#I would trust him to drive me places | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

asahicore · 5 months ago

Text

fast forward - pjs

pairing. jay x fem!reader

synopsis. After yet another romantic disappointment in the form of one Jake Sim, you go to the well you’ve always believed to grant wishes and ask for your one and true love to appear. That night, you go to sleep in your bed but wake up in a strange house. When you head downstairs, you find a man washing the dishes and telling you your favorite meal is waiting on the table for you. You’ve spent hours glaring at the back of that head, you could recognize it anywhere—it belongs to none other than Park Jongseong, your high school sworn enemy... and future husband, or so it seems.

genre+warnings. high school au, the type of e2l where they never really hated each other to begin with, they act like they're academic rivals even though they're not particularly academically gifted, jay has a thing about german the language, sunoo and kazuha besties, heeseung is a loser, jake and sunghoon are assholes sorry, ive liz is german, 02z get into a white-boy locker-room fight, attempts at banter etc, they're a little bit silly

word count. 26.6k

a/n. had the idea for this listening to fast forward by somi LAST SUMMER... and only wrote it this summer and only posting it now <3 i hope u guys enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it !!!!! jay is an absolute cutie here pls love him as much as i do.... as always let me know what u think and remember to vote for @zreamy president in the upcoming elections, shes the only one i trust to beta-read and hence to run a country <3 no it doesnt matter that shes scottish put this woman in the white house

There is only one thorn on the otherwise immaculate rose that is your life.

Every morning, you wake up feeling refreshed from eight hours of restful sleep. You go downstairs to the kitchen, a boiling cup of milky Earl Grey tea already waiting for you, and eat breakfast with your brother Jinwoo and father. Your mom dashes in, placing a kiss on your and Jinwoo’s foreheads, and on your dad’s lips, saying she’s late for work but will see you in the evening. “Have fun at school,” she bids every morning without fail. Your dad teaches Korean Literature at your school, so the three of you drive there together. He watches amusedly as you and Jinwoo bicker light-heartedly on the way there—even in the pits of his puberty, you and your brother get along like two peas in a pod. He still tells you about everything he learns at school and fills you in on the drama in his class, up-to-date with everything even though he pretends not to be interested.

You’re always one of the first to arrive at school, so you scroll through your feed or finish up some homework as you wait for your classmates to file in. Your friends circle your table and you chat about the last episode of the show you’ve been watching until the bell rings and they leave you for their assigned seat.

Class starts with your teacher handing out the math tests you took last week. “Jay and Y/N, great job, keep it up,” he says as he walks past you and the boy in front of you, and hands you your paper. Relief floods your body as you take in the bright red 82 in the top right-hand corner—not the best of the class, but enough for you to be satisfied.

Good friends, good grades—nothing extraordinary, but it’s a life you dare say any high school senior would want.

There’s just that one thing. The thorn in your side that won’t stop poking.

You glare at it as it whips around in its seat and takes a peek at the grade on your paper before you get to snatch it away from view. It only gives you three seconds to rejoice over your grade.

“Aw, Y/N. Good effort! Maybe you’ll do better next time!” Jongseong coos, holding up his test for you to see and glare even harder at. 85. Not that big of a difference, but it makes you want to punch the faux sympathetic pout off of his face.

You’re about to spit something just as petty back at him, but someone whispers your name, and you turn your head in their direction. Beside you, Jake is smiling at you as he asks what grade you got. Your attention is swiftly taken off of Jongseong, whom you don’t even notice dramatically rolling his eyes, huffing in annoyance, and turning around.

“82,” you whisper back, holding up your paper for Jake to see. His friendly, absurdly handsome smile makes your ears burn. “You?”

The corners of his lips fall down into a sad pout—the kind that makes your heart melt rather than gets on your nerves like someone else. “68,” he says. Leans in over the gap between your tables. Your heart jumps uncontrollably around your rib cage. “Do you wanna go over it together during the break? I think I need some help.”

One-on-one time with Jake Sim? You don’t need to be asked twice. You nod silently, almost mesmerized by Jake as his grin widens. He leans back in his chair. “Perfect. I’ll see you in the library, then.”

“Library, yeah,” you echo dumbly, but thankfully, your teacher tells you to all quiet down and starts the lesson.

You’re antsy all throughout the rest of your morning classes and lunch break, so nervous that you barely manage to finish your yogurt. Of course, your friends, Sunoo and Kazuha, have a field day with this, and even you can’t help but laugh along as they jump between reassuring you that it’ll be fine, slapping your shoulders with excitement and making fun of your uncharacteristic quietness.

Jake arrives at the library five minutes after you, looking around the room before he finds you at the big round table in the back of the library. Your brain is too riddled with anxiety for you to make more small talk than “Hey,” “Hey,” “How was your lunch?” “Good, yours?” “Good.” And so you just jump straight into it.

You’ve only had a couple minutes of quiet explanation on your part and heavy nodding on Jake’s when Jay appears at the entrance of the library. He spots you and Jake immediately, and without any hesitation whatsoever heads towards you and sits down at your table, right across from the two of you.

“Hey, Jay,” Jake greets in a friendly manner, but Jay only responds with a nod of his head.

“Oh, don’t mind me,” he says when he notices you glaring. “I won’t bother you.”

As if he could be anything other than a bother, you think, but courteously keep to yourself. The childish rivalry you and Jongseong have got going on has no business spoiling a rare hour of alone time you get with Jake. As you go over the exercises he had the most trouble with on the test with you, your eyes often drift over to Jongseong as if to check on him—you’re cautious like he’s a spider in the corner of the room that might spring on you at any moment.

And indeed, the moment your gaze leaves him for more than a minute as you explain an intricate theorem to Jake, he’s out of sight, and panic shoots through you. Where the hell has he suddenly gone off to? you wonder, but not for long.

“There’s a much easier way to do this, really,” says a voice from behind you, and of course, it’s none other than Jongseong himself, quite literally butting his way into your tutoring session. Right between you and Jake, he bends over and rests his elbows on the table, taking Jake’s pencil from him and describing the theorem in a way that isn’t that much simpler. Your eyes shoot bullets into the side of his face while he, unbothered, explains this and that to Jake, who glances at you a couple of times but otherwise does not seem so perturbed by the sudden change of tutor. Either Jongseong doesn’t notice your glare or doesn’t care, because he doesn’t budge.

Just when they’re done with the exercise and you think you’ll get Jake to yourself again, another voice appears from behind, a much higher, girlier one. You notice the hand on Jake’s shoulder first, until slowly, your eyes drift to the face—you recognize Yunjin, head of the cheerleading squad, and she’s smiling at you, a smile that at once tries to cover and betrays her surprise at seeing you and Jake together. She doesn’t acknowledge you any more than that, gaze going back to “Jakey,” asking him if he wants to head to class together. You check the time—five minutes before the first bell rings. What do they need so much time getting to class for? It’s not like any room in this school is more than a three-minute walk away.

But Jake doesn’t even look back at you, just says “Sure!” with far too much enthusiasm for your taste as he packs his stuff. “Thanks, you two,” he says, looking at Jay first, then at you. You think his eyes linger on you for a second, but just like that, he’s gone, him and Yunjin walking side-by-side.

You watch them leave—they look good together, the cheerleading captain and the soccer team’s star. The white Vans she’s wearing have a bunch of red love hearts on them that look drawn on, and you think, Of course, Jake is the type to date someone cute, someone fun, someone who would draw on their shoes. Not someone like you, whose idea of a good Friday night is lighting up a scented candle and reading your favorite novel for the nth time. When they’ve left the library, you slump in your seat, crumpling the sheet of paper you had drawn a bunch of graphs and formulae on to make things clearer for Jake. Jay awkwardly clears his throat and finally returns to his seat, looking at you with his lips pressed in a tight line.

“Y/N?” he asks tentatively, and the sound is too much to bear, so you pack your things and head to your next class early, too. Your mind is racing with a million thoughts a minute—who is that girl to Jake, how come you’ve never seen them together before, how come he was so eager to leave with her, what was that smile she gave you about? In the fifty-five minutes of your biology class, which you uncharacteristically don’t pay any attention to, you’ve convinced yourself that they are crazy in love and that none of Jake’s actions or words towards you had ever meant anything, that you’d liked him so much you’d dreamt up the possibility of his liking you back, too.

Your next lesson starts—the smile Jake gives you as he walks into History is so bright, it dissipates any clouds hanging over your head. You do believe in male-female friendships, but despite yourself, you can’t help but think that anyone in a relationship wouldn’t give someone else such a perfect, warm smile. It just wouldn’t be right. And so, you reason with yourself that simply walking to a class together didn’t mean two people were a couple.

For an hour, you stare at the back of Jake’s head, and although you do eventually come to the more sensible conclusion that a smile may just be a smile, you also think it's unlikely that he and Yunjin would be a thing. If they were, why would they hide it? Jake is so nice, you wouldn’t be surprised if he’d exaggerated his enthusiasm upon seeing her. You’re sure you still have your chances. He even says see you tomorrow when class is over and slips out of the room to go to soccer practice.

You feel like you’re walking on cloud 9 as you head from History to your next class—but when you remember that the next class is German, your mood drops significantly. Because the universe has it out for you, you and Jay are two of just ten students in your year taking German as your second foreign language option, everyone else having gone for either French, Japanese or Spanish. Your reasoning for it is that your dad has had an obsession with Germany since his year abroad in Bavaria, and twelve-year-old you had wanted to make him happy. Eighteen-year-old you regrets it slightly, but at least now your dad is ecstatic every time you tell him in German that the dinner he made was really tasty. Why Jongseong decided to take it beats you—he’s probably just insane.

But because you don’t really know anyone else in the class, and because it’s your last period of the day, you have no friends to run off with once the lesson is over, and he gets to bother you all the way from the classroom door to the staff parking lot.

You’ve barely finished bidding Auf Wiedersehen to your teacher and Jongseong is already harassing you. “So, I didn’t take you as the type to be into guys like Jake Sim.” He says Jake’s name with such disdain, like he thinks he’s so much better than him, or like he hates him. It confuses you just as much as it annoys you; Jongseong didn’t seem to have a problem with Jake earlier at the library.

“And that’s your business, because…?”

You don’t look at Jongseong, who’s quickened his pace to keep up with yours, but you can feel the smirk on his face. It’s insufferable. “Oh, it’s none of my business. I’m just surprised, is all. You guys are so… I don’t know, different.”

You scoff. “If you think I’m not good enough for someone like Jake, I’d rather you tell me straight up, Jongseong. Or actually,” you say, looking up at him with a dry smile. “Keep it to yourself and leave me alone.”

He looks offended by your words, and it only adds to your already immense annoyance—he’s the one who just insulted you, so why is he looking at you with those stupid furrowed eyebrows?

“I never said that.”

“You didn’t need to.”

“No, Y/N.” He grabs your wrist and makes you face him, your stomach flipping in surprise that you quickly cover up. When he releases you, you cross your arms over your chest and wait for him to speak, keeping your eyes trained on a spot behind him. “I don’t think he’s too good for you.”

This makes you look at him. You have to admit, your curiosity is piqued. Not like Jongseong to say anything even vaguely in your favor. “He’s just…” He sighs, searches for the right word. “Well, he’s just a bit of a dick, isn’t he?”

You freeze for a second. You’re so taken aback, your scoff comes out more as a laugh—Park Jongseong, king supreme of all dicks at this school, just called Jake Sim a dick?

“I’m sorry?”

He sighs again, as though you’re the unreasonable one. “He’s so… smug. A wannabe class clown and thinks he’s the shit because he’s on the soccer team. Have you seen the way he swaggers around school?”

You look at him with fake sympathy. “Jong, are you jealous?”

“Pfft. No way. I just think it’s a shame you keep going after these dudes who are not even worth your time, or whatever, so yeah…” he says, voice trailing off and looking down at his feet as he speaks. Hands in pockets and blank expression on his face, you can tell he’s trying to look cool, but the way he’s avoiding your gaze is a dead give-away. Even his ears have turned red. Jongseong is having one of those shy moments he has when he’s trying to be nice to you. Clearly, a simple act of kindness towards you is so hard for him that it radically changes the way he behaves.

Like when you were fifteen and you just couldn’t get this stupid art project right, so he stayed behind for three hours after school with you, helping you draw and paint and cut and glue.

Like when you were sixteen and your grandma just passed away, making you miss a week of school, and without a word, barely looking at you, he gave you a stack of handwritten notes of all the lessons you missed. To this day, you’re not sure how he did it—you weren’t in the same class that year.

Like when you were seventeen and Park Sunghoon rejected you in the middle of a crowded hallway. You’d run off to the girls’ bathroom to cry it out, but Jongseong quickly found you and spent the entire period cursing Sunghoon out instead of being in English, like you were both meant to be. He was uncharacteristically nice to you for a few days after that, never starting an argument for no reason or interrupting you when you spoke. When you snapped at him, telling him it only made you feel worse that he treated you differently, he smiled and told you how stupid you looked when you cried. It made you laugh more than it should’ve.

Like now, when he suddenly decides that Jake Sim is also a wrong choice for you. “Him and Sunghoon are good friends, you know that?” he says. “Birds of a feather, and all…”

So you know that Jongseong is not all bad. He has his redeeming qualities. He can even be nice sometimes, when he so wishes. But those moments are so few and far between that when he returns to his usual insufferable self, you wonder if you’d dreamt it all up. Which is why you can’t quite take him seriously right now. You roll your eyes and resume walking towards the parking lot, but of course, he continues to follow you. “Why do you even care who I go after?”

“I don’t-”

“You clearly do, otherwise you wouldn’t be bothering me like this.”

“Well, if all your attention is taken up by that douche, who am I going to go up against?”

“That’s what you’re worried about? That I stop arguing with you?” you say, disbelief clear in your voice.

“I’m offended, Y/N,” he starts, his sarcastic tone making you roll your eyes again. “That our little rivalry matters so little to you.”

“We’re not even the top students of our class, for God’s sake, we’re not fighting over anything.”

“I’ve actually got the best grades in German, thanks very much.”

“Whatever. I wouldn’t call it a rivalry so much as a mutual dislike of each other, because one of us woke up one day and decided to start going against everything the other said.”

“At least you’re self-aware.”

The exit to the parking lot now appears to you like the gates of heaven. You don’t even bother replying to him, thinking that he’ll just leave you alone now that you’re here. But as you step outside, he places himself in front of you and blocks your path, arms splayed out, eyes wide like he’s just seen a ghost.

“What are you-”

“Have you done the German homework for tomorrow?”

The sudden change of subject gives you whiplash. “What? No, Miss Schumacher assigned it just now-”

“Well, given your tendency for getting the word order all wrong, I can already tell you you’re not gonna have fun with it-”

You pinch the nose of your bridge, trying to calm yourself down before you lose what’s remaining of your mind. “Jongseong, were you actually dropped on the head as a baby? Go away. My dad’s gonna be here any second.” You try to walk around him, but he steps in front of you again. You peer up at him, undisguised annoyance in your eyes. Where are your dad and brother when you need them?

“I’m just saying, you’ll probably need help with it-”

“I won’t. And if I do, I’ll just use Google. Now get out of my way,” you say, and manage to duck under one of his arms.

Then you see it.

Well, actually, it takes you a second to understand what it is you’re seeing. At first, you think it’s one of those horny couples thinking they’re being really discreet by going to the staff parking lot to make out, when in reality they could be caught by any one at any time. They’re just far enough that when you do a double take, you realize that you do know the back of that head; that fluffy mop of brown hair. You sit behind it every History period, next to it every Maths and English period.

The girl is up against the wall, and you can’t really see her, what with her and Jake’s tongues being down each other’s throat and his body blocking her from your view, his hands on her hips, her arms around his shoulders. All the works. She’s wearing a cheerleader uniform, so she could be any of twenty girls—but you’re pretty sure only one of them wears a pair of white Vans with red love hearts on them.

Your heart sinks to your stomach.

You’re frozen in place when a whistle rings in the distance, and Jake and Yunjin separate, giggling to each other as they jog to wherever the sound came from. The sports field, probably. It’s Monday; the cheerleaders and the soccer team share the field for their practice.

Jake spots you and Jongseong staring at them. He waves quickly, awkwardly at you, still smiling even when surprise coats his features. Yunjin tugs on his hand and just like that, they’re gone.

“Y/N-”

Jay’s voice fades in the background. You want to get away from this situation as quickly as possible—it’s embarrassing enough seeing the guy you like and thought you had a chance with kissing a girl that is arguably much more on his level than you are, but having Jongseong of all people not only witness it, but try to protect you from it, God knows why, makes it impossibly mortifying. You speed-walk to your dad’s car, huffing as you plop in your seat and slamming the door behind you. Your brother is already sitting in the passenger seat, and you don’t even argue with him about it. When you only give single-word replies to his questions, he shrugs and returns to playing Clash of Clans on his phone.

The moment you get home, you fish a five cent coin from your purse, change into mud boots and grab your dog’s leash. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

After half-an-hour of trudging through leaves and soft ground, muddy from many a rainy November night, you and Pablo, your massive, fluffy airhead of a German Shepherd, find yourselves at the well in the middle of the forest. Ever since you were little, you have attributed magic powers to the well—not that anyone told you any sort of myth about it, but you remember reading a story about a magic well and decided that your well would be magical, too. You’ve never wanted to abuse its powers, so you’ve used your wishes conscientiously: things like getting a certain present at Christmas (when you were nine and the most important thing ever was getting the Monster High doll you wanted) or not stuttering during your presentation in class (when you really didn’t want to embarrass yourself in front of Park Sunghoon and his cool friends). Every wish you’ve made has come true. Whenever a faint voice of reason tells you that it’s because you always ask for very realistic things, you squash it and continue to believe in the well.

Because today, you’re not asking for something realistic.

Today, you’re asking the well to show you the way to love.

You’ve grown up watching The Notebook and Pride & Prejudice. Your parents are high school sweethearts who are still, twenty-five years later, happily married. You devour romance novels and binge-watch Asian dramas, the more unrealistic and romantic, the better. You are convinced that soulmates exist, that love always finds a way, that it is there for anyone to see. That it can take form in a childhood friend, an archnemesis, a total stranger.

But for some reason, it hasn’t shown itself to you yet, no matter how valiantly you’ve looked.

You’re absolutely sick and tired of it. It is Jake kissing another girl, it’s Sunghoon leading you on for months and then rejecting you in front of everyone, it’s your ex-boyfriend-who-shall-not-be-named, your first love and first heartbreak, dumping you after a year and getting with the girl he had told you not to worry about a week later. At a party a few months later, he’d said, word for word, “At least I didn’t cheat on you.”

Coin lodged between your hands, you interlace your fingers and press your palms closely together, eyes screwed shut in desperation. “Hey,” you start simply, because you and the well are good friends. “It’s been a while since I’ve asked for anything, so I hope you can indulge me… This is gonna sound so cliché, but I’m really tired of getting fucked over by boys — excuse my French — and I just wanna meet the person who’s right for me, you know? Mom’s always reminding me that I’m only eighteen, and that I’ve got plenty of time to meet someone, but I just feel like if I don’t find someone now, I never will. And if I get fucked over again — sorry — I’ll just lose hope and write off men for the rest of my life. So help a girl out, will you? I’ll leave it to you how you wanna go about it, but… just show me that there’s someone out there. Please.”

When you open your eyes, you need a few seconds to adjust to the darkness. You toss the coin in the well. It doesn’t make a sound as it hits the bottom, as if it has been absorbed within the old brick walls. You know better than to question it—the well works in mysterious ways.

You’re quiet that entire evening, making up an excuse of a tiring day at school when your parents ask. Really, you’re just thinking about your wish, whether it’ll work, what might happen. You half-ass your homework—Jay was right, the German exercises throw you into a bout of despair, so you quickly close your textbook and bury yourself in your sheets, falling asleep hours earlier than you usually would.

For some reason, the first thing you notice when you wake up is that it’s still dark outside. It must be the middle of the night, you think. It takes you a few seconds to realize that you’re in a completely strange room.

Instead of your floral-patterned sheets, you find yourself covered by delicate silk sheets that your parents would never agree to buy you, no matter how adamantly you argued for the benefits of silk for your skin. If skincare experts online had convinced you of one thing, it was that silk would do wonders for your obstinate acne. You slide out of bed and find a pair of slippers on the floor, as if waiting for you. Even the pajamas you’re wearing are fancier, more grown up than the ones you have at home, a set composed of a pinstriped button-up and shorts. You look around, for some reason more surprised and curious than panicked. You could’ve been kidnapped, for all you know, but all you care about right now is this room. Rather than the pink and white walls that have surrounded you since childhood, covered with pictures of you and your friends, postcards of artwork bought at museums, and posters of your favorite movies, the walls here are beige and mostly bare, except for a painting of Japanese cherry blossoms above the bed and a family portrait on the opposite wall, above a wooden chest of drawers.

The family portrait. A woman, a man, and what you can only assume are their children. They look like twins—two girls. Can’t be older than three years old. Out of the four faces, you recognize two of them. You recognize them far too well. One of them is yours, of course. You look slightly older, by a decade, maybe? You’re glad to know that you won’t fall off after twenty-five, like much of social media has led you to believe.

The other face you recognize immediately, too, but it takes you a few seconds to truly believe it.

It belongs to none other than Park Jongseong.

A dry chuckle falls from your throat, as if someone has just made a very insulting joke at your expense and you have to pretend you find it funny. The well has a very odd sense of humor, you think. It’s probably just a prank, a magic-induced nightmare before the real thing. Except this already feels real, disorientingly so. The fabric on your skin, the picture, the room. It all feels too real, more tangible than any dream you’ve ever had.

You take a step closer towards the picture, as if looking at it harder will make Jongseong’s face fade into that of another man, the real man that will become your husband and father of your children. But alas, his features remain the same, frozen in time by the photographer’s camera. He, too, looks older—and not only does he not fall off after twenty-five, he becomes all the more handsome for it.

Is this how you find out that Jongseong was handsome all along? You stare at it until the familiar face becomes practically unrecognizable, like repeating a word so much it stops feeling like one. The straight nose, the almond-shaped eyes that seem to have softened overtime, whereas his jaw has remained as sharp as ever. Have his eyebrows always framed his face so perfectly? Has that dimple always been there?

You look around again, and the bright numbers on the bedside alarm clock catches your attention. They read 9:57 p.m., but it’s the date that makes your stomach sink—today is still the 18th of November, but ten years later. You stare at the clock, at the unfamiliar number, a date so far into the future you can’t wrap your head around it. You could barely envision life after high school.

Downstairs, the sudden clang of pots and the sound of a tap running manage to rip your gaze away from the alarm clock. An overwhelming curiosity tells you to follow the noise. This is all a dream, so there are no consequences if you explore a bit more, right?

You’ve never been in this house before, and you have no idea where your feet are taking you until you find yourself in the kitchen. It’s the only lit room in the house, and you’re creepily standing in the dark under a wide archway that connects the kitchen to what looks like the dining room. A man has his back to you, washing dishes and putting them out to dry on a rack next to the sink. He’s wearing a white cotton sweater, one that you feel you recognise without ever having seen before, and a brown apron is tied around his neck and waist.

The first thing you think to yourself is Oh, his haircut hasn’t changed. In almost every class you share with him, Jongseong has made it a point to sit either next to you or right in front of you, so you’ve spent a lot of time glaring at the back of his head. You wouldn’t be surprised if he started developing two eye-shaped bald spots there. His hair is still short and spiky at the back and on the sides, longer on the top. When he lets it grow too long, it sometimes covers his eyes, and he obnoxiously keeps having to push it back like a heartthrob in an 80s movie.

Something like a memory flashes through your mind, blurry like those images you aren’t sure came from a dream or from real life. Your surroundings are unclear, but Jay’s face is nestled against your neck, your hand in his hair. You can feel the softness of the close shave against your palm as clearly as if you were touching it right now. You ask him why he’s always kept it that way, and he replies that it’s simple to maintain. Then in classic Jay fashion, he adds, “And it makes me look awesome.”

Another memory, a clearer one, this time—this definitely happened. It’s halfway through sophomore year, a random Tuesday, and Jay walks in, holding his head high and looking smugly around himself. The bastard got a new haircut. Long gone, his messy, unorganized flop of black hair that looked like it didn’t know what it was doing; hello, sleek undercut. It accentuates all of his best features, which is terrible news for you. You had never even thought of Jongseong as someone having “best” features, but now they’re being thrown in your face. His nose. His jawline. His smile.

It ruins your day, and a few after that. You can’t quite put it into words when your friends ask what’s wrong at lunch—or rather, you don’t wanna face the humiliation of uttering something along the lines of “Park Jongseong looks good with his new haircut, and it’s bothering me.”

Here, it’s a familiar sight in an unfamiliar environment, the back of his head. Without really thinking, you take a step forward. Jongseong starts at the sound of your slippers against the marble floor tiles, but his face relaxes into a smile when he sees you.

“Oh, it’s just you, honey. I thought you were sleeping.”

Just you. As if the two of you being in the same kitchen is normal. You guess it must be, to this version of Jongseong. To him, you’re not the annoying girl he strives to best in every class—you’re honey.

“I was,” you say, walking around the kitchen island to join him by the sink. Something in you needs to look at him, really look at him, maybe pinch yourself or pinch him to be sure you’re not going crazy. Maybe you caught wafts of some ancient algae that lives in the well and made you hallucinate?

“I left a plate out for you in case you woke up. Made your favorite. The girls weren’t so happy, seeing as it’s the third time this month,” he says with the special kind of smile reserved for parents talking about their children. The girls. A mention so casual, so obvious, your heart hurts. “But I think I got it really right this time,” he continues. “Honestly, it might even be better than the original.”

He goes back to washing the dishes and you watch the sponge in his hands as it scrubs away tomato sauce, the soap as it runs from the plates into the sink. A knot forms in your stomach, something like a deep sadness that overwhelms you all of a sudden, and tears form in your eyes, threatening to fall any second.

When you haven’t budged in almost a minute, Jongseong starts to say, in an intimate, almost worried voice, “Aren’t you going to eat, honey?” but when he sees your wet eyes, the tremble in your lower lip, he shuts the water immediately and dries his hands. With his thumbs, he wipes away the tears that have started falling from your eyes. “What’s wrong?” he whispers.

You can’t reconcile the man in front of you with the image you have of the boy that torments you in every class you share. You can’t reconcile the genuine concern in his voice with the snarky tone you’re met with every day. And yet, they respond to the same name, their features are identical, if not for the years that separate them, the stress of adulthood on one and the carefreeness of youth on the other.

Your body reacts automatically to the soft touch—never in a million years would you let the Jongseong you know come near you like this, but here, nothing feels more natural than his hands on your face, your shoulders, your hair, as though they’re just as much his as they are yours. You realize the emotion in your stomach is not sadness—tears fall, but you’re not sad. You’ve never felt as home as you do now, and if one thing romantic novels have taught you, is that this must be love.

You look up at the man in front of you, eyebrows furrowed as you search his face for confirmation or some sort of an answer. There’s a tremble in your voice when you speak next. “I just… I think I love you, Jongseong.”

He chuckles. “Well, we established that a while ago, didn’t we? What with getting married and having kids. But I’m glad you still feel that way.”

The mention of marriage and children doesn’t faze you nearly as much as it should. You’ve only got one thing on your mind. “Do you love me too?”

You expect him to laugh—not out of cruelty, but because the answer is so obvious, it almost doesn’t deserve to be answered seriously. Like when your brother asks if he can have one more of your cookies and you tell him you’ll cut his hand off. Sometimes you think it’s easier to be sarcastic than be unabashedly nice to someone. Especially with Jongseong, whom you don’t expect kindness or patience from, you wait for him to stay something like, “No, that’s why I’ve stayed with you these eight years.”

So when instead, he says, “More than anything on this Earth,” voice low and vulnerable, tears flow even harder.

“Sorry, it’s probably just my period,” you say through sobs, although you have no idea where in her menstrual cycle this version of you is.

Jongseong chuckles again, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You do get emotional around this time.” And you cry more, because you can’t believe someone other than your mother knows you so well that they know what your period symptoms are.

Rubbing soothing circles against your back and whispering soft words in your ear, he holds you for as long as you need to calm down. When you finally do, he tells you to go sit on the couch, that he’ll finish up the dishes then heat and bring your food for you. You think you’ve got your emotions under control, but the moment you bite the pasta, cooked to perfection with the most succulent tomato sauce you’ve ever had, sweet with a little kick of spice and a generous amount of parmesan cheese, tears start to fall again as if you had an endless stock of water behind your eyes.

“This is so good,” you mumble.

Jongseong smiles, his gaze full of affection miraculously directed at you as he tucks away strands of your hair so they don’t get in your eyes or in your food. “I’m glad, baby.”

You react to the nickname viscerally, words tumbling out of your mouth before you can even understand them. “You haven’t called me that in ages.” You widen your eyes at yourself, wondering how this was something you even knew. But when you look at Jongseong, all he does is smile more.

“You’re right, I haven’t. I guess I was reminded of college. You cried all the time back then. As much as it pained me, I can’t say I wasn’t happy to be the one you always came to for comfort.”

You haven’t been through college yet, so you should be unable to tell whether this truly happened or not—and yet, the memories of the body you’re in all confirm what Jongseong just said. But it feels impossible—going to university with him, letting yourself be vulnerable enough with him to not only cry in front of him but let him comfort you. Whatever could have happened in the years between the present you know and your time at university for things to change so drastically?

But before you can make sense of any of it, Jongseong speaks again. “Why? Do you like it when I call you baby?”

Your stomach flips. Heat rises to your face at his words, the tone with which he said them, the things he was alluding to—you know that having children means you’d popped your cherry at some point, that you’d had sex with Jongseong specifically, but to be confronted with the fact was something else.

“Maybe,” you mumble, and proceed to stuff your mouth with pasta so that you can’t incriminate yourself further.

He puts on a recent movie, something you should arguably be paying attention to, since you’re literally getting a glimpse into the future of cinema—you could steal the idea, go back to your present and sell it for an outrageous price.

But Jongseong’s presence next to you makes it impossible to concentrate on anything but him. The warmth emanating from him, the scent of his perfume envelop you, give you a sense of just how real this all is—despite how comfortable being with him like this feels, you’re still not convinced you’re not just in an unsettlingly vivid dream. You take one of his hands in yours, examining each finger, turning his hand over, tracing the lines of his palm, smoothing your thumb over his nails—it’s an undeniably human hand. Warm against yours, slightly rough. He’s started using hand cream, you think, all these winters when his dry hands would crack because of the cold coming up to your mind, teenage Jongseong’s hard refusal to wear any sort of cream to protect himself. Memories bob up to the surface: fixing his cracked hands up with a plaster, your tear falling on his hand, the both of you in your school uniforms in what looks like the school infirmary; awkwardly gifting him some hand cream the Christmas of that year, not looking at him as you hand him the small package. Saying, “It’s a waste of plasters for something that could be fixed so easily.” Him treating you to warm, spicy tteokbokki because he felt bad for not having gotten you anything, even though this was the first time either of you had ever given the other one a present.

As your fingers trail up from his hand to his forearm, his shoulder, his jawline, more memories flood your mind. Clumsy first kisses; squabbles of the kind you were already used to; lazy mornings in bed; hours spent in your kitchen or his, before you shared one, cooking dinner together; the way you felt when he proposed, a feeling so intense remembering it is almost unbearable now. Your eyes and fingers examine his face in detail—even though you’ve seen him almost every day since the start of high school, this feels like the first time you really perceive him. The delicate bow of his lips, the strong nose, the softness in his eyes when he looks at you. Your heart beats uncontrollably as you hold each other’s gazes, but you feel inexplicably relaxed at the same time, two nearly opposing realities fighting each other inside of you—one in which you and Jongseong regarding each other with such affection is unthinkable, the other in which it is daily routine.

“Movie not to your taste?” he asks, voice gentle, breaking you out of your stupor.

“Hm?”

He nods towards the TV screen. “I see you’re not paying much attention.”

“No. I have… things on my mind.”

He raises an eyebrow, a smirk slowly growing on his lips. “Yeah?” You think your heart might actually flatline when he brings you in closer to his chest, and, face buried in your hair, says, “You know, I’ve been thinking that the twins might want a younger sibling to play with soon enough…”

You’re not sure whether he actually wants a third child or if this is weird dirty talk that apparently turns parents on—all you know is that this is something future you will deal with, not high school senior you.

You whip up your head at him, eyes wide in panic that he mirrors immediately. “Or—or not. Later. Later?” You nod fervently, and the worry dissipates from his handsome features. “Okay, later,” he whispers, kissing the top of your head before returning his attention to the movie.

A couple hours later, you’re laying in bed in the dark together—you can tell Jongseong is falling asleep by the regularity of his breathing and his stillness, but you’re wide awake. You don’t know how you’ve managed to spend all this time with him, acting like the wife he knows and loves, without imploding. But suddenly, the idea of waking up in your childhood bed, surrounded by your pink-and-white walls, going downstairs to be greeted by your brother and parents, sends a wave of panic through you. You haven’t felt this comfortable in a long time—Jongseong’s arm draped over your waist, the fact that you could reach over and feel his skin against your palm if you wanted. You don’t want to go back to a time where you hate him. In fact, you don’t know if you could hate him after this.

“Jongseong?” you say softly, the syllables unfamiliar on your tongue, even though the name rings brusquely through your head for the best part of every day.

It takes a few seconds, but he reacts eventually. “Hm? Did you just call me Jongseong?” he murmurs sleepily, as if you’d just called him Robert or Christopher and not the name his own parents gave him.

“Yeah.”

He chuckles. “Now that’s something you haven’t called me in ages. Makes me feel like you’re mad at me,” he says, turning over and burying his face in the crook of your neck. His hair tickles your skin, and one of your hands comes up reflexively to feel the softness of his close shave.

“...Jong?” you try.

“That’s a step up, but not quite what I want,” he mumbles.

You’re silent for a few moments. “Honey,” you say tentatively, voice a mere whisper.

“That’s better.” You can hear the smile in his voice.

“Will you be here in the morning?”

“Mh-hm. It’s Saturday tomorrow.”

“No,” you say, feeling out of breath. “I mean, will you be here?”

You’re aware you’re not making much sense—and yet, Jongseong needs no further explanation. “Of course, baby,” he starts, voice soothing. “I’ll be here tomorrow, and the day after that, and every day afterwards. ‘Til death do us part, remember?”

You let out a shaky breath. “Okay.”

“I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you, too,” you find yourself saying, and, more importantly, meaning. It’s the last thing either of you says before falling asleep.

Tears are streaming down your face when you wake up the next day. When you open your eyes, pink and white obnoxiously stare back at you. The clock reads 7:12, just three minutes before your alarm goes off, and unfortunately for high school you, the night hasn’t given in to Saturday morning—it’s Tuesday, and you have to go to school and act as if you hadn’t just had the weirdest, most realistic dream of your life. You don’t even get a weekend to shake this weird feeling in your stomach off, you’re going to have to face Park Jongseong full force. At least, this will become your friends’ favorite bit for the foreseeable future.

