#jake sim x reader oneshot | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

itendtothinkalot · 6 days ago

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certified hater

summary: jake sim’s got a new roommate. and he hates it. he hates you. until one random wednesday afternoon, you look at him with those eyes, and suddenly he’s noticing things he definitely shouldn’t. now jake’s stuck trying to ignore the fact that his least favorite person is somehow making his heart beat faster. he didn’t sign up for this. but hey, neither did you.

genre: fluff | enemies to lovers

characters: jake x f!reader

words: 15.3k

warnings: curse words, kissing i guess

a/n: based on in this economy's jake! our fav hater is back!

“Well,” he sighed dramatically, hand over his heart. “There she goes. The only decent roommate I’ve ever had. The only one who cleaned the hair out of the drain without me having to beg. Who made late-night ramen taste like a Michelin-star meal. Who laughed at my jokes, told me when my shirt was inside out, and didn’t steal my shampoo.”

His best friend rolled her eyes, already halfway up the porch steps with her bag. “Jake, we’re literally 30 minutes away. You’re going to see me every other day.”

Jake turned to Heeseung with a sunny smile. “Well…take good care of her, yeah?”

“I do take care of her,” Heeseung said, voice flat, eyes sharp.

She snorted. “I’m not being shipped off to war, Jake.”

Jungwon—boba in hand, sunglasses on, posture far too relaxed for someone witnessing emotional carnage—finally spoke.

“Alright, drama club,” he called. “Wrap it up. People are starting to stare. Mostly me. And I’m starting to lose interest.”

Jake turned to him with a deep sigh. “What’s even the point of going home? The apartment is going to feel empty.”

Jungwon raised an eyebrow. “You do realize I still live there, right?”

Jake waved a dismissive hand. “Yeah, but you don’t count. You don’t talk to me. You just throw protein bars at my head and call it a meal.”

“And yet somehow, you’ve survived,” Jungwon deadpanned, like Jake was some tragic survivor of mild inconvenience. “Anyway. You got to live with your best friend. Now I get to live with mine.”

Jake froze mid-chew, narrowing his eyes. “…Wait. Wasn’t that hypothetical?”

Jungwon didn’t even look up from his phone. “No? I meant what I said. She’s moving in today.”

“She? You mean to tell me… I’m coming home to a stranger? A female stranger?”

“She’s not a stranger to me,” Jungwon said with an infuriating shrug. “Anyway. She’s chill. You’ll love her. I think.”

Jake pointed accusingly at Jungwon. “I swear if she does something annoying, I’ll—”

“You’ll do what?” Jungwon said, already walking away. “Write her a strongly worded Post-It? Sue her?”

“Ugh. First, I lose my best friend to my annoying boss now…now this? I’m going home!” he yelled, heading for his Uber. “But before I do…Heeseung,” Jake called out.

Heeseung took a slow sip of his coffee. “That’s Mr. Lee to you.”

“Yeah, I’m not calling you that when we’re off the clock and you look like a walking beige napkin.”

“This is Gucci,” Heeseung said flatly, glancing down at his designer shirt—then at Jake’s outfit. “And whatever you’re wearing is…”

Jake sneered. “Is a gift. From your girlfriend.”

“Oh. Then I love them,” Heeseung said sweetly, turning to kiss her on the lips without breaking eye contact.

Jake recoiled. “Tell your boyfriend to back off.”

“Tell your ex-roommate to get a grip.”

Jake narrowed his eyes. “I hope your new place has ants.”

And then... standing there on Heeseung’s stupidly spotless porch, watching them disappear into their stupid new house (because of course Heeseung could just casually buy a house like he was adding a new hoodie to cart), Jake squinted thoughtfully at the disgustingly perfect front yard.

Jake’s eye twitched. God, he hated rich people. To be specific, he hated Heeseung. Stealing his roommate and his best friend, just like that. Selfish bastard.

But then — just by the edge of the driveway — movement.

Tiny. Crawling. Full of untapped petty potential. Jake’s lips slowly curled into a grin.

“Well, well, well,” he murmured to absolutely no one, crouching down like a villain in sweatpants.

“Nature provides.”

Cut to twenty minutes later:

Jake crouched like a criminal in Heeseung’s yard with a plastic cup. Scooping ants off the sidewalk like he was foraging for revenge. Whispering to himself like a lunatic.

“This is what betrayal gets you, Heeseung. You bitch.”

By the time he had an entire squad of confused ants swirling around in the cup like unwilling accomplices, Jake stood up, dusted his hands off, and jogged across the lawn.

He rang the doorbell.

Once.

Twice.

Three times — annoying, spaced out, just to be a menace.

Finally — the door yanked open.

Heeseung stood there, deadpan, already exhausted. In socks. Mug of tea in hand.

“What.”

Jake grinned, wide, sweet, feral. “Miss me?”

Heeseung blinked at him like he regretted every life choice that led to knowing Jake Sim.

“Didn’t you leave with Jungwon?”

“I was going to but…”

And then — without missing a beat — Jake yeeted the entire cup of ants straight through the doorway.

Heeseung’s eyes tracked it mid-air.

The cup landed with a hollow little plunk on the entryway floor — ants scattering like their Uber just arrived.

Heeseung stared.

“What—” Heeseung’s eye twitched. “Did you just—”

“Nature says hi.” Jake whispered.

And then?

Jake ran. Full sprint.

Cackling like an absolute child as Heeseung’s voice exploded behind him —

“WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?!”

Jake was already halfway down the street, gleefully texting Jungwon like a war general reporting a win.

jake: bro i did smth

jungwon: what did you do

jake: nothing much. Had fun w nature tho…lol

jungwon: wait a min…did u throw ants in their fucking house

jake: yea lol i can still hear heeseung yelling

jungwon: take a vid?

jake: i’ll snap u LOOOL

—-

It wasn’t that Jake hated new people. Well—okay. Maybe he did. A little. Just a bit.

Sure, he looked friendly — floppy hair, easy grin, that dangerously smooth voice that could charm strangers and confuse baristas into giving him extra whipped cream without asking. But deep down?

Jake Sim was a man powered entirely by routine, caffeine, and emotional damage.

At work? Immaculate. Precise. Heeseung’s best guy on every project. The guy you could trust to fix your mess without asking questions.

At home? At home, Jake Sim was powered by rage, Doritos, and spite-fuelled midnight snacking.

And nothing — nothing — disrupted that fragile ecosystem quite like a stranger invading his living space.

Jake sighed and glanced at Jungwon, who sat curled on the couch, no emotion on his face.

“You’re sure she’ll like me?” Jake asked, leaning back like he genuinely needed reassurance.

Jungwon didn’t even glance up from his phone. “Maybe she will. Maybe she won’t. I’m betting my money on the latter.”

Jake grinned, ego inflating instantly. “But I’m charming. I’m handsome. I ooze sex appeal.”

Jungwon finally looked up. Blinked. Paused.

“You’re… okay.”

Jake stared. “Okay?”

Jungwon shrugged, unbothered. “You’re like store-brand charming.”

Jake squinted. “The hell does that even mean?”

“Looks the same. Works okay. Nobody’s writing home about it.” Jungwon deadpanned. “But yeah, sure. Reliable in a pinch.”

Jake clutched his chest like he’d just been stabbed with a plastic spoon. “I am premium charming.”

Jungwon sipped his drink. “You’re aisle seven, bottom shelf, on sale for $2.99.”

Jake looked genuinely offended. “Wow.”

“Look,” he said flatly, “she’s moving in tomorrow whether you like it or not. So dust yourself off… and for the love of God, take down that thing you call art.”

He pointed lazily at The Painting. The painting that Jake did during his “I’m unemployed and spiraling” era. His “maybe I’m just like Van Gogh” phase. A little stressed, a little depressed, and unfortunately — very creative.

Except he wasn’t.

Because if Jungwon was being brutally honest (and he always was), Jake’s 36 by 36 inch masterpiece was…

A giant, aggressively well-shaded dick.

Like, museum-level shading. Art school tragedy. Anatomically correct in ways that made Jungwon genuinely concerned for Jake’s mental health.

“It’s abstract,” Jake had insisted once, dead serious.

“It’s a dick,” Jungwon had replied, dead inside.

“To you,” Jake had said, like he was Picasso defending himself in court. “To me it represents manhood. The transition from child to man.”

Jungwon stared at him. Stared at the cursed, hauntingly well-shaded disaster on the wall. Stared back at him.

"Just take it down by tonight, you moron." he muttered, already walking back to his room. "Because I am not explaining to a grown ass woman why there’s a three-foot dick staring her dead in the eyes while she’s just trying to eat her cereal."

—-

You balanced a box against your hip, car keys jingling in one hand, your phone wedged between your shoulder and ear as you stepped into the apartment for the very first time.

“You couldn’t skip one class?” you muttered into the phone, nudging the door closed behind you with your foot. “Just one? I am literally dragging my entire life through this hallway alone right now.”

Jungwon’s voice crackled on the other end. “And I am literally about to ace my quiz on post-colonial literature. We all have battles we can’t pick.”

You rolled your eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t fall out. “I hope your professor forgets your name and ends up giving you the biggest F in history.”

“Trait—”

Jungwon cut you off with a yawn. “Anyway, key’s under the mat. Room in the back is yours. Make yourself at home. Don’t fight Jake. Love you.”

You paused mid-step. “Who?”

“Bye!” he said, then hung up like a man with no conscience.

You stared at your phone. “What do you mean ‘don’t fight Jake’?! Who’s Jake?!”

No answer. Just the echo of betrayal.

You let out a long sigh and took in your surroundings. The apartment was… livable. Clean-ish. A little too beige. Smelled like something between cologne and aggressively microwaved noodles. Classic boy territory.

Still balancing your box, you headed toward the back, where you assumed your room would be. The hallway split into two doors. One was cracked open slightly, revealing a glimpse of a desk.

You knocked once, half-hearted and awkward, and pushed the door open.

And then everything happened at once.

Music. Blasting.

Eyes. Wide.

Box. Dropped.

You screamed.

Because standing dead center in the room was a guy in nothing but boxers, aggressively dancing to Bruno Mars like he was auditioning for a boyband.

He jumped like he'd been tasered, yanked an earbud out, and yelped, “WHAT THE HELL?! WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?!”

“WHY ARE YOU NAKED?!” you echoed back, slapping a hand over your eyes.

“I’M NOT NAKED!”

“YOU’RE LIKE 80% NAKED!”

He grabbed a throw pillow off his bed and held it over himself like it could protect either of you from this moment. “What are you even doing in my room?!”

“Jungwon said the room in the back is mine!”

“This is my room!”

“Then label your damn doors next time!”

“You’re supposed to knock!”

“I did knock!”

“Then you wait for a response, smartass!”

“Are you serious right now?! How was I supposed to know you’d be air-humping the universe like a deranged psycho?!”

“That was choreography!”

You both stared at each other, panting like you’d just come out of battle. You took a long breath, picked up your box again, and hissed, “You must be Jake.”

His eyes narrowed. “And you must be the replacement.”

“Well,” he said, tossing the pillow onto the bed and grabbing a pair of sweats, “we’re off to a great start.”

If first impressions were anything to go by, this was going to be war.

And unfortunately, the battlefield was your new living room.

—-

You wiped your palms on your jeans, jaw still tight as you grabbed another box from the small pile by the front door. This one was heavier—textbooks, probably. Just as you turned around to haul it outside, you slammed straight into a very firm, very warm, very fully clothed chest.

You looked up. Jake.

Now dressed in a hoodie and joggers, hair slightly damp like he’d just showered the shame off. Unfortunately, he still looked obnoxiously good. Annoyingly taller than you. And, somehow, smug—which should be illegal after whatever happened earlier.

He blinked down at you. “Need help?”

You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but he held up a hand.

“Unless…” He squinted dramatically. “You’re about to peep on me again, then I—”

“Peep at you?!” you hissed. “I walked into what I thought was my room and got assaulted by a hip thrust.”

He shrugged. “I was in the moment.”

“Are you always this delusional?”

Jake leaned against the doorframe like this wasn’t already a disaster. “You really can’t admit it, huh?”

“Admit what?”

“That you enjoyed the view.”

Your jaw dropped. “Oh my God.”

“Don’t worry,” he added, all faux-gentle. “Not everyone can handle the Full Jake Sim Experience.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You know, Jungwon warned me about you.”

Jake’s grin kicked up, cocky. “Let me guess — ‘Jake’s a little dramatic, but give it time and you’ll fall for the charm.’”

“Actually,” you said dryly, “it was ‘don’t engage, it only encourages him.’”

“That’s slander,” he declared.

“That’s advice,” you corrected. “Good advice.”

—

Jungwon slid his bag off his shoulder, grinning from ear to ear. “I’m home!” he called out, voice echoing through the apartment as he kicked the door shut behind him.

Finally. After years of joking about it, he was officially living with his best friend.

Jungwon knew the odds were low that you and Jake would hit it off immediately.

You were... you. Stubborn. Easily irritated. Quietly unhinged. But also — annoyingly kind. Thoughtful in that backhanded, "made you ramen but insulted you while doing it" kind of way.

You’d survive Jake.

Hell, maybe Jake needed to survive you.

He strolled down the hallway, humming as he knocked lightly on your door. “Yo. You alive in there?”

No answer.

He tried again. Still nothing. With a shrug, he walked over to Jake’s door and gave it a push. Open. Empty.

“Jake?”

Then, from the depths of the apartment, came shouting.

Jungwon blinked. Tilted his head. The bathroom. He padded toward the noise—and regretted it immediately.

“I was here first!” you snapped.

“No, I was here first!” Jake shot back, voice bouncing off the tiled walls.

“I had my towel in here! That’s bathroom code!” You yelled.

“There is no such thing as bathroom code, you freak!”

“Let me in! I’m going out and I have to pee!”

“Looking like that?” You sneered at Jake whose smile faded.

A long pause.

“…What’s that supposed to mean?”

You offered a polite smile. “Oh, nothing. I just thought you cared about how you dressed. But hey—good for you. You’re braver than most of the people I know!”

Jungwon closed his eyes. Rested his head against the wall. Inhaled slowly.

This was his life now.

—-

Jake sat slouched at the edge of the table, a half-spilled bowl of kimchi stew in front of him, aggressively chomping like it had personally wronged him.

Across from him, Heeseung and his girlfriend were mid–honeymoon phase nonsense—feeding each other dumplings, whispering like the rest of the room didn’t exist, giggling over god knows what as if Jake wasn’t having a full-blown emotional breakdown one seat over.

“She color-codes the pantry,” Jake snapped, waving his chopsticks like a weapon. “I left one bag of chips—one!—and she reorganized the entire cabinet. Who’s even looking in there, huh? The Pantry Police?”

“Oh—oh, and get this,” Jake ranted, mouth still half-full of kimchi. “She sends me photos of the sink. With captions. ‘This is your plate, Jake. I know it’s yours because it has your little cartoon fork on it. Like—what?! How does she even know I have cartoon forks?! Who memorizes someone’s cutlery?’”

He flailed a hand like he was being victimized.

His best friend didn’t even blink. “The real question is why you’re still using forks with tiny bears on them.”

“That’s not the point!”

“You ever thought of, I don’t know…” Heeseung finally looked up, lips shiny from dumpling sauce. “Being a better roommate instead of…an ass?”

“I’m not being an ass!” Jake protested — loud enough to startle the next table and wild enough to knock over the soy sauce dish. He scrambled to fix it with a sad napkin, still grumbling under his breath like he was the victim here.

“She’s just—she’s too clean, okay? Like robot clean. Psycho neat. I leave one hoodie on the couch and next thing I know, it’s folded, labelled, and put away neatly.”

“It just sounds like you’re being an ass to her,” she said.

“Yeah, let’s unpack that.”

Jake squinted. “Unpack what?”

“You know.” Heeseung leaned back, annoyingly relaxed. “Why are you all…angsty and weird about her?”

“Because!” Jake snapped. Jake glared. At them. At the table. At the ceiling.

Heeseung raised an eyebrow. “Because?”

Then he exploded, “…Because she freaking pisses me off, that’s why!”

The table went silent.

“That’s crazy. Sounds a lot like flirting to me.”

—-

You threw yourself onto the couch with the kind of rage that could only come from enduring Jake Sim for more than ten minutes. Jungwon sat across from you, calmly chewing on dried squid like he wasn’t witnessing a breakdown.

“He leaves his stupid fucking hoodie on the couch,” you exploded, hands flailing like you were directing traffic in hell. “Like we live in a prison bunk. Like there’s no other surface in the entire apartment for his crusty-ass clothes except the exact spot I want to sit.”

Jungwon nodded slowly. Unbothered. A man built for surviving your storms.

You inhaled sharply. But oh — you were not done.

“And don’t even get me started on the pantry.” You threw a hand toward the kitchen like it personally betrayed you.

“He messed up my color-coded snack shelf. My system, Jungwon.” He raised a brow. Brave. Curious. Foolish.

“What system?”

You blinked. Offended. “My Oreos go beside the dark chocolate. That’s balance. That’s harmony. That’s civilisation. That’s how society should be.”

“But noooo—” you went on, fully deranged now, “Jake Sim, chaotic neutral in sweatpants, decides to put my Oreos between the shrimp chips and the ramen cups like he’s staging a fucking rebellion.”

“So what I’m hearing is…” he drawled, “you think about Jake... a lot.”

“Shut the hell up.”

He ignored you completely. “God, you two act like toddlers.”

“It’s not my fault,” you whined. “He’s making living here hard.”

Like breathing was fine until Jake Sim walked into the room with his stupid smug face and stupid loud voice and stupid boy smell that was weirdly clean for someone who acted like a feral animal.

“You’re not exactly a ray of sunshine to him either,” he pointed out.

“That’s only because…” you muttered.

“Because?”

“Because he’s loud and smug and he–he leaves wet towels on the bathroom floor and–”

“Because?”

“BECAUSE HE FREAKING PISSES ME OFF, THAT’S WHY!”

The room went quiet. Jungwon stared at you. You stared at Jungwon.

And then he went back to chewing his squid, completely unfazed. “Yeah,” he mumbled, “you’re definitely in love with him.”

—-

It was nearly midnight, and the apartment was quiet except for the occasional sharp screech from the horror movie playing on the TV. The lights were off, the only glow coming from the screen casting quick shadows across the room. You were curled up on the couch, blanket over your shoulders, a bowl of popcorn balanced in your lap, gripping a pillow more out of nerves than comfort — heart jumping at every sudden sound.

Jungwon was long gone—fast asleep behind his locked door like a man who knew better.

The apartment was dark. Too dark. The only light came from the TV, flickering ominously across your face as the horror movie reached its cursed little climax.

On screen, the main character was creeping down some nightmare hallway — flickering lights, suspicious footsteps, a soundtrack practically begging something to kill them. You squinted, peeking nervously between your fingers.

“Don’t open the door,” you whispered to the screen, your voice tight. “Don’t open the door, you idiot—”

On screen, the character opened the door.

You sucked in a breath, ready for the inevitable jumpscare.

And then—

“Boo.”

You didn’t even think.

You screamed at the top of your lungs. The bowl of popcorn went airborne. Your fist met something very real, very solid, and very human.

Crack.

“OW—WHAT THE FU—”

You turned mid-panic to find Jake Sim, doubled over and holding his nose, blinking like he’d just been hit by a truck.

Your jaw dropped. “OH MY GOD—JAKE?!”

He groaned loudly. “Did you just punch me?!”

“YOU SNUCK UP ON ME!”

“DO I LOOK LIKE THE FUCKING DEMON?!”

Jake pulled his hand back and stared at the red streak now smeared across his palm.

“Is that—” you gasped, eyes wide, “OH MY GOD, ARE YOU BLEEDING?”

“Yes!” Jake hissed, clutching his nose. “My face is leaking! My nose is leaking because you decided to square up with me like this was Mortal Kombat!”

You scrambled to grab tissues, knocking over a cushion and somehow stepping on your own foot in the process. “I didn’t mean to! It was a reflex! Who sneaks up on someone during a horror movie? You’re lucky I didn’t stab you.”

Jake flopped onto the couch like a man deeply wronged. “You need a warning label.”

“You need common sense.”

“You need to stop throwing hands like you’re in an underground fight club.”

You shoved the wad of tissues at him, dropping onto the couch beside him with a dramatic sigh. “Drama queen.”

“Violent rat.”

The two of you sat there, breathing hard. Popcorn crunched quietly under your sock. The horror movie still played in the background — completely forgotten.

Ten minutes later, you were sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of him, chewing your lip. Jake sat slouched on the couch, ice pack pressed to his face, still sulking like you’d ruined his modelling career.

“Are you okay?” you asked, cautiously.

Jake didn’t look at you. “Physically or emotionally?”

You squinted. “...Both?”

“Physically, my nose is fighting for its life. Emotionally? I’ve seen things.”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh my god, you’re so dramatic.”

He gave you a look over the ice pack. “I googled it. I’m allowed to be dramatic.”

You snorted. “Let me see.”

“What, so you can break it again?”

Still, when you leaned in, Jake let you push his hand away.

Carefully, you touched the bridge of his nose, brows furrowed in focus. Up close like this, you were quiet for once — way too close, way too serious, and way too pretty for his peace of mind.

“It’s not broken,” you muttered, inspecting him closely. “Tragically.”

Jake huffed a laugh under his breath. “Bet you’re disappointed.”

“A little,” you admitted.

Your hand brushed his cheek as you pulled away and Jake’s brain short-circuited for a solid second.

“Okay, you’re fine. Still got your stupid face. The world can rest easy.”

He grinned lazily. “Worried about me?”

You scoffed. “I’m worried you’ll bleed all over the couch.”

