculous.
and now, you don’t think you would’ve wanted it any other way if given the chance.
you didn’t notice the ending credits rolling in, too lost in your own thoughts until jake gently nudged you. “that was fun.” his voice came out hushed.
you nodded in agreement, remaining your position on his shoulder. “so.. what now.”
“i don’t know.” you shrugged. “i kinda don’t want you to leave yet.”
you could feel the sharp intake of a breath jake took, his body going tense again for a short moment before it eased, the weight of his head suddenly on top of yours. “me neither.”
so you opted to silence. staring at the home screen on your tv with nothing to say. both you and jake basking in the warmth, as well as comfort of each other’s presence.
it was stupid, and you barely lasted 3 minutes before you scoffed out a laugh. “i can’t believe we’re just sitting here in silence.” you humoured.
“i don’t mind it.”
“me too.”
you carried on for another few minutes, nothing but the sound of each other's breathing as well as your heart beating rapidly filling the room.
“i meant what i said, by the way.” you started. “about enjoying spending time with you and stuff.”
“i never thought i'd get this close to you.” you chuckled further. jake’s hands twitched in his lap, trying to bite back the smile that was forming on his face.
for a moment, he wondered if you could feel the pulsing of his heart from where you laid on him. if you could see the way his hands were starting to get a little clammy, and if the burning heat emitted from his body was obvious.
“i don’t think i expected this either.” jake decided that was the safest thing his mind could conjure in that moment. had he let himself think too long, he might say something stupid. such as how he couldn’t tell you what went on in the last 50 minutes of the movie, his mind and body too busy trying to not feel things with you pressed into his side.
his phone buzzed beside him, and it felt like the bubble he lived in got bursted with it. he eyed the time, a sudden reminder of how late it was getting. he sighed, reluctantly. “i should probably go before it gets late.”
this time, you froze. jake felt it, and it was enough to make him want to eat his own words and promise you a few more minutes like this. “okay.” you nodded, getting off him.
the walk to the door felt bitter. as if both of you knew the other wanted nothing more than to stay a little longer. you watched him put his shoes on before he straightened back up.
“get home safely.” you reminded him. jake nodded. he should’ve taken that as his cue to leave, but you looked at him in a way that told him you couldn’t bear the thought of him doing so.
and then you did something neither of you expected. you leaped forward, wrapping your arms around jake’s shoulders before pulling him into a hug.
jake hardened, both his hands stranded on each side of his body, unsure of where to place them. the lack of response made you aware, and you panicked, ready to pull back and pretend this never happened.
you felt jake’s hands on you before you could do so. cautiously, because jake was nothing if not cautious. and suddenly he was against you again.
the hug was awkward at first as jake tried to withhold his overwhelming need to touch you. but then you tightened your arms by a little, and jake took it further. his arms circling around you fully until there was no space left.
he held you as if you were everything he had, or everything he needed. it wasn’t awkward anymore, but intimate in ways neither of you could voice.
you stayed like that for a little longer, held in jake’s arms as you both enjoyed the feeling of each other.
“i should go.” jake whispered into the side of your head, yet neither of you made a move. wanting the moment to last just a bit more.
previous masterlist next
𝗇𝗈𝗍𝖾𝗌𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺𝖾 : the jakeyn date. they’re so in love with each other. and clover cameo too. and also yn got to feed jake her tres leches. a little bit of this a little bit of that.
╰┈➤ you and sunghoon are going through a divorce but then finds out your pregnant.
✴ husband!sunghoon x preg!reader ✴ Warnings: Angst with a happy ending, divorce, marriage in crisis, arguments, emotional turmoil, secret pregnancy, morning sickness, crying, guilt, miscommunication, reconciliation.
The divorce papers had been sitting untouched on the dining table for six days. Every morning, you walked past the cream-colored envelope with your eyes fixed anywhere but there, convincing yourself that if you ignored it long enough, maybe the end of your marriage would disappear with it. It never did. The signatures waited patiently beneath the flap, yours written with trembling hands, his clean and effortless, just like everything Park Sunghoon ever did. Five years of marriage had somehow been reduced to ink on paper, and neither of you had found the courage to send them to the lawyers. Perhaps it was fear. Perhaps it was denial. Or perhaps, deep down, neither of you was ready to admit that the love you had fought so hard for was slipping through your fingers.
Sunghoon hadn't always been this distant. Before becoming the CEO of PARK Group, he had been the kind of husband who insisted on driving you everywhere because he claimed the roads were "full of idiots."
He'd leave little sticky notes inside your handbag just to make you smile during work, surprise you with late-night convenience store dates after exhausting weeks, and hold your hand whenever the two of you crossed the street, even though you constantly teased him for it. Somewhere between endless board meetings, overseas investors, and the pressure of keeping a billion-dollar company alive, those little gestures disappeared.
At first, you told yourself it was temporary. Then weeks became months, and months became years, until the silence between the two of you became louder than any argument you'd ever had.
The front door unlocked just after eleven that night. You heard the familiar click of expensive leather shoes against the marble floor before his coat landed over the back of a chair.
"You're still awake?" he asked quietly, surprised to find the television still glowing in the dark living room.
You looked up from the untouched mug of tea in your hands and forced a tired smile that didn't quite reach your eyes. "I couldn't sleep."
He nodded as if he understood, although the truth was neither of you understood each other anymore. He loosened his tie, rolling his shoulders with a wince. "The meeting ran longer than expected. I tried calling."
A bitter laugh escaped before you could stop it. "You always have a meeting, Sunghoon." His expression hardened ever so slightly. "I'm doing this for us."
"No," you whispered, standing from the couch. "You keep saying that, but somewhere along the way, there stopped being an 'us.' It's just you... and your company."
The argument didn't explode all at once. It built slowly, quietly, through years of missed dinners, forgotten anniversaries, and conversations cut short by another ringing phone. You couldn't even remember what had started this one. Maybe it was the fact that he'd canceled yet another weekend away because an investor had flown in unexpectedly. Maybe it was because he'd answered three work calls while you were trying to tell him about your day. Or maybe it was because you were simply exhausted from feeling like you came second to a company that would still exist long after the two of you had fallen apart.
"I don't even recognize you anymore," you said, your voice trembling despite your attempts to stay composed. "Do you know what the worst part is? I don't think you recognize yourself either."
Sunghoon stood across the kitchen island, still dressed in his tailored charcoal suit. He looked just as tired as you felt, his tie hanging loose around his neck and the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled to his forearms. He opened his mouth to respond before closing it again, rubbing a hand over his face in frustration.
"You think this is easy for me?" he asked quietly. "Do you think I enjoy leaving before you're awake and coming home after you've gone to bed? I'm trying to keep everything together."
"And what about us?" you whispered. "Who's keeping us together?"
He looked away.
That was answer enough.
The next morning, the divorce papers were drafted.
Neither of you cried when the lawyers handed them over.
Neither of you protested.
It almost scared you how calm everything had become.
The screaming had stopped.
The tears had stopped.
It felt like your marriage had simply... run out of emotion.
For the next week, the penthouse became nothing more than a place the two of you happened to share. Sunghoon slept in the guest room. You stayed in the master bedroom. Meals were eaten separately. Conversations were reduced to polite questions that sounded more appropriate between strangers than husband and wife.
"Have you seen my watch?"
"It's on your desk."
"Thank you."
"You're welcome."
That was it.
No warmth.
No affection.
Just silence.
Then the nausea started.
The first morning, you barely thought anything of it. Stress could make people sick. Anyone going through a divorce would feel exhausted. But when you found yourself gagging at the smell of breakfast three days in a row, a tiny voice in the back of your mind began whispering something you refused to believe.
Standing in the pharmacy after work, you stared at the pregnancy tests for what felt like forever. Your fingers hovered over the shelf before finally grabbing one and shoving it into your basket as quickly as possible. You prayed nobody you knew would see you.
The drive home felt endless.
Your hands wouldn't stop shaking.
You locked yourself inside the bathroom before finally opening the small box, reading the instructions three separate times because the words refused to register. The timer on your phone counted down three agonizing minutes while you paced back and forth across the marble floor.
One line.
Relief flooded your body.
Then...
A second line appeared so faintly you almost convinced yourself you were imagining it.
You blinked.
It grew darker.
Your heart stopped.
"...No."
You picked up the test with trembling fingers, staring at it as if it might somehow change if you looked hard enough.
Positive.
The room spun.
You slowly slid down against the bathroom wall until you were sitting on the cold floor, your knees pulled tightly against your chest.
Pregnant.
You were pregnant.
A sob escaped before you could stop it.
It wasn't because you didn't want the baby.
It was because the timing felt impossibly cruel.
Only a week ago, you and Sunghoon had agreed your marriage couldn't be saved.
Now there was another heartbeat growing inside you.
One that belonged to both of you.
Tears blurred your vision as you instinctively rested a hand against your stomach. It was too early to feel anything. Too early to even look pregnant. Yet knowing that your child was there made everything feel different.
A sharp knock at the bathroom door made you jump.
"Y/N?"
Sunghoon's voice was muffled through the wood.
"You've been in there for a while."
Your heart leaped into your throat.
Quickly wrapping the test in tissues, you hid it beneath spare towels inside the cabinet before splashing cold water across your face.
"I'm okay," you called back, though your voice cracked.
The door opened as soon as you unlocked it.
Sunghoon frowned the second he saw you.
Your eyes were red.
Your cheeks were damp.
"You've been crying."
You immediately shook your head. "It's nothing."
"It doesn't look like nothing."
He took a hesitant step toward you, his usual guarded expression replaced by genuine concern. Carefully, almost instinctively, he reached out and brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear. The gentle touch caught you off guard. He hadn't touched you like that in months.
"You don't look well," he murmured. "You've barely eaten this week, and every morning I hear you getting sick."
"It's just stress."
"You've been saying that every day."
"I know."
His brows knitted together. "Maybe we should go to the hospital."
"No."
The answer came far too quickly.
His eyes searched yours, confusion flickering across his face.
"...Why not?"
You forced a smile that felt painfully fake.
"I just need some rest."
For several long seconds, he simply looked at you.
Then he sighed softly.
"If you start feeling worse..." His voice was quieter now. "...please tell me."
You nodded even though you had no intention of doing that.
As he turned to leave, he paused at the doorway without looking back.
"I know things between us are... complicated right now."
Your chest tightened.
"But that doesn't mean I stop caring about you."
The bedroom fell silent after he walked away.
The tears you'd been desperately holding back finally spilled over again.
Because hearing those words only made your secret feel heavier.
And for the first time since seeing those two pink lines...
You wondered how long you could keep it from him.
The following morning, you woke before the sun had fully risen. A dull ache settled behind your eyes while another wave of nausea rolled through your stomach, forcing you to sit up abruptly. You barely made it to the bathroom before gripping the edge of the sink, your breathing uneven as you waited for the feeling to pass.
When it finally did, you leaned against the cool marble countertop, staring at your reflection. You looked exhausted. The dark circles beneath your eyes had become impossible to hide, and your cheeks had noticeably lost their color. You quietly opened the cabinet beneath the sink, pulling out the pregnancy test one last time before slipping it into your pocket. A few hours later, you found yourself sitting alone in your obstetrician's office, nervously twisting the sleeve of your sweater while waiting for your name to be called.
"Mrs. Park?" the nurse smiled warmly.
You stood, following her into the examination room. Everything happened so quickly after that—blood tests, questions about your health, and finally the ultrasound. You hadn't expected to cry, yet the moment the tiny image appeared on the monitor, your vision blurred.
"There," the doctor said gently, pointing toward the screen. "It's still very early, but everything looks healthy."
Healthy.
The word echoed in your ears.
Your hand instinctively rested against your stomach as tears silently rolled down your cheeks. You couldn't stop staring at the tiny flicker on the monitor. It didn't look like much to anyone else, but to you, it was everything.
The doctor handed you a small black-and-white ultrasound photo before smiling kindly. "Congratulations. Judging by the measurements, you're just over eight weeks pregnant. Morning sickness and fatigue are completely normal. Try not to skip meals, even if eating feels difficult. If your symptoms become worse, give us a call."
You nodded absentmindedly, clutching the ultrasound picture so carefully it felt as though it might disappear if you held it too tightly.
On the drive home, your eyes drifted toward the passenger seat where the envelope rested. You couldn't stop imagining what would happen if Sunghoon saw it.
Would he smile?
Would he cry?
Or would he stay...
Only because he felt obligated?
That question had haunted you since the moment you found out.
You knew your husband better than anyone.
Park Sunghoon never walked away from responsibility.
If he learned about the baby now, he'd tear up the divorce papers without a second thought.
Not because the two of you had fixed your marriage.
Not because the hurt had magically disappeared.
Because he would convince himself that staying was the right thing to do.
You refused to let your child become the reason someone stayed in a loveless marriage.
You wanted your baby to grow up in a home filled with love, not guilt.
By the time you reached the penthouse, you'd made up your mind.
The pregnancy would remain your secret.
At least for now.
When you stepped inside, the house was unusually quiet.
Sunghoon's shoes were by the front door, meaning he'd gotten home before you for once. You slipped the ultrasound into your handbag before walking farther inside.
The smell of food drifted from the kitchen.
You froze.
Sunghoon stood at the stove wearing a simple white shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. His suit jacket was tossed over one of the dining chairs, and an apron—one you'd bought him years ago as a joke because he insisted he was a "great cook"—was tied around his waist.
He looked over his shoulder when he heard you.
"You're home."
You blinked in surprise.
"...What are you doing?"
He glanced back at the pan.
"Cooking."
"You hate cooking."
"I know."
A small, awkward smile appeared on his face.
"But you haven't been eating."
Your heart squeezed painfully.
"I thought... maybe soup would be easier."
You didn't know what to say.
For months, you'd begged him to come home before dinner.
Now, when your marriage was already hanging by a thread, he was standing in the kitchen making soup because he was worried about you.
The irony hurt more than it comforted.
"I didn't ask you to do this," you said quietly.
"I know."
He turned the stove off before facing you completely.
"I wanted to."
Silence settled between the two of you.
His eyes slowly wandered across your face, lingering on the exhaustion you could no longer hide.
"You look pale."
"I'm alright."
"You've been saying that every day."
"I'm just tired."
He walked closer until only a few feet separated you.
"You've barely eaten."
"I'll eat later."
"You've been getting sick every morning."
"It's stress."
His brows furrowed.
"Did you at least go to the doctor?"
Your heart skipped.
"...Yeah."
"What did they say?"
You looked down at the floor.
"They said I need more rest."
Technically...
It wasn't a lie.
Sunghoon let out a quiet sigh before reaching for your handbag.
"I'll carry—"
"No!"
The word escaped much louder than you intended.
Both of you froze.
His hand stopped midair.
Confusion immediately crossed his face.
"...I was just going to put it on the table."
"I..."
You tightened your grip around the strap.
"I'm sorry."
"I just... have something important inside."
He slowly lowered his hand.
"I'm not trying to invade your privacy."
"I know."
Another silence followed.
This one heavier than the last.
Finally, he gave you a small nod.
"The soup's ready whenever you're hungry."
He turned away, pretending not to notice the tears gathering in your eyes.
The moment he disappeared into his office, you rushed upstairs.
Locking yourself inside the bedroom, you pulled the ultrasound from your bag before carefully sliding it into the back of your bedside drawer beneath a stack of old photographs from your honeymoon.
Your fingers lingered on the picture.
"I'm sorry," you whispered, though you weren't sure whether you were apologizing to your baby...
Or to the man sleeping only a few rooms away.
The days that followed settled into a strange routine. The arguments had disappeared, but they hadn't been replaced with happiness. Instead, there was a quiet understanding between the two of you, as though you were both too exhausted to keep hurting each other. Sunghoon still left for work early, though not as early as before. Some mornings, you'd find a glass of water and your vitamins sitting on the kitchen counter without a word. Other days, he'd send a simple text asking if you'd eaten lunch. They were such small gestures—ones that would've seemed insignificant months ago—but now they only made your chest ache. He was trying. It was simply too late.
Morning sickness, however, wasn't nearly as forgiving.
You had barely managed two spoonfuls of breakfast before the familiar wave of nausea forced you to excuse yourself. The bathroom door had barely clicked shut before you were kneeling on the cold tile floor, one hand gripping the edge of the bathtub while the other instinctively rested against your stomach. By the time the nausea finally settled, your eyes were watery and your breathing uneven.
A gentle knock echoed through the room.
"Y/N?"
It was Sunghoon.
His voice was careful, almost hesitant.
"You've been in there for almost twenty minutes."
You quickly splashed cold water over your face before unlocking the door.
He frowned immediately.
"You look awful."
A small laugh escaped you despite yourself.
"Thanks."
"You know I didn't mean it like that."
"I know."
His eyes searched your face, lingering on the redness around your eyes.
"You've been getting sick every morning for weeks."
"I'm just... run down."
"You've lost weight."
"I'm trying to eat."
"I can see that."
He sighed quietly before reaching out. His hand hovered near your cheek for a second, silently asking permission before gently brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. His touch was so familiar that it almost broke you.
"I hate seeing you like this," he admitted softly. "I know we're... where we are right now, but that doesn't mean I stop worrying."
Your throat tightened.
"I'll be okay."
"You keep saying that."
"Because I don't know what else to say."
For a long moment, neither of you spoke.
Then, to your surprise, he opened his arms ever so slightly.
"Can I...?"
You stared at him.
He hadn't hugged you in months.
When you didn't pull away, he slowly wrapped his arms around you, careful and gentle, as if he were afraid you'd disappear if he held you too tightly.
It was warm.
Comforting.
Painful.
You closed your eyes for just a second, breathing in the familiar scent of his cologne.
"I've missed this," he whispered.
Your heart shattered.
Because so had you.
But missing someone wasn't always enough to save a marriage.
That evening, the two of you sat together in the living room for the first time in weeks. The television played quietly in the background, though neither of you was paying attention. Sunghoon had rolled up the sleeves of his white dress shirt, his laptop balanced on his knees while he answered a few emails.
You were reading a book you hadn't turned a page of in almost fifteen minutes.
The silence wasn't awkward anymore.
It was... peaceful.
"I spoke to the lawyer today," Sunghoon suddenly said, closing his laptop.
Your fingers tightened around your book.
"Oh."
"He asked if we'd decided on a date."
You nodded slowly.
"I told him..."
He paused.
"...that I wanted to wait."
You looked up.
His gaze stayed fixed on the coffee table.
"I don't know if waiting changes anything."
"It might not."
"But rushing into it doesn't feel right either."
Your eyes softened.
"Why?"
He let out a tired laugh.
"Because despite everything..."
He looked at you.
"...I still come home looking for you."
The confession stole the air from your lungs.
"I still wonder whether you've eaten."
"I still catch myself reaching for my phone whenever something funny happens because you're the first person I want to tell."
His smile was bittersweet.
"I don't think people stop loving each other overnight."
A lump formed in your throat.
"They just get lost."
Tears threatened to spill, but you forced them back.
"I don't know if I know how to find us again."
He nodded.
"I don't know either."
For the first time in months, there were no raised voices.
No accusations.
Just two people admitting that neither of them knew how to repair what they'd broken.
At that exact moment, your stomach lurched.
You shot to your feet so quickly that your book fell to the floor.
"Y/N?"
"I'll... I'll be right back."
You hurried upstairs, pressing a hand over your mouth before disappearing into the bathroom.
Sunghoon watched you go, worry etched across his face.
A few seconds later, the sound of retching echoed faintly through the hallway.
He immediately stood.
His first instinct was to go after you.
Instead, he stopped outside the bathroom door, resting a hand against the wood.
"...I'm here if you need me."
You squeezed your eyes shut on the other side, fresh tears sliding down your cheeks.
"I know," you whispered so quietly he couldn't hear.
Outside, your phone began ringing from where you'd accidentally left it on the coffee table downstairs.
Neither of you noticed.
The screen lit up with a familiar name.
Dr. Han.
His stomach tightened.
You'd told him you'd seen a doctor because of stress. Seeing your doctor call twice in less than a minute made him wonder if something was wrong.
He answered.
"Hello?"
There was a brief pause before a warm voice spoke on the other end.
"Good evening, Mrs. Park. This is Dr. Han calling from Evergreen Women's Clinic. I wanted to follow up regarding the symptoms you mentioned during your appointment. Have the morning sickness and dizziness improved at all?"
Sunghoon frowned.
"...I'm sorry?"
Another pause.
"Oh... am I speaking to Mr. Park?"
"...Yes."
"I'm terribly sorry. I assumed Mrs. Park had already told you."
His grip around the phone tightened.
"Told me... what?"
The doctor fell silent for a second, clearly realizing she'd made a mistake.
"It's regarding her pregnancy," she answered carefully. "Considering she's approaching her ninth week, nausea, fatigue, and food aversions are perfectly normal. We were also hoping to schedule her next prenatal appointment before the end of next week."
Everything around him seem to disappear, except you.
Sunghoon couldn't take his eyes off you.
The words from the phone call echoed endlessly inside his head.
Morning sickness... nine weeks... prenatal appointment... both mother and baby are healthy.
His hand was still wrapped around your phone, his knuckles turning white from how tightly he was gripping it. You stood frozen at the foot of the staircase, every bit of color draining from your face the moment you realized he knew.
Neither of you spoke.
The silence stretched until it became unbearable.
"You were pregnant..." he whispered, his voice so quiet it barely reached you. "This whole time."
You swallowed hard, unable to look him in the eye. "...Yes."
A hollow laugh escaped him, though there wasn't an ounce of humor behind it. He looked away for a moment, blinking rapidly as he tried to compose himself, but the hurt was written all over his face.
"So every morning..." he began, "when I heard you getting sick... when I kept asking if you were okay... when I asked if you wanted me to take you to the hospital..." He looked back at you, his eyes glossy with unshed tears. "You already knew."
You nodded weakly.
"I found out after we agreed to the divorce."
"And you decided not to tell me."
"It wasn't that simple."
"It feels pretty simple to me."
His voice wasn't loud, but it was enough to make your chest tighten.
"You looked me in the eye every single day and lied."
"I wasn't lying."
"No?" His eyebrows pulled together. "You told me it was stress. You told me you were fine. You let me think something was wrong, and every time I asked, you pushed me away."
"I didn't know what else to do!"
The words escaped before you could stop them.
Sunghoon fell silent.
Your breathing grew uneven as tears blurred your vision. "What was I supposed to say? 'By the way, I'm carrying your baby while we're signing divorce papers?'"
"I deserved to know."
"I know you did!"
Your voice cracked.
"I know that!"
The tears you'd been holding back finally spilled over.
"I thought about telling you every single day."
You covered your mouth, trying to steady your breathing.
"I even picked up my phone so many times..." you admitted through sobs. "I wrote messages... I deleted them... I practiced what I'd say if you came home early... but every time I looked at the divorce papers, I couldn't do it."
Sunghoon's expression softened for only a second before the hurt returned.
"So you chose for both of us."
"No."
"Yes, you did."
He shook his head, running a frustrated hand through his hair.
"You decided I didn't deserve to know I was going to be a father."
"I decided I didn't want you to stay because you pitied me!"
The room fell silent.
Your words hung heavily between you.
"I know you, Sunghoon," you whispered, wiping your cheeks. "You would've canceled everything. You would've torn up those divorce papers before I even finished speaking."
"Of course I would've."
"Exactly!"
His answer caught you off guard.
"You just proved my point."
"No." He stepped closer, stopping a few feet away. "I would've torn them up because my wife had been carrying something this huge all by herself."
"You would've stayed because of the baby."
"I would've stayed because I still love you!"
His voice cracked for the first time.
The confession echoed through the house.
Neither of you moved.
Sunghoon looked away, taking a shaky breath before speaking again, this time much quieter.
"Do you really think I've spent these past few weeks sleeping in the guest room because I stopped loving you?" He laughed bitterly, shaking his head. "I slept there because every time I looked at you, I was reminded that I'd failed you. I convinced myself that maybe you'd be happier without me."
Your heart clenched.
"I never stopped loving you either," you admitted. "But loving someone isn't always enough when all you do is hurt each other."
He nodded slowly.
"I know."
Another long silence settled between you.
It wasn't angry anymore.
It was heartbreaking.
Sunghoon glanced at the phone still sitting on the coffee table before quietly placing it down. When he looked back at you, his eyes were red.
"I missed everything."
His voice was barely above a whisper.
"The first doctor's appointment."
"You hearing our baby's heartbeat."
"You finding out."
He swallowed hard.
"And I wasn't there."
A fresh wave of guilt crashed over you.
"I didn't want to do it alone."
"Then why did you?"
"Because I was scared."
Your shoulders shook as another sob escaped.
"I was scared that if I told you, I'd never know whether you stayed because you loved me... or because you felt responsible."
Sunghoon closed the distance between you, but he didn't touch you.
Not yet.
"I can't change the mistakes I've already made," he said quietly. "I can't take back the nights I chose work over you or the arguments that pushed us here."
His voice trembled.
"But don't ever believe that our child would be a burden to me."
He paused, fighting back tears of his own.
"Or that loving you was ever an obligation."
Your eyes met his.
For the first time in months, neither of you was pretending to be okay.
There were no walls left.
Just two broken people standing in the middle of the home they'd built together, finally admitting how deeply they'd hurt each other.
The divorce papers were still waiting on the dining table.
Neither of you looked at them.
Not because everything had suddenly been fixed.
But because, for the first time in a very long while, they no longer felt like the only possible ending.
ex for a reason : 25 JAKE vs JAY: who wore the tweet better?
previous masterlist next
𝗇𝗈𝗍𝖾𝗌𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺𝖾 : jealous jakey who also finally gets to experience his submissive fantasies 🥹🥹 it’s honestly really comedic to write jake feeling threatened by jay all the time when his biggest opp is hoon.
isa notes: new smau is here!! it's a pretty basic idea tbh but it's been rotting in my drafts so i finally decided to post it 😭 hope u guys still like it :p taglist is open btw!! just lmk if u wanna be added <33
SYNOPSIS ─── After a car accident that costed you 3 years worth of memory, you find yourself trying to start a new beginning in a new city with "new" people. Only God knows why would the universe make you cross paths with the cute guy nextdoor.
𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 : neighbor AU, fluff, slight angst, smut (MDNI)
𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 : yearner!jake, swearing, loss of memory, mention of a car accident, unprotected sex, p in v, oral sex (f. receiving), jake is an ass grabber, praising, creampie, mutual orgasm, switch!jake, loss of virginity, jake and reader's first time, fingering, riding, domestic scenes
𝐰𝐜 : 25.5k
❕# this is my goodbye gift !! Hope you’ll all like it :)
𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ──────
♯ 134340 - BTS
♯ Unconditional - JAEHYUN
♯ I.F.L.Y - Bazzi
♯ is it cool? - Steve Lacy ft. SZA
♯ pov - Ariana Grande
♯ XO (Only If You Say Yes) - ENHYPEN
♯ Get You - Daniel Caesar
♯ intro (end of the world) - Ariana Grande
♯ 3005 - Childish Gambino
♯ Tek It - Cafuné
♯ Roommates - Malcolm Todd
✼ ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼ ✼ ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼ ✼ ҉ ✼ ҉
You wouldn't have thought that the cardboard box in your arms would be heavier than it has any right to be, given it's mostly filled with towels and a lamp that probably won't survive the move. You shift it against your hip, phone tucked between your ear and shoulder as Jungwon's voice crackles through the speaker.
"—and the landlord said the water pressure is good, but you should still check the boiler room, okay? Just in case. Mom keeps asking if you've eaten."
"I've eaten," you say, dumping the box onto the kitchen counter. The sound echoes in the empty space. "I ate a granola bar on the drive."
"That's not eating. You usually eat much more than that, Y/N."
You almost laugh. The corners of your mouth twitch, yet the energy to actually produce the sound feels too expensive. The new apartment is small, already making you hyperaware of your own breathing. White walls, beige carpet, a window that overlooks a fire escape and the back of a laundromat. It's nothing like your old place. And that's totally the point.
"There's a coffee shop down the street," you say instead, peering through the smudged glass of the window. "I saw it when I pulled in."
"Good, you should go there. Drink something with sugar and call me if you need anything."
"I will."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
The line goes dead, and the silence in the apartment rushes back in to fill the space. You stand there for a minute, only breathing, letting your new life settle into your bones. New city with a new apartment, and no memories of the last three years to trip over on your way to the bathroom.
You grab your keys and head out. The neighborhood is weirdly quiet even in the afternoon, it feels like everyone is holding their breath. Old brick buildings line the street, their facades streaked with years of rain. A bodega on the corner, a laundromat, and there, wedged between a bookstore and a clothing shop, the coffee shop. It's decorated with mismatched chairs and a counter cluttered with jars of homemade pastries. You order a black coffee because you don't trust your brain to make decisions, and you take it to a table by the window. You're halfway through the cup, watching a pigeon peck at a discarded wrapper, when the sky opens up. The rain comes down in sheets, loud and violent, rattling against the glass like it's trying to get in. You watch it for a while, then check your phone. It's already 5 PM.
"Excuse me," you say, approaching the counter. The barista, a tired-looking woman with flour on her apron, looks up. "Do you have an umbrella I could borrow? I just moved in across the street, I'll bring it back."
She blinks at you before she disappears into the back, returning a moment later with a flimsy black umbrella. It looks like the one you buy at a bodega for five dollars and immediately regret. "Keep it," she says. "We have like twelve of these."
The rain hasn't let up by the time you step outside. You pop the umbrella open, holding it tight as the wind tries to wrestle it from your grip. The street is a river now, the buildings blurred through the curtain of water. You walk quickly, splashing through puddles, your sneakers already soaked.
The apartment building is a relief when it comes into view. You duck into the alcove of the entrance, shaking water from your hair, and fumble with the umbrella to close it. The mechanism catches on something, and you jerk it, frustrated, only to have it flip open in a violent snap. A spray of water arcs outward, catching the person passing behind you square in the chest.
You freeze.
He freezes.
For an agonizing long moment, neither of you dare to move. He's standing half in the rain, half out, his white t-shirt now clinging to his torso with a growing dark patch. His hair is damp at the ends, dark brown and curling slightly. His eyes ; wide and startled ; scan your face with intensity, making you want to quickly apologize, but the words get caught somewhere in your throat.
His expression falters for the briefest moment. The certainty in his eyes gives way to hesitation, his gaze tracing your features as though something refuses to add up. His head tilts slightly, thoughtful rather than confused. You brace yourself for annoyance. For the kind of clipped anger that would be entirely justified.
Rather than that, he blinks, and a smile touches the corner of his mouth. It's not quite a smile, more like the ghost of one, uncertain and clumsy. "Hi," he says. His voice is a little rough, maybe from the cold. "Sorry, I was—do I know you?"
You shake your head, clutching the umbrella tightly. "I don't think so. I just moved in. I'm sorry about your shirt."
He glances down at the wet patch before looking back up at you. "Don't worry about it. It's just water." He's still looking at you, though. Too fucking long. His gaze lingers, waiting for...something. Whatever it is never comes. With a shake of his head, he drags a hand through his wet hair before a tiny smile finds its way onto his face, warming the corners of his eyes. "I'm Jake. I live in 9C down the hall."
"Y/N," you say. "5C."
"Welcome to the building."
"Thanks."
The rain continues to fall, filling the space between you with noise. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, and you realize you're both just standing there, awkward and dripping, with nothing else to say.
"Well," he says, "I should probably go change. Before I catch a cold."