They’re already sitting in the classroom when you get there, animatedly chatting to each other. You plop down in your seat in front of them, and when they see the sullen look on your face, ask you what’s wrong.

“Did you wake up during the night to play Hay Day again?” Kazuha asks, eyebrows knotted with genuine worry.

“I’m not that person anymore,” you reply. “No, I just had a really weird dream. More like a nightmare, really. It feels like I didn’t get any sleep.”

“What was it about?” Sunoo asks.

Your eyes dart back-and-forth between the two of them as you brace yourself for their reactions. Not wanting anyone else to overhear, you lean in conspiratorially. They mirror you. “I was married to Park Jongseong,” you whisper. As expected, they burst into laughter immediately, and you lean back in your seat, crossing your arms in annoyance. “It’s not funny.”

“It’s very funny,” Kazuha retorts. “It’s ironic, even, considering how much you hate the guy.”

“Exactly!”

“But I guess even you know how ridiculous it is that you hate him, if your brain is able to imagine yourself being married to him,” Sunoo adds, shrugging. “It’s a good reminder that you’re literally the only person in this school with a vendetta against him.”

Kazuha nods energetically. “He picked up a pen for me, once. He’s a nice guy.”

You look around the room in panic. “Keep it down, will you?” you hush, despite the fact that no one is paying any attention to the three of you. You sigh, resolving yourself to telling them the entire truth. “But guys, I’m scared. I think this might be a sign.”

Their eyebrows perk up. “A sign that your hatred of him has actually been disguising a crush this entire time?” Sunoo asks, feigning innocence.

“No—what? Where did you get that idea?”

“Nowhere. Go on.”

“Whatever. Come here,” you say, gesturing for them to huddle again. “It’s the well.”

“Oh my God, Y/N, you’ve actually lost it,” Kazuha says, fascinated by your stupidity.

“I’m not going to tolerate any well slander, this is serious. I just wanted it to reassure me that there was someone out there for me. And then I had that stupid dream.”

Kazuha and Sunoo exchange a look like they’re parents trying to announce to their daughter that she’s adopted. “Y/N…” Sunoo starts.

“This is crazy. Like, love philters and writing Park Sunghoon’s name a hundred times are one thing, this is…”

“Crazy,” Sunoo said, nodding along. “This is crazy. There’s no other word for it. Your eighteen years of boyfriendlessness have finally caught up to you.”

“You guys don’t get it. What about that time I asked it to give me a good grade on our Literature exam and I literally came first out of our class? Or when I told it I missed Jung Hae-in and his military discharge announcement came the next day?” you say, aware that the look in your eyes is only confirming their suspicions—but you need someone to believe you, or at the very least understand you.

“One, you’re a good student. Two, that was pure coincidence,” Sunoo explains.

“But girl, if you want to marry Jay, that’s fine. You’ve got our blessing,” Kazuha says, shrugging.

“Yeah. He picked up her pen, once,” Sunoo adds.

“And you know, you guys clearly have some sort of chemistry.”

You scoff. “If you think that him refuting my every word and finding every opportunity to make fun of me, then yeah, I guess you could say we have chemistry.”

“You guys have banter,” Kazuha says as if it’s obvious.

“Oh, please. Banter is cute. I want to kill him every time he opens his mouth.”

Your friends both roll their eyes. “While I understand that most men are better off staying quiet—no offense, Sunoo—”

“None taken.”

“You have to admit Jay is not nearly as insufferable as you make him out to be,” Kazuha says.

“Are you kidding me? He’s always acting like a child. Rubbing it in my face when he gets a better grade, trying to start arguments for no reason, sucking up to teachers, stealing my erasers, for God’s sake, you’d think he’s twelve. I know that I’m not on the majority's side, but I seriously cannot understand how other people tolerate him at all.”

Sunoo sighs. “Because he’s nice to everyone. He never hesitates to help people, he’s even funny, sometimes, and—well, look at him.” He nods his head towards the door, and when you turn around, Jongseong is indeed walking in the classroom. “He’s not a bad-looking boy.”

“Gosh, Sunoo, maybe you should marry him,” Kazuha says, but since you laid your eyes on Jongseong, you’ve stopped listening.

You feel weird. You look at him, and you feel weird. It’s the same feeling you had during your sleep last night, a feeling that paralyzes you from head to toe, that starts in your stomach and spreads to your entire body, weighs you down in your chair.

“Hey, guys,” he greets simply, and his voice wraps itself around your heart and squeezes. You can’t do anything but watch him as he takes his seat next to you, plopping his bag on the table and taking his notebook out. He looks at you, watches you watching him, then swivels around in his chair.

“What’s wrong with her?” he asks your friends.

“She had a dream that she m—”

“Do not finish that sentence, Zuha, if you want to live to see another day.”

“Yes, ma’am,” she replies, a satisfied little smile on her lips.

Despite yourself, you’re still staring at Jongseong, trying to figure out what the hell these emotions are that are raging up a storm inside of you. Instead of ignoring you, he turns to face you, resting his elbow on the table and his chin in his palm as he stares back at you, smirking. “What’s up, Y/N? Has it finally dawned on you how devastatingly handsome I am?” he asks, and you frown, because he’s not so far off from the truth.

“Please, kids, it’s 9 a.m., don’t flirt right in front of us,” Sunoo says, despair in his voice.

“She’s the one who started it,” Jongseong replies, still looking at you, his smirk growing.

For some reason, this startles you out of your trance, and you look away from him like you’ve been burned, preoccupying yourself instead with your notes for this class. “In your dreams, Jongseong,” you mumble.

“More like in yours,” Kazuha says, her and Sunoo giggling.

“Zuha!” you exclaim. Jongseong looks at you with raised eyebrows, and with his infuriating capacity to put two and two together, you’re scared he’s figured out what she meant, but you’re literally saved by your teacher who walks in at that moment and starts the class.

The second the bell rings to signify the end of the class, you hurriedly pack your things and mutter an excuse about needing the bathroom, trying to get as far away as possible from the boy whose all-too familiar scent had messed with your thoughts all class, whose every brush of his arm against yours had made your heart race uncontrollably.

It hadn’t just been a dream. It couldn’t have been.

Just like there was no doubt the 28-year-old Jongseong from last night had once been the annoying boy you knew, the 18-year-old Jongseong was sure to one day become the husband of your dreams. A devoted partner and father, his presence comforting, his good looks indeed devastating, unwavering.

There was no mistake to be made. The well had worked its magic.

Whether you liked it or not, you would end up marrying Park Jongseong. You, of all people; him, of all people.

Was there already something of your future husband in the boy that snickered when you mixed up your genders in German class, or would he one day spring out of nowhere? Apparently, you’d be around to find out.

But for now, how to act around him? It felt unfair that you were privy to this knowledge of your shared future while he was ignorant of it. Blissfully, perhaps. You couldn’t imagine that he would rejoice much at this news.

Your mind is somewhere else the entire day. At lunch, your other friends try to get the thing that’s obviously bothering you out of you, but Kazuha and Sunoo are there to tell them not to bother. You’d needed to tell someone about it, but you don’t want the entire school to know about your marital premonitions. The two knuckleheads you call your best friends are already doing a good enough job teasing you about it—”There’s your husband, Y/N,” when Jongseong walks past; “So have you thought of baby names? Kayleigh and Mackayleigh, perhaps?” unsolicited, during Physics. You turn around to check on the culprit — because yes, Jongseong is the culprit here, you, a mere a victim — and when he notices you staring, nods at you as if to say, What’s your problem?, trying to look threatening in his white lab coat that’s three sizes too big and protective goggles.

It doesn’t help that Jongseong has a way of hovering around you. Even in classes in which your teachers assigned the seats for you, he’s never far from your seat. The two of you sit next to each other in German, your last class every Monday, Tuesday and Thursday. But today, the seat next to you is empty—what would’ve been a cause for celebration just yesterday is now a source of worry. You’d seen him just two hours ago in your previous class together, so where the hell was he now? He’s lucky that your teacher is an old German lady who always spends the first ten minutes of the lesson rambling about something in dialectal German no one understands but nods along to anyway. When he walks into the room, five minutes late, she just says, “Hallo, Jay,” and continues with her story. It’s about her first school trip to Berlin when she was fifteen and the country was still divided. You think.

He winks at you when he takes his seat and you roll your eyes. You pretend to listen to your teacher for thirty seconds, then hit him gently with your elbow. “Where were you?” you ask without looking at him.

He doesn’t answer immediately, probably surprised you initiated a non-hostile conversation with him for once. “I was just hanging out with my friends, something you clearly wouldn’t understand.”

And your friends wondered why you hated him?

“Still having imaginary friends at eighteen is really concerning, Jongseong. You should see someone about it.”

When you glance at him, he’s already looking right at you, smiling. You’ve never felt so conscious of your side profile.

“Why? Were you worried?” he whispers, kicking your foot with his.

You look at him, horrified—where the hell had he gotten that idea? How was he so spot-on? You scoff, trying to diffuse the tension inside yourself. “No.”

He kicks your foot again. “I was five minutes late and you started to worry?”

“No. Stop.”

“I didn’t know you cared about me so much, Y/N.”

This time, you give him a harsh look, one that lets him know you really mean your words—“Stop it.” Finally, he relents, getting the assigned homework out now that the teacher has actually started the lesson. Your face softens—he looks hurt. Guilt tugs at your heartstrings.

Despite what you might say, you like the way things are with Jongseong. If some people always need to be crushing on someone, you always need to have someone you perceive as an enemy—it was Na Jaemin in elementary school, because he’d once made fun of your incapability to climb the monkey bars; Shin Ryujin, in middle school, for kissing your crush during a game of spin-the-bottle at your own birthday party; Park Jongseong, since freshman year, for simply existing. Your reasons for disliking him are trivial, you’ll admit. You weren’t sure you could even place a finger on what had first triggered your disdain towards him—one too many awful jokes, one too many times raising his hand in class and rattling off a perfect answer, then looking around himself proudly, one too many roars of laughter heard throughout the entire cafeteria. The fact that no one else seemed to be bothered by him only added to your aggravation. He just got on your nerves, and it seemed that you openly showing your dislike of him — him, who was so used to being loved by everyone around him, pampered by his family, praised by his teachers, popular among his peers — was enough to make him dislike you, too. So, after a few failed attempts at trying to be your friend, because Jongseong was unable to not be friends with everyone he met, he didn’t simply give up.

If he couldn’t be your friend, then fine, he’d be your enemy.

At least, that’s how it appears to you, still now. It’s never gone dangerously far, but if there’s an opening to tease you or get on your nerves, he’ll do it. Not passing you the ball during soccer, or conversely, only aiming for you during dodgeball, not sharing his textbook with you when you forgot it unless you beg, loudly clearing his throat when you speak in class. And, lately, pouring salt on your wounds in the form of reminding you how impossible you and Jake Sim are. His motto must be if there’s a will, there’s a way. And when it comes to making your life hell, his will is infinite.

Everything is upside-down now. The question of how your relationship can possibly go from this to that obsesses you. It feels like you’re more capable of sharing a funeral, dying at each others’ hands, than a wedding.

“Jong, your textbook.”

He squints at you. “Funny how I’m Jongseong when you hate me, Jong when you need a textbook,” he says, sliding his book closer to himself.

“It’s not my fault your name is a mouthful,” you retort, trying to pull it back to the middle of the table, but he’s quicker than you.

“Then maybe you should call me Jay, like everyone else on Earth.”

“Where’s the fun in that? Now give it here. Please?” you ask, mustering your best smile. Any other teacher would’ve scolded the two of you by now, but Ms. Schumacher is peacefully going on about the importance of word order and punctuation in the German sentence, oblivious to her two students bickering in the back row. Jongseong usually never sits at the back of the classroom—only here.

He gives in, smiling back, but there’s something behind it, something that tells you nothing good is brewing in his brain. “Only because you’re so pretty.”

Normally, this kind of remark would’ve warranted a slap on the arm or an array of insults, but if today is anything, it is not normal. You look at him like you’ve been stung, visions of your not-dream coming to you in flashes like you’re the titular character on That’s So Raven—the affection in your husband’s eyes, the kindness in his words, the sincerity in his smile. Again, you’re left to wonder if this man is already taking root inside of the boy next to you, if Jongseong’s future capacity to love you presently exists in his heart.

Does your future capacity to love him already exist in your heart?

You watch as his smirk softens into a grin, your flusteredness and lack of a response clearly amusing him, then as he circles the exercises Ms. Schumacher is assigning for the lesson. She seems to have forgotten there was homework due—Jongseong will be sure to remind her of it quickly.

He kicks your foot again, tells you to focus. His ears have turned red.

You wonder if those capacities haven’t existed from the start.

As much as you love a good friends-to-lovers story, characters hiding their feelings out of fear of ruining the friendship have never failed to frustrate you — just tell her, you dummy, it’s obvious she likes you too — and yet, you’ve never related more than now.

Whatever it is that you and Jongseong have, you don’t want to lose it. It adds entertainment to your otherwise average life.

“Good thing she didn’t pick on you while we went over the homework, ‘cause you clearly put zero effort in. And I wouldn’t have helped you, even if you’d asked, by the way.”

You hum absent-mindedly as you put your notebook and pencil holder in your bag. Are you sure that these are even your feelings in the first place? Just because the well put a silly idea in your head doesn’t mean you have to believe it like it’s scripture. If what you saw is real, then it will happen in its own time. Things don’t have to start changing right this instant.

“Gosh, Y/N, what’s up with you today? You’re so boring,” Jongseong continues, following you out of the classroom.

“Just tired,” you reply. Wouldn’t it be unnatural if you were to radically alter the way you behave with Jongseong? Love should come about organically. Sure, his presence has always provoked some kind of reaction within you, but that’s usually been annoyance. Whether he’s stealing the fifth eraser you’ve bought that month or running on the soccer field, beads of sweat running down his temples, hair sticking out everywhere, victoriously smiling when his team scores—you’re annoyed. Whether he’s sticking up his hand higher than yours or going to the school dance with Ahn Yujin—you’re annoyed. When you learned that she’d been his neighbor since infancy and that she had a boyfriend, who went to another school and only trusted Jongseong to take her to the dance, you were still annoyed—this time at yourself for feeling even the tiniest bit relieved that nothing was going on between them.

And this — his quick steps trying to keep up with yours, his dumb story about yogurt coming out of Heeseung’s nose today at lunch when they were laughing too hard — yes, you’re still annoyed. But you realize you’re not annoyed at him.

You’re annoyed at how he makes you feel.

“Y/N?” he says, but you’re too deep in your thoughts, only vaguely registering the sound until he repeats it, louder this time, and grabs your hand, making you abruptly stop walking. “Are you sure everything’s okay?” he asks with genuine concern in his voice. “You’re barely listening to me. I mean, it’s not like you usually really do, but you’d have told me to get lost, like, five minutes ago now…”

He chuckles self-deprecatingly, but despite his words, you’re focusing on something else yet again. His hand on yours, his loose hold on your fingers. Your brain is yelling at you—hold his hand, hug him. It’s like there are still traces of the 28-year-old version of you you visited yesterday, urging you to behave like her and not 18-year-old you.

So, the well had let you know that you need not look much further to find what you wanted. Here it is, in the form of a boy you have convinced yourself you hated, and hated you, and yet, he’s holding your hand, asking you if you’re okay, worry knotting his eyebrows together.

Hold his hand. Hug him. Instead, you retract your hand, let it fall limply by your side. Jongseong’s eyebrows shoot up.

He’s so close, the supposed love of your life. You don’t know how to reach out to him.

For now, you smile. “Get lost, Jong.”

you guys how the hell do i act around jongseong now that i know our fates are romantically intertwined

kazuha i think not treating him like the number one public enemy would be a good start

you so what… be nice to him? how do i do that

sunoo oh my god y/n when she has to treat another person like a regular human being

you he’s not just another person!

sunoo okayyyyy i see you little miss repressed feelings

you i hate u

kazuha just don’t roll your eyes at everything he says anymore and don’t start arguments for no reason

you he’s the one who starts them… but okay i’ll try

“Let’s pair up for the reading analysis today. You can stay with your deskmate or pick a partner, I don’t mind as long as you get the work done. I’m talking about you, Chaewon and Yuri. This is English class, not a gossip session.”

The second your English teacher has finished speaking, Jongseong swivels in his chair. “Let’s partner up, Y/N?”

“What about me?” Jake asks, eyes darting back-and-forth between the two of you.

“You can partner up with Minju,” Jongseong replies, pointing to the girl he’s usually seated next to. “Look. You guys will be great together. Say hi, Minju.” Minju waves shyly at Jake, braces on display as she smiles ecstatically. It’s not everyday that she gets to talk to one of the most popular guys in school.

Jake reluctantly switches seats with him, glancing back at you and Jongseong who just grins at him, fake friendliness plastered on his lips, until he turns around again. Your new partner’s smile softens and reaches his eyes when he looks at you. “Hi.”

You have to look away—you feel your face burn under his gaze. “Hi, Jong.”

He tilts his head. “What? Do you hate me so much that you can’t even look at me now?” he asks, and you can’t tell whether he’s joking or genuine.

You frown. “I don’t hate you.”

“Oh? That’s a recent development.”

“I guess,” you mumble after a few seconds. Is it really? You suddenly can’t remember if you ever really hated him, or if you’d exaggerated your own feelings.

His smile widens. “Well, good. I mean, you were going to have to realize at some point that I really am funny, smart, endearing, handsome-”

“Back to hating.”

“Let’s start the assignment.”

You agree on reading the passage first, but you realize halfway through that not a single word has been absorbed. “Hey. Why did you switch seats with him?” you ask, whispering so as not to be overheard.

Jongseong shrugs. “I thought you wouldn’t want to work with him, considering…”

“Right.” You’re silent again, but only for a bit. “What’s it to you?” you mumble.

He scoffs. “Sorry for trying to be considerate.”

“That’s not—”

“Let’s just focus on this.”

His sudden coldness vexes you. You know you should let it go — don’t start arguments for no reason, and all that — and you know it’s childish, but you can’t help yourself. You have certain reflexes you’re not particularly proud of when it comes to one Park Jongseong. “Let’s just focus on this,” you repeat, mocking his grumbling tone of voice and shaking your head like a puppet.

He glares at you. “Can you not act like a toddler for once?”

“Can you not be a dick for once?” you bite back.

“Y/N, Jongseong, I’m sure you’re having a fascinating conversation on the use of chiaroscuro in the text?” your teacher asks, a look of warning on his face.

“Yes, sir,” you reply, embarrassed.

“Yes, so much chiaroscuro,” Jongseong mumbles, resting his cheek on his knuckles. When the teacher has turned away, he kicks your foot. “See, you’re getting us in trouble.”

“Do you even know what chiaroscuro is?”

He hesitates. “That’s not the problem here. You are.”

“Well, maybe if you didn’t-”

“Y/N, Jay, final warning.”

“Sorry,” you both say at the same time. With one last glare at each other, you finally get to work.

So your plan to start getting along with Jongseong isn’t in full-force yet. On the drive back home that afternoon, you reassure yourself that these things take time. When the moment is right, the two of you will grow closer.

But increasingly, it feels as though the right moment will never come.

Two months have passed since your visit to the well, and things between you and Jongseong have not changed. Not really, at least.

You still bicker like cat and dog — it goes without saying that you’re the cute puppy and he’s the heartless cat — and he gets as much on your nerves as ever, especially now that you know that the potential to be nice to you, to love you, even, exists somewhere inside him. Somewhere deeply hidden perhaps, but somewhere nonetheless. Of course, after telling yourself that what must come will come of its own accord, you haven’t done much to change the dynamic between the two of you. But if you used to see your retaliations against him as necessary to your survival, you now find some sort of enjoyment in them—some might call it Stockholm Syndrome, you perceive it as a step in the right direction. You’ve followed one of Kazuha’s pieces of advice: you don’t roll your eyes at him anymore, simply because you don’t feel the need to. You argue with him with a smile on your face, his attempts at insulting or annoying you have started to make you laugh.

He doesn’t say anything but seems to gladly welcome this change. If you get a lower grade than him on a test, he doesn’t try to stick the knife in further, but genuinely offers to go over it with you later. If you give in after two hours of tearing your hair out over a German exercise and text him for help, he doesn’t make fun of you. If he says something particularly arrogant or makes a really bad joke, all you need to do is give him a look, and he’ll mumble an apology.

Could it have been like this the entire time? you wonder, watching him across the schoolyard as he and Heeseung hunt for Pokémon. Just a couple months ago, you would’ve scrunched your nose at the sight, making fun of him for his childish interests. Now, you notice the way he laughs, audible all the way to where you sit with Kazuha and Sunoo, the way he jumps excitedly and points at things only he and his friend see, and all you feel is endearment.

“Look at you, look at that,” Sunoo says as he hits you on the forehead with his metal spoon, startling you. He tuts. “You’ve got love dripping from your eyes, sweetie.”

“Sunoo, that’s disgusting.”

“Love? I know.”

“No, your spoon. Your saliva’s all over that,” you say, and all he does is eat another mouthful of his yogurt while staring wide-eyed right at you. When you look back at Jongseong, he’s high-fiving Heeseung. You wonder which creature he’s caught now. In the library yesterday, he spent thirty minutes showing you every single one he had captured so far instead of revising for the upcoming Physics test.

“Yeah, we know you’d like someone else’s saliva more,” Kazuha chimes in, and the two of them snort.

“It’s not like that,” you say, biting into an apple slice.

“Oh yeah? What’s it like, then?” Kazuha asks.

“We’re… becoming friends,” you say, but you’re not sure who you’re trying to convince more.

“Y/N, I’ve had to watch the two of you giggling to yourselves in the library one too many times to believe you’re friends. I know your homework’s not that funny,” Sunoo argues.

“Friends can giggle with each other!” you exclaim, but your friends are inflexible.

“I would tell you to get yourself together if you giggled at me like that,” he says.

“I saw you twirl your hair the other day,” Kazuha adds.

“I never—When?!”

She shrugs. “The other day.”

You deflate, crushed under your friends’ accusations. “I wouldn’t twirl my hair…” you mumble. You decide to busy yourself with your apple slices, not even bothering to find out what Kazuha and Sunoo start snickering and elbowing each other about.

“Hey,” a familiar voice greets, making you look up. Jongseong smiles at you and steals an apple slice from your tupperware as he sits down next to you, Heeseung across from him.

“Hi, Jong,” you say, sitting up straighter. You offer a piece of fruit to Heeseung but he declines, saying he doesn’t like apples without peanut butter.

In front of you, your friends exchange a look, and you’re immediately terrified of what they’ll do next. Leaning in, they place their elbows on the table, and Kazuha starts them off. “Jay, you and Y/N know each other pretty well, right?”

Jongseong glances at you, eyes wide. “Uh, sure.”

“Have you ever noticed her, say, twirling her hair?” Sunoo asks, tilting his head innocently at the poor boy by your side.

You’ve never seen him look so confused. “Um, yeah, she does that when she’s concentrating on something, sometimes…”

They lean back. “Huh,” Kazuha says, studying Jongseong’s face.

“Interesting. Very interesting,” Sunoo says, slowly nodding.

You glare at your friends. “See, that’s different,” you tell them. “I was concentrating on something, not doing… whatever you guys had in mind.”

Jongseong looks at you. “What did they have in mind?”

You answer before either of them can dig your grave any deeper. “Nothing. It’s nothing. We were just having a stupid conversation.” You muster your most convincing smile, and the subject is finally dropped.

No one says anything for a few moments, until Heeseung decides to speak up: “You should’ve seen Jay earlier, Y/N. He caught this super rare version of Pikachu earlier, it was awesome.”

“Dude…” Jongseong murmurs.

“What?” Heeseung asks, his enthusiasm quickly dissolving into confusion. Jongseong just shakes his head. Thankfully for all of you, the bell rings then, and you head to class. The three of them walk in front of you while you and Jongseong fall back a step.

“Why were you guys sitting outside? It’s freezing today,” he asks you. Walking side-by-side like this, you can’t help but notice the inches he has over you, the broadness of his shoulders in comparison to yours.

“They turned the heat way too high in the cafeteria, so we came outside for some fresh air,” you explain. He’s right, the air is chilly today—it’s a few days into December, and the temperatures have been accordingly low.

“Aren’t you cold?”

Your heart skips a beat. One of the side effects of not being at each other’s throat anymore was that you got more and more often to be privy to this side of Jongseong—attentive, considerate, kind. What you once thought were his moral attempts at not being so mean to you all the time, you found out was actually his real nature. He wasn’t a prick who was sometimes nice, he was a nice person who turned into a prick with you. Whether the fault lay on him or you was another debate.

“No, I’m alright,” you say, but your body decides to betray you and makes you sneeze three times in a row.

“Bless you,” Jongseong says, laughing. “Here.” You try to stop him, pushing his hands away, but he takes his gloves off and forces them in your palms.

“I’m going to be inside for the next four hours, Jong, I’ll be fine. Keep them.”

“No, it’s okay. Just so you can warm up quicker.”

You eventually give in, putting the gloves over your hands, laughing at the extra fabric that hangs off the tip of your fingers. But when you look at Jongseong’s now-bare hands, something catches your attention. Stopping in the hallway, you grab one of them, examining the cuts on his knuckles. “You need to wear hand cream, Jong, your hands are too chapped.”

He lets you turn his hand over, smooth over his skin, do the same thing with his other hand. “Men don’t wear hand cream,” he says, a grin on his lips.

You burst out laughing. “I think that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

“Seriously, though, I don’t like the way it feels. Too sticky.”

“You just need to get a quick-absorption one.” Then, you make the terrible mistake of looking up from his hand and meeting his eyes—you gasp silently, his gaze and soft smile transporting you right back to that night, the images of 28-year-old and 18-year-old Jongseong mixing into each other, becoming indistinct from each other. Your gaze drifts down to his lips — chapped, too, when they’re usually plumper, rosier — and his hand, still in yours, balls into a fist. The second bell rings and you both take a step back, eyes meeting again for a brief moment before looking down at the floor. With uncharacteristically shy, embarrassed words of parting, you make your separate ways to your next classes.

“That was beautiful, Y/N,” Sunoo says, waiting for you by the door, and you walk past him without so much as a glance.

“I don’t wanna talk about it.”

sunoo jay and y/n almost kissed earlier

kazuha WHAAAAT

you KIM SUNOO.

kazuha WHEN?????

sunoo right before class after the lunch break y/n was sooo embarrassed afterwards lol

you we did NOT almost kiss you’re talking out of your ass

kazuha i can’t believe i missed this fml

you YOU DIDNT MISS ANYTHING NOTHING HAPPENED

sunoo be serious u guys we’re standing inches apart

you were* and no we weren’t

sunoo oh stfu it was autocorrect i saw it w my own eyes y/n… you WERE literally holding his hand and staring into those beautiful eyes of his

kazuha sunoo…?

sunoo what can’t a man acknowledge another man’s objective attractiveness if i was y/n i would’ve folded the moment i saw him

you literally one of the first times he talked to me was to make fun of my handwriting

sunoo yeah he’s on his tsundere shit i fw it

you …

sunoo anyways zuha you shouldve seen it when the bell rang they practically leaped away from each other and u didnt know what to do w yourselves afterwards likeeee it was so obvi what you both were thinking of

kazuha cuuuute

you i resent these accusations.

sunoo istg if u dont kiss him next time i will

kazuha ???

you SUNOO?

sunoo WHAT

Something happens a few days before the start of winter break.

Ms. Schumacher is absent, gone off to Germany to visit her family there—she has enough seniority in the school that they let her abandon her responsibilities as a teacher once in a while. A week is too short a period of time for them to bother finding a substitute. It’s usually your last class of the day, but you have to wait around for your dad to be done working, so while most of your classmates have gone home early, you sit with about six other people in the unsupervised study room, absent-mindedly jotting down tid-bits of dialogue for your new story idea, too preoccupied with Jongseong’s absence to really pay attention to anything else. It’s fifteen minutes after the hour, but he’s nowhere to be found, although you know for a fact that he takes those weird Molecular Gastronomy cooking classes your Chemistry teacher offers for extra credit every Thursday after school, so he should be here. And anyways, if he’d gone home, he would’ve texted you something like, Have fun sitting around for an hour, I’m gonna go do awesome stuff with Heeseung, even if awesome stuff meant playing Mario Kart or drinking Sprite and holding a two-person burping contest.

You’re so engrossed in your own thoughts that you pay no mind to the sudden ding of a phone in the room, followed by some gasps and heated whispers. The exchanged words go through one ear and out the other—There was a fight? In the locker rooms? It must be bad if they were sent to the nurse before the principal… Huh? Over who? So he took both of them on? Damn, I didn’t know Jay got like that. He seems so well-behaved.

Your head whips up at the mention of your friend’s name. “Jay? Did something happen to him?” you ask out loud, the whispers dying down immediately as everybody stares at you.

Gaeul, who was in your class last year, is the only one who answers you. Holding up and waving her phone, she says, “They say he got into a fight.”

Jongseong? A fight? It sounds like a practical joke. He admitted to you he once started crying watching Heeseung playing Call of Duty, it was so violent. You shake your head. “He-he did? With who?”

Gaeul and the girl next to her exchange a concerned, almost guilty look. “Jake and Sunghoon.” The crease between your eyebrows deepened. You don’t need to ask anything else before she adds, “They’re at the nurse’s station. It sounds pretty bad…”

That’s enough for you to leap out of your chair and run to the nurse’s station. It seems the news has spread impossibly quickly among your year group—even Kazuha and Sunoo are already blowing your phone, asking you if you’ve heard, if you know how Jay is. You ignore them, reminding yourself to text them back later, until one message from Sunoo in particular catches your attention: It apparently started because Sunghoon said something about you, Y/N. They’re saying Jay got angry.

The nurse is busy on the phone when you get there, her back to the entrance, so you’re able to slip in unnoticed. You head to the adjoining room where the beds are, all three of them taken—you walk by Sunghoon first, his arms crossed over his chest and pointedly not looking at you, then by Jake, who calls out your name. You glare at him and pull on the white plastic curtain that separates his bed from Jongseong’s. They’re already going to hear you, you don’t need them seeing you on top of that.

Jongseong sits up with a grunt when you appear at the end of his bed. The sight of him makes your stomach flip, and not in a good way, for once—his left eye is swollen and circled by a deep purple bruise, shiny with ointment, there’s a cut on his cheek, his lower lip is busted, his right hand is wrapped in bandages. “Oh my God,” you whisper as you help him up, voice breaking. He stares at his hands, jaw locking when you gently place one palm on his good hand, the other on the side of his face, moving it this way and that so you can take a better look at his injuries. He winces, and you let go, resting your hand on his shoulder instead. “What the hell got into you?” you whisper vehemently, unable to decide if you’re worried or angry or both as tears form in your eyes.

He tries to shrug, but even that seems to hurt. “Don’t shrug, Jongseong, tell me what happened.”

“I’m Jongseong again now?” he says, attempting a smile, but only one corner of his lips rises.

You sigh. Even in this state, he has to be a smart-ass. “You’re Jong when I need a textbook, Jongseong when you get into stupid fights,” you reply, and he smiles wider but immediately winces, hand coming up to the cut on his lip. You notice that his hand is still riddled with cracks, and whether they’re due to their dryness or to this fight doesn’t matter—”Wait here,” you say, and go rummage through some drawers for plasters. “She forgot some spots.” You feel Jongseong’s eyes on your face as you patch him up to the best of your abilities.

“I don’t want to tell you what happened. I’ll do the job of hating these idiots for the both of us, so don’t concern yourself with them,” he says, apparently not caring that the idiots in question can hear his every word.

He keeps his promise—you never hear another word from him about the cause of the fight.

Later, you find out through other means, namely Sunoo’s questionably remarkable ability to unearth any and all gossip, that in the locker rooms after Phys Ed, someone had started Jake on the topic of Yunjin, who had been recently revealed as his girlfriend. They’d apparently kept it secret because it was just fooling around at first, and only later had gotten serious enough for them to parade around the school as the couple.

It had been an unremarkable conversation until Jake said, “You guys know Y/N from our class? She saw us in the staff parking lot once, and I was sure we’d be busted then. But she didn’t tell anyone.” And just like that, the conversation turned to you, someone who was usually never a topic among these boys, jocks, soccer players, “the kind of people who peak in high school and still have a superiority complex at forty,” as Sunoo describes them.

He has a harder time explaining what happened next, can’t quite look you in the eye as he recounts what was said. “So, this is what they say, apparently someone said that you used to be obsessed with Sunghoon, then with Jake, and Sunghoon said you… Well, he said you were pathetic, that asshole, and that you had been so easy to lead on, then Jake joined in, saying the same things, basically, how funny it was seeing you so obviously in love with him when he would never give you a chance…” He looks at you worriedly, but you tell him to go on. “And so that’s when Jay got up and just straight-up punched Jake in the face. And while Jake was trying to figure out what happened, Jay punched Sunghoon, and then they both got on him, pushing him, but when he wouldn’t stop throwing punches, they started fighting, too. I think they all got some good ones in before the other boys were able to break them apart and the P.E. teacher arrived…”

But that would be later. Now, sitting with Jongseong in the nurse’s station, tears falling onto the plasters you place on his hand, nothing matters but him. You don’t need the details—he’s hurt, he got hurt over you, you feel as though every cut on his body may well have been done by your own hand. You’ve never felt so guilty for something you didn’t do. Your voice trembles when you speak; you’re unable to look at him, at his busted eye. “I just don’t want you to get hurt for me.”

Without missing a beat, he says, “What else would I get hurt for?”

You can only meet his eyes for a split second. Even like this, he manages to look at you with the same softness that has haunted you since the night you met 28-year-old Jongseong, that has rendered all thoughts of anything other than him meaningless since the day your gaze drifted down to his lips just weeks ago. “Jong…” is all you can mutter as you look down at your hands holding each others’, your lips trembling.

He raises his bandaged hand, still not used to his dominant side being ineffective for now, then lowers it when he realizes. Clumsily, he pats your hair with his left hand. “Don’t cry, please…”

Jake’s head pops out from behind the curtain. “Y/N, I’m really sorry—”

“Not right now, man,” Jay quickly interrupts. Jake pathetically disappears behind the curtain again.

“Just promise me you won’t do this again.”

“Y/N…”

“Promise me,” you say, more demanding this time, sticking out your pinky finger. Jay, hesitant, looks between your outstretched finger and your face a few times, but eventually gives in.