You got up to leave.

“Where are you going?”

“To make you tea.”

Jake blinked. That shut him up fast.

“Chamomile?” he asked hopefully.

You groaned from the kitchen. “Isn’t that the only tea you drink?”

Silence.

Then Jake — deadpan, smug — called out, “Weird how you know that.”

You rolled your eyes. Hard. “Weird how you only drink the saddest tea on earth like an old timey British person.”

Jake snorted. “Says the girl who labels her instant noodles like they’re priceless artifacts.”

“At least I don’t treat chamomile like a personality trait.”

“At least I have a personality,” Jake shot back. “Yours starts and ends with passive-aggressive Post-Its.”

You yanked open the cupboard. “Maybe if you read them, we wouldn’t be here.”

“Maybe if you punched fewer people we wouldn’t be here.”

There was a beat.

You grabbed a mug, muttering under your breath, “Should’ve punched harder.”

Jake, from the couch, still icing his nose, let out a scoff of disbelief.

“And yet,” he said flatly, “here you are. Making tea for me.”

You slammed the kettle down louder than necessary. “Because if I don’t, you’ll bleed out and haunt me out of spite.”

Jake leaned back, smug despite the tissue stuffed up his nose.

“Oh, don’t worry,” he called out. “If I do die and end up haunting you, I’m definitely hiding your stupid label maker first.”

—-

The next morning, sunlight trickled through the blinds, soft and golden. The apartment was quiet. Jungwon had already disappeared for his 8 a.m. class like the punctual little overachiever he was.

Which left you here.

In the kitchen.

Making the most humiliating thing of your life:

“I’m sorry I punched your nose” scrambled eggs.

This wasn’t because you liked Jake Sim. God, no. This wasn’t softness. This wasn’t kindness.

This was guilt.

Stupid, irritating, nose-bleeding guilt.

Because yeah — maybe he shouldn’t have snuck up on you like the human embodiment of a jumpscare. But also... maybe you shouldn’t have decked him like you were trying out for MMA.

Maybe.

Unfortunately, despite being fully committed to hating Jake Sim with your entire soul... you also had a functioning moral compass.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

Jake padded out of his room half-asleep, hoodie sliding off one shoulder, hair a disaster, still mentally in dreamland — following the smell of butter like a man possessed.

But then he saw you.

And whatever was left of his morning brain just... stopped.

There you were. Standing by the stove — hair pulled back messily like you hadn’t even tried, barefoot, apron cinched around your waist, that stupid little dress swaying just slightly as you moved.

It was... weird.

Soft, almost. Domestic.

Like he’d walked into someone else’s life.

You were humming to yourself, lazily stirring scrambled eggs — completely unaware that Jake had frozen in the doorway like an idiot.

And he didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t even breathe.

Because it hit him — quietly, without warning — that you were pretty.

Not just yeah, okay, she’s kinda cute when she’s not yelling at me pretty.

But actually pretty.

So pretty it knocked the rest of his words clean out of his head.

Which explained why he didn’t notice the sharp corner of the kitchen counter directly in front of him.

WHAM.

His toe slammed into the sharp corner of the kitchen counter.

“Fuck,” he whispered, staggering back like he’d been shot.

You jumped, whipping around. “Oh, you’re awake.”

Jake blinked down at you from the other side of the kitchen, still cradling his busted toe like it was your fault. His hoodie was sliding off one shoulder, hair an absolute mess, socks mismatched.

Meanwhile, you?

Hair tied up like it was nothing. That stupid little dress swishing around your knees. Making breakfast.

It was almost offensive, really.

Jake narrowed his eyes. \Why did you look... annoyingly good this morning? Since when? Since when were you this pretty?

Damn, maybe you gave him a concussion.

You caught him staring.

“What?” you snapped, holding up the plate like it was a peace treaty you immediately regretted.

He blinked, snapped out of it. “What’s this?”

“Scrambled eggs. For you.”

“Pity eggs?”

You rolled your eyes. “Consider it hush money so I don’t have to keep looking at your tragic nose bruise.”

Jake hesitated. Then took the plate — fingers brushing yours just long enough to send something stupid and sparky down his spine.

Shut up, spine.

He cleared his throat. “You didn’t poison these, right?”

“Only emotionally,” you deadpanned. “Just like I do everything.”

Jake snorted under his breath — a sound halfway between disbelief and reluctant amusement.

But then, as you sat across from him, watching him eat like you weren’t the one responsible for his new villain origin story, you shifted awkwardly.

And Jake noticed.

Hard not to, when you were never this quiet.

“Look…” you started, voice forced like you were fighting every bit of your pride. “I was talking to Jungwon, and… maybe I’ve been giving you a hard time.”

Jake paused mid-chew.

Maybe?

“...You broke my face.”

You glared. “It’s not broken.”

He gestured wildly. “It could be. You’re not a doctor”

You exhaled sharply. “I’m just saying... maybe we could be, like, civil.”

“Are you sure you didn’t poison—”

“I didn’t fucking poison them, you rat.” Jake just stared at you, smug.

You cleared your throat, adjusting your tone like you hadn’t just threatened him with breakfast. “What I meant to say was… no. I didn’t poison them. If that’s what you were worried about.”

Jake watched you from the corner of his eye — the way your dress moved, the way your ponytail swayed.

“I just feel bad, okay?” you huffed, glaring at his very tragic, very dramatic face. “That big-ass bruise on your nose’s making eye contact with me.”

Jake froze. Instantly concerned.

“...Bruise?” he echoed, voice tight.

“Yeah.”

Like a man possessed, he snatched his phone off the counter, flipped to the front camera—

And the noise he made?

Somewhere between a gasp, a dying bird, and a full-on crime scene.

“Oh my god,” he whispered, horrified. “You ruined my face.”

You blinked. “I—”

“My beautiful fucking face!”

You winced. “That’s… a little dramatic.”

Jake spun around like you’d personally ended his modeling career, shoving the phone in your face. “Do you see this?! How am I supposed to show up to work tomorrow looking like I got body slammed by Dwayne Fucking Johnson?!”

You snorted. “You literally work in tech.”

“That’s not the point!”

“I’m pretty sure it is the point,” you deadpanned. “You’re not an idol, Jake. I’m sure the CEOs will survive your mildly distressed nose.”

Jake let out a pained groan, like you just didn’t understand the gravity of his suffering. “I have a presentation tomorrow!”

You raised a brow. “Okay... and?”

“A huge one!” he cried. “Multiple CEOs. Investors from all over the country. I’m supposed to look like I have my life together. Not like I got mauled by a vending machine!”

You shrugged, zero sympathy left in your body. “Can’t your boss… what’s his name again… Hee...Heesoo do it?”

“It’s Heeseung,” Jake bit out. “And he’s in Japan for a business trip.”

“Get someone else to do it.”

“I am someone else!” he exploded, pacing now like his nose was about to file a lawsuit.

A beat of silence.

You tilted your head slowly, casually, a little too calm for his liking.

“…What if I did it?”

“...What.”

“I could present it for you,” you said, crossing your arms, your smile inching into dangerous territory. “You wear a mask, pretend you’re sick. Cough a few times for realism. I’ll read your script. Boom. Problem solved.”

You turned back around, all casual, all dangerous. “Your pitch. I could do it.”

He blinked. Once. Twice.

“Yeah, uh, no offense, Broadway, but the presentation is about app technology. Not jazz hands.”

You shrugged. “Fake it till you make it. Plus, I’m excellent at pretending I know things. Ask any of my professors.”

Jake stared at you.

Like you had absolutely lost your mind.

“You,” he said flatly, “want to stand in front of a room full of multi-millionaire investors... and pretend to know shit about app tech.”

You grinned. “Exactly.”

“That is—hands down—the worst idea I’ve ever heard.”

“Thank you.”

“And also,” Jake added slowly, like it pained him to admit, “possibly... my only option.”

You shot finger guns at him.

You grinned like the menace you were. “Come on, Jake Sim. Admit it. You need me.”

“Fine,” he ground out. Like the word physically hurt coming out of his mouth. “But you’re getting a crash course in app tech in two hours. No complaining.”

You shrugged, breezy, unbothered. “Sounds painfully boring. Can’t wait.”

—-

The next day, Jake had already bolted out of the apartment like his hair was on fire while shouting, “The investors are here and they brought their lawyers! I gotta g–” and then he left.

Meanwhile, you?

You were still in the bathroom, casually putting on lip balm like you had all the time in the world. Because if you were about to scam your way through a tech presentation with nothing but sheer confidence and delusion — you were damn sure going to look like someone who belonged on a Forbes list.

Or, well... the clearance rack at H&M’s attempt at one.

Were you terrified of tech investors? Absolutely.

Were you about to march in there, smile pretty, and pretend you understood whatever the hell Jake had been mumbling about for the past 24 hours? Also absolutely.

Because if there was one thing you were good at — it was faking shit.

(And pissing Jake off. But that was practically a sport at this point.)

You strutted into Jake’s workplace like you owned the building. Or were seconds away from committing tax fraud in it. Either way — heels clicking, head high, shoulders squared like you’d been bred in the wild on sarcasm and petty confidence.

The lobby was ridiculous. Floor-to-ceiling glass. Air that smelled like imported lemons and old money. A giant, abstract sculpture near the entrance that looked suspiciously like regret and cost more than your entire education.

Upstairs, Jake checked his watch for what had to be the fiftieth time.

You’re late. 5 minutes late.

His shirt collar felt like it was conspiring to choke him, and the mask he wore (to hide the bruise you gave him) felt less like protection and more like a visual reminder that he’d been punched in the face by you.

The elevator dinged. Jake didn’t even look up at first—he was too busy internally screaming about font sizes and silently mouthing his pitch like a deranged TED Talk speaker. But then the room shifted. The air changed. Like the universe hit slow-mo.

His gaze lifted. And there you were. Jake looked up. And promptly forgot how to function. Because there you were. Walking out of the elevator like you were starring in his worst nightmare — and maybe his daydream too. He wasn’t sure anymore.

Soft curls. Glossy lips. That dress. That damn dress — classy, simple, hugging you like it was personally invested in his suffering. The type of dress that shouldn’t have been this illegal in a workplace setting but was, somehow, devastatingly so.

Jake forgot how to breathe.

Because here was the thing about Jake Sim:

He’d seen you in every possible unflattering state known to mankind.

Screaming about printer ink like it committed tax fraud against you. Hair up in a bun so chaotic it looked like it had survived a natural disaster. Wearing the same hoodie for three days straight — his hoodie, he’d realized once, which only annoyed him more — eyes wild with caffeine and vengeance at 3AM because Spotify ads kept interrupting your study playlist.

And still — still — Jake had always kinda thought you were...pretty.

Annoyingly pretty.

The worst kind.

The kind of pretty that snuck up on you mid-argument or when you were mid-rant about detergent prices. The kind of pretty that didn’t need fixing or dressing up. Just...you.

But today? Today was different. You weren’t just pretty. You were dangerous.

His jaw clenched so hard he swore he heard a crack. He couldn’t look away. Couldn’t blink. Couldn’t even think.

It was like the floor had disappeared beneath him and someone had swapped out his organs with static. His heart had ditched the beat and gone straight to drum solo. His brain, normally quick, charming, obnoxiously cocky? Dead.

“You made it,” Jake said — and immediately regretted it, because holy shit, was that his voice? High. Cracked. Betrayed him completely like puberty had just swung back around for one last revenge tour.

“Yeah, well,” you hummed, throwing him a look and gesturing vaguely to the black mask covering the evidence of your sucker punch, “figured I owed you.”

Jake nodded. Or at least he thought he did. Hard to tell.

He decided to stay silent. Because God knows what would happen if he opened his mouth again? God help him — a full-blown Ed Sheeran love song might just crawl out.

So he didn’t. He just...stood there. Standing at the podium, you looked...ridiculous. Ridiculously good.

Like you didn’t just belong here — like you ran the place. Like you were here to pitch an app or recruit followers for a cult — and honestly? Jake wasn’t even sure which one. All he knew was… he’d probably sign up either way. No questions asked. No dignity left.

"Well, good morning, everyone,” you began, and even you were surprised by how calm you sounded.

Jake stood in the back, blinking at you like he’d never seen you before. You were charismatic. Smart. A little terrifying. And you had the entire room hanging on your every word.

Somewhere between “LinkedIn is dead” and “our algorithm is based on actual passions, not titles,” Jake realized something horrifying. You weren’t just pretending to be good at this. You were good at this. Confident. Sharp. Effortless.

His chest swelled — with what felt suspiciously like pride — until reality smacked him upside the head. This was the same girl who, just last night, sat cross-legged on his floor, staring blankly at his laptop and asked, with full sincerity:

"Wait… what does AI even stand for?"

Jake was still smiling like an idiot.

God, he hated to admit it — but you killed that presentation. Clean. Sharp. Smooth in a way that made him kind of want to brag about it like he trained you personally (he didn’t — he barely survived explaining what an API was to you without passing out).

A few came up to shake your hand — small talk, praise, the usual empty corporate fluff. Except no one really asked you questions. Not the tough ones, at least.

Right up until he caught movement at the edge of his vision.

Two guys. Tall. Sleek. Expensive haircuts that probably cost more than Jake’s entire outfit. Hovering. Too close. He squinted. Because they weren’t walking toward him. Nope.

They were walking toward you.

Grinning. Hovering. Talking with their hands like they were about to pitch you a deal or — god forbid — flirt. His eyes narrowed. You were still reeling from the high of the presentation, packing up your notes when a smooth voice cut through the air beside you.

“I haven’t seen you around before,” said Blondie. "Mr. Sim never mentioned someone so young... and pretty working in the App Tech department."

“Oh, uh, I’m new,” you said, hoping you didn’t sound as awkward as you felt. “Just joined.”

Blondie smiled, clearly not buying it. “New and already giving such an impressive presentation. I’d love to hear more about the algorithm sometime… maybe over dinner?”

You blinked again. Algorithm? Was that on Slide 7?

Before you could even form a response, a voice cut in like an unexpected thunderstorm.

“She’s booked.”

You turned just in time to see Jake—Jake—swoop into the scene like a knight in wrinkled business casual. His jaw was tight, eyes practically shooting daggers. And that mask? Somehow, it made him look even hotter. You were definitely going to need therapy to figure out why anger made him so ridiculously attractive. That was something for a professional to unpack.

“She’s what?” Blondie asked, blinking.

“Taken,” Jake said, his voice like cold steel. “I’m with her.”

Blondie’s eyes widened like he’d just been slapped with a fish. “Oh! I didn’t realize—”

Jake grabbed your hand and brought it up to his lips with a quick peck, way too casual for the situation. “Anyway,” Jake said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, “thanks for admiring my girlfriend. I, too, find her absolutely breathtaking.”

Blondie and his friend, practically evaporated under the weight of the awkwardness. They muttered quick goodbyes and slunk off, leaving you standing there, completely stunned.

“Girlfriend?” You stared at Jake, still holding your hand in his like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Jake leaned down slightly, his voice soft but pointed. “You’re welcome for saving you from that finance bro disaster. You looked like you were about to faint.”

“I was not,” you shot back, still flustered.

“You squeaked.” Jake smirked, his lips curling up in that annoying, irresistibly smug way of his. Your heart skipped a beat, but you shoved it down. He was being a jerk.

You crossed your arms, still confused by the whole situation. “You’re so weird. Why the hell would you do that?”

Jake shrugged casually, as if the whole thing had been no big deal. “Someone had to save you. I’m not letting some guy with a bad haircut flirt with you in front of me. It’s... inconvenient.”

"Inconvenient?" You stared at him, baffled. "What are you even—"

And then, like a slap to the face, it hit you.

He was jealous.

“No way,” you muttered, half-laughing. “Are you… actually jealous right now?”

Jake’s face flushed slightly, but he smirked, all smooth and defensive. "No, I just—"

You interrupted him, holding up your hand. "You are! Oh my god, you are jealous."

His eyes flickered briefly, like he was calculating his next move. “I am not. You're... imagining things.”

You leaned back slightly, giving him a teasing, incredulous look. “Right, because you not letting some guy get too close is just a totally normal response for someone you fucking despise.”

Jake paused, then looked at you with that intense, quiet stare, his expression unreadable for a moment. You felt a flicker of something in your chest, but before you could process it, he said, in a voice softer than you expected, “I don’t despise you.”

—

Jake sat across from you at the tiny grill table, doing his best to act like he didn't care that you were wearing what could only be described as the world's most unassuming dress. It wasn’t even remotely textbook "sexy." No slits, no plunging neckline, just a simple, casual thing that barely clung to you. Yet, somehow, you made it look like flawless.

You were just grilling meat, for crying out loud. Nothing remotely provocative about it. And yet, there Jake was, trying—and failing—to pretend he wasn’t completely losing his mind over it.

Then, disaster struck.

Jake’s grip on his chopsticks tightened, nearly snapping them in half. He could feel a vein pulsing in his temple. He didn't even realize he was glaring until the waiter noticed. And that’s when he realized something was very, very wrong with him.

You turned to Jake, blinking innocently. “Are you okay? You look like you’re about to pass out.”

“Me?” Jake laughed, but it was the kind of laugh that wasn’t even remotely convincing. “Totally fine. Just making sure you’re not about to, y'know, set the whole table on fire.”

He shrugged off his jacket and—without thinking—slung it over your shoulders like his life depended on it.

“You look cold,” Jake muttered, trying to sound casual, but the effort was absolutely wasted.

“I’m sitting in front of an actual fire,” you pointed out, obviously not buying the excuse.

“Just take it,” he said through gritted teeth. He could feel his brain glitching as his fingers brushed against yours for half a second.

“You’re acting weird,” you muttered, clearly starting to suspect something was off. “Did you hit your head again today or…?”

“Just wear the damn thing.”

“Why?” you asked slowly, suspicious. “I’m not even cold.”

“It’s not for warmth,” he snapped, his voice tight with frustration.

You narrowed your eyes, not letting him off the hook. “So what’s it for?”

Jake leaned forward, dropping his voice to a near whisper like he was plotting a heist. “It’s... you're over there looking all... attractive, and the waiter’s looking at you like he wants to take you home. And I—” He paused and muttered, “I’m the one who invited you here, okay? So technically, you’re my dinner guest. And I just feel like you shouldn’t be—”

“Did you just call me attractive?”

Jake froze. For a split second, his mind went completely blank. He’d said it without even thinking, and now that the words were out there, the whole table seemed to get a little bit warmer, a little bit more suffocating.

“Uh—” He fumbled, trying to backpedal. “No! I didn’t—what I meant was—” He cleared his throat, awkwardly adjusting in his seat.

You stared at him, eyes wide. “Jake... you’re an awfully jealous person today.”

He froze. Blinked. And then launched into a performance so bad it was almost impressive. “Jealous? Me? Oh my god, that’s so cute. That’s actually hilarious. I’m not jealous. You? Of you? Pfft. I just... look, I just think it’s unhygienic for strangers to salivate this close to raw meat, alright?”

He avoided your gaze and took a big gulp of his drink, probably hoping it would give him some answers. “Also, that guy was undressing you with his eyes.”

You gave him a flat look, raising an eyebrow. "And your solution to a perv is to throw a jacket over me like I’m some fragile piece of art in a museum?”

Jake kept his cool, eyes still avoiding yours. “I could go beat him up if you want,” he offered, not-so-casually.

You snorted, leaning back in your chair, slipping your hands into the sleeves of the jacket he’d thrown over you. “You're an idiot.”

—-

The next time Jake found himself questioning the entire fabric of his reality, it was in the kitchen of your shared apartment.

A totally normal evening.

Except not really.

Because you were sitting across from him in nothing but an oversized T-shirt and a smile, and Jake was experiencing what scientists might classify as a complete psychological collapse.

He wasn’t even sure what the hell the conversation was about. Jungwon was laughing about something, maybe a dumb meme or a cursed group chat screenshot, and you were giggling so hard you smacked Jungwon’s arm and nearly knocked over your drink.

Jake didn’t laugh. Jake stared.

Because every time you moved, your stupidly oversized shirt rode up a little, and your bare legs—the ones he absolutely should not be noticing—taunted him like they were sent from hell specifically to test his willpower.

He hated it.

No, actually—he hated you. Yes. That was the correct narrative. He hated the way you always left passive-aggressive sticky notes on his leftovers ("These are MINE. I will KNOW if you eat one. By you I mean JAKE SIM."). He hated you when you reorganized his entire snack drawer by vibe. (“The spicy chips are angry. They go in the red bin.” What did that even MEAN?)

He hated that you chewed ice. That you used a ten-step skincare routine that monopolized the bathroom for thirty minutes every morning. That you once referred to him as “the reason I believe in selective mutism.”

And yet… he was currently staring at your thighs like they held the secret to inner peace.

Jake looked away, clenching his jaw. What the hell was happening to him? Was this a stroke? Had you poisoned his food?

The next time he went absolutely bonkers was a few days later. He had to pee.

He pushed the door open without knocking, because this was his house and he had…welll…he had the rights.

And then.

He saw you.

Half-naked.

In your bra and underwear, bent slightly over the sink, drying your shirt with a hairdryer.

His brain short-circuited like someone had poured water directly into his skull.

His gaze dropped—just for half a second, a reflex—and immediately locked on your bare legs, and oh god, he hated himself. He spun around so fast he almost slammed into the door.

“OH MY GOD—SORRY!” Jake yelped, one hand covering his eyes like he’d been hit with a solar flare. “You—why—WHAT—why didn’t you lock the door?!”

You blinked at him in the mirror and chuckled, totally unfazed. “Oh shit. I forgot to lock it.”

“What is wrong with you?!”

“Me? You walked in,” you pointed out.