"Oh, right. Yeah. Sorry again."
"Don't be."
He heads for the elevator, and you watch him go, his wet footprints staining the floor. He pauses with his hand on the button, and for only a second, you think he might turn back or might say something else. But then the door swings open, and he disappears inside.
You stand there for another minute, the broken umbrella dangling from your hand, the rain hammering against the awning above you. The feeling of his gaze on your face lingers, unsettled, like a half-remembered dream.
You close the apartment door behind you and lean against it. The key is still in your hand. The broken umbrella is still in the other. Your socks are soaked through because you forgot to wipe your feet.
None of that registers.
Because Jake ; apartment 9C, white t-shirt, gray hoodie, hole in his jeans ; had a face that shouldn't exist outside of Renaissance paintings and the occasional fever dream. Sharp jaw and messy hair that looked intentional even though it definitely wasn't. And his eyes, soft and curious, doing that slow scan of your features like he was reading something he couldn't put down.
You slide down the door until you're sitting on the floor.
This doesn't happen to you.
No—correction. This has never happened to you. You've read about it, sure. Pages in secondhand paperbacks where the protagonist trips and falls into a stranger's arms and he just happens to have cheekbones that could cut diamonds. You've rolled your eyes at those scenes and called them unrealistic. You told yourself that real life doesn't come with lighting cues and slow motion. However, standing on those steps with rain dripping off his chin and an animal shelter's worth of grime on his wrist, he had no business being that striking. That disarming. That stupidly attractive.
Your brain caught on the way he'd looked at you. Not like he was checking you out but more like he was searching for something. A flicker of recognition that didn't meant nothing if you recoil on it. And after that the shrug, and the introduction so smooth it had to be accidental.
Jake.
You press the heels of your palms against your eyes. Are you freaking kidding me ?
"You're being ridiculous." you tell the empty apartment.
Three hours later, you've unpacked exactly one box ; where it cointained your sheets and a single mug shaped like a cactus that Jungwon bought you as a joke three birthdays ago. The mug is now sitting on the kitchen counter, empty, staring at you judgmentally.
He keeps finding his way back into your thoughts. Not because you're trying to hold on to him, and surely not because you can't move on. It happens almost absentmindedly, the way your brain revisits familiar things when it's left alone. How his voice sounded slightly wrecked, like he'd been yelling or laughing or both. The smudge on his wrist ; potting soil, probably, if the canvas bag full of clinking jars was any indication. Pickles? Jam? The man had twelve jars of something and dirt on his hands and he lived four apartment next to yours.
You catch your reflection in the bathroom mirror and frown at yourself.
"Girl, you don't even know his last name." you say.
You go to bed early because there's nothing else to do. The new apartment sounds are unusual, there's more creaks and fewer sirens. At 2:17 AM, someone in the building starts playing the guitar badly. You fall asleep to a mangled rendition of "Wonderwall".
─────────
The alarm drags you from sleep sharply. You bat at your phone until the noise stops, and lie there, blinking at the still unfamiliar ceiling, reacquainting yourself with the fact that this is your life now. Everything was going to be new now.
By the time you've wrestled yourself into something presentable, you're already running five minutes behind. You skip breakfast, grab your bag, and lock the door behind you.
The elderly home sits at the end of a tree-lined street, a squat brick building, you almost mistook it for a community center. The receptionist gives you a visitor's badge and points you toward the common room, where a handful of residents are scattered across armchairs, some dozing, some staring at a muted television, one engaged in a heated argument with a plant.
You're barely through the door when a woman appears at your elbow, small and bright-eyed, with a name tag that reads Hanni in cheerful block letters. "New hire?" she asks, already steering you toward a supply closet. "Thank god. I've been doing double shifts for three weeks. I'm Hanni. You're Y/N. I read your file. It said you have experience with dementia patients. That's good, because Jacob over there—" she jerks her chin toward a man in a cardigan who's now trying to feed his coffee to the plant, "—thinks he's a squirrel."
You blink. "A squirrel?"
"Don't ask. Just go with it. If he offers you acorns, take them."
The day unfolds. You help Mrs. Han find her glasses (they were on her head), you listen to Mr. Eom's stories about a bakery he ran forty years ago, and you learn the exact difference between the "good" applesauce and the "bad" applesauce. Hanni works beside you with effortless competence, cracking jokes under her breath and seamlessly redirecting residents who wander toward the exit. "You're pretty good at this," she says during a break, as you both stand at the nurses' station, scribbling notes. "Most new people get that deer-in-headlights look for at least a week. You just sort of absorbed it."
You shrug, not sure how to explain that this ; the slow pace, the gentle repetition, the small dignities of helping someone remember their own name ; it feels like the only thing you're certain about these days. "It's not that hard. They just want to be seen."
Hanni studies you for a moment, something curious flickering behind her eyes. Then she nods, and the moment passes.
Your shift ends, your feet ache and your brain feels pleasantly fuzzy, which doesn't leave room for anxiety. You change out of your scrubs, say goodbye to Hanni, and step out into the evening air.
The street is calm, the rain from yesterday reduced to a thin dampness on the pavement. You're walking toward your building, hands shoved in your jacket pockets, when you round the corner and nearly collide with someone coming the other way.
Fuck, it's him.
Jake.
He's wearing a different shirt ; navy this time, sleeves pushed up to his elbows ; and he's carrying a cardboard pack of beer tucked under one arm. His hair is dry, pulled up in a little ponytail at the back, and the sight of him in the golden light of early evening hits you like a delayed punch.
"Oh," you say. Why now?
He stops. For a heartbeat, something unsettles his expression, his eyes lingering on you a fraction too long. Then, it melts away, something softer taking place. "Hey. Y/N, right?"
"Oh, you remembered." The words come out flatter than you wanted them to be, yet your pulse is doing a ridiculous drum solo again.
"I remember a lot of things," he says, there's a strange weight to the phrase, like he's saying something else underneath it. He gestures with the beer. "You're heading back?"
"Yeah. I just finished my first day at the elderly home down the street."
"How was it?"
"Exhausting. Good, though. I think. One of the residents offered me a fake acorn, so I'm taking that as a sign of approval."
He laughs, low and surprised, you can see that he didn't expect to find it funny. "That's a pretty solid endorsement. I'd trust fake acorn guy over most people."
You fall into step together, and you notice how he adjusts his pace to match yours, shortening his stride just slightly. The street stretches ahead, lined with those old brick buildings, the sky above streaked with pale orange and lavender. You nod toward the beer. "Expecting company, or is that just for personal purpose?"
He glances down at the pack, a sheepish smile tugging at his mouth. "I'm having friends over tonight. A couple of guys from the shelter—I work at the animal shelter a few blocks over. We do this thing every other Thursday. It's mostly just eating takeout and arguing about which dog breed is objectively the best."
"Which one is?"
"Rescue," he says immediately. "All of them."
You snort. "I think so too."
"Right? This is why we're going to get along." He says it casually, the words land in your chest with an unexpected weight.
The building comes into view, its facade warm in the fading light. He holds the door open for you, and you step into the foyer, the familiar smell of old carpet and someone's cooking drifting through the hallway. At your door you fumble for your keys, and he lingers, shifting the beer from one arm to the other.
"Good first day," he says. "At the job, I mean."
"Thanks." You find the right key, fit it into the lock. "Have fun with your friends. Try not to let the argument escalate into a physical altercation."
"No promises. We're very passionate about this." He's already turning, already stepping back toward his door, when something makes you call out : "Jake."
He stops and looks back.
"Thanks for walking me," you say. "Even if you didn't have to."
A small shrug. "It's fine. I wanted to, anyway." And he's already gone, his footsteps echoing in the corridor, and you're left standing in your doorway, keys still in hand, watching the space where he was.
You unlock the door, step inside, and close it behind you. The apartment is mostly empty, since your laziness won over you to unpack the rest of your stuff. You press your back against the door and stare at the ceiling.
This, you think, is exactly the kind of thing I'd roll my eyes at in a book.
Regardless, you can't stop the smile that spreads across your face, slow and helpless and embarrassingly real.
You're sprawled across the couch, legs tangled in a throw blanket, the glow of the television painting your face in shifting blues and reds. Some reality show about people competing to bake things that look like other things. It's mindless and perfect, exactly the sort of programming that requires zero cognitive effort. Your oversized t-shirt hangs off one shoulder with Justin Bieber's face from his Purpose World Tour, faded and cracked from years of washing. Below that, nothing but a pair of plain cotton panties. Your hair is messy, and there's a half-empty mug of tea growing cold on the floor beside you. You're comfortable. Vulnerable, maybe, but in the privacy of your own space, and that's all that matters.
Your gaze wanders into the kitchen and lands on the trash bin that is overflowing with flattened boxes and crumpled packing paper, the remains of a move you’re still halfway through. It doesn’t look like much, but you know it’ll be the first thing to irritate you in the morning if it’s left untouched. You weigh the options. Get dressed and actually put on pants, find a bra, the whole tedious ritual, or just…go. It's a quick trip. The trash chute is at the end of the hallway, maybe twenty steps from your door. The corridor has been empty all evening. And Jake has friends over. He's occupied. He's not going to be lurking around corners, waiting to ambush you with his inconveniently-timed presence.
Nobody will see you, you tell yourself. It's fine. You're fast as fuck.
You pad to the door, press your eye to the peephole. The hallway stretches, empty. Clear. You crack the door open, just wide enough to slip through, and you're out, barefoot, the cold floor sending a shiver up your legs. The trash bag is heavier than you expected ; you hoist it against your hip, jogging in that awkward, flat-footed way of someone who's both in a hurry and deeply aware of their own exposure. The chute is a metal hatch in the wall. You heave it open, shove the bag inside, hear it clatter down into the abyss. Mission accomplished.
You turn, already planning your retreat, and—
He's standing three feet away. Oh fuck off.
Jake.
He's holding a bulging trash bag of his own, the clink of glass bottles audible as he adjusts his grip. His eyes travel from your face down to the faded Bieber shirt, then back up, and there's a beat of silence where neither of you move. Your brain short-circuits and your mouth opens. What comes out is a garbled mix of syllables that might have been intended as "hey" but emerges as something closer to "heh—uh—I—"
He blinks. Slowly, the corner of his mouth twitches. "Didn't mean to startle you," he says, and his voice is level, calm, almost like he's trying to soothe a startled animal.
"You didn't—I mean, I was just—" You gesture clumsily at your attire, then at the trash chute, then back at yourself, as if this chain of context will explain everything. "The trash was full. And I didn't think anyone would be—I mean, you said you had friends—"
"Friends," he confirms. "They left about ten minutes ago. I was just cleaning up."
"Of course you were. That makes sense." You're still standing there, bare-legged, the shirt barely grazing your thighs, and the hallway suddenly feels like a wind tunnel. You cross your arms over your chest, which does absolutely nothing to help the situation. Jake doesn’t leer nor does he joke. He meets your eyes with that same searching look, softened now into quiet amusement. "You know," he says, "you have a habit of running into me in unexpected situations."
"This is your fault," you say, and the words come out sharp without real bite behind them. "You're supposed to be busy. That was the whole point."
"Sorry to inconvenience you by taking out my trash."
"You're not sorry, are you?"
"No," he admits, his half-smile edges into fuller one. "I'm not." He steps past you toward the chute, and you catch a whiff of a clean and comforting scent, the ordinary scent of someone who's recently showered. He drops his bag in, closes the hatch with a metallic thunk and turns back. "See you around, Bieber," he says, the warmth in the nickname makes your stomach flip.
He's walking back toward his apartment door, and you're standing once again, your face heating in an inexorable crawl. You wait until his footsteps fade before you scurry back to your door, slip inside, and press your back against the wood. The television is still playing, some contestant weeping over a collapsed trompe-l'oeil. You stare at the screen, unseeing.
Bieber.
You look down at the faded face on your shirt, at your bare legs, at the utter mess of your appearance, and you press the heels of your palms into your eyes like the day before. You're still standing with your back against the door, willing your face to return to a normal temperature, when the knock comes.
Three sharp raps.
Your entire body goes still. The television babbles on, oblivious, as you press your eye to the peephole. Jake. Of course. He's standing there, hands in his pockets, looking down at the floor, he's waiting for something. He's changed into a gray sweatshirt, hood down, hair slightly mussed. You don't open the door. You can't, not after what he just witnessed. Not with this shirt still on.
"What?" you call through the wood, and your voice comes out higher, strained.
"Y/N," His voice is muffled but clear. "I know you're in there."
"I'm not opening the door."
A pause. "I'm not asking you to."
"Why are you here then?"
He pauses again. You can hear him shift his weight. "I just wanted to say—" He stops, and you imagine him running a hand through his hair, figuring out how to phrase something. "The shirt. I really like it."
You press your forehead against the door. "You're lying."
"I'm not. I had that exact one in middle school and I wore it until the print started peeling off."
"That doesn't make it better."
"Maybe not." His voice carries a smile, you can hear it, the slight lift in the vowels. "I thought you should know, though. That's all."
You stay silent, unsure how to answer. The pause settles in, comfortable rather than tense, and you notice he isn’t hurrying to fill it.
"Anyways," he says finally, "goodnight, Y/N."
You hear footsteps, receding. You wait until the sound fades completely before you let out a breath you were holding deeply. Your reflection stares back at you from the peephole's warped glass, only a blur of color, but you can feel the heat still lingering in your cheeks. You push off from the door, walk back to the couch, and collapse into the cushions. The reality show contestants are still crying about pastries. You look down at Justin Bieber's faded face. At the cracked screen print and the worn collar.
He had this exact one in middle school, what a coincidence.
You pull the hem of the shirt, stretch it, let it snap back. A small, involuntary sound escapes your throat. It might be a laugh or anything else. You grab your phone, open your messages, and type out a single line to Jungwon.
Y/N [11:52 PM]
I think I'm in trouble.
But you delete it, toss the phone aside, and stare at the ceiling until your heartbeat settles to normal again.
It takes a while.
─────────
The morning came faster than you thought. You grab the umbrella on your way out ; the same flimsy black one that started this whole foolish chain of events ; and stop by the coffee shop before your shift. The barista barely glances up as you set it on the counter.
"Thanks," you say. "For letting me borrow it."
She waves a hand, already reaching for a pitcher of milk. "Keep it next time. We've got a whole graveyard of those things in the back."
You almost tell her there won't be a next time, yet the words feel like tempting fate, so you just nod and head out.
The elderly home is already rumbling when you arrive. Hanni greets you with a coffee cup thrust into your hands and a breathless update about Mr. Eom's missing dentures. You take a sip, let the caffeine do its work, and fall into the cadence of the morning.
By early afternoon, the sun is actually warm enough to justify a walk. You round up three residents ; Mrs. Han, who's having a good day and remembers your name, Mr. Chen, who doesn't say much but mumbles tunelessly under his breath and Jacob, who offered you the fake acorn. He's wearing a different cardigan today, mustard yellow, and he keeps patting his pockets like he's checking for something. The path behind the building winds through a small garden, past benches and bird feeders and a sad little fountain that hasn't worked in years. You walk slowly, matching their pace, letting Mrs. Han point out flowers she's identified incorrectly and pretending to take Jacob's commentary seriously.
It's peaceful, nearly meditative. A moment like this makes you wonder if this new life really is as bad as you thought.
Abruptly, a dog comes out of nowhere. A golden retriever ; young, gangly, all oversized paws and manic energy ; bounds across the grass with the focus of a missile. It's not aggressive and not even barking. It's excited, and its excitement is directed straight at Jacob, who is the slowest-moving, most startle-prone member of your little group. The dog lunges up before you can react, front paws slamming into Jacob’s chest. He rocks back, arms windmilling, then drops in a slow heap, feeling like it’s happening in two conflicting speeds at once.
"Jacob!" You're at his side in an instant, dropping to your knees, hands hovering unevenly. "Are you okay? Did you hit your head?"
Jacob blinks up at you, more confused than pained. His glasses are askew. "I dropped my acorn," he says.
"I'll find it. Just—stay still. Tell me if anything hurts."
A voice cuts through the chaos, alert and breathless. "Oh god—I'm so sorry—"
You look up. Jake is sprinting toward you, the dog's leash trailing behind him like a forgotten flag. He's in work clothes ; a navy polo with the shelter's logo, dirt smudged on his forearm ; and his face is veiled with unguarded panic.
The dog, oblivious, is now trying to lick Jacob's ear.
"Leo, down!" Jake grabs the dog's collar, hauls him back with a firm yet gentle tug. "I am so, so sorry. He got loose—I was just bringing him out for a walk and he saw the—are you okay? Is he okay?"
You're already helping Jacob sit up, checking his wrists, his neck, the back of his head. No swelling or bleeding. He's still patting his pockets for the acorn.
"He's fine," you say, your voice flat. "He's just disoriented."
"Thank god." Jake exhales, and some of the tension leaves his shoulders. "I really am—I should have had a better grip on the leash. He's young, he's still learning, but that's not an excuse—"
"You're right." You stand, brushing grass from your knees. "It's not."
The silence that follows is stiffling. Mrs. Han is watching with curious eyes, Mr. Chen has stopped mumbling, and Leo is now sitting at Jake's feet, tail excitedly wagging. You turn to Jake fully. "You work at a shelter. You know how unpredictable dogs can be. Especially around elderly people. One wrong jump, one fall, and it's a broken bone or a concussion. That could actually hurt someone."
Jake meets your gaze without a trace of defensiveness or excuses. He simply nods slowly, his jaw tightening in restraint. "You're right," he says. "I wasn't careful enough. I got distracted, and I let him pull ahead, and I should have anticipated that this could happen." He glances at Jacob, who is now patting Leo's head with a delighted smile. "I'm really glad he's okay. And I'm sorry you had to deal with that."
The words settle with an unexpected weight, disarming you. You were ready for deflection, for something casual and rehearsed. Regardless, he stays still, accepting it without trying to cushion the blow.
You let out a breath. The adrenaline is fading, leaving behind a shaky residue. "Be more careful," you say, and your voice is quieter now. "Please."
"I will." He holds your gaze for another beat, and crouches down to Jacob's level. "Hey, sir. That was my dog. He's really sorry. Are you okay?"
Jacob looks at him, then at Leo before his gaze goes back at his empty palm. "I lost my acorn," he says, there's a note of genuine distress in his voice. Jake doesn't miss a beat. He reaches into his pocket, pulls out a small smooth stone and presses it into Jacob's hand. "Here. I found this, it must've been yours."
Jacob stares at it. His face splits into a wide, gap-toothed smile. "Thank you," he says, and clutches it like treasure.
You watch it unfold, something uneasy tightening in your chest. Jake stands and meets your gaze again. A flash crosses his face ; rueful, or closer to hope. "I'll make sure he's more secured next time," Jake says, nodding toward Leo. "And if there's anything I can do—"
"There isn't," you say, but the sharpness has gone from your voice. "But still...keep a closer eye on him."
"Always." He turns and walks back toward the path, Leo trotting obediently at his heel. You watch him go, the way his shoulders are slightly hunched, how he glances back once before rounding the corner.
Mrs. Han sidles up to you. "He's cute," she states. "The boy. Not the dog."
You open your mouth, not a sound escaping your mouth. You try again.
"Mrs. Han," you say, "you're supposed to be on my side."
"I am on your side," she says, patting your arm. "That's why I'm telling you."
You help Jacob to his feet, find his acorn in the grass, and start the slow walk back to the building. Your thoughts drift elsewhere, replaying Jake crouching down to Jacob’s level, finding the stone without hesitation, saying 'I will' like he truly meant it.
You shake your head, focus on the path ahead.
After you end your shift, you walk back to your apartment. The sky has gone hazy, and you keep your hands in your pockets, replaying the afternoon in fragments. You unlock your door, kick off your shoes, and collapse onto the couch. The television is still on from last night. You turn it off, let the silence settle.
You decide to pull out your phone and call Jungwon. He picks up, but the background noise is a wall of bass and overlapping voices. You can hear a bunch of voice shouting "CHUG CHUG CHUG!!!" and loud cheers. You hear a door slam, the noise muffles.
"Y/N?" His voice is slightly breathless. "Everything okay?"
"Everything's fine," you say, and you mean it. "I just wanted to check in. You sound busy, though."
"I'm at a mixer party with my house and sororities. It's loud so I stepped outside." He stops for a second. "Are you sure you're okay? You never call this late."
"Late? It's like seven."
"Yeah. You're usually asleep by now."
You fairly laugh. "I've been more awake lately. I had a long day."
"Tell me about it."
So you do. You tell him about everything. You don't want to mention Jake.
"You sound good," Jungwon says when you finish. " Really good. Not just saying you're good."
"I think I am," you say, the words surprise you with their honesty.
"That's all I needed to hear." There's a muffled shout from behind him, someone calling his name. "I should get back. But call me anytime, okay? Even if it's just to complain about old people and dogs."
"Old people and dogs. The two pillars of my existence now."
"Don't let the dogs jump on you," he mentions, you can hear the smile in his voice.
"I won't. Have fun at your party."
"Love you."
"Love you too."
The line goes dead. You hold the phone for a moment before setting it aside, letting the quiet wrap around you. You stand, stretch, and gather your clothes for a shower, a clean towel, a change of underwear, the softest pair of sweatpants you own. You pad toward the bathroom, already anticipating the hot water, the steam, and the small escape from your own head.
You're two steps from the bathroom door when the lights flicker.
Once. Twice. It dies.
The apartment plunges into absolute darkness. No sound from the refrigerator, no glow from the microwave clock, just black, thick and total. You stand there, motionless, one hand gripping your towel, the other reaching for the wall. You feel along the switch, flick it up and down. There's nothing.
You step to the window to peer out. The streetlights are on. The building across the way is lit, warm rectangles of gold in every window. The coffee shop's neon sign still glows. You check your phone to see your battery at 60%. You switch on the flashlight, sweep it across the room. So it's only your apartment. The refrigerator is dead. The outlets are dead. The overhead light, the bathroom ; all dead. You flip the circuit breaker in the tiny panel by the door. Shit. You try the main switch. Nothing.
You stand there in the beam of your phone, your reflection ghostly in the dark window glass, wearing that stupid Justin Bieber shirt and holding a bundle of clean clothes, and you realize you have no flashlight, no candles, and mostly, no backup plan.
The silence presses in. 9C. A certain neighbor who might have a working outlet and a willingness to share. A part of you notes, almost critically, that this would be the kind of contrived convenience you’d hate in a book.
You sigh, grab your keys, and head for the door.
The hour stretches like taffy. You've tried the circuit breaker three times, called the landlord four times, and texted him twice, giving you no results. The voicemail picks up on the first ring, a generic recording without a name. You sit next to your door and consider your options. There's a motel two blocks away. There's the coffee shop, but they close in fifteen minutes. It got to be a joke.
And there's the door at the end of the hallway.
You pace. You argue with yourself. You list all the reasons this is a terrible idea ; all the incidents that happened and degraded your confidence, the fact that you've known this man for approximately forty-eight hours and he's already seen you at your most unguarded multiple times. But the need for a shower wins. You smell like old people and grass, with the sublte tang of anxiety sweat. You can't go to work like this tomorrow and you can't sleep like this tonight. So you put on a pair of shorts ; the longest ones you own ; and a different shirt, and you walk toward his door with the weight of your own dignity dragging behind you.
His door is at the end of the hall. You knock before you can talk yourself out of it. The door swings open. Jake stands there in a faded gray t-shirt and sweatpants, hair slightly damp, a dish towel slung over his shoulder. He's holding a half-eaten apple. His eyes land on you. Travel down to your shorts, back up to your face.
His mouth curves into a smile so wide, so unapologetically amused, that you feel it like a punch right in your guts.
"Bieber," he says. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Don't call me that." The words come out weak, deflated. "My power's out. The landlord won't answer and I absolutely need a shower."
He takes a bite of his apple. He chews slowly, considers you.
"Just the shower," you add, and you can hear how defensive you sound, how utterly transparent.
"I didn't say anything." He steps back, holds the door open. "Come in."
His apartment is small too, but lived-in. A couch with a blanket draped over the back. A stack of books on the coffee table. A guitar propped in the corner. The kitchen is visible from the living room, dishes drying on a rack, a pot of something that smells like garlic and tomatoes simmering on the stove. "Bathroom's down the hall, second door on the left," he says, pointing with the apple still in hands. "Towels are in the cabinet. Use whatever you need."
"Thanks." You pause at the threshold, suddenly aware of the absurdity of this. "I'll be quick."
"Take your time." That smile again, softer now. "I'll keep the apartment from burning down while you're in there."
You close the bathroom door behind you and lean against it, exhaling. Hot water, steady pressure, a luxurious flow that makes you forget every indignity that led you here. You stand under the spray as long as you can, letting it beat against your shoulders, your neck, the tension you've been carrying since yesterday. When you finally step out, wrapped in a towel, you catch your reflection in the mirror. Wet hair and pink cheeks. A stupid smile that you can't suppress.
Stop it. You wipe the steam from the mirror, and that's when you notice it. On the edge of the sink, next to a half-empty bottle of cologne, is a keychain. A small, plastic orange. Slightly faded, the paint worn at the edges.
Your breath catches. You have that exact same keychain. It's been on your keys for as long as you can remember. Well, as long as your memory goes back, which is not even a year. It's one of the few objects that survived the move, one of the small constants in the fog of your past.
You pick it up and turn it over. It's identical, even the little chip in the paint near the stem matches. You stare at it for a long moment. You dress quickly, step out into the hallway, and find Jake in the kitchen, stirring the pot on the stove. "Everything okay?" he asks without turning.
"Where did you get this?" You hold up the keychain.
He turns and sees it. For an instant, his expression falters into recognition before it smooths itself back into neutrality. "Oh, that." He sets down the spoon, wipes his hands on his sweatpants. "I found it, actually. A few years ago, on the street, I think. I kept it because—" He pauses, and you notice the way his eyes shift, slightly, like he's rearranging words in his head. "It reminded me of something. I don't know. I just liked it."
The explanation comes out too smooth and too rehearsed. You're wondering if he's said it before, practiced it, polished it until it sounded natural. You're not even sure why, something about how he said it, but you don't have the energy to interrogate right now. "Funny," you say, pocketing your own keys, where your matching orange dangles. "I have the same one."
He looks at you. You feel like you're standing on the edge of a cliff, for a jump you're not ready for.
"That is funny," he says, and his voice is softer now, almost distant. "Small world."
You nod, not trusting your voice. The moment stretches, fragile, and you're the one who breaks it. "I should go. Thanks for the shower."
"Anytime." He walks you to the door, and the teasing smile has returned. "If the power's still out tomorrow, you know where to find me."
"Bold of you to assume I'll survive that long."
"I have faith in you."
You roll your eyes, yet you're smiling as you step into the hallway. The door clicks shut behind you. You stand there for a moment, your keychain warm in your palm, and wonder what exactly you've just walked into. It's probably nothing, you tell yourself.
Oh it's definitely something.
─────────
A few days pass, you're unpacking one box at a time, learning where the light switches are without having to think about it, catching the same bus at the same time each morning until the driver starts to nod at you like an old acquaintance.
You see Jake in the hallways more often than coincidence should allow. Tuesday morning, you're leaving for work and he's coming back from a run, sweaty and out of breath, and he raises a hand in greeting without breaking stride. Fuck he's hot.
Wednesday evening, you're carrying a bag of groceries and he's hauling a bag of dog food toward the elevator, and you end up walking side by side without discussing it. Thursday, you don't see him at all, and you catch yourself checking the peephole before bed like a woman waiting for something she won't admit to wanting.
Friday arrives with gray skies and the particular exhaustion of a full week. You've just changed into sweatpants.
Three taps. You know who it is before you look. Jake is standing in the hallway wearing a knitted sweater and he's holding his keys in his hand. He looks different at night ; softer, somehow. The hard angles of his jaw blurred by the low light.
"I'm heading to the convenience store," he announces.
You lean against the doorframe. "It's eight o'clock."
"I'm aware. That's why I said convenience store and not, like, a sit-down restaurant." He jingles his keys. "You want to come?"
You hesitate for a second too long, and he catches it. His expression shifts into something hesitant. "For the accident," he adds. "Last week, with Jacob. I've been meaning to…I don't know. Make up for it, in a small way. This is the small way."
"You're making up for catastrophe with a trip to 7-Eleven?"
"Don't call it that. I'd rather call it a restitution." He pauses. "Also they have those frozen slushies that turn your tongue blue, and I don't want to drink one alone because that feels sad even by my standards."
You look down at your sweatpants. "Give me two minutes," you say.
"You look fine."
"I know I look fine. I want to look like I didn't just spend an hour lying on my floor thinking about nothing."
He blinks. "That's—"
"Two minutes." You close the door and change into jeans. You don't know why. It's just the convenience store after all. Although you put on real pants anyway, and you run your fingers through your hair, and when you open the door again, he's still standing there, checking his phone. "Cute," he says, not looking up.
"Shut up."
The walk is short ; five blocks, past the coffee shop with the broken umbrellas, past a laundromat, and past a house with a porch light that flickers like it's sending morse code. The air is cold enough to see your breath, and Jake walks on the street side of the sidewalk without making a thing out of it.
You two arrive at the convenience store, with the buzzing lights overhead. A bell dings when you walk in. The guy behind the counter is watching a small TV mounted in the corner, some sports game apparently.
You grab a basket and Jake grabs another. "This is a competition now," he says.
"It's always been a competition."
The snack aisle is narrow, forcing you to stand closer than necessary. You reach for a bag of chips. He reaches for the same bag. Your hands collide, and he lets you take it without a fight, which is suspicious. "You're being nice," you say.
"What do you mean? I'm always nice."
"No but, like, you're being strategically nice."
He grins. It's crooked and quick, making your chest tighten. "I just want you to let your guard down so I can steal the last bag of sour stripes."
"I don't even like sour stripes."
"Everyone likes sour stripes. That's like saying you don't like breathing."
You move down the aisle, scanning the shelves. Your fingers hover over a bag of shrimp crackers ; the spicy kind, bright red packaging, which Jungwon used to make fun of you for buying in bulk. You reach for them at the same time he does. "These," he says, pushing the bag toward you. "Get these."
"I was going to."
"They're your favorite, right?"
You stop. Your hand freezes over the bag. "I didn't tell you that."
He's already looking at the next shelf, picking up a pack of chocolate cookies, turning it over to read the nutrition facts. His expression doesn't change. His voice is casual, almost bored. "Everyone likes spicy shrimp crackers," he says. "It's not some niche preference. It's a classic. Like salt and vinegar. Or barbecue."
"That's not—"
"I'm getting these," he interrupts, holding up the cookies. "You want a drink? They have that weird melon soda. Everyone says that it tastes like liquid gummy bear."
You stare at the back of his head in confusion. He's walking toward the drink cooler, shoulders relaxed, like the conversation is already over. You grab the shrimp crackers and follow him.
The park is two blocks from your building, a small wedge of grass with three benches and a set of swings that face a community garden. The swings are old, their chains rusty, seats scratched with names and dates, but they hold your weight when you sit. Jake takes the swing next to yours. The plastic bags dangle from his wrist, crinkling every time he moves. You've split everything down the middle ; your shrimp crackers, his chocolate cookies, two bottles of the melon soda, a shared bag of sour striped that he claimed were for everyone, still you've noticed he keeps eating.
The soda fizzes when you open it. The park is empty except for the two of you and a cat sitting on a bench across the grass, watching like it's waiting for something to happen. You swing a little, just enough to rock. The chains squeak.