The nurse, upon coming to check on the boys, catches you with Jongseong and chases you out immediately. You sulk back to study hall, where everyone’s head perks up the moment you walk in. “They’re okay,” you reassure vaguely, and unenthusiastically answer their many questions. It’s only a few minutes until the bell rings, and you’re free to go then.

jong so… guess who got a five-day suspension

you you idiot what did your parents say?

jong they’re not happy i have to do all the household chores for a month

you boo-hoo

jong not sure why i came here thinking i’d get some comfort…

you … are you feeling better?

jong a little bit the nurse gave us some really strong painkillers but i’m okay because there’s a pretty girl that’s going to drop off the homework for me after school every day :)

you oh did you ask chaewon to do that?

jong um no i was talking about you ..if that’s okay

you haha i know i just wanted you to say it straight up

jong ykw maybe i should just ask chaewon

you i’ll see you tomorrow jong!!

jong :) see you tomorrow pretty

The months that separate your return to school and graduation come and go in the blink of an eye. Jongseong can’t come to school the last day before the holidays or the first four days after, and he’s grounded in-between. Things change bit by bit with every day you visit him—To give him the homework, you tell his parents, although there isn’t much to do when the semester isn’t in full swing, and you could’ve easily sent him pictures. The first time, you spend more time scouring the pictures and trinkets in his room than actually talking to him, and awkwardly give him a half-hug when he tells you he won’t be able to hang out at all during the break before practically running out of his house, your heart beating a thousand miles a minute from the innocent contact. By the fourth time, you lie together on his bed and talk about your plans for college, your hands sitting centimeters apart on the navy sheets. You haven’t dared touch his hand since that day in the nurse’s station.

You’re window-shopping with Kazuha when you spot the hand cream you had seen yourself gifting Jongseong in your well-given vision. Buying it is one thing, actually giving it to him is another, an awkward, stuttery situation in which the wrapping done by the store employee suddenly seems over-the-top and out-of-place. But Jongseong seems to like it—it’s the last day of his suspension, his black eye is now a yellow-ish color, he can smile without risking splitting his lip in two. He applies it immediately, tells you he’ll make sure to wear it every day until the end of winter. You find yourself wishing there was something you could give him for every season so he wouldn’t go a day without thinking of you. When you leave, he bashfully thanks you for making sure he doesn’t fall behind and says he’s excited to see you at school the next day. You hardly know what to do with yourself, so you squeak out a “me too” and slip out the door.

His first day back is a Friday. It starts with Mathematics, a class in which you sit by each other. You remember the first week of classes when Kazuha and Sunoo had ran to sit with each other, expressly because they knew that if he saw you were sitting alone, he’d take the seat next to you, just to better torment you all year. You’d resented it then; it couldn’t make you happier now. Your body is humming with nervous energy, your foot tapping relentlessly against the tiled floor. When he appears in the doorframe, you wave at him as if he’d forgotten his seat in three weeks of absence. His elbow brushes against yours as he sits down.

Between the two of you, friendship blossoms over these months. To the detriment of everyone around you, you continue to bicker as you always have, but it’s now clearly done out of habit, out of affection, even, than out of actual dislike of each other. He and Heeseung slowly integrate your small group of three, and before you know it, it feels as though there have always been five of you. Together, you welcome spring.

In January, to thank you for helping him to pick out his mom’s birthday present, Jongseong treats you to some tteokbokki, which you said you’d been craving all week. He orders the spiciest one, then has to take a sip of water between every bite. You laugh at his teary eyes and red face while you devour the bright red rice cakes easily.

In February, he makes a show of giving you and Kazuha and Heeseung and Sunoo some homemade chocolates, saying it’s a friend thing. You find out that evening that the others each have five in their box—there are twenty in yours. It’s one of the things that makes you second guess what sort of feelings he has for you. For years, you’ve been convinced he harbored strong feelings of disdain for you; now, he seems to enjoy your friendship. You’re scared to read too much into anything, because if Jongseong is well-liked throughout school, it’s for a reason: he’s nice. To everyone. Even to you, too, nowadays. But if nice is giving five chocolates, what is giving twenty?

A sudden realization hits you in March—Jongseong appears at your door, drenched from the rain, a bag of your favorite snacks in hand. “You weren’t at school today. I had to find out you were sick from Kazuha,” he says as if she was a random classmate of yours and not your best friend, as if he should be the first to know about these kinds of things. Your mom rushes him in, finds him so charming in the five minutes they converse that she decides he should stay over for dinner, and as you watch him laughing with her, you think, I haven’t thought of 28-year-old Jongseong in ages. I’ve only thought of you. And although you can trace the start of your feelings to that dream-like experience you had, you can now say with confidence that it’s not the only reason for them.

College application results come out in April, right on his birthday. The five of you celebrate together at an American-style diner, gorging yourselves on crispy bacon and chocolate chip pancakes. Kazuha is going back to Japan, almost a decade after moving to South Korea—”I’m gonna miss you guys, but I miss takoyaki and my grandma more right now.” Heeseung has been accepted into the Engineering department at the country’s top university. You, Sunoo and Jongseong are all heading to the same place: you for Screenwriting, which you’ve known since you were one of the winners of the scholarship contest last October, Sunoo for Communications, whatever that is, and Jongseong for European History and Literature with a minor in German, that freak. It’s a good university, and it’s not far from home. The way Jongseong tells you about his acceptance sticks with you: he doesn’t say, They accepted me, too, or, I’m going to the same university as you. He says, We’ll be together.

May is filled with afternoons at the park when you should all be studying for exams. Your mom keeps asking when she’s going to see “that wonderful boy” again. Your friendship with Jongseong has given him new ways of teasing you—after four years of near-kleptomaniac tendencies, he’s finally stopped stealing your erasers and has instead started to let his gaze linger on your face, to call you pretty when you least expect it, to tuck your hair behind your ear. You hate it most when he asks you whether there’s something from your romance novels or movies that you want him to recreate. “Is there a field big enough nearby that I can walk through at the break of dawn, Mister Darcy-style?” he’ll say, or “I’ve always wanted to try that upside-down kiss from Spider-Man. It’s a classic, really.”

Summer comes early in June. You need to bring a two-liter water bottle and a hand fan to your exams, and you’ve never felt such relief as when it was all over. After endless pictures with your parents and siblings, just your parents, just your siblings, then Kazuha and Sunoo, together, then separately, then with Heeseung and Jongseong as well, Kazuha forces you and Jongseong together, watching with a smile as he shyly wraps an arm around your waist and you awkwardly throw up a peace sign. It’s your first picture of just the two of you.

In July, you and Jongseong unlock a new first: saying goodbye. He’s leaving to stay with his American family as he does every summer. You show up at his house the day before at four p.m. “to help him pack,” you say, but it’s Jongseong, and he finished packing two days ago. So instead, you sit on his desk chair, he on his bed, and you fight back tears. “You’re coming back, right?” you ask, like he’s leaving to go to war and not Seattle. Amusement and affection flicker in his eyes. “Of course I am. I wouldn’t throw four more years of being a pain in your ass away, would I?” he says, and you smile, because you know it’s going to be much more than four years.

But he doesn’t just leave you with a few nice words. Avoiding your gaze, he hands you an envelope. Inside is a single ticket, a two-month membership for your city’s arthouse cinema that you can only go to when they have student deals or when your parents have had enough of your begging. You can’t even begin to imagine how much this must’ve cost. “Jong…” you murmur, in awe at the thin slip of paper between your hands. “This is incredible. Thank you so much.”

Jongseong looks down at his feet, fighting a smile as he kicks the invisible rocks that obviously litter the floor of his bedroom. “I thought you’d get bored without me around, so, that way you can entertain yourself, I guess… And if you run into any film bros next year, you’ll have seen as many pretentious movies as them.”

You burst into laughter then, and, without thinking, wrap your arms around his neck, thanking him over and over again. It takes him a second, but he wraps his arms around your waist and says it’s no big deal.

As you walk down the path from your house, he calls out your name. “Don’t be a stranger,” he says.

You smile. “Never.”

So, he’s not here for summer. Kazuha is working in her parents’ ramen restaurant to make some money before leaving, even Heeseung leaves two weeks into July for Seoul to visit some relatives there and get accustomed to life in the big city. You only get to laze around with Sunoo, but even he eventually leaves for his grandparents’ house by the sea, making you promise you’ll come visit him at some point, otherwise he’ll “die of boredom.”

It’s August now, and your brain and body alike buzz with restlessness. You go to the cinema almost every day, making the best of your subscription. If you’re not going around your house looking for spider webs with your vacuum cleaner, you’re riding random bus lines and discovering parts of your town you’ve never set foot in before. If you’re not making your way through your never-ending pile of unread books, you’re creating your own stories, finally taking the time to properly outline and draft the one-line ideas you’ve had sitting in your Notes app, preparing yourself for the start of your degree. Your mind is taken up with love stories. From Romeo & Juliet to Dirty Dancing to Book Lovers, you can’t get enough of the genre. You become particularly obsessed with stories involving time travel, rewatching After Time and Lovely Runner like they contain some precious knowledge. By the end of the month, you’ve turned your life into an eight-episode TV series—a desperate girl makes a wish on a star only to discover she is fated to marry the one boy she hates most. You know you’d watch that. You send Sunoo and Kazuha the pilot, and after calling you insane numerous times but also heaping on praises, Sunoo says this: lol your going through jay withdrawals.

It shakes you so much you’re not even compelled to message back you’re*.

But he’s not wrong. The more you let yourself admit it, the more you realize how true it is: you miss Jongseong. You text once in a while, you’ve even stayed up late talking on the phone a couple of times, but you miss him, his corporeal form, having his gaze on you, having the possibility but never the courage to touch him. Every day, there’s something you want to tell him about. The cats huddling around a young neighborhood kid as he pours milk into a bowl, the clearance sale at your local library, most books for one buck only, the actor from an 90s Hong Kong film you swear has the exact same smile as him. You don’t want to bother him, so you write letters instead. Some you send, some you don’t—the ones you keep hidden in your drawer usually hint too obviously at your feelings for him. Some of them don’t just hint and contain lines of your declarations: I miss you, everything I see reminds me of you, I want to check that your bruises have healed completely even though the last trace of them faded months ago. You keep these letters a secret, even from Sunoo and Kazuha, who would never let you live down such woebegone, down bad behavior.

You do it because it feels good, getting all of your feelings out on paper. You’re a romantic at heart, so you’re prone to over-exaggeration when it comes to things like these—but everything that you write remains based in truth. You’d started with a postcard of your hometown, jokingly writing, Don’t forget where you came from. How is it over there? and he’d actually replied with a postcard of his own, filling it from top to bottom. You easily went from these small postcards to multiple pages of stream-of-consciousness-like writing. You think it’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever done—although you’re not sure he feels the same way, considering he still writes to the German pen pal Ms. Schumacher had assigned him in your first year of high school. No one else’s correspondence had lasted more than four months because she’d immediately forgotten to make sure you kept in touch regularly.

I ran into Jake Sim at the city library, you write one day. You’ve replied to everything in his latest letter, so you’re now catching him up on your recent adventures. He was checking out some books about Linguistics, of all things—he bought me bubble tea afterwards and told me that the injury he got last April was actually a relief. Did you know his father was a big name in soccer here? Apparently, he never wanted to be a soccer player that badly, and he wants to do Linguistics and Social Anthropology, who would’ve guessed it. He’s like Troy Bolton if High School Musical was about Humanities and not singing. Anyways, you probably don’t want me to go on and on about him, so I won’t, but we did talk about that fight you guys had back in December. He apologized for it, to you and me both, although he didn’t go into much detail — Sunoo is still the only one who’s had the balls to tell me exactly what happened, and he wasn’t even there! — and I was reticent at first, but he seemed genuine. He said he didn’t even hang out with Sunghoon or Yunjin or any of those people anymore, that it was only out of convenience really, and that he hopes starting university will be like turning over a new leaf. Well, he could be full of shit, who knows. As I sat there listening to him I wondered what it was I used to see in him. He’s nice enough, but we only spoke about him for the entire hour. He asked me no questions that weren’t “and you?” so it was a bit exhausting.

But it got me thinking about your fight again. Reflecting on it now, I can say that it was a turning point for me in my perception of you.

You look at your words, smiling to yourself—this is one of the times where you find yourself erring from the topic at hand, instead indulging in sappiness and nostalgia. You write about how your opinion of Jongseong has changed over these months, how it wasn’t seeing him as your husband in all those years that had really shaken things up, but rather that day in the nurse’s station, the frightening colors around his eye, his attitude like it was natural that he would get hurt like this for you. You write, Have I been wrong about you this whole time? I thought you harbored the same negative feelings towards me as I had you since the moment you’d laid eyes on me, but all of a sudden, here you were, bloody, bandaged hand holding mine. Even with your busted eye, you looked like an angel next to all that white in the nurse’s station. I’ll never forget your words that day. Would you really not get hurt for anything else, Jong?

“I’m going to the Post Office for a package soon, Y/N. Are you done with your letter?” your mom calls from the staircase landing.

“Give me five minutes!” you call back.

You forage through your drawer for a new sheet of paper and re-write your letter, making sure to leave any compromising parts out and fold both letters into neat squares—one that will cross the seas and reach Jongseong, one that will live out its days in the darkness of your crowded drawer. You’ve run out of envelopes, so you go look for one in your parents’ office. Your mom calls out your name again, impatient to leave — if she sends her package off before twelve p.m., it will get to the receiver tomorrow, and she’s hell-bent on getting perfect five-star Vinted reviews — so you hurriedly put your letter in the envelope, close it, stamp it, and write Jongseong’s name and address on the back. The other letter you absent-mindedly throw in your drawer with the dozens of other letters in which you’d crossed the line.

A few weeks later, like an apparition, Jongseong stands before you again.

He’s tanner from months under the Washington sun, from afternoons spent at his family’s lake house, on their boat. His hair is slightly shorter and suits him even better; you don’t recognize any of the clothes he wears. He grumbles as his mother goes back-and-forth between hugging him, staring at him worriedly and reminding him to call at least twice a week while his father unpacks the trunk. “I’ll only be a thirty-minute train ride away, Mom,” he says.

He’s still Jong.

You moved in yesterday, and you’re now waiting for your new roommate, who, after five minutes of deliberating whether she should bring a jacket or not and finally decided against it, changed her mind the minute she stepped outside.

It’s been two months since you last saw him. Shortly after sending your letter, you’d gone to stay with Sunoo’s grandparents for a week, just a day before he was set to come back from Seattle. Amid packing and other preparations, you haven’t had time to see each other. Is it okay if I respond to your letter in person? I think I’ll be too busy these two coming weeks, he texted you. You replied that it wasn’t a problem, you told him which dorm you’d been assigned and found out his was the one next door.

When he notices you staring, he does a double-take. You wave at him, and even from this distance, you see the blush that creeps up his neck and takes over his face as he shyly waves back. You’ve never seen him like this—he’s always been either arrogant or friendly, never… flustered. He makes a motion as if to say, I’ll text you, and heads inside the building with his parents and all of his luggage.

Indeed, he texts you some hours later while you’re sharing a piece of strawberry and matcha cake with your roommate Liz, whom you find out is half-German—Jongseong and your dad would probably love her for that simple fact. Some of the first things she’d asked you were what your astrological signs were and whether you wanted her to pull tarot cards for you when she was all done setting up her side of the room. Between that and her dyed blonde hair, you’d felt comfortable telling her all about Jongseong, the well and your dream. Unlike your skeptical and sarcastic friends, she’d nodded along to your every word, a serious expression on her face. “A sign from the universe,” she’d called it, and she gasped in excitement when his name appeared on your screen.

He sends you a link to a freshers’ week event, some potted plant sale happening on the main campus square, and asks if you’re free to go with him tomorrow. I need something to liven up that depressing room, he writes.

So that’s how you find yourselves among green plants of all shapes and sizes, searching for one that’s both low-maintenance and appealing to the eye. You’re glad that you have something to actually do—if you were just sitting at a café and having a conversation, you’re not sure you’d be able to stand the awkwardness. You’d chalked up his behavior on the day of his move-in to nerves, or to surprise upon seeing you so unexpectedly. But apparently, it wasn’t a one-time thing. He keeps clearing his throat as if he were sick with some cold, won’t look into your eyes for more than split seconds at a time, and in complete opposition to his usual confident, deliberate speech, talks in a quick and disorderly manner. And he’s either really caught a cold, or his ears have just permanently turned red. You ask him if something’s wrong a couple times, but he violently shakes his head, says, “No, what could be wrong?” then looks at you as if you might tell him what’s wrong.

When you’re alone again, you wonder what on earth could have happened over the summer that could make him change his behavior with you so radically. Did something happen in Seattle? Maybe he met someone there and doesn’t know how to tell you. Maybe you went overboard with your letters, he doesn’t want to be friends anymore, he wants to let you down easy but doesn’t know how to tell you. Or maybe—maybe you got impossibly pretty during those two months, and absence does make the heart grow fonder, as they say, and every thought you have about him, he has about you, but he doesn’t know how to tell you.

In any case, he’s hiding something.

The theory that he might want to stop being friends soon falls flat—the invitations to other freshers’ events keep coming, be it free wine & pizza taster sessions from the Wine Society, karaoke nights with the Taylor Swift Society or a shark movie marathon with the Bad Film Society, and he never turns you down when you tell him there’s something you want to visit in this new city of yours, even when the thing you want to visit in question is a bakery you have to queue in front of at seven a.m. if you want to get a pain au chocolat. In your defense, they turn out to be the best ones you and Jongseong have ever tried—although, to be fair, neither of you has been to France.

Things progressively return to normal. He’s able to make eye contact for more than three seconds again, he listens carefully and laughs along when you tell him about your week by the sea with Sunoo, he fills you in on what Heeseung’s been up to. One thing remains different, however—when you throw quips at him, he usually would’ve delighted in coming up with a better, wittier response, but now, he’ll roll his eyes at best, look at you amusedly and stay silent at worst. “Won’t you even entertain me?” you ask him once, to which he replies that you’re doing a good job entertaining yourself as is.

Instead, he becomes more earnest. As per usual you badger him with questions like Aren’t I so pretty right now? or Isn’t my outfit so cute today? to get a reaction out of him, and if during your high school days he’d either fake a puking sound or look you up and down and grumble I guess, he now smiles and simply says Yes, you are, Yes, it is. It seems impossible to keep track of his attitude: one day, he’s one thing, the next, he’s another person entirely.

It annoys you. You take his changing demeanor to mean that now that he’s a college student, he won’t indulge in your childish squabbles anymore, as though he was above all of that now, when just three months ago he was stalking your parents’ Facebooks to find unfavorable photos of you from when you were thirteen and using them as reaction pictures in your friends’ group chat. You think of your graduation day, of the box he’d given you, all done up in wrapper paper and a bow—he had filled it with every eraser he’d stolen from you over the years, he’d even gone so far as to date every single one of them, from the second of October freshman year to the twenty-eighth of November of your senior year. You didn’t count them, but there had to be at least a hundred. At the time, you’d just thought it was funny—but what if the gesture had meant something deeper than you’d realized? What if he was marking the end of something with that box? No more playing around, we’re adults now. But classes have barely started, you don’t know your way to the off-campus library, you aren’t a different person to who you were just weeks or even months earlier. Why is he acting like he is? You look at him, and you see the boy whose fault it was you had to buy a new eraser every week—who knows how many books you could’ve bought with that money. But when he turns to look at you, too, and your eyes meet, you’re suddenly assailed with the memories of that night, the kind eyes, the soft smile.

Does his future capacity to love me already exist in his heart?

Your heartbeat speeds up and you have to look away.

From your letters, it seems to be much hotter back home than in Seattle—you talk of sunburns, of afternoons spent inside with the fan on maximum speed, of ice melting instantly and watering down your Coke Zeros, whereas Jay can walk around the city pleasantly and needs to bring a jacket if he’ll be out until late after sundown. And yet, as he reads your latest letter, his skin prickles feverishly, from the top of his head to the tip of his toes. He’d excitedly torn the envelope open the second it arrived in the mail, heart thumping as he counted the pages, at least three more than usual — he was always happy that you wanted to talk to him at all, so the fact that you had this much to tell him sent him over the moon — but he would have never expected what was awaiting him inside.

With a smile on his face, he read your replies to the questions he’d asked you last time, your reactions to everything he told you about, the live Mariners game, the lake house, the rides on the boat. He imagined you as you sat at your desk in your room he’d only seen once, when you’d held a small party for your birthday and he, having arrived first, was honored with a tour of your house. He imagined your smile, the way you played with your hair when you focused on something, wondered whether you pondered every word before you wrote it down as he did or whether you poured your thoughts out onto the page without hesitation. His smile faltered when Jake Sim’s name appeared in your neat handwriting, but he was relieved to find out your description of him now was miles away from the one at the start of the school year.

Then you start writing about him. Him, Park Jongseong, and your words startle him so much, it’s like he’d forgotten he was the recipient of this letter in the first place.

But it got me thinking about your fight again. Reflecting on it now, I can say that it was a turning point for me in my perception of you.

He’s been lying comfortably in his bed, but he sits up the moment his eyes take in these words. If there is one topic the two of you have practically never broached, it’s this exactly: your relationship, the changes it’s gone through this past year. Except for a few mentions made in jest here and there, you’ve always conveniently ignored the fact that not so long ago, you were at each other’s throats. At least, you were at his throat, and Jay let you be, let you think the hatred went both ways, when in reality all he wanted was to keep you close one way or another. To him, anything was better than indifference.

But here you are, writing about how you feel about him, not in hints, not in jokes, but actually telling him black and white what goes through your head when you think of him—in other words, everything he’s been dying to know ever since he met you and especially ever since you started warming up to him a few months ago.

I have never told you about that night because I know it’ll just be more fodder for you to endlessly tease me, and I haven’t even mentioned it in these letters that I write and don’t send. Sometimes I debate the ethics of it—if I know something about our futures, isn’t it right that you know, too? But then again, I still hesitate whether what happened was real or not. As with anything, the more time passes, the more I forget about it. What kind of cheese you’d put on the pasta, the movie that played in the background, whether the stairs were carpeted or wooded—these details have evaded me by now. All I clearly remember is your face and how I felt, seeing it then, seeing it the next day at school, ten years younger, the same exact person in what felt like a different universe. As much as I tried to deny it, I know now that it was no coincidence—I was talking about it with Sunoo and he said that sometimes, we want something so badly, we conjure it up for ourselves. He’s not always a dimwit. And he’s right, the kind of love I felt from you in that dream — or not-dream — I’ve yearned for it ever since I first watched Pride & Prejudice, the 2005 film to be precise, when I was ten. But with you? That was what I couldn’t believe at first. I don’t think I need to explain why—you were there, I think you knew how I felt about you for over three years, it’s not like I tried to hide it.

Then you turned up and the sight of you was enough to bring back all the feelings from that dream. You must’ve wondered why my behavior with you switched so suddenly—well, a glimpse into marital bliss is sometimes enough for a girl to make some changes in her life. Yet I valiantly tried to convince myself that any flutter of my heart around you was due to this stupid dream, to a version of you my brain had conjured up because it was starved for affection, and you happened to be at the forefront of my mind, even if not for the right reasons. But it was no use. I had entertained the possibility that this future was really mine, and I couldn’t go back to seeing you as the boy who annoyed the living daylights out of me.

But Jong, if you weren’t you, I would’ve been confused for a week and then I would’ve gotten over it. I stayed confused for a while, and everything you did only served to confuse me further. I started to notice you more, to see you for who you were and not for the idea I had constructed of you in my head, I stopped taking note of only the things that reinforced this idea. And that changed everything.

Let’s get it out of the way: as much as I hate to admit it because it proves you right, I saw that you are indeed devastatingly handsome. It devastates me every time I have to look at that stupid, wonderful face of yours. And if aging is something you’re worried about, don’t be. I’ve seen you at 28, and let’s just say that your jaw somehow only gets more chiseled. I’ve realized that you don’t just participate in class to be a prick — except for when you contradict me in Literature, I know you only do that to piss me off, and yes, it works — but that you actually care about what we learn and that you don’t want the teacher to feel like they’re talking to a classroom full of students made out of bricks. I’ve also realized that you didn’t specifically pick German to be the one subject where you must beat me at all costs, you just actually really like German, even if I’m still undetermined as to why. And I can finally admit to myself—you are funny. Sometimes. There were so many times I had to stop myself from laughing at one of your idiotic puns because I could not bear to give you the satisfaction. That feeling when the worst person you know makes a funny joke, and all that. And as much as I’ve mocked you for it, I do actually like your laugh. I like that you’re only loud when you laugh, or sneeze, or get excited over something. You don’t scream, you don’t get angry, and I think that’s a lot for a boy fresh out of puberty. Or for any boy, really.

But above all, you’re kind, Jong. I think it’s the best thing about you. I think it’s the best thing anyone can be. I see it in your patience with Heeseung when he starts one of his rants better reserved for Reddit than real life, I see it in the way you took Sunoo and Kazuha in stride, even though they’re a bit rough around the edges sometimes, I see it in the way you guide the freshmen at the start of every year, when all anyone does is complain about them, I see it in the gentleness with which you let down the girls who confess to you, even the more persistent ones. I used to think they were crazy, but I understand them more than ever now. I also used to think that all those kindnesses meant that the ones you occasionally showed me meant nothing more than that—occasional kindnesses. You were just a nice guy, occasionally so to me. But you sort of ratted yourself out when you gave me those twenty chocolates for Valentine’s.

Or, really, what made things clearer was that fight in December. I guess I was wrong—you do get angry. I remember a thought I had at the time: just when I think I know you, you do something to shake it all up. You punched two of the star soccer players of our school in the face because they said some mean, unimportant things about me. Thinking about it now, I still don’t understand it. Was it another one of your acts of kindness?

And then I thought of those other times you helped me out. Do you remember them—the art project, the handwritten notes after my grandma passed away, you tearing Park Sunghoon a new one in the girls’ bathroom. I’m sure there are many more that I’ve dismissed simply because I did not want to see you in any other light than the one I’d decided to shine on you.

Maybe I’m rewriting the past here, but I’ve been thinking about something lately. The theme today seems to be honesty, so I’ll lay myself bare and tell you something I haven’t told anyone yet, not even myself. The more I write, the more I become aware of its truth. I like you, Jong. I think I have for a long time, longer than either of us thinks. Maybe that’s why I kept buying erasers.

I don’t have the best memory — I suspect iron deficiency, it runs in my mom’s side of the family — but I do remember this. The first time I saw you. I haven’t noticed your face changing in real time, but I’m sure I’d laugh at how much of a baby you looked back then. Although I didn’t fare much better, I’m sure. Well, you’re the one that has all these embarrassing pictures of me, you freak, so I’m sure you could tell me. Moving on…

I found you really cute. You were chatting to the person next to you, maybe it was Heeseung, I didn’t look properly—I only looked at you. Don’t laugh at me. It was the first day of high school, there was a nervous energy in the air, but you seemed happy to be there. You know I don’t have hordes of friends like you do, I don’t walk through life with people naturally gravitating towards me. I’m okay with it now, but it was something I struggled with back then. Kazuha, Sunoo and I have had each other since our elementary days, and I never needed more than that—but fifteen is the prime age for comparison, and as the weeks passed and we got used to being high schoolers, I listened to everyone sing your praises, I watched as you talked with all of our classmates, even our teachers, like you were old friends. But we sat next to each other in a couple of classes, and you wouldn't talk to me outside of partnered work. I, who wanted to be easily charmed by you like everyone else was, who thought maybe you’d help me come out of my shell. But it felt like sitting next to me was torture to you, like the boy whom I watched speak with ease to everyone else disappeared when I was around. And so — and I’m not proud of this — every smart remark in class, every joke that had the entire class roaring, every high five you gave out in the hallway, I started to despise them. And by association, I started to despise you. After that, it was easy to find fault in everything you did, my contempt was only enhanced by everyone’s admiration. But I’m not alone here. It went both ways, didn’t it? I don’t think you liked that I didn’t like you and openly showed it, so used to being everyone’s favorite person you were. I remember how you showily tried to be nice to me after that, maybe you just wanted another friend, but I didn’t let you. I don’t blame us for how we acted, only for taking so long to get our heads out of our asses.

(I have to say, I also have a thing for hating people. Remind me to tell you about Na Jaemin and Shin Ryujin one of these days.)

Anyways, I think it’s because I had liked you so much at first that I could then seemingly hate you so much. But I never hated you, Jong, not really. I’m sorry if I gave you that impression. Can I take it all back now?

Now that we’re entering university soon, I can’t help but look back on high school. This is what I want to know, but I’m not sure I’ll ever have the courage to ask you, because if your answer is the one I suspect, I don’t know how I’ll handle all the regret in my heart.

Have I been wrong about you this whole time? I thought you harbored the same negative feelings towards me as I had you since the moment you’d laid eyes on me, but all of a sudden, here you were, bloody, bandaged hand holding mine. Even with your busted eye, you looked like an angel next to all that white in the nurse’s station. I’ll never forget your words that day. Would you really not get hurt for anything else, Jong?

Your letter abruptly ends here, no concluding remarks, no wishing him a fun time in Seattle and looking forward to his next letter, no sign-off. It was as if someone cut you off before you could say everything you wanted, but then why send him this seemingly unfinished letter? It is all the more bizarre since your letters are usually meticulous: you write on every other line, it looks like you take your time with every single letter, the only disturbance in your otherwise perfect handwriting is your going back-and-forth between cursive and script s’s. But this particular letter looks rushed, your lines are sloppy, some words need to be read a few times over to be understood. What kind of state had you been in, writing these words? Jay’s heart swells, thinking that you were as moved writing as he was reading. He even looks through your letter again, wishing to find a tear stain somewhere, but there are none. Maybe he’s been watching too many of these romantic period dramas you always go on about.

He has to pace his room when he’s done reading your letter, but he feels trapped inside these four walls, so he dashes outside, saying that he’s getting some air when his relatives ask him where he’s off to in such a rush, and walks around the block five times. When he’s back in his room, he rereads your letter, eyes taking in each and every word slowly and carefully, making sure he doesn’t misread anything.

You like him. You, Y/N, like him, Jongseong, it’s a fact, it’s real, you said so yourself, you went into quite some detail about it, he can’t believe it, but it’s real, it’s written right there on the page, if anyone dares tell him he’s fooling himself, he can prove them wrong, you’re the one who said it.

The smile doesn’t leave his lips for the rest of the day, he can barely eat, he’s already full of happiness. He reads your words over and over before falling asleep, committing them to memory, dreaming about them, about you.

You. How should he respond to this? Are you even expecting a response? You seem to know he’s not impartial to you, either, although that’s an understatement.

In the following days, the thought that you hadn’t meant to send him this letter nags at him. The abrupt ending, the absence of your usual Love, Y/N. The fact that this had come out of left field—none of your previous letters had even a romantic undertone, no matter how he tried in his own to hint at his missing you, the most reference to seeing each other again you would give him was It’ll be better to show you this in real life. The act of sending letters itself didn’t feel very platonic, but you never went there, so he didn’t, either. He had secretly yearned to have you this close all these years, he would never forgive himself if he ended up chasing you away now with his over-eagerness.

You had landed on something very real in your letter: I don’t think you liked that I didn’t like you and openly showed it, so used to being everyone’s favorite person you were. I remember how you showily tried to be nice to me after that, maybe you just wanted another friend, but I didn’t let you. He cursed his fifteen-year-old self, that idiot who couldn’t even speak to a girl no matter how much he wanted to, just because she was so pretty, he was afraid of saying something stupid and messing it up before it even had a chance to start.

On days when you’d had particularly nasty or petty arguments — it could get pretty bad, at the start, before you both started maturing and realized how ridiculous you were, especially with your classmates telling you to keep it classy — he’d stay up all night, wondering why you hated him so much in the first place, what on Earth he could’ve done to warrant such vitriol. Now, finally, he knew, and he could only resent the fact that no one had invented time machines yet, so he could nip his useless ego in the bud; so he could tell younger Jay not to take it personally, that you had your reasons for disliking him, that even if you hadn’t, the world won’t end if someone doesn’t like him like everyone usually does.

Because, he hates to admit, that was what had done it for Jay. He couldn’t stand that someone — not just someone, but one of the prettiest girls he’d ever seen, a girl he’d been hyping himself up to talk to every day, but never found the courage to — didn’t immediately fall for his charms. And not just that, but even showed just how much she disliked him. You looked him up-and-down with disdain, made disgusted faces at his jokes, rolled your eyes when he spoke up in class. It made him burn with anger, but he also weirdly enjoyed it—at least, you were paying attention to him. So, he amped it up. Talked louder, laughed louder, hovered around you. He even stole your erasers, wrote the date on which he’d taken them, kept them in a box on his desk that he looked at every time he studied at home. He aimed to beat you in every class you shared, even though neither of you cared that much about grades—the annoyed look on your face when he boasted about the two points he’d gotten over you was enough satisfaction.

All in all, he behaved like a child, and you reciprocated in like.

Until you didn’t.

It was a random Tuesday when something in your attitude towards him shifted. It wasn’t a complete 180, but he noticed everything about you, so even a slight change of your tone was obvious to him. You started using your nickname for him more often than his full name—he never told you, but of course he loved that you didn’t call him Jay like everyone else, that you had your own way of addressing him. It was a sign to him that the two of you had something special, even if it was on the opposite end of the spectrum of what he wanted with you.

He again spent sleepless nights wondering what had caused this change: was it something he had done, or something within you? It was a welcome change, that much was sure, but he was initially too confused to take it in stride. He’d long made peace with the fact that he’d never have you the way he really wanted, so he was fine with whatever this was—but now, you were changing, your interactions were tinged with something like shyness, the distance between you felt greater than ever. He tried to keep up his smart-ass appearances around you, but you only indulged in your old habits once in a while, as though you had grown tired of arguing with him, even of giving him the time of day.

So he resolved himself to adapting his behavior to yours. If you stared at him intently like his face was a puzzle you were trying to solve, he let you, rested his head on his palm and smiled as he stared back at you. Finally, he had an excuse to look at you without you threatening to punch him or saying a picture would last longer. He knew they did, he’d had to resort to scrolling through Sunoo’s and Kazuha’s Instagrams to find any photos of you. Yours was private and at the time, you would’ve probably cursed him out if he’d sent a follow request. If you seemed too annoyed or upset over something, he’d leave you alone, he’d do something nice to let you know you didn’t need to have your guards up at all times around him. If you seemed to silently call for a truce of hostilities, he easily complied.

Then, after a few weeks, your petty arguments resumed, but those too were different—if before they felt filled with real disdain and irritation, they now seemed to be a comfortable habit to fall back on, almost like a fun hobby. Those, too, Jay readily welcomed.

And so things changed in a direction Jay had never thought would one day be possible. You gave him no explanations, nor did he ask for any, and soon he stopped losing sleep over the why’s and the how’s and simply let himself enjoy the fact that you now had the semblance of a friendship, that he could compliment you and pass it off as amical teasing, that he could learn things about you like what you spent your weekends doing, what your relationship with your family was like, whether you were a dog or cat person, whether you wanted to visit his farm in Stardew Valley.

Unsurprisingly, this only enhanced his already pathetically strong feelings for you. He worried over how to make sure this wasn’t some sort of 30-day friendship trial you had wanted to test out. He reveled in the fact that his top university of choice was the one you had already been accepted to. He now knew what it felt like to have you smile at him, smile because of him, and he never wanted again to live in a world where this was not a daily occurrence.