“You left it unlocked!”

“You could’ve knocked!”

“I shouldn’t have to knock in my own apartment! What are you doing half-naked drying your shirt in here?!”

“I spilled soda on myself.” You replied, nonchalant.

“I’M THE VICTIM HERE,” Jake yelled dramatically, still not turning around. “I just wanted to pee and now I’ve seen your underwear! I’ll never recover from this!”

You laughed again, breathless. “Relax. It’s just a body. You’ve seen legs before.”

A long beat of silence passed.

Jake slowly turned his head just enough to peek at the wall. “Are you, um...decent now?”

“Yeah,” you said, tugging your damp shirt back over your head. “Crisis averted. You can resume your regularly scheduled hate.”

Jake turned around cautiously. You were grinning, cheeks slightly pink, shirt clinging a little, hair a mess—and somehow, it was worse. Way worse. Because even like this, maybe especially like this, you looked unfairly adorable.

He stared at you for one second too long.

“Jake,” you said, raising an eyebrow, “are you...blushing?”

“No,” he snapped immediately, brushing past you with all the grace of a man running from his feelings. “Now get out, I need to pee.”

As he shut the door behind him, you called out, “You’re welcome for the free show, by the way.”

Jake groaned.

Out loud.

Into the void.

He was never going to recover.

—-

It all started with what Jake would later refer to—dramatically and with full PTSD—as The Saturday Incident.

He had spent the entire day in bed, pretending to do work, but actually doing what could best be described as “vague laptop clicking” and “aggressively avoiding you.”

You were out in the living room, probably plotting new ways to rearrange the furniture or alphabetize the spices by vibe again. He wasn’t going to risk interaction. Not when his heart had started doing these strange, erratic flips every time you were near. It was disorienting, this fluttering sensation that kept taking him by surprise. Honestly, he didn’t appreciate it. Didn’t appreciate whatever the hell was happening in his chest, because he'd never felt like this before.

The thought crossed his mind—maybe he should go see a doctor for a cardiogram. Heeseung had laughed in his face when he mentioned it, as if the idea of it being a medical issue was the funniest thing he'd ever heard. Jake didn’t get what was so funny, though. All he knew was that every time you entered the room, his heart seemed to forget how to behave, and he wasn’t sure that was something anyone could just laugh off.

So he stayed hidden.

Until there was a knock.

“Jake?” Your voice came through the door—soft, almost... sweet?

He stared at the door like it had personally betrayed him.

“Jake?” you called again, this time with a tone that made his brain short-circuit just a little. He sighed like a man being forced into labor and got up, preparing for whatever minor chaos you were about to deliver.

He opened the door.

And immediately wished he hadn’t.

There you stood. In a dress—a glittery, stupidly pretty dress he had never seen before. The tag was still dangling from it, and for some reason, that made it worse. Like you were a gift waiting to be unwrapped and oh no what the hell, brain, stop right there.

His mouth went dry.

His knees? Unreliable.

You were—unfortunately—gorgeous.

“Can you help me?” you asked, turning around.

And that’s when he saw it. Your bare back.

Jake died a little. Right there in the doorway. He whispered, barely audible: “F-fuck.”

“Huh?” you looked over your shoulder.

“I said—sure! Sure, totally, yep,” he said, voice cracking like a 13-year-old boy seeing shoulders for the first time.

He reached for the zipper like it was made of lava. His fingers brushed your skin and he physically flinched.

“You busy with work?” you asked casually, like this wasn’t slowly killing him.

“Yeah. Working. Doing... business things. Graphs.” Nailed it. “Are you, uh, going out?” He zipped faster, praying for this moment to end and also never end, confusingly.

“Nope.” You turned back around, smiling. “I just got this dress and wanted to see if it fit.”

Jake stared at you like he was watching the heavens open. “Oh,” he said dumbly.

“Besides, I was bored.” You laughed, brushing past him like this was your room, and plopped yourself onto his bed like it was no big deal.

Jake blinked. “You can’t just—don’t just walk into my room!”

“What? You hiding something?”

“Yes!” he said, voice a little too high. “I mean—maybe. You don’t know my life.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Let me guess. Secret stash of R-rated movies?”

“What?! No!”

“Love letters? Hidden shrine of an ex?”

“Oh my god.”

“Wait—you have love letters?”

“I don’t have any! Why are you like this?!”

You grinned. “Hard to believe. You’re, like, suspiciously single.”

Jake scoffed. “Suspiciously?”

“Yeah. You’re cute in a grumpy, emotionally constipated way.”

He blinked. “Did you just call me cute?”

“I mean, when you’re not yelling about laundry socks and acting like you’ve never heard of coasters.”

Jake’s face flushed. His lips twitched. A smile was fighting its way out, and he hated that you were winning. “You’re so annoying.”

“I’m a delight.”

“You’re hell personified.”

“And you,” you said, leaning back onto his bed, “are blushing.”

“I am not.”

“Jake,” you said, eyes twinkling, “your ears are red.”

He turned away, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Okay, but—hold on. Why are you in my room anyway? All dressed up, all dolled up, all pretty.”

You raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. “Was that a compliment?”

“No.”

“You just listed three compliments,” you pointed out, your voice teasing.

“They weren’t compliments.”

“They sure seem like it.”

He stared at you—your ridiculous sparkle dress, your smug little smirk, the fact that you looked entirely too comfortable lying on his bed like you belonged there—and felt his heart do a full-body sigh.

Oh no.

He was in trouble.

Because he didn’t hate you at all.

—-

Jake had one goal tonight: get snacks, avoid feelings, don’t die.

He’d nearly made it to the kitchen—eyes forward, brain reciting his grocery list like a prayer—when he heard your voice.

“Jake?”

He froze like someone had hit pause on his life.

There you were, curled up on the couch with a blanket around your legs and a bowl of popcorn in your lap, looking... cozy. Cute. Normal. Like you weren’t the cause of 99% of his internal screaming today.

“Yeah?” he called over his shoulder, already bracing for disaster.

“Come watch this with me.”

Jake turned halfway, one hand still on the fridge. “What? No. Why would I wanna–”

You pouted. And he hated—hated—how fast his resolve crumbled at the sight of it.

“C’mon. Please? I’m lonely,” you said. “Jungwon’s not back for another hour.”

Jake audibly swallowed, “F–fine.”

Still, he sighed and walked over like a man approaching a guillotine.

He sat on the very edge of the couch, as far from you as possible. Like you might spontaneously explode and take him with you.

You blinked at him. “Why the fuck are you sitting miles away from me? I’m not gonna eat you.”

Jake’s ears went red so fast it was almost impressive. “I’m—just giving you space.”

You threw a popcorn kernel at him. “What, do I have cooties now?”

“No!” he blurted, then immediately regretted sounding like a panicked fifth grader. “I just thought—I mean, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

You tilted your head, amused. “I thought we were pass our enemy phase and in the ‘I-only-hate-you-when-it’s-convenient-phase.”

His heart stopped.

Jake stared at you.

“We are! I just–”

You shook your head and patted the seat next to you. “Come on. You're so dramatic. Sit like a normal person.”

Jake, against his better judgment and every self-preservation instinct, scooted closer. A little. Then a little more.

You tossed the blanket over his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. “There. See? Not so scary.”

He sat stiffly under the blanket like it was radioactive, absolutely convinced he was going to die. His arm accidentally brushed yours and his brain lit up.

You leaned in slightly, focused on the screen.

Jake leaned back slightly, focused on not passing out.

And somewhere between the opening credits and the second kernel of popcorn you tossed at him “for flinching like a grandma,” Jake realized something horrifying.

He didn’t hate you.

At all.

And worse?

Instead, it was the absolute opposite. Maybe he liked you.

(Or had the biggest stinking fucking crush on you.)

Either way, these feelings were huge. And scary.

—-

Jake was fine.

Totally. Absolutely. 100% fine.

So what if he maybe thought about the way your shoulder brushed his during the movie? Or the fact that your laugh made his chest do weird twisty things? So what if you looked really cute in that dumb glittery dress and then even cuter in sweats and a bun with popcorn crumbs on your shirt?

He was fine.

No, he was lying. He was not.

Because Jake Sim didn’t do feelings.

Feelings were for wimps. For poets. For people with acoustic guitars and questionable Spotify Wrapped playlists. For people like Heeseung.

Not him.

Jake Sim was immune. Built different. Untouchable. Feelings? He left those at the door with his dignity and expired loyalty card points.

Which is why he was currently, aggressively, avoiding you like you were radioactive.

You walked into the kitchen? He walked out.

You tried to start a conversation? “I’m busy.” (He wasn’t.)

You reached for the chips? “Take it yourself.” (They were on the top shelf. You couldn’t reach. He still left.)

You asked if he wanted to hang out? “No thanks. Be alone. Bitch.” (He did not mean that. At all. And also whispered it when you were already out of earshot, afraid he’d hurt your feelings.)

He was strong. He was cold. He was emotionless steel wrapped in flannel.

Until—

“Jake?” you called from the hallway.

He glanced up from pretending to type on his laptop. “What?”

“Do you wanna go to the store with me? We’re all out of eggs.”

And like the absolute fraud he was, Jake—emotionless, avoidant, emotionally repressed Jake Sim—paused for 0.0000001 seconds before nodding.

“Yeah. Let me grab my shoes.”

Traitor.

He followed you out like a puppy who just got asked if he wanted a treat.

As you walked side by side through the aisles, Jake pushed the shopping cart like he was starring in the most generic romcom montage of all time, trying not to let his arm bump yours again because every time it did, his brain felt like it had just short-circuited.

But it was fine.

Totally fine.

He was definitely not thinking about holding your hand in the snack aisle.

Definitely not wondering if you'd let him try one of your gummies, even though he could buy his own.

Definitely not wondering if this was what it would feel like to be yours.

He wasn’t. He wasn’t thinking about any of that.

Nope.

Totally normal. Totally platonic.

He was so screwed.

It all started in the canned goods aisle. And honestly? Jake should’ve known the canned goods aisle brought nothing but bad luck. It happened in third grade when he tripped over his shoelace and fell into a container of perfectly aligned canned soups. It happened when he was trying to grab some mushroom soup for Jungwon when he was sick and ended up dropping the can right on his pinky toe, fracturing it.

And it’s happening again now.

You were just standing there, trying to decide between tomato basil and cream of mushroom, looking entirely too cute for someone who was making soup decisions. Meanwhile, Jake, trying to pretend he wasn’t watching you, was already making a mental list of things he could buy—anything to distract himself from his growing awareness that his brain was short-circuiting.

“Hey,” the guy said. “This might sound crazy, but... are you single?”

Jake turned his head so slowly you’d think someone had insulted his ancestors.

He was standing a few feet away, comparing granola bar sugar contents like a responsible adult, and now he was staring at this random man like he’d just asked to marry you in front of a priest.

You didn’t even seem fazed. You turned your head slightly, giving the guy the most nonchalant look, probably silently wondering if this guy had any idea how little he cared about his question.

Jake could feel the nerve in his temple twitch. The air between you and the guy became suffocating. Jake's hands flexed, holding onto the cart like it might need a good shove.

The guy, oblivious to the thunderstorm brewing a few feet away, “Just thought that you’re really cute, and I figured I’d ask.”

You blinked. “Oh! That’s—um—”

“She’s not,” Jake snapped, suddenly right there, standing next to you like he’d teleported in through sheer fury. “She’s very not single. Taken. Off the market. Do not pass go, do not collect $200.”

The guy blinked, taken aback. “Oh... are you two—”

“Together?” Jake interrupted, smiling like it physically hurt him. “Yeah. I’m her boyfriend.”

You glanced at him, his eyes glinting with that smirk of his. And then it hit you—he was playing this way too well. A little too well. You turned back to the guy, giving a dramatic gasp.

“Oh my God,” you said, suddenly faking an epiphany. “Babe, I didn’t even realize he was flirting. I was too busy thinking about how your hair looks so good today.”

Jake twitched.

You leaned into him with an exaggerated sigh, grabbing his hand like you were in some overly dramatic rom-com. “I’m so sorry. I’ll try to pay more attention when people are flirting with me. Would that be okay with you, my Jakey-wakey? My Jakey-kins? My love machine?”

Jake nearly choked on his own spit. “Okay. That’s enough.”

But you were on a roll. You turned to the stranger, practically glowing. “Isn’t he so cute when he’s protective? Ugh, he gets so territorial over me. It’s like his thing. Next thing I know, he’ll start growling and peeing in the aisles to mark me like his territory.”

Jake made a strangled sound, clearly regretting everything. “Please stop.”

You ignored him, fully leaning into the bit. “Honestly, I’m just waiting for him to pick out a leash for me next, y’know? Just to make sure everyone knows I’m his property.”

Jake made a strangled sound. “Please stop.”

You pressed your cheek to his shoulder. “Should we kiss?” You smiled, putting your arms around his shoulder.

And then, in what could only be described as a full-blown panic move, Jake spun around and ran.

Like, actually ran.

Through the snack aisle, dodging bags of chips and disgruntled shoppers, past the sample table, and out the store doors. It was as if he'd spotted an actual threat. You stared after him, holding his dignity in one hand and a can of soup in the other.

The stranger who had been casually eyeing you looked even more confused now, as if he’d witnessed a scene from a badly written TV sitcom.

You shrugged, trying to cover for the man who was now two aisles away, “My boyfriend can be a little bit crazy,” you muttered, laughing awkwardly as you began walking toward the door. You dropped the soup can on his foot. “See you!”

And without waiting for a response, you bolted out of the store after him.

“JAKE SIM, I’LL KILL YOU!” you yelled across the parking lot.

You found him pacing next to his car like a madman who’d just come to terms with the fact that he’d let his emotions spiral in public. His hands were in his hair, tugging like he was trying to physically yank his frustration out of his brain.

You marched up to him, heat rising in your chest, and the nerve to confront him. “Hey! You made me look like an idiot!”

Jake turned to face you, eyes wide, clearly surprised that you were actually following him. “You made yourself look like that!” he snapped, a slight edge in his voice.

“Oh, I wouldn’t have to if you stopped acting like my boyfriend around any man who approaches me!” You felt your hands on your hips, standing your ground like you were the queen of this absurd conversation.

Jake’s face froze, his brows furrowing in frustration. “You want freaks like him to approach you?”

“No?” you shot back. “But I’m perfectly capable of turning them down on my own.”

“I was just—” he began, floundering for a reason that was not his own mess.

“Was just what? Why do you keep doing this? Acting all weirdly jealous and protective!” you interrupted, genuinely curious now.

Jake exhaled, turning slowly, like the weight of this conversation was about to implode on him. His voice softened, his eyes wide, clearly caught off guard by your determination. “Because…” he started, his voice lower than usual, the words stumbling out like he was wrestling with a secret.

“Because what?”

He didn’t answer.

Just stood there—hands clenched, jaw tight, breath sharp.

Then suddenly—he dropped his arms like they weighed a ton. Like he couldn’t hold it in anymore. He ran a hand through his hair, pacing a single, desperate step before spinning back around to face you.

“BECAUSE!” Jake shouted, his voice louder than he intended. Your eyes snapped open wide, caught completely off guard.

Jake kept going—words spilling, frantic. “Because I don’t know what this is—whatever the hell you’ve done to me—but I can’t think straight. I can’t breathe when you look at me like that and I haven’t felt like this ever and it’s—it’s messing me up.”

His hands went to his temples. “Like fuck…I think I might need therapy. Like, actual therapy. Because of you.”

The air between you cracked—silence stretching heavy and tight.

You stared at him, voice soft now. “I– did I do something wrong?”

Jake dropped his hands, chest rising and falling like he’d just run a marathon. His face twisted, like he hated even having feelings, like letting them out was burning him from the inside.

Then—quieter. Broken.

“No,” he said. “Fuck, no. Quite the opposite.”

You stood frozen. “What?”

He stepped closer, eyes wild, voice raw.

“I don’t know what the fuck is happening to me, okay?” Jake snapped. His voice cracked, raw and strained like it had been clawing at his throat for days.

“You walk into a room and suddenly I can’t think straight. I forget how to function. I forget what I’m doing. It’s like my entire brain short-circuits just because you looked in my direction.” He raked a hand through his hair, pacing in a tight circle like he was trying to outrun his own thoughts.

“You drive me crazy. You laugh at things that aren’t funny, and you talk like the world’s ending if you don’t say it all right now, and you never let anything go—ever—and it’s infuriating. It’s exhausting. You��re exhausting!”

He turned, pointing at you like you were the cause of every malfunction in his soul.

“I shouldn’t care if you’re cold. I shouldn’t want to punch every guy who looks at you for longer than five seconds. I shouldn’t feel like I’m being electrocuted every time you accidentally touch me. That’s not normal. That’s not me. I’m Jake fucking Sim for crying out loud!”

He paused, chest rising and falling, eyes burning into yours.

“I don’t even like people! I liked hating you! I was good at hating you! And now I can’t sleep and I can’t think and all I do is wonder what you’re doing and if you’re thinking about me too and I—”

He broke off, swallowing hard.

Then softer, hoarse:

“I don’t know what this is. But I think I’m losing my goddamn mind over you.”

You stood there. Blinking. Heart somewhere near your ankles.

Jake had just... exploded. Confessed? Kinda? In the most Jake way possible—by yelling about how much he hated that he didn’t hate you.

“…Okay,” you said slowly, like someone trying to defuse a bomb with zero training. “So, like... just to clarify… you’re not mad at me. You’re mad because you like me?”

Jake stared at you like he couldn’t believe that was your takeaway. Like you’d just handed him a banana when he asked for a pen.

“I just—like, not to make this about me,” you continued, hands half-lifted like you were talking to a wild raccoon, “but that was a lot of yelling and you kinda sounded like you were about to fight me and propose in the same breath.”

He groaned, dragging his hands down his face. “Oh my god.”

You bit your lip. “So... um. Do you wanna kiss me or punch drywall? I just need to know what stage of emotional collapse we’re currently at.”

A beat.

“Like... if I lean in, am I getting kissed or concussed?”

He looked like he was seriously considering both.

You tried to smile. “I mean… thanks? For the mental breakdown, I think?”

He just blinked—still breathing like he’d sprinted through a breakup, a confession, and a public meltdown all in one afternoon.

Like he hadn’t decided yet whether to kiss you, cry, or walk into traffic.

Then, softer, you glanced up at him. Still unsure. Still trying to play it cool despite the fact that your heart was definitely trying to beat its way out of your chest.

“Like… I mean, I totally get why this would frustrate you,” you said, nodding seriously, like you were a therapist delivering a diagnosis. “Totally understandable. If I was going through what you were going through, maybe I’d be a little insane too. With, you know, healthier coping mechanisms, sure.”

Jake groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re talking too much. Do you like me or not?”

You blinked. “Wow. Okay. No trigger warning?”

“I’m at my limit.” Jake sighed.

“Yeah,” you said. “That’s… kind of obvious. You’re, like, one sentence away from combusting.”

Jake pointed at you like he couldn’t believe what was happening. “I—God, this is so embarrassing. Let’s just pretend this didn’t happen.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t like you,” you muttered, looking away.

“You’re saying a whole lot of nothing,” he snapped.

You threw your hands up. “Well, I’m sorry I don’t have a perfectly rehearsed monologue ready! Some of us don’t process our feelings through public tantrums!”

Jake narrowed his eyes, “I yelled because I was panicking!”

“Well maybe don’t yell at someone who likes you, Jake!”

“You didn’t even say you liked me!”

“I was getting there!”

“You were stalling!”

“I was awkward!” you shrieked, pointing right back at him.

Jake threw his hands in the air. “Why are you the one acting like you just confessed your undying love through a full-blown breakdown?!”

A beat.

Silence.

Your faces? Bright red. Breathing like you just finished a cage match.

Then you exploded.

“FINE. YES. I LIKE YOU TOO, YOU PSYCHO!”

Jake froze. “You what now?”

You looked away, furious with yourself. “You heard me. I’m not repeating it. Take the win and choke on it.”

“That was the worst love confession I’ve ever received.”

You glared at him. “It wasn’t supposed to be one!”

“Well, it was horrible.”

“Yeah? Yours wasn’t exactly sonnet material either.”

You stared at each other. Still angry. Still flushed. Still… weirdly too close.

And somehow, despite all the yelling, all the sniping—

There was that thing in the air again. That pull.

Jake blinked. “...So are we dating now or what?”

You groaned. “Not like this, the fuck”

—-

The silence in the apartment was deafening.

Not literal silence—the kettle was whistling like it was being paid to, and someone’s phone was playing a YouTube video just loud enough to be irritating. But the emotional silence? The thick, suffocating, “we confessed our feelings and now we don’t know how to human anymore” kind of silence? Yeah, the two of you were losing it.

You were standing in the kitchen, arms folded, staring at the toaster like it had personally wronged you. Jake was sitting on the couch, holding a mug he wasn’t even drinking from, eyes glued to the television pretending to be absorbed.

Neither of you spoke.

The toaster clicked. You jumped like you’d been shot.

The two of you glanced at each other. You blinked at him. He blinked back.

Then immediately looked away, sipping his mug. The wrong end of the mug.

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re drinking from the side with the tag still in it.”

“I like the taste of paper sometimes,” he said without looking at you.

You tried. “So... uh, did you sleep okay?”

Jake nodded way too fast. “Yeah. Great. You?”

“Fine.”

“Cool.”

You stared at each other for another five seconds.

Then, at the exact same time:

“So, what are you—” “Do you want—”

Silence again.

You turned back to the counter, flustered. “This is so weird.”

Jake exhaled sharply. “You think?”

You glanced at him. “Well, I’m not used to openly... liking you or being I guess civil.”