"My brother," you say, because the silence feels good but you want to fill it anyway. "He's the reason I moved here. Not because he lives here—he doesn't. He lives like four hours away. He helped me find the apartment and with all the packing."
Jake doesn't say anything. He's unwrapping a chocolate cookie, breaking it in half.
"He's in college now," you continue. "Fraternity guy, and he’s so serious about it, which is funny because he's also the least intimidating person I've ever met. Once he cried because I didn’t want to go with him at the dentist."
"That’s cute."
"He's sensitive." You shrug. "He'd kill me if he knew I was telling you this."
"I won't tell."
The cat on the bench yawns. The swings creak. You take a sip of your melon soda and watch the clouds move past the streetlights.
"Jungwon," Jake says.
You almost choke.
"What?"
"Your brother." He's looking at his hands, turning the cookie over and over. "His name. You said it. Jungwon."
You frown. Your brain backtracks through the last thirty seconds, replaying your own words. You definitely didn't say his name. You've been careful about that by habit. Jungwon is precious to you. His name is something you keep close, like a photo in a wallet. "I didn't say his name," you say slowly.
His chewing stops. His throat moves as he swallows. The openness on his face is convincing enough to pass for genuine, if not for the faint impression that he's worn it many times before.
"You didn't?"
"No."
"Huh." He dusts cookie crumbs off his fingers. "Maybe I heard it wrong, or you mentioned it before and I remembered. I don't know."
"I've never mentioned his name."
The silence stretches. The cat on the bench stands up, circles once, lies back down. He sets the cookie down on the plastic bag between you. He wipes his hands on his jeans. For a moment, he looks like he's going to say something else that might explain the way he looked at you that first night on the steps, like he was trying to place you.
His shoulders drop. "He came by," he declares. "Before you moved in. Your brother, Jungwon." He says the name carefully, testing each syllable. "He was checking out the building and making sure the landlord wasn't sketchy. I ran into him in the hallway."
You stare at him.
"He asked me about the neighborhood," Jake continues. "Whether it was safe. Whether people were friendly, and all that stuff." A small smile, almost self-deprecating. "I think he was doing a background check on all the tenants."
"That sounds like him."
"Yeah." He picks up his soda to take a long drink. "He mentioned you, and that you were moving in. I remembered."
It fits, it’s plausible. Jungwon would absolutely do something like that ; interview strangers in hallways, gather informations, build a mental map of everyone who might cross your path. He's been doing it since you were kids, since before the accident, before you forgot a quarter your life.
Nonetheless, something about how Jake tells it feels off. The words are right and the timing is too. Yet, his hands are still, and his hands are never still on the daily basis. He's always tapping or fidgeting or running his fingers through his hair, and right now, sitting on this swing in the dark, he's perfectly motionless. You want to push further. There's something in the back of your mind, a nagging feeling that you couldn’t put a finger on. You can’t, the evening is too nice, and he's bought you snacks. You let it go.
"Small world," you say, echoing his words from the night when you took a shower at his place.
"Small world," he agrees.
─────────
You walk into the elderly home with your hair still damp and the taste of the spicy shrimp crackers lingering at the back of your throat. Hanni's already at the nurses' station, flipping through a clipboard with focus, she’s been here for hours. "You look less dead than yesterday," she says without looking up. "That's progress."
"I slept." You hang your jacket on the hook and grab your name tag. "Almost eight hours. Uninterrupted."
"Must be the neighborhood atmosphere." She finally glances at you, there's a knowing tilt to her mouth. "Or something else."
You ignore that last part. The morning unfolds like every other morning ; the slow parade of residents who need help finding their glasses or their dentures or their way back to their rooms. Mrs. Han asks you three times if you've met her son, and you say yes each time, and each time she looks satisfied and moves on. You're in the common room, helping Mr. Chen with a puzzle he's been working on for weeks, when your gaze drifts toward the window. The street outside is quiet, the morning light still pale and thin. And there, on the other side, is Jake. Can he not look hot for just one day?
He's walking three dogs at once ; a golden retriever, a wiry terrier, and a bulldog that seems to be leading the pack. The leashes cross and uncross as the dogs weave around each other, and Jake's holding them with the practiced looseness of someone who's done this a hundred times. He's wearing a worn denim jacket and a few strands of hair are falling on his face, and when he glances up and spots you through the glass, his whole face shifts. He lifts his free hand to give you a small wave, fingers wiggling. You wave back, your brain couldn’t catch.
The bulldog tugs him forward and he's gone, swallowed by the next block. You turn back to the room. Hanni's standing beside you, arms crossed, watching the empty street with an ambiguous expression plastered on her face. "That’s him?" she asks.
"Yeah."
She hums in a considering sound. "He's fucking hot."
You snort, but it comes out wrong, sounding a bit too defensive. "Yeah. He knows it too, I think."
"He doesn't seem like the type who knows it." She shrugs, uncrossing her arms. "He's unaware of his own face."
You don't respond. You're already looking back at the window, though he's long gone. "His nose," you say, the words stumbling right out of your head. "That's the thing. I can't—" You stop yourself, shake your head. "It's nothing."
Hanni could only nod, she understands and hands you a stack of folded towels. "Focus on the towels," she says. "The nose can wait."
You take the towels and get back to work. The image of him across the street stays with you for the rest of the shift.
The sidewalk cracks under your feet as you walk, the sky a pale gray that threatens nothing in particular, hopefully not rain. You pull out your phone, scroll to Jungwon's contact, and press call. He picks up after some time, which means he's either not busy or he's avoiding something.
"What’s up?" he says. "You're calling at a normal time. That's kind of suspicious."
"I'm walking home from work and I thought I'd fill the silence."
"Fill away."
As you ramble on everything, you don’t allow yourself to bring up Jake yet.
"Yeah." You kick a pebble off the curb. "It's weird, though. Sometimes I forget I'm supposed to be starting over. It just feels like—I don't know. Like I've been here longer."
"You have been there longer. In a way." His voice drops, careful. "You lived there before. Remember?"
You stop walking. A car passes, its headlights cutting through the dusk. You do remember—fragments, not really. The knowledge that you'd been in this city before the accident and the three-year gap in your memory. You'd chosen to come back because something about it felt familiar, even if you couldn't know why.
"Yeah," you say. "I keep forgetting that part."
Silence on his end. You start walking again. "There's this guy," you say carelessly, and you already regret it. "In my building. His name is Jake. We keep running into each other."
"What kind of running into?"
"Literally and figuratively. He nearly killed one of the old folk at my work. Long story." You suddenly pause. "He has this orange keychain. The same one I have. You know, the little fruit thing on my keys."
You can hear him breathing, he's seems like measuring his response. "That's weird," he says. "That's a weird coincidence."
"Yeah, I know." You wait for him to say more but he doesn't. "He also said he met you when you came to check out the apartment before I moved in. You talked in the hallway, isn’t it?"
"I did talk to someone. I don't remember his name, though."
"Jake," you repeat. "You don't remember him?"
"Lot of people in that building. I was there for like an hour." He laughs but it sounds flat. "Why are you asking?"
You don't know why you're asking. The question hangs there, unanswered, as you round the corner and your building comes into view. "Pure curiosity," you say. "He's nice. We went to the convenience store last night."
"The convenience store at night. Like a date?"
"Not a date, it was an apology. His dog knocked over an old man at my work."
Jungwon is quiet for a beat before talking again. "Don’t tell me that you like him."
"It's not like that."
"It's exactly like that. I can hear it in your voice."
You stop at the front door of your building, hand on the handle. It’s cool under your palm. "I don't even know him. We've talked, like, four times."
"And you're already calling him by name. That's more than you do with most people."
You leave the question unanswered. The door opens, and the smell of aged carpet and lingering cooking oil greets you before anything else. "I'll talk to you later," you say.
"Okay. But Y/N—"
"What?"
"Be careful, okay? Just—" He stops. "Just be careful with yourself. You're still figuring things out. I love you."
"I know. Love you too." You hang up and stand in the foyer, phone warm in your hand. The hallway stretches ahead, empty and quiet as usual. You climb the stairs slowly instead of taking the elevator, each step slow. What is happening? Something doesn't add up.
─────────
The banging comes from somewhere down the hall. Sharp and insistent, the sound of a fist against wood or maybe a shoulder against a frame. You freeze mid-step, your keys still in the lock, heart lurching into your throat. The apartment building is usually calm at this hour with the muffled sound of someone's guitar upstairs or television, but nothing like this.
You press your eye to the peephole but the angle is wrong, the fish-eye view showing only the empty stretch of hallway directly outside your door. The banging continues, punctuated by a voice. It’s raised, female, too muffled to make out words but carrying an obvious edge of distress.
The smart move would be staying inside, lock the door, call 911 and wait it out. The sound carries a note of despair that makes you pause. Your mind drifts to the building's elderly residents and the possibility that someone is in trouble. Before the thought has time to settle, you're unlocking the door and pulling it open.
You step into the hallway.
Jake is there, about twenty feet down, his back half-turned to you. A woman stands in front of him, her posture stiff, her hands gesturing in jagged movements. She's undeniably pretty ; dark hair pulled back, a denim jacket, boots that look expensive. Her face is flushed, and even from here you can see the tension in her jaw. "It's not fair," she's saying, her voice cracking. "You can't just—I've been trying for months, Jake. Months. And you just—"
"Luna." Jake's voice is low, placating, his hands raised in that universal gesture of de-escalation. "I've told you. It's not like that. I'm not—"
She scoffs, loud and bitter. "Not what? Not interested? You've made that fucking clear."
You're frozen in the doorway, unsure whether to retreat or announce your presence. The woman's head snaps toward you, her eyes widening for a split second before narrowing.
"Oh," she says, the word dripping with annoyance. Her eyes scan you for approximately 5 seconds. "Great. She’s back." She brushes past you without another word, her shoulder colliding with yours hard enough to make you stumble back a step. The elevator doors close behind her, and it's just you and Jake in the hallway now. He's still standing there, hands lowered now, his face a mingle of exhaustion and embarrassment. He runs a palm over his jaw, lets out a long breath.
She's back. What?
"That," he says, "was not how I wanted you to meet my coworker."
You blink at him. "Coworker?"
"Luna." He points loosely toward the elevator. "She works at the shelter with me. We've known each other since we were kids."
You lean against the doorframe, crossing your arms. "She seemed upset."
"She's been upset for a while." He rubs the back of his neck. "She's had a thing for me. For years. And I keep telling her I don't feel that way, but she doesn't—" He exhales again. "She doesn't take it well."
You raise an eyebrow. "So she followed you home and banged on your door?"
"She showed up unannounced. I was trying to calm her down. She's not a bad person, she just—" He hesitates, searching for the right words. "She's stubborn, and she doesn't like hearing no."
You study him. His shoulders are still tense, his hands are shoved deep into his pockets. He looks genuinely rattled, not like someone who's been caught in a lie. "Childhood friends," you repeat. "she's been flirting with you, and you felt bad for her."
"First, I’m not flirting with her and I’m not planning on it. I felt bad because I know she's lonely. She's been through some stuff. But I can't—" He looks at you, his expression transforming invisibly. "I can't give her what she wants. It wouldn't be fair to her. Or to anyone else."
"I’ve never seen you so flustered," you declare softly. He huffs a laugh, short and breathy. "Yeah, well. You bring out the best in me."
You push off from the doorframe. "She seems like she'll be fine."
"She'll be fine. She always is." He pauses. "Thanks for not assuming the worst."
"I assumed the worst," you admit. " A girlfriend and an angry breakup."
"Not a girlfriend," he says. "Not even close."
You nod, and the moment stretches between you, comfortable but charged. "Goodnight then, Jake."
"Sleep tight, Y/N."
You close the door behind you and lean against it, listening to his footsteps retreat down the hall.
Not a girlfriend. Is he lying?
You don't know why that detail settles in your mind the way it does. You’d rather sleep it away.
─────────
You're coming back from a late shift, leaving your feet sore and your brain half-fogged, when you round the corner to your floor and find the hallway occupied. Four of them, clustered around Jake's door like they're waiting for someone to let them in. You recognize Jake immediately ; he's leaning against the wall, arms crossed, laughing at something one of the others said. The other three are strangers, but they have that easy familiarity with each other, displaying years of friendship.
Jake spots you first. His face shifts, the laugh settling into a smile that's more reserved but no less warm. "Y/N," he says. "You're back late."
"There was a lot of work to do." You slow your pace, your keys already in hand. "I wasn't expecting to see a lot of people today."
One of the strangers ; tall with sharp features and a casual slouch ; he steps forward, extending a hand. "Jay. I've heard about you."
"Good things, I hope."
"Debatable." The one next to him grins, softer, with eyes that crinkle at the corners. "I'm Heeseung. This is Sunghoon, and that's Jenna, his girlfriend."
Jenna waves from where she's tucked under Sunghoon's arm. She has a face that immediately puts you at ease, round and open and curious.
"We were about to have a drink," Jake announces. "You want to join?"
You hesitate. The exhaustion is tugging at your limbs, but the alternative is your empty apartment and the leftover convenience store chips you've been picking at for days. "Sure," you say. "Why not."
His apartment is the same as before, but with four extra bodies it feels smaller, more alive. Jay immediately claims the couch, sprawling like he owns it. Heeseung perches on the armrest. Sunghoon and Jenna take the floor, backs against the coffee table, and Jake gestures for you to take the single chair by the window.
"Drinks are in the kitchen," he says. "Help yourself."
You grab something from the fridge ; a cheap beer, nothing fancy ; and settle into the chair. The conversation flows around you, natural and unforced, as they talk about work and mutual friends and an inside joke about the shelter.
After two or three drinks, someone suggests a game. "Chug or dare," Jay announces, the glint in his eye makes you immediately suspicious. "You know the rules. Pick chug, you finish your drink. Pick dare, you do whatever we come up with. But you’re forbidden to back down."
"Really?" you say. "This is how you treat your guests?"
"Guests are the most fun," Heeseung says. "You're fresh meat."
Jake shoots them a warning look, veiled with exasperation. "You don't have to play. They're idiots."
"We’re not," Sunghoon protests. "Jake, it’s been years since we know each other. Don’t be surprised."
You look around the room. The faces watching you are expectant, amused, a little bit reckless. The knot in your chest loosens. "I’m in. I'm taking Jake down with me, though."
The first few rounds are tame. Heeseung chugs three times in a row and declares himself champion. Sunghoon dares Jay to do a handstand, which he fails spectacularly. Jenna picks dare and has to call her mom and tell her she loves her, which she does with zero hesitation and an extreme level of sincerity.
After that, the bottle lands on you. "Y/N," Jay says, rubbing his hands together. "Chug or dare?"
You weigh your options. Your drink is half-full. "Dare."
Jay leans forward, eyes glittering. "I dare you to tell us what you first thought when you saw Jake."
The room goes quiet. Jake's hand stops mid-reach for his bottle.
"That's not a dare," you say. "That's kind of embarrassing."
"It's the correct functionality of a dare." Heeseung is grinning now, too. "Answer the question."
You look at Jake. He's watching you with a curious expression.
"You want the honest answer?" you ask.
"Always."
"His nose." The words come out neutral. "I thought it was ridiculous how perfect it was. It’s like someone sculpted it. It's annoying, honestly."
A beat of silence. Then Jay doubles over, slapping his knee. Heeseung lets out a wheeze of a laugh. Sunghoon is covering his mouth, eyes wide. Jenna just shakes her head, grinning. Jake's face has gone slightly pink. He looks down at his bottle, then back at you, and his face softens. "That's not what I expected," he says.
"I had to be unpredictable."
The game continues. Jenna gets dared to chug and does it with ease. Sunghoon gets asked if he'd rather fight a bodybuilder or five horses, and he spends five minutes arguing the logistics. Heeseung picks chug three times in a row and is visibly struggling to stay upright, his ears turning bright pink.
It's Jake's turn. "Chug," he says immediately.
"Whoa, not too fast." Jay says. "You're not getting out of it that easy. I'm changing the rules. You have to pick dare."
"Since when can you change the rules?"
"Since I'm the one asking." Jay grins. "Dare : show us the most embarrassing thing on your phone."
Jake's eyes narrow. "I'm not doing that."
"Then you have to answer a question instead," Sunghoon offers. "From anyone in the room. You pick who."
Jake considers this. His gaze scans the room, passing over Jay and Heeseung, settling on you for a moment before moving to Jenna. "Jenna. Ask me anything."
Jenna tilts her head, thinking. "Why did you move back to this city?" The question lands differently than the others. The light atmosphere falters slightly. Jake's jaw tightens, and for a second you see an unguarded expression crossing his features.
"Personal reasons," he says. "I needed to be back here."
"That's vague," Heeseung notes.
"It's still an answer." Jake picks up his bottle. "I'm drinking now." He finishes his drink in one long swallow, and everyone lets it go.
The bottle spins again, lands on you. Jay's turn to ask. "Chug or dare?"
You're feeling the warmth of the alcohol now, loose and careless. "Dare."
"I dare you to kiss Jake."
The room goes dead quiet. You hear someone inhale sharply ; maybe Jenna or yourself. Jake's head snaps toward Jay, disbelief and uncertainty show on his features.
"Jay," he mumbles, his voice has an edge to it. "That's not—"
"Too late," Jay cuts him off. "She already picked. Rules are rules."
You look at Jake. He's sitting across from you, one arm draped over the back of the couch, his bottle dangling from his fingers. The light from the kitchen catches the lines of his face, the curve of his jaw, the bridge of his nose. That stupid, perfect nose. Lord, why would you make me cross paths with a guy that I obviously can’t have? He’s going to be fucking weirded out since I haven’t kiss a single soul in my entire life.
"I don't have to, right?" you say. "I can chug instead."
"You're not chugging." Jay's tone is firm. "That's not how the game works."
The silence lingers. Jake holds your gaze, his expression betraying him ; hesitation, or resolve masquerading as it. Whatever it is, it stays unspoken.
"Jake," you say, and your voice comes out steady. "What do you think?"
He studies you in silence for what feels like an eternity. Then he sets his bottle down with delicate care, rises, and slowly closes the distance between you. "Okay," he says lowly. "If you're okay with it."
You're not sure if you're okay with it. I mean, he’s hot for sure. You're lost right now, while his hand finds the back of your chair, he leans down, his breath is warm and smells faintly of beer. His lips brush your cheek. Soft, quick, almost unsure. It's not a kiss, not really ; it's the ghost of one, lingering just long enough to leave a hot mark. He straightens up and steps back. The room erupts into wolf-whistles and laughter.
"Cheater," Jay yells. "That's not a kiss."
"Mind you, those are my favorite kind." Jake says, and he's looking at you, not at Jay. You touch your cheek, where the warmth of his lips still lingers. Your face is burning, you're not sure if it's embarrassment or something else. "You're a coward," you say, your tone weak.
He smiles, slow and crooked. "You’re going to thank me later."
The game dissolves after that, the energy beginning to loosen, more rambling. Jenna falls asleep against Sunghoon's shoulder. Heeseung starts recounting a story about one of his high school exes. Jake moves to the floor, leaning against the couch, and you find yourself beside him, your shoulders almost touching. Your head starts to pound.
The game continues. The bottle spins, lands on Jay, then Heeseung, then Jenna. People chug or dare with increasing abandon, the alcohol loosening tongues and lowering inhibitions. Sunghoon admits he once cried while arguing with Jenna. You're on your fourth bottle, maybe your fifth. The edges of the room have gone soft and blurry, and you're laughing at something Heeseung said that you're not entirely sure was a joke. Your face feels warm, your limbs loose, and when you lean back against the couch, your shoulder brushes Jake's once again.
The bottle spins again to land on you. Jay's turn, because it's always Jay. "Y/N. Chug or dare?"
"Dare." You're feeling bold, the alcohol humming in your veins. Jay's grin is wicked. "I dare you to spend ten minutes locked in Jake's bedroom. Just the two of you, with no phones."
The room erupts. Sunghoon lets out a low whistle and Heeseung chuckles while nearly passing out on the couch.
Jake shifts beside you. "Okay, let’s stop here—"
"You cheated earlier," Jay cuts him off. "You’ll have to make up for that."
You glance at Jake. His expression gives nothing away, even though the tightness in his jaw wasn't there a moment ago. He watches you closely, waiting for your reaction.
"Ten minutes?" you say. "That's it?"
"That's it."
You stand, and the room tilts slightly. You steady yourself against the arm of the couch. "Fine."
Jake stands too, as hesitant as before. He leads you down the short hallway to his bedroom, and you hear the hoots and catcalls from the living room as the door clicks shut behind you.
The room is small and neat. A bed with rumpled sheets, a dresser with a lamp, a window overlooking the street. And on the nightstand, next to a half-empty glass of water, a photo frame turned face-down.
Jake leans against the door, arms crossed. "You don't have to do this. We can just sit here and wait it out."
"Where's the fun in that?" You're already wandering around, peering at books on the shelf, a guitar propped in the corner. Your eyes keep drifting back to the photo frame. You walk toward it, curiosity tugging at you. "What's this?"
Jake's body goes still. Before you can reach for it, he's there, his hand catching your wrist, turning you toward him. "No, please don’t," he says, and his voice is urgent.
"Why? Is it embarrassing?"
"Something like that."
You're close now, close enough to see the flecks of gold in his eyes, his pupils are dilated, there’s a slight sheen on his lower lip. The alcohol has made you bold and afraid of nothing.
"I want to see," you say.
He leans in for his lips find yours. The kiss is warm, lingering, carrying a soft urgency that feels almost like a plea. Even though you thought you had no experience in kissing, doing it with him nearly felt natural, as much as muscle memory. The world seems to melt around you. Your thoughts dissolve, and the photo frame slips from your mind as completely as if it had never been there. You stumble backward, your calves hitting the edge of the bed, and you fall onto the mattress, pulling him with you. He catches himself on his hands, hovering over you, but your legs are tangled and the momentum shifts and suddenly you're in his lap, straddling him, your knees on either side of his hips.
His hands find your waist, then slide down, settling on your butt. He squeezes, and you gasp against his mouth. He kisses you again, deeper and slower, his tongue brushing your lower lip. You arch into him, your fingers threading through his hair, and he groans, low and rough.
The kiss breaks for a moment, both of you breathing hard. He's looking up at you, his eyes pleading, his lips parted. "Y/N," he murmurs, your name sounds different in his mouth, sounding like it means something more.
You finally get the hang of it and you kiss him again. His hands tighten on your ass, pulling you closer, and you feel the heat of him through both your clothes. The world outside this room fades into static.
Ten minutes pass. Even longer than that.
You feel him shift beneath you, his hips rolling upward in a slow motion, sending a jolt through your entire body. His hands are still firm on your backside, guiding you, and you follow the movement without thinking, your own hips tilting to meet his.
The kiss breaks just long enough for you to gasp, and he takes the opportunity to press his mouth to your jaw, your neck, and the sensitive spot just below your ear. Your fingers tighten in his hair, and you feel the low vibration of a sound that might be his voice or yours, you can't really tell anymore.
He grinds up into you again, and you feel the full heat of him through the denim, the friction of it making your head spin. Your breath is coming in short, uneven bursts, and his is the same ; harsh and ragged against your skin. His hands slide up from your backside to your waist, then back down, pulling you closer, harder, like he's trying to fuse you to him. You're not sure who moves first, but suddenly you're both lying back on the bed, him beneath you, your legs still straddling his hips, the kiss deepening into something messier. His fingers find the hem of your shirt and slip beneath, grazing the bare skin of your lower back, and you shiver.
Someone bangs at the door. Insistent knocks on the bedroom door. Heeseung's voice, muffled but audible. "Time's up! Ten minutes are over! You're not dead, are you?"
You both stop in your tracks. Your foreheads almost touching, your breath mingling in the small space between. He laughs from half-exasperation and half-relief. He drops his head back against the pillow, and you feel the tension in his shoulders subtly ease.
"Ignore him," he says while he's already loosening his grip on your waist, giving you space to pull back. You sit up, your thighs still bracketing his hips, and run a hand through your tangled hair. Your face is burning. Your lips feel swollen. You're acutely aware of every point of contact between you.
"We should—" you start, yet you don't know how to finish the sentence.
"Yeah." He's watching you from beneath half-lidded eyes, a slow smile spreading across his face.
Heeseung bangs again. "I'm not leaving until you open the door! Jay's timing you!"
Jake groans without real frustration in it. He sits up slowly, his hands finding your waist and steadying you as you climb off his lap. You stand, smoothing down your shirt, and he gets to his feet, adjusting his jeans with casualness.
He opens the door.
Heeseung stands there, arms crossed, a triumphant grin on his face. "Took you long enough. What were you doing in there?"
Jake steps past him into the hallway. "Mind your own business."
You follow, keeping your eyes fixed on the floor, you catch Jenna's teasing glance and Jay's eyebrows have shot up past his hairline. You already have to resist the urge to hide behind Jake's shoulder.
"Drink," Heeseung says, shoving a fresh bottle into your hand. "You've earned it."
You take it carelessly. You stand there, feeling the phantom weight of Jake's hands on your waist, the lingering heat of his mouth on your neck. How the fuck am I going to face him after that?
Or any day after.
─────────
A week passes.
Seven days of routine, of work and sleep and the occasional text from Hanni about something absurd a resident did. You walk the same hallways, take the same elevator, pass the same doors. But you don't see Jake ; not in the corridor, not at the coffee shop and not on the street. It's like he's vanished into the walls of the building, existing only in the memory of that night ; the heat of his hands, the press of his mouth, and how your name rolled over his tongue in such a delicate way.
You tell yourself it doesn't matter, that it was just a game, just alcohol, just ten minutes in a locked room that somehow stretched into something you can't stop replaying. You tell yourself you're not looking for him when you walk past his door nor listening for his footsteps on the stairs.
You can’t even lie to yourself.
Jungwon arrives on Friday afternoon, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder and a grin that takes up half his face. He hugs you in the doorway, squeezing too tight, and you let him because you've missed him more than you realized.
"Damn. It’s smaller then I remember," he announces, dropping his bag on the floor. "Like, really small. How do you live here?"
"I manage."
"Barely, by the looks of it." He peers at the stack of boxes still in the corner, the ones you haven't touched since you moved in. "You haven't unpacked everything."
"I'm getting to it."
"Yeah, right."
The weekend unfolds. You take him to the park, to the coffee shop, to the elderly home to meet Hanni and Jacob and Mrs. Han. He charms everyone, that's what he does the best, and by the end of the first day he's already promised to visit again.
Sunday afternoon, you're walking back from the park, the sun warm on your shoulders. Jungwon is telling you about a girl in his sociology class, someone he's been dancing around for weeks, he met her that one mixer party, and you're listening with half your attention, the other half occupied by the streets and the weight of your keys in your pocket. You round the corner into your building's corridor.
No way.
Jake.
He's standing by his door, keys in hand, like he's just coming back from somewhere. He looks up as you approach, and for a moment, A subtle change passed over his face. His eyes lit with recognition, followed by a fleeting trace of relief that was quickly replaced by his usual impassive stance.
"Y/N," he says. "Hey."
"Hi."
Jungwon's gaze flickers between you, sharp and assessing. "You're Jake," he says, there's a weight to the words that makes you look at him. Jake's posture shifts, almost imperceptibly. "Yeah. And you're Jungwon."
"You remember me."
"I remember a lot of things." Jake's voice is calm, yet there's a tension in his jaw that wasn't there before. You look between them, suddenly aware that you're missing something. "You two already know each other. From before I moved in, right?"
"Briefly," Jungwon says, and the word is clipped. He turns to you, his expression softening. "Y/N, can you go inside? I want to talk to Jake for a minute."
"What? Why?"
"I—" He hesitates. "I'll explain later. Please."
You look at Jake. He's watching Jungwon with an expression you can't read, and when he meets your gaze, there's something almost apologetic in it.
"Please," Jungwon repeats.
You hesitate, the key in your hand feeling heavier than usual. Jungwon has never asked you for much, and the look on his face is earnest in a way you rarely see. "Fine," you say, and you don't miss the way both of them exhale just slightly. "You better tell me later."
You slip into your room and quietly shut the door behind you. Remaining still, you lean close until your ear rests against the wood, listening for the hushed conversation outside. Only faint murmurs reach you, too muffled to make out.
You stand in the middle of your apartment, staring at the closed door, your hand still resting on the handle. The silence stretches, thick and heavy, broken only by the distant sound of traffic from the street. You count the seconds, then the minutes, your mind spinning through possibilities you can't figure out.
When the door finally opens, Jungwon steps inside and closes it behind him with a soft click. He doesn't meet your eyes immediately, and his shoulders are set in an unusual way ; the tension he carries when something is bothering him but he doesn't want to talk about it.
"Everything okay?" you ask.
He runs a hand through his hair, exhales slowly. "Yeah, it’s fine. It was—" He stops, shakes his head. "He's a little weird. That's all."
"Weird how?"
"I don't know." He shrugs too quickly. "It’s just the way he talks. He sounds like he knows more than he's saying. It's probably nothing."
You study him. His jaw is tight, and there's a crease between his brows that he's trying to smooth away. You've known him your whole life, or at least the parts you remember, and you can tell when he's holding something back. "Jungwon." You keep your voice level. "What did you talk about?"
He moves past you toward the kitchen, opens the fridge, and stares inside with focus. "I just wanted to get a read on him and make sure he's not some weirdo who's going to cause problems for you."
"And?"
"And he's not." He pulls out a bottle of water, twists off the cap to take a long drink. "He seems fine. Genuine, even. I just—" He pauses and sets the bottle down. "I don't know. There's something about him that feels familiar, and I can't figure out what it is."
Your stomach tightens. "Familiar how?"
"I don't know." He says it again, more frustrated this time. "It's probably nothing. I'm probably just being overprotective."
The unease that's lingered since the moment you saw the keychain resurfaces with renewed force. Jake's searching gaze keeps replaying in your mind, refusing to be ignored. Questions crowd your thoughts, but one look at Jungwon's guarded expression tells you this isn't the time to press him. You know he'd only withdraw further.
"Okay," you say. "If you say it's nothing."
"It's nothing." He meets your eyes, something in his gaze that's almost pleading. "Drop it, okay? For now."
You nod, even though every instinct is telling you not to. He relaxes for a bit, and the moment passes. Something is happening. Something you don't understand. And you're starting to think that the answers might not be as simple as you hoped.
─────────
As the door shuts behind Jungwon, the apartment returns to its usual calm. You stand quietly, replaying the fragments of a conversation you were never meant to hear. Whatever Jake said has stayed with him, but his expression is firmly closed off.
You wander into the living room, grab your phone and scroll through notifications. A news alert catches your eye ; an article about the sequel to that movie you've been waiting for, the one you've watched half a dozen times since you moved. Your stomach drops as you read the date. The premiere was last week. You missed it.
You're already moving toward the door before you fully decide to go. Your shorts are fine. The hoodie is fine. It's just a movie, and the theater is only a few blocks away. You don't bother changing or checking your reflection. You grab your keys and step into the hallway.
Jake is at the elevator, walking out as you're heading down. He stops when he sees you, his gaze traveling over your outfit, the urgency in your stride.
"Whoa," he says. "Where's the fire?"
"Movie." You're already past him, one hand on the buttons. "The sequel to that film I've been waiting for. I missed the premiere. I'm trying to catch a showing."