He now sort of has an answer—your letter doesn’t make it very clear, it makes him think again that you really had not meant to send it, but you seem to have had a dream. A dream of him, 28-year-old him, to be precise, of your life together—he’s not sure. At this point in time, he doesn’t care much, either. Whether it was a dream or a real vision of the future that you had, all that matters is that it allowed you to see him in a new light, a light which he had hoped for years would one day appear to you, and it had changed things. And now, you liked him.

You said so yourself.

He’s at a loss for words. He can’t concentrate for long enough to put all his thoughts in order, he can’t make himself calm down and write his feelings down. He has to pack to go home, once he’s home, he’ll have to pack for university. But it’s only two weeks from now to the day you meet again, and it’ll be better to say what he wants to say in person, anyway.

Is it okay if I respond to your letter in person? I think I’ll be too busy these two coming weeks, he texts you.

And then those two weeks pass like two seconds and you’re there, a few meters away from him. All the speeches he’d prepared in his head, from grand declarations of love to laid-back admittances of Yeah, I like you too, you’re cool, I guess, they all vanish from his head. For fourteen days he’s been going through scenarios upon scenarios of your reunion, what you’d look like, what he’d say, how you’d react. But now that he can actually see you, now that he would just have to walk a few steps if he wanted to touch you, hug you, kiss you — hoping that was something you wanted to do — he freezes. He forgets how his body works, the part in his brain that’s meant to manage language ability fails him. HIs mom calls him over, urging him into his new dorm building, and all he can do is wave back at you like an idiot.

When finally he musters the courage to text you, what he hopes will be the day that starts your romantic relationship turns into the day Park Jongseong realizes how much of a loser he is. For the first hour, he can’t look at you, he can’t get through a sentence without stuttering out half of his words, he runs out of things to say in record time. All he can think of is how easy it’d be to grab one of your hands, hold it in his and walk around this stupid potted plant sale as if the two of you were two halves of a whole. He doesn’t even want a potted plant, his roommate already has five, he just wanted an excuse to see you. He steals glances at you when you’re looking elsewhere, and he notices everything about you tenfold now that he can, now that caring about you doesn’t need to be in vain any longer. He tells himself that he just needs to calm down a bit, even when you have the confirmation that the person you’re about to confess to already likes you, revealing your feelings to someone is always nerve-wracking, the two of you haven’t seen in each other in a while, he’ll talk to you once his heart gets out of his throat.

But you’re acting normal. Suspiciously so. You’re acting like you never told him you liked him, like nothing has changed between you. He rereads your letter the second he gets back to his dorm. He’s not crazy, it’s written right there, I like you, Jong. I think I have for a long time, longer than either of us thinks. He knows the words by heart now, but he checks them anyway. So why are you acting like you never said anything? Had you really not meant to send that letter? Did Jay actually intrude on your private thoughts by reading words that had never meant to be seen by another soul?

You continue to behave as you usually would around him, but if he couldn’t go back to vicious bickering when things changed the first time, he can’t go back to friendly bickering now that things — for him — have changed a second time. He doesn’t even want friendly to be in your shared vocabulary anymore.

So he stops giving in. If you make fun of him, he just stands there with an unimpressed if amused look on his face. If you pedantically correct him on something, he just nods his head and accepts it. He can tell you’re bothered by it, but he needs to show you that he doesn’t want to go on being just friends with you—he wants to compliment you without having to pass it off as teasing, he wants to stare at you with hearts in his eyes without having to look away when you catch him, he wants to spend every waking second of every day with you, he wants to hold your hand, hold you.

He could wait for things to change slowly again, but why wait when he could help things along?

It’s nine p.m. on a Saturday and you’re sneaking Jongseong into your dorm. Liz is away for the weekend, gone back home to celebrate her aunt’s birthday, so you have the room to yourselves. It took some convincing to get him to come — What if we get caught coming in, What if your T.A. sees us, What if I get reported to campus police — and so when your verbal reassurances failed to work, you resorted to blinking up at him through your lashes and that did the trick.

Jongseong was in many ways unlike any other man you’d ever met; in some other ways, he was the exact same.

Plastic bag of the tteokbokki you’d asked for in hand, he looks around the deserted hallways like someone might jump out of nowhere and beat him to a pulp at any given moment. At this time of the week, everyone’s out partying or holed up in their dorms, presumably either to rest or because of a lack of friends so early on in the semester. You grab his free hand and hurry him along to the elevator—once inside, it takes you a few seconds before you realize you’re still holding it, and you retract your hand quickly while he just smiles.

You settle yourselves on the floor—comfort is not worth getting gochujang sauce on your white sheets. You sit criss-cross in front of each other, the food between the two of you, and catch up on your first week of class in-between bites of spicy, gooey rice cakes and fish cakes. You wonder, if one day you and Jongseong are no longer friends, how long you will keep associating tteokbokki with him.

When you tell him that you and Jake share a class, Introduction to Film Studies, he gives you a look. “What’s that face for?” you ask.

“Did you guys sit next to each other?”

You chuckle. “Of course. We only knew each other in that room, it would’ve been weird not to.”

He continues to stare at you. After a while, he muses, “You’re not…?”

You halt in your tracks, rice cake at the end of your plastic fork hanging in the air, halfway between the container and your mouth. “Whatever you’re thinking, the answer is no.” Still in love with him, interested in him again, you don’t know the exact details of Jongseong’s thought process, all you know is he has nothing to worry about—if it’s something he worries about.

When a smile slowly grows on his lips and he nods, saying, “Okay, good,” you let yourself think it might be.

Later, you’re ten minutes into a senseless blockbuster movie when he suddenly pauses it. It snaps you out of a trance—his hand was awfully close to yours, so is his shoulder, his thigh, his knee, everything, really, and you haven’t been able to concentrate on anything but the warmth radiating off his skin and the intensity with which you crave to feel it intentionally rather than accidentally. When he speaks, there’s something serious in his tone that makes you nervous. “Y/N,” he says as he turns to you, and now his face is awfully close, too. There’s still many centimeters separating you, but in this tiny, barely lit-up room, he feels closer than ever before. “Do you remember when I said I’d reply to your letter in real life?”

You tilt your head. “Yeah, that was ages ago.”

“Well, I thought I’d do it now.”

“Now?”

He takes a deep, shaky breath. “Now.”

And then those safe centimeters suddenly disappear, and Jongseong’s lips are on yours. It’s a brief, chaste kiss, so quick you wonder if it even happened when he leans back again.

“I like you, too,” he says, and your heart stops.

“W-what?” is all you can say back, eyes wide like he’s just admitted to killing someone rather than reciprocating your feelings.

His confident facade quickly crumbles. “God, this was so much cooler in my head, I-I’m sorry.” He pulls something out of his sweatpants pocket, pages folded over and over into a tiny square. As he unfolds them, you recognize your paper, your handwriting—but what do your letters have anything to do with him kissing you, of all things? “I don’t think you meant to send this. But I’m glad you did.”

He hands you the pages and your eyes skim over the words, not detecting anything out of the ordinary, until—But it got me thinking about your fight again. Reflecting on it now, I can say that it was a turning point for me in my perception of you. You remember this line, because you had made sure to strike it and everything that came afterward out when you rewrote the letter that you would actually send Jongseong. So how was he giving you this?

“I-How do you have this?” you ask, voice trembling. You feel as though your heart overflows with all kinds of emotions, and so your eyes follow, tears staining your lower lashes.

But Jongseong is not one to let you hide things from him. “Hey, no, it’s okay,” he says, warm hands coming to cup your face. “Look at me.” You have no choice but to oblige—his gaze is somehow both soft and stern, a mix of concern and determination. “Did you mean what you wrote in here?” You nod. “Then everything’s okay. You don’t know how happy I was reading this.”

The tension in your body slowly starts to fade. “Really?”

“Really. I cherish every single word in there.”

“Really?” you repeat, and he chuckles.

“Really.”

Your heartbeat speeds up as you gaze into his eyes, as you let yourself bask in the affection and endearment you find there. You can’t quite comprehend what’s happening. The letter, the kiss, his confession, your inadvertent confession, it’s all a mess in your head; so sudden, but such a long time coming at the same time. You never imagined that things would change so quickly—less than a year ago, you thought Jongseong was the most irritating person on this planet. After meeting his 28-year-old self, you thought it’d take ages for the two of you to be on such good terms. But now, just a week into your first semester of university, belly full of tteokbokki and Sprite, you like each other enough not only to be in the same room without hurling insults at each other but to actually be smiling at each other, willingly at that.

Your eyes drift down to his lips, just like in the hallway all those months ago, and the words slip out before you can stop them. They’re a mere whisper—”Kiss me again.”

Jongseong doesn’t need to be told twice. Still cupping your face, he bridges the gap between the two of you again, and this time, when your lips meet, they don’t come apart so quickly. It’s your first kiss, and it’s nothing short of magical, better than any romance novel could’ve prepared you for. His lips are warm and soft against yours, moving slowly, gingerly; as if he’s scared to take any wrong step, he lets you control the pace, follows every tilt of your head this way and that. It’s a relief that he seems to know as little about this as you do—his hands haven’t moved from your face, yours are on his knees, all you can do is focus on the movement of your lips, to think of anything else at the same time would be overwhelming.

“I’ve liked you from the start,” he suddenly says, face still so close you can feel his breath on your lips as he speaks.

“Hm?” you hum, body reeling from the kiss.

“I’ve liked you from the start,” he repeats, grinning—he looks relieved, like he’s been waiting to say these words for a long time. “I can’t believe this is happening after all these years. Or at all, really.”

“I think I did, too.”

“Yeah, you mentioned that in your letter.”

Your eyes widen and you bury your face in your hands as Jongseong laughs. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?” you mumble.

He smooths over your hair with one hand, brings your face back up with the other. “Don’t worry. I won’t ever make you regret this.”

Your brain and heart are too all over the place for you to come up with a coherent answer, so you lean in and reconnect your lips to his. It’s already becoming your favorite sensation, feeling him smile into the kiss, threading your fingers in his soft hair.

Time passes delicately like this, the two of you on your single bed, in the sheets that you bought three weeks ago. A lot of it is spent kissing and learning how to fall into each other’s rhythm, but you also spend hours talking, comparing situations and how you’d experienced them. You thought his occasional acts of kindness were done out of guilt, evidence that he did have some morals; he was trying to show he cared about you. He thought you’d despised him from the moment you saw him; you reiterate in more detail than your letter what really happened, you say you wish you knew then what you know now.

“But I never hated you, Jong. I think I wanted to believe that I did, but I never actually did.”

“You glared at me everytime I walked past like I killed a member of your family.”

You groan, ashamed of yourself. “I did, didn’t I?”

“You did,” he says, chuckling, placing a kiss on your forehead. His arms are around you, your head rests atop his heart—you’ve never felt more comfortable in your life. “But it’s okay. We’re here now, and I don’t want us to have any regrets about high school. We had a good time, didn’t we?”

You tilt your head up to look at him. “I’m sure you did, stealing all my erasers.”

He lets out a hearty laugh. Clearly, he’s very proud of his feat. “Hey, I gave all of them back.”

“And what am I going to do with a hundred erasers, Jong?” you ask, laughing too, pecking his cheek aggressively—your way of punishing him for a grave deed.

“Keep them as a token of my love for you,” he says, and your breath falters at the mention of that word. “In fifty years, it’ll be a sign that I’ve liked you since the beginning, I just had a funny way of showing it.”

“Fifty years, huh?”

He grins. “Fifty, a hundred, whatever. You’re not getting rid of me.”

“I wasn’t planning to.”

You’re both smiling so wide, you can barely manage a kiss. He trails kisses from your lips to your ear. Holding you close, he whispers, “It’s always been you, Y/N. Always and only you.”

There may be thorns on the otherwise immaculate rose that is your life, but Park Jongseong was never one of them—all along, he was a bud waiting to bloom.

The more time passes, the more you wonder whether that night you had seen in your vision will ever come. There’s been evenings similar to it—crashing the minute you came home from a long day on set, telling yourself you’d take a fifteen-minute power nap only to wake up three hours later and coming downstairs to find your husband cooking dinner, cleaning the kitchen, taking care of your son or simply watching TV, but waiting for you, always waiting for you. He seems as happy now watching you come down the stairs as he was then finding your face among all the students flocking out of lecture halls.

The details are blurry now, but many small things seem to be different from what you’d seen. He still tries to recreate your favorite meal, but it’s not pasta all'arrabbiata, it’s laksa, because your first date as an official couple was to a Malaysian restaurant, not an Italian one. He’s still the best father you know, but you have one son, not twin girls—although that offer to “give him a younger sibling to play with” is always on the table. Even the house you live in is different from the one in your dream, which has now become nothing more than a funny anecdote you share with people when they ask you the story of how you and Jongseong met.

You think of Sunoo’s words from all those years ago: Sometimes, we want something so badly, we conjure it up for ourselves. Had 18-year-old you been in such denial over her feelings for Jongseong that she’d had to convince herself a magical well had bestowed a crazy dream upon her to admit that, yes, there was something there, something other than childish hatred?

It doesn’t matter anymore. Months pass without you thinking about that well, anyway.

Tonight, you come home late from work after having had to do last-minute changes to the script for your current project, a movie that starts shooting in a few days. Jongseong texted you that he was going to bed an hour or so again, so you’re greeted by a plate of japchae covered in film paper. The post-it note stuck to it reads, I’m afraid of the repercussions of too much curry consumption on our son, so no laksa tonight my love. Hope you like it. Come to bed quick. You were starving a second ago, but you decide food can wait—other things can’t.

You tiptoe up the stairs and into your son’s room, breathing in the scent of his hair and placing a kiss there. His hair is still worryingly sparse, but if he’s anything like his dad, it’ll come in a bit later than the other kids. You always thought babies with a full head of hair were freaky, anyway. He doesn’t budge a bit, sleeping like a log—his dad is another story, shuffling in bed the moment you step into your shared bedroom. He opens his arms wide, a silent invitation.

“You’re home,” he says as you attach yourself to his body, your leg hiked up over his, your face buried in the crook of his neck, your thumb caressing the start of stubble on his cheeks.

You smile. “I am.”

permanent taglist: @zreamy @sunghoonmybeloved @lalalalawon @sd211 @w3bqrl @raikea10 @wntrnghts @moonlighthoon @4imhry @rikisly @loves0ft @iamliacamila @theboingsuckerasseater9000 @chaechae-23 @baekhyuns-lipchain @hyuckslvr @vernonburger @amorbonbon @fluerz @jakeflvrz @enhastolemyheart (ask to be removed/added!)

#enhypen x reader #jay x reader #jongseong x reader #enhypen fluff #jay fluff #enhypen fanfiction #jay fanfiction #enhypen au #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios

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ilikeevilblondes · 10 days ago

Text

World’s Worst Chauffeur

18+ MDNI!

Summary: Joel Miller, your dad's best friend, ends up getting roped into picking you up from a party. Without the key to unlock your house or anybody to let you inside, Joel offers to let you sleep at his place for the night. Needless to say, the both of you don't do a lot of sleeping.

TL;DR: You convince old man Joel to dick you down.

W.C: ~6.2k

Warnings: dbf!Joel, unprotected p-in-v sex, praise AND degradation (whoops), big fat age gap (Joel is around 50, reader is 21), daddy kink for a sec soz, aftercare, slight size kink, cunnilingus through panties, cunnilingus, dry-humping, couch sex (no outbreak!)

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62586064

Note: hey y'all, trying my hand at joel miller smut because i saw an edit of pedro pascal and literally licked the fucking screen protector, so i guess that's god's sign of telling me to write filthy shit. anyway, hope you enjoy! wrote this instead of a politics essay #yolo

“C’mon, Joel.” Your dad sighed, meeting his best friend’s eyes with a pleading gaze.

“Look, I—”

“Just this once. Please. I really can’t get out of this meeting, the board would kill me. Especially with the damn FTC breathing down our necks.”

You were visiting your hometown for Spring Break. Tomorrow night, there was going to be a party in a town fifteen minutes away from your own—one that you had been invited to. Your dad was supposed to give you a ride home, but as always, there was some last-minute work emergency. So, Joel was his solution.

The aforementioned solution frowned, crossing his large arms over his plaid torso.

“I got better things to do than chauffeur your little girl.” Joel shrugged.

That was, in fact, horribly untrue. His agenda for that night consisted of re-watching one of the Die Hard’s and drinking a nice, cold Coors.

“I’ll owe you one.” Your dad insisted.

“Desperate ain’t a good look on you, buddy.” Joel cracked a small smile.

Your dad ignored this jab.

“Joel, we’ve been friends for almost two decades. You’ve let me borrow your car, helped me paint my house more times than I can count, and even bailed me out of jail when I sped down the interstate.” He counted the feats off his fingers. “But picking my kid up is where you draw the line? Come on.”

Joel inhaled through his teeth.

The real reason he maintained his firm stance on not giving you a lift home was, really, a bundle of three smaller reasons.

One, ever since you turned eighteen you’ve made it painstakingly and increasingly clear you wanted to get in his pants.

Two, you were a huge flirt.

Three, he wasn’t so sure he could keep on resisting. But he had to. For god’s sake, what kind of a friend would bone his friend’s daughter?

Hopefully, not him.

“I–” Joel began but was shortly interrupted.

"I’m not taking ‘no’ for an answer. You’re picking up my kid. She has no one else, and I don’t trust her friends to be sober enough to get her home without getting in some kind of drunk-driving accident."

He levelled Joel with a firm look.

"So, are you picking her up, or should I expect to see her name in tomorrow’s obituary because one of her little buddies got behind the wheel after doin’ a keg stand, or a gazillion games of beer pong or I don’t know—fuckin’ ‘Cheers to the Governor’?”

Your dad stared him down with an expectant look.

Joel took a second to process this.

He rubbed a hand over his face, squeezed his eyes shut, and then met his friend’s stare with a sigh.

“Fine.” Came through gritted teeth.

Your dad patted him firmly on the shoulder. “Thank you.” He chirped happily.

———

And so, there Joel was.

Leaning against his old Chevrolet, idly spinning his keys around his finger, and staring at the front door of the party.

Several kids filtered out; stumbling into worn Honda Civics with disgruntled parents waiting in the driver’s seats, or with their arms interlocked and their sides almost melded together, giggling off to god-knows-where.

When you came out, you were part of the latter group.

Some blonde-haired boy—tall, but not too tall—was holding you close to him with a stupid smile on his reddened face. You mirrored it with a stupider smile of your own.

He whispered something into your ear that made you laugh and was promptly leading you in the opposite direction of Joel. But Joel was both keen and quick to intervene.

“Goin’ somewhere?” Joel called out, crossing his arms.

You froze and turned your head to lock eyes with none other than Joel Miller. Your neighbour, your dad’s best friend, and more importantly, your long-time crush.

“What are you doing here?” You arched a brow, slipping away from your friend and nearing him and his truck.

Your friend followed after you and settled by your side, resting an arm that hung a little too comfortably around your shoulder.

“Evenin’ to you, too, sweetheart. And to answer your question, I’m pickin’ you up.” Joel stated simply, then tossed a quick surveying look to the guy next to you. “Who’s blondie over here?”

“Daniel.” Blondie blinked and stuck out his free hand, glancing at you. Under his breath, he muttered, “you told me your dad couldn’t give you a ride.”

“He’s not my–” You started, but were immediately cut off by Joel.

“Get your hand off the girl, will you, Derek?” Joel narrowed his eyes at him, a dangerous look underlying his seemingly casual tone.

Daniel immediately did so, going so far as to step a pace back from you.

“It’s Daniel.” He coughed awkwardly. Then added, “sir.”

Joel ignored him—or, at least, didn’t show any sign that he had heard his correction—and turned around.

“Time to go home, young lady.” Joel said lowly. He opened the front passenger door, and upon finding you in the same spot as you were standing before he had turned his back, continued with, “that wasn’t a suggestion.”

You mumbled a quick ‘goodbye’ to Daniel and hopped inside the truck.

“Good girl.” Joel sighed, closed the door with a bit too much force and walked around the front of the car. He spared a few seconds to glare at your friend before sliding into the driver’s seat.

Suddenly, the engine thrummed to life and the two of you were headed down quiet suburban streets in the late hours of the night, leaving what's-his-name in the dust.

The air had been thick with a tension neither of you could describe and was further blanketed by a heavy silence broken only by the hum of the engine, the faint skid of tyres against asphalt, and your own rapid heartbeat pounding insistently in your ears.

Not five minutes had passed before Joel spoke up.

“Who was he?” Joel asked casually, his eyes still focused on the dimly-lit road ahead.

You sank further into the cracked leather of the front passenger seat.

“A friend.” You shrugged, not looking over at him.

Joel hummed a non-committal noise as he carefully took a turn into a side street, the truck slowly crunching over loose gravel. His grip on the wheel remained firm, but his eyes flickered over to you.

“Your daddy let you out of the house like that?”

You huffed out a short laugh and looked down at your choice of partywear; a low-cut top and some tight-fitting jeans. Not necessarily the most vulgar apparel, in your humble opinion.

“No, actually, he called the cops on me for indecent exposure, but I managed to escape.” You spat out sarcastically.

Joel didn’t find your comment funny. Or rather, there was no indication on his unwavering poker face that he had found it funny. Or was experiencing any emotion at all other than slightly tired.

The two of you sank into yet another silence.

“I’m not a kid, Joel.” You said after a minute or two.

“Like hell, you ain’t.” Joel scoffed.

“I’m in college, I can dress how I like.”

“Is ‘how you like’ a prostitute?”

You turned to face him fully, your arms crossed and your brows furrowed.

“That’s both slightly misogynistic and completely off-base, don’t you think?” You snorted, then smiled smugly to yourself. “Plus. Admit it, you like it.”

That threw him off-guard.

For the first time that evening, Joel showed a sliver of emotion. His eyes widened slightly as he opened his mouth, quickly closing it, and then opening it again to say, “what the fuck are you going on about, kid?”

“You were definitely staring at my tits.”

Joel was even more taken aback. First, by your absolute gall, and second, by your accuracy. He may have snuck a peek at your cleavage, but in his head, it was very discreet. But, fuck, did they sit perfectly.

“You’re drunk.” Joel shook his head.

“You didn’t deny it.” Your smile grew. “But yes, I am a little tipsy. Not drunk, though.”

“I noticed.”

“Just say the word, Miller, and I’ll flash you the twins anytime you like.” You leaned over the control arm, your eyes travelling along his tensing frame.

“Fucking Christ.” Joel breathed. He kept his eyes fixed on the road but released a hand from the steering wheel to rub the lower half of his face.

This. This was why he didn’t want to do this favour for your father. You were already a handful while sober. And you had been a handful ever since you started college—making throwaway yet entirely flirtatious comments, pressing your tits against his chest a bit too much while you lingered after a hug, and wearing the tightest clothes known to man.

And now drunk? You were literally throwing yourself at him.

The worst part was that he couldn’t control his body’s reaction to you. In fact, his jeans felt a little tighter the closer you got.

Fuck, he was more than twice your age and here he was getting a hard-on—

Joel was suddenly violently snatched from his internal monologue when he felt your hand ghost over his lap.

“That’s ‘cause of me, isn’t it…? I can help with that.” You whispered, your tone almost pleading as your fingers gently traced over the front zipper of his jeans.

“Honey, sit back down.” Joel said slowly. His eyes remained intently glued onto the road.

Jesus Christ, he was fucked.

“Joel,” You practically whined.

Jesus Christ, he was so fucked.

“You’re drunk,” Joel said, more to himself than you as some sort of ill-justified dismissal.

“Tipsy.” You corrected helpfully, yet not retreating back to your seat. “But not really.”

Before he knew it, Joel was pulling up in front of your driveway, his grip on the steering wheel deathly tight.

Joel sighed. “You’re home.”

You glanced out the window disappointedly.

“No shit, Sherlock.” You replied.

Joel muttered something to himself under his breath and got out of the car, quickly appearing by your side and opening the door for you.

“C’mon, sweetheart.” He nodded toward your house.

You got to your feet indignantly and marched up to your porch. Joel followed after you, leaning against one of the support beams of your front awning as he watched you dig through your purse.

After a few moments of your struggle, Joel cleared his throat.

“What?”

“Can’t find my key.” You frowned.

“I’ll call your dad.”

“Not home. And won’t be, ‘till tomorrow morning. He’s in the city for some work emergency, remember?”

Joel ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair, visibly mulling something over, judging by the crease in his forehead.

“And you don’t got a spare key lying around somewhere? Under a flower pot or a welcome mat or shit like that?”

You shook your head.

If Joel were a better man, he’d have caught the glimmer of an ulterior motive dancing in your mischievous eyes. He would’ve brought up the spare key given to him for emergencies—this would’ve constituted as such. And he certainly wouldn’t have said what he had next.

“You can stay the night at mine.”

You blinked up at him, your hand frozen in the opening of your purse.

Joel straightened up, taking his weight off the support beam.

“Or you can sleep outside. Up to you.”

“I’ll take option number one.”

A few minutes and a trip across the road later, Joel had wriggled his key through the entrance lock and opened the door, inviting you inside.

Joel’s two-story craftsman was cosy and lived-in. The leather couch facing a moderately-sized flat-inch was slightly worn, the coffee table was cluttered with magazines and empty cans, and standing by its lonesome in a forgotten far corner of the living room was an acoustic guitar. More importantly, his house smelled like him; like warmth and vetiver and wood.

You had been a guest at his house on several occasions, but such instances had always been with the company of your dad.

That evening you found yourself free of his presence and, coincidentally, free of a conscience.

However fortunate your moral freedom was, it was only partially incited by your father’s absence. The four lukewarm cans of Lone Star you had chugged at the party may have had more of an influence on your risqué behaviour, because you sure as hell weren’t pushing Joel down on his leather sofa and straddling his lap with complete sobriety.

Joel let you take control, placing his big hands on your waist like they were always meant to be there while you moulded yourself against him, and met your lips with equal fervour when you smashed your mouth against his.

He sighed into the kiss and gripped your waist tighter as you slipped your tongue past his lips, ignoring the slight scruff of his greying stubble rubbing against your jaw.

But it was when you began slowly rocking your hips against the tenting figure in his jeans did he suddenly remember himself and wrench his face away from yours.

“Shit.” He panted, his pupils dilated and his chest heaving as he zeroed in on your kiss-swollen lips and your half-lidded, desperate eyes.

Why the fuck did he just do that? ‘That’ being the act of letting you kiss him, but he was just as equally angered with himself for stopping.

“We shouldn’t.” He shook his head, but his eyes were focused on your pretty, slightly parted lips.

“Why not?” You sighed, leaning closer.

Joel took your chin in his hand and held you at a safe distance.

“You know fucking well why.” Joel’s voice rumbled deep with frustration.

“Give me a reason.”

“I’ll give you three: you’re drunk, you’re barely eighteen, and your father is my best friend.”

You huffed out a noise of annoyance.

“I’m a little tipsy at worst, I’m twenty-one, thank you, and my father doesn’t have to know.”

Joel’s lip twitched. You were very persistent. He didn’t even know why he was arguing with you, he just knew he had to resist whatever fucking temptation this was.

“I’m old enough to be your father, too.” Joel frowned.

“But you’re not.”

“You should want someone your own age.”

“But I don’t.”

Joel inhaled through his teeth, subconsciously nearing your face once more. “This is so wrong.”

“Just once, Joel.” You pleaded, your eyes flooded with need.

“Fuck,” Joel shook his head, his brows furrowed as he once again lost himself in how pretty your lips looked; all puffy and raw. All because of him. “Honey–”

“Just this once.” You whined prettily.

At the sound, Joel unconsciously rocked up into you. Your hands immediately went to grab his shoulders to steady yourself; feeling a little lightheaded from the mere singular action.

Joel’s grip on your waist tightened.

“Fuck.” He said again, breathing slowly.

Being as old as he was, Joel never expected to relive the days of his brazen youth when his only major problem in life was cumming in his pants after a pretty girl had barely touched him.

His dark eyes finally met yours.

You held your breath.

“Just this once?” He said.

“Just this once.” You confirmed.

“You won’t … you won’t try anything again?” Joel’s eyes dropped back down to your mouth and his thumb gently traced your bottom lip. His other hand slipped from your waist to the bare small of your back from underneath your blouse.

You didn’t trust yourself to speak, but you shakily nodded your head.

Joel didn’t believe you.

But, fuck it, he captured your mouth in another hungry kiss anyway, closing his eyes and holdiing you against him.

He was definitely going to hell, but he would gladly do so just knowing he had felt heaven against his lips.

And, fuck, was that an unforgettable taste.

Joel gently trailed his chapped lips down your jaw, your neck, and lingered on your pulse point, all while one hand held you by your nape and the other against the skin of your lower back, idly caressing the base of your spine with his thumb.

Instead of the white-hot passion that had initially been the catalyst for this heated night, this moment was charged with an underlying tenderness. And all you could do was throw your head back and accept his tentative indulgence.

Though by the way Joel unintentionally bucked his growing bulge against your clothed mound as he peppered the crook of your neck with open-mouthed kisses, you could tell his delicacy was largely imbued by whatever ounce of restraint he inexplicably retained and was, by no means, a testament to his true nature.

He was holding back.

“Joel?” You whispered, carding your hand through his hair.

“Mmm?” He hummed into your skin, his eyes closed in bliss.

“I want…” You began, the words dying in your throat.

What did you want?

Well, his cock, definitely. More specifically, inside of you, but you’d cross that bridge when you came to it.

“Words, baby.” He pressed a final kiss onto your neck and pulled away the slightest distance to meet your gaze. His eyes were wrecked with lust; half-lidded and almost entirely swallowed by his dilated pupils. He softly took your face in the hand that was formerly resting against your nape. And when he spoke, his voice was low and rich with that sweeter-than-molasses Southern drawl. “Try that again. What do you want, honey?”

“You.”

“And you have me, don't you?” Joel said distractedly, his thumb lightly tracing your lower lip. His soft, umber eyes momentarily dipped down to your mouth as if he was debating on kissing you again.

And he was. Fuck, those lips of yours.

“No, I…” You breathed, your hand coming down in between your two bodies and palming his rock-hard erection through his denim. Joel hissed. “Can I suck you off?”

Joel’s eyes widened. You certainly held no room for subtlety.

“Fuck, honey.” He huffed. “Really know how to get to the point, don’t you?”

“Can I?”

Joel hummed.

“Can I be perfectly candid, sweetheart?”

“You have my blessing.” You arched a brow.

“If you so much as breathed on my dick right now, I think this night would come to a quick and rather … anticlimactic finish.” Joel sighed, breaking into a small smile. In true dad fashion, he then added, “pun not intended.”

You granted him the reward of a snicker for his antics. Then, you leaned close to his ear, letting your breath tickle his skin.

“If I had known that all I’d get from you was a dry-humping makeout sesh, I’d have stuck with Daniel.” You sighed, as casually as you could.

Without even looking at him, you saw the jealousy morph onto his aged face.

“Get on your fucking back.” He said, his voice measured, yet somehow equally unhinged.

You stilled, not expecting that much of a reaction from him.

“I said,” Joel met your gaze, his eyes holding a dangerous promise. “Get on your fucking back, young lady.”

And that was how you found yourself lying against the arm of a sofa older than the Great Depression with your jeans discarded in a wrinkled pile somewhere and your legs spread around the owner of said ancient sofa.

Joel crouched down in front of you, with one of your legs perched on his shoulder. He pushed your shirt up past your belly button and kissed a path down to the waistband of your panties.

His hand slid up your knee, then your thigh, and then stopped right against a particularly damp spot in your underwear.

“This for me or Daniel?” Joel hummed against your lower stomach, his stare flickering up to your face.

You bit your lower lip.

“You.” You said softly.

And then Joel lowered his head and kissed the patch of arousal. And then he kissed it again and again, basically frenching your cunt through your underwear. You could feel the pressure of his tongue against your swollen clit, sliding, only by a small margin as restricted by your godforsaken panties, in between your folds—

“Say that again for me, honey? Didn’t quite hear you.”

“Fuck–” You gasped at the feeling. “You, Joel!”

“That’s what I thought.”

To your displeasure, Joel stopped whatever the fuck he was doing and his eyes found yours once more.

“Need me to eat your pussy now, sweetie?”

Yes, fucking please.

You might’ve said that out loud, judging from the pleased chuckle Joel let out.

Before you knew it, Joel slid your panties off your legs (pocketing them secretly—only to wash them on your behalf, of course, nothing dirty at all on his part) and then consequently salivated at the sight of your bare cunt.

Fucking gorgeous.

“Oh, honey.” Joel sighed, barely hiding his eagerness.

“It hurts…!” You breathed, your eyes flickering down to your pulsating core; dripping wet and throbbing in anticipation of him.

“Aw, it hurts, does it? I’ll kiss it better, hm? Is that what my pretty girl wants?” Joel cooed in a falsely-sweet tone.

He then held you still by the firm grip on your waist and leaned down right in front of your slick seam.

Joel tutted as he took in your desperate scent.

“So wet for me.” He mumbled, more to himself than you.

Without warning, much less another word, Joel dipped his head down to plant a kiss directly on your swollen clit, lapping at the swelling bud.

You gasped and a hand flung down to grasp his salt-and-pepper curls.

Joel smiled against your cunt and moved further down, his tongue lazily sliding through your folds and flicking inside your velvety walls.

In response, your grip on his hair tightened and you whispered something close to his name. Or God’s. Or anyone’s, really, you were teetering on the edge of unconsciousness from the sheer intensity of the situation, you could’ve been reciting the Pledge of Allegiance, for all you knew.

“Mmm... fuck, you taste good, baby.” He mumbled against your heat.

Suddenly, Joel pulled away with a wet ‘pop’ and his eyes met yours. Upon seeing your lust-blown face, he smiled through his scruff—a slight shine evident around his mouth from your slick.

“Good?” Joel mused, his thumbs tracing gentle circles on your hips.

You nodded deliriously and pulled him back up by the collar of his shirt—why the fuck was he still fully dressed—to taste yourself on him.

His lips moved hungrily against yours as he licked into your mouth. You were so consumed in the kiss, you barely noticed the sound of his belt unbuckling or his zipper sliding down.

It wasn’t until you felt the tip of his cock nudge against your seam that you noticed you were, very possibly, actually going to fuck your dad’s best friend.

Or rather, he’d fuck you. As long as you were fucked, you were fucking happy.

Your eyes flickered down to his length.

“Shit.” You gasped.

You always knew Joel to be a big guy; from his broad shoulders to his massive hands—no doubt incredibly useful in his line of work as a contractor. But seeing his fucking cock? You were still somehow surprised.

“Joel, I…” You blinked. “You’re so…”

Big. He was so big.

“Oh, c’mon baby, I know you can take it,” Joel said against your lips, his breath warm against your skin. “We’ll go slow at first. That sound good?”

You nodded.

In hindsight, he should’ve worked you with his fingers first. That would’ve been the first thing he’d done after tasting your delicious fucking pussy, but he got lost in how good you felt against his mouth, he was too excited to feel how you’d stretch around him.

“That’s my good girl.” Joel hummed, satisfied. “I’ve got condoms upstairs, if–”

“I have an IUD.”

The four little magic words which really meant, please Joel, fuck me raw.

Being ever the gentleman, Joel planned on doing exactly that.