“You’ve done a great job hiding it,” he muttered.

You smirked, falling back on habit. “Well, I am cuter when I’m emotionally unavailable.”

“I think it’s scarier when you’re emotionally available.”

You turned, arms folded. “So what, you prefer when I threaten you with kitchen utensils?”

Jake shrugged, leaning against the counter like he wasn’t seconds away from combusting. “At least I knew where I stood.”

And that? That shut you up real quick.

Because you both knew—you’d just entered new, terrifying, heart-melty territory.

And neither of you had a clue what the hell to do next.

—-

There was a sock on the floor.

A sock. On the floor.

His sock.

White. Crumpled. Mocking you from the hallway.

Something inside you snapped.

“SIM JAEYUN!” you shrieked, the kind of full-volume yell that summoned the fury of every past version of you who’d ever tripped over that man’s laundry.

Jake’s door opened slowly, like even it was afraid of you. He peeked out. Hair messy. Shirt hanging loose. Clueless. Hot. You hated him.

“...Yeah?”

“HOW MANY TIMES HAVE I TOLD YOU TO PICK UP YOUR SOCKS—”

“I—”

“You what? This isn’t the first fucking time–”

“Ah, fuck it.”

You didn’t get to finish.

Jake stepped out. Two fast, easy strides.

And he kissed you.

Hard.

His hand found the back of your neck, fingers pressing gently yet desperately, as if he’d been aching for this moment, pulling you closer with a sense of urgency that couldn’t be ignored. Without hesitation, his lips met yours—no gentleness, no grace—just raw, impulsive need.

The hallway blurred.

You gasped against his lips, and he swallowed the sound whole. His other hand gripped your waist, pulling you flush against him, like he needed your body to make sense of the chaos in his head. The kiss was hot and heavy, all teeth and tongue and emotion that neither of you had known what to do with until now.

Your hands clenched around the fabric of his t-shirt, pulling him even closer, as if you were trying to tear the tension from his chest and claim it for yourself. Jake’s groan vibrated against your lips—low, desperate, and filled with something completely unrestrained. His hands dug into your waist, his grip tightening as if he couldn’t get enough of you. And then, with a sudden shift, he moved—forward, desperate, no longer willing to hold back.

In one swift, breathless motion, Jake pressed you against the wall, his body caging you in with just enough force to knock the air from your lungs. His hand gently cradled your jaw while the other slid down to catch your wrist, his fingers locking with yours as if the touch was a lifeline, something he couldn’t let go of even if he tried.

You gasped, the back of your head colliding softly with the wall, and Jake swallowed the sound, deepening the kiss like he was trying to consume you whole. The kiss turned hotter, more frantic—lips pulling, chasing, moving with an intensity that had been building for weeks and was now unleashed all at once.

Then, you squeezed his hand. Hard. Your body trembled with the force of it, like you needed something to hold onto before you lost yourself. And Jake felt it—felt the desperation in your touch. Without hesitation, he squeezed back, his thumb brushing over yours as he refused to let go.

For half a second, his forehead rested against yours, both of you gasping for air, and neither of you willing to pull away.

You blinked up at him, your mind still spinning from the kiss, disoriented.

“…I’ll pick it up,” you whispered, your voice softer than you intended. “The socks.”

You bent down, still avoiding his gaze, grabbing the sock off the floor. “Just... just put it nicely next time.”

You turned and walked back into your room, your legs unsteady as if they could no longer hold you together.

Jake stood in the hallway, frozen, his heart racing, his mind completely blank. He gripped the wall beside him like it was the only thing keeping him from collapsing. He hadn’t meant for this to happen. But it did. And now, he had no idea what to do with it.

—-

Jake hadn’t screamed your name like that since the glitter explosion 2 months back.

“WHERE’S MY RED FOLDER?!” he bellowed.

Before you could even think of a way out of this—or how to hide under the floorboards—Jake barged into your room. Hair still wet from the shower. His shirt hanging half-buttoned, like he’d walked straight out of a webtoon. Fuck, he was sexy. Not the time though because you were sure you were about to get beaten up.

He slammed the door open so hard that it bounced back off the wall with a sickening thud.

You gave him a nervous smile, your best attempt at pretending you weren’t about to die. “Don’t be mad…”

Jake’s voice dropped to a dangerous growl. “What did you do?”

“I… might’ve thought it was old,” you said, wincing at the honesty in your voice. “So I kinda... threw it away?”

Jake’s body went rigid. His eyes narrowed in disbelief.

“You what?!”

“I—” You stammered, hands raised defensively. “I swear it looked all crumply, all old and–and–and ruined!”

Jake stepped forward, eyes burning with anger. You could feel the heat of his fury radiating off of him—jaw clenched, fists tight by his sides, like he was about to explode. You knew this look. It was like he was one wrong move away from detonating.

And just when you thought the situation couldn’t get worse, you did the only thing you could think of.

You threw yourself at him.

Your hands grabbed his shirt, and before he could even get a word out, you yanked him down, your lips slamming into his with the force of a thousand thunderstorms. It was hard, urgent—so intense, so sudden, that it instantly shut him up.

Jake froze for a split second, like you’d short-circuited his brain, and then, just like that—he kissed you back. No hesitation. No holding back. You were already moving, pushing him backwards, your arms locked around his neck, drawing him closer, deeper. His lips tasted like desperation, like need, and it was all consuming.

You kissed him with everything you had, no holding back. No gentleness. Just the kind of hunger that had been building up between you two for far too long. Your lips moved together, fast, messy, and you felt him press into you, desperate to keep up. Every part of you wanted him—wanted him to feel the frustration, the desire, the rage that had been bubbling under the surface for weeks.

Jake groaned into your mouth, his grip on your waist tightening. You kissed him harder, faster, pressing him back against the wall until he was pinned, his breath ragged as you both gasped for air.

His hands found your thighs and, without a word, you jumped. Legs wrapping around his waist, you felt him catch you effortlessly, your bodies moving as one.

Then, with a sharp turn, he slammed you against the nearest wall, his lips never leaving yours. The kiss was relentless, like he was starving, like he needed to make you feel every part of him, every inch of his desire. His grip on your waist was bruising, possessive, and you responded in kind, tugging at his hair, pulling him closer.

Your mouths collided, chasing each other, moving too fast, too clumsily.

Jake pulled back only when you both couldn’t breathe anymore. Your foreheads rested together, breaths uneven, eyes wild and hungry.

He looked you over once, placed you back down on the floor, his expression unreadable, and then muttered, “...I’ll just rewrite it.”

And before you could process it, before you could say a word, he was gone. Leaving you breathless, in your own room, utterly wrecked—staring at the spot where he'd just completely destroyed every last bit of control you had.

—-

You were standing in the kitchen, Jake was at the sink, and the tension was so thick you could practically slice it with a knife.

“I don’t understand why you would move the dishes,” Jake snapped, gesturing like you’d committed an actual war crime. “I have a system.”

“You have no system,” you shot back, holding a spatula like a sword. “You just shove stuff in and pray the dishwasher works it out like divine intervention.”

“It does work it out!”

“Really? Because last week you melted a Tupperware lid onto a knife.”

“That was ONE TIME—”

You threw the dish towel down. “You’re such a control freak.”

Jake turned, dripping wet hands mid-air. “You alphabetized the seasoning rack. By aesthetic. I had to Google what "sage green" looked like.”

You huffed. “It’s about visual peace, Jake!”

He took a step closer. “You know what’s not peaceful? Living with a freak who organizes our spices!”

You stepped toward him, eyes locked, breathing hard. “Well you know what’s not sexy? Whining about spice jars!”

“Funny,” Jake growled, now chest to chest with you, “because I still want to kiss you right now.”

You both froze.

You were both holding something—him, a mug. You, a spatula. Neither of you blinked.

Then—at the exact same time—you both dropped them.

Clatter.

And lunged.

You collided in the middle of the kitchen, your mouths crashing together, the kiss so intense and fiery it felt like it could set the room on fire. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you into him like he couldn’t get close enough. You fisted your hands in his shirt, yanking him even closer, until there was nothing between you but shared breaths and weeks of pent-up frustration.

His kiss was desperate, furious, like he hated how much he wanted it, and yet couldn’t stop. Your lips moved together, teeth clashing, and you met his passion with equal intensity—biting his lip, tilting your head, the quiet sigh you let out making him groan into your mouth.

You were both angry, breathless, and so far gone you didn’t even care.

When you finally pulled apart, your noses brushing, your lips swollen and tingling, you both just stared at each other. Your hearts pounded.

Then, at the exact same time, you both asked, “...Are we boyfriend and girlfriend or what?”

There was a moment of silence, and then Jake pressed a kiss to your cheek, then your jaw, and then your neck, before pulling back with that signature smirk.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “I think we are.”

You grabbed the front of his shirt, yanked him back down, and kissed him again.

“Good. Now shut up and kiss me.”

Jake groaned into your mouth, his hands sliding to your back, pulling you even closer.

“God, I’m so in love with you, it’s actually disgusting,” he muttered, his voice full of both frustration and affection.

And for once, you couldn’t agree more.

—---

It was your first official date.

Like—an actual, real, human-first-date. No yelling. No post-argument makeouts. Just food. Chairs. Maybe eye contact if you were feeling brave.

You’d been dating for three days.

Which, so far, had consisted of:

Yelling at each other.

Making out.

Rolling your eyes at each other.

Making out again. Repeat steps 1–4.

Three days of chaotic tension. Of brushing shoulders in the hallway and pretending it didn’t set your whole body on fire. Of accidentally calling him “babe” and then gaslighting him into thinking he misheard you. Of Jungwon asking the two of you to shut up and stop arguing in the middle of the night. You weren’t arguing.

Three days of sharing the sink like civilized people, brushing your teeth side by side, totally normal, totally casual—totally not internally spiraling over the fact that your former arch-nemesis was now your boyfriend.

And then there were the quiet moments.

Like this morning, when you walked into the kitchen to find him already making coffee. He handed you a mug—black, just the way you liked it—and pretended he didn’t notice the way your fingers brushed.

You stared at it.

“What?” he said, avoiding eye contact. “I’m not a monster.”

You took a sip. “So you’re being nice to me now?”

Jake shrugged. “Don’t get used to it. I just don’t want to date someone who’s chronically dehydrated.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re worried about my water intake while you eat chips for breakfast.”

“Those chips had lime on them,” he said. “That’s vitamin C.”

Still, later that day, he also handed you a granola bar before you left the house. No comment. Just tossed it at your head with alarming accuracy and walked away.

And that was your boyfriend.

You, of course, were no better.

Like last night, when you walked past his room and saw him still hunched over his desk, blue light glowing off his face, glasses crooked, typing like he was trying to physically punch a thesis into existence.

You didn’t say anything.

Just stood there in the doorway for a second, watching the way his brows were furrowed in that hyper-focused, very-stupid, very-Jake way.

Then you glanced at the time. No dishes in the sink. Nothing in the trash.

He hadn’t eaten all day.

You scowled, muttered something about “men and their lack of survival instincts,” and turned straight into the kitchen.

Fifteen minutes later, you dropped a steaming bowl of his favorite ramen next to his laptop without saying a word.

Jake blinked up at you. “Did you—?”

You didn’t look at him. “Don’t pass out. It’ll be annoying to carry your unconscious body.”

Then you left.

Fast.

Too fast for him to say thank you. Too fast for him to see the way your lips twitched just slightly at the corners.

And then…

The next day, you were minding your business, scrolling on your phone, sprawled on the couch like the world owed you peace, when Jake casually walked in and dropped himself beside you—close, but not too close.

He cleared his throat once. Then again. Dramatically.

You glanced at him. “Are you dying?”

“Not today,” he said. Then added, without looking at you, “Wanna hang out tonight?”

You blinked. “Out where?”

He shrugged. “I dunno. Somewhere with food. Lighting. Chairs. That’s usually what dates have, right?”

Your eyes narrowed. “Was that you asking me out?”

Jake didn’t flinch. Just sipped his drink. “Depends. You gonna say yes?”

You stared at him for a long beat.

He stared at the wall like it was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen.

Then, you smirked. “Only if you promise not to talk about tech stuff the whole time.”

Jake raised an eyebrow, lips twitching into a grin. “If you’re lucky, I’ll limit myself to only mentioning API twice before dessert.”

You squinted. “You’re really bad at this whole romance thing, aren’t you?”

He grinned back, impossibly confident. “And yet, here you are. Saying yes anyway.”

You rolled your eyes, your lips threatening to betray you with a smile. “Yeah, well, I make questionable decisions sometimes.”

Jake nudged your knee with his, grinning like he’d just won a gold medal. “You’re about to make another one. I’m picking you up at seven.”

You crossed your arms, trying to look unimpressed. “We live together.”

Jake leaned back, completely unbothered. “So? I can’t be romantic?”

You didn’t argue.

God help you.

You were kind of excited.

—-

This was your first date.

And you were spiraling.

You had changed your outfit three times. Reapplied your lip balm five. Stood in front of the mirror giving yourself a pep talk like you were about to go on national television.

Jake was downstairs.

Wearing cologne and Jake never wore cologne.

When you finally met him outside, Jake blinked at you like you'd just materialized from a dream. His eyes widened, then quickly darted away, as if he could avoid the full force of your impact.

“You clean up okay,” you teased, trying not to smile too wide.

He opened his mouth, clearly trying to recover, but it came out wrong. “You look... pretty.” He froze, his face turning a shade of red that should’ve been illegal. Then he scrambled, “I mean, uh, shitty.”

“I heard you the first time, Jake,” you said, tapping his face lightly, almost affectionately. “So do you.”

—-

“Stop stealing my fries.”

“I’m not stealing. I’m redistributing.”

“Stop that! It’s not my fault I ordered curly fries and you got regular fries.”

“And I regret it. Let me live.”

You were about to launch into a full rant about Food Boundaries when your foot brushed his under the table. Then his knee. Then his thigh.

Neither of you moved.

And then—like gravity just snapped—you were both leaning over the table. French fries abandoned. Eyes locked. Breaths syncing. Heat crawling up your neck.

Jake reached out, brushed a hair from your cheek, his fingers lingering just a second too long.

You stared at his lips. He stared at yours.

Oh, you were so going to kiss in this grimy diner booth, and it was going to be beautiful and stupid and you didn’t even care.

And then—

“Well, well, well.”

You both froze.

Standing next to the table, milkshake in hand, eyes wide with the smuggest expression on Earth: Jungwon.

Jake sat up like someone just caught him cheating on a test.

You blinked. “Jungwon! Hi! What a surprise!”

Jungwon glanced between the two of you. The blushing. The weird knee situation. The shared fries. The vibes.

He sighed, long and dramatic.

Then took a sip of his milkshake and said—

“Fuck. Now I gotta move out.”

And with that, he turned and walked away.

Jake looked stunned. You stared after Jungwon in horror.

“Do you think he’s gonna tell everyone?” you whispered.

At that exact moment, both your phones buzzed in unison—a notification from Jungwon’s Instagram, tagging both you and Jake.

“That answers our question.” Jake replied.

You looked at him.

He looked at you.

And under the flickering diner lights, knees still touching under the table, Jake reached across and laced his fingers through yours.He glanced at your intertwined hands, then at your face.

“God. I think I actually really like you.” he muttered, like it physically pained him.

You didn’t even blink.

“I hope the fuck you do. I’m literally your girlfriend.”

Jake groaned, slumping back into the booth like you just personally ruined him.

“This is so humiliating.”

You grinned, squeezing his hand.

“Yeah. For you.”

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i2sunric · 8 months ago

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𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 (p.sh)

“fucking all the time is wrong when you're not mine, baby"

PAIRING: boyfriend's best friend!sunghoon x reader (f)

SUMMARY: just like eva did in the garden of eden, you fell under the serpent's court and now are under his spell. you knew you shouldn't betray your boyfriend, jake, like that when he was (not) so right for you, but seeing that he spent more time out for work made you seek the love and affection you needed, and who if not sunghoon could give you what you deserved?

WARNINGS: cheating (don’t like, don’t read). unprotected sex (don’t be silly, wrap your willy), they fuck everywhere and i mean it, toxic, creampie, masturbating, pussy eating, fighting, kissing, jealousy, doggy, missionary, rough blowjob, angst if u squint? jake is a toxic bf, sunghoon low-key corrupts reader, reader is designed with a weak personality. lmk if more. NOT PROOFREAD.

(RE)PUBLISHED: 6th August 2024

WC: 13.6k

TAGLIST: (permanent) @stolasisyourparent @jaeyunsbimbo @jwnghyuns @bangtancultsposts @shawnyle @jooniesbears-blog @skzenhalove @ro-diaries @onlyhyunjin (oneshot) @mitmit01 @lilyuwon @whoslai @simhinata @ihrtantn @deobitifull @heeswif3y @skylalyla @lanapaz @run2min @rizz00 @yeorns @rayofsunshineeee @kim2005bomi @lhspeachie @star4rin @nyxtwixx @skipiuki @camprock101 @acolytees @hoonsdrnkdzd @jjklvr9 @sophi-ee @iamliacamila @nctislifue @dengenej @yorukoshii @nshmrarki BOLDS COULD NOT BE TAGGED

a/n: before some loser tries to throw shit at this i have to say that no, cheating is NOT hot and this is purely fictional. this isn’t the only fiction with cheating as a trope and it comes from a project that IS supposed to have heavy and bothering themes, mostly because it comes as inspiration from a song (go listen to it, daniel di angelo ‘GET YOU BETTER’) that gives me toxic vibes. anw, LIKE & REBLOG please and lmk your thoughts (again) on this fic <3

“Again?” You asked with a deep frown after hearing that your boyfriend had yet to go to another work trip, despite having just returned from one “I know baby, what can I do? They need me.” He said it as if you were complaining already.

But could he blame you? You had spent two summer weeks alone and bored without Jake and now you had to go through another couple of weeks.

“Why you? They have other workers.” You commented, raising a brow.

Jake sighed and walked closer to you “Because I’m good, aren’t you proud of me?” You looked away and murmured “Of course i’m proud of you.”

Jake noticed your sudden change of mood and turned you to look at him “Come on, I'll be back before you even realise it.”

You rolled your eyes at his statement, something that Jake did not like “Don’t be selfish, I need to work to have money.”

“I'm not being selfish,” You reminded, tone cold. “I just miss my boyfriend who’d rather be miles away from me.” You snapped, stepping back and crossing your arms to your chest.

Those words had been left unspoken on your tongue for too long to be able to hold them back anymore.

“We both know that’s not true.” He hissed, rubbing his temples “Do we?” You scoffed

Jake clicked his tongue, “Listen, I'm just asking you to understand.”

You frowned again at him “I understand Jake, I've always done it!” Your voice raised out of frustration “So why can’t you understand me?”

“You?” His frown matched yours, a few wrinkles appearing on his forehead “What is there to understand about a needy and clingy girl?”

As soon as those words left his mouth your eyes saddened. Were you really being that whiney? So many questions formed inside your head while Jake regretted ever speaking.

You were just being honest, that’s what Jake always wanted from you; honesty, to voice out your feelings, so why was he mad at you?

“Taking many short distance flights is also not good for your body…” You murmured, bitter tears running down your cheeks, your gaze locked on the ground

Jake’s face softened, realising that you weren’t complaining— you were worried for him “Baby I—“

You shook your head “Save it.” And walked away, disappearing in the bedroom. Jake ran a hand through his hair in frustration, leaving you to cool down.

However you both were two stubborn beings so, instead of resolving it, you laid on opposite sides of the bed with heavy hearts, hoping the night to wash the annoying feelings away.

Heleft early in the morning, without a single message or a note and not even a kiss on your shoulder.

Whenever he had a flight in the night or early morning to catch and you would still be asleep, he used to kiss you softly on the shoulder, but this time he hadn’t.

Had you been too harsh with him the day before? Were you really being selfish?

You glanced at the clock and noticed you had already slept the morning away so you decided to get something done.

You stretched your limbs and exited the bed, doing your usual routine and some chores as well, trying your best not to think about jake. If he wanted to stay mad, so be it.

When you were cleaning the living room’s floor you heard your doorbell ring, so you went to open the door.

In front of you a tall man with a sheepish grin stood, waving his hand “Hi, Y/N.” He greeted warmly

“Hi, Sunghoon.” You said back, stepping aside to let him enter. you closed the door behind your back and walked him to the living room “What’s the occasion?” You asked, smiling

Sunghoon looked around the house “Is Jake home?” You shook your head in reply “He’s on a work trip.”

Sunghoon’s eyes widened “Again?” He asked and you couldn’t help but chuckle, you two had the same reaction to the news of Jake's departure “Again.” You nodded

“Aw, man.” He sighed, “I haven’t seen him in forever since he changed job.” You wanted to reply that you too hadn’t seen him since he decided to pick a job that required to travel around the world, but Sunghoon didn’t need to know that.

Sunghoon tilted his head, looking you up and down “So, home alone?” You smiled sadly “unfortunately.”

He gave you a wide smile, one that showed his two fangs “I took a couple of weeks off work because I had to go on vacation but the hotel shut down,” He seemed to debate whether to continue, but then added “I can keep you company.”

You blinked faintly at his offer, you two weren’t really close, you never really hung out apart from Jake’s friend group so it’d be awkward.

However , loneliness made you desperate so you just smiled in return “why not?”

Little did you know that Sunghoon had another plan in store for you.

⪩⪨

“Good morning, Y/N.” Sunghoon greeted a few days later, entering your house with his awkward yet comforting demeanour.

“Morning.” You said back, guiding him to the kitchen and placing down the casket of fruits he had brought you “You didn’t have to..”

“Dot’t be silly, it’s a pleasure.” Sunghoon smiled, sitting on a chair “Can i help you with anything?”