He watches you for a beat, then his hand lands lightly on your arm, stopping you. "Wait. Which movie?"
You tell him the title. His eyebrows lift.
"I like that one too," he says. "I actually have it. The original, I mean. On my laptop. I downloaded the sequel the day it came out."
You blink at him. "You downloaded it?"
"Yeah. I was going to watch it tonight, actually." He drops his hand and shoves it into his pocket. "If you want, you could watch it with me, at my place. Instead of running to the theater in shorts."
The simplicity of his offer makes it harder to dismiss. You think about the movie theater and everything that comes with it, but those thoughts are quickly overshadowed by the past week without him, the lingering uncertainty between you, and the rush of your heartbeat. "That's not weird?" you ask. "Watching a movie with your neighbor you haven't talked to in a week?"
He shrugs, a small smile playing at his mouth. "It's a good movie. And I promise I won't talk during the quiet parts."
You consider it. The hallway is dark, the evening light filtering through the window at the end. He's standing there, patient, and waiting for your answer.
"Okay," you say. "I don’t want to share my snacks, though."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
You follow him to his door, your footsteps echoing in the hallway. His apartment is just as you remember it ; the guitar, the books, the soft warm lights. He gestures toward the couch while he grabs his laptop from the coffee table and plugs it to the TV. You settle into the cushions, pulling your knees up, the hoodie swallowing you. The screen lights up, the opening credits rolling. He sits at the other end of the couch, a respectful distance between you, and hits play.
The movie plays on, but neither of you is really watching anymore. The scenes blur into background noise, punctuated by your shared laughter at a line you both find cliché, a character you both hate, a moment that still makes you cringe after all these years. Between scenes, you talk ; about the original movie, about other films, about nothing at all ; and the space between you shrinks with each exchange.
You barely register the moment his arm comes to rest along the back of the couch. The small brush of his fingertips against your shoulder goes unnoticed too. It's only when his hand settles there, warm and reassuring, his thumb lazily drawing slow circles over your hoodie, that you become aware of just how close he is. The blanket is draped over both of you, a thin barrier against the cool air of the apartment. His other hand slips beneath it, finding your thigh, resting there with a casualness that feels anything but like it. You lean into him, your head drifting toward his shoulder, the conversation fading into comfortable silence.
The movie continues, although you can feel your eyes becoming heavy. The warmth of his hand on your thigh, the rhythm of his breathing, the low murmur of dialogue from the TV ; it all blends into a haze of contentment. Your eyelids droop, flutter, close.
"Y/N." His voice is soft, barely above a whisper. "You're falling asleep."
"Mmm." You don't open your eyes. "I know."
"Do you want to go back?"
The room stays quiet as his words linger. Beyond the door waits a dark hallway, an empty apartment, and a bed that has already gone cold. The image settles over you like a burden, leaving you with little desire to leave.
"I don't want to move," you murmur, the words slurred with sleep.
He's quiet for a moment before he decides to speak. "You could stay here if you want. I have an extra blanket, or—" He pauses. "The bed's big enough."
You lift your head, blinking at him. His face is so close, his eyes soft in the low light of the screen. There's no expectation in his expression, no pressure. It’s an offer.
"Okay," you say.
He stands, extends a hand, and pulls you gently to your feet. You both walk shortly to his bedroom. He pulls back the covers, and you slip in, the mattress dipping under your weight. He climbs in behind you, his arm finding your waist, pulling you close. His chest presses against your back, his legs tangling with yours, and you feel his breath warm against the curve of your neck.
"You smell so good," he murmurs, the words a low vibration against your skin.
You laugh, low and drowsy. "I haven't showered."
"Don't care." His nose brushes your hairline. "You always smell good."
His arm tightens around you, his hand splayed across your stomach. His lips press a soft, absent kiss to your shoulder, then another, barely there. "Your skin is so soft too," he confies, you can hear the smile in his voice. "I wanted to tell you that before. When you got out of the shower at my place, that first time. But I didn't want to be weird."
"You're being weird now," you mumble, but you're smiling too.
"Keep acting like you don’t like it." He nuzzles into your neck. "I'm okay with it."
You feel his hand slide from your stomach to your hip, his thumb tracing slow circles against the bone. His breath evens out, his body relaxing behind you, and you feel yourself sinking into the warmth of him.
"Jake," you say, barely audible.
"Yeah?"
"Thanks for letting me stay."
He squeezes you gently, his lips pressing against your hair. "Anytime, Y/N."
Curled against his chest, you slowly surrender to sleep. His arm remains securely around you, its warmth grounding you until the last of your thoughts dissolve.
─────────
The sunlight filters through the curtains, and you blink awake slowly, your mind still thick with sleep. The bed is warm, the sheets tangled around your legs, however, the space beside you is empty. You reach out, your hand finding only cool fabric.
You lie there for a moment, orienting yourself. Jake's room. Jake's bed. The events of the night before trickle back in fragments. You check your phone on the nightstand. Saturday, 9:47 AM. Two days off stretching ahead of you, unplanned and open. You pad out of the bedroom, still in the oversized hoodie you wore last night, your hair a mess and your eyes half-opened. The smell of coffee hits you brutally. Jake is standing at the kitchen counter, a mug in one hand, his phone in the other. He's in a plain white t-shirt and gray sweatpants, his hair still sleep-tousled, and he looks up when he hears your footsteps.
"Morning," he says, his voice so soft and reassuring. "I didn't want to wake you. You looked comfortable."
"You're still here," you say, your voice scratchy. "Don't you have work?"
He shakes his head. "Day off. I figured I'd take it easy."
You close the distance without giving yourself time to hesitate. Slipping your arms around his waist from behind, you rest your cheek between his shoulder blades. Warmth radiates through him, and you feel his entire body go still beneath your embrace. He stays still. His breath barely catches, and you feel the tension ripple through his shoulders. After that, his hand comes down to rest over yours, his thumb brushing across your knuckles.
"Y/N," he says, and his voice is rougher than before. "You're going to make me drop my coffee."
"Put it down, then."
He does as you say. You hear the mug clink against the counter, and then he's turning in your arms, his hands finding your waist, his face close to yours. A flush is creeping up his neck, pink and noticeable, the sight of it makes thousands of sparks flicker in your stomach.
"You're blushing." you observe.
"I’m not," he says, his ears are red now, and he's not meeting your eyes. "I just wasn't expecting a hug. First thing in the morning. From someone who—" He stops, clears his throat. "Never mind."
"From someone who what?"
He finally looks at you, vulnerability filling his gaze completely. "From someone I really didn't want to wake up alone."
Words fail you, so you simply stay where you are. He pulls you into him, holding you with gentleness before resting his forehead against the top of your head. As he breathes in deeply, the strain he'd been carrying begins to slip away.
"Your hair smells like my shampoo," he mumbles into your hair.
"Your shampoo smells good."
"It's just generic stuff from the convenience store."
"Still smells good."
He laughs, soft and warm, and his arms tighten around you. "That sounded stupid, doesn’t it?"
You smile and chuckle against his chest. "A little bit."
You only eat eggs, toasts and drink coffee, but it feels like more than that. You sit across from him at his small kitchen table, the soft light of the sun landing on his face, and the conversation flows easily between bites.
He tells you about the shelter and problems that he had when he took care of a dog for the first time, and you do the same.
"It's a good job," you say, stirring your coffee. "Exhausting, but good. They make me laugh sometimes."
"They sound like characters."
"They are." You pause, watching him over the rim of your mug. "Can I ask you something personal?"
He looks up, a hint of wariness in his eyes, but he nods. "Sure."
"Why did you move back here? You said that night at the game—personal reasons. But you didn't elaborate."
He's quiet for a moment, his fork hovering over his plate. "I had some things to figure out," he says slowly. "Things I couldn't figure out anywhere else."
"Like what?"
He meets your gaze, something you can’t quite read passes across his face. "Like whether some things are worth coming back for."
The answer is vague and careful, yet there's a weight to it that makes you not want to know more about it. So you don't.
"Your turn," you say instead. "You can ask me anything."
He sets down his fork, considering. "What made you choose this city? Out of all the places you could have gone."
You look down at your coffee. The steam rises in slow spirals. "I used to live here. Before the accident." You say it matter-of-factly, you've learned to say it over the past year. "I don't remember it, but something about it felt right. Like I was supposed to come back."
"The accident," he repeats, and his voice is measured now. "You've mentioned it before. The memory loss."
"Yeah." You wrap your hands around the mug, let the warmth seep into your palms. "Three years. Just gone. I woke up in the hospital and suddenly I was 22, and I didn't remember being 21, 20 and even 19. My brother had to tell me who I was friends with, where I'd worked, what I'd done." You pause. "It's strange. Knowing there's a version of yourself out there that you'll never meet."
Jake is watching you intently, his breakfast forgotten. "That must have been hard," he says quietly.
"It was. Still is, sometimes. There are things I know I'm supposed to remember—people, places, moments—and I just can't access them. It’s like a locked door I don't have the key to."
He's silent for a long moment. When he speaks, his voice is softer than before. "Do you ever feel like you're close to remembering? Or that something triggers it?"
You consider the question. "Sometimes it’s little things. A smell, a song, or an object." You think of the keychain, the one that matches his. "But it never sticks. It's just—there and it’s gone."
He nods slowly.
"Sorry," you say. "That got heavy."
"Don't apologize." He reaches across the table, his hand covering yours. "Thank you for telling me."
You look at his hand on yours, warm and soft. "Your turn," you say, trying to lighten the mood. "Ask me something else."
He thinks for a moment. "What's your favorite thing about this city? Now that you're back."
You smile, the tension easing. "The coffee shop on the corner. They have terrible pastries but really good lattes."
He laughs, and the sound fills the kitchen. "I'll have to try it sometime."
"Maybe I'll take you." The words come out before you can stop them, and you feel a flush creep up your neck.
He squeezes your hand. "I'd like that."
The morning stretches into a lazy afternoon. You've migrated to the couch, your phone in one hand, scrolling through nothing in particular. Jake is stretched out beside you, his head resting on your thigh like it belongs there, his own phone held above his face. The weight of him is warm and familiar now, and you've stopped overthinking how his hair brushes against your bare knee.
He's quiet, focused on whatever he's reading, his thumb occasionally swiping. You're half-watching a video on your own screen, the sound muted, when you feel his body shift. A pause. His thumb stops moving.
Then his free hand moves, quick and unexpected, his fingers finding the spot just above your knee. He digs in lightly, and you jolt, your phone nearly slipping from your grip.
"Jake!" Your voice comes out loud, a mix of surprise and laughter. "What are you doing?"
He grins, an unapologetic grin, and his fingers keep moving, dancing along the sensitive skin of your thigh. You try to twist away, but his head is still heavy on your lap, pinning you in place, and he's using his other hand to trap your leg.
"Stop—" You're laughing, breathless, trying to grab his wrist. "I'm serious—"
"Are you?" His voice is teasing and low. His fingers find your ribs, and you arch, a helpless sound escaping you.
"You're the fucking worst." You manage to grab his hand, but he's stronger, and he uses the momentum to roll slightly, shifting so he can reach your side. The tickling intensifies, and you're squirming, your free hand batting at his shoulder.
"Say I'm the best," he says, his voice muffled against your stomach.
"Never."
He doubles down, and you dissolve into helpless laughter, your phone clattering onto the floor. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes.
"Okay—okay—you're the best." The words come out in a wheeze. "You're the best, Jake. I surrender."
He stops, his hand stilling, still he doesn't move away. His face is close now, hovering over you, his eyes bright with amusement and softness beneath.
"That was easy," he says.
"Fuck you."
"You wouldn't," He settles back down, and you slap his arm for the comment. His head finding your lap again, his hand resting loosely on your knee. "Don't worry. I'll go easy on you next time."
You pick up your phone with your heart is still racing, and you can feel the warmth of his palm through the thin fabric of your shorts.
A random movie starts on the laptop screen, playing as background noise to fill the silence. You're sitting on the floor between Jake's legs, your back against the couch, your head tilted back slightly as his fingers work through your hair. He's been at it for a while now, separating strands, twisting them together, muttering under his breath when they slip apart.
"Like this?" he asks, his voice close to your ear.
"Tighter," you say. "You're not pulling enough."
"I don't want to hurt you."
"You won't. Just—here." You reach up, your hand finding his, guiding his fingers to the right section. "Hold that one. Now cross it over the middle. Yes, like that."
He follows your instructions with concentration and that makes you smile. His fingers are careful, delicate, and you feel the gentle tug as he works through a tangle.
"You've done this before, no?" you say.
"Never. I'm just naturally talented."
You snort. "We'll see about that."
Another minute passes. He's quiet, too focused, and you can feel the slight movement of his hands as he continues his work. You're both lost in the small intimacy of the moment.
"Okay," he says finally. "I think I got it."
You reach up, your fingers brushing against the braid he's made. It's lopsided, uneven, with strands sticking out at odd angles. You tug at it gently, and a section comes loose.
"It's bad," you say, and you can hear the laughter in your own voice.
He lets out a mock-offended sound. "I spent ten minutes on that."
"Ten minutes and this is what I get?"
"I'm a beginner. Tell me I’m doing good. Please."
You turn your head to look up at him. He's pouting weakly, his bottom lip pushed out, his eyes looking down with exaggerated hurt.
"Okay," you relent. "You did great."
His expression shifts instantly, the pout melting into a pleased smile. "Really?"
"For a first try. It's not completely terrible."
"High praise." His hand finds your shoulder, squeezing gently. "I'll take it."
You settle back against the couch, your head still tilted to look at him. He's looking down at you, his gaze soft, unguarded, letting you see something he usually keeps hidden.
"These past few days," he says, his voice quieter now. "They've been—I don't know. I've been comfortable. More than I have in a while."
"You're not going to get all sentimental on me, are you?"
He laughs, low and warm. "Maybe a little. Is that okay?"
You wait and watch him, the light catches his eyes, the slight curve of his mouth. The air between you feels heavier now. He leans forward, his face hovering above yours, and you feel a pull ; something that tugs at the edges of your memory. The feeling is fleeting, gone before you can grasp it, yet it leaves a warmth in its wake.
"Y/N," he says, your name sounds different on his lips.
Suddenly, his mouth is on yours, gentle and upside down, his lips soft against your own. You lean into him, your hand reaching up to cup his jaw, and the kiss deepens. His fingers thread through your hair, careful not to pull the messy braid loose, and you tilt your head further to meet him. The angle is awkward, the position of him behind you and you below making it clumsy, but you don't want to stop.
When he finally pulls back, his face above yours by an inch, his breath is uneven.
"You’re so pretty that it hurts," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. "I could handle a little pain, though."
"You don't look bad yourself." You chuckle softly, close your eyes and let yourself feel it ; the warmth of him, the pace of his heart against your back, the small certainty that this is exactly where you're supposed to be.
Now, the movie has ended, the credits scrolling silently across the screen. Silence remains in the living room. You've shifted positions, no longer on the floor but curled together on the couch, your back against his chest, his arms wrapped around you. His legs bracket yours, and your head rests in the crook of his neck, the warmth of him seeping through your t-shirt.
His lips find your temple first, light and sweet, a barely-there press of skin against skin. Then your cheek. Then the corner of your eye. Each kiss is soft, as he's memorizing the geography of your face. You feel the slight stubble on his jaw brush against you.
"Are you still going to kiss every inch of my face?" you murmur, your eyes closed.
"Every single one." He punctuates the words with another kiss, this one on the bridge of your nose. "I have a list. It's very thorough."
You laugh, tired and content, and his arms tighten around you. His lips trail down to your jaw, then your chin, then the spot just below your ear.
"Getting distracted?" you ask.
"Completely." Another kiss, this one on your neck. "This is your fault for being here."
"I didn't do anything."
"You’re existing right now, so deal with the consequences."
You tilt your head back, giving him more access, and he takes the invitation, his mouth trailing along the curve of your throat. His kisses are still gentle, almost reverent, but they linger a little longer now.
His fingers find your hand, lace through yours, squeeze once. You feel the weight of his lips on your shoulder, your collarbone, the soft skin just above the neckline of your hoodie. Then back up, retracing the path, pausing at your cheek again.
"You're very thorough," you manage, your voice dreamy.
"I told you. I'm a man of my word."
He presses one last kiss to the corner of your mouth, soft and sweet, and then settles his chin on the top of your head, his arms still wrapped around you like he's afraid you'll disappear.
You don’t want to move. The afternoon light has shifted, growing gold, and the room feels suspended in a bubble of warmth and intimacy.
"Jake," you say, your voice barely above a whisper.
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. For today. For all of it."
He presses his lips to your hair, a silent reply, and you feel his smile against the strands. The last kiss lingers, right against your hair, and then you tilt your head up, catching his mouth with yours. It's not the upside-down kiss from before, this one is direct and utterly intentional, your lips finding his with unexpected certainty. He responds immediately, his hand cupping your jaw, angling you toward him.
You feel his other hand slide from your shoulder down your side, settling on your hip. You shift, twisting in his arms, and before you know it, you're turning to face him properly. Your knees find the cushion on either side of his thighs, and you settle into his lap, straddling him, your chest pressed against his.
His hands find your waist immediately, gripping you through the fabric of your t-shirt, his fingers splaying across the curve of your hips. He pulls you closer, and you feel the strong warmth of him beneath you, his breath hitches slightly as you settle your weight against him.
"You're going to make it hard to stop." he murmurs against your lips while he's smiling.
"That’s too bad." you whisper back, you could feel the vibration of his laugh.
─────────
It’s been an hour. You’re still straddling Jake, your knees sinking into the cushions on either side of his hips as your mouths move together in a heated, urgent kiss. His lips are warm and demanding, although there’s a delicious clumsiness to the way he kisses you ; teeth grazing a little too eagerly, his tongue sliding against yours with more hunger than precision. He’s so turned on he can barely focus, and it shows in every shaky breath and muffled sound.
His large hands slide down your back and grip your ass firmly now, fingers digging into the soft flesh with possessive strength. He squeezes and fondles you without restraint, kneading your cheeks as he pulls you harder against the growing bulge in his sweatpants. A low throaty moan echoes from his chest into your mouth, raw and needy, sending a rush of heat straight through you.
He breaks the kiss for half a second to gasp for air, forehead lightly pressed to yours, before diving back in even sloppier than before ; lips wet, tongue eager, hands still greedily massaging and spreading your ass as he rocks you against him. His grip is tight enough to leave marks, but the way he groans your name between kisses makes it impossible to care.
You pull back to catch your breath, your hands resting on his chest as you look down at him with flushed cheeks. His eyes are veiled with want, lips slightly swollen from the messy kiss, and his hands are still firmly anchored to your ass, unwilling to let go.
“Sorry,” you whisper, voice a little shaky. “If I’m bad at this…it’s my first time doing any of it, really.”
Jake blinks up at you, his breath still ragged. For a moment his grip on your ass loosens slightly, but then he squeezes again, almost reassuringly. A soft surprised chuckle escapes him before he leans in and presses a gentler kiss to the corner of your mouth.
“It’s okay,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice husky and sincere. “I’ve never gotten past a kiss either. So…we’re both figuring this out.”
He pulls you closer again, one hand sliding up your back while the other stays possessively on your ass, and kisses you slower now ; still clumsy with need, still moaning softly into your mouth, but now with a shared nervousness that somehow makes everything feel even hotter.
You smile softly against his lips at his confession, a warm flutter of relief mixing with the heat in your belly. Boldness comes through you, you slide one hand down his chest, slowly tracing the ridges of his abs through the thin fabric of his shirt. Your fingertips press lightly, exploring the firm muscle beneath, and Jake’s entire body jolts under you.
He gasps sharply into your mouth, hips twitching upward as a shiver runs through him. He’s incredibly sensitive there ; every slow drag of your fingers makes his muscles tense and twitch. Another involuntary moan slips out of him, breathier than before.
“S-sorry,” he blurts out by reflex, cheeks burning as he pulls back just an inch, eyes half-lidded and embarrassed. His hands tighten on your ass again, almost like he’s grounding himself. “I’m just…really sensitive. Fuck, that feels good.”
He leans in quickly to kiss you again, clumsier now from the rush of sensation, his abs contracting under your exploring touch as he rocks you gently against him, clearly fighting the urge to apologize a second time.
You keep tracing his abs, feeling them flex and twitch under your fingertips, when his breathing grows even heavier. His hands squeeze your ass one last time before sliding up to your hips. He leans in close, lips brushing your ear as he whispers softly, voice rough with arousal.
“Take your panties off for me…please?”
The words send a fresh wave of heat through you. You hesitate, suddenly shy, cheeks burning as you bite your lip and glance away. Jake notices immediately. A small affectionate smirk tugs at his lips despite how flustered he is.
“What’s wrong?” he teases gently, voice playful, his fingers tracing slow circles on your hips. “Don’t get all shy on me now…I’m dying here.”
You swallow hard, heart racing, but the way he’s looking at you ; equal parts desperate and sweet ; makes you brave. Instead of taking them off completely, you reach the hem of your shorts and throw them next to the couch, hook your fingers into the side of your panties, and push the damp fabric aside, exposing yourself to him.
“You can touch me,” you whisper, voice barely audible.
Jake’s eyes widen slightly. He nods slowly, one hand sliding from your hip down between your bodies. His middle finger gently traces along your slick folds, testing, before he slowly pushes it inside you ; careful, inch by inch, watching your face the whole time to make sure it’s okay. His breath catches at how warm and wet you feel around his finger, and he lets out a shaky moan, forehead dropping to your shoulder.
“Fuck…is this alright?” he murmurs, voice trembling with restraint as he holds still, letting you adjust.
You let out a shaky breath, hips shifting slightly against his hand as his finger moves inside you.
“That feels good,” you whisper, voice breathy and honest. “Really good…”
Jake’s eyes light up with relief and hunger. Encouraged, he slowly pulls his middle finger back, then carefully pushes two fingers in this time ; his middle and ring finger ; stretching you more. He’s clumsy about it, his movements a little uncoordinated from how turned on he is, but the gentle pressure feels incredible as he works them deeper.
He starts to pump them slowly, trying to find a rhythm, when suddenly his breath hitches.
“Wait—” he says quickly, almost like he remembered something.
Before you can respond, he curls his fingers upward, searching. The moment he hits that sensitive spot inside you, a loud, involuntary moan escapes your lips, loud and needy. Your thighs tremble around him as pleasure jolts through your body.
His face flushes deeper, a proud but clumsy grin breaking across his face even as he keeps awkwardly pumping and curling his fingers, trying to do it again. His free hand grips your ass tightly for balance, his own breathing ragged and uneven while he watches you react, completely lost in how you sound and feel.
You’re still trembling from the sudden rush of pleasure when he slows his fingers, keeping them buried inside you. He looks up at you with those wide, needy eyes, his cheeks flushed and his breathing ragged.
“Tell me I’m doing good…” he whispers, voice deep and a little vulnerable as he searches your face. “Please?”
You cup his face gently in both hands, thumbs brushing over his warm cheeks. Leaning down, you kiss him softly, tenderly, your lips lingering against his for a long moment. When you pull back just enough to speak, you gaze softens.
“You’re being so good to me,” you murmur. “It feels really good, Jake…keep going.”
A relieved moan slips from him at your words. His eyes flutter half-closed, and he presses into your touch like he’s starving for the praise. His fingers start moving again ; still a little clumsy and eager ; pumping slowly in and out while curling every few strokes to hit that spot that make you squirm. His free hand squeezes your ass tighter, pulling you closer as he kisses you back, messy and grateful.
You keep kissing him, slow and sweet, when Jake suddenly pulls his fingers out of you with a wet sound that makes you both blush. He shifts underneath you, breathing hard, and hurriedly works open his jeans.
“I need to feel you more,” he mutters, voice thick with desperation.
He lifts his hips and shoves his pants and boxers down just enough to free himself. His cock springs out, hard and throbbing, already leaking at the tip. You barely get a look at it before he pulls you back down onto his lap, lining you up so your bare, soaked pussy presses directly against his length. You start moving again, grinding with your panties still pushed to the side. The hot, velvety shaft of his cock slides perfectly between your slick folds, the head bumping against your clit with every roll of your hips. Jake groans loudly, head falling back against the couch as his hands return to grip your ass, guiding you faster.
“Fuck…you feel so good,” he moans, clumsy and desperate. He’s getting impossibly harder beneath you, his dick twitching and throbbing with every grind. His hips jerk up to meet yours, uncoordinated and eager, making wet sounds every time your slick heat drags along his entire length.
He looks completely wrecked already ; lips parted, eyes hazy with desire, fingers digging into your ass as he rocks you harder against him, chasing more of that delicious friction. You keep grinding against him, the slick sounds growing louder as both of you get messier. Your panties are completely soaked, the fabric clinging wetly to your folds, and his boxers ; now bunched around his thighs ; are dark with your arousal too.
Jake lets out a frustrated groan and lifts you just enough to shove his boxers the rest of the way down his legs, kicking them off. He reaches into his pocket, tears open a condom with shaky hands, and rolls it on quickly, his cock twitching hard as he does. You move to slide your panties down, but he catches your wrists gently, stopping you.
“Wait—” he breathes, voice hoarse. His eyes drop to where your soaked panties are still pushed to the side, the pretty fabric framing your glistening pussy. “Don’t take them off. They’re too pretty on you like this…looks so fucking hot.”
He pulls you back down onto him, guiding the head of his cock to nudge against your entrance through the shifted fabric. His hands return to your ass, squeezing firmly as he looks up at you with doe, desperate eyes, clearly waiting for you to take the next step while his throbbing length presses impatiently against your heat.
You brace your hands on his shoulders and slowly sink down onto him, taking every inch of his cock inside your tight, soaked heat. The stretch is intense, making you gasp and pause halfway before you breathe through it and slide all the way down until your hips meet his. Jake’s head falls back with a deep, broken moan, his fingers digging hard into your ass.
But after a few seconds, the latex feels uncomfortable and distant. You lift yourself off him, quickly peel the condom away, and sink back down onto his bare cock before he can protest. The raw heat of him makes you both moan.
His eyes fly open in panic. “Wait—fuck—baby—” he stammers, hands gripping your waist tightly as his cock throbs hard inside you. His face is flushed with alarm even as pleasure clouds his expression.
You can’t help but laugh softly at his wide-eyed reaction, the sound breathy and fond. “It’s okay,” you whisper, leaning down to kiss him.
You start moving ; not bouncing, but grinding slowly in deep circles with him fully buried inside you. The pressure against that sensitive spot makes you whimper, but it completely wrecks Jake. He moans loudly, the sound raw and uncontrolled, his whole body tensing beneath you.
Suddenly, his hands clamp around your waist and he lifts you straight up, pulling out of you with a wet pop. You blink in confusion, hovering above him as his cock twitches angrily in the open air, slick with your juices.
“I was about to cum,” he pants, voice strained and embarrassed. “You’re too warm and tight…and I’m really sensitive right now. Fuck, I almost didn’t stop in time.”
He looks up at you, chest heaving, cheeks burning red as he tries to catch his breath, still holding you suspended above his lap.
You hover above him for a moment, still catching your breath, then bite your lip shyly and whisper, “It’s okay…if it happens and you cum inside me, I can take the morning after pill.”
Jake looks up at you, eyes glassy from the pleasure, his chest still rising and falling rapidly. He swallows hard, then nods, his hands gently squeezing your waist. “Okay…but I’ll still try to be careful,” he murmurs. “I don’t want to mess this up for you.”
You smile softly at his sweetness and slowly sink back down onto his bare cock, taking him all the way inside again with a soft gasp. Once he’s fully buried, you resume grinding on him in deep circles, your soaked pussy clenching around his thick length.
He groans loudly, his head tipping back for a second before he looks down to where your bodies are joined. His hands slide firmly onto your hips, fingers digging in as he starts guiding you harder against him. He pulls and pushes you in longer, more insistent grinds, forcing your clit to rub against the base of his cock with every roll.
Sloppy sounds fill the room as your soaked folds slide back and forth along his shaft. The harder he makes you grind, the louder the sounds get, your arousal coating him completely. Jake’s moans turn ragged and desirous, his abs flexing under your hands while he stares at the way your pretty panties, still pushed aside, frame your pussy taking every inch of him.
You keep grinding on him, the wet sounds growing filthier with every roll of your hips, when Jake suddenly sits up straighter. One of his hands slides up your back, pulling you closer as his mouth finds your neck.
He starts licking and kissing the sensitive skin there, sucking gently at first, then harder, while his hips snap upward. He shifts from letting you grind to actively pounding into you, thrusting deep and fast from below. Each rough stroke makes you whimper, your fingers clutching his shoulders as pleasure spikes through you.
“I’m sorry—” he whispers hotly against your neck, voice strained and weak between open-mouthed kisses. His thrusts grow erratic, sloppy, and frantic. “Fuck, I’m so sorry…I’m gonna cum inside you.”
His grip on your hips tightens almost painfully as he buries himself as deep as he can, moaning loudly into your neck while his cock throbs hard inside your tight heat. His body trembles beneath you, clearly fighting it for only a second longer before he loses control.
You cry out as the intense rhythm pushes you over the edge right along with him. Your orgasm crashes through you hard, walls clenching and fluttering wildly around his cock as waves of pleasure rip through your body. At the same moment, Jake groans deeply into your neck and starts cumming, pulsing hot and thick inside you with every thrust.
Still trembling and moaning from your climax, you gasp out quickly, “Finger me—please—”
You don’t need to tell him twice. He lifts you off his cock with a wet sound, lays you back on the couch, and slides two fingers deep into your dripping pussy. He keeps them buried inside you, pumping slowly and softly, curling them gently against that sensitive spot while his thumb rests lightly on your clit.
“Fuck—that’s it,” he whispers soothingly against your ear, voice gentle even as he’s still catching his breath. “You’re doing so good. Let it all out for me.”
His fingers move in slow strokes, drawing out every last pulse of your orgasm as he kisses your neck and jaw. “So pretty when you cum…keep squeezing around my fingers, baby. I’ve got you.”
He stays close, murmuring soft praises while his fingers continue their gentle rhythm inside your soaked heat, helping you ride through the aftershocks.
An hour later, you’re sprawled on the couch with your legs spread wide, one draped lazily over the armrest. Jake kneels between your thighs, his hands resting on your inner thighs to keep you open.
He starts with broad strokes of his tongue, licking up and down your slick pussy, tasting the mess you two made earlier. Then he dives in deeper, pressing his whole mouth against you and kissing your folds like he’s making out with them ; soft, wet, hungry kisses that make filthy sounds echo in the living room.
A deep moan escapes you as his tongue swirls around your clit.
Jake pulls back just enough to grin up at you, lips glistening. “Hey, you gotta be quiet,” he teases in a joking tone, eyes sparkling with mischief. “I can’t hear the TV show if you’re moaning like that. Rude.”
You try to focus on the screen, but the pleasure is making you sleepy and relaxed. Your eyelids start to flutter, growing heavier as you sink deeper into the couch.
Without warning, Jake tightens his grip on your thighs and thrusts his tongue straight into your pussy, fucking you with it in deep, firm strokes. Your eyes snap open with a sharp gasp, hips twitching against his face as the sudden intensity jolts you awake.
He pulls back for a second, smirking. “There you go. Can’t have you falling asleep on me already,” he murmurs playfully, before diving right back in, tongue thrusting into you again while his nose nudges your clit.
His hands hold you firmly in place as he eats you out with renewed energy, clearly determined to keep you wide awake and moaning.