“Then eyes down, sweetheart. Want you to watch how I fuck you.”

Obediently, your eyes dragged down to the sinful sight of Joel taking his cock and slapping it a few times on your pussy, before just barely sliding inside. His weeping tip easily disappeared inside you, along with an inch or two, aided by the arousal coating your entrance.

He wasn’t even halfway in, but the thickness of his cock was unlike any other you’ve felt before. And, possibly, too much for you to take.

“Too big.” You whined.

Above you, a wicked smile grew on Joel’s face.

“Too big? D’you just say it’s too big? Well, tough luck, sweetheart, ‘cause I ain’t stoppin’.”

Joel continued to push forward, thrusting shallowly in, retreating, and then feeding you a little more of his length at a relaxed pace.

“My good girl can take it, can’t she?” He murmured, kissing the corner of your mouth. He mumbled indifferently in between tasting your sweet skin, “after all, you were the one begging me so sweetly to fuck you a little while ago. Would be a damn shame if you couldn’t follow through with your own request…”

“I can.” You affirmed, squeezing your eyes shut from the overbearing sensation of being filled by him.

“Attagirl.”

And then, to test your claim, Joel finally buried himself all the way to the hilt, his balls slapping obscenely against your ass from the movement.

“Daddy–!” You gasped, your nails digging into his back.

Joel’s lip quirked upward in a small, amused smile.

“‘Daddy’, huh? Should’ve figured.” He tutted, gently caressing your cheek with his thumb. “You want daddy to stop?”

“N-No!”

“Then take it—” Joel thrust into you, his tip deliciously kissing your cervix. “—like a good girl.”

And then he began a steady pace. Not too slow, but fuck, did he hit deep.

You could’ve sworn you were seeing little cartoon stars dancing around your vision from the plane of pleasure you found yourself on; otherwise known as being dicked down by Joel Miller, apparently.

“Fuck, you’re tight.” Joel winced, his hips stuttering.

He really should’ve stretched you out with his fingers first, but there was no way in fucking hell he was going to pull out now. Not with how perfectly your cunt was wrapping and crying around him.

In fact, you felt so good, Joel was starting to feel a familiar sensation in his lower stomach that alerted him of how close he was to prematurely spilling inside you. Turns out, his unintentional celibacy (circa the fucking creation of MySpace) had a bigger impact on him than he would’ve liked.

“Yeah? Do I feel good, daddy?”

Fuck.

Joel’s dick twitched.

If this really was going to happen ‘just once’, Joel was damned set on, firstly, fucking your brains out without coming early, and secondly, making you reach your end before he reached his. Ladies and gentlemen, chivalry was alive and well in the twenty-first century.

Thinking intently about the starting lineup for the Cowboys game that Sunday, Joel began to pick up the pace, reaching places you’ve never been aware of until that precise moment.

Mesmerised by both the slight outline of his dick in your stomach and the sheer sensation of his heavy length, you took it upon yourself to encourage a quicker speed and moved your hips in time with him.

“Mmm,” Joel inhaled sharply, locking eyes with you. “Look at you, prettly little slut. Tryna fuck me back too, huh?”

Your walls clenched around him at his words. Mean as they were, his tone was still as sweet as honey.

“‘S okay. You take what you need, babygirl.” Joel dipped his head down to suck at your pulse point as he continued sawing into your drooling cunt.

“Need more. Please.” You all but whimpered.

“My baby needs more, hm?” Joel muttered against your neck, nipping at a freshly-made hickey. You yelped in response, but Joel only grinned as he muttered to himself, “she’ll get more. Filthy fucking whore.”

And then Joel sped up his thrusts, going in and out, in and out, at a brutal pace. Salacious, wet sounds filled his living room every time he shoved his fat cock inside you. That, combined with the unabashed moans spilling from your mouth, made the whole affair seem borderline pornographic.

Not that Joel was complaining, because you sounded pretty as a peach.

“Joel!”

“Fuck, that’s it, Joel!”

“Oh, Joel, you’re fucking me so well!”

Your moans came in tandem with every stab of his cock, blabbering desperate words of praise as your walls fluttered around him.

Joel sucked in a breath.

“Yeah, that’s it, baby, scream for me. Let the neighbours hear who’s fucking you so well, hm?” Joel lazily kissed your jaw. “You close, pretty girl?”

Unable to sound anything other than nonsensical syllables or his name or ‘daddy’ upon nearing your climax, you simply shook your head in an eager nod.

So Joel kept on mentally listing the fifty states to keep from joining you, and maintained his rapid pace.

“Go on, sweet girl, come on my cock. Let go, honey, I’ll catch you. ‘M right here.” Joel murmured sweetly, caressing your flushed cheeks. A total juxtaposition to the ruthless pace his hips were setting.

In and out. In and out.

In. And. Out.

And then his hand trailed down your bare stomach, lightly spidering over the faint outline of his dick jutting in and out of you, and settling on your very sensitive swollen bundle of nerves. His hand then began generously swiping at your clit as whispered sweet words of praise into your ear.

You clutched his bicep with an iron grip as you felt your high approach.

“Joel, I’m…!”

“Yeah, come on daddy’s cock. You’re so close, baby, just let go.”

And so you did. With a scream that reached God in the high heavens above, your walls clenched around him and you were nearly knocked out from the overbearing sensation of your intense orgasm.

Joel fucked you through it, unrelenting in his devoted momentum, his tip finding your cervix with every other thrust. And he continued fucking you through it, even after the last waves of your high, letting out low groans of pleasure.

When he saw your eyes refocusing, he slowed down for a moment, as reciting the ABC’s backwards was hardly working to calm his hard length.

“Don’t stop…” You mumbled, a bit sadly.

“Baby, I got no plans of stopping anytime soon, don’t you worry.”

And to prove his point, Joel kissed your right ankle and hitched your other leg over his shoulder, practically splitting you in half as he reached deeper inside you.

If he was gonna come, so were you. If the last thing he’d get to do on this godforsaken planet was send the pretty girl bent in half underneath him into two soul-shattering orgasms, he’d die a satisfied man.

Did he also want to show off and possibly ruin you for all men? Maybe.

Fuck, yes, he did.

He wanted you to be fucking addicted to the way his cock stretched your velvety walls, because he sure as hell was.

Screw the ‘just this once’ bullshit. He was gonna fuck you every damn night from now on, if you’d let him.

“Feels so good, Joel…” You whined pathetically.

Joel hummed in a self-satisfied sort of way and began pushing up your shirt to reveal your bouncing tits and leaned down to take a pebbled nipple in his mouth, licking and sucking at the nub, and nipping at the surrounding sensitive skin.

“Oh!” You gasped, jerking your head back.

Joel took it as a sign to continue, showing the exact same attention to your other nipple and maintaining his deep and rapid thrusts, causing the springs of the couch to whine in protest with every jut of his hips.

You let out a strangled moan.

“Joel—! Joel, it’s so…!” You panted, tears collecting in your eyes from the overstimulation.

“Shh, it’s okay. Almost there. Almost there, baby.” Joel tutted, gently swiping away your tears with his thumb as he continued to fuck you like he was an interior designer from the way he strived to rearrange your guts. “You gonna be good and come around daddy’s cock a second time?”

Your walls tightened in response and you let out a breathy whimper.

“Good girl.” He smashed his mouth against yours and swallowed your moans, his lips moving in time with his hips. “Where do you want me to…?” He mumbled against your lips, his breath mingling with your own.

“Inside.”

“Fuck, babygirl, you sure?”

“Miller, I said, inside.” You made a point to fuck yourself onto him with deep movements of your hips, displaying your intent.

“Yes ma’am.” Joel smirked, absolutely fucking pussydrunk.

With that, Joel caught your lips in another searingly intense kiss, licking into your mouth as his thrusts continued to ram into your cervix while you held onto the couch for dear life.

And if that wasn’t enough sweet torture to your poor body, Joel moved one hand above you, gently laced his fingers with yours, and brought it back down to lay flat against your clit.

“Play with that pretty pussy, baby.” He whispered against your skin, his hand moving yours encouragingly. “Need you to give me another.”

With a shaky nod, you acquiesced, toying with your clit like you had a million nights before.

Except this time, instead of imagining it, you really had Joel fucking Miller in between your legs, sawing into your cunt like he wanted to break it.

“That’s my good girl,” Joel’s mouth twitched into a slightly proud smile against your skin.

It took Joel half a dozen more stabs into your slick mound before his hips began to stutter.

And then it took three more before he buried himself completely inside, and, with a gasp of your name accompanied by an appropriate expletive, painted your walls with hot ropes of his come.

“Fuck, daddy!” You moaned, your back arching off the sofa.

At the same time, for the second time that night, no less, you felt yourself reach another mind-blowing orgasm, your walls greedily sucking him in further and shaking around his thick length.

He continued to fuck his come into you with a few more slow, but deliciously deep rolls of his hips, before he stilled inside you and fell on top of your heaving chest, letting your legs fall back onto the beaten old couch, too.

It took a few moments for both of you to steady your breaths.

“Was that … okay?” Joel breathed, staring at you with furrowed brows, and gently tucking a stray strand of your hair behind your ear.

“I think I blacked out for a second there.” You smiled.

Joel laughed and kissed the corner of your mouth. Smug as ever, he muttered, “I take tips.”

“That’s funny, since I just took yours.”

You almost felt Joel roll his eyes.

Joel slowly sat up, gazing down upon the absolute fucking mess the two of you made; both your arousals leaking out of your mound and coating your thighs in a light sheen.

Tenderly, he began to pull out, wincing from both the feeling of leaving your warmth as well as the sight of your come and his collecting around his cock in a shiny ring.

“Sit tight, baby, I’ll get you something to clean you up.” Joel pressed a kiss to your collarbone, tucked himself haphazardly back in his jeans, and disappeared off into another room.

If he had stayed a second longer, you would’ve said something that testified to how hard he had fucked you, since you weren’t sure you could move anyway.

Joel returned a minute or two later with a damp towel and began to softly wipe away the remnants of your dalliance, delicately caressing your hip with his other hand.

“What a gentleman.” You purred, watching him with a stupid grin on your fucked-out face.

Joel threw the towel aside.

“You think so, sweetheart?” He hummed, leaning down to give you a quick, affectionate kiss.

“Never had this level of aftercare.” You admitted, laughing slightly.

Joel gently manoeuvered the two of you so you laid on your sides facing each other on his surprisingly roomy sofa.

“Still regret not goin’ with that Daniel boy?” He smirked, taking your chin in between his fingers and tilting your face toward his.

You swung your bare leg over his hip and pulled him closer. “Not at all.”

“‘S what I thought.” Joel hummed happily, bumping his nose against yours.

“And … y’know what I said about this being a one-time thing?”

“Mhm?”

“We’re definitely doing this more than once.”

“Thank fucking God.”

#joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller #the last of us #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #smut #im just a girl #im also ovulating probably #dbf!joel #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x y/n #pedrohub

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luv-lock · 10 days ago

Text

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤSWEET BUNNYㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Yandere Batboys x Fem Reader

☆⁠ HEADCANON : How would they be with a timid and shy darling?

☆⁠ CHARACTERS : Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne.

☆⁠ NOTE : Request by anon ♡ English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

— BRUCE WAYNE ⋆

Bruce never saw himself as possessive. He saw himself as cautious, reasonable, and responsible. But when it came to you, it was different. You’re the softest thing in his life, a delicate presence that soothes the storm within him. Your shy nature makes you easy to shelter, easy to protect. You don’t argue when he keeps you close, don’t push when he subtly alters your life to fit his vision of safety.

You needed him. It was obvious.

How easy it is for you to let him take care of everything. How naturally you let him lead you through crowds, shielding you from eyes that linger too long. How your voice wavers when you say his name, like you’re unsure you’re allowed to. You are. You’re allowed to do anything with him. But no one else. And that’s the problem. Because he notices the way people don’t hesitate to approach you, knowing you won’t push them away. That man at the gala who leaned too close. The colleague who placed a hand on your shoulder. The waiter who smiled too much. He finds your timidity utterly enchanting. The way you hesitate before speaking, the way your gaze flits downward when he holds your chin, how you stammer under his scrutiny—it feeds something deep inside him. You need him, even if you don’t realize it yet. Bruce never gets frustrated with your shyness. If anything, he finds it ideal. You aren’t reckless. You aren’t difficult. You’re perfectly moldable. His perfect little doll. You don’t have to worry about the outside world anymore. Gotham is dangerous. Men look at you too long, the world is too harsh, and Bruce knows what’s best for you. He’s a provider by nature, and now you belong to him, his fragile little thing. You won’t even notice when your life shrinks—how he’s always there, subtly guiding you into dependency. He’s a master at making his control feel natural. It’s for your own good, sweetheart.

— DICK GRAYSON ⋆

Dick is obsessive in the purest sense. He’s everywhere—hovering, smothering, watching. He doesn’t just want to own you; he wants to drown in you, breathe you. You’re so shy, so quiet—and it drives him crazy. Every time you flinch under his overwhelming affection, every time your voice dies in your throat because he’s just too much, he melts. "Aw, sweetheart, don’t be shy. It’s just me." But he loves it. He loves how you tremble when he hugs you too tight, how your voice wavers when you try to refuse him. It makes him feel powerful—knowing he’s the only one who gets to see these pieces of you. At first, he tries to ease you into his intensity. But the longer he’s around you, the more agitated he becomes. Why are you still flinching? Why do you shy away when he’s the safest place you could ever be? The frustration isn’t with you. It’s with the world. Did someone teach you to be afraid? Who hurt you? He wants to rip them apart. He wants to keep you forever. So, he keeps pushing. The cuddles become longer. The touches linger. The kisses are too frequent, too intimate, but he brushes off your hesitance. "Come on, angel, don’t be like that. I just wanna be close." And when you still shy away? When you still look uncertain even after everything? He just pulls you tighter, cooing into your ear. "You’ll get used to me, baby. You’ll see."

— JASON TODD ⋆

At first, your timid nature makes him incredibly soft with you. You’re so meek, so gentle—and that means you need someone to keep you safe, right? You need someone who won’t let the world chew you up. Jason adores your shyness. The way you shrink under his gaze, the way you hesitate before speaking—it makes him feel needed. But as time passes, his patience wears thin. Why won’t you trust him? Why do you still tense when he holds you? He’s here to protect you, damn it. He’d kill for you. The worst part? You’re so sweet that you don’t even fight back. Your soft apologies, your nervous glances—they’re infuriating. He doesn’t want your fear, he wants your adoration. But Jason is impatient. And when you keep shying away, keep hesitating—he starts getting rougher. Not in a way that hurts, never that. But his hands linger longer, his grip tightens, his voice drops into something more desperate. "Stop bein’ so scared of me, baby. I’m not gonna hurt you." He doesn’t realize how terrifying he can be. How his sheer size, his intensity, can make your heart race in a way that isn’t just flustered affection. But he doesn’t want you to be afraid. He just wants you to be his, to love him. So he softens again. He makes up for his outbursts. He coaxes you into his arms, murmuring apologies against your skin. "I just want you to feel safe, doll. You are safe. Just let me take care of you." He’ll never let go.

— DAMIAN WAYNE ⋆

Damian sees your shyness as a flaw—a weakness in need of fixing. You’re too soft for this world, too easily pushed aside, and he simply cannot allow it. At first, he tolerates it. He even finds it charming. The way you lower your gaze, the way your voice barely rises above a whisper—it’s a novelty. He enjoys watching you struggle for words, enjoys the way you shrink in his presence. But soon, it frustrates him. "You must learn to speak when addressed, beloved. Do not make me repeat myself." He doesn’t understand why you hesitate, why you fear expressing yourself. And it makes him mad. Not at you, never at you—but at the world that made you this way. So, he takes control. He begins teaching you. He holds your chin between gloved fingers, forcing you to meet his gaze. He corrects you when you stammer, urges you to speak up when your voice wavers. "Again. Say it again—this time, with confidence." But he adores how pliant you are. The way you listen, the way you try to please him—it soothes something primal inside him. He’s training you, molding you into something worthy of standing beside him. And yet… there’s a part of him that likes the way you tremble when he raises his voice. The way your breath catches when he leans in too close. The way your small hands clutch at his sleeves when he pulls you in. Perhaps… you don’t need fixing after all. Perhaps you just need him to be the voice you lack. "Very well, my love. If you refuse to speak, I will simply do it for you." And from then on, Damian owns every decision you make.

— MASTERLIST ☆

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, repost or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

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void-my-warranty · 10 months ago

Text

TW: ED behavior

You’re driving Ghost crazy, and not in a good way.

He thought you were close, he thought he could trust you. Yet ever since you moved in with him, you’ve been keeping secrets.

He knows body language, and he definitely knows yours. It shocked him the first time he walked in on you cooking in the kitchen, only to be met with fidgety fingers and inconsistent eye contact. Odd. Nothing seemed out of place, so he just chalked it up to you being jumpy from suddenly sharing living spaces with someone.

But then it kept happening, and there didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to it. Wednesday night at 9:06. Sunday morning, 11:13. Sometimes it would happen several times in an hour, whenever he’d walk into the room. Over and over, something was giving you shifty eyes and a racing pulse, and it was driving him up the wall.

The common denominator is the kitchen, he knows that much. A cursory sweep comes up with nothing every time, so one day when you’re gone at work and he’s home, he goes all out. Bug detecting equipment, pulling everything out of the cabinets, scouring through cookbooks and the trash and every crevice he can find.

Nothing.

He’s able to put everything back in time, but he remains empty handed, and that makes him suspect that you’re far smarter than he realized.

And then he finally gets a break in the case. One day he’s walking around in socks, and it’s not until he’s nearly to the kitchen that the floor creaks under his foot, causing a flurry of movement in the kitchen. He crosses the space in just a few quick strides, as smooth as if he were making entry on a building, focus narrowed with freakish precision on catching you in the act.

His hand materializes on your wrist before you can let go of the thing you’re frantically burying in the trash. You’ve never seen him like this before, looming over you with his fingers clamped tight around your arm and his eyes crackling with energy.

Dammit. And you’ve always been so careful.

Ghost drags your hand out of the trash, and his eyes drop to the chocolate wrapper you have clutched in your fingers. He blinks at it a few times, just to convince himself he’s really seeing what he thinks he’s seeing.

“What are you doing?” He asks slowly, his gaze coming back up to your hot face.

“I was… um… eating some candy.”

“Why were you hiding it?”

“Uh…” your mind races to find an acceptable answer, something that won’t make you a target.

“Wait.” Ghost scowls, releasing your hand and taking the wrapper from your fingers. “This is about your knobhead ex, isn’t it?”

“I-I guess.”

Ghost lets out the largest, most relieved exhale you’ve ever heard from him, closing the trash and slamming you into his chest so suddenly that it makes your lungs automatically release some air.

“I thought you were trying to kill me, love.” His arm tightens around your shoulders. “All this time, you didn’t want me to know you were eating sweeties?”

Your, “Yeah,” comes out muffled with your face still smashed against his chest.

“Don’t do that. Don’t hide things from me. You’re allowed to eat whatever you fucking well want.”

Oh, okay.

He fucks you good that night, no longer withdrawn into his own head. He sleeps like a baby, too, and kisses you sweetly off to work the next morning. For several days you catch him smiling and shaking his head a little every time he looks at you, like he just can’t believe you made him suffer like that over something so ridiculous.

And it seems like every time you sit down for dinner now, you’ll find a little package of your favorite chocolate sitting next to your fork. How he gets it there every time without you seeing, you have no idea. To be honest, you’re getting kind of tired of the taste, but you still smile at him and grab his hand from his thigh, leaning in for a little kiss before you take a bite.

Drabble masterlist

#don’t talk to me about 24 hour clock #I’m not googling it #Simon ghost Riley #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #call of duty #dinnertime

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ivyues · 2 months ago

Text

Unlocked Trust: Stray Kids' reactions to the sharing of a phone PIN

Bang Chan

You’re in the kitchen preparing a snack when your phone buzzes on the counter.

“Chris, can you check that? My hands are full,” you call out.

“Sure,” he says, walking over.

“The pin’s 0921,” you add casually.

He freezes, eyes widening for a moment before he chuckles. “Wait, did you just give me your PIN without hesitation?”

“Yeah, why?” you reply, glancing at him.

“No reason. Just didn’t think you’d trust me that much,” he teases, smirking as he unlocks the phone.

“Are you seriously doubting my trust now?” you quip, rolling your eyes.

He checks the message, his expression softening as he reads it. “It’s your mom. She says hi. By the way, I’m remembering your PIN as proof of my VIP access.”

Lee Know

“Minho, can you look at my calendar real quick? I think I have an appointment tomorrow, but I can’t remember the time,” you say, restricted by the cat in your arms.

“Where’s your phone?” he asks.

“On the couch. Pin’s 0412.”

He picks it up, muttering, “If this isn’t my birthday, I’ll be disappointed.”

“Why would it be your birthday?”

“Because you should’ve honored me with such a privilege,” he deadpans.

You laugh, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”

He quickly checks the calendar, then grins at you. “Yeah, 3 PM tomorrow. Oh, and I’m changing your PIN to my birthday now.”

“Excuse me?” you tease, pretending to be offended. “You think I’m just going to hand over my PIN to you like that?”

He raises an eyebrow, locking your phone with a smirk. “You trust me, don’t you?”

Changbin

He’s driving while you’re in the passenger seat, and his phone buzzes.

“Can you reply to that text for me?” he asks.

“Sure, what’s your PIN?”

“0309,” he says casually.

You pause, typing it in. “Isn’t that your mom’s birthday?”

“Yeah,” he admits with a grin. “She’s the queen of my life. But you’re a close second.”

“Wow,” you say, pretending to be offended. “Second place, huh?”

He laughs, glancing at you. “Fine, you’re tied for first. Happy now?”

You give him a side-eye, smirking. “Tied for first? I’ll take it… for now.”

He chuckles, eyes back on the road. “Don’t worry. You’re first in my heart.”

Hyunjin

You’re folding laundary when you realize your phone is across the room.

“Jinnie, can you put on some music? My phone’s over there.”

“Sure. What’s the password?”

“1010,” you say, not looking up.

“1010? That’s so symmetrical. Why?”

“Because it’s easy to remember,” you reply.

He types it in, then teases, “Guess I should memorize this for emergencies. Or when I need to snoop.”

You laugh. “Snoop all you want. My search history is just memes and dog videos.”

He swipes through your phone, humming along to the music that starts playing. You glance at him, amused by how he seems to have completely settled in. “Just don’t start getting any funny ideas with my PIN.”

However, since that day, you've noticed a significant increase in selfies of your boyfriend filling your camera roll.

Han

He’s lying on the couch, arms wrapped around a giant pillow, while his phone buzzes on the coffee table.

“Jisung, your phone’s ringing.”

“Can you answer it for me?” he mumbles sleepily.

“What’s your PIN?”

“4321,” he says, eyes still closed.

You laugh as you unlock it. “Seriously? 4321? That’s your password?”

“Yeah, what’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing,” you tease, “except a toddler could guess it.”

He opens one eye and grins. “But you’re the only one who knows now, so it’s genius.”

You raise an eyebrow, a playful smirk on your face. “Genius, huh? I’ll make sure to tell everyone you’re a mastermind.”

He groans, pulling the pillow over his face with a dramatic sigh. “That's how you abuse my trust.”

You laugh, putting his phone back onto the couch. “Your secret’s safe with me. But just so you know, this is going down as one of your most questionable moves.”

Felix

You’re baking cookies, hands sticky with dough, when your phone buzzes on the counter.

“Lix, can you check my phone? I think it’s a text from my sister.”

“Yeah, what’s your code?”

“0420,” you say.

He snorts as he unlocks it. “Isn’t that the date we first met?”

You grin. “Yep. Thought you’d like that.”

He looks at the text, then smiles warmly. “Your sister says hi and asks when we’re baking together again.”

“Tell her whenever she wants,” you say.

He leans in, brushing a kiss to your cheek. “Will do. And by the way, I like how you made our first meeting a memorable one… for both of us.”

Seungmin

You’re sitting on the couch, scrolling through your laptop, when your phone buzzes beside you.

“Seungmin, can you check my phone? I think it’s a notification from work.”

“Sure. What’s your PIN?”

“0525,” you say casually.

He freezes, then smirks. “That’s not my birthday, is it?”

You laugh. “No, it’s my dog’s birthday.”

“Of course it is,” he mutters, unlocking the phone. “I guess I shouldn’t expect to rank higher than your dog.”

You glance up, teasing. “It’s almost the same thing, right?”

He raises an eyebrow, a little smirk playing at his lips. “Me and your dog? Really?”

“Yeah, well, my dog’s loyal, cute, and always there when I need cuddles,” you reply.

“Okay, okay,” he sighs dramatically, “I’ll take second place… but I’m keeping my spot as your favorite human.”

You grin. “Tied for first, remember?”

He looks at you, still smiling. “I’ll take it.”

I.N

You’re sitting on the couch, reading a book when your phone buzzes on the coffee table.

“Innie, can you check my phone? I think I got a message from the group chat.”

“Sure. What’s your PIN?”

“0802,” you say absently.

He freezes for a moment, eyes wide, then grins. “Isn’t that my birthday?”

“Yep,” you reply, still focused on your book.

He chuckles, his voice light with excitement. “I can’t believe you gave me your PIN so easily. I guess I’m extra special, huh?”

“You’re the only one who knows it now,” you say teasingly, glancing at him.

He laughs, checking your phone. “It’s from the group chat, asking when we're all hanging out next. And don’t worry, I’ll keep your PIN secret… unless I need to buy something nice for myself.”

You roll your eyes. “I’ll be sure to remember that.”

masterlist

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taeghi · 7 months ago

Text

your little brother, my little secret

yn and joy share every secret, until yn returns from university to find joy's little brother jake has become irresistibly hot. maybe keeping just one secret from your best friend won't hurt… right?

PAIRING : best friends little brother!jake x reader

GENRE : smut & angst. jake's (shy) a sub for majority of it. dirty talk, masturbation, degrading + humiliation, & y/n is a menace.

WC : 14k

mdni

you’ve been counting down the days until summer for what feels like forever. you’re returning to your hometown for the entire two months you have until university starts again in september.

you’ve been driving for miles now, just having to go to a university two hours away from your small hometown. but the summer air is thick and humid, and it blows throughout the car as all the windows are down.

your best friend, joy, sits beside you. you’ve known her for just as long as she has moved into your small town when you both were ten. since then, you’ve shared everything together; every laugh, every tear… every secret. her family feels like your own, summers spent in their backyard, evenings filled with board games and cards. some nights in high school even included sneaking out to a party and drinking until you thought you’d throw up.

last summer was different. you were abroad doing an internship for university. and you didn’t get a chance to stay long during christmas break. so, it’s been a while since you’ve actually stayed in your hometown with all its familiarities.

“jake will be home when we get there,” joy says, loud enough to be heard over the wind and faint music.

“oh right, how’s he liking university?”

jake is joy’s little brother. he’s always been shy, introverted, prefers to stay home and play video games instead of going out like you and joy. you remember him as a cute kid, all wide eyed and shy smiles. you don’t remember him having much friends, he’d rather be alone in his room. it’s hard for you to imagine him navigating the crowded university, but you suppose he’s all grown up now. it’s been so long since you’ve seen him, and the thought of how much he changed lingers in your mind.

“he likes it,” joy says, her long black hair blowing out the window, “he’s excited for summer like we are.”

you nodded in response, thinking maybe jake would go out with you guys now instead of playing video games in his room all summer.

“we gotta go to hyunjin’s this week!” joy declares, her eyes lighting with anticipation, “you know he’s throwing a big party this week. and then, there’s that new bar that opened downtown. we have to check it out!”

you agree with joy. her energy is infectious despite her brash (sometimes too brash) exterior. joy has always been more straightforward and perhaps blunt than you are. when sometimes you can be a people pleaser and a pushover, joy is there to say the words you wish you could say.

“i can’t wait,” you reply, “it’s been too long since we’ve had a proper night out.”

joy shoots you a mischievous grin, her confidence unwavering, “oh trust me, yn. this summer, we’re going all out.”

you roll your eyes at your pretty best friend, pulling into her family’s driveway swiftly.

you and joy step through the front door of the house, a place that is more familiar and comforting than your own. the place smells like a home cooked meal and you are instantly greeted with joy’s parents’ smiles. joy’s mother envelops you in a hug, her warmth and kindness instantly easing any fatigue from the long drive.

"oh, yn, joy, it's so good to see you both!" joy's mother exclaims, her smile radiant. "dinner will be ready shortly. you must be exhausted after the drive. please, sit down in the living room and relax."

joy's father joins in, his jovial voice filling the room. "how was the trip? traffic wasn't too bad, i hope?" her parents' genuine concern and hospitality are a stark contrast to your own parents.

"it was fine, dad," joy replies, her tone affectionate yet tinged with a hint of impatience. "we're just glad to be home for the summer."

you smile over your shoulder at her parents as she drags you to the living room. it looks the same as you remember it; comfy fabric couch, family photos on the walls, lit candles around the room that mix with the smell of dinner.

joy props her feet up on the coffee table as she starts to scroll her phone. a nonchalant smile plays on her lips, “can’t believe we’re back here.” she says with a sigh.

before you can respond, a sudden noise draws your attention towards the backdoor. two figures emerge, their arms swaying as they laugh and push each other.

“hey guys,” joy's casual greeting halts their antics momentarily, but it's the sight of you on the couch that freezes one of the boys in his tracks. he stands there, awkward and unsure.

the other boy remains cool and confident as he greets joy and walks over to you both on the couch. he stands in front of you, sticking his hand out in front of your face, “i’m heeseung.”

you look up at him as he stands, his features are chiseled. his eyes are a deep shade of brown. his smile is almost cocky, but disarming as he flashes it effortlessly. there’s an aura of assurance about him, that he knows he’s good looking and he’s confident about it.

your hand meets his, “i’m y/n.” your eyes flicker back to the boy who remains rooted to the spot, his expression unreadable as he almost quiets away into the wall.

“are you gonna come hug your sister, jake?” joy squeaks from beside you, she octaves her voice higher to be annoying on purpose.

it’s then that you realize who is standing there in the corner– you almost didn’t recognize him.

the shy, nerdy kid you once knew is now standing before– transformed in a way that catches you off guard. where once stood a lanky teenager, now stands a man that is toned and tanned. his hair is longer and tousled in a way that accentuates his features. he’s taller and broader.

as you take in his appearance, you can’t help but be struck by how insanely hot he has become.

he shifts nervously, perhaps sensing your gaze. his eyes turn to joy, “no way in hell am i hugging you.”

joy's mother breezes into the room with a warm smile, "oh jake, give your sister a hug."

joy springs up instantly, tackling jake in a bear hug that's both affectionate and overly enthusiastic. jake groans, awkwardly patting joy's back as everyone chuckles. heeseung, settles down next to you, a confident smirk playing on his lips, his eyes holding a hint of nothing other than flirtatious.

"right, yn," joy's mother continues, her tone gentle yet teasing, "heeseung here has been keeping jake entertained since you left."

heeseung chimes in, his voice dripping with sarcasm and humor. "yeah, we're inseparable now," he says with a grin.

you laugh, unable to resist teasing. "oh really? i remember jake having no friends at all."

joy joins in, her laughter ringing through the room. "seriously, all he did was stay in his room playing video games."

"be nice, girls," she says playfully. "joy, come help me with dinner. set up a place for heeseung, too."

heeseung stands up with a mock bow. "don't worry, i'll set up my own place."

joy groans at having to help, leaving you and jake alone in the living room, complaining about why she has to help but jake doesn’t.

jake settles into the chair directly across you, but his body language shows he’s tense and restless and it suggests that he’d rather be anywhere else. he fidgets slightly, fingers rolling over each other in his lap, his eyes darting around the room and avoiding you.

“so, joy told me that you’ve been liking university,” you speak, trying to ease him and the awkwardness.

jake’s cheeks colour faintly, a shy smile tugging at the corners of his lips, “uh yeah, it’s fine.” he mumbles, avoiding your gaze.

you lean back casually, “meet any hot college girls?”

jake’s eyes widen as he shifts uncomfortably, a mix of embarrassment and uncertainty flickering in his eyes. it’s endearing; how he still seems like the shy, introverted boy you’ve always known, now trapped in a hot guy’s body.

“n-no, not really,” he stutters out. he can’t seem to meet your eyes when he speaks, his words stumbling over each other in a rush. it’s clear he finds you intimidating in a way, and you wonder what the reason is. maybe you’ll have to play with him a bit to figure it out.

“really?” you tilt your head, your eyes not leaving him as he struggles to eye you, “i would’ve thought you had girls climbing all over you.”

jake’s face redden more but he answers you, “no, that’s what happens to heeseueng.” he nods his head towards the kitchen.

“hmm,” you sit back in the couch. you aren’t surprised that a boy like heeseung would attract a lot of women. he’s confident, outgoing and obviously attractive, but you’re surprised at jake’s answer.

before you can question him more, joy pops her head in the living room, “come eat guys.”

jake and you stand up and head to the dining table to eat. you think to yourself that this will be a fun summer as you glance around the room. heeseung eyes your bare legs as you sit beside him and start to eat. jake sits on the other side of the table, trying to not get caught staring at you as his parents ask your best friend questions about the school year.

you're sitting on the couch, tapping your foot impatiently, waiting for joy to finish her chores so you can head out and buy a dress for hyunjin's party this week. she's taking forever, folding laundry meticulously in the living room while you're itching to go.

“joy hurry up, i wanna go!” you groan out to her, bored of scrolling on your phone as you wait for her.

she rolls her eyes at you, “it’s not my fault that i’m an adult and have to do family chores, y/n.”

“i know that! but you could do them faster.”

she shoots you a look when you groan again, a playful smirk on her face. "fine, then help me," she says, handing you a basket overflowing with clothes. "bring this up to jake's room, it's all his disgusting clothes."

with a resigned sigh, you stand up and grab the heavy basket, muttering under your breath about how slow she is.

you knock softly on jake's door, holding the basket of clothes joy asked you to deliver. after a moment, his voice replies, "come in." you push the door open slowly, finding jake sitting up on his bed, his feet on the ground facing you.

"oh, hey yn," he says, his voice a little nervous and shocked once he sees you, his hand flying to hair to calm it.

ey," you reply with a warm smile, stepping into his room. "joy wanted me to bring these to you. clean clothes," you explain, holding out the basket.

oh, thanks," jake mumbles, “you can just leave it on the floor there.”

"no problem," you say casually, noticing how he avoids meeting your gaze.

you step into jake's room, to place the basket down. you take the time to look around the once familiar room. it’s no longer childish, and clearly belongs to an adult.

you glance at jake as you scan his room. he's sitting on his bed, looking slightly disheveled in grey sweatpants and a baggy sweater, his tousled hair indicating he's just woken up, so you ask him, “were you sleeping?”

he nods sheepishly, “yeah i was out late with heeseung last night,” he admits, playing with the sleeves of his hoodie.

you sit down beside him on the bed, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from his body. the new information about his late-night outing intrigues you, prompting a teasing remark. "really? the jake sim goes out late? i can't believe it," you say with a playful smile.

he chuckles nervously, looking away from you. the awkwardness between you is palpable, despite the years of knowing each other.

you can't help but notice how shy he still seems around you, his eyes avoiding yours as he tries to compose himself.