You quickly shook your head “No, no,” You took a pear and showed it to him “I'll cut this so we can eat and chat?” “Sounds good.”

It had become a small occurence that you’d sit together and talk about anything. You two had got to know each other, and you realised you had a completely different prejudice of him.

At first, you thought he was cold and awkward, but he actually was very soft spoken and kind. your heart always felt content when you were with him, but you chose to ignore that detail.

It was probably just because Jake hadn’t replied to your texts since he left the country, your heart was just pulling tricks on you.

You placed a small plate on the table with the pieces of pear and began to talk with him, laughing at a story of his dog scaring Jake's family dog, despite being a lot smaller.

“Layla and Jake are so alike,” You commented, chuckling “Indeed, I see no difference between them. like an owner like a pet." Sunghoon replied, taking a bite of the pear.

A small drop of the fruit’s juice rolled down his cheek, reaching his jawline. You had never paid attention to his features so closely, but he was so attractive. His jaw was sharp, you thought that if you ran your finger on it, it’d cut.

His skin was pale, porcelain-like and his eyes were so dark in contrast, his eyebrows thick and hair that seemed so fluffy.

Before the drop could fall down, you quickly extended yourself and dried it with your thumb, making both of you stop in your tracks. Sunghoon ‘s deep eyes widened and you pulled away “I—I’m sorry..” you stuttered, embarrassed

But Sunghoon didn’t seem to mind “It’s alright, thank you.” He reassured, resuming to tell his story. You try to shake the awkward feeling but get sidetracked when your phone screen lit up.

You quickly took it, hopeful that it was finally a message from your boyfriend, but your face fell when you realised it was just a notification from YouTube.

You sighed and looked so gloomy, like a whole storm fell over your shoulders, Sunghoon blinked faintly “Are you ok?”

You didn’t want to annoy him with your problems, you two had just started to be friends, but you just needed someone.

All your friends were busy working or living their adulthood somewhere, while you had been inside that house too much it felt almost sickish.

You sighed “It’s just that Jake and I had a small argument, right before he left.” Sunghoon’s eyes were so attentive you felt exposed, so kind and gentle.

“Is that so?” He asked, letting you know that he was listening “Yes,” You breathed out “We said harsh things and now he won’t even reply to my texts.”

Sunghoon’s jaw clenched at your admission, How could Jake ever ghost you? He could be mad all he wanted, but he was on the other side of the earth, for Christ’s sake, he could at least reply to your texts just like he did to Sunghoon a few hours before.

Seeing you so sorrowful made his heart ache; he wouldn’t admit it out loud but he had always found you attractive, since the first day he saw you on campus.

Screw his introverted personality, he never tried to speak to you, only admired from afar.

However, when he learnt that his best friend had found a girlfriend and the so-called girlfriend was you, he couldn’t help but blame himself.

Especially since jake was treating you like you weren’t worth anything.

You were worth it, you were everything Sunghoon dreamt of— if only you knew how better he could get you. good for him, he had two weeks to prove you so.

⪩⪨

“You just didn’t strike me as someone who likes doing grocery shopping.” You commented, putting milk inside the cart Sunghoon was gently pushing for you

Truth to be told, Sunghoon hated grocery shopping. He’d rather starve himself than get out of bed to buy himself food, which was why his friend Jay and his mother would often bring him food or just something enough to survive.

But it was for you and you needed to eat to be healthy, he could do an exception.

“I don’t have anything better to do, do I?” He said, chuckling at the sight of you trying to take a bag of chips which was on the top shelf, clearly too high for you.

You felt his figure hovering over you, the warmth of his body surrounding yours, his chest caressing your back as he took the chip for you.

That movement lasted no longer than five seconds but to you, it felt as if time had stopped.

You snapped out of your trance at the sound of the bag of chips being thrown inside the cart and Sunghoon moving forward.

You failed to notice the smirk on his lips, but the man was quick to hide it before his undercover was caught.

“What’s left on your list?” He asked, scanning the cart’s contents to see if he mentally remembered

“Uh—“ You quickly took the grocery list that was crumpled inside your pocket and cleared your throat “Just… donuts.” You said quietly.

You weren’t usually one to overeat, but since your heart was upset, your stomach was the same and you craved junk food.

You waited for Sunghoon to make a comment over it, to call you ‘gross’ the same way Jake once did when he saw you putting a bag of chips — the same type Sunghoon helped you take — inside the cart. You waited for it, but nothing came.

Instead, Sunghoon pushed the cart a little further in the lane until he reached the snacks section and eyed the shelves “There’s strawberry, brown chocolate and oreo.” He turned toward you and looked genuinely interested in your choice.

“Which one do you want?” You blinked faintly, unsure on how to handle that situation. He raised a brow, awaiting your answer “Strawberry.” You murmured.

“Strawberry it is.” He took the donuts and placed them in the cart “Do you want something?” You asked, reaching for him with a smile.

“Me?” You nodded in reply “Yes, take something you like, I’ll sugar mama you.” You joked nudging his shoulder.

Sunghoon stayed silent a few beats, “No.” He said sternly, “I’ll buy this for you.” He pointed to the food you wanted to purchase.

Your brows furrowed “What?” Sunghoon smiled, a wicked grin creeping on his lips “I’ll sugar daddy you.”

It seemed like you had hurt his pride trying to say you’d pay for his food, but you still didn’t want him to spend money on you, so you shook your head “That’s not necessary.”

“I insist.” He took another small cartoon of donuts and placed it in the cart, hurrying away before you could talk back. You reached him again “No, Sunghoon.”

“Yes, Y/N.” He kept taking useless things from the shelves and you kept putting them back, this went on for almost two whole lanes until you placed yourself in front of the cart.

Sunghoon tilted his head “What?” You narrowed your eyes, clearly upset. Seeing your change of mood made Sunghoon freeze. Did he overdo it?

He let out a small sigh “Alright, I’ll stop adding things.” You nodded satisfactorily, placing yourself back by his side.

“But I’ll pay.” Your head snapped back to him and Sunghoon chuckled “It’s the least I can do, you invite me to your house and I pay for your groceries, it’s even.”

Arguing with Sunghoon seemed to be a losing battle, so you just nodded your head and smiled back at him “Okay, thank you.”

“Anything for you.” They were just three words, but they were the most sincere you’ve ever heard.

After paying for your groceries, you two made your way towards the parking lot, you walked in front of a window, a crimson short dress on a mannequin.

You stopped to glance at it for a few seconds, your eyes sparkling. Sunghoon noticed you stopping and took a few steps back “Like it?” He asked, smiling at you

You were so stunned you just nodded in reply, eyes still glued to the dress. It seemed so perfect, sleeveless and not too short but not too long as well. You could see strings on the back, leaving it a little exposed.

“You want to try it?” At his question you snapped out of thoughts, turning to face Sunghoon (who was also a rather nice view).

“No, no, we should go home.” Sunghoon frowned at your reply “But you like it.”

You sighed softly and chuckled “Yes, but that doesn’t mean I should try it.” He eyed the dress and then you, studying you from head to toe “Even if I want to see you in it?”

His words took you by surprise and you widened your eyes “W-what?” He smirked, his fangs showing from the corner of his lips “Let’s enter.” He took your hand and dragged you inside the shop.

He sat on a small sofa in front of the dressing room, patiently waiting for you to try that dress on.

The way your eyes seemed to light up made him want to buy you anything if it meant to see your pretty face smile and be bright.

He knew you were still shaken from your argument with Jake, and by the fact that the bastard was obviously ghosting you, and he’d do anything to take that sorrow away from you.

“Ready?” He asked after a few minutes of not hearing anything from you.

You carefully opened the curtain and lord if he didn’t get an erection on the spot.

Seeing that tiny dress hugging your perfect curves, the shy blush on your cheeks and still that perfect smile on your lips “It’s so beautiful.” You commented

“Give me a twirl.” He asked and you complied, twirling gracefully “You’re beautiful.” Your smile lit up the whole room, you nodded in reply “I think it’s pretty nice.”

Sunghoon stood up and walked toward you, his arms raising and taking your hair away from your back.

The proximity between you two made your breath hitch once again. You could smell his manly cologne and the fabric softener of his hoodie.

“This should be tied.” He murmured in your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. His breath hit your skin, so warm. You closed your eyes, waiting for him to finish tying the lace behind your back.

He placed your hair back where they were and placed one strand behind your ear. He pulled away satisfied and smiled “Now, that’s even better.”

You looked at yourself in the mirror of the dressing room and Sunghoon brought his hands on your shoulder. He leaned beside your ear and whispered huskily “Let me buy it for you.”

Your brows shot up and you quickly shook your head “I can’t let you do that.” Sunghoon gave you a mesmerising smile from the mirror “Why not?”

“Because you already paid for the groceries.” Sunghoon tsked at your reasoning “And?”

“And it’d be too much if you also bought this dress. Besides, I don’t even have a reason to wear it.”

“We’ll make one.” You felt a sudden rush of coldness when his breath left your skin and he stepped away “It’s settled, I’ll buy it.”

You turned around, “But—“ He brought a finger to your lips “Sh, I said I’d sugar daddy you and I always keep my word.”

⪩⪨

Y/N: Please Jake, can you reply to me?

Y/N: It’s been five days, at least let me know you’re fine.

You sighed and dropped the phone on the mattress beside you, tired of reading ‘delivered’ beside your messages. Had you crossed the line when you argued? Personally, you thought what Jake said was far worse, but you were ready to forgive him if only he swallowed his pride.

You bit your bottom lip, your body craving to be touched and screaming for release.

Not only had you and Jake not spent time together, but it had also been more than a month since you last had sex.

You tried to ignore your primal urges, however your hips unconsciously moved back and forth, trying to soothe the aching feeling between your legs.

Your breath got heavier as you let your palm wander under your nightgown, touching, trying to turn yourself on.

You bit your bottom lip, your hand reaching down to touch your clit, circling it with your fingers; using your slick to wet it more.

You slid one digit inside of you, fingering yourself for what seems like ten minutes, trying to find that one spot that makes your head spin— it didn’t feel good.

You decided to try and squeeze your breasts, fingering yourself at a fast speed… nothing seemed to work out.

Frustrated, you pulled your fingers out and curled yourself in a small ball, checking your phone just to see that again, Jake had not texted you.

At that moment, a new message popped on your screen.

Sunghoon: Hey Y/N, movie night tomorrow?

You unconsciously smiled and replied with a positive answer, feeling strangely giddy at the thought of having another plan with him.

Y/N: Sounds good.

It didn’t take much for him to text you back, only a few seconds needed.

Sunghoon: Awesome. Tomorrow @ 9pm?

Y/N: Yup. I’ll make sure to do some pop corns.

Sunghoon: Haha ok

You turned off the lights, placed the phone back on the bedside table and tucked yourself under the covers, ready to fall asleep when it buzzed again.

You took it, the screen light too bright for your poor eyes. You narrowed them, trying to read the new messages

Sunghoon: What are you doing now?

Your cheeks flushed at the thought of what you had been doing before he texted you.

Y/N: About to sleep

Sunghoon: Aw :(

Y/N: Why the sad face?

Sunghoon chuckled at your innocence and kind self. He bit his bottom lip and leaned back on the chair, typing his reply.

Sunghoon: I was playing a game and wanted some company.

Y/N: I’m not really sleepy

His eyebrows raised, he thought you’d just turn him off.

Maybe his plan was working.

Sunghoon: Can I call you?

You jolted up, sitting on the bed and looking around in panic.

Y/N: Voice call?

Sunghoon: Anything you want, x

The way Sunghoon was treating you wasn’t the way you treated fiends, but you decided not to overthink it much. Sunghoon’s contact name flashed on your screen as he called you.

You cleared your throat and tapped on the green button.

“Hey,” His voice came out as hoarse from the other line “Hi.” You whispered back, hugging your knees to your chest and fidgeting with the sheets

You could hear some keyboard tapping and asked “What are you playing?” Sunghoon chuckled “League of Legends.”

You hummed “I’ve never played.” Sunghoon let out a sound of disbelief “Never? Jake never let you play with him?”

Jake would always complain when you ever interrupted his gaming nights with friends, “No.” You replied simply.

“Shoot!” He exclaimed from the other line, making you jump in surprise and gasp “Sorry about that— I didn’t mean to startle you.” He was quick to apologise.

“It’s okay,” You reassured, not wanting him to feel guilty about that. “So, how was your day?”

You two started talking about everything and anything, laughing and just enjoying each other's company.

You hadn’t even realised you had fallen asleep, your light snores and deep breaths probably became Sunghoon’s favourite sounds.

Because he never hung up, not until you woke up the next morning and did it yourself.

⪩⪨

Something didn’t feel quite right that day, you let Sunghoon inside your apartment and the two of you prepared the living room for the movie night… but he had something different. Perhaps, the other night something changed between you two.

Maybe it was his not-combed hair, all fluffy and wild, or the white tee he was wearing that showed the shadow of his muscles and abs— or maybe the grey sweats he was wearing. You gulped down, it was you, you were the one off.

Not cumming for so much time did tricks to your brain.

You decided to ignore it and you two sat side by side, but still keeping distance “What movie do you wanna watch?”

Sunghoon asked, lazily eating a pop corn while scrolling through Netflix “Cause I had one in mind, but we can watch something else if you want.”

You hummed “What did you have in mind?” Your voice was softer and quieter, making Sunghoon feel goosebumps all over his skin.

Oh, the effect you had on him.

He took one pillow and sneakingly placed it on his laps, hoping it wasn’t obvious that he was trying to cover his growing bulge.

“How to lose a guy in ten days?” He asked, faking innocence when you widened your eyes and physically squeaked “I love that movie!”

“Is that so?” Sunghoon asked but he already knew the answer. you had said that one day when you were having a group hang out with the others.

He remembered, actually, he remembered every detail of you— even the ones you may think of stupid.

“Then, let’s watch it.” He said and clicked play, the movie beginning peacefully.

It all went alright until Sunghoon’s knee got closer and closer, touching yours.

He acted oblivious, focusing on the scene unfolding in front of him but he was painfully aware of you.

Maybe it was also because of your exposed thighs, the shorts hugging your legs so perfectly, making him almost drool. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself.

Seeing that you didn’t reject his touch, Sunghoon grew a little bolder and placed his hand on your thigh, caressing it.

An alarm inside your conscience screamed danger! stop! but something told you that his touch was safe, soothing and so attractive.

Your mind went to Jake, how he would react if he ever saw your best friend touching your thigh, too close to where he shouldn’t be touching.

Nonetheless, Jake was so far away and Sunghoon so close to you, his hand slowly creeping closer to where you ached, where you just needed him.

Your breath hitched and your stiff state made sunghoon smirk sly. his plan was working smoothly.

His hand squeezed the flesh beside your thigh as your gaze was still fixed on the tv; however your attention was all on the coldness of his fingers, the way they felt on your skin.

“Sunghoon.” You wanted to say sternly but only a small whisper left your lips “Hmm?” He hummed, his dark eyes back on you

You gulped down and turned your head to meet his face, you glanced at the hand on your thigh and shook your head “You should stop.”

“Stop?” Sunghoon asked, his voice teasing and soft “It seems to me that you are enjoying my touch.”

Deny was what your brain told you to do but his hand moved even closer, resting just below the hem on your shorts.

Your hesitation made Sunghoon’s smirk turn more cunning, “What is on your mind?” He asked, his position shifting so his whole body was facing yours, the pillow falling on the floor.

You didn’t move a bit.

“That it’s weird…” You murmured “What you’re doing.”

“Yeah?” He cooed “And why do you think that?” He asked and his finger tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, making a small tint of blush appear on your cheeks

You weren’t naïve, you knew what Sunghoon was hinting at with his actions and words.

You knew it, yet you didn’t want it to stop.

“Because Jake wouldn’t like it.” At your words, Sunghoon’s smirk fell.

You were loyal and that was admirable, but it was only because his best friend made a move on you first, before he built the courage to talk to you.

Though Jake wasn’t treating you like you deserved, like Sunghoon would.

“Don’t think about him,” He said, his voice harsher than he intended to “Think about me.”

You watched him with hooded eyes as his hand that was tucking the small strand of hair behind your ear slowly slid down your shoulder.

Your heart was pounding so hard you could feel it in your throat and your breath heavier than before.

“This is wrong.” You whispered, unable to voice out the coherent thoughts forming in your brain with his hands touching you ever so gently “we shouldn’t do this.”

Sunghoon gave you a smile that was meant to be reassuring even if it was just victorious.

He knew you’d give in to him, sooner or later.

“It's wrong only if Jake finds out.” He looked down at your body, the way your nipples hardened and their outline could be seen from the shirt, he licked his bottom lip “Besides, don’t act like you don’t want it to happen as well.”

Silence filled the room except for the sound of the long forgotten movie, Sunghoon could sense your hesitation and your pretty brain overthinking, so he let out a small sigh “I’ll try something, you can tell me to stop if you don’t want to.” He said but remained still, waiting for your permission

“Try what?” You asked, your voice so soft and quiet it made his cock harden inside his sweats

“This.'' His voice sounded more like a growl, Sunghoon cupped the back of your neck while his other hand hooked around your waist, bringing you close; his lips connected to your neck, leaving wet kisses all over.

You instantly closed your eyes and a shaky breath left your lips, Sunghoon took it as a clue to add more pressure and suck small spots, careful not to do anything sudden.

One of your hands raised and placed on his forearm, feeling the muscle of his arm, Sunghoon smirked on your skin and detached himself just enough to talk “Do you want to stop?”

You sighed softly and grasped his hair with your other hand, bringing his mouth down on your neck “Keep going.” You said and sunghoon felt as if he was the luckiest man on earth.

His kisses grew hungrier, not leaving even a single spot untouched by his lips. one hand grasped your hair back, bringing it back to have more room while the other groped your breasts from outside the shirt.

You squeezed your thighs together, trying to find relief. “N-no marks.” you said as he sucked a spot for too long, he pulled away and bit his bottom lip, repressing a chuckle “Too late.”

Before you could reply, his lips found yours in a heated and desperate kiss, it was so wrong but it felt too right to stop.

You let your hands slip under his shirt and roam freely, feeling his sculpted chest under your palms, earning a deep groan from sunghoon.

His tongue slipped inside your mouth, he was the one in control of the kiss but you didn’t mind. You just craved to be taken care of.

He pulled away from you and began to lift your shirt up, too eager to feel your whole body— to make you his even if you didn’t belong to him.

He threw the shirt on the floor and widened his eyes as he saw your naked upper body.

Sunghoon stared in trance at you, but it made you feel self conscious and your arms wrapped around your chest.

Sunghoon frowned, taking your hands away “Never,” He murmured, kissing your lips once more “Never cover yourself from me, understand?” You nodded in response “Yes, Hoon.”

He squeezed your tit and lowered his lips to the other one, sucking on your abused nipple “Such pretty tits.” He commented and you unconsciously grind on the sofa, the wetness of your pussy glistening your panties.

He left one breast to pay attention to the other, sucking and flicking his tongue on it, making you whine “Mhhh.. Hoon.” You encouraged him to continue

Sunghoon smirked and looked at you, moving your hips while your eyes were closed and your mouth slightly opened, soft whimpers exiting it.

“Lay down, princess.” He ordered and you complied. His voice was so low and demanding you thought you’d do anything he asked without contemplating anything. Maybe he truly did a spell on you.

His fingers hooked under the hem of your shorts and he looked at your eyes, waiting for your approval. “Don’t ask,”

You said, trusting him and knowing he’d stop if you ever asked, but Aunghoon pecked your lips “Are you sure you want this?” He asked, because no matter how hard he wanted you, he’d never force himself on you.

You nodded, your mind hazy and you body in need to be touched “Yes— I need you, Hoon.” Your soft pleading made blood rush straight to his cock, the visible bulge pocking through his pants.

“Fuck, Y/N.” He groaned and pulled your shorts down, discarding them on the floor “You’ll be the death of me.” He stared at your body like you were a sculpture to admire at a museum, his hand tracing your curves.

“My gorgeous baby,” Sunghoon noticed the wet patch on your panties and smirked widely “So wet for me? We haven’t even started.” He cooed as he tucked the hem down, leaving you completely bare in front of him.

With one finger he gathered your juices and took his digit inside his mouth, humming in approval “Tastes good, so fucking good.”

At such a sight you couldn’t help but let out a small whine “Hoon..” You murmured and his attention immediately snapped back at you “Yes, baby?”

You moved your hips closer to him “Touch me please.” And how could he say no when you asked so politely?

“Want me to touch you?” His finger went down and played with your clit, making you arch your back “Want me to make you feel good, s’that what you want baby?”

He cooed, one finger slipping inside your needy and wet hole, your walls squeezing around it “Fuck, you’re so tight.”

He frowned, working his finger in and out your hole while you moaned under him “Does jake even touch you, uh?” He scoffed

He added another finger, keeping your legs opened with his other hand.

The movements of his fingers inside of you made you see stars, he was so skilled it almost made you forget you had a boyfriend that should do such filthy things to your body.

Not that you cared at that moment, and neither did Sunghoon.

Your hips moved back and forth to match his digits, deep inside of you.

He curled them and caressed your g-spot, making you squeeze your eyes and pant heavily “Faster.” You asked “Please Sunghoon— feels s’good.” His fingers moved faster and faster, the knot in your stomach about to snap when he abruptly pulled away.

You opened your eyes and whined, looking at him with a huge frown which made Sunghoon smile.

You were so cute like that, face all flushed in desperate need to cum “Don’t worry.” He reassured, pulling his sweat and boxers away “Just wanted you to cum all over my cock.”