You can’t hold back anymore.
The steady thrust of Jake’s tongue inside you, combined with the way his nose keeps rubbing against your swollen clit, pushes you straight over the edge. Your second orgasm hits hard and fast. Your thighs clamp around his head as you cry out, back arching off the couch while waves of pleasure crash through you.
While you’re still cumming, he quickly pulls his tongue out and replaces it with two fingers, sliding them deep into your clenching pussy. He curls them gently against that sensitive spot, pumping them slowly and steadily to draw out your orgasm even longer.
“That’s it…cum on my fingers again, baby,” he murmurs against your thigh, voice low and husky as he watches you fall apart. “Fuck, you’re squeezing so tight.”
He keeps fingering you through every pulse and shudder, soft and deep, never rushing. His thumb moves up to circle your clit lazily, prolonging the pleasure until your moans turn into breathy whimpers and your body finally starts to relax.
Even then, he doesn’t pull his fingers out right away. He leaves them buried inside your warm, fluttering heat, gently stroking your walls while he kisses the inside of your thigh, looking up at you with a satisfied, slightly smug smile.
─────────
Both of you cuddling in his bed, and sleep finally gets to you. You're both tangled in his sheets, limbs intertwined, the warmth of his body a grounding presence against your back. His arm is draped over your waist, his breath slow and even against your neck, and you can feel the occasional press of his lips against your shoulder ; delicate, absent, as he's kissing you even in his sleep.
You should be content and you are content. Nevertheless, there's a dull ache beginning to throb behind your eyes, a persistent pressure that makes you wince when you shift against the pillow.
"Jake," you murmur, your voice rough. "I have a headache."
He stirs behind you, his arm tightening around your waist. "Mmm?"
"A headache. Do you have any painkillers?"
He blinks, his eyes still heavy with sleep. "Bathroom cabinet on the top shelf. There's a bottle."
You start to untangle yourself, but his arm holds you for a moment longer, pulling you back against him. "Don't go," he mumbles, his nose brushing your ear.
"I'll be right back." You press a kiss to his knuckles, and he loosens his grip.
You pad out of the bedroom, the cool air of the apartment raising goosebumps on your bare skin. You grab the shirt he'd left on the floor ; his shirt, the one he'd worn earlier ; and pull it over your head. It falls to your thighs, soft and worn, and you feel a small thrill at the intimacy of it.
The bathroom is as small as you could remember the last time you took a shower, the light harsh when you flick it on. You find the painkillers easily, shake two into your palm, and turn to get water.
You pause.
The drawer next to the sink is slightly open, just a crack, and something inside catches your eye. You don't know why you reach for it. Curiosity, maybe. The same instinct that made you want to see the photo frame by his bed.
You pull it open.
The drawer is filled with photographs ; loose, some curled at the edges, same as snapshots you'd find in a shoebox under a bed. But these aren't random. You recognize the faces.
Your face. And Jake's face.
Both of you, younger. His hair is different, shorter, but the smile is the same. Your hair is shorter too, your eyes brighter, and you're pressed together like you've known each other for years. In another, you're at a café, holding up coffee cups, laughing at something off-camera. In another, you're in a park, your head on his shoulder, his arm around you like it's the most natural thing in the world.
Your hands are shaking. You dig deeper, pulling out more photos. One with your parents. Your mother's arm around you, your father's hand on Jake's shoulder, and the four of you are smiling at the camera like a family.
Another with Jungwon. He's younger, his face rounder, and he's giving a thumbs-up while Jake ruffles his hair.
You drop the photos. They scatter across the floor, and you stumble back, your back hitting the bathroom wall.
This doesn't make sense. None of this makes sense. You don't remember any of this. You've never seen these photos before in your life. But your face is there, your smile, your eyes. And Jake is there too, always beside you, he's always been part of the picture.
The memory loss. The three years.
You feel the world tilt beneath you, the edges of your vision going fuzzy. The photos on the floor stare up at you, silent and damning.
"Y/N?"
Jake's voice. He's at the doorway, his eyes still sleep-soft, and he's holding a glass of water. He takes one step into the bathroom, then stops. His gaze drops to the photos scattered around your feet.
The glass slips from his fingers. It shatters against the tile, water spreading in a river across the floor.
"Y/N," he says again, and his voice is different now, sounding afraid.
You look at him. At the face you've come to know over these past weeks. The face you've kissed, laughed with, let hold you. The face that has been hiding everything from you.
"You knew me?" you say, and your voice comes out flat, hollow. "You knew me before?"
He doesn't answer as the look on his face says it all.
"All this time," you continue, the words spilling out now, unstoppable. "You knew everything. You knew me. You knew me and you didn't say anything."
"I was going to tell you." His voice is low. "I was trying to find the right time. I didn't want to scare you—"
"Scare me?" A broken laugh escapes you. "I've been living in a fog for a year. I've been trying to piece together who I am, and you—you've been standing right there, holding all the pieces, and you didn't tell me."
The rain starts outside, a sudden downpour that hammers against the window. You don't remember putting on his clothes, but you're moving now, past him, through the apartment, toward the door. He calls your name without you turning back.
You barge into the hallway. The stairs are a blur beneath your feet. You burst out into the rain, and it hits you like a wall ; cold, merciless, soaking through the shirt, your hair and your skin.
You don't know where you're going, and you know you can't be near him, nor look at his face and see the truth you were too blind to notice.
The street is empty, the rain turning the pavement into a river. You walk, then run, your bare feet slapping against the wet ground, your breath coming in ragged gasps. Behind you, you hear a door slam. A voice calling your name, distant and helpless.
Your legs don’t seem to want to stop. Your bare feet slap against the wet pavement, each step sending shocks through your legs, but you don't stop. You actually can't stop because if you do, you'll have to think, and thinking means facing what you just saw.
Your fingers fumble with your phone, slick with rain, and you manage to pull up Jungwon's contact. It rings once, twice, three times, and then the automated voice cuts in. Voicemail. Full. You try again and it’s the same result.
"Come on," you mutter, your voice cracking. "Come on, pick up. Pick up—"
The phone slips from your grip, clattering onto the wet ground. You leave it behind and keep walking, your arms wrapped around yourself, the thin fabric of his shirt doing nothing to ward off the cold.
"Y/N."
His voice. Behind you. Closer than you expected.
You keep walking faster, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps.
"Y/N, please—just stop—"
"I don't want to talk to you." Your voice is barely audible over the rain. "Go away."
"I can't do that." His footsteps are closer now. "I can't let you run out like this. It's not safe."
"You don't get to decide what's safe for me." You finally stop, spinning around to face him. He's there, a few meters away, soaked through, his hair plastered to his forehead, his chest heaving. He's stopped too, keeping his distance like you're a wild animal that might bolt.
"You don't get to decide anything," you continue, your voice rising. "You knew me. You knew me and you lied. Every single day, every single conversation—you looked at me and you knew exactly who I was, and you let me stumble around like an idiot trying to figure it out."
"I didn't lie—"
"Hiding the truth is lying." You're shaking now, from cold and anger. "You kept all of it from me. The photos, the memories—" You gesture wildly. "Everything. You let me think we were strangers." Your voice cracks. "You let me fall for you like you were someone new."
"I had to." His voice is raw. "I had to keep it from you. It was the only way—"
"The only way for what?" You're yelling now, the rain muffling the sound but not the anger. "The only way to protect yourself? The only way to make sure you didn't have to deal with the mess of my broken brain?"
He flinches like you've struck him. "No. That's not—"
"Then what? What the fuck is about?"
He's quiet for a long moment. The rain falls between you, heavy and cold, a curtain that separates you from him. When he speaks, his voice is quieter, barely above a whisper.
"Because I was scared."
You laugh, a hollow, broken sound. "Scared of what?"
"Of this." He gestures between the two of you. "Of you remembering and looking at me like you are right now. Like I'm a stranger. Like I'm someone who hurt you."
Your chest tightens. "God—Jake do you even care about me?"
"I fucking do." He takes a step closer, and then stops himself. "I loved you, Y/N. Before the accident. We were—" He runs a hand through his wet hair, his voice cracking. "We were together. For three freaking years. We lived together. We had a life."
You stare at him, the words hitting you like blows. "I don't remember."
"I’m aware of that." He's crying now, his tears mistook for rain drops. You can't tell. "I’m aware that you don't. And that's—that's the worst part. Because I've been standing here, watching you rebuild your life, and every time you looked at me like I was a stranger, it felt like losing you all over again."
"Why did you stay, then?" Your voice is barely a whisper. "Why didn't you just leave?"
"Because I made a promise." He meets your eyes. "A promise to your brother, to Jungwon. After the accident, when you couldn't remember anything—he came to me. He said that if I really loved you, I would stay away. That seeing me, remembering me, would confuse you. That it would hurt you more than it would help."
"So you just—walked away?"
"I tried. I moved to another city. I told myself it was for the best. But I couldn't." He stops, his voice breaking. "I couldn't stay away. When I heard you were coming back here, I told myself I wouldn't interfere and that I'd keep my distance. But then I saw you with that stupid umbrella, and—"
His words trail off, lost in the rain. You stand there, shivering, the weight of everything pressing down on you.
"I was scared," he continues, his voice still barely audible. "I was scared that if I told you, you'd run. That you'd look at me and feel nothing. That the person you were before—the person I loved—was gone forever, and I couldn't bear that. So I kept it to myself. I told myself I was protecting you. But really, I was protecting myself."
The silence stretches between you.
"You should have told me," you finally say, and your voice is weak, drained of emotion. "You should have trusted me to handle it."
"I know." He looks down at the ground. "I know. And I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Y/N. I never wanted to hurt you. I just—" He stops, his shoulders shaking. "I just wanted to hold onto the part of you that was still mine. Even if you didn't know it."
Your chest is heaving again and you feel the tears mixing with the rain on your cheeks. You're not sure when you started crying or maybe you've been crying this whole time.
"When?" Your voice cracks once again. "When did we—when did we first meet?"
He looks up, and you see the tears streaming down his face, indistinguishable from the rain. "Nineteen," he says, his voice raw and broken. "We were nineteen. You were wearing that oversized Bieber shirt, and you tripped over your own feet walking into that library, and I—" He pauses, a sob tearing from his throat. "I fell in love with you right there."
You feel the sob building in your chest, unstoppable and devastating. "I’m sorry."
"It’s okay." He's crying openly now, his shoulders shaking. "I—I needed you to know that you were loved. That you are loved. By me. Always."
Your legs give out. You don't realize it until you're sinking, your knees hitting the wet pavement, your hands bracing against the cold ground. The sobs are torn from you now, ugly and loud, your entire body shaking with the force of them.
He’s already moving. His feet splash against the wet ground, closing the distance between you in seconds. He drops to his knees in front of you, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you against his chest. His body shields you from the rain, his hands cradling the back of your head, pressing your face into the warmth of his neck.
"I'm sorry," he's saying, over and over, his voice broken and fragile. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, Y/N."
You feel his tears against your skin, his body shaking with the same sobs that are tearing through you. He holds you tighter, afraid you'll disappear, and you grip the wet fabric of his shirt, your fingers twisted in the material.
"I don't remember," you choke out. "I don't remember any of it."
"That's okay." His voice is a whisper, trembling. "That's okay. We can—we can start over. We can make new memories. Whatever you need. I'll give you whatever you need."
You pull back just enough to look at him. His face is streaked with rain and tears, his eyes red-rimmed, his expression open and completely unguarded.
You let him hold you, his arms wrapped around you like a shield against the world, and you feel something shift in your chest. The rain continues to fall, but you barely notice it anymore.
All you feel is him.
─────────
The next morning. You're sitting on the edge of the couch, your legs stretched out in front of you, the bruises on your knees a mottled purple from the fall the night before. The rain has stopped, but the world outside is still wet, the streets glistening under the gray sky.
Jake is kneeling in front of you, a small first-aid kit open on the floor beside him. His movements are gentle, careful, as he dabs at the scrapes with an antiseptic wipe. You flinch slightly at the sting, and he murmurs an apology, his fingers light against your skin.
"I could do it on my own." you say, your voice hoarse from crying.
"Let me do it for you. Please." He doesn't look up, his focus on the cut on your knee. "I should have done this last night, but you were—" He stops, swallowing. "You were upset. I didn't want to push."
You watch him as he works, the furrow of concentration between his brows, his lower lip catches between his teeth. His hands are steady despite everything, carefully smoothing the edges of a bandage over your skin.
"There," he says softly. "All done."
You're about to say something when the door slams open.
Jungwon stands in the doorway, his chest heaving and his eyes wild. He's still in his clothes from yesterday, his hair disheveled, his phone clutched in his hand like a lifeline. He must have come straight from wherever he was, must have run the whole way. His gaze sweeps the room and takes in the two of you. Jake kneeling at your feet. The bandage on your knee. Your tear-streaked face. And mostly, the visible tension in the air.
He looks at Jake and at you while shifting his gaze between both of you.
"Fuck." he says, the word heavy, loaded with remorse.
Jake rises slowly to his feet. He stands there, his hands at his sides, his face blank.
"Jungwon," he starts, but Jungwon cuts him off.
"What the fuck, Jake." He steps into the room, the door swinging shut behind him. "I told you—I told you to stay away. I told you it would be better for her. And for everyone. And you—" He stops, his jaw tight. "You couldn't keep your promise for even a year?"
"It wasn't like that." Jake's voice is steady yet a tremor is present beneath it. "I didn't plan this. It just happened."
"It just happened?" Jungwon scoffs. "You see her in the hallway and suddenly all your promises mean nothing?"
"Jungwon—" you start, both of them turn to look at you, and the weight of their gazes makes the words die in your throat. Jungwon's expression softens slightly. "Are you okay?" he asks, the question is directed at you, not Jake.
You don't know how to answer that. Are you okay? You're sitting in the apartment of a man you've known for weeks, who apparently knew you for three years before that, who you still can't remember, who you cried in the rain with, who bandaged your knees this morning because he cares about you. And you can’t understand any of it.
"I don't know," you say honestly.
Jungwon runs a hand through his hair, exhales slowly. "I should have told you," he says with regret in his voice. "I should have told you about him. About everything. I thought I was protecting you, but I—" He pauses and shakes his head. "I made it worse."
"He knew," you say, voice flat. "He knew and he kept it from me. You both did."
Jake flinches and Jungwon looks away.
"I had to," Jake says quietly. "I had to see if you could remember on your own. If there was any part of you that still—" He swallows, the words caught in his throat. "I needed to know if you could love me without the memories."
Jungwon's head snaps toward him. "That's not why you did it."
"Isn't it?" Jake's voice is raw. "I wanted to believe that if I just gave you time, you'd remember, and I know that it sounds stupid. That you'd look at me and see all the years we had. But you didn't. You never did." He looks at you, his eyes glassy. "And I had to accept that the person I loved might never come back. But I still loved you anyway."
The silence in the room is suffocating. You look from Jake to Jungwon, the weight of their secrets pressing down on you, and you feel something crack inside your chest.
Jungwon is the one to break it. "I'm sorry," he says, the words are directed at both of you. "I was scared. I didn't want to lose you again, Y/N. And when I saw the two of you starting to know each other I panicked." He confesses, his composure cracking. "I just wanted to protect you and I failed. I failed both of you."
Jake stays silent, his eyes fixed on the floor.
You take a breath. The air is thick, but you force yourself to speak.
"I don't remember him," you say, looking at Jungwon. "I don't remember any of it. But I—" You stop, your voice catching. "I know I felt something. Even when I didn't know who he was. That has to count for something, doesn't it?"
Jungwon meets your eyes. Then he nods, slowly.
"Yeah," he says quietly. "It does."
─────────
The afternoon has settled in, the earlier tension slowly unwinding like a knot being picked apart. Jungwon left an hour ago, his goodbye awkward but not hostile, a promise to call later that felt more like a question than a statement. You'd watched him go, the door clicking shut behind him, and then you'd turned to find Jake standing in the middle of the living room, his hands shoved in his pockets, his eyes uncertain.
Neither of you had spoken for a while. Then you'd walked to the kitchen, pulled out a cutting board and some vegetables, and started preparing something that might become dinner. He'd followed, hovering at the edge of the counter, until you'd handed him a knife and told him to chop the onions.
Now you're standing at the stove, stirring a pan of vegetables, while Jake sits on a stool behind you. His fingers are in your hair again, separating strands, twisting them together with a concentration that's become familiar over the past few days. The braid is better than yesterday ; still not perfect, but recognizable.
"You're getting better at this," you say, your voice quiet.
"I've had practice." An incredible softness in his voice. "Also, you're very patient. That helps."
You stir the vegetables, watching them sizzle and soften. The silence is comfortable, however, there's something sitting between you, a question you've been turning over in your mind since last night.
"Jake," you start, and you feel him pause, his fingers stilling in your hair. "Can I ask you something?"
"Anything."
You keep your eyes on the pan. "Last night—was that our first time?"
You feel him go still behind you. His hands are frozen in your hair, and for a moment, you think you've overstepped. You feel his breath, a soft exhale, and his hands resume their work.
"Yes," he says, and his voice is careful. "That was our first time."
The words hang in the air. You nod slowly, processing. "So we never had sex…before the accident?"
He shakes his head, even though you can't see him. "We were close, and we lived together. But we never did those kind of things." He pauses, his fingers continuing to work through your hair. "We were waiting. I don't know what we were waiting for. The right moment, maybe." His voice drops. "I never really thought about it. I just knew I wanted it to be right."
You set down the spoon, turning to face him. He's watching you, his hands hovering where your hair falls against your shoulders. His eyes are searching, cautious.
"Jake," you say. "How long did you go without doing it?" You stop, not sure how to phrase it. "Without being with anyone?"
He understands. His jaw tightens, and he looks down at his hands. "It’s been a year. Since the accident." He meets your eyes again. "I couldn't. I tried to…talk to girls, once. It didn't feel right. I mean, I didn't feel right. I couldn't even hold someone's hand without feeling like I was betraying you."
You feel your breath catch. "Even when you didn't know if I'd ever remember?"
"Especially then." His voice honest. "It didn't matter if you remembered me or not. I remembered you. I knew what we had, and…I couldn't replace that. I really didn't want to."
You look at him, this man who's been carrying this weight for three years, who stayed loyal to a ghost he didn't know would ever come back. You look at his hands shaking slightly, his eyes are glassy.
"I didn't know," you say.
"How could you?"
You reach out, your hand finding his. He looks down at your fingers intertwined, and you feel the dull trembling in his grip.
"Thank you," you say, your voice almost a whisper. "For waiting. Even when you didn't have to."
He looks at you with vulnerability in his gaze. "I never really had a choice. It was always you. It's always been you."
You pull him closer, your arms wrapping around him, your face pressing into his shoulder. He holds you back, his arms tight around your waist, and you feel the steady beat of his heart against your chest.
The vegetables are still burning. You're still wrapped in his arms, your face pressed into his shoulder, his warmth seeping through the thin fabric of your shirt. His hand is cradling the back of your head, his fingers gently threading through the braid he'd just finished.
He pulls back to look at you. His eyes are red-rimmed, his face still carrying the traces of the tears you'd both shed.
"I love you," he says.
The words are simple, unadorned. Only three words, spoken as they've been sitting on his tongue for years, waiting for the right moment to be released. You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. Your throat is tight, your chest aching with the pressure of everything you don't know how to say.
Noticing your silence, he leans in, his lips pressing against your forehead, lingering long enough for you to feel the slight shaking in his breath.
Then your cheek. The corner of your eye. The bridge of your nose. Each kiss is slow, like he's tracing the contours of your face with his mouth, memorizing every inch. His lips brush your temple, your jaw, the base of your neck.
"You don't have to say it back," he murmurs against your skin. "I just needed you to know."
You feel the tears pricking at your eyes again, yet they're not the same as before. "You've been carrying this for a year," you manage, your voice thick. "And you still—"
"Still love you." He presses another kiss to your cheek, then your other cheek, then the corner of your mouth. "Yes. I do. And I'll keep saying it until you're tired of hearing it."
"I won't get tired."
He pulls back, his eyes searching yours.
"That’s good for me." he says softly, the smile that tugs at his lips is small and tentative. His hands cup your face, thumbs brushing away the tears that have escaped down your cheeks. He leans in, his forehead resting against yours, and you feel the warmth of him surrounding you.
"Jake," you whisper.
"Yeah?"
"Stay with me. While I try to remember. While I figure this out." You swallow. "Don't leave again."
He doesn't hesitate once. "I won't."
His lips find yours, soft and gentle, and when he pulls back, he presses one last kiss to the tip of your nose.
You were ready to rebuild your life, with everything you’ve shared from now, with him.
𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 : college AU, smut (MDNI), exes-to-lovers, fast paced
𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 : swearing, jealousy, possessive behavior, ni-ki is the annoying ex, mention of cheating, mention of alcohol, smoking/vaping, hickeys, unprotected sex, p in v, fingering, orgasm denial, light degradation, condescending praise
𝐰𝐜 : 6.5k {6.509}
❗️ None of the characters are meant to represent their real-life selves. Everything in this story is fictional and created purely for entertainment.
INSPIRED BY : Ur All Mine - Westwood
You sit across from Danielle at a small café table, your sketchbook open but ignored. She stirs her drink and leans in. “Maki’s birthday party is this weekend. You should just make it official with him already. You’ve been flirting for weeks.”
You nod once, eyes on the foam in your cup. Official sounds simple when she says it. In practice, it means another text from Ni-ki, obviously. He coincidentally always finds out about your dating history after him. Last month it was some guy from your art history class. The month before, a barista. Each time the message arrives at odd hours and it's always a question or a rude observation, never asking to get back together nor admitting jealousy. He only wants to remind you he knows.
You set your cup down. “I’ll think about it.”
Danielle raises an eyebrow. “That’s it? Come on. Maki’s pretty fun. You two click.”
You shrug. The real reason sounds so stupid that if you tell her what it really is, she will never let it go. Ni-ki works his underground gigs, tags walls at night, within the fact that he's disgustingly rich. He stays out of your classes and your schedule. You study late in the studio, mix paints, build installations. Neither of you reaches out first anymore and it’s great like that. But your dating life? That pulls him back every time, like clockwork.
The party is two days away. You already know how it will go.
You lean back in your chair and tap your fingers on the edge of the table while thinking. “Yeah, maybe.”
Danielle snorts. “Maybe? Be fucking for real. He’s been texting you every day. What’s the hold up?”
You pick up your cup and take a sip. “It’s not that deep. I’ll see how the party goes.”
She rolls her eyes. “Don't make it a big deal, anyway. You can't let men get to your head.”
You nod once and change the topic to her upcoming exam. Inside your head, you could already picture the message that will come after the party. Ni-ki, jealous as always, pretending he doesn’t care. And of course he will never miss an opportunity to make a mean comment on the guys you talk to, or even try to ruin the beginning of a flirt. Even if he’s the one who fucked all this up and made you who you are now. All of that, without holding an entire conversation with you.
You push open the door to your apartment and drop your bag on the couch. Your phone rings when you’re about to sit down. It’s written Maki on the screen.
“Hey, are you coming to my party Saturday?” he asks right away.
“Of course, I’ll be there.”
“Cool. Do you wanna match outfits? Wear white. We’ll look good together.”
You chuckle. “Damn, bossy as hell. What if I wear black just to fuck with you?”
“Hmm, then I’ll find you and make you change. Or take it off. Your call.”
“Keep dreaming.” you say, smiling despite yourself. The back and forth stays light for another minute and you bring yourself to tell him you need to finish some sketches.
“See you Saturday then, white outfit. Don’t you dare flake.”
You hang up and toss the phone on the bed. A few minutes later you open Instagram. One of your classmate’s stories pops up first. You scroll through it and freeze. In the background, clear as day, Ni-ki stands close to some girl, his hand near her waist while she laughs at one of his stupid joke he probably said. Of course it’s confusing when your ex ; who did you dirty ; exposes himself without an ounce of shame with another girl, and has the nerve to make a single comment on your situationship.
“Fuck.” you mutter under your breath. You close the app, set your phone face down, and turn off the light to drift into sleep.
───
You wake up. It’s Thursday morning and you text Danielle to meet for shopping. By ten you both walk through the mall, racks of clothes between you. You pull out a short plain white dress and hold it up.
“This one?”
Danielle nods. “Try it. Maki said white, right? I think it’ll work.”
You change in the fitting room, step out, and turn to look at the overall. You subtly notice that it bunches up behind your butt when you walk, but it’s not going to be a big of a problem, is it?. Who cares anyway? The dress fits so you obviously buy it. After that you head to the food court and split a large order of fries and two sandwiches at a table by the window.
Halfway through your food you look at her. “Do you think I’ve changed since the breakup?”
Danielle chews and swallows. “Yeah, I do. After Ni-ki you actually moved on. You stopped sitting around waiting for whatever that was. Now you flirt back when guys like Maki show interest. It’s good. You seem so much more lighter.”
You nod and eat another fry. You continue chewing on food while talking about a new series she started watching. You finish eating, pay, and walk out together. By late afternoon you split up at the parking lot. She heads to her car for a study group and you walk the other way toward the row of ATMs on the street corner.
You stand in line behind an older woman counting her cash. Not so long after, a black car pulls up across the street. You could recognize this car model amongst every other one’s. You glance over and see Ni-ki leaning against the hood. A girl stands in front of him and they kiss. You can’t help but gaze back and forth two times, since their kiss was disgustingly agonizingly long. She pulls away to say something close to his ear, and walks off down the block, disappearing. He watches her go before he gets back in the car.
“Ew.” you mutter under your breath. Were our kisses that repulsing to watch?
The car starts and drives straight toward the ATM lane. It stops right behind where you stand. You keep your eyes on the machine ahead, trying to act like you weren’t hoping anticipating for his arrival. The woman finishes and leaves. Ni-ki gets out and stands next to you, so close that you can smell the trace of his signature cologne mingled with cigarette smoke. You’ve had so much memories attached to that scent that it made you slightly squint your eyebrows together.
He stands there and waits. “You saw that earlier?”
You really don’t want to look at him right now. Or you’d rather not see any trace of lipgloss on his lips. “Yes. It was disgusting.”
He lets out a short breath, a laugh disguised in a scoff. You step up to the ATM, punch in your code, and request twenty dollars. The whole time he stays there, hands in his jacket pockets, watching the screen.
“Jealous now?” he asks after a beat.
“No. I was just stating what I saw.”
While he stays still you turn slightly to see him planted beside the machine, eyes on you like he has more to say. It’s only you and him now.
You grab your twenty dollars and the receipt from the slot. Ni-ki steps closer, blocking the easy path back to the sidewalk.
“You don’t care anyway,” he says. “You’re probably flirting with a bunch of guys right now. That’s your thing these days.”
“Fuck off.” you tell him flat. You turn to walk away but he stays at the machine, inserts his card, and selects an amount. The machine whirs and starts dispensing a thick stack of bills that could choke a horse. You pause a few steps away and watch in curiosity.
“Are you planning on buying the whole block?” you ask sarcastically.
He counts the bills quickly and stuffs them into his wallet. “It’s for Maki’s party. We’re tight, so I’m handling the alcohol and the rest of the shit. Bottles don’t come cheap.”
You shake your head. He shuts the wallet and walks past you to his car. The door opens with a loud click. Before he gets in he looks back at you, mouth tilted in that unnerving half-smirk.
“See you at the party. Bring your guys. I’ll be there too.”
‘Bring your guys’ You couldn’t expect much from him. He slides into the driver seat, starts the engine, and pulls away. You stand there a moment longer, cash still in your hand, then head back toward your apartment.
───
On Saturday, you sit on the edge of your bed with your phone pressed to your ear. Maki’s voice comes through clear while you fold the white dress you bought. “That girl from my econ class is definitely showing up even though no one invited her,” he says. “And that dude Anderson? He’s bringing his speaker setup again. Last time it blew out halfway through the night.”
You laugh. “Tell him to keep the volume normal this time. I don’t want another noise complaint.”
The conversation bounces around. Maki updates you on the food he ordered and the playlist he’s making. When you compare him to Ni-ki, you’d obviously think that he was the right guy for you and that your ex wouldn’t stand a chance against him. Nonetheless, you can’t deny the fact that your heart always chases after a particular thing. A thing that maybe Maki doesn’t have that someone else do. After that, he pauses.
“You got a ride? My villa’s pretty far out and I can’t leave to pick you up. I’m stuck setting everything up here.”
You look at the clock. “I’ll figure something out.”
“Ni-ki’s coming from your side of town. It’s basically on his way. I’ll text him to grab you.”
You freeze for half a second. Maki has no clue about your history and that’s weird considering how close he is to Ni-ki. You think about the choices you might have. There’s no bus going that far, and cabs would cost too much.
“Alright,” you say. “Tell him.”
“Cool. He’s reliable for this stuff.”
You both keep talking for a bit and you check the time again and tell him you need to start getting ready.
“See you tonight. Don’t forget. White.” he says before you hang up.
You set the phone down, stand up, and pull the dress from the hanger. You lay it out on the bed and start with your hair. You finish getting ready and check your reflection one more time. Your phone lights up on the dresser. A text from Ni-ki.
Ni-ki [8:07 PM]
Outside in 10.
You read it, set the phone back down without typing anything back. A few minutes later you hear the low rumble of his car pulling up in front of your building. You grab your bag, lock the door, and head downstairs.
He waits by the passenger side, engine still running. You walk over and he opens the door for you out of habit. You slide in. He gets behind the wheel and pulls away from the curb before glancing over. “You don’t usually wear white.” he says.
“It was Maki’s idea. He wanted us to match.”
He makes a small sound in the back of his throat. “Cute. Matching outfits like some high school shit. Really original.”
You buckle your seatbelt and stare straight ahead. “It’s just a color. Drop it.”
He taps his fingers on the steering wheel impatiently. “Didn’t say it wasn’t. It’s just funny how you’re suddenly into whatever he suggests. Remember when I joked about bringing another girl around? You lost your shit for weeks.”
The words hit exactly where he meant them to. You remember that night clearly. He had laughed it off as a joke after you found out he actually did bring someone else to one of his gigs while you were still together. Always a joke with him, always something he could walk back. That was the top 1 of the reasons why you should’ve left you listed in your note apps before breaking up with him.
“That wasn’t a joke and you know it,” you say. “You cheated and acted like it was nothing.”
He changes lanes, eyes on the road. “We weren’t even exclusive by then. Or did you rewrite the timeline again?”
“We were.” you answer. “You just didn’t want to admit it when it got inconvenient.”
The car fills with silence for two blocks. He speaks again, voice low.
“Whatever helps you sleep at night. Now you’re playing dress-up for Maki.”
You turn your head toward the window. “At least he doesn’t hide behind ‘it was just a joke’ every time he fucks up.”
That was enough to shut him up.
The villa is still twenty minutes away and the road stretches out in front of you. You watch the passing streetlights without saying anything else. Ni-ki keeps his eyes on the road until the villa comes into view, lights already spilling out from the windows and music thumping low. He parks along the long driveway behind a line of other cars.
He cuts the engine. You unbuckle and open your door at the same time he does. He steps out first, pulls a cigarette from his pack, and lights it. The flame catches quick. As you stand up and close the door, he moves around the front of the car. His hand brushes your side and tugs the hem of your dress down toward your thighs quickly.
“Try not to do anything stupid tonight.” he says around the cigarette, voice so low you almost missed what he said. He takes a drag, exhales smoke to the side, and walks off toward the house without waiting.