"are you this shy around everyone, jakey?" you ask bluntly, the nickname perks his interest.

he glances at you, his cheeks tinged with a faint blush. "uh, I don't know, I guess," he replies, his voice barely above a whisper.

“hmm,” you sit back on your hands on his bed, looking so casual next to his tense demeanor. you decide to keep pushing, wanting to see how far he’ll let you tease him. because you do love teasing men. it’s something that you find fun– more exciting than any foreplay or sex. joy always questions you about it. she doesn’t understand why you find it more thrilling to leave a man wanting more and then doing nothing about it. she likes to get her men swiftly and straightforwardly– like everything else in her life. but how is life fun without any games? “so what did you and heeseung get up to last night? anything… exciting happen?” your eyes hold his, challenging and enticing him all at once.

jake’s adams apple bobs in his throat as he swallows, his eyes widening slightly at your bold question. “w-we just hung out, went to a bar and lost track of time.”

“mmm, i see,” you let your gaze travel over him, taking in the cute way his bottom lip juts out. “so you were up late last night then? do you know what i do when i’m up late at night?” you lean towards him now. he stares at your face for a second, gulping when he realizes how close you are on his bed.

“uh, what?”

“naughty things.” you shrug nonchalantly. his eyes widen at your boldness and he shifts again, unable to hide his growing arousal. “did you think about naughty things last night, jakey?”

“n-no,” he stammers, shaking his head, but the flush on his cheeks gives him away.

you tsk at him, “jakey, you can tell me. i won’t judge. in fact, i might even like hearing those naughty thoughts of yours.”

jake’s breath quickens as your pinky finger starts to brush against his thigh. “i… i don’t know,” he whispers, his voice hoarse from arousal and sleep.

“go on,” you urge, your lips curving into a wicked smile, “you can tell me. do you think about me late at night?”

a sound of shock escapes his throat, and he shifts, trying to ignore the growing hardness in his jeans, “maybe.” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

that’s it. you’ve got your in– he’s let you start a little game with him that could potentially make both of you feel good.

“tell me,” you encourage him, your fingers now stroking his thigh up and down. “what about me do you think of?”

his eyes squeeze shut, “just… you.”

you laugh softly at his shyness, but you are so delighted by his response, “i want to hear more from you jake. what do you think about when you’re touching yourself?”

jake’s eyes fly open, a mixture of emotions swirling in their brown depths. desire wars with embarrassment, “i…i think about your body,” he confesses, his voice gaining some strength. “your soft skin, your- your curves. i imagine kissing you.”

you smile at how sweet he is, “that’s such a turn on, jakey.” he looks taken aback at your confession. “tell me what else you’d do to me if you could.”

he gulps roughly, “i- i’d, make you cum.”

you tilt your head, intrigued, “how?”

“with my mouth.”

you bite your lip at the thought of jake in between your legs, sucking and licking your core, getting you wet, preparing you for his cock. you wonder if he’d make you cry out from how good it would feel. you’re sure he would.

but then you remember that this is a game.

“hmm,” you shake your head at him, “you think that you’d make me cum?” you pretend to scan his body up and down, your hand getting dangerously close to his crotch. “we’d have to see about that.” you glance down at where your hand is meeting his body and are pleased to see his bulge, hard and pressing against his sweatpants.

before you can tease him further, his bedroom door swings further open, causing your hand to move briskly away from him. joy leans on the doorframe, her expression a mix of annoyance and impatience.

“y/n you were rushing me, and now i’m waiting for you,” she groans, crossing her arms. “let’s go!”

you stand up, giving jake a final teasing smile, “see you later, jakey.” you head towards the door, closing it after you, leaving him with some privacy to take care of the problem in his pants that you had created.

on the weekend, you got ready for hyunjin’s party at joy’s house. you just got out of the shower, your hair soaked and your skin damp and moisturized.

you wrap the soft, white towel around your body, shaking your hair to get left over water out of it once more before you leave the bathroom to go to joy’s room.

you step out of the bathroom, as you walk passed jake’s bedroom, his door swings up. his eyes glued to his phone as he steps out of his room. he glances up just as you pass by, and you catch the moment his eyes widen in surprise. his gaze lingers on you, a mix of arousal and embarrassment. like he’s unsure of what to do.

you don’t say anything, but you can feel his eyes on you as you continue walking. there’s a slight flush on his cheeks and his posture stiffens. you smirk to yourself, enjoying the effect you have on him. enjoying the game you can play with him. it feels good to know you can fluster him so easily.

you walk into joy’s bedroom, hearing her complain about her makeup looking awful already. you turn, giving jake one last glance before you close her door. his eyes quickly dart away, but the memory of his flustered expression stays with you.

“god my eyeliner looks horrendous,” you hear joy say into her mirror, you turn so your back is facing her and you start to get dressed in the dress you bought the other.

“it looks good, what're you talking about?”

joy groans in response as you slip on the dress. you start to do your own makeup and hair, listening to the faint music in joy’s room.

“do you think heeseung is cute?” joy asks suddenly.

your face contorts to confusion, “i mean, i guess.”

“i think so,”

you whip around to look at your friend, “ew what? he’s your brother's friend.”

joy shrugs, “so?”

you turn away from her, instead focusing on putting on mascara, “so, you would let one of your friends get with your brother?”

joy gags, “god, no. plus who the hell would want jake anyways? he’s gross.”

you force a laugh to come out of your mouth, “haha, yeah…” you cringe at yourself.

it’s silent for a moment and you think joy realizes that you’re acting weird at the mention of her brother.

“ugh!” joy grunts loudly, making you jump and look at her, “i look awful, i’m gonna wash it all off and start again.”

“what? but we have to leave soon.”

“i’ll be quick.”

joy dashes out to the bathroom, leaving you to finish up in silence. leaving you to think more about what happened between you and jake so far and how it could affect your friendship with joy. you tell each other everything, but this… maybe you should keep to yourself, at least for a bit.

when joy decides she looks good (she looks the exact same before she washed it off and restarted), you both head downstairs to leave. your heels click on the steps as you walk down. as you reach the bottom, you see heeseung jake in the hallway, also preparing to head out.

you let your eyes scan jake, his jeans and loose button up shirt fit him nicely. and his long hair is somewhat styled out of his face. leaving him with a “i didn’t try” look.

"you guys are going to hyunjin's?" joy asks, her tone casual but curious.

"yeah, we are. i didn't know you guys are, too," heeseung replies, a hint of surprise in his voice.

joy smirks at him, "yeah, we'll see you guys there, oh! i almost forgot my phone." she turns on her heel and heads back upstairs, leaving you alone with the boys.

heeseung's eyes scan you flirtatiously, and he smirks, "you look so good, y/n."

you play along, enjoying the banter, "thanks heeseung, you do too."

heeseung bites his lip, his gaze lingering on you. "maybe you'll save me a dance at the party."

you're momentarily taken aback by his forwardness but quickly recover, used to men like him. "maybe. but you'll have to get in line."

heeseung laughs at your joke, "i will."

joy comes back down, phone in hand. you glance at jake, who has been silent the entire time, his eyes flickering between you and the floor. you wave goodbye to the boys, feeling jake's gaze on you as you leave.

you and joy are driving to hyunjin's party. joy is singing along to the radio, excited for the night ahead. you glance at her and smile, but your mind is elsewhere. you've always played games with men, testing to see if they would submit to you or try to dominate you. it's a defense mechanism, something you've developed over the years to protect yourself.

your parents' rocky marriage and your past relationships have left you scarred. every time you let your guard down, you ended up hurt. so now, you stay in control, never letting anyone get too close. it's easier that way. safer.

you glance at joy again, grateful for her friendship. she's the only one who knows a bit about your past. the one person who knows all of your secrets.

you and joy step into hyunjin's party, it’s as busy as you remember hyunjin’s parties to be. the music is loud, and the chatter of all the guests is even louder.

you scan the room, spotting hyunjin across the way. a grin spreads across your face as you make your way over, joy trailing behind you.

"hyunjin!" you call out, and he turns, his face lighting up with recognition.

"yn! it's been ages!" he pulls you into a tight hug, and you laugh, hugging him back. you tell him how you’re so excited to be back in town for the summer and that you’re sure to be back at one of his parties again.

you move through the room, greeting old hometown friends. familiar faces bring back memories, and you find yourself laughing and sharing stories about your time abroad and life in the big city. the warmth of the alcohol courses through your veins, making you feel lighter, more at ease while in such a big crowd.

halfway through the night, the buzz from the drinks makes everything feel a bit more vibrant. the room spins slightly, but in a fun, exhilarating way. it's then that you spot jake and heeseung. they don’t blend into the crowd, and your eyes are drawn to them. they’re too tall and handsome to be at this party.

heeseung approaches you first, a lopsided grin on his face. "hey, y/n! having fun?" he slurs slightly, his breath smelling of alcohol.

you laugh, finding his drunken self amusing. "yeah, a blast! how about you?"

heeseung nods enthusiastically, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "totally. i'm gonna get another drink, though. see you in a bit!" he winks and stumbles away, leaving you alone with jake.

jake stands there, drink in hand, looking slightly more composed but still nervous. he meets your eyes, and for once, doesn't immediately look away.

"hey, jake," you say, taking a step closer. "enjoying the party?"

he nods, a small smile tugging at his lips. "yeah, it's fine.”

you laugh softly as he glances around the crowd, obviously not use to being around so many people yet, “yeah it’s a lot. but it’s good to see you out for once. you never wanted to go out with us in high school.”

he takes a sip of his drink, gaining a bit more confidence. "it's good to see you too, yn. you look... really nice tonight."

you smile, feeling a warmth that has nothing to do with the alcohol. "thanks, jake. you look good too."

then jake speaks, but the music and people talking and yelling is too loud for you to hear. and you really want to hear everything he has to say.

“let’s go somewhere quieter, it’s loud down here, right?” you yell so he can hear you. he nods and doesn’t say anything.

you turn around and head upstairs, he follows along behind you. you feel his curiosity build. at the top of the stairs, you spot the bathroom and an idea forms in your mind.

“actually, i need to go to the bathroom,” you laugh, placing a hand on his chest. “wait here, i won’t be long.”

his eyes widen, but he nods, biting his lip.

you enter the bathroom, but before you close the door you speak to him again, “actually, i have a favour to ask– could you unzip me? the zippers at the back and i can’t reach.” you gesture behind you.

his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows and nods, following you into the bathroom and closing the door behind you both. you make sure to lock the door.

you turn so your back is facing him, the zipper on display for him, “just unzip it, please.”

jake hesitates but reaches up, grabbing the zipper and slowly pulls it down, your bare back on display for him. you smile at him once he pulls away and you turn around to face him completely.

“jakey,” you tease the nickname, “have you thought about me since our conversation in your bedroom?”

jake gulps but nods, his eyes trying to meet yours, trying to look confident, “y-yes.”

you smile sweetly at him, “what have you thought about?” you take a step back and then jump onto the bathroom counter, crossing your legs. jake eyes your bare legs, the way your dress bunched up at your waist to reveal more.

“uh, just that i could make you cum, with my mouth.”

you smile at him, though he’s too busy looking between your legs, your chest and the bathroom wall. “hm,” you pretend to think, “how about we start with you showing me how you can make yourself cum?” jake’s eyes shoot to yours at your suggestion, finally looking at your face since you’ve stepped foot in the bathroom. “i mean, only if you want. but i’d kill to see how you jerk off to the thought of me.”

you hear jake swallow roughly, “okay.”

you can’t help the devilish smile spread on your face at his one word, “take your cock out.”

jake tries to hide his shock, barely believing that this is happening, as he starts to unbutton his jeans and shove them and his boxers down his leg. his semi hard cock springs up, he’s obviously aroused just from unzipping your dress halfway. he’s so easy to get flustered that it turns you on– you know this will be fun.

“show me how desperate you are.”

jake’s mouth goes dry at your words as they send a thrill through his body. he reaches down and wraps his hand around his throbbing cock, giving it a few tentative strokes to make it completely hard and needy.

“that’s it, dirty boy,” you coo, encouraging him, “spit on it. show me exactly how you touch yourself.”

jake moves so his hand is under his plump lips, and then lets a dribble of saliva pool down onto his palm. he brings his hand back to his hard cock and starts to jerk his cock now. it glides more smoothly now, and jake feels the urge to buck into his hand.

“do you think about me all the time when your little dick gets hard, jakey?”

jake’s cheeks burn, but he can’t deny your words, “yes…” he whispers hoarsely into the bathroom.

“speak louder, jakey– i wanna be able to hear you.”

“yes, i think about you.”

you chuckle, it’s only just the beginning but you seem to have him wrapped around your finger.

“and what am i doing? when you think of me?”

“you touching me, sucking me.” jake manages to croak out, his voice thick with arousal.

as jake starts stroking himself faster, his breath comes in short gasps. you watch him with hooded eyes, a cruel smile playing on your lips, “you’ll only ever be able to think about me touching you,” you purr to him from your perched spot on the counter, “i only touch real men, men who can last and fill me up. and you…” you shake your head, looking straight at his hard cock, “you’ll never be able to satisfy me.”

jake whimpres, his hips bucking involuntarily, “i want to please you.”

you laugh coldly, “please me? you? with that tiny dick? you won’t fill me up. and the way you’re jerking off right now, you won’t last long enough to even try.”

your taunts spur him on, his hand moving faster and faster. he bites his lip to stifle a moan, wanting to prove you wrong in this little game, but the more he tries to hold back, the closer he gets to the edge.

“see, you won’t even last with just your hand, how would you be able to last in my pussy?”

“i- i would try.” jake whimpers out, his eye is threatening to close. his hand starts to slow, wanting to last longer for you.

you hum at the action, “good boy.” you dig your hand into your thigh, trying to control your own arousal, trying to pretend like you aren’t turned on at all. “now think that it’s me touching you. that it’s my hands stroking your hard cock up and down, getting you close to the edge.”

you can tell jake starts to think exactly what you tell him, you stand from your position on the counter, you let your face nuzzle in between his neck, your warm breath sends shivers down his spine. “that’s it, pretend it’s me and my spit all over your cock.” jake whimpers out at your words so you continue, “you’re mine to play with, right?”

“y-yes,” jake nods up and down, his thumb brushing over his sensitive slit before he continues to jerk his cock.

you can’t say it– due to this character in this game you’re playing with him– but he looks so hot. the way he’s pathetically thrusting into his own palm, covering in his own spit and precum. his lip is tucked in between his teeth, his styled hair has fallen into his eyes. his whimpers and moans as he gets closer to his climax.

“cum for me now, jakey. let it go like a good boy.” you whisper to him, “this is the only way you’ll ever get off– by jerking off so pathetically while i degrade you.”

your words push him over the edge. jake cries out, a curse followed by your name. his body tensing as he spills his release, coating his hand and thighs with his cum. you step away from him, trying to ignore the way your pussy is clenching around nothing at the sight. because this is definitely a sight to see.

“what a mess you’ve made,” you tsk at him, pretending to be disgusted by him, “but i think you need to prove that you can do better– hold out longer. because then maybe, you’d someday get to feel my pussy around that pathetic cock of yours.”

your words make him whimper out. the combination of humiliation, degradation and his intense orgasm leaves jake reeling. he leans against the wall of the bathroom, trying to catch his breath as he’s covered in his own cum and saliva.

he watches you reach behind you and zip up your dress easily, quickly fixing your hair and makeup in the mirror before you smile at him one last time.

“now clean up your mess and get yourself together, jakey. we don’t want anyone knowing what happened here, do we?”

with that, you unlock the door and stride out of the bathroom, leaving jake alone to process what just happened. your heart is still racing and your body feels dissatisfied and yearning for more. but you know that jake has awakened something deep within you– and you can’t wait to play with him again.

you walk into the kitchen the next morning, the light almost blinding after last night's party. the smell of coffee and bacon fills the air, but it does little to ease the pounding in your head. you see jake, joy, and heeseung already sitting at the table, all looking as rough as you feel.

"well, don't you all look lovely," joy's mother says with a chuckle, examining the four of you all hungover and tired.

as you sit down at the table in front of jake you try to muster a smile and say, "hi, jake," but he doesn't acknowledge you. he stares down at his plate, pushing his food around with a fork. the cold shoulder stings more than you'd like to admit, and you can feel a tightness in your chest.

you focus on your breakfast, determined not to let the hurt show. the last thing you want is for joy or heeseung to pick up on the tension. you take a sip of coffee, hoping it will jolt you back to life, but it only makes your stomach churn.

heeseung groans dramatically, leaning back in his chair. "hyunjin's parties never disappoint, huh?"

joy laughs, though it sounds more like a wince. "yeah, remind me to never drink that much again."

under the table, you poke jake with your foot to get him to look at you, he briefly does, but his warm eyes are now cold and glaring before he looks down at his plate again.

you nod along, forcing yourself to join in the conversation. "definitely a night to remember... or forget."

jake stays silent, not looking at you again. you glance at him from the corner of your eye, trying to understand what went wrong. heeseung and joy are too wrapped up in their own misery to notice the silent exchange between you and jake.

you keep your head down, focusing on your food instead.

after breakfast, you sit back in your chair, hoping the food will settle your uneasy stomach. heeseung stretches and yawns. "how about a movie? something low volume to help with these headaches."

everyone nods in agreement, except for jake. he stands up, his plate still half full. "i'm going back to bed," he mumbles, avoiding your gaze.

you watch him walk away, a mix of frustration and hurt bubbling inside you. "i'll be right back," you tell joy and heeseung. "need to use the bathroom."

you hurry upstairs, your heart pounding. you catch jake just as he's about to slip into his room. without thinking, you reach out and grab his upper arm, forcing him to turn around and face you. his eyes are still cold, distant.

"jake," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. "what's going on? why are you ignoring me?"

he looks away, his jaw tight. "i'm not ignoring you. just tired."

"no, you're not," you insist, stepping closer, not wanting anyone to hear. "you've been avoiding me since last night. do you regret what we did?"

jake finally meets your gaze, you can see the conflict in his eyes. once he sees your concerned ones, his cold expression starts to melt and blends into the usual, shy and embarrassed one.

“talk to me, jake.”

he sighs, giving in to easily to you like always, “it’s just… you left so quick. i didn’t even get to say goodbye.”

instantly you realize why he’s upset– your actions flashing in your head from the night before. you bite your lip in frustration at yourself, suddenly you were the one to be embarrassed. you understood how upsetting it can be for the other person to just leave so quick with no aftercare or reassurance. you want to blame the alcohol for your actions the night before, but that’s no excuse. you should’ve stayed for a few minutes.

“you’re right, jake.” you state, his eyes meeting yours in surprise, “i should’ve stayed longer. i’m sorry– that wasn’t right of me. we should’ve talked more about what we are doing and how we feel about it. you know nothing i said during it was true right? like… about your dick and stuff. it’s all just for fun.”

jake nods, unsure of what to say but is agreeing with you, so you continue. though, you can’t tell if he truly understands that you don’t mean the words you say during your time together.

“besides staying longer, checking in on each other, is there anything else you would want? are you okay with what we are doing? with what happened last night?”

jake gulps but stands up straight, looking at you, determined, “yes, i'm okay with what we are doing–more than okay.” his confession makes you smile, “but, i want to touch you, make you feel good, not just me.”

you bite your lip and think about it, “okay, we can do that– just give me time okay?”

you usually don’t let the people you are hooking up with touch you or see you naked until you are 100% comfortable with the person. when you trust the person. but you’ve known jake for majority of your life… why would this be any different with him. you could trust him… right?

“yeah, sure. all the time, just for you.”

you meet his eyes at his words. he’s always so sweet to you, it makes you feel more guilty for the night before.

“okay jakey, i’ll see you later.”

“see you later, y/n.”

jake steps into his room and closes the door with a final wave. leaving you with your pounding headache and nausea. you sigh and head back downstairs to rest on the couch with joy and heeseung. you’ll worry about your situation with jake later when you can think straight.

joy bursts into her bedroom with a squeal, her energy contagious. "oh my god, and i forgot to tell you what happened at hyunjin's party the other day."

you lift your head from the bed, curiosity piqued. "oh god, what?"

joy plops down beside you, eyes wide with excitement. "jeno and i kissed."

you sit up, mirroring her excitement. "what? no way! how did that happen?"

she grins, her cheeks flushing. "we were both pretty drunk, and we ended up talking in the kitchen. one thing led to another, and... yeah."

"oh my god, joy, that's huge!" you exclaim, leaning in closer. "how was it? did he kiss you first? did you like it?"

joy nods, her eyes sparkling. "yeah, he kissed me first. and it was... amazing. but now things are kinda weird between us."

"weird how?" you ask, your mind racing with possibilities.

"he's been acting all distant and awkward," she says with a sigh. "i don't know what to do."

you squeeze her hand reassuringly. "maybe he just needs time to process it. you should talk to him."

she nods, her smile returning. "yeah, you're right. i'll talk to him."

you both fall back onto the bed, giggling. joy turns to you, her expression softening. "ugh, i can't believe i forgot to tell you that. we tell each other everything. i forget you can't read my mind sometimes. i'm so glad we are best friends."

she pulls you into a tight hug, and you hug her back just as tightly. "no secrets between us, ever," joy says firmly.

"right... of course," you reply, but your mind drifts to jake.

you hug joy a little closer, feeling the weight of your own secret.

the heat is unbearable by the end of july, and you're grateful for the relief of joy's family's pool. you and joy have been lounging in the cool water all day, floating lazily and enjoying the rare stillness. the sun beats down, relentless, but the water makes it bearable.

jake and heeseung come out, both in their bathing suits. you can't help but check out jake's body. his muscles are more defined, his skin tanned. he catches your gaze and blushes, looking away quickly. it makes you smile. even after cumming in front of you, he’s still so shy.

the day drags on, the sun slowly sinking in the sky, casting long shadows over the backyard. heeseung eventually heads home, throwing a casual wave your way. joy decides to go inside, “i need to wash this chlorine out of my hair or else it’ll feel disgusting.” you nod, watching her leave, and suddenly you and jake are alone.

the silence between you holds tension. you float closer to him, your movements slow and deliberate. he seems nervous, his eyes darting everywhere but at you. you find it endearing, his shyness, his awkwardness. he can’t look at you in a bathing suit, how could he look at you naked?

"it's nice out here," you say softly, breaking the silence.

he nods, glancing at you briefly. "yeah, it is."

you can see the tension in his shoulders, the way he's holding himself so tightly. you move closer, your fingers brushing against his under the water. he tenses, but doesn't pull away.

"you've changed a lot, jakey," you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

he finally looks at you, his eyes wide and vulnerable. "so have you."

you tilt your head to the side, intrigued, “how so?”

he hesitates, his gaze flickering away before returning to meet yours. "you're more... confident. and, uh, you seem happier."

you try not to frown as his words bring you back to when you were in highschool. your parents were going through a divorce, your idiot highschool boyfriend cheated on you and you weren’t doing well in school. the only thing you really had was joy and her family that welcomed you in so warmly. you guess you forgot that jake had seen you at such a dark time.

"yeah, those were tough times," you admit softly, your fingers trailing absently through the water. "but things got better."

he nods, watching you with a mixture of curiosity and concern. "i'm glad they did. you deserve to be happy."

"thanks, jake. that means a lot."

he shifts closer, his movements tentative and careful. "i always wanted to say something back then, but i didn't know how."

you raise an eyebrow, intrigued. "say what?"

"that you weren't alone," he says quietly. "that i was there for you, even if you didn't see it."

the vulnerability in his voice makes your heart ache. you reach out, your fingers brushing against his arm. "that’s sweet of you, jakey."

he looks at you, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“you said, you wanted to make me feel good too, right jakey?” you ask, your voice practically purring.

jake gulps at the sudden change in atmosphere. the sun is dipping down in the sky, you’re in a bathing suit that brings out the colour of your eyes, and now you’re talking about him making you feel good. he feels like he’s in heaven.

“y-yeah, if you want.” he replies shakily.

you smile at his sweetness once again, “then go on and touch me.” you command, “prove to me that those fingers of yours are good for something.”

jake hesitates, knowing that his pleasure is entirely dependent on yours now. but slowly, he reaches out and places his hands on your hips– the first time he’s ever touched you. “if your fingers can’t make me feel good, then what hope does your cock have?”

you watch jake’s face, enjoying the desperation and determination in his eyes.

slowly, jake’s hand goes under the way, tracing the hem of your bathing suit bottoms. you have to bite your lip to hold back your gasp. his fingers trace over the cloth of your swimsuit, until they hover over where your clit is.

jake begins to rub in slow circles, gently at first, then with more pressure as you struggle to hold back a soft moan.

“hm,” you pretend to scold him, “do you even know how to touch a woman, or have you been too busy jerking off all by yourself?”

“i, i know how to pleasure a woman– i know how to pleasure you, i can pleasure you.” jake is determined as his fingers continue to rub your clit faster. you briefly close your eyes, the water around your core turns you on more.

“you should, because imagine how embarrassing it would be for heeseung to come out here and see me having to fake my moans because of you.”

jake’s movements slow for a moment and you realize that you’ve found another way to play with him. a sly smirk spreads across your face, “didn’t realize that anyone could walk out her and find you with your fingers against my pussy?”

“n-no,” jake whimpers out, his eyes darting from your face to the backdoor.

you laugh at his worry, “relax,” you tell him seriously, “they can’t see what we are doing under the water– it’s too dark.”

he nods, and picks up the pace of his fingers against your clit.

you let out a moan, “that’s it, you’re doing better than i thought, jakey.” you glance down at where his hand is curving against your body.

because truthfully, he was making you feel good. he was alternating between small circles and moving your clit side to side. the friction from your bathing suit rubbing against your clit made you squirm in the water.

you reach up, deciding to reward jake, and slowly pull the straps of your bathing suit top down, letting the fabric fall away to reveal your breasts. jake’s gaze flicks to them, and your breath quickens. he’s looking at your breasts like they are the most beautiful thing in the world.

“you want to suck on these, don’t you?” you ask, running your fingers over your nipples, now hard from the cool water and his gaze. “beg me, and maybe i’ll let you.”

without missing a beat, “please, y/n, let me pleasure you. i want to taste you so bad.”

you smirk, satisfied with his answer, “good enough, let’s see what your mouth can do.”

you guide his head towards you, and he takes a nipple into your mouth, sucking gently at first, then with more fervour as you moan quietly. your hands tangle in his long hair, holding him close to you.

“t-that’s it, that’s good.” your voice betrays you as you speak. you can’t forget who’s in control here.

jake’s tongue flicks and teases, sending shocks of pleasure through your body. you pull his closer, his fingers on your clit don’t stop. you start to grind your hips against his hand, your breathing becoming ragged as jake brings you closer to the edge.

"oh, fuck, i'm getting close," you whisper, my voice hoarse with desire. “i want to cum all over those pathetic little fingers of yours."

jake’s tongue works faster, knowing that your orgasm is close and with a final grind of your hips, you cum. your body shakes with pleasure as you let your head rest in jake’s neck to muffle your moans. he holds you firmly against himself, letting you ride out your orgasm.

finally, you pull away from him, panting and your eyes mix with satisfaction, “good boy,” you whisper, running your fingers through your hair, getting it out of your face.

jake fights the urge to kiss you, knowing that it would be wrong (it’s all you want). so instead he asks, “are you okay?”

you want to laugh but you’re too worn out from your orgasm, “yeah i am, i’m just hungry.”

it’s jake’s turn to laugh, “you want to get out and get some dinner.” he offers you his hand to help pull you out of the pool.

you take his hand, letting him help you out, “yeah, i’m starving.”

you both climb out of the pool, the cool evening air hitting your damp skin. he hands you a towel, and you wrap it around yourself, shivering slightly.

as you head towards the house, you glance back at him. "you coming?"

he nods, following you inside. there’s a look in his eye that sends a shiver down your sprint. it’s a mix of infatuation and adoration and it scares you. he’s your best friend's little brother. what you two have going on is only a game, meant to be for fun.

but then why do you have this fluttering feeling in your chest everytime you see him?

"i can't believe you're leaving me here," you complain, sprawled across joy's bed as she packs to leave for the cottage with her family.

joy rolls her eyes, stuffing clothes into her bag. "it's only for three days."

"yeah, but that feels like a month to me."

joy laughs, shaking her head. "when we get back, we'll continue our summer of fun. we only have a month left."

you groan, letting your head fall back against the pillows. "don't remind me."

you watch as joy zips up her bag, her movements brisk and efficient. she glances at you, a fond smile tugging at her lips. you know she's excited about the trip, but the thought of being without her for three whole days feels unbearable. you wonder what you’ll do without her… and jake.

"i should go home," you say, pushing yourself up from the bed. "it's getting late."

joy turns to you, pulling you into a tight hug. "text me if you need anything."

"of course," you reply, hugging her back just as tightly.

you pull away and head for the door, it's only three days, but it feels like an eternity. but, maybe it’ll give you some time to think about what’s happening between you and jake.

you wake up to your phone buzzing on your nightstand. you groggily reach for it and squint at the screen, reading joy's message.

joy : [yn, jake isn't feeling good at all so we are leaving him home alone for the weekend. would you mind checking up on him sometimes?? thank you so much ily]

you sigh and rub your eyes before typing back,

you : [yeah sure, have fun this weekend]

lying back down, you think about how awful it is for jake to not be feeling well during the summer. you hope he's okay, and a pang of concern hits you as you imagine him alone in the house.

later in the day, you decide to bring him some soup for dinner, knowing he probably won’t cook for himself.

so when the sun starts to set again, you walk up to the familiar path on the door to joy’s house and knock softly, hoping jake is awake and feeling better. when there’s no answer you point, and take out your set of keys, unlocking the door with the spare key that had given you years ago.

you walk inside the house, it’s eerily quiet without the usual chatter and noises of people being home. heading upstairs, you stop in front of jake’s bedroom door, which is closed. you knock softly, “jake? it’s y/n.”

here’s a pause before you hear his muffled voice, “just go home, y/n.”

you’re taken aback. “i have soup for you.”

“not hungry,” he mumbles.

you sigh, pushing the door open anyway. his room is dark, the curtains drawn tightly shut. you see him lying in his bed, blankets pulled up to his chin. you rush to his side, concern etched on your face. “jake, are you okay?” you start, reaching out to feel his forehead. “let me take your temperature. oh my god you must be really sick– have you taken any medicine?”

he shrugs you off aggressively, sitting up abruptly. “i’m not sick!” he snaps.

you’re taken aback and confused. “but, joy said you aren’t feeling well…”

“well, i lied, okay? so you can leave. i’m fine,” jake says, his voice laced with frustration, but his eyes can’t stay on yours for long.

you sit on jake's bed, refusing to leave when he’s like this, "why did you lie to them, jake? what's wrong?"

he sighs, covering his face with his hands. "i just needed to be alone for a while."

"what's happened, jake?"

"nothing happened, y/n."

silence falls between you, the room feeling heavy with unspoken words. you watch him, his shoulders tense, his face hidden. you both sit there, processing the weight of the moment.

finally, you break the silence. "is it about me? us?"

jake looks up at you, his eyes filled with something that tells you you’re right.

"well, what is it? i'm here now, let's talk."

jake sighs but sits up straight, trying his best to look at you. "it's just, i don't understand what this is. i mean, why me?"

"what do you mean why you?"

"because there's so many other better guys that you could get, l-like heeseung."

you tilt your head, confused. "why would i like heeseung?"

"because he's like a real man, one that i'm not. one that could please you a-and fill you up." his words echo the ones you speak when you fool around with each other, and your heart aches knowing that he’s been taking your words to heart. that he’s locked himself away in his bedroom for the weekend because of you.

you smile and explain yourself, "jake, i don't like guys like heeseung. my university is filled with guys like heeseung. my attraction is to guys like you, kind, sweet ones that have no idea they're hot. if i liked heeseung, i would be with him and not you, right?"

he shrugs, "i guess."

"i think you're insanely hot, jake, you know that, right?"

jake looks at you finally, shocked. "you think i'm hot?"

you giggle, "of course, that's why i'm doing this thing with you. why’d you think i was doing this with you if you didn't think i was attracted to you?"

he shrugs, "because i'm like the only one around really in this small town."

"jake, i am attracted to you, and only you."

jake smiles, "i'm attracted to you too, y/n– you know i think you're beautiful."

it's your turn to blush now but you sigh, “the things i say to you when we fool around aren’t true. it only makes this, foreplay thing, fun, right?” you feel the need to explain yourself, “you like what we do together, right?” and jake nods immediately and it makes you want to giggle, but instead you reach your hand out, your thumb rubbing against his warm cheek. it’s cute how he instantly melts into your touch. he looks so pretty against your hand.

you can’t help but lean in close to him, leaving only inches between both of your faces from connecting, “you know, jake,” you whisper to him, “if you want something, all you have to do is ask.” you see confusion cross his eyes as he takes in your words, “just ask, and if i say no, then we can do something else, no harm done, right?” jake nods slowly as he analyses the meaning of your words, “just ask.”

jake swallows roughly, fighting his inner urge to look away from you– but he keeps his eyes on yours when he speak, “can i kiss you?”

you smile at his simple request. how could you think he’d ask something dirty of you (though you would’ve said yes to anything to him), when the jake you know has always been so sweet.

you don’t answer him but instead lean in so your lips meet his. they’re soft and warm. and the kiss is sweet and romantic. your heart begins to palpitate, and it scares you. you've never felt like this when you've kissed someone before. the sensation is new, and thrilling and slightly overwhelming.

you pull away first, your breath slightly unsteady. you look at jake, whose eyes take a while to flutter open again, clearly so entranced by your kiss. his gaze is filled with wonder and a hint of disbelief, as if he's trying to process the reality of what just happened.

“i told you, just ask.” you smile at him, your voice as sweet as him.

jake gulps, and you can tell he wants to speak again, and you wait until he organizes in his head about how he wants to say it. he looks at you again, his eyes looking directly into yours, “can i eat you out? i want to. i want to know what you taste like.”

your eyes widen at his request, a shiver runs through your body. the side of him that you’ve been craving to see, a glimpse of the confident, assertive man that you know he is when you’re not around. he’s finally taking control, being dominant, and you don’t stop him.

without further prompting, jake moves toward, getting on his knees on his floor as you sit on his bed. he kneels between your legs, his hands gently pushing your thighs apart. his hands run up your thighs, “wanna make you feel good, y/n.” jake says to you, his voice unwavering.

“then do it,” you tell him.

his fingers hook inside your shorts, pulling them down in one swift movement, leaving your core bare before him. you feel exposed to him as he lets his eyes scan your pussy. he lets out a groan once you’re bare before him.

his tongue darts out, teasingly light as it flicks against your inner thigh. you inhale sharply at the sensation, goosebumps erupting across your skin. he takes his time, kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin of your legs, inching ever closer to your center. he’s teasing is so experienced.

finally, his mouth reaches your core, and he wastes no time in tasting you. his tongue delves into your folds, lapping at your juices greedily. moans escape your lips as his talented tongue teases your clit, circling and flicking it with just the right amount of pressure.