You smiled but it soon transformed into a huge jaw drop as you saw how big and fat his cock was. it pulsed, angry red and thick, up on his stomach.

Sunghoon chuckled at your reaction, “Too big for you?” He asked, taking your chin in his hands and bringing your face slightly closer to him “Jake isn’t as big as me, is he?”

“That’s… never gonna fit.” You whispered, embarrassed “We’ll see that.” He pulled your head down on the sofa again and he fisted his shaft, your juices that still coated his fingers acting as lube.

He pressed the tip of his dick by your entrance, teasing it “Hurry.” You whined

Sunghoon smirked “Such a needy girl,” He scowled at you and pushed his cock into you in one deep thrust, making you gasp. you felt so stretched, your walls hugging his member, making his eyes roll back “Shit, princess,” He panted “You’re really so tight,” he pushed himself deeper, already bottoming out.

You whined in a mixture of pain and pleasure, gripping the sofa beneath you, Sunghoon noticed you and connected your lips with his, trying to distract you “Relax,” He cooed, one of his hands caressing your forehead with his thumb “It’s all good, you’re doing so well.”

His sweet words made you instantly relax, you looked at him through your teary eyes and he smiled warmly, pecking your lips once more.

He started moving inside of you, slowly at first and when the pain subdued to pleasure, you moaned “S’deep,” You breathed out, gripping his arm.

Sunghoon couldn’t hold back anymore, his hips started moving faster, your skin slapping together as he tsked “Bet he can’t fuck you like i do,”

He circled your clit with his free hand, while his other snuck around your neck, adding small pressure, just enough to make your mind hazy.

He groaned, trying his best not to cum right there as he heard your sweet moans, your tits moving back and forth alongside your body as he pushed his cock so deep he could see the shadow his bulge in your stomach.

“I’m the only one who can fuck you like you deserve,” He kept saying nonsense while you laid under him, the knot in your stomach about to snap.

You nodded at his statement, not registering his words at all “Hoon— s’close, i’m close.” You said, your voice cracked and quiet.

“I know baby,” He circled your clit faster “Can feel you squeeze me— fuck— squeeze my cock.” He threw his head back to move the bangs sticking to his sweaty forehead, revealing an image of every girl’s erotic dream.

He felt your walls squeezing his cock, signalling that you were about to fall apart and so he hurried his movements “Don’t cum yet,” He ordered but you shook your head, unable to resist anymore as you came, your orgasm hitting like a crashing wave, making your body squirm underneath him.

Sunghoon slowed his thrusts but never faltered, he helped you ride out of your high until you were able to open your eyes again, your breath so heavy.

He kissed your lips, holding your chin in his fingers while he resumed his speed, trying to reach his own release

You moaned louder, probably even your neighbours could hear you but Sunghoon pushed you to overstimulation, “Gonna cum, just a little more baby.” He panted, gripping both your hips and rutting inside of you until he pulled out and came all over your chest and body, shots of white seed painting you.

You spread it all over yourself, waiting for him to calm down as the realisation of what you had just done hit both of you.

You exchanged no words but Sunghoon carefully scooped your figure from the sofa and carried you bridal style to the bathroom, making you sit as he prepared you a warm bath.

“Hoon..” you murmured, guilt eating you alive. Sunghoon turned around and saw the state you were in.

Ignoring the hard-on he had again at the sight of you all dirty in his cum, he pressed a featherlight kiss on your forehead “Don’t overthink it,” He said gently “it’ll be alright if he doesn’t know, and you can keep a secret, can’t you?”

Sunghoon asked and you nodded “That’s a good girl.” He pecked your lips but you brought him into a deeper kiss and before you knew, his tongue was inside your mouth again.

He reluctantly pulled away, shaking his head, feeling like he’d be taking advantage of you.

Sunghoon closed the tab of the bath and helped you in, despite your legs that were like jelly, you felt refreshed and happier.

He let go of your hand but you didn’t, keeping it secured in yours. He looked at you with a puzzled expression.

“Get inside.” You beckoned to the bath and he shook his head again “I’ll take a shower later.”

You pouted “Let’s save water.” Your eyes were so soft and glossy he couldn’t help but comply and he entered the bathtub with you.

Nedless to say, you found yourself on his laps, needy grinding against his hard cock as you two made out with the warm water around you both.

Maybe you could do more than that while Jake was away.

⪩⪨

The next morning you woke up to a strange sensation between your thighs, it felt hot but also good, waves of pleasure rushing through your body.

You slowly opened your eyes and looked down, seeing a ruffled head buried between your legs, two strong hands pinning you down the bed.

“Hoon..” You breathed out, your mind still hazy and eyes too heavy to keep open.

Sunghoon momentarily detached himself from your cunt, your wetness coating his chin “Mh, hey princess.” He smiled as if he wasn’t eating you out for breakfast “Just relax, let me take care of you.”

You already weak heart melted at his statement and you just nodded, resting your head back on the pillow while Sunghoon flicked his tongue on your tongue, stimulating it with his fingers as well.

You closed your eyes and placed one hand behind sunghoon’s head, grasping his hair, trying to bring him closer, needing him closer.

The phone on your bedside table started ringing, making you take it and frustratedly checking who was ruining your moment.

You would’ve jerked away if it wasn’t for Sunghoon’s grip at the sight of Jake’s contact name “It’s Jake.” You half-whispered, half-screamed, trying to pull Sunghoon’s head away from your pussy.

He reluctantly let go and nodded “Answer.” Though his tone said that was the last thing he wanted you to do. With shaky hands, you took the call and placed the phone beside your ear “Hello?”

“Y/N, hi… it’s morning there, did I wake you up?” Jake’s voice seemed to foreign to your ears it felt strange at first; as you were about to reply, Sunghoon’s lips attached to your pussy once more, making you gasp.

“You good?” Jake asked from the other line, worry lacing his tone “All good!” You exclaimed, a little too high pitched.

No matter how hard you grasped Sunghoon’s hair, the man was not going to pull away from your pussy and the way he pinned you more down on the bed confirmed your thoughts.

Instead, you bit your bottom lip and tried your best not to give away the pleasure your boyfriend’s best friend was giving you. “Listen, I'm so sorry.” You frowned, confused “What are you sorry for?”

A whimper died down your throat when Jake answered “How I left things, I shouldn’t have ignored your texts..” He sighed softly “I was just mad, I needed some time alone, but it isn’t an excuse.”

No, it wasn’t, but you had forgotten about the fight thanks to Sunghoon’s magic bed skills, so you just shrugged it off.

“I understand.” You breathed out as Sunghoon inserted a finger into your sticky walls, fingering you while his tongue worked on your clit.

Jake sighed at your answer “I said hurtful things to you, can you forgive me?” You moved your hips, fucking yourself on sunghoon’s tongue, earning a hum of approval that sent waves through your body.

“Yes,” you replied, though you didn’t know if it was meant for Jake’s question or to incite Sunghoon in his act “Really?”

Jake’s voice sounded surprised, you usually took things personally, so why brush it all off? He wasn’t going to complain, though.

“How are things going there?” He asked “Alright,” You murmured, Sunghoon’s skilled tongue making you see stars.

“There?” You managed to ask without letting your voice shake when Sunghoon added a second digit inside of you, curling them like he had already memorised where your sweet spot was.

And he probably did.

“Well.” Jake chuckled “But I miss you so much,” You felt a pang of guilt, because since Sunghoon occupied your daily life, your mind had started to drift toward Jake less.

“Miss you too,” You whispered, your words making Sunghoon’s fingers move faster. You bit down on your fist to prevent yourself from making unwanted noises.

You heard a second voice from the other line but couldn’t quite understand what it said, and then Jake sighed sadly “I have to go baby, I'll text you when I finish this meeting.”

You hummed, your back arching “I love you.” Jake said sweetly and you answered with a quick “Me too.” Before hanging up, throwing the phone on the mattress.

You pulled sunghoon’s head away and pushed it on the bed, strangely he let you do it, not fighting you.

He laid on the bed while you crawled on top of him, hovering just above his face “You’re so hot when you’re pissed.” he teased, knowing that you would’ve been anxious about being discovered.

That was what added the thrill to Sunghoon, it would be boring otherwise.

“Shut up,” You shushed, lowering yourself on his lips and gripping his hair, pulling his lips on your pussy, the sweet sensation appearing again.

You bucked your hips down, riding his face while you moaned, trying to reach your orgasm.

Sunghoon’s tongue found your entrance, fucking your hole, drinking all your wetness like you were his last meal.

On other occasions you would've been scared of choking him, but with the pre-orgasm bliss, your selfishness appeared and you just worried about cumming.

His nose poked your clit, his tongue fucking in and out and his hums of approval to let you know that he was, at least, still breathing made you reach your high, legs shaking.

He helped you ride out of your orgasm, your breath still hard as you laid down on the bed again, chest raising up and down.

He sat up and kissed your lips, tasting your cum on his tongue “Morning, Y/N.” He murmured in a hoarse voice.

“Morning, Sunghoon.” It was the same thing you two had been telling each other for a week, only this time, it meant so much more.

⪩⪨

“Let me see them, come here.” He demanded as you two got home from your nail salon appointment, which he insisted on paying.

You smiled widely and walked closer to the sofa where he was sitting — or rather, manspreading — and happily showed him your pinkish nails.

“I love them.” You confessed, the small brush of Sunghoon’s thumb on your knuckles making your breath hitch “Pretty nails for a pretty girl.” He smirked when he noticed the effect he had on you.

Sunghoon was no innocent man, despite his shy appearance.

When he said he’d do anything for you, he meant it, even betray his best friend for you.

Maybe you didn’t want to dump him because Jake was, in fact, a good boyfriend if you didn’t count the bad moments you had together.

But Sunghoon was better than him, and he was planning on showing you.

He let go of your hand and patted his lap, beckoning you to sit on it.

Complying, you straddled him and wrapped your arms around his neck “But you didn’t have to pay for them.” You murmured, feeling guilty that he spent so much for you, along with the necklace and earrings he bought you as a gift

“Shhh,” He hushed you, pressing a finger on your lips, brushing his thumb over your bottom one.

“I want to spoil you baby, you deserve it.” His voice was barely a whisper, so deep and husky.

Your lips hitched with the urge you had to put them on his, kissing until you grew sick of it— but you couldn’t.

“Actually,” You mumbled and pulled away, just enough to resist your deepest thoughts “I don’t want to send you away, but Jake wanted to FaceTime me,” You gulped, fidgeting with his shirt

Sunghoon tilted his head, his hands securing around your waist, protectively keeping you close “So?”

“So, I thought it’d be better if he didn’t see you here.” You added, nodding at your own statement

Sunghoon frowned, “I can hide in the bathroom until you’re done.”

“Hoon— you’ve been sleeping here for four days..” His jaw ticked “Am I bothering you?”

You were quick to shake your head “No, never.” You bit your bottom lip, afraid to voice out your feelings since that useless argument you had with Jake

He sighed softly and took your chin in his fingers, making you look inside his eyes “What’s wrong, baby?” He asked, holding you so gently you thought you’d shatter right there and he’d be able to pick up all your pieces

“I—“ You shook your head, but Sunghoon’s grip tightened on your chin “Tell me.” He demanded, not harshly.

“I just… I don’t think Jake would like it if he knew about this and I feel so guilty.” Sunghoon felt his anger rise, because he wanted to tell you that your relationship was more off than on, he wanted to tell you to just break up with Jake and live with him, spend your day tucked under his protections so that no one could hurt you anymore.

But, you weren’t his and he couldn’t do anything about it… yet.

“What we’re doing isn’t bad, alright?” He tried to sooth your worry “We’re just two adults trying to satisfy each other’s needs,” Sunghoon licked his bottom lip, looking at your glossy and innocent eyes made his dick harden inside his jeans.

“And I want to take care of you..” He whispered, his hand slipping under your shirt, groping your breasts, earning a small whimper from you “Will you let me?”

Were the necklace and earrings he gave you cursed? Because no matter how much you knew this was wrong, you only craved for more.

“Yes,” You whispered, “I want to make you feel good too.” Sunghoon’s eyes softened, you were so cute and innocent and so his to ruin “Is that so, princess?” You nodded in response

“Want to make me feel good?” You hummed and Sunghoon got close to your ear, purring “Get on your knees.”

You complied right away, climbing down his laps and placing yourself between his legs “Need those pretty hands around my cock,” He said and you unzipped his jeans, palming his already hard length through the fabric

“Do you know how to give a blow?” He scoffed, almost being degrading “I bet Jake couldn’t even teach you properly.” Sunghoon caressed the side of your cheek and then his hand gripped your hair, pulling your head toward his hips “Hurry up, sweetheart.”

Not wanting to make him wait, you quickly pulled the hem of his boxers down and let them fall to his ankles.

His cock sprung free, veiny and thick, you let your tongue trace it, giving kitten licks to the tip.

Sunghoon groaned, holding your hair up to a semi-ponytail so they wouldn’t bother you.

You circled your tongue all over the tip, tasting his bittersweet precum.

“Stop teasing.” he warned, pulling your hair back and looking into your eyes, his tone softening, “Understood, baby?” You nodded in approval and took him whole inside your mouth in one swift movement, his long shaft hitting the back of your throat, making you gag.

He ard your slight gag but the sensation of your warm mouth wrapped around him was enough to cloud his mind. you bobbed your head back and forth, filthy sounds filling the room.

“Shit princess, you feel so good.” He groaned “Mh— could just cum right here.” His praising fuelled your confidence, so you gripped both his hips and moved your head faster, trying to provide him pleasure

You palmed his balls as well, gripping them gently as Sunghoon let out a low moan, throwing his head back on the headboard on the sofa.

You spied him from your eyelashes, he looked like the epitome of erotic: mouth hanging open, eyebrows furrowed and eyes squeezed shut.

He pushed your mouth further, trying to bottom out when your phone started ringing. You got distracted, looking to the side, about to pull away as you knew it was Jake.

“Don’t you dare.” Sunghoon groaned, standing up and pushing his cock deep inside your throat, you gagged, it being too big to fit.

You tried to push him away to catch your breath but Sunghoon didn’t seem to care. Only when he saw your teary eyes did he give you the chance to breathe.

You panted heavily, spit rolling down your cheeks and wetting your shirt.

Your ringtone started once again and Sunghoon watched you wild his eyes, he took your chin in his hands and raised a brow “You going to answer?”

Your eyes were glossy and the tip of your nose red, you shook your head in reply “That’s what I thought.” he smirked and yanked you by your hair, snatching them to push his fat cock inside your mouth once again.

The way you were just staring at him with those eyes made him grin, the sweat dripping down his forehead added a small spark to the whole situation.

Your phone rang once more and he let out an annoyed groan, taking it in his hands “Maybe I should just show your boyfriend what you’re doing right now, uh?” You panicked and shook your head, trying to pull away from him.

“Keep sucking,” he warned, maintaining his grip on your hair. He showed your phone screen to you, Jake’s contact name appearing before your eyes.

You murmured, trying to tell him not to do anything reckless but that only sent waves of pleasure to his length.

“Shit Y/N.” he panted, throwing your phone back on the sofa, not caring about its ringtone anymore.

“Always ruining the moment, that fucker.” He murmured, holding your head with both his hands and pushing his dick in and out your warm and went mouth

“I’m so close baby,” You nodded, dropping your arms on your side and letting him do what he needed to reach his high. His moans were low, more like growls which made the wetness between your legs grow more uncomfortable as time passed.

You liked when he acted so possessive, when he acted like you belonged to him.

You wished you did.

“Fuck, Fuck, Fuck.” He chanted, eyes rolling back “Such a good girl for me,” He groaned once more, pushing one last time, deeper until released his seed inside your mouth.

He took deep breaths, trying to calm down “Swallow.” Sunghoon ordered, his eyes so dark and red.

You gulped down and then stuck out your tongue to show him that no trace of his cum was left “Good girl.” He smiled, helping you up.

He helped you up and was about to pull your body closer when you shook your head “What’s wrong?” He asked, confused at your sudden coldness

You glanced at your phone on the sofa and smiled faintly “I think I should call Jake back.” You took it and bit your bottom lip, “I’ll be back later.”

You didn’t spare Sunghoon a glance and just disappeared in your bedroom, closing the door behind your back, leaving Sunghoon in the living room with the realisation that your heart still belonged to Jake.

⪩⪨

Jake was a total asshole. He had always known that, but realisation hit him the moment he saw you coming out of that room bawling your eyes out.

Despite not wanting to tell him, he had a feeling it meant Jake’s foul mouth said things he shouldn’t have.

And as he rocked you to sleep, whispering sweet nothings while gently caressing your body, he was more than determined to take you away.

What made it worse was that you took your time to clean the drool from your cheeks, combed your tangled hair and even put some mascara on to be pretty.

Jake didn’t even consider that, or didn’t try to think how happy you’d be to talk to him and harshly destroyed your mood.

The next morning you woke up feeling groggy, your eyes were puffy and tear stains lined down your cheeks.

You looked at yourself in the mirror and sighed, trying to fix the damage that was your appearance.

After washing your face and doing your needs, you exited the bathroom thinking you’d be alone and mentally preparing to make something for yourself to eat when you came across a tall male figure cooking.

You stopped in your tracks, eyes wide as you drank him in. Sunghoon was toasting something with the pan, his forearms flexing as he twisted the bread.

He was quietly humming a melody, quiet enough not to wake you up, the smell of caramel and first loves filling the air.

You felt a sudden peace of mind, dreaming about waking up like this every day, lazy sunday mornings spent in, cuddling and just being with each other.

Your dream was crushed when you remembered you actually had someone to do that with you, and he wasn’t Sunghoon.

You walked towards him and hugged his waist, your small arms wrapped around his toned torso. He stiffed for a second before realising it was you “Morning sleepyhead.”

“Morning Hoon.” You said back, snuggling your face closer to his back. He turned off the stove and turned around, his arms wrapping around your waist, pulling your body closer

“Slept well?” Sunghoon asked, placing the palm of his hand on your cheek, his thumb giving it gentle strokes.

The way he talked and looked had you so weak and vulnerable and the only place you wanted to be in was the space between his arms, pressed in so close and so tight.

“Yes, thanks to you.” You gave him a sincere smile. His lips twitch up into a smile and you can feel the warmth of his gaze on your face.

He shook his head and placed a featherlight kiss on your head “I did nothing, really.” He did what Jake should’ve done, instead he chose to be the reason for your hurting.

You were about to answer when he held your waist tightly and placed you to sit on the kitchen counter, you blinked faintly in confusion. Sunghoon smiled and pecked your nose “Breakfast will be done soon.” He announced, winking at you.

He turned back to the stove and placed the toasts on a small plate; he walked to the fridge and took some jam along with butter.

You followed all his movements with your gaze, noticing how his muscles twitched at his every movement. He was wearing a t-shirt that was supposed to be Jake’s, though you had to admit it looked way better on Sunghoon. You shook your head, getting rid of those (not so) untrue allegations.

Sunghoon finished making the toasts and turned towards you, his fang smile so addictive. “Are you hungry?” He asked “I made toast and found strawberries in the fridge.”

“I think you’d like to eat something else.” You murmured, voice still hoarse from sleeping.

Sunghoon’s gaze darkened as he registered your words, placing himself between your legs “And what is it?” He questioned, face so close to yours you could feel his hot breath hitting your skin

With one hand you held yourself on the counter and wrapped the other around Sunghoon’s neck.

You two had only four more days together, and you chose to make the best of them.

You’d deal with Jake when he came back and could talk face to face.

“I have a perfect meal for you.” You smirked, looking down at your lower body. Sunghoon let out a soft sigh, his bulge already poking from his shorts “My favourite.”

His palm traced all the way from your breasts, down to your stomach and hem of the shorts.

He slipped one finger inside and cursed under his breath when he realised you were wearing no underwear

You chuckled at his reactions and Sunghoon attacked your lips with his, sucking on your bottom lip, making you squirm.

He squeezed your breasts and simultaneously played with your clit, touching you in only ways he could.

He detached his lips from yours and lowered himself, kneeling in front of you.

He kissed your clothed core, smelling the scent of you, so addicting.

You felt your pussy clench around nothing, the usual warm feeling building inside your body.

You looked down at Sunghoon with pleading eyes and he was more than happy to satisfy you “On it, baby.” He licked his lips as he pulled your shorts down, the cold air of the room hitting your sensitive skin, making you shiver.

Sunghoon placed kitten kisses all over your thighs, so close to where you needed him but not exactly there.

“Hoon.. please.” You whined, pulling him by his hair closer to your core. Sunghoon flicked his tongue on your clit, making you gasp out.

He continued to lick your pussy like a popsicle, his skilled tongue brushing against your shaven mound, making your head hazy.

Your breath grew heavy and you couldn’t help but throw your head back, desperately pushing Sunghoon closer, trying to find satisfaction.

Sunghoon rewarded your bravery by inserting one finger inside your hole, brushing it against your g-spot “Fuck— Hoon, yes” You moaned out

“Pussy tastes so good.” he purred, diving again between your thighs “All mine, this is all mine, got it?” in your blissful state you nodded your head in reply, bucking your hips to meet his movements

As Sunghoon’s fingers kept brushing against a certain spot that had your eyes roll back, you felt something snap inside of you and liquid spurred out of your pussy.

You widened your eyes, looking down at him with an apologetic look.

“I— I’m sorry.” You said, taking in the sight of said liquid dripping down Sunghoon’s chin and having wetted his shirt.

Sunghoon, on the other hand, seemed to be on cloud 9 “That was so hot, Y/N.” He said with sparkling eyes “Squirt on me again baby, please.”

He was really pussy drunk, drinking all your juices, fucking you with his tongue and fingers.