You adjust the strap of your bag and head inside on your own. The living room is already filling up and you usually hated crowds. You try to sneak upon people and finally spot Danielle near the kitchen island talking to two other girls from your program. You walk over and join them.
“Y/N,” Danielle says, pulling you into a quick side hug. “You made it. The dress looks so good on you.”
One of the girls, Eunchae, smiles. “We were just talking about who’s already drunk. Anderson started shots twenty minutes ago.”
You smile and lean against the counter. “Sounds about right. Anyone see Maki yet?”
The talk picks up from there. You greet the others, exchange small talk about classes, letting the party noise settle around you.
You leave the group with Danielle and weave through the growing crowd toward the back patio where most of the main action is. Maki stands near the sliding doors talking to a couple of guys holding red cups. He spots you and breaks into a grin.
“I’m so freaking glad you came.” he says.
“Happy birthday again. In person this time.” You step closer and press a quick kiss to his cheek. He turns his head just enough that your lips catch the corner of his mouth for a second. His hand rests lightly on your waist.
“Thanks. You look good in white. That’s exactly what I pictured, even though you look good in any color.”
You pull back but stay close to keep the conversation easy. He introduces you to the guys he’s with, and you chat for a few minutes about the setup and the music. You can already smell the grilled meat from the barbecue and an overwhelming “party” scent. Maki gets pulled into another conversation, so you tell him you’ll catch him later and step away.
Your eyes scan the patio. In the far corner, past the pool lights, sits the designated smoking section. Ni-ki leans against the railing there with a couple of other guys. He’s switched to vaping now. The device glows faintly as he takes a long pull. You watch as he does a slow ghost inhale, holding the vapor in before letting it drift out slowly through his nose and mouth at the same time.
His gaze lifts and locks on you across the distance. His gaze remaining on yours forcefully. The corner of his mouth lifts into a tiny smirk right as the rest of the smoke leaves his lips in a controlled cloud. The light from the string bulbs catches the side of his sharp features. You feel it low in your stomach, that unwanted pull. It looks hot, you have to admit it. How he controls the vapor, and when he watches you while doing it, the smirk signaling he knows exactly what he’s doing.
You turn back toward the house before the moment stretches too long. Danielle waves you over to a new group forming near the drinks table. You join them and focus on the conversation, although the image of Ni-ki in the corner stays at the edge of your mind. The party noise rises around you as more people arrive. You take a cup someone offers and listen to the stories being swapped, forcing yourself to stay present.
You stand with Danielle and the others near the drinks table. Maki walks over a few minutes later carrying a bottle of something stronger. He pours shots for the group and hands you one.
“To another year of making bad decisions,” he says, clinking his cup against yours.
You drink it down and the burn hits quick. You talk about nothing important, laugh at old stories, and pour another round. Danielle refills her cup and gestures toward the patio. “At least Ni-ki’s not causing drama tonight. You two good now?”
Is she serious right now? Maki pauses mid-sip and looks between you and her.
“Wait. Ni-ki is your ex?”
You set your cup down. “Yeah. It was a while ago.”
He blinks once, processing. He looks thrown off rather than mad. “Huh. I didn’t know that. Small world, I guess.”
He finishes his drink and shrugs it off with a half-smile. “I’m gonna go check on people. I’ll be back.” He squeezes your shoulder once and walks off toward the other side of the house.
You shoot Danielle a look. She mouths “sorry” and changes the subject fast. The group keeps drinking, but you can feel the shift. After another ten minutes you excuse yourself and head toward the patio again to get some air.
Maki ends up near the smoking section. He spots Ni-ki leaning against the railing with his vape and walks over. “Hey man, thanks for coming,” Maki says. “And for picking up Y/N earlier.”
Ni-ki exhales a cloud of vapor and nods. “No problem.”
Maki chuckles. “I didn’t know you two had history. Exes, right?”
Ni-ki’s mouth curves. “Yeah. Ancient history. She still acts like I owe her something though.”
Maki laughs lightly. “She’s cool. We’ve been talking a lot lately.”
“That so?” Ni-ki takes another pull from the vape, does a French inhale, and blows the smoke out slow. “She’s not with me anymore. But she’s still my ex. You know how it is.”
The cockiness in his voice could be heard from a mile away. Maki raises an eyebrow, still joking. “Possessive much? She’s her own person last time I checked.”
Ni-ki smirks wider. “Tell yourself that. Just don’t come crying when she ghosts your ass for no reason. She’s good at that.”
They both laugh, a back and forth that stays surface level yet carries tension underneath. Maki claps him on the shoulder once and moves on to talk to someone else. Ni-ki stays where he is, eyes scanning the party again.
You head back inside after the conversation dies down. The party has picked up. Music thumps louder through the speakers and people crowd onto the cleared dance floor in the main room. Danielle pulls you into the group with a few other girls. You move with them, bodies shifting to the beat, hands in the air for the chorus.
Maki finds his way over after a couple of songs. You dance facing him, then turn and press back against him for a few beats, grinding lightly against him. His hands rest on your hips. The alcohol makes everything feel loose. You stay like that for another track before you peel off and tell the girls you need air.
You step out onto the patio again. The night feels cooler now. Fewer people linger outside. Ni-ki still sits on the wide railing in the smoking corner, vape in one hand, a half-empty cup in the other. Two guys talk to him but soon head back inside, leaving him mostly alone.
You walk closer and stop a few feet away. “You’re still smoking that thing. You really can’t go one night without it?”
He looks up, takes a pull, and exhales. “It keeps me from doing worse shit. What about you? Grinding on the birthday boy like that. That’s new.”
You roll your eyes and lean against the railing nearby. The alcohol turns noticeably in your stomach. You breathe deeper, trying to clear your head, eyes focused on the dark yard beyond the lights. Ni-ki notices your light unsteadiness. He stands up and moves beside you, closer than he ever was in your life.
He lifts the vape to his mouth, inhales, and blows a thick cloud of smoke from the corner of his lips so it drifts past your face. His free hand drops to the hem of your dress again and tugs it down from your ass to your thighs with a firm pull.
“Come with me,” he says. “Let’s get you some water before you puke on Maki’s shoes.”
The dizziness lingers. He starts walking toward the side door that leads to the kitchen and you follow him. Most people are still on the dance floor so they’re not going to pay attention if something happens. You lean against the counter near the sink, with your head a little fuzzy from the shots. Ni-ki opens the fridge to grab a cold bottle of water, and hands it to you without a word.
You twist the cap off and take a long drink. He stops vaping, sets the device on the island, and leans back against it directly in front of you. His arms rest on the edge of the counter behind him.
“You’re being nice tonight,” he says. “Even drunk. Not like the old days when you’d tell me to fuck off for less.”
You lower the bottle and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. “Don’t start acting like you know me. You lost that right a long time ago.”
He watches you take another sip. You set the bottle down with force. “Mind your own business.” you tell him. “Stop trying to ruin my love life every time I talk to someone else.”
Ni-ki pushes off the island and steps forward. He places one hand on the counter beside your hip, the other on the other side, bracketing you in. Without touching you, the space between you shrinks. You can smell the scent of his vape and the subtle alcohol on his breath. He’s not drunk, but neither does he seems sober.
“I don’t give a shit if you choose Maki,” he declares lowly. “I don’t even want you back like that. We both know that. I just don’t like that you’re not mine anymore.”
You stay pressed against the counter, looking up at him. “Then why the fuck can you kiss other girls whenever you want,” you say, “and I don’t have the right to do anything? You get to move on but I can’t even dance with someone without you pulling this shit?”
His eyes stay on yours without moving an inch.
“Because I don’t pretend it’s something bigger,” he answers. “I kiss who I want and it ends there. You start something and suddenly it’s this whole production with matching outfits and rides and everyone knowing your business. It pisses me off that you’re out here acting like you’re free when you used to be mine. That’s all.”
You push against his chest lightly with one hand. He gives an inch but stays close.
“What the fuck am I to you? An object? You don’t own me,” you tell him. “We broke up. Get over it.”
He lets out a short laugh. “I am over it. That doesn’t mean I have to like watching it. Especially not with Maki acting like he’s got a chance at something real.”
Music pulses from the other rooms and it feels distant. He waits for your next words, hands still planted on the counter.
You push past him and walk out of the kitchen. The alcohol still clouds your steps as you head toward the stairs. You start climbing without looking back.
“Stop,” Ni-ki calls after you. “You’re gonna trip like that.”
You ignore him and keep going. Your dress rides up a little with each step, bunching higher on your thighs. A couple of guys standing at the bottom of the stairs turn their heads, eyes dropping to your ass.
“Eyes up, assholes.” Ni-ki snaps at them as he moves quickly behind you.
He follows close on your heels the rest of the way up, his body blocking the view from below. You reach the second floor hallway and stop near an open window for air. He stops right behind you, you feel the heat from him.
You push away from the windowsill, head spinning more than before. The dizziness hits harder. You walk down the hall and open the nearest bedroom door. It’s empty with just a big bed and some jackets thrown over a chair. You go straight to the bed and lie down on your back, eyes closed.
Ni-ki follows you in. “Slow down. You’re drunk.”
“Fuck you.” you mutter, arm over your eyes. “Always acting like you can tell me what to do or like you still have a say. Go find another girl to kiss and leave me alone.”
You hear his footsteps cross the room. The door clicks shut behind him, closing out most of the party noise. He stays near the door for a moment, and then he moves closer to the bed.
“I’m not leaving you up here like this,” he says. “You’ll feel worse if you pass out alone. Drink more water when you can sit up.”
You keep your eyes covered, the room tilting even while lying down. “I hate how you do this. You show up and act like you care only when it suits you.”
He pulls the chair closer to the bed and sits.
You stay on the bed, arm still draped over your eyes. The dizziness refuses to calm down. Ni-ki shifts in the chair beside you. “I know I’m an asshole,” he says after a long pause. “But Maki’s too drunk to take care of you properly. He’s downstairs doing shots and barely standing straight. You think he’s coming up here to hold your hair if you throw up?”
You move your arm and look at him. The room lights feel too bright. “And you think you’re any better? You followed me up here like I need a babysitter.”
He leans forward, elbows on his knees. “Someone has to. You drank too much and came upstairs alone. I’m not trying to fuck with you right now. So stay here until it passes a bit.”
You try to move your head on the pillow. The bed feels still under you compared to the floor earlier. Ni-ki gets up from the chair. The mattress dips as he sits down on the edge next to you. His hand lands on the mattress right behind your head, his fingers brushing the pillow.
“You need anything?” he asks. “More water? Something to eat?”
“Fuck off,” you say without opening your eyes. “I don’t want anything from you.”
“Come on. Stop being stubborn.”
“Fuck you, Ni-ki. Seriously. Go downstairs and vape or kiss whoever the hell you want. Leave me the fuck alone.”
You turn your face further into the pillow. He stays seated there, hand still planted behind your head on the bed.
“Do you love Maki?” he asks suddenly.
Why would he ask that all of a sudden? When you try to consider it, you don’t love Maki. You really don’t. Love is a strong word to describe what you’re feeling for him. And when you think about it, you don’t even have a definition for love, since the ‘real’ love you’ve ever experienced was absolutely fucked and toxic. You remain silent and let the question float, unanswered.
He leans in a bit closer. “Have you ever kissed him?”
“Yes,” you confess. “Once on the mouth. And please, it’s really none of your business.”
After your declaration, he softly abruptly kisses you. And weirdly enough, you can’t push him away. The shape of his lips, the curve of his mouth, they all are familiar to you. You’ve kissed him a hundred times and only God knows why it always feels surreal when you do. You stay still under it for a few seconds. When he finally pulls back you wipe your lips with the back of your hand. He laughs low and kisses you again right away. You try to turn your head but he follows, kissing you so you can’t wipe anything off. You manage to get your hand between you for a moment.
“Stop.” you mutter against his mouth. “What the fuck are you doing?”
He kisses you once more, quick and sure. “You told me to go kiss a girl. I’m listening to you.”
You push at his shoulder, a tentative move to use your strength that isn’t even there because of the alcohol. “That’s not what I meant. Can you stop being such an asshole?”
He laughs again, close to you. “You said it. Now you’re mad when I do it. Make up your mind.”
You wipe your mouth again and he’s automatically already leaning in. “This doesn’t change anything.”
“Yeah,” he murmurs. “I aware of that.” He kisses you anyway and you let him once again. You bicker between kisses, words half-formed and cut off. He keeps the pace just fast enough that you can’t keep wiping your lips clean. Your thoughts spin slower by now, caught between telling him to leave and not wanting him to. You can’t decide.
Ni-ki shifts and towers over you on the bed, one knee beside your leg. Your hands find his shoulders and stay there to anchor yourself. The making out gets more heated, mouths open, breaths mixing, just like the good old days. His hand slides down to the side of your hip. He grips it and whispers against your lips, “I can finally slide this dress up.”
If anything scandalous could possibly happen, you can’t allow that to be known by anyone. Not Maki nor Danielle. And knowing how Ni-ki could just spill that in Maki’s face just to fuck with him. It couldn’t be worse than what this is. You pull back to speak, your face a few inches away from his. “If we do anything right now, you forget it tomorrow. You shut your damn mouth.”
He nods once. “Agreed.”
You tilt your head back as he moves to your neck. “Maki’s downstairs waiting for me.”
He makes an irritated sound low in his throat. “Don’t bring him up while I’m doing this.” He kisses your neck harder and sucks stingily on the skin. You feel the pull as he leaves a noticeable hickey. He moves lower, mouth working along your collarbone, leaving more marks. One after another.
You breathe through it, fingers in his hair. He shifts to the other side of your neck and does the same, sucking until the skin blooms under his mouth. Your thoughts keep circling back to how bad an idea this is, but you don’t want to can’t stop him. He covers your neck and collarbones, alternating between kisses and harder pulls that you know will show tomorrow.
“Fuck,” you mutter when he hits a sensitive spot. He keeps going, hand still firm on your hip under the bunched fabric of the dress. The party noise stays far away and for now the room holds only this.
You feel his hand move under the dress. He slides your panties down your legs easily and tosses them aside. His fingers return between your thighs and caress your folds, slow and patient, waiting for you to get wet.
You find it funny, this power you still have over him, and how easily he would react to a mention on the guys you’re talking to. You smile against his mouth and start talking. “Maki kissed me better last time. His hands didn’t shake like yours do when you’re trying to act cool.”
Ni-ki’s fingers keep moving, teasing your entrance but not pushing in yet. “Stop.”
You ignore him and keep going. “He texts me every day. He says he misses me when I don’t reply. You never did that.”
“Y/N, what are you doing?” he says again, voice tighter. His fingers circle your clit once, then back to your folds, spreading the wetness that starts to build.
You chuckle low. “You’re so easy to annoy. Look at you. Already hard and I haven’t even touched you back.”
He leans down closer, mouth near your ear while his hand works between your legs. “And would you look at yourself? Such a needy little slut, getting wet for your ex while your new boy is downstairs waiting. Can’t even stay loyal for one night, don’t you?”
You breathe sharper at his words, body reacting even as your mind pushes back. His fingers stay teasing, patient, drawing it out. You shift your hips but he doesn’t speed up. The marks on your neck throb in time with your pulse, as he sucked on your skin like a vampire. You know you should tell him to stop but the words don’t come out of your mouth. Anyone who would even just see their ex from afar would run away or ignore them. And mostly after them cheating on you and being an asshole. You feel dumb right now. You let him keep touching you, the mingle of annoyance and heat keeping you there under him.
You feel his hands on your waist. He lifts you without much effort and shifts you onto his lap so you straddle him. Your dress bunches up around your hips. He unbuckles his jeans, pushes them down and leaves his boxers on for a minute, and pulls you closer. He grinds up against you, his hard cock sliding along your wetness through the thin fabric.
You reach down between you and wrap your hand around him. You stroke slowly, spreading the precum from the tip down his length. He exhales sharply, like when he exhales smoke. You position yourself and sink down onto him, taking him in inch by inch until you sit fully on his dick.
“I fucking hate you.” you whisper.
He grips your hips tighter. You start to move, slow at first. The feeling of him inside you brings back too many memories. You rock your hips, hands on his shoulders for balance. He meets your movements from below, thrusting up into you.
“You say that but you’re soaking my cock right now,” he mutters.
Even like this, he finds a way to talk back. You keep riding him, the heat raising in the room. Your thighs press against his sides which makes the bed creaks quietly under you both. You hate how right it feels in the moment, how your body responds to him without hesitation, because you’ll always have this weird connection together. He fills you completely and you let yourself chase that feeling, even while the words “I hate you” echo in your head.
You keep moving on him, hips rolling steadily. Ni-ki’s hands slide down to your ass. He fondles it, squeezing the flesh as you ride him.
“That’s it,” he says, voice low and condescending. “You’re taking my cock so well. Such a good little slut for your ex even after all that talking shit.”
He slaps your ass once, the sound sharp below the muffled music. The sting mixes with the pleasure as you clench around him involuntarily. He does it again on the other cheek, harder this time, then rubs the spot right after.
“Fuck, you feel so tight,” he continues, fondling and kneading your cheeks while you move. “Maki doesn’t know how to handle you like this, does he? But here you are, bouncing on me like you never left.”
You bite your lip to hold back a moan. His words irritate you but they also push you closer. He slaps your ass a third time, grips both cheeks and pulls you down harder onto him with each thrust. His hands stay on your ass, fondling, slapping, controlling the pace as you ride him. Your thoughts scatter between the anger and the building heat and you don’t if anything feels right. You hate how much you like his hands on you right now, the way he praises you like he owns the moment. You keep going anyway, letting the cadence take over.
You press down harder, sitting fully on him and stirring your hips in tight circles so his dick moves deep inside you. Ni-ki groans and grips your ass tighter, hips jerking up. You feel him throbbing, right on the edge.
You lift off him suddenly, his cock slipping out wet and You press down harder, sitting fully on him and stirring your hips in tight circles so his dick moves deep inside you. Ni-ki groans and grips your ass tighter, hips jerking up. You feel him throbbing, right on the edge.
You lift off him suddenly, his cock slipping out wet and hard. You grab your panties from the floor and pull them back on quick. He stares at you, breathing heavy.
“What the fuck?” he says.
You smooth your dress down over your hips. “We said forget it tomorrow. I’m done.”
A knock sounds on the door. Maki’s voice comes through. “Y/N? You in there?”
You glance at Ni-ki once before walking to the door. Your legs feel unsteady but you keep moving. The hickeys on your neck burn under the fabric. You open the door just enough to slip out, leaving Ni-ki on the bed behind you. Maki stands in the hallway, looking concerned.
“Hey, I was looking for you,” he says. “You okay?”
You nod and close the door behind you. “Yeah. I needed to lie down for a bit. Let’s go back downstairs.”
Your mind races as you walk with him, getting occasional stares from him on your neck and collarbones. The wetness between your legs a reminder of what just happened. But everything will be forgotten the day after, right?
IN WHICH ─── Heeseung teaches you everything that your cheating boyfriend couldn’t. He’s been waiting for the day you would realize that he could do better and much more than his best friend.
𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 : smut (MDNI), porn with a bit of plot
𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 : switch!heeseung, switch!reader, mention of alcohol, smoking, swearing, cheating, manhandling, heeseung is a gentleman despite his attitude, unprotected sex, p in v, fingering, praising, light degradation, oral sex (f. receiving), light edging, orgasm denial, use of nickname : baby, my pretty girl
𝐰𝐜 : 7.9k {7.977}
❕# pheeew I speed run that shii. I goon to the pic on top every night—WHO TFFFFF SAID THAAAT????? Guys I need this man to put me in my place like RIGHT NOW. This song represents him so well. Ugh he’s mister dadaman fr
INSPIRED BY : What You Need - The Weeknd
(+ Slow It Down - Ty Dolla $ign)
What could be worse than going to the restaurant with your boyfriend a week after you found out that he’s been cheating on you? Oh right, you don’t know. Ethan orders for himself without asking what you're having first, catches himself halfway through, and asks you anyway. You already know what you want because you always know what you want here.
His phone sits face up next to his water glass. It lights up twice in the first ten minutes. Both times he glances down, thumb hovering, before setting it back exactly where it was. "Sorry," he says, not looking up from the screen the third time. "Work thing."
You nod like that made sense. You've heard about Heeseung's terrible taste in restaurants, about his coworker’s dog, about traffic on the way here ; three separate stories he's started and abandoned mid-sentence because his attention keeps sliding sideways toward that phone.
"You could put it away," you say, tired enough that it comes out flat.
"I know. I will." He actually doesn't.
The waiter brings your food and Ethan eats fast, he’s already somewhere else in his mind. You ask about his sister's move to Daegu and get half an answer before his phone buzzes again and he actually picks it up this time, thumb moving across the screen, brow furrowed like the message requires real concentration.
You watch him read it. You watch his jaw do a small tightening, and you already know before he opens his mouth. "I have to go in," he says. "They need someone to cover a shift. I'm really sorry, I know we just got here."
Work doesn't call people in at 9:47 at night for office emergencies. You've known things like this for months now, small inconsistencies that don't line up if you actually stack them next to each other, which is why you stopped stacking them.
"Now?" you ask anyway, knowing how it will end up.
"I wouldn't if I didn't have to." He's already reaching for his wallet, already half out of his seat. "I'll make it up to you. Promise."
You tell him it's fine and to go, that you'll finish eating and head home. He kisses the top of your head, distracted, already checking his phone again as he walks toward the door, and you sit there with a plate you've lost interest in and a boyfriend-shaped absence across the table.
Your phone buzzes. Heeseung.
Heeseung [9:54 PM]
you good?
saw ethan's location just switched to "downtown" lol at 9pm
You stare at the message for a second too long before you type back.
Y/N [9:54 PM]
he had a work thing apparently
Heeseung [9:55 PM]
mhm. sure he did
You almost put the phone down.
Y/N [9:55 PM]
please don’t start
Heeseung [9:57 PM]
wasn't gonna say anything. i'm very good at not saying things
Y/N [9:57 PM]
you're the worst at not saying things btw
Heeseung [9:58 PM]
rude.
i've been holding back SO much tonight and this is the thanks i get
You find yourself smiling at your phone, alone at a table for two, food going cold in front of you. Even though you couldn’t care less.
The waiter comes by to clear Ethan's plate and asks if you need anything else, and you're halfway through saying no when your phone buzzes again.
Heeseung [10:05 PM]
where are you?
sending someone to get you before you sit there being sad and pathetic
Y/N [10:05 PM]
wdym I’m not sad and pathetic
Heeseung [10:06 PM]
you're eating alone at a restaurant your boyfriend just ditched. what else could it be?
address please.
You give him the name of the place mostly because arguing about whether you're pathetic or not would take more energy than you have left right now. Fifteen minutes later Heeseung walks in wearing a jacket you’ve seen plenty of times, scanning the room until he finds you, and drops into the seat across from you like he's been there the whole time.
"You didn't have to come, you know." you state.
"I know that very well. I wanted to see you sad and pathetic in person." He picks up the menu even though you're clearly done eating, flips through it without really looking. "Also I was bored."
"Comforting."
"I try." He waves the waiter over before you can stop him, orders a drink for himself, and when the bill comes a few minutes later he reaches over and takes it before you can even move your hand toward it.
"Heeseung."
"Yeah?"
"Give me that."
"No." He's already pulling out his card, not even glancing at the total.
"I can pay for my own food."
"Never said you couldn't." He hands the card to the waiter without looking at you, and something about how easy it is for him : he acts like it costs him nothing and like it’s something he has to do but does it naturally. The inside of your stomach is tingling and obviously not because of the food you had earlier.
"I'm being serious, I don't need you to—"
"I know you don't need me to." He lifts his gaze and looks at you with less joking in it than a second ago. "I want to. Learn how it’s not the same."
"That's not the point."
"What's the point, then?"
You freezes, not an answer or a talk back could reach your mind, and he grins like he's won something.
"Aw, look at that," he says. "I missed that face."
"I fucking hate you."
"You don't. You're just annoyed you can't win an argument about who gets to pay for your dinner, which, by the way, is a very weird thing to be stubborn about."
"It's called having self-respect."
"It's called being difficult for no reason, but sure, we can call it self-respect if that makes you feel better." The card comes back and he signs without checking the receipt, tucks it away, and stands up casually. "Come on. I'm parked badly and I will get towed."
"You fucking asshole."
"You keep saying that like it's news." He holds his hand out, not really an offer so much as an assumption you'll take it, and you do.
He gets in to start the car, and has a cigarette lit before you've even got your seatbelt on. The window cracks an inch, cold air cutting through the smoke smell that's already filling the small space.
"You know those are terrible for you," you say.
"Groundbreaking information. Thank you." He takes a drag, one hand on the wheel, not pulling out of the spot yet.
"I'm dead serious. You should stop."
"I should do a lot of things." He glances at you sideways, smoke curling out the window. "You should stop pretending you don't know your boyfriend's cheating on you. We're both just walking around not doing things we should, I guess."
The car goes quiet except for the engine idling. You look straight ahead at the brick wall of the restaurant, at nothing. "I don't know what you're talking about," you say in a breathy tone.
"Sure you don't." He's not looking at you now either, tapping ash out the window, voice even, done pretending along with you. "His location switches off every other night. He checks his phone at dinner like it's gonna bite him if he doesn't. Tonight he left you at a restaurant for a 'work thing' that doesn't exist, and you didn't even ask him to explain it properly. You just let him go."
"That's not—" You stop and start again. "It's complicated."
"It's really not." He finally pulls out of the spot, one hand on the wheel, cigarette still between two fingers. "You don't want to deal with it. Which, fine, your business. But don't sit there and tell me you don't know, because I’m aware for the phone thing tonight too, and you didn't look surprised. You looked like someone who's done the math already."
There isn't a version of an answer that isn't just agreeing with him. So silence is the best option you could have at this moment.
"I'm not trying to make it worse, okay?" he says, softer, some of the edge gone out of his voice. "I just don't really feel like watching you sit through dinners like that and pretend it's normal."
"Why do you even care?"
He takes another drag and lets it out slow.
"Good question," he says finally without elaborating further, yet you don’t want to know more of it, because you're not sure you want to hear the answer any more than he seems to want to give it.
He drives you around the city for a while then turns left instead of right at the light that would've led back toward your apartment. The road opens up eventually, streetlights getting sparser, and then there's the smell of salt before you see the water. He parks in a mostly empty lot facing the beach, cuts the engine, and the quiet that follows feels different from the quiet in the restaurant parking lot. It’s less loaded.
"Why are we here?" you ask.
"I needed air that doesn't smell like your ex's cologne." He's already pulling his jacket off, tossing it into the back seat. Underneath he's just in a black tank top, and it's warm enough out that it makes sense, summer nights here never really cooling off the way you'd expect. "Also I like it here. Don't make it a big deal."
"He's not my ex."
"Give it time." He says it lightly, already opening his door, not wanting to hear you argue back. "Come."
You get out as sitting in the car alone would feel worse than following him. The sand is cool yet the air isn't, and he walks ahead of you toward the water without checking if you're behind him, hands in his pockets and shoulders loose.
"You could've warned me we were going to the beach," you say, catching up. "I'm in the wrong shoes for this."
"You're in shoes. That's more preparation than I did."
"You're wearing actual sneakers."
"Correct. Preparation." He glances back at you, the corner of his mouth pulling up. "Take them off if you're gonna complain the whole time."
"I'm not complaining, it was just a statement."
"Same thing, coming from you."
You shove his shoulder, and he barely moves as he laughs, low and light, as your annoyance is the most entertaining thing that's happened to him all week. The water's dark ahead of you, waves you can hear more than see, you can feel the knot in your belly loosening up.
"So this is the fresh air you talked about," you say, kicking your heels off like he told you to, sand cold between your toes. "Very noble of you, considering your lungs are probably black at this point."
"They're totally fine."
"You just smoked an entire cigarette in a closed car ten minutes ago."
"The window was cracked."
"Barely an inch."
He stops walking. He turns to look at you, and there's a specific kind of offense on his face, you can see that’s it’s fake. "Okay, you don't get to smoke-shame me and then act like you weren't the one who wanted to eat a hundred tons of sugar last week."
"That has nothing to do with your lungs."
"It's about hypocrisy, Y/N." He's already crossing his arms, which should've been your first warning. "You wanna talk about people ruining their bodies, we can talk about those candies."
"That's not remotely the same thing, and you know it."
"I don't know anything. I'm just a guy with fucked up lungs, apparently, standing here, getting attacked—"
"I didn't attack you, I made a freaking statement—"
"—run," he says, it's not really a warning and it's already happening, he's moving toward you before the word's even fully out. You don't think and you just run, already laughing three steps away, sand slowing you down and you probably look embarrassing and isn't because he's not much faster, both of you stumbling across the beach. He's close behind you, close enough that you can hear him laughing too, breathless, yet you don't look back and just keep going toward nothing in particular, the water loud beside you and your own heartbeat louder, making you forget why you were sad in the first place.
"Slow down!" you yell back at him, though you're the one speeding up. "Your lungs can't take this!"
"They're taking it fine, actually—" He's gaining on you, voice rougher now from the running, the laughing, both. "Better than yours, probably, all that complaining you do about stairs—"
"I don't even complain about stairs—"
"You complained about stairs yesterday. To my face."
"That building has no elevator, that's a legitimate—" You don't get to finish, because his hand catches your arm, hard enough to throw your balance off, and you're laughing too much to fight it anyway.
"Got you—"
"You didn't—"
He did. Your feet tangle in the sand and his do too trying to compensate, and there's a second where it could've gone fine, where you both could've just stopped, but now you're both going down, and he twists at the last second so he hits the sand first and you land half on top of him, knocking whatever air he had left in those apparently terrible lungs straight out of him.
"Okay," he wheezes, staring up at the sky, chest moving fast under you. "Okay, that one's on me."
You're still laughing, you can't stop, face pressed near his shoulder, sand in your hair, in your clothes, everywhere. "You caught me on purpose."
"I caught you very badly on purpose."
"Your lungs are so fucked."
"Please stop talking about my lungs." He's laughing too, you can feel it more than hear it, his chest shaking under where you're braced against him, and neither of you moves to get up right away, and it takes a second before either of you remembers there's a reason you're supposed to pull away from this.
"Great," you say, still not moving off him. "Now I'm covered in sand. This was a bad idea."
"It was my favorite plan I've had all week."
"You've had bad judgment all week, then." You finally push yourself up, brushing sand off your arms, off your legs, a losing battle. He sits up slower, still catching his breath, watching you try to fix your hair with zero success.
"I'm also thirsty," you add.
"There's water in the car."
"Warm water in a car that smells like cigarettes doesn't count."
He stands, holds a hand out to pull you up, and doesn't let go right away once you're on your feet. He looks at you for a second, he seems like he's deciding something. "Come to mine. Shower, water, whatever you need. It’s better than dropping you off covered in sand at eleven at night."
"Heeseung, I don't need—"
"You keep saying that word like it changes anything about what I'm gonna do anyway." He's already walking back toward the car, keys spinning once around his finger. "Come on."
His apartment turns out to be nothing like you expected, which annoys you a little, because you'd built some idea of his place in your head ; messy, small ; and instead the elevator opens straight into something enormous, floor-to-ceiling windows facing the city, furniture that looks like it costs a hundred racks, which does.
"This is insane," you say, standing in the doorway, still not fully inside. "You live here? Alone?"