"fuck, you taste so sweet," he murmurs between licks, his breath hot against your soaked lips. "i could eat you out forever."

your hands tangle in his hair, guiding him closer, encouraging him to continue, “would you like that, jakey? being in between my legs forever?” you tease him, wanting to see how far he would push back into the whole dominant thing. you pant, arching your back as he sucks your clit into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks as he pulls and tugs at the sensitive bud. it makes you cry out.

“fuck yes, could be here all the time,” jake mutters out against your now soaked pussy. “do you like my mouth on you, y/n? like the way my tongue fucks you?”

you feel a wave of arousal wash through you and head straight to your core at his words. you’ve never seen this side of him before. and you’re already enjoying it so much.

"yes...feels so good," you manage to utter, “i love your mouth on my pussy so much. i had no idea you were this good at it.”

jake moans in response, the vibrations sending shocks of pleasure throughout your body. he adds a finger, then two, thrusting them into your tight hole as he continues to work your clit with his tongue. you buck your hips, riding his face as waves of pleasure build within you.

"oh fuck, I'm getting close," you warn him, your body trembling on the edge. "don't stop, jake! please!" the use of his full name makes him eat you out faster and harder.

He grunts in response, holding you firmly in place as he eats you furiously. and then, with one final swirl of his tongue and a hard suck on your clit, you explode around his mouth. your thighs tightening around his head. "hh god, jake!" you scream, your pussy clenching and pulsing as you ride out a powerful orgasm.

jake laps at your juices, reveling in the taste of your release. he continues to lick and kiss your sensitive flesh as the aftershocks of your orgasm ripple through your body.

"that was...incredible," you breathe, before he leans up and kisses you, without even needing to ask– it turns you on more. you can taste yourself on his lips, a wicked reminder of the pleasure he just gave you.

“i’m glad you liked it, baby,” his pet name for you makes your legs squirm, “but i really want to know what your mouth feels like wrapped around my cock.”

you smirk up at him, loving this side of him. you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down for a kiss that is rougher and sloppier than the other ones.

you pull away first, a thin string of saliva connecting your mouths before it snaps. his breath comes in sharp gasps and you know he's eager for more. with a slow, deliberate movement, you reach for the button of his jeans, popping it open before tugging down the zipper. his hips help you ease his pants and boxers over them, freeing his hard cock.

"fuck, yes," jake breathes, his eyes fixed on your face as you take him in your hands. his length is impressive, thick and veiny, the head slick with pre-cum. you give it a teasing squeeze, enjoying the way he bucks slightly into your grip.

"you like this, baby?" you coo, stroking him slowly, teasingly. "you like the idea of my mouth on you?" without waiting for an answer, you lean forward and swipe your tongue across the tip, tasting the small drop that beads there. "mmm, delicious," you hum, taking him deeper into your mouth, sucking gently.

jake's hands thread into your hair, guiding but not forcing. "fuck, baby, that feels so good. I've fantasized about this for so long. your pretty mouth wrapped around me, sucking me dry." His voice is hoarse with desire, his hips twitching as he tries to suppress the urge to thrust into your hot, wet mouth.

you hollow your cheeks, taking him deeper, your lips gliding over sensitive flesh. One hand cups his heavy balls, massaging gently, your thumb brushing the sensitive skin behind them. "You like that, Jake? Want more?" You hum against him, vibing your question straight to his groin.

he whimpers, his grip tightening in your hair. "yes, yes, don't stop. feels too good to stop." he bucks his hips, fucking your face gently, moaning as your tongue teases and flicks. "you're so good at this, baby. knew you'd be amazing." his words are punctuated by sharp intakes of breath as your tongue swirls and dances.

“hm, you’re such a desperate boy.”

jake scoffs as he looks down at you, suddenly roughly grabbing your hair for you to look at him, “open your mouth wider, i’m gonna fuck your mouth.” he understands the game you want to play, understands that you want to see how dominant he can get. he knows you want to be forced into submission.

you have to hold back your whimper at his words as they make your pussy clamp around nothing.

you do as he says, opening your mouth wider for him to slide his entire cock inside of your mouth, reaching the back of your throat.

“fuck,” a guttural sound leaves his mouth once you enclose your lips around his cock, your throat enwrapping his cock. he tangles a hand into your hair, slowly guiding his cock back out of you. “i wanna hear you gag on me, baby.”

you moan around his cock, his words adding to the fire that’s lit in your abdomen.

jake’s hips move gently at first, sliding in and out of your mouth, the head of his cock bumping the back of your throat every time. “that’s it baby,” he encourages, his voice harsh as he looks down at you, “take it nice and deep. that’s what i want.”

As his rhythm increases, you sense his building orgasm, and you hum, the vibration making his eyes roll back. his once quiet bedroom was filled with his grunts and curses and the wet sounds of his cock thrusting in and out of your mouth.

you tap on his thigh and he releases your hair, letting your body lax on the bed and letting you catch your breath. you pull away, a stand of saliva connects your lips to his cock.

“want you to cum in my pussy, jakey.”

instantly, you can feel the atmosphere in jake’s room change. he returns to his awkward, shy self and he can’t look at you anymore. you partly wonder if he doesn’t want to have sex with you.

“i mean, we don’t have to have sex if you don’t wan-” you start to give him an out.

“- i want to!” jake cuts you off with a rush, and he immediately looks embarrassed, “i mean, i’d like to, if you want to.”

you smile at him, “are you sure?”

“yes, it’s just…” jake trails off again, having to gain the courage to say, “i’m a virgin.”

your jaw unconsciously drops. you’re surprised to hear his confession. you thought he was experienced given how attractive he is. but his admission only makes him more desirable to you.

"don't worry, jake. we can take it slow," you assure him, reaching out to stroke his cheek. "i really want this, and I want you."

he nods, his eyes nervous but full of desire. you can sense his eagerness, and it makes your pussy throb with anticipation. slowly, you grab the hem of your shirt and pull it off of your head, leaving yourself completely bare to his eyes.

jake’s eyes widen as he takes in your body. you watch the brown orbs circle your entire core, watching as they move up and down your curves. it makes you giggle.

“are you gonna get undressed too, jakey? or just me?”

“n-no, i will,” jake stutters and takes off his own shirt. it reveals his abs that you’ve so desperately wanted to touch and lick the other week in the pool. so now that you’re alone, and you’ve given up some of your vulnerability to him, you reach out and trace the hardlines of his abs. his skin is warm and his chest is practically panting from being so turned on.

“you’re really so beautiful, jakey.”

you hear him gulp as he watches you touch him. it turns you on so much to see how quickly he can go from being in control, to being wrapped around your finger again. he’s so versatile that it makes your pussy throb with all the ideas you can do with him.

you’re watching his adam's apple bob as he swallows, his eyes following your every movement. you push him down onto his bed so his head is on his pillow. you straddle his thighs, feeling the hardness of his dick pressed against your stomach. his hands rest tentatively on his sides, as if he's not sure whether to touch you or not. you take his hands in yours and place them firmly on your body, encouraging him to hold you.

"i want you to feel every inch of me," you whisper, grinding your hips against him. his dick slides against your clit, making you gasp at the pleasure shooting through your body.

"you feel so good," he murmurs, his voice hoarse with need.

you smile, feeling powerful and desired. you lean down, pressing your breasts against his chest as you capture his lips in a passionate kiss. his hands move eagerly over your body now, exploring your curves. you moan into his mouth, your tongue dancing with his.

breaking the kiss, you sit up straight, taking his hands and placing them on your breasts. "touch me, jakey," you encourage him, guiding his fingers to pinch and roll your sensitive nipples. "that's it… fuck. you know how sensitive my nipples are.”

jake’s eyes are fixed on your breasts as he watches his fingers play with your nipples, making them harden even more. you arch your back, offering yourself to him, and his breath quickens as he takes in the sight.

"i want you inside me," you whisper, positioning yourself above his throbbing cock. you hover just above him, rubbing your swollen clit against the tip of his dick, making him groan and buck his hips instinctively.

"not yet," you tease, denying him entry. "i want to feel you fill me up first."

he nods, biting his lip as he tries to control his urge to thrust into you. you smile at his eagerness, loving how responsive he is to your slightest touch and instruction.

slowly, you lower yourself onto his shaft, engulfing his thick length inside your tight, wet pussy. you moan loudly as you sink down, feeling him stretch you deliciously. "oh fuck, jake... you feel bigger than i imagined," you pant, throwing your head back in pleasure. jake groans out as he fills you up. the way his name rolls off your tongue makes his cock twitch inside of you.

jakee watches, mesmerized, as your body rises and falls, his dick sliding in and out of your slick core. "you look so beautiful riding me," he breathes, his hands gripping your hips as if he wants to pull you even closer.

you quicken your pace, riding him with abandon. your breasts bounce with each thrust, your nipples rubbing against his chest. "does my tight pussy feel good around your cock, jakey?" you ask, grinding your hips in circles.

"so good... so fucking good," he grunts, his eyes rolling back slightly as he loses himself in the sensations. "i've fantasized about this... about you..."

hearing his admission sends a thrill through your body. you lean forward, bracing your hands on his chest as you pound your pussy onto his cock, driving him deeper with each thrust. "you like my pussy, don't you?"

"fuck yes... it's so wet and hot... feels like heaven," he moans, his fingers digging into your hips as if he wants to leave marks. he gulps and you can tell he’s thinking about saying something, your hips enticing him to say it, “you like my cock? the way it stretches you? fills you? i bet, ugh, you can feel how hard it is inside of you.”

“mhm,” you whimper out to him, loving this side of him, loving when it comes out and makes your pussy squeeze around his cock tighter.

you sit up straight, your hands reaching behind to grip his thighs as you bounce on his lap. "tell me if you're close, jake. i want you to cum inside me."

he nods vigorously, his eyes locked on where your bodies are joined. "i'm close... so close..." he observes how wet your inner thighs are as you bounce up and down on him.

You increase your speed, your pussy juices coating his shaft as you slide up and down so quickly, “cum for me jake, fill my pussy with your hot cum.”

jake grunts out, moaning your name, he arches his back, his body tensing as he releases his load deep inside of you. you feel his cock twitching with each spurt, sending ripples of pleasure through your own body. "that's it, baby... fill me up," you encourage him, continuing to ride him through his orgasm. your own orgasm following his. the twitching of his cock releasing his sperm makes your pussy clamp down, your body shakes and your hands grip onto his chest harder as the orgasm washes through you.

finally, he collapses back against the bed, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. you sit atop him, feeling his cum leaking out of your well-fucked pussy. you lean down, kissing him softly. "that was incredible," you murmured against his lips.

he smiles, a mix of satisfaction and awe on his face. "you have no idea how long i've wanted that..."

you trail kisses along his jawline, a sense of power coursing through you. "i think i do,"

you slowly get off of jake and lay beside him, your chest starting to slow it’s movement as you catch your breath. you’re suddenly aware of the cooling sweat on your skin and the sticky mess between your thighs. the post-nut haze starts to lift as you register the reality of what just happened. you scan the room for your clothes, hoping to dress quickly and slip away. but jake is quicker than you.

jake stands up and goes to the bathroom, wetting a cloth and coming back to your position in bed. he sits beside you, and looks you in the eye for permission to clean you. you nod silently, and let him open your legs. he gently wipes the saliva and cum off of you. the feeling is intense as he takes care of you.

he presses a soft kiss onto your knee cap and you feel like your heart is gonna explode in your chest from sheer panic. this is all too vulnerable, all too intimate to what you are used to.

when jake goes back to the bathroom to clean himself, you hurry and dress again. you beeline straight to the front door of the house– not looking at any family pictures on the wall, not being able to bear to see your best friend's face right now.

padding softly towards the door, you stop to look back one last time. it was just sex, you tell yourself. and yet, you can't shake the feeling that something has shifted between you and Jake.

just as you begin to pull the door open, you hear his voice call out, soft but insistent, “wait y/n!” your heart leaps into your throat and you turn, seeing jake standing there, fully clothed now. “i have to tell you something.”

your heart feels like a lump in your throat as you swallow roughly, “what is it?”

he takes a deep breath, his expression vulnerable. "i like you, y/n. i've always liked you since we were kids. i've just never said anything because i've been too shy and– and insecure. you deserve someone better than me."

your heart aches at his words. "jake, no. you're the best person i know. you don't deserve someone as awful as me." it breaks your heart to see him so insecure, especially around you. you've noticed how he is different when you aren't there, how he's more outgoing and confident.

he shakes his head, his eyes filled with earnestness. "no, y/n, that's not true. you're amazing, and i wish you could see that. i've always been afraid to tell you how i feel because i didn't think i was good enough for you."

"but jake, you are good enough. you're more than good enough." you squeeze his hand, trying to convey just how much you mean it. "i've been hurt before. that's why i don't get into relationships. i'm scared to be vulnerable, to let someone in."

"i understand," he murmurs, his thumb gently stroking the back of your hand. "but i’ll be here for you, whenever you need. i want to be with you.”

you swallow, "but what about joy?"

he hesitates, then says, "i know it could be complicated, but we can figure it out together."

you nod, feeling a mixture of relief and anxiety. "i like you too, jake. more than i realized. but i'm scared."

jake smiles softly at you and wraps his arms around you. you let yourself melt into his arms, taking in his scent and warmth. you feel safe for the first time in your life. feeling safe and being held is all you’ve ever wanted. you didn’t want to be the one in control all of the time. jake allows your walls to be down– allows you to be vulnerable and safe at the same time.

"i'm scared too," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. "but i think we can make this work if we try."

you smile, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. "i hope so."

you leave his room, your heart lighter but an anxiety settling upon you. you hope no one gets hurt in this. you’ve been hurt too many times and you would hate to see the ones you care most about being hurt.

as you walk down the stairs, you can't help but feel a sense of relief. maybe, just maybe, you could be happy.

you and jake have been seeing each other for a few weeks now, careful to keep things secret. it's not that you don't want anyone to know, but you're not sure how joy will react. she's your best friend, and jake is her little brother. the dynamic is complicated, to say the least.

one evening, joy is hosting a small get-together at her place. a few friends from high school, some new ones from college, and, of course, jake and you. you and jake have gotten good at sneaking glances, sharing secret smiles, and brushing against each other in passing without anyone noticing.

but tonight, something feels different. the tension between you and jake is palpable, and you catch joy watching you both a few times with a curious look in her eyes. you try to play it cool, but it's hard when all you want is to be close to him.

at some point, jake and you meet in the hallway, away from everyone’s prying eyes. jake takes this opportunity to slip a hand into yours, giving it a gentle squeeze. you smile at him, your heart fluttering at the simple touch. everything he seemed to do made your heart ache more for him.

"what's going on here?"

the voice makes you rip your hands away from each other. but when you turn and see your best friend, so visibly angry and confused, you know it’s too late.

you and jake freeze, exchanging a quick, nervous glance. you clear your throat, trying to come up with an explanation, but nothing comes to mind.

"uh, nothing," you stammer, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks.

joy narrows her eyes at you, then at jake. "nothing, huh? because it sure looked like something."

jake sighs, realizing there's no point in hiding it anymore. "joy, we need to talk."

joy raises an eyebrow. "yeah, i think we do." she crosses her arms over his chest, her eyes glaring at you both of you.

jake takes a deep breath and looks at his sister, "joy, y/n and i have been seeing each other," he says, his voice steady but nervous.

joy's eyes widen even more. "what? since when?"

"a few weeks now," you admit, feeling the need to finally be honest.

joy looks between the two of you, her expression a mix of surprise, anger and confusion. "why didn't you tell me?"

"because we didn't know how you'd react," jake explains. "you're my sister, and y/n is your best friend. we didn't want to make things weird."

joy stands in her place, her gaze flickering between the two of you, “i can't even look at you right now, y/n. i have to go."

panic surges through you as joy turns to leave. "joy, no please, we can talk about this." you reach out and grab her wrist, desperation in your voice.

she snatches her wrist away, glaring at you. "talk about what? that you’ve been lying to me for weeks? i thought we told each other everything, y/n. this is too much."

without another word, joy storms off, heading back to her room and leaving her party and guests behind. the music and laughter feel distant and hollow as you stand there, guilt and regret washing over you.

you glance at jake, his expression mirroring your own feelings of hurt and regret. you both know the pain you've caused joy. the pain you’ve caused the only person who has stood by you your entire life.

but jake grabs your hand again, comforting you. you know that you can’t leave this relationship with jake behind. you need to find a way for you to be truly happy with both siblings in your life.

the next day, you find yourself knocking on joy’s bedroom door. the air still heavy with unresolved tension as she opens the door to see you. she groans and walks towards her bed, leaving the door open for you to enter.

you sit across from joy on her bed, her expression softening as she takes a deep breath.

"i'm sorry for walking away like that," she begins, her voice quiet but sincere. "i've had some time to think, and i realize now that i wasn't upset about you and jake dating. i was upset because you kept it a secret from me. our whole friendship relies on knowing everything about each other."

you nod, feeling the weight of her words. "i'm sorry too, joy. i've been a bad friend. i didn't want to hurt you, but i didn't even know my own feelings towards jake. everything happened so fast, and i was scared."

joy reaches out and takes your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "i understand. i just felt left out and betrayed, but i get it now. we all make mistakes,” she nods understandingly.

"i promise i won't keep anything from you again," you say, your voice filled with determination. "you're my best friend, and i don't want to lose that."

joy smiles, a genuine warmth returning to her eyes. "i forgive you, y/n. let’s move past this, okay?” she opens her arms up, letting you wrap your own arms around her. the hug is tight and loving, like usual.

as you both pull away, you notice jake standing at the door, a sheepish look on his face.

"i overheard your conversation," he admits, stepping into the room. "i'm really sorry too, joy. i never wanted to come between you two or cause any problems."

joy looks at her brother, then back at you, and smiles. "it's all good, jake. just promise me you'll take care of each other and be honest with me from now on."

"we promise," you both say in unison, causing joy to laugh.

"well, at least we will be sister-in-laws someday," she jokes, making you all laugh.

the thought of marriage might be far too soon, but as you stand there with your best friend and jake, the idea doesn't seem so far-fetched. the three of you hug on her bed.

you know that maybe someday your best friend would become your sister-in-law, and her little brother would become your husband. for now, you're happy, and that's all that matters.

@ taeghi, 2024. do not repost or reuse in anyway.

PLEASE REBLOG IF YOU ENJOY, AS LIKES MAKE IT HARD FOR WORK TO BE SPREAD AND ENJOYED BY OTHERS :)

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nylqnder · 4 months ago

Text

ALL'S FAIR IN LOVE AND WAR QUINN HUGHES

pairings: quinn hughes x fem!reader, (little bit of) jack hughes x fem!reader

summary: trevor invites you to a lakehouse for the summer, attempting to set him up with his friend. however, the summer doesn't go to plan when you meet his older brother who captures your eye and flips everything upside down.

warnings: very obviously angst, sort of a love triangle, jack and quinn kind of hating each other, slow burn, reader and trevor having a sibling type relationship, one singular kiss, brief appearances from trevor & luke

word count: 11.6k

notes: wooooo mama this is the absolute longest thing i've ever written. i really hope you guys enjoy it, i'm pretty happy with this.

The scene of the lake house standing tall in front of you was something straight out of your imagination. It was picturesque, the way the large house was nestled amongst the pine trees and the glimmering water sparkling behind it. It was just the way that Trevor had described it when he invited (or rather insisted) you to come to his buddy’s lake house this summer.

“You’ll love it! It’s so nice up there,” Trevor had urged, his enthusiasm infectious. You could still hear his voice, brimming with excitement. “It’s my friend Jack’s place. You guys would get along great! And his brothers are super chill too.”

At the time, you’d felt a mix of curiosity and skepticism. It’d been about three years you’d been friends with Trevor, long enough to know that when his tone got this excited and he was this insistent, he was up to something.

“Are you trying to set me up with him?” you’d asked, narrowing your eyes suspiciously at Trevor as the two of you sat in a coffee shop a few months ago. He had been uncharacteristically fidgety, bouncing his knee up and down while stirring his iced coffee with an unnecessary amount of focus.

Trevor had grinned at you in that annoyingly charming way he did when he was caught. “Nooo, I’m just saying you guys would vibe. He’s a cool guy. Super chill.”

You rolled your eyes, folding your arms across your chest. “Uh-huh. And his brothers?”

“Also cool!” Trevor leaned in, eyes sparkling with mischief. “But listen, Jack’s the one I think you’d really like. Just come for like, a week or two, see what happens. No pressure. I promise you’ll have fun.”

You’d hesitated, not entirely convinced. But Trevor knew exactly how to play on your curiosity, and a month later, you found yourself packing a bag for a summer getaway at some lake house owned by Trevor’s friend, Jack. Despite your reservations, a part of you was intrigued. What if Trevor was right?

The drive to the lake house had been a blur, punctuated by Trevor’s nonstop chatter and your own uncertain silence. You weren’t opposed to meeting Jack. Trevor had sung his praises for months, claiming you two had more in common than either of you realized. As far as setups went, this wasn’t terrible — you could trust Trevor to have good judgment. But still, you were unsure and slightly uneasy about the whole situation.

When you arrive, Jack is already waiting outside, leaning against the porch rail, hands shoved into the pockets of his shorts. He’s smiling — an easy, laid-back smile that makes you smile back automatically. The sun filters through the trees, casting warm, gold light on the porch, and for a moment, everything feels serene.

Trevor wasn’t lying when he commented about Jack’s appearance. “Some people call him a pretty boy but… I mean he is pretty, but he’s a good-looking dude, y’know?” He was definitely attractive, something anyone could admit you thought, but he wasn’t totally your type.

Trevor bounds up the steps of the porch, dapping up Jack and pulling him in for a hug. You followed, stopping at the bottom of the steps, watching as Trevor whispered something into Jack's ear, Jack’s eyes catching yours as a small smile appeared on his lips.

Jack steps forward, extending a hand. “Hey, you must be y/n. I’ve heard a lot about you,” he says, his voice warm with that relaxed confidence you’d expect from someone who’s used to being the center of attention.

You shake his hand, feeling the easy smile on your face widen a little. “All good things, I hope.”

Trevor laughs, throwing an arm around Jack’s shoulder. “Mostly good things.” He winks at you, and you can’t help but roll your eyes.

Jack offers to give you a quick tour of the place, and you agree, letting him guide you inside while Trevor stays back, grumbling to himself about having to bring in your bags. The inside of the house is as beautiful as the outside, with high ceilings, wooden beams, and floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the lake. Despite being a new build, it has a cozy, rustic feel to it. Jack pointed out each room as you went, keeping up a steady flow of conversation that put you at ease. He was friendly and thoughtful, making sure you felt welcomed, and it struck you as genuine. You could see why Trevor thought you’d get along with him.

“And this is the back deck,” Jack said as he pushed open a sliding door, revealing a sprawling view of the lake, with a dock stretching out in front of the property. The lake is glittering and relatively calm, aside from a figure disturbing the water. You squint, watching as the swimmer glides smoothly through the lake.

“Who’s that?” you ask Jack, eyes not leaving the figure as you watch him pull himself up onto the wooden dock, pushing dark wet hair from his face.

“That’s Quinn,” Jack says, following your gaze and glancing out toward the dock. “My older brother.”

The sun seems to linger on Quinn’s form, highlighting the toned muscles in his arms as he stretches briefly, rolling his shoulders to ease out any lingering tension from his swim. Droplets of water cling to his skin, catching the sunlight and tracing down his chest in slow, winding trails emphasizing the smooth contours of his muscles as they glisten.

“Q!” Jack shouts, whistling to get his brother’s attention. Quinn’s gaze snaps to the two of you, your pulse quickening as his eyes land on you. “Come up here!”

Quinn grabs his towel from the dock, throwing it over his shoulder as he makes his way up the lawn towards you. As he climbs the steps to the deck, you feel his eyes travel over you, not in a way that feels intimidating, but with a curiosity that mirrors your own. There’s something magnetic about him, something calm and steady that draws you in as he steps up onto the deck, his mouth curving into a small, barely-there smile.

“This is Trevor’s friend, y/n. She’s joining us for the summer” Jack introduces.

As Quinn’s gaze flickers back to you, you notice there’s something about the way he looks at you — subtle, assessing. His gaze has a certain depth, a look you can’t quite decipher. It lingers just a second longer than what feels typical, enough to make your heartbeat skip, to leave you questioning the flicker of interest in his expression.

“Nice to meet you,” Quinn says, his voice low and smooth, a perfect complement to the quiet confidence he exudes. He reaches out to shake your hand, and as your fingers meet, you notice how warm his touch feels, even with the cool water droplets still lingering on his skin.

Up close, he’s even more striking. There’s a sort of ruggedness to him, outlined by the sharpness of his jaw and the intensity of his gaze. His eyes, a greenish shade of blue, hold yours with a calm intensity that makes it hard to look away.

“Nice to meet you too,” you manage, your voice coming out softer than you intended, and you feel heat rise to your cheeks. You mentally kick yourself, hoping he doesn’t notice, but the glimmer in his eyes suggests otherwise.

Jack, oblivious to the undercurrent, clapped his hands, breaking the moment. “Alright, well, there’s more to see, and if we don’t get back, Trevor’s going to start whining about being abandoned,” he joked.

You chuckle, your eyes pulling away from Quinns’ for the first time since he joined you on the porch. But as you turned to follow Jack back inside, you couldn’t help but glance back at Quinn. He was still watching you, his expression softened just slightly, and you felt a quiet thrill at the way he watched you.

The first week at the lakehouse passes in a flurry of days that blur together in laughter and lakeside relaxation. You fall into an easy routine of swimming, grilling, and long talks on the deck. Jack and Trevor keep things lively, always organizing something, whether it’s an impromptu game of cornhole, a daring cliff dive, or a spontaneous trip into town.

With Jack, the connection forms fast. He’s lighthearted, quick with a joke, and endlessly charming. He keeps you laughing and keeps the vibe lighthearted. His energy is infectious, and he keeps you roped into every activity, whether it’s cliff-jumping or getting you to help him with dinner when it’s his turn. You can tell that Trevor’s plan to get the two of you set up is working for Jack, as he lingers closer, laughs harder at your jokes, and you begin to feel his gaze linger on you just a little too long.

But it’s Quinn who holds your attention in a way you hadn’t anticipated.

Quinn is different from Jack in nearly every way. Where Jack is open and quick to draw you into his orbit, Quinn lingers on the edges, observing and listening. When he speaks, it’s with a low, steady voice that commands attention without trying. And unlike Jack’s energy, which feels like the buzz of the sun overhead, Quinn’s is deep and mysterious like the lake.

You find yourself gravitating toward him at every opportunity, captivated by the way he moves through the days with an unruffled calm. The nights at the lake house slip into an easy rhythm, with Quinn and you inevitably being the last ones awake as the both of you are night owls. Most nights, you find yourselves lingering on the porch, wrapped in the gentle hum of crickets and the low whisper of the lake. With the others upstairs, fast asleep, you and Quinn fall into intimate conversations, shared only between the two of you.

One night, you find yourselves tucked away on the porch, the air a little cooler than the other nights. You are curled up on a rocking chair, bundled up in a hoodie you’d borrowed from Jack. Quinn sat across from you, the beer he’d started during dinner going warm in his hand.

Quinn studies you, his eyes catching the faint glow of the porch light as he swirls his bottle absentmindedly. “So,” he begins, breaking the comfortable silence, “What’s California like?” He leans forward, genuinely interested, his voice carrying a warmth that makes you want to spill everything about life on the West Coast.

A soft smile creeps onto your face. “It’s… different from here,” you admit, glancing out at the lake where the moon dances on the still water. “It’s a bit fast-paced. And warm. Lots of sun, lots of people. But sometimes, it feels like everyone’s moving so quickly that you get lost in the crowd.”

Quinn nods, his eyes steady on you. “I get it. I feel the same way about Vancouver sometimes. Coming back here… it just reminds me that there's more than the noise and rush. There’s… balance out here.” He gestures out toward the lake, his voice contemplative. “Like all of this has a way of pulling you back to what matters.”

His words resonate deeply, and you find yourself nodding. “Exactly,” you murmur. “It’s like there’s space to breathe. And you notice things that usually get lost in all the… chaos.”

Quinn’s gaze lingers on you a moment longer, a small smile forming at the corner of his mouth. “I’m glad you came. It’s been… good to have you here,” he says quietly, his eyes soft. “We don’t have other people up here often.”

Your heart pounds a little faster at the sincerity in his voice, and for a second, the rest of the world disappears. There’s only Quinn and the quiet lake, and the feeling that he understands you in a way you hadn't expected anyone to. You hold his gaze, feeling the electricity between you grow, filling the silence with something you can’t quite name.

But then, as if drawn back to reality, Quinn’s eyes shift, his expression subtly changing. “And Jack,” he says, almost as an afterthought. “He… really likes you, you know? He doesn’t say it, but I can tell.”

It feels like a splash of cold water. You break eye contact, pulling your hoodie closer around you, the warmth you felt moments ago dissipating. The weight of Jack’s interest hangs heavily between you and Quinn now, an undeniable reminder of the complicated line you’re toeing.

“Right, yeah…” you reply softly, looking down, your voice tinged with a mix of guilt and frustration. You hadn’t meant for this to get complicated, yet here you are, caught between two brothers who couldn’t be more different.

An uncomfortable silence settles over you both, thick and heavy. Quinn’s eyes linger on you, as if he’s about to say something more, but he holds back. His lips press into a thin line, and you wonder if he’s feeling the same conflict, the same confusion that’s twisting knots inside you.

You force yourself to look away, swallowing hard. “I think… I should probably head to bed,” you murmur, avoiding his gaze. You stand up, offering him a small, tight-lipped smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Goodnight, Quinn.”

Quinn nods, his expression unreadable as he watches you ebb towards the door. “Goodnight, y/n,” he murmurs, his voice low and steady, though there’s a flicker of something in his gaze — disappointment, perhaps, or longing. You slip inside, leaving him on the porch, the weight of his gaze heavy on your back as you close the door.

In bed, you toss and turn, Quinn’s words and the feel of his gaze lingering with you. Your mind is a whirlwind, caught between the easy, carefree friendship that’s growing with Jack and the simmering tension you feel with Quinn. Jack is perfectly nice and, like Trevor told you, the two of you were getting along swimmingly.

But no matter how much you try, your thoughts always drift back to Quinn. There’s something undeniably different about him, something that makes it impossible to feel the same way about Jack, no matter how hard you try. Jack’s presence is light and friendly but with Quinn… it’s like there’s a hidden gravity pulling you toward him, a quiet understanding that lingers beneath the surface of every conversation. Every night on that porch, he’s become your anchor, drawing you into a world that feels more honest, more intimate.

You lie there, staring up at the ceiling, your mind replaying the way he looked at you tonight — that almost undetectable spark that you’re sure you didn’t imagine. The way he listens to you, like every word matters, as he sees past the small talk and into the parts of you you rarely share. There’s no pretending with Quinn. And even though he’d mentioned Jack, it only made you realize how much more you’re drawn to Quinn. Jack might be developing feelings for you, but it’s Quinn who fills your thoughts, who leaves you breathless in a way you can’t ignore.

You pull the covers tighter around you, willing sleep to take you, but every thought seems to lead back to Quinn, to the way he made you feel seen, understood — even in silence.

The next morning, you do your best to shake off the lingering tension from the night before, determined to keep things light and normal. Under Jack’s enthusiastic suggestion, the group decides to spend the day out on the lake, hoping the sun and water will wash away any unease. It’s a sunny day, warm with a light breeze, and the water sparkles invitingly under the sunlight, making you think that everything might just go smoothly.

The boat is anchored in a calm spot on the lake and, despite the wonderful weather, there doesn’t seem to be another boat around. Trevor and Luke sit up in the bow, arguing about which mascot would win in a fight between Mr. Clean and Tony the Tiger.

Jack is quick to pull you into the action, handing you a beer from the cooler as he grins. “Alright,” he says, his smile as wide as the lake. “Are you ready for the full lake house experience? Because to really do that, you’ve got to jump off the boat at least once today.”

You laugh, shaking your head as you crack open the can. “I’m pretty sure you’re just making up rules to mess with me.”

He shrugs, a playful glint in his eye. “Maybe, but you have to do it anyway,” he shrugs.

Trevor chimes in, chuckling from his spot. “Jack’s right, y/n. First-time lake visitors have to jump. It’s tradition!”

You chuckle, your gaze drifting up to Jack as he stands in front of you. The sun shines directly behind him, casting him in a golden halo, the bright rays spilling around his frame in a way that makes him look almost ethereal. For a moment, you can see why anyone would fall for that charm. But even with this picture-perfect moment, you feel a pang of regret that you can’t feel more for him, because, somehow, your thoughts are pulled elsewhere and on someone else.

Jack’s laughter brings you back to the moment, and he leans a little closer. “Come on, we can make it a team effort. I mean, if you’re too nervous, I can just hold your hand.” His voice is playful, but there’s a hint of sincerity in his words, a hope that you’ll let him bridge the gap he’s trying so hard to close.

Your smile is genuine, but before you can respond, you hear Quinn's low chuckle from behind you. It’s soft, barely audible over the hum of the boat’s motor, but enough to pull your focus completely away from Jack. You glance back at Quinn who’s sat on the back bench, leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, a flicker of something in his gaze as it bears down on the two of you.

Your attention is pulled back to Jack as he reaches for your hand in a gesture that feels both playful and pointed. “Come on, y/n, it’ll be an official initiation. We’ll jump together, yeah?”

Your gaze flickers between Jack’s outstretched hand and Quinn, who’s watching with an inscrutable expression, his eyes narrowed slightly as he leans back, crossing his arms. You can’t deny there’s an awkward tension here, a silent push-and-pull between the two brothers that seems to amplify whenever Quinn is nearby.

Swallowing the strange, charged feeling building between you all, you look back at Jack and nod, forcing a lighthearted smile as you stand up, pulling off the oversized t-shirt you wore as a coverup. You see Jack’s eyes scan your figure, hearing him gasp quietly. You blush, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, taking his hand. He grins in triumph, his fingers warm against yours as he helps you stand at the edge of the boat. He holds on a little tighter than necessary, and the flicker of anticipation in his eyes doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Ready?” Jack asks, his voice softer now, his gaze lingering a bit too long as he watches your expression. There’s a hopeful vulnerability in his face, a look that makes you hesitate for a moment. You don’t want to hurt him, but there’s a part of you that wishes he’d pull back, that he’d realize you’re not as invested in this connection as he is.

You manage a nod, hoping he doesn’t notice the small sigh you let slip. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

He beams, counting down with a quiet “three… two… one!” before the two of you leap into the lake together, the cool water rushing up to meet you. When you surface, you’re greeted by Jack’s laughter as he splashes you, pulling you into a playful water fight. You laugh along, though your eyes instinctively drift toward the boat, where Quinn looks over the edge, watching you both with an unreadable expression.