He raised himself on his feet and brought you into a sloppy and messy kiss, you could taste yourself on his lips.

His painful clothed bulge pressed against your core, rubbing against it.

Sunghoon made his shorts and boxers fall down to his ankles and rubbed his red tip on your wet folds, gathering your sweet juices.

He pushed his thick cock inside you and your breath hitched, its length still something you weren’t used to.

You propped yourself on your elbows and took deep breaths, trying to distract yourself from the burning stretch.

Sunghoon moved slowly, rubbing your clit to make you even wetter so that he could slip in and out without hurting you.

He held your face with one hand, his thumb inside your thumb while you sucked on it “You’re so dirty.” he smirked “My dirty girl.” He got close to your face and hurried his thrusts

“Tell me baby— shit— you mine, uh?” He asked, voice husky

“I’m not y-yours.” Ah, wrong answer. He stilled his movements, looking down at you with a raised brow “Not mine?” He scoffed, “Then you don’t deserve to cum.”

You felt him pull out and panicked, gripping his forearm desperately “No!” You exclaimed “Please Hoon.”

He gave one deep thrust, making you whimper “What did you say?” You blinked faintly “Please..” He shook his head “Nah ah.”

You sighed “I’m yours, Hoon.” His lips twitched into a sly smirk “Good girl.” Sunghoon praised as he gripped your waist.

You raised your top just enough to let your breasts run free and squeezed your nipple, stimulating your body.

Sunghoon joined you and squeezed the other one, bringing his lips down to circle it and send waves of pleasure through your body.

Sunghoon took hold of your hips, raising you from the counter while your hands were still gripping it, moving your lower body to meet his in quick and deep thrusts.

“Fuck, get down.” he helped you down the counter and manhandled you, turning you as he pleased.

He took your arms and hooked them around one of his, your back pressed against his chest.

Sunghoon entered your body once more, his movements so fast. You clenched around him, your moans so loud.

“You were made for me.” He groaned in your ear, kissing your shoulder “Mine to fuck, mine to own, mine to love.”

You felt the knot in your stomach tighten, crying out in pleasure “S-sunghoon.” He breathed out “I know baby,” the speed of his thrusts hurried, rutting inside of you as he hit the sweet spot “Cum for me.”

At his words your eyes rolled at the back of your head, mouth agape as you came apart on his cock.

He looked down, the white circle forming around his shaft, almost making him cum as well on spot.

Your legs started shaking, his thrusts never faltering even as you squirmed in his grip. He circled your clit with one hand, your eyes getting watery.

“Shh,” He soothed, letting go of your arms to make you stabilise yourself by gripping the counter; his hands grasped your hips, grip so tight it would probably leave marks by the next day as he thrusted inside of you, trying to reach his release.

“I’m gonna cum,” Sunghoon panted, the speed of his movements increasing even more “Inside—“ You choked out “Cum inside me.” Your words made him release his seed right there, coating your clenching walls with his warm cum.

He hugged your back, lips brushing against your shoulders as he fucked his cum right back into you, not wanting a single drop to fall out.

He raised from your figure but still not pulling out, turning your head by your chin and connecting your lips.

The kiss was sloppy and uncomfortable due to the position, but it held so many feelings it made you melt.

Sunghoon’s fingertips caressed your stomach, holding you close while gentle thrusts kept uniting your bodies “You begging me to cum inside really did something to me, pretty girl.” He chuckled, kissing your jawline.

“Fortunately,” You started, still out of breath “I’m on the pill. Sunghoon chuckled huskily, “I wouldn’t have minded even if you weren’t.”

He pulled out, drops of his cum running down your thighs. He turned you around and kissed you deeply once more “Let’s get you cleaned up, then we can eat.”

You gave him a weak smile, you were sticky and sweaty, probably your hair was also messed up, but Sunghoon still looked at you like you were the most beautiful person in the world. “Yeah. Let’s do that.”

He kissed the tip of your nose and chuckled “I’m taking you out for the night, so prepare that dress I bought you.” Euphoria took over your face as you nodded happily “Thank you, Hoon.”

“I already told you I’d do anything for you.”

⪩⪨

You were putting the earrings he had bought you, the crimson dress hugging your body.

You stood in front of the full-length mirror inside your room, trying your best not to poke another hole in your ear.

You felt a pair of strong arms wrapping around your waist, Sunghoon’s head snuggled in the crook of his neck. The familiar cologne filled your nostrils, bringing a sense of peacefulness inside you.

Sunghoon kissed the back of your shoulder, his arms bringing you to his body. You felt his erections pressing between your ass cheeks, making you chuckle “You’re gorgeous.” He whispered in your ear, his kisses raising toward your jaw

You let out a shaky breath as he started slowly grinding against your ass “Hoon… We have a reservation.” You cleared your throat, trying not to think at the wetness between your legs

“So?” His voice was so low it made you shiver in his embrace. His hands moved towards your breasts, squeezing them from outside the fabric of your dress. “I’ll be quick, I promise.”

You shook your head “We’re going to be late.” He pressed your lower body even closer to his, rutting his clothes cock on your ass “Please baby…” He groaned, “I’m so hard it hurts.”

His eyes locked with your from the mirror and you couldn’t deny him when he looked so desperate for you.

You loved it, you loved the way he seemed to be so obsessed with you.

You nodded “Alright.” He didn’t waste time and flicked your skirt up, pushing his pants and boxers down and pushing your panties to the side. As his cock sprung free, you could feel it rubbing against you, so hot and hard.

He took your arms and held them in his hand, rubbing your folds with his shaft with the other. With one swift movement, he entered you, moving fast already.

Your moans were music to his ear and the sight of you rolling your eyes from the full-length mirror made his cock twitch inside of you.

Sunghoon groaned, sweat coating his forehead as he sped up, letting go of your arms to grip your hips and use your body as he pleased.

You put one hand behind his head and pressed yourself closer to him, your back tightly against his chest.

“My perfect girl,” He chanted, biting his bottom lip, trying his best not to cum just there “This pussy was made for me, uh?”

His heavy breath sent shivers through all your body, the sweet feeling of his dick bottoming out, hitting your cervix repeatedly made your legs shake.

“Close already?” He asked, the sound of skin slapping and the wet sounds from your cunt filling the room “Y-yes.” You managed to say, the feeling of euphoria approaching you.

“Fuck— me too.” He let out a few breaths, hurrying his speeds “Let’s cum together baby,” Sunghoon hugged your body from behind, spooning you while standing up as he rutted fast your abused pussy

“You’ll let me cum inside, right?” You nodded your head, “Please.” You breathed out “Want you to fill me up.”

Your words were enough for Sunghoon to empty his load inside of you, your own hand went down to circle your clit and you came right with him.

Your walls pulsed around him and his cock twitched, with slow and deep thrusts. He kissed the back of your shoulder, his breath calming down.

“You did amazing,” He whispered, pulling out and covering your folds with your underwear.

He pulled his pants and boxers up and pulled you by your waist, kissing you hungrily “Now, you’re going to dinner with my cum inside,” He murmured on your lips “And after we come home I’ll fuck it right back, filling you up again.”

You were still dazed from your orgasm, or maybe it was the spell he gave you, because all you could manage to do was nod blissfully. Sunghoon’s plan was indeed working.

⪩⪨

Saying that you two had been fucking like two rabbits was an understatement.

Sunghoon took you in the kitchen again, then on the sofa, in the bathtub and so many times in the bedroom.

Like now, you had the insane idea to blow him around three am, the day before Jake was coming home.

Nobody could blame you, though, because the way he was sleeping with his lips open, bare chested and hands ruffled turned you so on you wanted to give him the sloppiest and messiest head of his life. And so you did.

Sunghoon was now cuddling with you, his fingertips brushing against your sensitive skin, the quiet of the night too comfortable as you laid in his embrace.

His breath was even and soft, his body heat should’ve been bothering you since you were in July but it only made you seek more. Maybe it was the fact that the day before, it would be gone forever.

“Hoon?” you asked, tone gentle “Hmm?” he murmured sleepily, sniffling his head closer to your shoulder

You stayed silent for a couple of seconds, trying to gather your thoughts “When tomorrow comes, can you give me some time alone?”

Sunghoon frowned “What?” You gulped, looking down at him, smelling your shampoo scent in his hair. “I need some time to figure things out.”

Sunghoon was scared to feel hopeful by your words, he still said “Figure what?”

“My feelings.” You answered, sighing softly “It’s just that, I’ve never felt so happy like when I’m with you.” At those words, he raised his head, his tired dark eyes meeting yours

“With Jake, everything feels on autopilot, we just live our lives as if we were two roommates.” He caressed your shoulder, letting you know that he was with you, that he had got you

“But with you— you made me rediscover how love feels like, how it feels to be someone’s first choice.”

“Y/N..” He whispered, feeling a sudden urge to protect you “But I’m saying this after spending basically one month without my boyfriend.” Hearing you utter those two words felt like a punch in the stomach, even though you were just stating the truth.

Sunghoon had just been a replacement for you, something to fill the void created by Jake.

“I need to see it for myself if I really have no feelings left for him or if..” He interrupted you before you could finish “I understand.”

You blinked faintly, “You do?” Sunghoon nodded, a smile forming on his lips “Of course, I’ll wait for you and understand if you choose to be with Jake.”

Your eyes sparkled at his words, he was so gentle despite the fact that his heart was breaking.

But that wouldn’t happen, because as he held you close to him, he knew his spell had worked.

No matter how much you tried, you wouldn’t be able to get away from him.

“I’ll always be there for you.” No matter how many times he repeated it, you always felt the sincerity of his words.

⪩⪨

“I’m back.” Jake announced, entering the front door with his huge luggage “Y/N?” He asked, walking into the living room

“Hey,” You smiled, reaching him “Welcome back.” Jake smiled wrapped his arms around you “How is my love?” He asked rather happily

“Layla’s alright, I think.” Your answer sounded harsh, still not fully having forgiven him for the horrible things he said on FaceTime.

Jake frowned, knowing his sins “I’m so sorry, baby.” You sighed, pulling away from his embrace “I know.” You just said and took his luggage “I’ll put the dirty clothes in the laundry.”

Everything went smoothly, he had talked to you all about his journey, how awesome Los Angeles was, everyone was so kind and supportive towards him. And, not a single question on how you had been the past two weeks.

Shaking the feeling off and trying not to think about Sunghoon anytime Jake brushed his fingers against your skin, you successfully managed to get through three days.

What you told Sunghoon was true, your life went on autopilot when you were with Jake.

You woke up, went to work, did the chores and then went to sleep. You barely spoke to each other and the awkward silence in the house was always present.

“Baby?” He asked while you were cooking by the gas stoves, you hummed in response, not turning around.

“Since when did you buy all those jewellery and clothes?” He raised a brow, leaning against the counter “They’re pretty expensive, they’re from Pandora.”

“Oh?” You turned around and looked at the jewel case in his hands, trying to suppress a smile at the memory of Sunghoon buying you all the things you liked. Honestly, you wouldn’t even care if he had bought you diamonds or just paper rings, you’d take anything he’d give you.

“I liked them, so I bought them.” You shrugged, turning back to stir the soup inside the pot

“You’re so rich you can buy anything you want now?” He scoffed, placing the jewel case on the table and crossing his arms.

You stopped in your tracks, raising a brow “What?” Jake clicked his tongue “Did you pay the rent?” You nodded “Of course I did, last week.”

He let out a satisfied sound “What about the car insurance?” Now did you turn around and stared at him in disbelief “It’s your car, I’m not going to pay for you.”

Jake sighed “Come on baby, I’ve spent all my money on the trip.” You narrowed your eyes, dots collecting inside your brain “It’s a business trip, the company should’ve paid for you.”

Jake widened his eyes, stuttering “I— I meant the food and…” He trailed off. You weren’t going to buy it, you didn’t want to hear his excuses anymore.

“I don’t care, it’s your car. I don’t use it.” You informed, cleaning your hands in the apron and crossing them on your chest “But I’m your boyfriend.”

Your brows furrowed at his statement “Only when you want to.” Jake rolled his eyes “Here you go again.” He ran a hand through his hair “Could you stop being so over dramatic?”

“Oh, so now I’m over dramatic.” You said sarcastically “Yes! Yes you are.” He snapped

You didn’t flinch or look away this time, you weren’t going to show your weak side. Jake always took advantage of it, and you weren’t going to let him.

“Sunghoon was right.” You murmured and Jake’s head snapped back toward you “What?”

“You’re an asshole.” You narrowed your eyes but Jake just dismissed your “Yeah, ok. What about Sunghoon?”

“I’ve spent a lot of time with him lately,” Jake laughed at your statement, seeming genuinely thrilled at your information “You and that weirdo?”

Your mouth hung open “What did you say about him? He’s your best friend.”

Jake tsked, “That’s what he thinks. He was a loner and I just talked to him. He has stuck with me since then and I’m growing pretty sick of it.”

“How dare you talk about him like that?” Jake’s brow raised “Why do you care?”

“Because he is ten times better than you.” Jake chuckled again “Oh, he is? Baby, I’m better than him or you would’ve been his girlfriend by now.”

He leaned back against the counter “And what have you two been doing, eh? Reading books? Watching corny films? Playing table games?”

“Sex.” You replied, your tone monotone, having had enough of his bullshits. His chuckle died and he frowned, looking up at you.

“You heard me, I slept with Sunghoon.” His jaw dropped, anger building inside of him “So you just go around and act like a slut? Is that what you do when I’m not home?”

“Don’t you dare call me a slut.” You snapped, your voice raising for the first time in three years “You cheated on me, Y/N. When were you going to tell me?”

“I needed a few days to figure my feelings out, and thank you for making me realise how much of an asshole you are.”

Jake scoffed “You're the one who slept with another man when you’re supposed to be my girlfriend.”

“You’re right, and I’m sorry for cheating.” His face held some victorious feelings that quickly died as you added “Because I should’ve dumped you before.”

“And that’s what I’m doing right now, Sim Jaeyun, I’m breaking up with you.”

“You can’t do that.” His face filled with anger, but no regret could be found.

You were glad you opened your eyes before you were stuck with him “You’ve sucked my happiness out, you took the life out of me. Now I’m going to take it back.” You took off the apron, throwing it at his chest “I’ll come and get my things tomorrow.”

You heard him throwing other harsh words to you, but you didn’t care. You didn’t even wear your shoes, just ran out of your old apartment in slippers, towards the only place you knew would always have space for you.

⪩⪨

“Don’t shoot me!” Sunghoon was playing with his friends at a video game, the sound of keyboard taps filled the whole house along with his shouting.

It was strange his neighbours hadn’t come to complain already.

“At your back!” Jay informed him, Sunghoon was taking the aim to kill the enemy but his doorbell ringing distracted him, making his shoot pointless. “Shit man, I think it’s Miss Choi again.”

Jay snorted, “Alright, go deal with her.” The friends exchanged goodbyes and Sunghoon got up, the doorbell kept ringing, making Sunghoon groan

“Here, Here.” He sighed as he opened the door only to widen his eyes when he realised it was you in front of him— not his neighbour.

“Y/N—“ He couldn’t even finish saying your name when you threw yourself on him, lips meeting his. Sunghoon was taken aback at first but soon enough kissed you back, your lips touching and moving together.

You pulled away, panting heavily “What are you doing here?” He asked, taking in the sight of you.

Home clothes, slippers on and heavy breaths…

“Did you run here?” You took several deep breaths before speaking “I’m so sorry I made you wait.” Sunghoon blinked faintly at your sudden apologies

“Why are you—“ You shook your head “Please let me finish first.”

Sunghoon nodded slowly, waiting for you to continue. “When I first met Jake, I had never experienced love, so I thought what he did was normal…” You recalled in your mind all the times he and treated you unfairly for a span of three years and shivered

“But you made me realise how love actually feels, and I want to learn all the other forms it comes with.” You looked up at his eyes “He called you names and said he’d only been your friend for pity.”

You continued “I just wanted you to know that you are not pitiful, in fact, you're the best person I’ve ever met. Please, don’t listen to him.”

Sunghoon couldn’t care less about Jake’s opinion about him. But a small smile appeared on his face at the way you seemed to be so annoyed by the fact that he had insulted him.

“You defended me?” He asked softly, and you nodded as if it was the most obvious answer “I also dumped his unworthy ass.”

Sunghoon’s brows shot up in surprise and a smirk crept on his lips “That’s my girl.”

He brought his arms around your waist, pressing your body on his “I want to make it right, Sunghoon, I want to be happy and I want you.” You bit your bottom lip “If you want me too?”

Sunghoon chuckled and twirled you in the air, your giggles filling his usual lonely apartment “I’ve always wanted you, from the first day I saw you, I knew you were the one.”

His answer surprised you, “You liked me?” Sunghoon booped your nose, you looked so cute, all rebel wannabe just for your insecurities to stop you again “I think I love you.”

Your breath hitched, those words leaving his lips made you feel so warm on the inside, your heart skipping so many beats you weren’t sure it was still working “I think I love you too.”

Sunghoon kissed you deeply, his tongue entering your mouth as he claimed you, finally able to call you his.

You pulled away and chuckled, wrapping your arms around his neck.

You tilted your head, tone flirty “So.. You’ll let me stay for the night?” Sunghoon secured your waist in his grasp “I’ll let you stay forever.”

4K notes · View notes

fleuryns · 20 days ago

Text

𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐄𝐗𝐓𝐒

엔하이픈 심재윤 . . smau texts fluff ۶ৎ established relationship boyfriend jake 𓂃 (𝑙𝑖𝑏𝑟𝑎𝑟𝑦)

𝓢 OMM𝒂R𝒾O : you start dating the loser boy, and he's the sweet one you've been looking for

────────── ⊹ ──────────

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jiwuu · 24 days ago

Text

𓈒 ㅤ୨୧ ㅤ𓈒 clingy jake in front of the guys

0.2k ── fmr x sim jaeyun, est. relationship, pda

You should’ve known the moment Jake draped himself over your shoulders in the middle of the practice room that you were in for a long day.

“Baaabe,” he whines, his chin resting on your head as he sways side to side, practically using you as a human teddy bear.

“Jake,” you mutter, glancing at the other members. Sunghoon raises a brow in amusement, while Jay just sighs like he’s seen this a million times before. “We’re in public.”

“And?” Jake pouts, arms looping around your waist from behind. “I missed you.”

You try to peel him off, but he’s relentless, hugging you tighter and burying his face in your shoulder. “Jake, they’re literally staring.”

“They’re used to it.”

“Unfortunately,” Heeseung mutters, sipping his water.

You groan, your face heating up as Jake shamelessly clings to you like a koala. “Can you at least act cool for five minutes?”

Jake gasps dramatically, pulling back to look at you. “Are you embarrassed of me?”

“Yes.”

“Nooo,” he whines again, squishing your cheeks. “I’m your boyfriend, you should be proud to show me off!”

“You are literally latched onto me like a backpack,” you deadpan.

Jay shakes his head with a sigh. “Let us know when you finally snap and push him over.”

Jake gasps again, clutching his chest like he’s been betrayed. “You would never, right, babe?”

You sigh, giving up as he cuddles into you again. “I actually might.”

letters from author ୨୧ i cant wait for 10am pls dont flop me

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zreamy · 14 days ago

Text

things i know that i can't have

jake's life was hard enough before he fell for you—balancing uni, football, and being a good christian son. in some cruel twist of fate, sleeping with you has only made things harder—and, according to sunghoon (and scripture), damned him to hell the first time he thought about it.

pairing ✩ jake sim x fem!reader

genres: college au, (established) fwb to lovers, smut, fluff, angst

warnings: minors dni, mild religious exploration and guilt, strained parental relationship.......... deeply unserious and a bit melodramatic at times, jake's pov, jake crashes out every few paragraphs, football player jake (british), jakeyn are so nct dream (young and freaky), surface level gatsby analysis, creative liberties taken w the location of freshwater fish.. author loves jake so jake must suffer, and one peep show quote

word count: 33,666

playlist: ...what are we lizzy mcalpine, all my ghosts lizzy mcalpine, north clairo, 20191009 i like her mac demarco, 10:36 beabadoobee, lover/friend kaytranada and rochelle jordan

fic taglist: @heechwe @yunjardi @fancypeacepersona @skyearby @kimjkejyy @sanriowoozzz @ii-mimii @pochakkeu @xylatox @seung-log @anofi @immelissaaa @mssishipi @somuchdard @yuniesluv @m3wkledreamy @jakesimfromstatefarm

author's note: uhm.. if you have been tagged in this fic fifteen thousand times, i sincerely apologise 😭😭😭 the powers that be have been working against me, but im letting go and letting god 🤞 i had a lot of fun writing this and i hope you love bi disaster jesus lover jake as much as i do......i hope u all enjoy the fic! do let me know ur thoughts (positive only on this one), as always thank u emma for beta reading, miss u so bad :'(

But I say to you that everyone who looks at a woman with lustful intent has already committed adultery with her in his heart. If your right eye causes you to sin, tear it out and throw it away. For it is better that you lose one of your members than that your whole body be thrown into hell. And if your right hand causes you to sin, cut it off and throw it away. For it is better that you lose one of your members than that your whole body go into hell.

— Matthew 5:28-30, English Standard Version.

There it is, in black and white—red and white, since Sunghoon has a red letter edition. Jake skims the passage again, certain words sticking out this time: lustful intent, adultery, with her. Underlined, italics and bold, like they could be missed. If only. It’s too late now; they’re etched on his retinas, branded on his skin. Lodged deep in his chest, taken root already. It hardly seems fair that a single thought could hold so much weight.

Or, in Jake’s case, many, many thoughts.