"Don't sound so betrayed about it."
"I pictured you in, like, a studio apartment with a mattress on the floor."
"Wow. Thank you for that image of me." He drops his keys on the counter, shrugging like the apartment doesn't warrant comment. "Bathroom's down the hall, second door. There's towels in there. I'll find you something to change into that isn't full of sand."
You still haven't moved from the doorway, taking in the size of it, the quietness of a place too clean to belong to someone who bickers the way he does. "How do you even afford this?"
"Very boring answer. Ask me another time." He's already disappearing down the hall, calling back over his shoulder. "Towels. Bathroom. Go before you track sand into my very expensive rug."
You linger by the counter instead of heading for the bathroom yet, arms crossed, sand still clinging to your ankles. "Okay, but—when am I getting home tonight? I have work in the morning."
He reappears from the hallway with a folded shirt and shorts in hand, tossing them onto the couch for you. "Never. You live here now. I've decided."
"Heeseung."
"It's already, what, eleven thirty? You're covered in sand, your options are a shower here or a shower at home in forty-five minutes of traffic smelling like a beach." He shrugs, entirely too pleased with his own logic. "I'll drive you back whenever. Or you sleep on the world's most comfortable couch and I take you home before work. Very generous offer, considering my lungs are apparently on their way out."
"That's not what I asked."
"Yeah, and I answered better questions in my life." He nods toward the hallway, unbothered. "Go shower. I'm not driving anywhere until you stop smelling like low tide."
You get out of the shower first, dressed in the shirt and shorts he left you, both too big, sleeves falling past your hands. When you find him in the kitchen he's just in sweatpants, no shirt, hair still wet, and you stop in the doorway far too long before catching yourself.
"What?" he says, not even looking up from the glass of water he's pouring.
"Nothing. Put a shirt on, it's weird."
"It's my apartment, and it's hot. I'm not putting a shirt on for you." He slides the glass across the counter toward you, finally glancing over, and whatever's on your face makes something shift in his. "Are you flustered right now?"
"No."
"You're a little flustered."
"I'm annoyed." You grab the glass just to have something to do with your hands, and drink half of it too fast. "Some warning would've been nice."
"A warning for what, my own kitchen?"
"For the— " you point directly at him, at the general fact of him, "—situation."
"There's no situation. This is just what I look like." A shit eating grin appears on his face, fully enjoying this, leaning against the counter. "You can look away if it's that distressing."
"I'm not even looking."
"You're looking right now."
"I'm looking at you to argue with you, and you look so dumb right now."
"Sure it is." He pushes off the counter, grabs a pack of cigarettes off the counter, and heads for the balcony door without the will to talk back. You follow, mostly out of spite, and the air outside is warm, the city spread out below, making the apartment's size make a little more sense. He lights up, leaning on the railing, and you stand a few feet away, arms crossed against a chill that isn't really there.
The smoke drifts toward you on the next breath of wind and you cough slightly, covering the lower half of you face with your hand.
His eyes stay on the city while a silent chuckle almost escapes him. He shifts slowly, moving to stand on your left instead, angling himself so the smoke pulls away from you and out over the railing. A quietness installs itself between you.
He flicks ash over the railing, and glances at you. "You want a drink or something? I've got wine, I think there's soju somewhere too."
"Wine would be good."
He disappears inside for a minute, comes back with two glasses and the bottle tucked under his arm, he sets everything down on the small table between the balcony chairs. You sit, and he drops into the chair across from you, pouring without measuring, more in yours than his.
"How did we even meet?" you say, mostly to fill the silence, turning the glass by its stem. "Like, before Ethan and I were even together. I feel like I always just knew you as his friend."
"You did. That's exactly what happened." He takes a sip to give himself time to recoil on the memory. "We met at that party his roommate threw, where it had the terrible speaker system. You spilled something on my shoes and apologized for like ten minutes straight."
"I did not apologize for ten minutes."
"You did. I still remember the shoes, they were new."
"You're exaggerating."
"I'm really not, I still have them." He leans back, glass balanced on his knee. "Then Ethan started talking about you nonstop for like a month before he actually got the balls to ask you out. It was unbearable. I heard about your laugh before I heard you laugh."
You laugh a little despite yourself. "That's embarrassing," you say.
"For him, mostly. I didn't say anything." He swirls the wine, not quite looking at you now. "You were different back then. I mean—Not different-different. I just think that you were, like, less careful about everything."
"Careful how?"
"You used to argue with me for fun. Now half the time you're arguing with me because you're arguing with something else and I'm just the nearest target." He says in a chuckle. "I liked the fun version better. Not that this version's bad, though."
You take your time before replying. Your fingers slowly roll the glass between your palms as you watch the wine reflect the light, letting the silence fill the space while you think.
"I didn't notice it happening," you say finally.
"Fair enough. That's usually how it goes."
He gives you time. He sits beside you in comfortable silence, his glass resting against his knee while the distant sounds of the city soften the moment.
"You know he doesn't deserve the amount of patience you're giving him, right?" he says eventually, not looking at you when he says it, trying to make it easier for both of you. "Whatever he's doing, wherever he's going at nine at night—you're sitting there making excuses for him. I watched you do it tonight."
"It's not that simple."
"It’s obviously not simple, we both know that. I'm saying you deserve someone who doesn't make you rehearse excuses for him in your head before he's even said anything." He looks over at you, his gaze serious. "You're smart. You're funny, when you're not exhausted, which lately is rare. You shouldn't be spending this much of yourself on someone who’s always checking his phone at a dinner with you."
"You don't know everything that's going on, so stop—"
"I don't need to know everything. I already know enough." He sets his glass down, leans forward slightly, elbows on his knees. "I'm not trying to convince you to do anything, okay? I just don't think you hear it enough, so I'm saying it. You deserve better than what he's giving you. That's it."
You look down at your glass instead of at him, throat tight from what you’ve been holding since you found out.
"Like it matters to you, anyway." you mumble quietly.
He lets the silence settle between you once more. Taking a deep breath, he seems to consider his next words carefully, revealing nothing before he's ready.
"It does," he declares finally. "I'm not gonna make it more complicated than that tonight."
You let the subject rest, and he doesn't volunteer anything more. Together, you sit quietly, listening to the muted sounds of the city while the wine slowly warms in your hands. Somehow, the silence says more than words you could find.
After some time, you both decided to watch a movie to ease everything out. Now, you’re curled up on the couch, the bottle of wine you two polished off leaving a soft warmth in your veins. The TV flickers with some late-night drama that you couldn't force yourself to be invested in even if you wanted to. Your head feels pleasantly light, and whatever usually fuels your arguments has faded, leaving behind nothing more than lazy teasing.
A new scene unfolds on screen : dark lighting, tangled sheets, the actors lost in a heated and sensual moment. The woman arches under her partner’s touch as his hands glide slowly over her body ; caressing, teasing, worshipping. The sounds are low and breathy, filling the room.
You feel the heat rise in your cheeks, and the wine makes you bold. You glance at Heeseung beside you. "I…I’ve never done that with Ethan," you murmur, voice coming out as a whisper. "Not like that, at least."
Heeseung’s head snaps toward you, eyes wide with real shock. "Wait—what? Never? Not even close?"
You shake your head, biting your lip as embarrassment and frustration mix with the alcohol. "No. It’s always been…rushed. He never wanted to explore things or try new things. Like he doesn’t have the patience for it." Your gaze lingers on the screen for another second before returning to him. "Do you…know how to do that? Like, really touch someone like that?"
Heeseung keeps his eyes on you, his usual smirk nowhere in sight. Something unspoken passes between you. "Y/N…" he starts, voice low and careful, a flicker of heat in his eyes.
You shift slightly, scooting an inch closer on the couch. "Show me? I want to know everything. Touch me the way he’s touching her. Please?"
He swallows, and finally slowly nods, setting his empty glass aside. "Alright. But tell me when it's too much, okay?" His voice has dropped, rougher now. He reaches out, starting gentle. His fingers brush along your arm, tracing slow lines from your wrist up to your shoulder. "Like this," he murmurs, eyes locked on yours. "Pay attention to how your skin feels under my hand." His palm flattens against your collarbone, sliding down your side in one smooth caress, mapping the curve of your waist through your shirt.
You shiver, the wine amplifying every touch. Emboldened, you lean into him, and he scoots closer too, until your thighs press together. His other hand joins in, fingertips grazing your neck, then trailing down your chest with feather-light pressure.
"Tell me what feels good," he instructs softly, his hand venturing lower, stroking along your hip and the top of your thigh. "Here?" He squeezes gently, then lets his palm glide back up, bolder now.
The space between you disappears as you both shift nearer, bodies turning toward each other. Your hand finds his chest, feeling the thrum of his heartbeat, and slide up to his neck. His breath grows heavier. His fingers slip under the hem of your shirt, caressing bare skin ; warm, exploratory, following the line of your ribs.
You look up at him, lips parted. He meets your gaze for half a second before closing the distance. Tongues meet, slow and deep at first, turning more insistent as your fingers thread into his hair. He pulls you closer, one hand firm on your lower back while the other continues its caress, sliding higher under your shirt.
His kisses grow fiercer, nipping at your lower lip before soothing it, bodies pressing together on the couch as the moment spirals deeper.
You automatically swing your leg over, straddling Heeseung’s lap as the kiss deepens. Your knees sink into the couch on either side of him, bodies aligning perfectly. He groans softly into your mouth, his hands finding your waist instantly, gripping you to steady the sudden movement. "Y/N…" he breathes against your lips, pulling you closer.
His fingers dig in a little too hard at first ; eager, hungry from the built-up tension ; and you yelp sharply against his mouth, a quick flash of pain cutting through the haze of wine and heat. He pulls back immediately, eyes wide with concern, his grip loosening right away. "Shit—sorry," he murmurs. One hand gently rubs the spot on your waist where he’d gripped too tightly. "Didn’t mean to. You okay?"
You nod quickly, still breathing hard, the sting already fading into the warmth. "Yeah…I’m fine. Don’t stop."
Relief flashes across his face, quickly renewed by that same heated look. He leans in again, capturing your lips in another urgent kiss. his time, there's a new caution in the way he touches you. His hands glide slowly along your sides, lingering as though giving you every chance to pull away before one drifts lower. He cups your ass firmly, squeezing with just the right pressure ; possessive, appreciative ; as he pulls you tighter against him.
You moan softly into the kiss, rolling your hips instinctively. His tongue slides against yours, deeper and more demanding now, while his fingers knead your ass, encouraging the movement. The kiss turns messy, breathless, both of you lost in the heat as his other hand stays anchored at your waist, guiding you closer. The undeniable spark between you push everything else away.
You’re both breathing heavily when Heeseung pulls back just enough to speak, his voice low and gentle against your ear. "Come off my lap for a second, baby," he murmurs, hands sliding soothingly along your thighs. "Turn around for me."
You nod, a little dazed from the wine and the intensity, and shift off him. He helps guide you, turning you so your back is to his chest. He settles back against the couch, spreading his legs and pulling you between them until you’re nestled against him, your back flush to his front. His arms wrap around you from behind, one hand resting on your stomach while the other strokes your thigh.
"Spread your legs for me," he says softly, lips brushing the shell of your ear. "As far as you can. Let me see you."
You obey, parting your thighs wider, heat flooding your face as the position leaves you open and exposed. Heeseung hums approvingly, his fingers teasing lightly along the inside of your thigh, drawing slow circles that inch higher but never quite touch where you’re starting to ache.
"My pretty girl," he whispers, the praise making you shiver. His hand keeps stroking closer and closer until you’re squirming. "Has he ever fingered you?" he asks almost hesitantly, he already suspects the answer.
You shake your head, voice small. "No…He never did. He only ever made me suck his dick and...he was so rushed to put it in."
Heeseung exhales sharply, a mix of disbelief and irritation flashing through him. "Fuck…alright. I’ve got you."
He’s careful ; painfully so. His fingers slide under your clothes, gently parting you before one fingertip circles your entrance, gathering wetness. "Tell me if it hurts or if you want me to stop," he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your neck.
Slowly, he eases one finger inside you, inch by inch, giving you time to adjust to the stretch. He moves gently, curling carefully, his other arm holding you against his chest. "Breathe, Y/N. I’ll make it good for you."
He adds a second finger only when you start rocking back against his hand, still cautious, focusing entirely on your reactions as he begins to pump them in a sluggish rhythm. His thumb finds your clit, teasing light circles while he fingers you with patient strokes.
You gasp sharply as Heeseung’s fingers suddenly hit harder, the angle shifting and sending a jolt of pain through you. Your body tenses, a small cry escaping your lips.
He freezes instantly, eyes widening in panic. "Shit—sorry, sorry," he blurts, quickly easing his fingers out of you. "I didn’t mean to—fuck, are you okay? I’m so sorry, Y/N." He repeats the apology under his breath, one hand gently rubbing your thigh while the other hovers uncertainly, clearly rattled.
You catch your breath, the sting fading fast in the haze of alcohol. A smirk slowly tugs at your lips as you look back at him over your shoulder. "Are you really sorry?"
"Yes," he says immediately, voice earnest. "Of course I am."
You turn around fully to face him, still sitting between his legs. "Then get on your knees in front of me."
He blinks, then lets out a short disbelieving scoff, assuming you’re joking. "What? Right now?"
Your expression stays serious, eyes locked on his. "I said get on your knees."
The smirk on his face fades when he realizes you mean it. After a beat of hesitation, he slides off the couch and drops to his knees on the floor in front of you, looking up at you with surprise and growing desire.
"Come closer," you order softly.
He shifts forward on his knees until he’s right between your spread legs, hands resting tentatively on your thighs as he waits for your next instruction, breath a little uneven.
You lean back slightly, looking down at him. "Lick it."
Heeseung’s eyes darken instantly. Without another word, he leans in, pressing his mouth to you. His tongue drags slowly through your folds at first ; warm and soaked ; before he settles into long hungry strokes, focusing on your clit with just the right pressure. His hands grip your thighs to hold you open as he licks you with focused intent, the earlier apology shifted by eager obedience.
You let the pleasure build for a few moments, your hand threading into his hair as his tongue works you over with growing confidence. But then you tug gently, pulling him back.
"Stop." you say, voice breathy yet firm.
Heeseung pulls away immediately, lips glistening, looking up at you with hooded eyes and a hint of confusion. His chest rises and falls quickly.
You smirk down at him, still holding his hair. "You’re not going to continue until you say sorry…while you’re eating me out."
He blinks once, processing the command, then an almost amused smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "You’re serious?"
You raise an eyebrow, waiting.
He leans back in without further protest. His tongue returns to you before he murmurs the words right against your core, the vibrations sending sparks through you. "I’m sorry," he breathes, licking a long stripe up your folds. "Sorry for being too rough…" Another slow swirl around your clit. "I won’t hurt you again."
He keeps going, alternating between soft apologies and dedicated licks, his voice low and muffled as he eats you out. "Sorry, baby…fuck, you taste so good." His hands grip your thighs a little tighter as he buries his tongue deeper, still repeating quiet "sorry"s between every lick and suck, the blend of submission and hunger making the moment even more intense.
You lean back further, letting him worship you like that ; his apologies vibrating against you with every stroke of his tongue.
You slide your fingers deeper into his hair, gripping it firmly as you pull him closer against you. Heeseung’s eyes flutter half-closed ; sleepy and hazy with lust ; his ears flushed a pretty shade of pink from the heat and the wine. The sight makes something wicked twist in your lower belly.
"Well, would you look at yourself," you tease, voice breathy but filled with amusement. "On your knees, ears all pink, eyes looking half-asleep like a fucking loser."
He pulls back just enough to look up at you, lips shiny and swollen, a lazy smirk spreading across his face despite the grip you have on his hair. His sleepy eyes narrow playfully. "Loser?" he scoffs, breath hot against your skin. "Says the one who’s been missing out for months and is now dripping all over my face. If I’m such a loser, why are you pulling my hair like you never want me to stop?"
You tug his hair a little harder in response, and he lets out a low, amused chuckle, vibrating right where you need it.
"Keep talking shit and I might actually stop," you warn, though your hips roll forward, chasing his mouth.
Heeseung’s smirk only widens, pink ears burning brighter. "Yeah? Then I guess this loser better shut up and keep saying sorry…" He dives back in with renewed energy, tongue pressing flat and slow, murmuring one last muffled "Sorry, baby" against you before focusing entirely on making your teasing backfire.
You feel it building fast ; the tight coil of pleasure winding tighter and tighter in your core while his tongue works you relentlessly. His sleepy eyes stay locked on yours whenever he pulls back for air, pink ears still burning, that smug little smirk never fully leaving his face even while he’s buried between your thighs.
Your grip in his hair tightens, hips rolling against his mouth as your breathing turns ragged. "Heeseung—fuck, I’m—"
Right as the orgasm crests, right as you’re about to tip over the edge, he pulls back completely. His mouth leaves you with one last slow, teasing lick before he sits back on his heels, lips glistening, looking far too pleased with himself.
You let out a frustrated whine, thighs trembling. "What the hell—"
He chuckles lowly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes are sleepy-lidded, but sparkling with mischief. "Not yet," he murmurs, voice rough. One finger lazily traces up your inner thigh, barely brushing where you need him. "You were talking so much shit earlier about me being a loser…thought you could handle a little teasing."
You glare down at him, still panting, the denied orgasm leaving you aching and frustrated. He leans in again, pressing the softest, almost innocent kiss right above your clit, then another on your thigh ; carefully avoiding where you’re throbbing.
"What is it?" he teases, voice low and amused. "All worked up and squirming. Were you really about to cum that fast on my tongue? Cute."
He blows a gentle stream of cool air against your wet folds, making you jolt, then gives you one torturously light lick before pulling away again.
"Beg a little nicer and maybe I’ll let you finish," he says with a smirk, pink ears still flushed as he watches your reaction, clearly enjoying edging you way too much.
Your hand tightens in his hair again, torn between wanting to pull him back in and wanting to throttle him for stopping.
You’re still catching your breath on the couch, legs shaky from the cruel edge, when Heeseung rises from his knees. He climbs over you, hovering above your body with his hands braced on either side of your head. His face is flushed, those sleepy eyes dark with want as he looks down at you.
You bite your lip, heart racing. Slowly, you lift one leg and slide your foot up between his thighs, pressing the sole against the obviously hard bulge straining through his sweatpants. You rub it teasingly with your toes, pressing on it with gentle pressure, feeling him twitch under your foot.
His breath hitches sharply, hips jerking forward into your touch. "Y/N," he warns, voice low and strained.
You look up at him with soft, fakely innocent eyes, a sweet little smile playing on your lips even as your foot continues its lazy; pressing, rubbing, tracing the outline of his cock through the soft fabric.
"What?" you murmur softly, batting your lashes. “You edged me…seems only fair I play with you a little."
He lets out a shaky laugh, forehead dropping to rest against your shoulder for a moment. His arms tremble slightly as he holds himself up, clearly fighting the urge to grind harder against your foot.
"Fuck, you’re evil," he breathes, with only affection and raw desire. His eyes flutter half-closed again as you keep rubbing him so gently, the contrast between your soft gaze and the teasing pressure of your foot making him groan quietly above you.
The air between you crackles, thick with tension as he hovers there, letting you toy with him.
You’re still looking up at him with those soft eyes when he suddenly pulls back. He stands just long enough to shove his sweatpants and boxers down in one motion, kicking them aside. His cock springs free, hard and flushed. Before you can fully process, he’s back on the couch, gently turning you around again so your back is pressed to his chest ; just like earlier.
You blink in confusion, still wobbly. "Heeseung, what are you—?"
While staying silent, he wraps one arm around your waist, pulling you firmly against him. With his free hand, he guides his cock, rubbing the thick head slowly up and down your soaked core. The pressure is heavy and hot as he glides it between your folds, coating himself in your wetness, letting you feel every inch of his length sliding against your sensitive skin.
"Just feel it," he murmurs against your ear. "Gotta get you used to me first."
The grind makes you whimper, your body tensing as the blunt head nudges at your entrance. Then he pushes in ; slow and gentle. The stretch is intense. You yell out at the burn, your hands flying back to grip his thighs.
Heeseung stops instantly, burying his face in the crook of your neck. "I know, baby, I know," he whispers soothingly, voice dull and tender. "You’re doing so good." One of his hands slides down to caress your lower stomach in comforting circles, trying to ease the discomfort. "I’ve got you, Y/N. I’m right here."
He stays still inside you, whispering sweet nothings against your skin while his fingers keep gently rubbing your stomach. Gradually, the pain starts to melt into a deep ache. When your breathing evens out a little, he begins to move. His thrusts are slothful at first but quickly turn sloppy, messy and uncoordinated from the alcohol and the overwhelming heat of the moment. Wet sounds fill the room as he rocks into you from behind, one arm banded around your waist while the other continues caressing your lower belly.
"Fuck…sorry, it’s—shit, you feel too good," he groans, the pace erratic and desperate, hips snapping up into you with needy and imperfect strokes.
His thrusts are getting sloppier, hips stuttering as the dizziness makes his pace messy and desperate. Next, on one particularly eager push, his cock slips out completely with a wet pop, loud enough to be heard in the entire living room.
You squirm hard in his lap, a needy whimper escaping you at the sudden empty feeling. Your body instinctively rocks back, searching for him again.
Heeseung lets out a breathy chuckle against your neck. "Easy, baby…"
He grips the base of his cock and gives it a couple of lazy slaps against your soaked cunt; wet smacks making you jolt and moan. The head nudges your clit with each tap, fooling you until you’re trembling.
And without warning, he lines himself up and pushes back in with one thrust, burying himself deep into you cunt. You gasp at the sudden fullness, your back arching against his chest as he groans deeply.
"Shit…that sound," he mutters, voice rough. His arm tightens around your waist, holding you in place while his other hand returns to caress your lower stomach. He starts moving again, still sloppy and uncoordinated, but deeper now ; each thrust punctuated by the wet sounds of skin meeting skin.
He kisses along your shoulder, whispering hotly, "You’re so fucking wet…hear how you take me?"
His hips snap up messily, cock sliding in and out as he keeps you pressed tight against him, lost in the pleasure of it all. You’re lost in the flow of his cock sliding in and out of you, the filthy sounds of your pussy filling the room with every sloppy thrust, when your phone starts ringing on the coffee table. The screen lights up with Ethan’s name.
You notice that it doesn't stop Heeseung from doing his work. If anything, his hips snap up harder, driving deeper as he reaches over and grabs your phone. You try to protest through a moan, but he answers the call and puts it on speaker, setting it down nearby.
"Hey, man," he says casually, voice only slightly strained as he keeps fucking you tirelessly from behind. The squelching sounds are loud and clear.
Ethan’s voice comes through, sounding worried. "Heeseung? Where’s Y/N? She’s not home yet and she’s not answering her phone. Is she with you?"
"Yeah, she’s right here," Heeseung replies, one hand gripping your hip tighter as he thrusts up into you again, making you bite down on your lip to stifle a moan. "She’s a little busy though."
You squirm in his lap, embarrassed heat flooding your face even as pleasure keeps building. Heeseung leans closer to your ear and whispers, "Let him hear how wet you are," before picking up the pace.
The obscene, slick sounds of his cock plunging into your soaked pussy echo clearly through the speaker.
Ethan pauses. "What the fuck is that sound? Is she okay?"
Heeseung lets out a low chuckle, still thrusting deeper. "She’s more than okay. I’m fucking her right now, bro. That’s the sound of her pussy taking my cock."
You moan despite yourself as he hits a particularly good spot, unable to stay quiet.
"Can you hear that?" Heeseung asks tauntingly, angling his hips so the wet noises get even louder. "Hear how soaked she is? Those are her moans too. She’s been missing this for a long time."
Ethan’s voice cracks with shock and anger. "What the hell, Heeseung?! Y/N—!"
Before Ethan can finish, Heeseung cuts him off, still buried deep inside you, voice low and possessive as he speaks directly into the phone :
"You might be what she wants…but I’m clearly what she needs."
He hangs up quickly, tossing the phone aside. His arms wrap around you tighter as he resumes fucking you with intensity, mouth pressed to your neck.
"Focus on me, baby," he murmurs hotly. "Just feel how full you are."
The sounds continue as he drives into you, the interruption only making him more eager. You barely have time to process the call ending before your phone starts buzzing repeatedly on the table. Message after message from Ethan lights up the screen ; vibrating angrily one after another.
Heeseung glances at it but doesn’t stop. His hips keep rolling up into you in that same relentless pounding, cock stretching you open with every wet thrust.
"Damn…he’s blowing up your phone," he mutters with a dark chuckle. One arm stays banded around your waist, holding you firmly in place on his lap while his other hand reaches down to rub slow circles over your clit.
He keeps fucking you through the mess. Your phone vibrates again and again ; texts popping up rapidly.
You moan helplessly, eyes fluttering as pleasure overrides everything else. "Heeseung…he’s—"
"I don't fucking care," he whispers, nipping at your earlobe. "Let him text. You’re mine right now."
He angles his hips and thrusts up hard, making you cry out as the head of his cock hits that perfect spot over and over. The phone keeps buzzing but Heeseung only fucks you harder, the sounds of your bodies utterly drowning out the vibrations.
His hand on your lower stomach presses down gently, making you feel every inch of him sliding in and out. "Hear how loud your pussy is for me?" he groans, voice rough. "Keep taking it, baby. Just like that."
You’re a mess ; moaning, squirming, gripping his thighs as he continues pounding into you from behind, unbothered by the nonstop stream of notifications. The phone eventually goes silent for a few seconds only to start vibrating again. Both of you wouldn't care less. Heeseung’s only focus is the way your walls clench around him as he fucks you through it all.
So that's what you've been missing out all this time.
ex for a reason : 18 (J)ust (A) (K)nown (E)individual
𝘄𝗰 𝟪𝟥𝟢
it was just a study session.
jake lost count of how many times he’d told himself that as he made his way to your apartment. the words echoed through his mind as you opened your front door, greeting him with a welcoming smile and a brief ‘come in’. it kept replaying as you guided him to your living room, where you had your laptop and notebook out, as well as cushions placed on the ground—sat side by side close enough for him to be aware of the distance.
“so, where do we start?” he pushed the words out, his attention wavering the moment your eyes met his.
“there was this content from week three that i didn’t really get.” you pushed your laptop to sit more evenly between the two of you. “we can start there.”
jake nodded inwardly, perching the glasses atop his nose a little higher, before silently asking for permission of the laptop in your possession.
with the focus now on the actual task, jake slowly found his previous beating heart find its regular steady pace, and the empty feeling in his stomach fill itself back up. the atmosphere felt less intimate and personal, which was all jake needed to comfortably guide you through whatever content you had struggled with.
time became nonexistent as fifteen minutes gradually became an hour and thirty minutes, which neither of you paid much mind to. still, it was only a matter of time before the numb feeling of you legs would turn noticeably hard to ignore.
“let’s take a break.” you stretched your limbs out before hoisting yourself on your feet, a slight limp kicking in. jake didn’t argue back and found himself pushing his body up onto the sofa behind him where you’d been leaning against.
“stay here, i’ll get us something to drink.” you instructed, and without giving him much of a choice, you turned to exit the room.
your absence prompted jake to finally take a proper look at his surroundings. your living room appeared simple, nothing that stood out or caught his attention.
“wait, jake!” you suddenly called out from the hallway, cutting jake’s tour short. “i want you to meet someone.” your footsteps neared closer, and a plethora of scenarios kicked through his mind.
in the next few seconds, you would turn around the corner with what jake thought might be your partner. or your friend. or maybe even a family member.
you turned the corner to enter into the room, and all of jake’s previous suspicions vanished as a small, fluffy ball of hair entered his vision.
there was a wide grin accompanying your face as you walked over towards the coffee table. “this is my child, clover. isn’t she cute?”
and indeed, jake did believe the bunny staring right at him had to be one of the cutest things he’d seen in a while. his face lit up unknowingly, and you didn’t waste a single second to offer clover in his direction.
jake hesitated, his hands twitching upwards before fully accepting her in his grasp. he wasn’t too sure if he was holding her right, so he resorted to lowering her down onto his lap for good measure.
you took a seat next to him, not too close, but still present enough for jake to look up for a moment before looking back down at the life sat on him.
“hi.” he greeted, his voice coming out breathy. your smile widened, and you watched as jake reached a hand out to pet clover by her ear. “i think she likes you already.” you observed, and the assurance was enough for jake to get more confident with his actions as he started stroking all of her body.
you observed in silent awe. jake seemed suddenly all too caught up in the action of petting your bunny that he forgot about you right next to him. and weirdly enough, the attentiveness, as well as lack of, was something you couldn’t find it within you to break.
there was a certain appeal in what had unfolded in front of you. the view of jake, in the gray hoodie you had grown to know him by, looking down at clover with a genuine smile that appeared too affectionate, as well as the spark in his eyes that seemed almost caring, brought a weird fluttery feeling within your stomach region.
“you’re so cute.” jake had cooed in a whisper, and that same fluttering tickled further for a split moment. jake suddenly looked back up, almost as if remembering your existence before an embarrassed flush grew on his face. “what?” he muttered awkwardly.
you had no words to say back for a good long second. “nothing,” you claimed. “this is just cute to look at.”
jake’s mouth itched to drop wide, but he restrained his urges and instead remained speechless. after all, what could he possibly say back that wouldn’t sound weird?
“should we go back to study?” he diverted instead, stroking the mammal one last time.
previous masterlist next
𝗇𝗈𝗍𝖾𝗌𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺𝖾 : their slow progress is just so lovely. someone pls tell her that her goal is to get sunghoon. ALSO BIG CHAPTER NEXT WITH BIG AWAITED EVENT…… hoonyn nation be there
IN WHICH— a simple joke can trigger Jungwon, resulting in you being bent over the kitchen counter, crying of pleasure, while his cock is deeply stirring inside you, maybe too deep.
𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 : smut (MDNI), porn without plot
𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 : hard dom!jungwon, sub!reader, swearing, a lot of teasing, unprotected sex, p in v, kitchen sex, tits grabbing, fingering, spanking, degrading (use of "slut"), use of nickname : needy girl, baby, reader has a WAP
𝐰𝐜 : 1.7k {1.797}
❕# idk about y’all but Jungwon is the freakiest member of them all. The fact that he clearly shows that he’s jealous and all. Ouuuh ik he’s freakyyyy :))
You stand at the stove. The sizzle of vegetables in the pan fills the air, mingling with the savory aroma of garlic and spices. It’s late, the apartment pleasantly peaceful. You’ve been stirring absentmindedly, lost in the task of cooking after a long day.
The sound of the bathroom door opening reaches your ears, followed by soft footsteps padding across the floor. You’re about to turn when Jungwon’s arms slide around your waist from behind, pulling you gently back against his chest. His skin is still warm and slightly damp from the shower, the clean scent of his body wash enveloping you. He nuzzles his nose into your hair, inhaling deeply as if he’s been waiting all day for this moment.
“Mmm, what’s for dinner?” he murmurs, his voice low and husky against your ear, lips brushing lightly along your temple. You smile, leaning into his embrace just a little, your free hand resting over one of his on your stomach. “You,” you joke lightly, the word slipping out with a teasing laugh as you tilt your head back toward him.
The effect is immediate.