Jack’s laughter fades slightly as he notices your attention elsewhere, his face falling for a fraction of a second. But he quickly masks it, pulling you back with a light splash. “Hey, stay with me here,” he says, his tone half-joking, half-pleading. And you want to, you really do, but Quinn’s gaze is magnetic, and you can’t help but feel pulled toward him, as if there’s an invisible thread between the two of you.

Eventually, Jack climbs back onto the boat, reaching out to help you up. But the moment you step back on board, the charged silence returns, thick and stifling, as Quinn hands you a towel, his fingers brushing against yours just long enough to send a spark up your arm. You catch his gaze for a brief second, and you’re struck by the quiet intensity in his eyes, a longing that mirrors your own.

Jack clears his throat, his shoulders tensing slightly as he glances between you and Quinn. He lets out a forced laugh, trying to dispel the tension. “Alright, what’s next? We could always do another round of jumps, or maybe a swim to the dock?” He says it with an almost desperate cheerfulness, trying to regain your attention, trying to keep the moment light.

Trevor and Luke, sensing the tension, start bantering about who would be the fastest swimmer, their playful arguments distracting you all for a moment, lightening the mood just enough.

────୨ৎ────

The night air was crisp as laughter and the crackling of the fire filled the space around the lake house. The lake is quiet behind you, a dark, glassy surface reflecting only starlight. You were settled in a lawn chair, leaning back, watching as Trevor dramatically recounted a story about when you nearly crashed his car.

You could feel his eyes on you, searching for a shared smile, hoping to catch your gaze even as he chuckled at Trevor’s theatrics. Every so often, he'd lean in, commenting with a low murmur meant only for you. He’d even offered you his hoodie earlier, though the night wasn’t nearly cold enough to need it. It was endearing, if not a bit overeager. Yet, despite the obvious attention from him, your focus kept drifting across the fire.

Quinn sat across the flames from you, leaning back in an Adirondack chair. His attention was barely on the story, barely laughing with the others as you had been. Every now and then you’d catch his eyes flicker your way, lingering on you just long enough to send a thrill through your chest. Your stomach tightened with a quiet anticipation each time, though as quickly as the moment arrived, it vanished. Quinn’s gaze would shift, his attention lost somewhere in the darkness beyond the flames, leaving you wondering if you’d only imagined it.

As Trevor finally wrapped up his tale with an exaggerated flourish, the group’s laughter rang out again, filling the quiet night. You shifted in your chair, stealing a glance across the fire to see Quinn looking your way again, his expression unreadable in the dancing light. The firelight cast soft shadows over his face, illuminating his quiet intensity—a contrast to Jack’s open interest. And just as quickly as his eyes met yours, he looked away, his focus deliberately elsewhere, leaving you feeling a subtle ache of frustration.

Jack nudged your arm gently, his voice breaking the spell. “Hey, want to grab a drink or something? I think I saw some ciders in the cooler on the porch.”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” you replied, a small smile curving your lips as you pushed yourself up to join him.

You could feel the weight of Quinn’s gaze on you, or maybe it was just wishful thinking. As you walked toward the porch with Jack, a pang of prickling guilt settled over you, leaving a heavy shadow with every step. Jack was wonderful — funny, kind-hearted, and clearly eager to spend time with you. And yet, there was an emptiness in each smile you returned to him, a hollowness you couldn’t ignore. You tried to shake it off, reminding yourself to appreciate his warmth and interest. But you couldn’t deny it. There was no spark, no unspoken gravity that pulled you toward him.

The two of you reached the porch, Jack handing you a cold can from the cooler, his fingers brushing yours briefly. He shot you a quick grin, the kind that seemed to hold a hundred different things he wanted to say. But the look in his eyes—the hopefulness, the eagerness—only tightened the knot in your chest.

Jack took a sip of his drink, leaning casually against the porch railing, his gaze still on you. “It’s nice here at night, isn’t it?” His tone was light, but there was an unmistakable softness to his voice, as though he wanted nothing more than to keep this moment between just the two of you.

“Yeah, it really is,” you agreed, looking out at the lake rather than meeting his eyes. “It’s peaceful.”

Jack’s voice was quieter when he spoke this time like he was mulling something over. “You know, it’s been great having you up here. I mean…I’m glad Z brought you here.” he said softly, though his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. There was a vulnerability there, one that made you want to reassure him, to ease the sting of your own uncertainty.

You wanted to tell him you felt the same, that you were excited, that his attention filled you with butterflies. But it didn’t. Not the way Quinn’s lingering gaze did, not in the way his silence could reach across the fire and wrap around you more tightly than any words Jack could offer.

And Jack could sense it. You could see it in the way his gaze fell just a bit, in the way he seemed to retreat into himself, trying to figure out where he’d lost you. A soft, sinking guilt bubbled up, but before you could say anything, he cleared his throat and looked at you, trying to keep the mood light.

“Should we head back?” he asked, giving you a small smile that tried to mask the disappointment behind his eyes.

You nodded, and as you followed him back toward the fire, your eyes drifted back to Quinn. Why did he have to make it so complicated? Jack was there, warm and steady, giving you his full attention, yet your heart kept tugging you toward Quinn — Quinn, who never gave you more than half-glances and unspoken hints. It was as though he knew the effect he had on you but chose to keep you guessing, leaving you in this restless, uncertain state. And every time he looked away, your chest would ache with a longing that you couldn’t shake, no matter how hard you tried.

You felt like you were making it up in your head. You felt like all of this was just concocted by your brain, a made-up situation. But then you’d think back to the nights when it was just the two of you, sitting across from one another on the porch, finding bits of commonality, causing you to talk for hours.

It was during those quiet nights, with only the soft hum of the lake and the occasional call of night birds, that the two of you would sit just a little closer, voices lowered as if sharing secrets with the stars. He’d be calm, reserved, but there’d always be a hint of a smile when you teased him about his stoic nature, a glint in his eyes when he’d challenge you back. It was in these moments that your doubts faded, that all the confusion seemed worth it.

But then the sun would rise again, and Quinn’s indifference would come back like the morning mist, blanketing any closeness you thought you’d found. The spark that seemed so real under the cover of night would dim, replaced by his guarded demeanor and quiet aloofness. It was maddening, this cycle of near-closeness followed by a cool retreat. He’d show you just enough to make you wonder, to keep you holding onto the memory of his quiet smile and that soft look in his eyes.

As you and Jack rejoined the group, you settled back into your chair, glancing across the fire toward Quinn once more. He was looking down, a hand idly fiddling with the edge of his sweater. There was something vulnerable about him in that moment, something that made you wonder if maybe—just maybe—he felt the same hesitation and uncertainty. You wanted to bridge that gap, to ask him if he ever felt the same tug, the same strange pull that made every shared glance linger in your mind.

But before you could even entertain the idea, Jack’s hand brushed your shoulder, pulling your attention back to him. He was smiling, his gaze as steady and warm as ever, making you wish you could return it with the same openness.

“Hey, you okay?” Jack asked, concern lacing his voice. You hadn’t realized the way you were chewing on your lip, or the way your brow was furrowed ever so slightly.

You nodded, giving him a soft smile that you hoped looked genuine. “Yeah, just…lost in thought, I guess.”

But as you said it, your gaze slipped across the fire once more, finding Quinn’s eyes fixed on you with that familiar, unreadable intensity. And for a fleeting second, you thought you saw a softness there, a hint of something deeper. It vanished just as quickly, but that one look was enough. It was enough to make you cast away the doubt that lingered in your mind, to dismiss the thought that this was all in your head.

The night dragged on, punctuated by laughter and more ridiculous storytelling from Trevor. Gradually, one by one, everyone began to call it a night. Luke was the first to slip away, yawning as he muttered something about wanting to have an early workout, clapping Trevor on the shoulder before heading inside. Trevor followed soon after, stretching with exaggerated laziness before flashing a grin and winking at you. “Don’t get into too much trouble out here,” he teased, earning a playful eye-roll from you.

Finally, it was just you, Jack, and Quinn. Jack was lingering, his eyes occasionally drifting to you with a look that hinted at something he wanted to say but couldn’t quite bring himself to voice. He shifted in his seat, clearing his throat as he looked at you, then glanced over at Quinn.

"Alright, I guess I’ll head in, too," Jack finally said, his tone reluctant. His gaze lingered on you for just a beat too long, as though he wanted you to ask him to stay or tell him that you would head up with him. But you didn’t, and after a quiet sigh, he nodded, gave Quinn a brief glance, then turned and headed inside, the screen door shutting softly behind him.

And then it was just the two of you.

The quiet stretched between you and Quinn, thick and tense, as the night air settled into a stillness that seemed to wrap around you both. The only sounds were the crackling of the fire and the soft rustle of the trees, and it was painfully quiet, each unspoken word between you two heavy with meaning. You could feel his presence, magnetic and steady, even across the fire. Finally, after a moment that felt like an eternity, you drew a deep breath and decided to speak.

“Quinn, can we talk?” Your voice was steady, but just barely. Quinn’s eyes finally locked with yours for the first time since before everyone began to filter to bed. Quinn nodded after a couple of seconds, giving you the silence to continue.

“I don’t know what’s going on between us,” you said softly. “But… fuck, I can’t stop thinking about you, and it’s driving me crazy. I need to know if it’s all just in my head or if you feel it too. Because if there’s a reason I feel this way… I need to know.”

You trailed off, heart hammering against your ribcage as the words hung in the air between you. For a moment, he didn’t respond, his expression unreadable, his face softened by the glow of the firelight. Then, with a sigh, he leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees as he stared into the flames. His silence was torture, each passing second pulling you deeper into a pit of anxiety and frustration.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low and steady, as if he’d rehearsed this response in his mind countless times. “It’s not in your head,” he admitted, his gaze flickering up to meet yours. “There’s something here, between us. I feel it too.”

The words sent a rush of relief and hope through you, a spark that reignited all those moments spent wondering and waiting for some kind of sign. A soft smile spread across your face, the edges of your doubt finally beginning to soften. But then, his expression shifted, the corners of his mouth tightening as he looked away, eyes fixed on the shadows just beyond the firelight.

“But…” His voice was barely a whisper, rough around the edges. “It can’t go anywhere. Not with Jack. He’s…he’s into you.” He looked back at you, the regret in his eyes evident, a pain mirrored in your own chest. “I can’t do that to him.”

His words were like a punch to the gut, and the warmth of the fire suddenly felt distant, fading into a cold, empty ache spreading through your chest. You hadn’t expected it to hurt this much, hadn’t realized how much you’d been hoping he’d say the opposite, that he’d fight for whatever was happening between you.

You dropped your gaze, feeling foolish, vulnerable, exposed. “So that’s it? We just… pretend this doesn’t exist?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “Like nothing’s been happening all this time?”

Quinn’s jaw tightened, and he looked away, his expression pained. “I don’t want to pretend. But I can’t… I won’t hurt him, not like that. He’s my brother.” He hesitated, his voice cracking slightly. “And he really cares about you.”

You swallowed hard. It felt ridiculous—being here, feeling so foolishly hopeful, only to be left with a hollow ache and a fractured connection that couldn’t ever be more. Part of you wanted to yell at him for leading you on, for those late-night conversations and stolen glances, for every unspoken word that now felt like a cruel joke.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I wish it could be different.”

The words left you hollow. Part of you wanted to fight, to tell him that what you felt couldn’t just be ignored, but another part — the part that knew him and understood his loyalty — couldn’t bring yourself to ask him to choose you over his brother. Not when you saw the conflict in his eyes, the pain that mirrored your own.

“Fine,” you whispered, barely able to meet his gaze. You stood up, the cool night air prickling your skin as you walked away from the fire, leaving him there in silence. You didn’t look back. It felt like your chest was filled with broken glass, each breath painful, as you made your way back to the house.

Inside, the stillness was almost suffocating. The others had already gone to bed, and the darkened living room felt cold and empty, mirroring the ache in your heart. You climbed the stairs to your room, shutting the door softly behind you as you sank onto the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the wall. A mix of anger and sadness filled you. You were mad at Quinn, for drawing you in only to push you away; mad at Jack, for being in the way even if he hadn’t meant to be; mad at Trevor, for ever convincing you to come here; and, perhaps most of all, mad at yourself, for letting your heart hope for something that could never be.

The next morning, a heavy quiet blanketed the lake house. You moved through the motions of breakfast with the others, but your thoughts felt distant, lost somewhere between the memories of last night and the weight of Quinn’s words. The morning was made slightly easier by the absence of Quinn who you were told went into the town early that morning to run errands and hit the gym. The guys bantered and talked about heading out on the boat, planning an afternoon on the lake, but you could only muster half-hearted nods and polite smiles. It was hard to focus, every small sound—the clinking of mugs, the soft scrape of a chair—only intensifying the ache you couldn’t shake.

Excusing yourself, you slipped away before anyone could ask questions, making your way down to the dock. The air was cool, a gentle breeze rippling across the lake's surface, and you sat at the edge, feet dangling above the water. You were still in your sleep outfit, not exactly pyjamas, but rather a comfy oversized hoodie and a pair of mens boxers. The familiar scent of pine and fresh earth surrounded you, but even the peaceful view couldn’t ease the storm of emotions inside.

The quiet was soon broken by the sound of footsteps approaching, and you didn’t need to look to know it was Jack. You felt him sit beside you, his presence warm and grounding. For a moment, he didn’t say anything — just let the silence settle between you both, as though he was waiting for you to be ready.

Finally, he cleared his throat, glancing sideways at you. “You okay this morning? You’ve been… quiet,” he said softly, his voice tentative, as if he were stepping carefully around broken glass. “Distant.”

You swallowed, bracing yourself as you met his gaze. His eyes were filled with genuine concern, a softness that only made this harder. “Yeah,” you murmured, looking back out at the lake. “Guess I just needed some space.”

Jack nodded, though he didn’t seem convinced. His fingers drummed nervously on the edge of the dock, and after a beat, he spoke again, his tone thoughtful, almost nostalgic.

“You know,” he began, eyes cast down at the water, “when Trevor told me he was bringing a friend this summer, he was so sure we’d hit it off. He kept going on about how you and I would be perfect for each other, that we’d get along great.” A small smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. “I remember feeling this weird, excited energy like… maybe he was right, you know? Maybe I was going to meet someone special.”

You felt a lump forming in your throat as he continued, his voice carrying a warmth that was both comforting and deeply bittersweet.

“And when you got here…” He hesitated, his eyes meeting yours, as if to gauge your reaction. “I don’t know, it just… felt easy, from the start. Like we’d known each other forever. I started to feel like maybe Trevor had been onto something.” He gave a soft laugh, but there was no humor in it, just the weight of unspoken feelings.

“Things felt really good between us, and I thought you felt it too,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “So I started to get my hopes up—thinking maybe this was the start of something real.”

You winced, guilt gnawing at you. “Jack… I’m so sorry,” you said, your voice shaky. “I didn’t mean to lead you on, truly. I think you’re amazing. From the bottom of my heart, I just… I mean there’s gotta be some sort of spell this fucking house puts me under because I would be insane otherwise to not like you! You… you’re so perfect that any other girl would be scremaing at me, trying to claw my eyes out for not appreciating you. But… I just can’t. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Jack’s eyes softened, a mix of sadness and resignation settling in them. He looked down, his fingers still drumming but more slowly now, as if grounding himself. After a moment, he took a deep breath and let it out, his shoulders sagging slightly.

“I get it,” he murmured, though his voice had an unmistakable crack in it. “I mean… I think I get it. You can’t force something that isn’t there, right?” He gave a sad smile, one that tried to mask the hurt but didn’t quite succeed.

He stared out at the water, his expression distant, like he was trying to piece together what had gone wrong, or maybe just what he’d missed. A tense silence settled between you, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on the air around you. Jack cleared his throat, seeming to steel himself, his gaze searching your face as if looking for an answer to a question he hadn’t yet asked.

“Can I… can I just ask you one thing?” he said, voice barely above a whisper. His vulnerability in that moment was palpable, and you could feel your heart pounding, bracing yourself for what was coming.

You nodded, feeling your throat tighten.

“Do you… have feelings for Quinn?”

The words hung in the air, heavy and painful, and a part of you wished he hadn’t asked. But the look in his eyes told you he needed to know, that the uncertainty was gnawing at him just as much as the truth might.

Slowly, you nodded, a tear slipping down your cheek as you whispered, “Yes.”

A heavy silence fell between you, and Jack seemed to shrink a little, his shoulders slumping as he took it in. Jack’s gaze fixed on the lake, and for a long moment, he said nothing. You could see the effort it took for him to keep his expression neutral, to keep his emotions tightly bound. His voice was quiet when he finally spoke.

“So, you… you and Quinn. Is there… anything actually happening between you two?” He glanced at you, a flicker of something raw in his eyes — hope, maybe, or just the need to understand.

You shook your head, offering a small, bittersweet smile. “No, Jack. We’re… we’re not together. We won’t be.”

He looked at you, brow furrowed. “Why not?” he asked softly, his confusion obvious. “If you feel that way about him, why wouldn’t you try?”

You took a shaky breath, the words catching in your throat. “Because Quinn… Quinn’s too good of a brother. He’d never go for me because of you… and because of what he knows you feel.”

Jack blinked, his brow furrowing as he took in your words. “Wait—what does that mean? Because of me?” he asked, his voice laced with confusion. His gaze softened, and you could see he was fighting to keep his tone steady, like he was trying not to hope.

You sighed, feeling a bittersweet ache settle in your chest. “Quinn told me he could never be with me because he knows how you feel. He doesn’t want to hurt you, Jack.”

Jack’s jaw clenched, a flicker of frustration flashing across his face. “So… let me get this straight,” he muttered, almost incredulously. “He’s not doing anything about how he feels—because of me?”

You nodded, and Jack fell silent, staring down at his hands, which had stopped drumming and were now clenched tightly in his lap. He seemed deep in thought, his brows furrowed as he processed what you’d just told him. The lake was quiet around you, the stillness broken only by the occasional ripple of water.

For a long time, Jack didn't say anything, just stared down at the water, his brows drawn together. You could almost feel the weight of his thoughts, the way he was wrestling with everything that had just been laid out. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, raw.

“So he… he cares enough to stay away,” Jack said slowly, the words laced with a sadness that felt almost like admiration. “That's… just like him.” He took a deep breath, forcing a small, sad smile. “I wish things were different. I wish we could just rewind, go back to the start of summer and… and pretend this never happened.”

You swallowed hard, his words striking a chord deep within you. “Me too,” you whispered, eyes burning with unshed tears. “I never wanted any of this to happen, Jack. The last thing I wanted was to hurt you.”

Jack looked over at you, his expression softening, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of the easy, unburdened friendship you’d had in the beginning. “I know,” he murmured. “You’re not the kind of person who’d do this on purpose. It’s just… life, I guess. It’s complicated, ‘n messy as hell. And… maybe Trevor was right. We do get along. Just… maybe not in the way he thought we would.”

He smiled, a genuine one this time, though tinged with a sadness he couldn’t hide. “Maybe someday… I won’t feel this way,” he said quietly, his voice barely audible above the soft lapping of the lake against the dock. “But for now… I think I just need a little space. Time, maybe.”

You nodded, understanding that this was what he needed, even if it hurt to hear. “I get it, Jack. I do.”

Jack gave a nod, his gaze returning to the water, the weight of unspoken words settling over the two of you. In the next moment, he reached over and gave your hand a small squeeze—a quiet truce, an understanding. Then he stood, brushing off his shorts and glancing back at the house.

“I’ll be up at the house for a bit,” he murmured, the distance in his tone unmistakable. With that, he turned and walked back up the dock, his footsteps slow and heavy.

In the following days, there was a noticeable shift in the air; everyone felt it, though no one dared to name it. Conversations were stilted, laughter felt forced, and even the once-lively dinners had become quiet affairs, each of you treading carefully as if one wrong word might shatter the fragile peace that held you all together. Jack avoided you and Quinn as much as he could, lingering at the edge of group activities, his usual easygoing energy replaced by something more closed off, guarded.

Quinn, for his part, kept his distance too, his usual calm presence clouded by an unspoken tension. It was as if he knew that the delicate line he was walking might snap at any moment, sending everything spiraling out of control.

You couldn't ignore the heaviness that had settled over the house, a tangible sense of tension that made everything feel off-kilter. As much as you'd wanted this summer to be an escape, it had become the very opposite — a painful reminder of all the ways things could go wrong.

That evening, after everyone had gone to bed, you found yourself wide awake, thoughts racing. The decision took shape slowly, a reluctant resolve that you couldn’t shake. You needed to leave. Staying here, caught between the fractured pieces of what had been and what could never be, was too much to bear. The thought of facing both brothers day after day, watching Jack’s guarded smiles and Quinn’s restrained distance—it was too much. They deserved space, and, you realized, so did you.

With a deep breath, you grabbed your phone and booked a flight out for two days later, the earliest you could manage. You barely slept, running through potential conversations in your mind, eventually deciding you were only going to tell Trevor and slip out quietly, not wanting to cause anymore issues.

You forced yourself to push through the pain and awkwardness during the two remaining days until you would be returning back to California. As the days inched closer to your departure, the weight of unspoken words grew heavier, settling into every corner of the lake house. You caught glimpses of Jack, his face turning away when he thought no one was watching as if even looking at you and Quinn felt like reopening an unhealed wound. Quinn’s glances were no less fraught, though his were filled with a wistful restraint, as if he was already mourning the loss of something that had barely even begun.

The dinners, once filled with laughter, now passed in subdued tones, each person more focused on their plate than the conversation. You found yourself counting down the days and hours, conflicted between the need to escape the tension and the ache of leaving it all behind. In those last two days, you kept reminding yourself that soon, you’d be on a plane back to California, back to your own life — away from Jack’s pained looks and Quinn’s longing stares.

Your final day there, you packed your belongs up quickly, hoping Trevor would buy your excuse of not wanting to miss your flight as a good reason for him to take you to the airport early, and not because you couldn’t bear to spend one more hour in this suffocating oasis. Everyone else was lounging by the water, with the exception of Jack who lingered in the kitchen, opting to do the dishes rather than be around the others. He was lost in thought when he heard the patio door slide open and shut, the sound of bare feet padding against the hardwood. He turned to the entrance of the kitchen, seeing Quinn wearing his boardshorts and a slightly guarded look.

Quinn stopped at the threshold, eyes flicking briefly to Jack’s hands as he scrubbed the dishes. They were tense, knuckles white around the plate he held, and the silence between them was palpable and heavy. Jack set down the dish with a clatter, bracing himself on the edge of the sink, not looking at Quinn. Jack didn’t give Quinn time to speak. The words erupted from him, fueled by everything he’d been holding back.

“Do you even understand what you’re doing?” Jack’s voice was low and seething, barely contained. He didn’t wait for an answer, didn’t dare let Quinn get a word in. “You’re hurting her, Quinn. A perfectly nice girl, who came here not looking for this mess but got dragged into it anyway. And the worst part is, you know it. You know it, and you’re still just… sitting back like a damn martyr, thinking that by staying distant, you’re somehow making it easier for everyone. That by holding back, you’re sparing her, sparing me.”

Jack’s words cut through the quiet, sharper than the silence that had settled in the house over the past days. The vulnerability in his tone was raw, scraping against Quinn’s stoic expression. Quinn shifted uncomfortably but didn’t interrupt; he only looked at Jack, his gaze unwavering.

“And you know what? I kind of hate you for it,” Jack continued, voice unsteady. He turned his head just enough for Quinn to catch the anger, the hurt in his eyes. “I hate that you waltzed in and just took her from me without even trying. And, yeah, maybe that’s selfish. Maybe I never really had a chance, but she was still there, and I was trying. I was there, damn it!”

Quinn finally took a step forward, but Jack cut him off again, his hands clenching at the counter. “And I hate you for pretending like you’re doing the right thing by telling her nothing will happen. You act like you’re some noble saint by ‘staying away,’ but it’s a lie, Quinn. It’s a lie, and we both know it. You’re holding back because you’re scared — scared to go after what you really want, and in the end, you’re just making it worse for everyone. For her. For me.”

Jack’s voice wavered, then cracked, as he finally fell silent, chest heaving from the force of his confession. The words had cost him, as if each syllable had drawn blood. The only sound in the room was the dripping of the faucet, each drop amplifying the tension between them.

Quinn stayed quiet for a long moment, his gaze steady as he absorbed every word. He studied Jack, weighing something unspoken. “Would you hate me if I went for her, then?” His tone was gentle, almost hesitant, a softness that Jack hadn’t been prepared for.

Jack’s jaw tightened. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I probably would.” He ran a hand through his hair, a bitter laugh escaping him. “I mean I hate you right now for making her feel the way she does. But it shouldn’t matter, Quinn. Not if you two… if you actually care about each other.” Jack’s voice faltered, breaking under the weight of his own honesty. “Look, I’ll get over it. In time. But don’t waste what could be something good just because you’re trying to spare everyone. It’s pointless, and it’s selfish. You need to get to her before it’s too late.”

Quinn could feel Jack’s anger and pain, an emotion so raw and tangled it clawed at the air between them. For a second, Quinn thought of how different things could have been if he had stayed on the sidelines, if he hadn’t let himself get close to you. But as Jack’s gaze softened, an odd understanding settled between them. Jack wasn’t letting go easily, but he was letting go.

Jack’s shoulders slumped, exhausted, as he ran a hand over his face. “She’s leaving today, you know?” he said to Quinn, a look of surprise appearing on his face. “Trev told me last night she booked her flight out for this afternoon.”

Quinn’s face fell, and the guarded look faded, replaced with something dangerously close to panic. He hadn’t known—hadn’t expected that this was it. That today was the end.

“She’s leaving?” Quinn asked, Jack nodding. “Why didn’t she say anything? W-why is she leaving?”

“Because why would she stay?” Jack said. “She’s going to protect herself. She’s not gonna stay here, hoping for something that won’t happen. She’s too smart for that.”

The realization struck Quinn like a punch to the gut, leaving him breathless. Jack's words echoed in his mind, each one sharper than the last. She’s leaving. Of course, she would. She wasn’t the type to hang around hoping for some half-hearted promise or for Quinn to finally decide what he wanted. She deserved so much more than waiting for him to get his act together.

Jack's voice softened, pulling him back to the present. "Quinn, it’s not too late. She hasn’t left yet. If you really care about her, don’t let her go like this."

Quinn’s gaze faltered, a flicker of something vulnerable crossing his expression. Could he really undo the damage he’d done by staying away? Could he find the words to convince her that, despite his silence, he’d felt everything just as deeply as she had?

A heavy silence followed before Quinn found his voice. “What… what should I say to her?”

Jack shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping him. “You really think I’m giving you advice on how to get the girl I wanted?”

Quinn’s face softened in a rare, grateful smile. “Fair enough.” He hesitated, then turned, steeling himself as he left the kitchen, leaving Jack to his own fractured thoughts.

Quinn climbed the stairs two at a time, his pulse racing with every step, anticipation and fear warring within him. As he reached the top, he saw Trevor just exiting your room. Trevor paused, giving Quinn a look that held no small amount of concern.

“I don’t know what went down between you three,” Trevor said, his voice uncharacteristically serious. “But I care about her, and I don’t like seeing her like this. You going to fix whatever mess this is?”

Quinn’s chest tightened. He knew Trevor had been close to you, learning this summer just how much of a big brother figure he was to you. He couldn’t fault him for looking out for you.

“I’m going to fix it,” Quinn said, his voice quiet but firm. He met Trevor’s gaze, hoping to communicate the sincerity in his words. “I have to.”

Trevor didn’t say anything else, but he gave Quinn a long, steady look, as though weighing whether to believe him. Then he gave a nod and shifted your duffle bag, stepping aside to let Quinn pass. With a final glance at Trevor, Quinn walked to your door, his heart racing. Quinn stood outside your door for a moment, his hand hovering above the doorknob. He knew what he needed to say, but a part of him feared that the damage was already done. Bracing himself, he knocked gently before pushing the door open.

You were standing by the window, your zipped duffle bag sitting on your bed. Your back was to the door when Quinn entered, and for a moment, he almost turned around, the words caught in his throat. But then you turned, your eyes meeting his.

“Are you really going?” Quinn asked, his voice quiet and strained.

You nodded, stepping away from the window and closer to Quinn. “I think it’s best. This whole summer has just… it’s too much, Quinn. I didn’t come here expecting any of this, and now I just feel… caught. And I can’t keep feeling this way.”

Quinn swallowed, his gaze never leaving yours. He looked as though he was battling something heavy, words lingering on his lips, waiting to escape. He stepped forward, close enough that you could see the faint circles under his eyes, the fatigue that seemed to pull at his features.

“I didn’t expect any of this either,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “And I get it — you’re right. I hurt you. I know that. I thought… I thought if I kept my distance, it would somehow make it easier for everyone. That maybe you'd move on from this — move on from me, and be with Jack. I thought it would hurt less.”

You held his gaze, your voice low but unwavering. “Do you have any idea what that did to me, Quinn? All summer, feeling this… this connection between us, and thinking that I had to be imagining it because you couldn’t even look at me. And you’re saying you did that on purpose? To protect me?” Your voice trembled. “That’s not protecting me. That’s running away.”

Quinn took a shaky breath, stepping closer, his expression taut with regret. “I know I messed up. I was spineless and I should have told you the truth sooner.” Quinn said, bowing his head briefly before forcing himself to look up at your hurt eyes. “I told myself that it was better this way, but all I was doing was lying to myself. Because every time I saw you… every time I heard your laugh, or watched you talk to Jack, or caught you looking at me — I couldn’t breathe.”

Quinn took one last step forward, less than a foot away from you. He raised his hand to reach you, fingertips grazing your arm gently, as if he feared you might pull away. “But I care about you, more than I thought possible. And I was afraid of that. Afraid of hurting Jack, afraid of hurting you… and afraid of wanting you this much.” He swallowed, his voice growing rough. “But I can’t let you leave without knowing how I feel. I want to be with you I — I need to be with you.”

Your breath hitched, the confession settling over you like a warm, crushing weight. This was what you’d wanted, but it also brought a whirlwind of conflicting emotions crashing down. You took a small step back, just enough to put some distance between you, needing space to gather your thoughts.

Quinn was saying everything you wanted to hear from the beginning. Laying his feelings bare, and exposing his heart in a way you hadn't expected from someone as reserved as him. It was like seeing a hidden part of him, one he’d kept carefully guarded. The vulnerability in his eyes made it clear that this was as terrifying for him as it was thrilling for you.

But in the back of your mind, Jack lingered, his hurt and disappointment woven into every stolen glance and quiet moment of the summer. The image of his face as he realized how you felt about Quinn was something you couldn’t shake. The memory clawed at you, guilt mixing with the longing Quinn’s words evoked.

“You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to hear that,” you said, voice catching. “But Quinn… Jack — he tried so hard with me this summer, and I couldn’t give him what he wanted because of… well, because of you.” You hesitated, torn between the longing in Quinn’s eyes and the memory of Jack’s earnest, hopeful glances. “The last thing I wanted was to hurt him. And I feel like I’ve done enough damage by just… being here.”

Quinn’s gaze softened, his hand lingering just above your arm, hovering close as if he wasn’t ready to let you go. “I know,” he murmured. “I know it’s complicated. But I talked to Jack this morning. He told me… he told me to come up here and talk to you. To tell you how I felt. He wants you to be happy, and he knows that’s not with him. He’ll get over it.”

“Jack said that?” you whispered, barely able to believe it.

Quinn nodded, a slight smile tugging at his lips, though there was sadness in his eyes. “He might hate me for a while, and I can live with that. But he said I’d regret it if I let you go. And… he was right.”

His hand, warm and steady, traced down your arm, his fingers slipping around yours with a gentle firmness. The touch, gentle but insistent, sent a jolt through you. “I know I’ve messed up,” he murmured, voice barely a whisper. “But if you’ll let me, I’ll make it right. I want this, us… if you do too.”

You nodded, words escaping you as Quinn stepped even closer, his free hand lifting to gently cup your face. His thumb brushed against your cheek, and you could feel the slight tremor in his touch. He leaned in slowly, giving you every chance to pull away, but you didn’t.

His lips barely brushed yours, soft and tentative. Your breath mingled together briefly before your lips locked together. He lingered for a heartbeat, savoring the closeness as if he, too, couldn’t believe this was real. Then, with a surge of emotion, the kiss deepened, all the restraint and hesitation of the summer dissolving as his hand rose to cradle your cheek, holding you to him as though afraid you might disappear.

His stubble that had grown out over the last couple weeks of summer scraped along your jaw and chin, leaving a faint burn that only added to the rush of sensation.

When you pulled back, both of you breathless, he rested his forehead against yours, a soft smile playing at the corners of his lips. “I’ve wanted to do that since the day you got here,” he murmured, a hint of relief in his voice.

You giggled, staying close and feeling his heartbeat echoing against yours. The silence that followed was thick, but it was different now — no longer tense or uncertain like it had been for most of the summer. It felt as though the weight had been lifted from both of your shoulders.

But even in that moment, you knew the reality of what this would mean—for Jack, for Quinn, and for yourself. There was a part of you that still ached, remembering Jack’s quiet disappointment and knowing it would take time to heal the wounds this summer had left behind.

You swallowed hard, raising a hand to Quinns face and brushing aside his dark locks that fell over his eyes. “I still think I need to go,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “Not because I don’t want this. I do. But I think both of you need time, and maybe I do too. To let everything settle.”

Quinn nodded, understanding settling over his expression. “I get it,” he replied, taking your hand in his and giving your palm a soft kiss. “I’ll be here when you’re ready. Take all the time you need.”

Quinn let you slip from his arms, his heart squeezing as he watched you grab your bag and exit the room. As you descended the stairs with your duffle bag slung over your shoulder, you saw Jack waiting near the door. His expression softened as you approached, a bittersweet smile crossing his face.

“So, this is it?” he asked, his voice gentle but with an undercurrent of acceptance.

You nodded. “Yeah, I think it’s best. Thank you, Jack. For understanding. And… for everything.”

Jack gave a short nod, his gaze momentarily flickering towards the stairs where Quinn had stopped to watch from a distance. He returned his gaze to you and managed a small, sincere smile. “Go live your life. I wish you and Quinn all the best.”

You hugged him, both of you holding on just a second longer than necessary. When you pulled back, you could see the mix of emotions in his eyes, but there was a sense of peace there too. He’d let go, not because it didn’t hurt, but because he genuinely wanted you to be happy. You felt your heart swell, gratitude mixing with the faint sting of regret for the friendship that would never quite be the same. But Jack’s words lifted the weight off your shoulders, letting you and Quinn move forward.

With a final look, you stepped outside, Trevor waiting to drive you to the airport, his brow furrowed in confusion at the way you suddenly had pep in your step, a small smile present on your lips that had been missing for weeks. As the car pulled away, you stole one last glance at the lake house, catching a glimpse of Quinn watching you from the porch. He raised a hand in a small wave, and you returned it, a soft smile on your lips.

This summer hadn’t turned out anything like you’d expected.

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