Jungwon’s breath catches, his body tensing against yours. You feel it ; the subtle shift in his hips, the obvious hardness pressing against the curve of your ass through the thin fabric of his sweatpants. He’s always been like this with you, so responsive to even the smallest touch or the slightest suggestion. A simple joke, your body fitting so perfectly against his, and he’s already half-hard, growing firmer by the second.
“Fuck,” he whispers, a mix of embarrassment and desire thickening his voice. His arms tighten around you, one hand splaying across your abdomen as he rocks forward instinctively, seeking more contact. “You can’t just say that while I’m holding you like this.” His nose burrows deeper into your hair, and you feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest, the heat radiating from him.
You set the spatula down, turning your head enough to catch his flushed expression from the corner of your eye. His cheeks are tinged pink, eyes half-lidded, that known vulnerability mixed with want making your own pulse quicken. Without letting go, his fingers trace clumsy patterns on your waist, dipping just under the hem of your shirt, as if fighting the urge to go further right there against the counter.
“Dinner can wait,” he adds breathlessly, his erection now fully evident, throbbing gently with each subtle movement. “Unless you really meant that part about me…”
You feel his breath hitch against your neck, his body pressed flush to yours. One of his hands slides up from your waist, cupping your breast firmly through your shirt, his thumb brushing over your nipple until it hardens under his touch. The other hand dips lower, slipping beneath the waistband of your panties without a second thought. His digits find your folds, stroking gently at first before pressing in, circling your clit and then sliding one finger inside you. He works you patiently, curling his finger just right while his palm grinds against your sensitive bundle of nerves. A second finger joins the first, pumping steadily as your breaths grow sharper. “That’s it,” he murmurs hotly into your hair, squeezing your breast in time with his thrusts. Soon you’re slick and dripping around his fingers, your hips rocking back against him involuntarily.
He spreads your wetness all over your core, coating his fingers thoroughly before pulling them free. The cool air hits your heated skin while he tugs your panties down just enough. You hear the soft rustle of fabric as he frees his cock, already rock-hard and throbbing from earlier. He taps the swollen head against your entrance teasingly ; once, twice ; rubbing it up and down your slit, making you ache with impatience. Then he slips his length along your pussy, gliding through your folds to coat himself in your slickness. The wet, obscene sounds fill the kitchen as he drags his cock back and forth, teasing your clit with every pass. Finally, with a low groan, he lines himself up and thrusts deep into you in a single smooth motion, burying himself to the hilt.
A filthy, wet squelch echoes from where your bodies meet, your arousal making the slide effortless and loud. Jungwon curses under his breath, his grip tightening on your breast as he holds still for a moment, savoring the way you clench around him. “So fucking wet for me,” he whispers, starting to move ; slow, deep thrusts that make that slick sound with every push and pull, his hips snapping forward against your ass while the dinner forgotten on the stove.
You grip the edge of the counter as Jungwon’s thrusts push you forward, your upper body bending over until your chest and arms rest against the cool kitchen surface. The position arches your back perfectly for him, offering deeper access. His hand slides up to press firmly on your lower back, holding you still as he adjusts his stance behind you. With a deep groan, he buries himself as far as possible inside you, his hips flush against your ass. After that, he starts to wiggle them in small circles, grinding deep without pulling out. The motion creates a loud wet noise ; lewd squelching that are filling the silence of the room. Your slickness coats him completely, making the sounds even wetter and lustier.
He chuckles breathlessly, the sound low and teasing against your ear as he leans over you slightly. “Hear that?” he murmurs, amusement coloring his voice even as he keeps wiggling, stirring inside you. “So fucking messy…Does it embarrass you, baby? Or does it turn you on more?”
His hand stays anchored on your lower back, keeping you pinned gently but securely against the counter while he continues those teasing, grinding movements. The wet noises don’t stop ; each wiggle draws out another slick, embarrassing squelch that makes your face heat up. He’s rock-hard and throbbing deep inside, clearly enjoying how your body reacts to him.
You stay bent over the kitchen counter, upper body pressed against the cool surface, ass presented to him. Jungwon’s hand leaves your lower back for a moment, then comes down with a sharp slap on your ass, the sound cracking through the kitchen as your skin stings and flushes under his palm. He groans in satisfaction and starts thrusting again ; deep and slow, dragging his thick length almost all the way out before sinking back in to the hilt with force. Each thrust makes your body jolt forward against the counter, the squelching sounds returning louder than before. “Fuck, look at you,” he says condescendingly as he keeps that torturously slow pace. “Bent over like a slut, taking me so well. You’re so wet it’s pathetic. I wish you could see how needy you look right now.”
He slaps your ass again, lighter this time, and rubs the spot soothingly as he grinds deep. “Can’t even talk, huh? Just moaning and clenching around me like you’ve never been fucked before.” His tone turns mockingly sweet. “Poor thing’s brain all empty. So cute when you’re this fucked out.”
You try to respond, but only a broken whimper escapes your lips, your fingers gripping the counter edge tighter as another deep thrust knocks the breath out of you. Jungwon chuckles darkly, leaning over you, his chest against your back. He grabs your hip with one hand while the other stays on your lower back, holding you in place. “Use your words, baby,” he coos, slowing his thrusts even more, making sure you feel every inch. “Tell me how it feels. Come on…don’t make me ask twice.”
He punctuates the demand with another firm slap on your ass, waiting with a smug smirk as he stays buried deep inside you. When he pushes himself even deeper, pressing his hips flush against your ass until you feel him bottom out completely. He stays there, buried to the hilt, and starts stirring his hips again in circles, grinding his cock against every sensitive spot inside you. The motion makes your toes curl and pulls another broken moan from your throat. He knows exactly what he’s doing, he loves to stir your slickness with his length.
“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he murmurs, voice low and mocking. His hand smooths over the reddened skin of your ass where he slapped you earlier. “I can feel you fluttering around me… greedy little pussy trying to pull me in even deeper.”
He keeps up the stirring, rolling his hips in lazy figure-eights that press right against that perfect spot, making your legs tremble. Then his tone shifts, still condescending but now edged with warning. “Better start using your words, baby,” he says, slowing his movements until he’s barely moving, just keeping himself buried deep and grinding teasingly. “If you don’t say something right now…I’m not letting you cum at all. I’ll keep you right on this edge, stirring your cunt until you’re crying for it, and then I’ll pull out and leave you empty. Understand?”
His fingers dig into your hip as he waits, still buried inside you, the threat hanging in the air while your body clenches desperately around him. “Go on,” he coos, slapping your ass lightly again. “Tell me how my cock feels. Use your words like a big girl.”
You’re trembling against the counter, overwhelmed by the deep grinding and the threat in his voice, when the tears finally spill over. They slip down your cheeks as soft, overwhelmed sobs escape you, your body clenching hard around his cock from the intensity of it all.
Jungwon’s breath catches. You feel his cock twitch and swell even harder inside you, thickening noticeably as your crying seems to turn him on more. “Oh? Now you’re crying?” he mocks, voice echoing in fake sympathy. His hand presses firmer on your lower back, keeping you pinned down as he suddenly starts thrusting harder ; deeper, sharper strokes that make your hips jolt against the counter with every wet slap of skin on skin.
“Big girls don’t cry, baby,” he coos viciously, punctuating each word with a rough thrust. “You’re stronger than that.” He laughs softly as he picks up the pace, fucking you with hard strokes. “Crying only makes me harder, you know that?” He leans over you, lips brushing your ear while his hips snap forward. “Poor thing can’t even handle being stuffed full. But you’re still clenching so tight…you love it, don’t you?”
Another hard thrust rocks through you as fresh tears slide down your face. Jungwon groans in pleasure, clearly enjoying every second of your overwhelmed state. “Go on, keep crying for me. Big girls don’t cry…but it looks like my needy girl does.”
⤷ 𝐀 𝐒𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐋 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘 : Meet Me Beyond The Crown
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 : husband!heeseung 𝓍 f!reader
𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 : modern royal AU, fluff, married couple
𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 : swearing, use of nickname : my love, heeseung is soooo gentle, a little bit of comedy, he’s the real dada fr
𝐰𝐜 : 4.6k
Everything could’ve never been so perfect since the wedding. The sun hit the glass window of the palace solarium, keeping the room warm despite the frost on the gardens outside. Four months had passed and the tense political atmosphere had finally morphed into a routine.
"I'm going to lose my fucking mind, it's only been the fourth trade contract for spring and my eyes are already burning," Ni-ki said, leaning back in his chair and tossing a piece of a pastry into his mouth.
"You barely read the ones we gave you last week," Sunoo said, pouring himself more tea. He looked over at you, his eyes brightening. "Anyway, we need to plan the April Equinox festival. Y/N, are we doing the traditional Northern colors again, or can we bring some life to the pavilion for the first time this year?"
"Don't let Heeseung hear you say that," Jay muttered, cutting into his breakfast. "He’s already coordinating a full security detail for a spring parade. The man thinks every season change requires more soldiers."
Jake laughed, leaning his elbows on the table. "To be fair, the North does get beautiful in the spring. But maybe less armor this time."
Sunghoon sat beside him, quietly stirring his coffee with a small smirk. "It's gonna be hard to convince him. He's already reviewing the route."
Jungwon let out a loud sigh, looking at the group. "In total honesty, between managing the schedules and keeping you guys from starting a diplomatic argument, I feel less like a cousin and more like an exhausted uncle running a daycare."
"An uncle?" Ni-ki snorted, poking Jungwon's shoulder. "You're younger than half of the room. If anyone’s the grumpy uncle here, it's Jay."
"Watch it," Jay said, pointing his fork at him without any real anger.
"No, Jungwon has a point," Sunoo said, leaning in. "We spend all our time checking up on you guys. We're basically legal guardians at his point."
You watched them back-and-forth, a sudden warmth settling in your stomach. You set your teacup down, your fingers lightly brushing against the fabric of your dress right over your lap. "Well," you said, keeping your voice casual as if throwing out a quick punchline. "You guys might want to get used to the uncle thing for real. Because if the spring schedule doesn't break me, the little positive line on my test this morning definitely will."
The table went utterly quiet.
Ni-ki stopped mid-chew, giving you an involuntary side-eye. Sunoo’s teapot hovered in the air, a single drop of tea splashing onto his saucer. Jay’s fork clattered against his plate, while Jake and Sunghoon both looked up instantly, their eyes locking onto you. Jungwon slowly lowered his cup.
"Wait, what?" Jungwon said, his administrative voice gone.
You let out an amused laugh, waving your hand dismissively to break the tension. "Oh my god, look at your faces. I'm kidding. You really think I’d let my kid anywhere near you guys? You'd teach them how to sneak out of the palace by age two."
Sunoo let out a loud gasp of relief, pressing his hand to his chest. "Y/N! You can't just drop a joke like that over brunch. My heart almost stopped."
"For real," Jake laughed, shaking his head as he leaned back. "Don't mess with us like that. Jay looked like he was about to faint."
"I did not," Jay muttered, though he kept a suspicious eye on you, trying to read your expression.
Sunghoon quietly observed you from across the table, noticing how your hand lingered just a second too long near your waist before you moved it. He only hid a knowing smile behind his coffee cup as you perfectly shifted the conversation back to spring fashion trends, keeping your real secret safe for just a little longer.
The six of them crowded around you as everyone left the solarium, their footsteps echoing down the long marble hallway. The initial relief from your joke had quickly turned into a wave of suspicion, and now they weren't letting it drop.
"Be for real though, Y/N, you looked way too comfortable saying that," Jake said, walking backward in front of you so he could watch your face. "If you're lying, your eyes always twitch."
"They do not," you said, keeping your smile unmovable while you walked.
"They definitely do," Sunghoon countered from your left, his hands buried in his pockets. "And you didn't even deny it. You called us bad influences and changed the subject."
Jungwon looked at you over his shoulder. "If you're keeping something from us, my scheduling for the spring is going to be a disaster. I need to know if I have to clear a month for palace security overlays."
"Can you guys stop interrogating her?" Ni-ki complained, though he was grinning. "If she is, I'm the one teaching the kid how to drive. Jay is too old for that."
"I am still right here, by the way." Jay flatly noted from the back of the group.
You just laughed, shaking your head and refusing to give them anything. "You guys are reading way too much into a bad joke. Drop it."
"We'll drop it when Heeseung confirms it," Sunoo said, raising an eyebrow. "Because you know he can't keep a secret from his face to save his life."
As if on cue, the double doors at the end of the corridor opened. Heeseung walked out, flanked by two Northern guards. He held a tablet in one hand, his brow furrowed as he listened to a report, but the moment he caught sight of the loud and messy group approaching him, he dismissed his men with a quick nod. He stopped in front of you, his eyes scanning the crowd. "What is going on here? I could hear you all from the briefing room."
"Your wife is messing with our brains, My Lord," Jake joked, clapping Heeseung on the shoulder and he walked past him.
"Be ready to handle all of it," Sunghoon added with a smirk, giving Heeseung a knowing look that made him narrow his eyes in confusion. Jay simply shook his head as he bypassed them both. "If you need a babysitter, don't call Ni-ki."
One by one, the guys filed past, throwing out vague jokes and teasing nudges until the hallway went entirely silent again. Heeseung watched them leave, entirely bewildered, before he turned his full attention back to you. He stepped closer, the stiff military posture melting away as he looked down at you, a soft and amused smile tugging at his lips. "Alright. What did you tell them?"
You looked up at him, taking a slow breath as your heart gave a nervous but excited flutter. You reached out, slipping your hand into his. "Take a walk with me," you said softly. "I'll tell you outside."
PLAYING NOW : Pretty Boy - The Neighbourhood
Heeseung let out a long breath, his shoulders dropping as he guided you toward the snow-covered terrace. The cold air was sharp, but the walkway had been cleared of ice. "They’re pushing again," he said, staring out at the frozen gardens. "My mother called this morning. It turned into another argument about how much time I’m spending in the capital. She thinks I'm neglecting the northern estates."
You squeezed his hand, pulling him a bit closer. "You're balancing two provinces, Heeseung. It's not like you're just sitting around."
"She doesn't care about anything I do," he muttered, his voice rough. "She cares about the appearance of control. It’s just...every conversation feels like an audit. If they're always this fed up with how I handle my life, I honestly don't understand why they even had me."
The harsh bitterness in his voice made you stop walking. You stepped in front of him, forcing him to look at you. You reached up, your palms resting flat against his coat, feeling the tight tension in his chest. "They don't dictate your worth, okay?" you said softly, your voice calm and grounding. "You are more than the title they gave you, and you’re doing a good job. You're here because you choose to be, for us."
He looked down at you, his sharp eyes softening as he placed his large hands over yours. He took a deep breath, the tension slowly leaving his jaw. "I know. It just gets hard sometimes."
You smiled up at him, deciding it was time to pull him entirely out of his head. You leaned your head against his chest for a second before looking back up with a thoughtful expression. "Let me ask you something," you said, your tone shifting to something lighter. "If you had to have a baby...would you want a girl or a boy first?"
He blinked, his brow furrowing as he stared down at you. The transition from his family drama to baby preferences totally stalled his brain. "What?" he asked, a small confused laugh escaping him. "Where is this coming from?"
You chuckled at the blank expression on his face, poking his chest gently. "Just answer the question. If you had to choose, which one first?"
"Y/N, we were just talking about my mother and—" he reasoned, a subtle smile was finally breaking through his confusion.
"And now we're talking about this. Come on, give me an answer," you insisted, leaning back slightly to look at him.
Heeseung let out a soft huff, looking down at you for a long moment as his hands slid around your waist to keep you close in the winter chill. He shook his head, his eyes turning warm. "To be honest? It doesn't matter to me. A boy, a girl...as long as they look exactly like you."
A wave of shyness hit you, your cheeks warming up regardless the crisp air. You looked away, faking a frown to cover it up, and batted his hand off your waist. "Oh, stop. That is such an avoidant answer. Be serious and tell the truth."
"I am being serious," he laughed, pulling you right back against him before you could actually step away. "Why would I want a kid who looks like me? Then you'd have to deal with two stubborn and brooding Northerners in the house. One is already enough for you."
"Clearly," you teased, looking back up at him with a smirk. "But at least a mini-Heeseung would probably follow my security protocols without arguing."
"Of course they would," he murmured, leaning down to press his forehead against yours, his deep laugh vibrating against your chest. "They'd definitely take your side in every argument."
Your laughter bounced off the stone walls of the terrace, cutting through the silence of a winter morning. Heeseung held you tight against his chest, his shoulders shaking as he finally let go of the stress from his mother's call.
Slowly, the laughter faded, without him pulling away. He stayed right there, his forehead still resting gently against yours. His expression shifted, the playful smirk melting away into a grounded, yet intense expression. He reached up, his warm hand cupping the side of your face, his thumb tracing the line of your cheekbone. He looked down at you with a fierce devotion, his eyes locking onto yours as if he were looking straight into your soul.
"I really mean it, Y/N," he murmured, his voice dropping to a low promise. "No matter what my parents say, or what the council expects...this is what matters to me. I would take care of you, and any child we have, until my last breath. You two would be my only priority."
You looked up at him, your heart hammering against your ribs. The secret you had been keeping all morning suddenly felt too big, too beautiful to hold in any longer. "Heeseung," you whispered, your hand finding his wrist, your fingers tightening against his skin. "You might do that sooner than you think."
He let out a quick laugh, shaking his head. "What do you mean, do it sooner than—"
He stopped. The words died in his throat.
His forehead drifted away from yours while he stared down at your face, his eyebrows drawing together. He looked at your wide eyes, then his gaze dropped down to your hand, which was now resting flat against your stomach.
You just stood there in the cold, giving him a slow nod.
Heeseung’s hands instantly flew off your waist as if he’d been shocked. His eyes went incredibly wide, his chest rising and falling in a sharp panic. "Wait. No. Hold on. Y/N? Are you...is this what I think it is? You're joking, right?"
You didn't say anything and kept smiling as a tear of pure excitement hit your eye.
"Wait, wait," he stammered, stepping back a foot, his hands hovering in the air between you like he didn't know what to do with his own limbs. "The medical appointment this morning? The guys—did you tell them? Is that why Sunghoon looked at me like that? Are you actually pregnant?"
You couldn't even have time to answer to all of his questions. The panic in his brain practically derailed, shifting gears as weeks of random details completely clicked into place.
"Oh my god," he breathed, pressing a palm to his forehead, his jaw literally dropped. "The nausea. The past three weeks, you've been skipping breakfast because you said the kitchen’s coffee smelled like burning plastic. And Tuesday—Tuesday you cried for twenty minutes because your dress looked too yellow."
He stared at you, the terrifying truth washing over him. "You’re not sick. You’re...we’re having a baby."
"You're right," you laughed, the sound breaking through the tense panic in his voice. You reached out, grabbing his hovering hands and pulling them back toward you. "You're going to be a dad."
He stood frozen for a split second, the words finally settling in. His lower lip gave a tiny, uncontrollable twitch. He instantly pressed his lips together, his jaw tightening as he tried to use every ounce of his military discipline to suppress a cry.
He failed completely.
A choked, breathless sob escaped his throat, and he collapsed forward, burying his face directly into the crook of your neck. His broad shoulders shook violently while the tears came, wet and hot against your skin. He wrapped his large arms around your back, pulling you against him with a desperate force, holding you so tightly it knocked the air right out of your lungs.
Then, just as quickly, he stiffened.
His brain hit the panic button again. Realizing exactly how hard he was squeezing you, he practically threw his hands up, loosening his grip entirely and scrambling backward. His eyes were wide and red-rimmed as he stared at your stomach. "I—sorry. Did I squeeze too hard? Did I hurt you?"
You burst into a bright laugh at his expression, wiping a stray tear from your own eye. "I'm fine, and the baby is perfectly fine," you teased, stepping right back into his space and wrapping your arms around his waist. You looked up at his tear-stained face, a smirk returning to your lips. "Who knew you were such a crybaby? Wait until I tell Sunghoon and the others."
"Don't you dare," he sniffled, a wet laugh breaking through his tears as he finally relaxed, placing his hands gently—incredibly gently this time—over yours.
The corridor outside the delivery suite had turned into a pacing ground. Ni-ki was basically wearing a hole in the rug, walking back and forth with his hands clamped over his ears every time the doors muffled a sharp sound from inside.
"Is it supposed to take this long?" Ni-ki demanded, turning to the rest of the group. "It’s been eight hours. Why is it taking eight hours?"
"Calm down," Jay said, even though his own fingers were tight around the edge of his jacket. He sat stiffly on a velvet bench next to Jungwon, who was aggressively checking his digital watch every thirty seconds, wholly abandoning his usual calm behavior.
"She’s fine, Ni-ki. Her vitals are stable," Jake added, he was leaning against the wall right by the door, trying to catch any update from the passing medical staff.
Sunghoon sat in the corner, his long legs stretched out, his eyes locked on the floor. He looked up at Sunoo, who was pacing a tighter, more rapid circle nearby. "You're making me dizzy, Sunoo. Sit down."
"I can't freaking sit down!" Sunoo hissed, his voice dropping to a panicked whisper. "We don't even know if we need to order blue or pink silk for the nursery announcement! The palace press office is counting on me, and my nerves are shot."
Inside the room, the panic of the hallway transformed into a full silence. The curtains were drawn against the bright afternoon light, leaving the room warm and peaceful. You leaned back against the raised pillows of the bed, your skin flushed and damp with sweat. Another crushing contraction began to tighten across your abdomen, and you let out a ragged breath, your eyes squeezing shut as the pain peaked.
Instantly, a large hand slipped into yours.
Heeseung was sitting on the very edge of the mattress, wrapped in your space. He had discarded his formal commander's coat hours ago; his sleeves were rolled up, and his hair was pushed back in a careless style.
"Right here," he murmured, his voice unimaginably light and comforting against the sounds of the medical monitors. He let you clamp down on his fingers with all your strength, his thumb gently smoothing over the back of your wrist to soothe your racing pulse.
As the contraction slowly ebbed away, you let out a shuddering sigh, your muscles going limp upon the sheets. Your eyelids fluttered open, looking up at him through a haze of exhaustion. He leaned over you, taking a cool damp cloth from the bedside table. With immense tenderness, he wiped the sweat from your forehead and the baseline of your hair. His gaze filled with devotion.
"You're doing so well," he whispered, pressing his forehead gently against yours for a brief second. "You're almost there, Y/N."
"It hurts," you breathed, a tired smile touching your lips as you looked at the worry hidden behind his calm face. "But I want to see them."
"We will. In just a little bit," he said, brushing a stray lock of hair away from your cheek, his fingers lingering against your skin. "Boy or girl, they're already going to be so loved. Just focus on me. Breathe, slowly, okay?"
He leaned in closer, his thumb sweeping back and forth across your knuckles. "Do you want anything?" he asked in a whisper. "Some water? Another warm compress for your back?"
"Just a little water," you breathed, your throat feeling dry from the hours of controlled breathing.
He moved instantly but without any rush, careful not to break the calm atmosphere of the room. He poured a small amount of cool water into a cup, holding the straw to your lips with a steady hand. Once you had enough, he set it down and immediately returned to your side, sliding his arm gently behind your shoulders to help you adjust your position against the pillows.
The pain was longing just below the surface, a dull ache waiting to strike again. Sensing the tension lingering in your shoulders, Heeseung shifted to sit right behind you on the wide bed. He pulled you back against his chest, letting you lean your full weight into him. His large hands moved to your lower back, applying a firm pressure right where the ache was heaviest.
"Better?" he murmured against your hair, his breath warm.
"Yeah," you sighed, letting your head drop back against his shoulder. Your eyes drifted closed, the rhythmic motion of his hands eased the tightness in your spine.
"The doctors said we still have a little time before the final stretch," he said softly, his chest vibrating against your back as he spoke. "I’ve got you. And I’m so excited to see the baby."
Outside the door, your cousins were probably still pacing the floors and driving each other crazy, yet inside the circle of Heeseung's arms, everything felt entirely still. You let your hand rest over his on your stomach, waiting together for the real work to begin.
The quietness in the room fractured, a wave of pressure hit, making you realize that the final stretch had arrived. The head nurse quickly moved into position, and the soft ambient lighting was switched over to a bright white glow.
"Alright, Your Highness, it's time," the doctor said, her voice calm but commanding. "On the next contraction, I need a deep breath and a strong push."
The intensity caught you off guard. You gripped the edge of the sheets, your head rolling back as a white-hot wave of pain ripped through your lower abdomen. You pushed, but the exhaustion of the last nine hours caught up to you all at once. Your breath caught, a frustrated sob escaping your throat as you collapsed back against the pillows, trembling and out of breath.
"I can't," you whispered, your vision blurring with tired tears. "I'm too tired."
The nurse looked up, noticing the look of defeat on your face, and then glanced at Heeseung, who was leaning over you with a look of protective focus. "My Lord, do you want to help support her? Sit up behind her and hold her right shoulder."
"Yes," Heeseung said without a second of hesitation. He shifted immediately, moving up the bed to wedge himself securely behind your back, providing a solid wall for you to lean against. He slid his left arm around your shoulder, pulling you up, while his right hand found yours, intertwining his long fingers with yours.
He leaned his head right next to yours, his breath warm against your damp cheek. "It’s okay, my love. You're completely fine. We're doing this together."
You squeezed his hand, your knuckles turning white as another contraction began to build, stronger than the last. Seeing the fear in your eyes when the pain tightened, Heeseung let out a soft chuckle right in your ear. "Hey. You can crush my hand. Break the bones if you have to, I don't care. If it makes you feel better, take it out on me."
A breathless chuckle caught in your throat at his ridiculous timing, breaking the grip of the panic.
"Deep breath, Y/N! Push!" the doctor called out.
This time, you didn't hold back. You braced yourself against Heeseung's solid frame, closing your eyes and channeling every remaining ounce of energy into the push. You clamped down on his hand with strength, squeezing his fingers until they went numb. He held you steady, his voice a constant low murmur against your ear, counting down the seconds and breathing right alongside you.
"One more, Y/N! The head is clearing, just one more big push!"
You took a ragged gulp of air, your body working on pure instinct now. You pushed through the burning pressure, throwing everything you had left into the final seconds.
Suddenly, the intense pressure disappeared, incredible lightness washed over your body. A high-pitched wail pierced through the room, echoing off the walls. The doctor smiled, lifting a tiny, squirming bundle up into the light. "It's a girl, Your Highness. A beautiful, healthy baby girl."
The breath you had been holding rushed out of you all at once. Your grip on Heeseung's hand finally loosened, your arms going limp, you sank completely back against his chest. Heeseung stayed still behind you, his entire body going rigid as the sound of his daughter's cry filled the space. He rested his chin on your shoulder, his chest heaving with a deep shaky breath while he stared at the tiny flailing arms across the room, a tear finally slipping down his cheek and catching on your skin.
The doors had barely clicked shut behind the medical staff before a rushed synchronized rustling echoed from the threshold. The door nudged open an inch. Ni-ki’s eyes appeared in the gap, blinking rapidly as he scanned the room. Seeing you awake and propped up against the pillows, he threw the door wide, and the entire vanguard spilled inside like a dam breaking.
"Is it safe? Are we allowed in?" Sunoo whispered loudly, despite that he was already halfway across the rug, his arms loaded with an absurdly large basket of pastel-colored blankets.
"Shh, keep it the fuck down," Jake hissed, elbowing him in the ribs, he was grinning so wide his eyes were crinkled shut. "You’re going to wake her up before we even get a look."
Without moving from his spot on the edge of the mattress, Heeseung was holding the tiny wrapped bundle securely against his chest, his large hands looking massive compared to her small frame. He shot the group a warning glare that had absolutely zero authority behind it, considering his eyes were still completely bloodshot and his nose was slightly pink.
"Keep your voices down," Heeseung murmured, his voice a low rasp. "She just went to sleep."
Jungwon stepped up to the side of the bed first, leaning over to look at the tiny baby resting in Heeseung's arms. A soft smile broke across his face, erasing the stressed expression he’d been wearing all afternoon. "She’s perfect, Princess. Congratulations."
"She really is," Jay agreed, standing just behind him with his arms crossed, an incredibly soft look in his eyes. He leaned down slightly, squinting at the baby's resting face. "But wait...look at that jawline. Oh no. She actually has Heeseung’s nose."
"Don't curse the poor girl, Jay," Sunghoon chimed in from the back of the group, a massive smirk on his face. He walked over to the other side of the bed, leaning his hip against the frame as he looked down at Heeseung. "Though, to be fair, I think she inherited his dramatic timing, too. Nine hours?"
"Hey," Heeseung warned, his voice cracked slightly, betraying how raw his emotions still were.
Ni-ki crowded in next, carefully poking one of the baby's curled-up fingers with his index finger. The baby made a faint snuffling noise, and Ni-ki instantly froze, looking terrified that he’d broken her. "She’s so small. How am I supposed to teach her how to drive a hover-bike if she's the size of a loaf of bread?"
"You are not letting her anywhere near a bike," you laughed softly, your voice tired but full of warmth as you watched them all crowd around.
"Told you," Jake laughed, nudging Ni-ki out of the way so he could get a closer look. He looked between you and Heeseung, his eyes dropping to Heeseung's slightly damp collar. "Wait a minute...My Lord, did you cry? Are those tear stains on your shirt?"
Sunoo gasped, instantly leaning in to inspect Heeseung's face. "Oh gosh, he did. Look at his eyelashes! They're still wet."
"I didn't cry," Heeseung muttered, shifting the baby slightly closer to his chest as if using her as a shield against the teasing chatter. "The room is just warm. The humidity—"
"Yeah yeah, the humidity," Sunghoon mocked, laughing quietly as he clapped Heeseung on his bare shoulder. "Thank you for making us the best uncles of her life though. We’re going to teach her everything she needs to know."
Heeseung looked over at you, outnumbered and exhausted, yet the look of pure happiness on his face was unmistakable. He didn't even try to fight them off anymore. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to the side of the baby's temple, before reaching out to find your hand under the blankets, squeezing it tight, the room filled with the comforting noise of your family.
01 02 ﹕ running a secret hate account against mayor!jake while being his favorite journalist (and secret crush) definitely won’t backfire. right? right…
last chapter, he signed a new executive order just for you. what will he do this time? (spoiler alert: he's willing to fight a fellow mayor just for your attention!) ( ⸝⸝´꒳`⸝⸝)
CONTAINS ౿ ݁ . downbad mayor!jake x "hater" journalist!femreader ♡ romcom crack smau ✶ profanity, use of y/n (her accounts: angelkisses & hotgirlssupremacy), very chaotic lol.
𝐄𝐕𝐄 🪽 —— lowk the article is based on my research paper ;3 & i wanted to practice editing, so i designed a website 4 katnews! ><
anw so sorry for the long wait! but here’s pt2, happy reading!♥️ likes, reblogs, comments r always appreciated, mwah ( ˶˘ ³˘)♡
-> important question: who would you pick? mayor jake (downbad puppy boy) or mayor jungwon? (nonchalant dom cat boy)
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𝐄𝐕𝐄 🪽 —— TY FOR READING ! sorry that this took so long but i appreciate the ppl who liked the first part hehe <3 love u all ! part 3 is in the making (i want to finish this series asap lowk) i hope this chapter is ok?? 😭 it took so long to outline the flow.. and make it but i tried my best hehe
ALSO this is just the start!! hopefully, in the next few parts, i'll be able to flesh out this story more. i feel like this part lacked some things i wanted to explore more: why yn/reader "hates" jake (she obv doesn't look like it..), jungwon making a move on yn, etc. but that's because there'll be part 3 ehhehe ><