Shuddering, he closes the leather bound book softly, a slow exhale ripping out of him as he glances up at his best friend. “You mean I.. can’t even think about fucking her?” he whispers, brows touching in the middle.

A crack of thunder splits the air. Jake flinches. The sound lingers, rumbling over the grey sky. Meant for him. An answer from Heaven—from God Himself. Condemnation, more like. With bated breath, he turns his head slowly, expecting his judgment to be scrawled in the clouds, true divine intervention. But nothing. Just grey. Heavy, oppressive grey.

Sunghoon laughs, a strange little chuckle Jake has never heard before, but knows immediately that he doesn’t like. He adjusts his tie. Shifting the Windsor knot, smoothing the blade—a calculation in his movements that leaves Jake wondering if his friend hasn’t orchestrated this whole situation, weather and all.

“Afraid not, buddy.” Sunghoon’s tone is light, but there’s something solemn about it all—the rain, the smart clothes, this terrible, terrible realisation.

March’s wind nips at Jake’s cheeks, stinging them red no doubt as rain splashes around his feet, wetting his socks in tiny, cold drops. He shivers but doesn’t leave, watching as a smirk spreads over Sunghoon’s lips. A pit stirs in Jake’s stomach as Sunghoon looks over both shoulders before leaning in.

His voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper. “But if thinking about it is as bad as doing it, you might as well just go ahead.”

Jake stares, incredulous, takes a step back as if Sunghoon’s suggestion might smite him where he stands. “Of course, you think that. You lost your virginity behind the worship tent at camp four years ago. Forgive me if I don’t consider you a sound moral compass, Sunghoon.”

“I prayed about it after.” He shrugs. “Clean slate.”

“Hoon,” Jake cries, exasperated, mortified. “You can’t intentionally sin and think you’ll be absolved because you prayed about it after.”

“Why not? Isn’t that what forgiveness is for?”

Glaring, Jake’s jaw works soundlessly. Where to start? At Sunghoon’s audacity or the fact he doesn’t even have a proper answer. Arguing won’t change anything. The whys-or-why-nots of it all are Sunghoon’s cross to bear. Not that he cares enough to. That’s his problem, and his saving grace, if you ask Jake—he makes everything sound so easy, like there isn’t a fuck load of consequence attached.

A frustrated sigh escapes Jake as he glances down at his watch, rain warping the digits on his Casio. It’s almost eleven. Almost an hour since service started, and they’re still standing at the door. A gust of wind whips through his coat.

“Just get inside,” Jake mutters, tone sharp, more from the cold than anything else.

Unmoving, Sunghoon frowns, lips pursed in genuine contemplation. Jake might be endeared if he didn’t know any better.

“Can I ask you something?” Sunghoon’s voice is lighter now, curious, sincere.

Jake doesn’t have time for this—but it's Sunghoon. So, he pinches his nose, bracing himself for whatever’s coming. “What?”

“Do you think you’re better than me because you lost your virginity in a bed?”

Taken aback by the question’s absurdity, Jake blinks. Wonders briefly if he misheard. A nervous laugh bubbles out of him, but Sunghoon’s expression morphs into something unreadable—calm, expectant maybe. Genuinely awaiting an answer. Jake tilts his head, considering it before letting out a short and decisive huff.

“Yes, actually. I do.”

r/Christianity

u/footballfan1511 | 2m

How bad is premarital sex, really? (Need quick answers!!!)

I (20M) have been having sex with my friend (20F) for three weeks now. I knew it was wrong, but she’s everything (very hot, totally, completely sexy), so I didn’t care. BUT I just saw this verse (Matthew 5:28-30) and apparently it’s a sin just to THINK about it???

The last time we did ‘it’ was this morning before church (sorry), and I was supposed to go over there tonight, but I’ve been freaking out about that verse all day…….. idk what to do but I really like her, so much, and I still want this, with her. Please give me advice ..

Every Thursday night. Ten p.m. sharp. Almost no exceptions. You call Jake, talking shit for as long as it takes one thing to lead to another. Tonight is an exception—you had friends over, rescheduled for midnight. Jake lies in bed, hair still damp from his post-football training shower, counting each minute as it passes. 23:55. His leg is shaking. 23:56. He sits up straight, jolting as if waking from a nightmare, nerves sharp and restless as his thumbs fly over the keyboard, texting Sunghoon.

Jake: What about phone sex?

Jake: Like if I don’t think about her while I do it?

Sunghoon’s groan reaches Jake through the thin walls of their shared flat. Drawn-out and long-suffering. Read receipt. 23:57. Three dots.

Hoon: I can’t tell you what to think, but if you’re asking me then you probably alr know

Hoon: Also..??? Do you think you can jack your shit on the phone without thinking about her 😭😭😭

Jake snorts despite himself, much too loud for the quiet. Echoing as if even the room disapproves. He closes his eyes, shakes his head. Palm to his cheek. A low smack, half-joking, half-sincere. Guilt snakes around him, a hot, unwelcome coil that won’t ease. Jake gets the sense that the choice ahead — to answer or not to answer — might drastically skew his life one way or another.

A minute early. 23:59. Your name on his screen. Phone humming in his hold, pulse lashing his throat. On the other end of the line, before he has the chance to weigh his options, you dead the call—making his decision for him.

Jake’s heart stumbles, clumsy in his chest. He thinks of the verse, sharp and prickly—crown of thorns on heavy head. He has been thinking about it since Saturday morning. Extra training with Team B, avoiding you, six-thirty wake-ups to join Sunghoon at the rink. Ice-cold mornings melting into afternoons. No matter what he tries, it always comes back. Lustful intent, adultery, with her. And despite his best efforts to pray for rapture, Thursday has come, and Jake has lived to see it.

A minute late. 00:01. Your name on his screen. Hovering thumb. He knows that phone sex and sex-sex aren’t the same thing, Matthew didn’t even have a phone—but if he could’ve, and he could’ve known you, and you wanted him? Jake sighs. He should answer. If your right hand causes you to sin, cut it off, and throw it away. The words sink their senile claws into him, holding on for dear, frail life. His phone stills in his palm.

You don’t call again. You never have. If this phone call is going to happen, it’s up to Jake to make it so. This knowledge and its weight multiply by the second. An itch he doesn’t try to scratch, knowing he won’t be able to reach it. Another agonising nine minutes trudge along. 00:10. His phone buzzes on his chest, and he knows it’s you before he looks. Two texts.

YN: Said you’d stay up for me Yunie :(((

YN: You don’t think I’m worth the wait?

Reading your messages through the notifications, he’s having a hard time convincing himself not to reply. Not to tell you he waited, that of course, you’re worth it. His guilt loosens, making space for his desire to reassure you—he cannot rule out the possibility that this desire outweighs his guilt. Silence settles in his room, stretched thin and strange around him. He sighs.

YN: Attachments: 2 images

YN: Wanted to hear your reaction, but you can tell me when you’re up ig.

YN: Night, loser :P

Butterflies, sudden and bright—teenaged. Foolish. Tucked under the notification, the photos dare him to look. His curiosity clicks it, and the first picture fills the screen, yanking his breath from his lungs.

Most of your face is cut off, showing only your lips—pouty and glossy and pretty. Pulling at him in a way he’s not quite equipped to name. This would be enough for him, an innocent selfie, you and those pretty eyes, that smile. More than enough—pulse quickening just thinking about it. His gaze lingers on your lips, stuck for a while. Then, unintentionally, his eyes flick lower. Hair fanned over your pillow, breasts peeking out from under black lace. Fuck. A sight he’s seen a million times, but somehow, each time feels like the first. Jake gulps. Holy shit. He ignores the throbbing in his pants, how much tighter they are—he won’t give in. No matter how badly he’s craving it. He’s stronger than that. With his eyes, he traces your lips. Ogles until his screen dims, locking the picture away again.

Picture two. Fuck. You on your stomach, grainy in your webcam. Arched back, black lace panties over your hips. Fuck. The lingerie, the shape of your body.. Seeing you like this, so perfect and all for him—it’s taking every last shred of his self-control not to get in his car and rush over to you. Want, need, tugs at him. A tether he can’t break. His phone locks.

Enough is enough. He drags his feet all the way back to the shower, oppressive cold water hitting him. Doing absolutely nothing for his revolting need. This isn’t working—not the water, not the attempt at self-control. Not when he’s already hard and aching against his stomach. Soft breasts. Round ass. Wet—his hand moves instinctively, forehead resting on the cool tiles. He closes his eyes, your body clear in the dark. Full lips. Arched back. He’s breathless when he finishes, head bowed as heat coils low in his stomach. The water carries his release away. Nose crinkled as it swirls around the drain, cringing at the sight—guilt, shame curling around him.

Again, he dries off, pulls on clean pyjamas, and drags his feet to bed. On his side, he closes his eyes, your body like a brand behind his eyelids, thoughts filling the quiet in his room. Exhaustion however, is its own kind of mercy, and eventually, pulls him under.

Everything is sharper in the morning, clear in the cool light of the college campus. Bare branches cast shifting shadows over stone paths, breeze stealing the sun’s warmth. The weight of his dreamless sleep clings to him, stalks him through the courtyard on his quest to find Jeno—until he sees you and stops in his tracks. Phone in hand, lip between teeth, standing by the library doors. You aren’t doing anything special, frowning at your screen, but Jake’s heart rate spikes anyway, cheeks heating against the cold. He blinks, taking you in. Hair billowing around you, sunlight caught in its edges. Affection bubbles under his skin, tugs him towards you before he knows it, his arm falling over your shoulder.

You flinch, glancing up, startled. Recognition narrows your wide eyes. “Ugh, let go of me, you asshole,” you say, freeing yourself.

Surrendering, Jake steps back, hands raised. “Me, asshole?” He points at himself, feigning offence. “What did I do?”

A frustrated laugh. “Are you serious?” Pressing your cute palm to his chest, you shove him. Not hard, but enough to make him lose his balance, rocking a little. “Yes, you, asshole.”

He doesn’t speak.

You scoff, blank faced, like you don’t care, like you didn’t just shove him. “I sent you those photos, and you ignored me.” Stoic. Detached.

Those photos. Even in reference, they work him up. Too vivid—mainly because he took another look when he woke up. He had to turn off his phone to stop, shoving it into the bottom of his backpack. He didn’t feel guilty about it then, but good grief, he feels like shit now. Shame burning his nape, creeping over his shoulders. At least he isn’t thinking about that Bible verse anymore. Lustful intent. With her. He wasn’t thinking about it. He tenses, sighing.

“I wasn’t ignoring you.”

“You were.” Your voice is quiet—vulnerability inching through your cool exterior. “At least turn your read receipts off if you’re going to pretend you didn’t see them.” Your arms drop stiffly.

A hesitant step towards you, gaze searching yours. “Hey.” Soft, whispered almost. “I wasn’t trying to ignore you.”

On-campus commotion scores the quiet between you — overlapping conversation, bike bells ringing — and you inspect him before you speak. “Right. So you saw the photos and came so hard you passed out?”

Jake licks his lips, embarrassed. Wonders briefly if he’s been so transparent about your effect on him, that you’ve quite accurately hit the nail on the head—even in jest. “Something like that.” At this, you scoff, shoving him again—lighter. He chuckles, breathy and relieved. “Sorry,” he says sincerely. “I really am sorry. I loved the photos, seriously. You know I did.”

Finally, you sigh, a reluctant smile twitching at your lips. “Whatever, asshole,” you say, voice a cute mumble with no real bite.

“How about I make it up to you tonight? Show you my reaction in person?”

“You’re not even free tonight,” you point out.

Shit. You’re right—he has a group project to work on. He should do the sensible thing and say no. “For you, I can be,” he says instead. He’ll figure it out.

“Shut up.” A grin stretches over your lips, and relief washes over him. Finally, a good answer where you’re concerned—until your face tilts into shock. Opening your bag, you bring out a tub. “Don’t overreact, but I made you something,” you tell him, voice lighter as you pull off the lid, pushing foil out of the way. “I know you prefer milk chocolate, but.. it’s White Day, so I just thought—” You cut yourself off, shaking your head. “It doesn’t matter what I thought.”

This isn’t the first time you’ve done something nice for Jake, this isn’t even the first time you’ve made him something, but it feels different—the way everything to do with you feels different now. He stares into the container for a second, suspecting he’ll wake up in bed if he blinks, so he tries not to. Eyes drying, hurting—nothing changes when he succumbs.

As far as he knows, you haven’t baked anything since your shared high school Home Economics class. He chose it to soften the blow of his STEM-heavy course load, you chose it because he did—getting all the way to lesson three before switching for Music. Scones were the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back. His weren’t perfect, he’ll admit it — softer than he’d have liked — but yours? Yours came out of the oven soggy and burnt all at once.

And now, here you are, handing him cookies you made. Edible-looking cookies. For White Day. For Jake. How is it White Day already? One whole month since you first made out with him on Jeong Jaehyun’s birthday—one whole month since you took him home and had your way with him.

He tears his eyes from the cookies to look at you again. You’re smiling, eyes wide, sparkling, and Jake has to remind himself to breathe. “Thank you.” Fondness flares against his ribs, too big to contain. He swallows hard, blinking too fast. “You—” His voice comes out faint, clearing his throat doesn’t help. “You didn’t have to.”

“I know..” You trail off. “I originally wanted to kill two birds with one stone and bake you a pie, but.. that was a little out of my depth.”

“A pie?”

“You know, March Fourteenth.. Three point one-four.. Pi day.” You tilt your head. “I’m surprised you forgot about that, maybe you’re not as much of a nerd as I thought.”

“I’m surprised you know about that.”

“You’re the one who told me.” Closing the container, you hand it over to him, fingers brushing his for long enough that he loses his train of thought. You’re smiling fondly, completely stealing his attention until, suddenly, a pair of hands clap down on his shoulders, making him flinch.

“I’ve been looking for you, dude. We need to go,” Jeno says, his grip firm, already steering Jake away.

Your name sounds weird coming from Jeno’s mouth when he greets you. Too bright, too happy. Jake can picture his shit-eating, Samoyed-esque grin, those cute smiling eyes—never so uncharming as they are right now. Not only has Jeno interrupted, he’s towering over Jake like he’s trying to prove a point, like being taller than 180 cm means anything to anyone. And you, tiny smile, soft wave—are you.. shy?

There’s a pang in his chest he can’t quite name. A protective instinct, maybe. Jealousy? He sighs. “I’ll see you later, yeah?”

You nod, eyes warm, fixed on Jake, and it’s enough to anchor him even as Jeno shoves him to class.

The moment Jake slides into his seat, he fishes his phone from his bag, turning it on. A message from you tops his notifications. Come over after class and make it up to me? A smirk curls his lips as he reads it, shaking his head a little as he reacts with a thumbs-up. The heat in his cheeks lingers longer than he’d like, even as his lecturer arrives and hands out the register.

Why Jake signed up for a residential architecture module, he has no real idea, but he met Jeno in this class, and he’ll take whatever wins he can get. Jeno likes architecture. Loves it—more than anyone else Jake knows. He designs structures in his free time, uses words like façade and fenestration when he catches Jake playing The Sims in class, and has a strong stance on panelised vs volumetric construction.

Jeno goes to Building Design and Technology to learn, and Jake goes so he can sign his name on the register and get marks for attendance.

Time slogs on, an endless mass, numbers added to the clock as his leg bounces under the desk. Thoughts of you consume him. After it happened, Jake thought often about that first night you shared—this one-off miracle. Five loaves and two fish. Lazarus resurrected. Never to happen again, but it did. And it has, so many times now that his memories are starting to bleed into each other. Details lost to frequency. Yet that night, those firsts — the softness of your lips on his, the birthmark on your right hip — always come back to him with such clarity, that he is, again, shocked to realise it’s been a month.

A bigger, more jagged thing haunts him too, cleaves through the sweetness—the way you acted the morning after. He woke up to you walking into your room, wrapped up in a towel and whatever you were typing on your phone. Hair damp, skin dewy. Jake still wasn’t entirely convinced he hadn’t dreamt the whole thing. You didn’t even glance at him until he cleared his throat.

“Are you hungry? I’m not really in a cooking mood, but I can order something for you. Or we could go to Samantha’s?” you suggested, voice remarkably clear, loud in the Saturday morning quiet.

Jake blinked, staring like you’d spoken another language—though the idea of a breakfast roll from your favourite spot was tempting. “Yeah. Cool. Sure. Whatever’s easiest.” And as if stumbling over his words wasn’t enough, his voice cracked.

You frowned like he was the one acting weird. “You okay, Jakey?”

A drop of water slipped down your cheek slowly, the way your sweat had last night. He sits up suddenly, tugging the duvet over his chest, oddly vulnerable in this position. “Yeah. Sure..” He hesitated, twisting the fabric around his finger. “Do you maybe.. want to talk?”

“Talk?” You tilted your head, brows furrowed. “About..”

Ungraceful silence trampled over you both as Jake racked his brain for something to say. “It’s just.. Last night, before.. You said you wanted to talk about something,” he said eventually.

“Hmm..” You sighed, thinking for a while before shrugging. “If it was important, I’ll remember.”

It was all your idea—to kiss, to invite him upstairs after he walked you home, to.. well. You know. It felt like something, like all those years of quietly pining after you hadn’t been for nothing. A real breakthrough, finally. But there you were, acting like… whatever that was.

When you got to Samantha’s, you let him pay for your roll and scone, and joked with him as usual while he drove you to your workout class as if you hadn’t been begging him to dick you down five hours prior. All while Jake was still there, stuck in the moment, replaying the feeling of your lips and your soft skin. In his car, parked outside your gym, you leaned over the centre console and kissed him, soft and fleeting.

“See you, Jakey!” you said, voice bright as you got out of the car and waved goodbye.

Sometimes, if he thinks hard enough, he can feel those first curious touches again, see the look in your eyes before you leant up to kiss him. And the butterflies in his stomach tangle, vicious flapping that scrapes his insides. Arguably, the worst of it all — the glaring detail he always fixates on — is that you were both completely sober. You didn’t want to feel like shit at Pilates in the morning; he was still recovering from his antics the night before. No distractions, no excuses, just you two.

Jeno calls out an answer, voice tugging Jake back into the present. Heat creeps up his neck as all eyes shift in their direction, and he sinks lower in his seat, hoping his laptop screen is enough to hide behind. He glances at his calendar widget, immediately reminded that he has to finish his part of his group research paper—a task he has to get done before he leaves for his away game tomorrow afternoon. A task he has to get done now if he wants to see you tonight.

All it takes is a few focused minutes, a couple quick messages to his group, and he’s sharing the finished document before class is over. So when his lecturer finally dismisses everyone, instead of heading to the library to go over the lesson, he finds himself here—on your doorstep, hands in pockets, pulse thudding in his ears. It’s not like he was running or anything, just walking with purpose, that’s all.

Seeing you does nothing for his breathlessness. You’re wearing one of his hoodies — when did you take that? — neckline slightly askew, showing part of your shoulder. It’s a little too big for you, the hem brushing the tops of your thighs and for more than a second, Jake tries not say, aww, out loud.

A grin stretches over his lips. “Hey, gorgeous.”

You cross your arms over your chest, squaring your shoulders, eyes cut in a way that screams, I’m mad at you, but not really. It’s a new dynamic that he’s still getting used to: your feigned disinterest, his irresistible charm. Your lips twitch, a short, reluctant laugh slipping out, and you roll your eyes like he’s inconvenienced you.

A split second passes before you wrap your arms around his waist, pulling him close. He hugs you tighter than he should, savouring the smell of his detergent on you.

“Can’t stay mad at me for too long, huh?”

“Get off of me,” you mutter, face pressed into his chest, grip on him tightening.

Eventually, you let him in, smiling as he takes off his shoes by the door. He follows you, your footsteps soft and familiar against the carpet. Sweetness lingers in the air, and when you reach the kitchen, his eyes land immediately on the containers stacked on the counter—both crammed full of cookies.

“Wow.” He brings a hand to his chest, feigning hurt. “And here I thought you made those just for me.”

You sigh, barely meeting his gaze as you approach the counter. “You’re so dramatic,” you murmur, the words almost lost under your breath. Opening the container, you tip it towards him. “Ever heard of a test batch?”

Laid out in shades of golden brown and charred black are your several attempts. Some are burnt at the edges, others rock-solid or collapsed into thin, brittle discs. Misshapen, imperfect—each a testament to your determination. His stomach flips, a pang of affection he tries not to wear too openly.

“I didn’t feel right about wasting them, so Jimin and I are going to be big, brave girls and eat them,” you explain. “This isn’t even all of them; she took some to Aeri’s this morning.”

“Oh,” Jake says with a slow nod, taking it all in. He takes one from the top—Communion wafer-thin, square. “See, this makes sense.” It crunches between his teeth, too crispy, but not bad. Honestly, he likes it, chewing with a smile as the sweetness hits all the same.

When he reaches for another, your hand swats his away, fingers firm but not unkind. “I made you twenty perfect cookies and you want to eat these?”

He shrugs, smiling down at you. “What? I’m not allowed to be a big, brave girl too?”

Your expression falters, the teasing edge giving way to something softer, warmer. You look at him for just a beat too long, and then your fingers are brushing the hair from his face. Your smile is a quiet, private curve on your lips. “You’re the biggest, bravest girl I know.”

Jake isn’t sure why, but the words settle nicely in his chest.

Before long, you’re standing side by side at the stove watching a pot of ramen simmer quietly, steam curling into the air. In an effort to avoid extra dishes, you snap apart two pairs of disposable chopsticks for the two of you to use—as if you ever have to worry about doing dishes when he’s here. He blames the steam from the pot for the warmth spreading all over him, eating bite after bite of spicy ramen. Gossip Girl plays on your laptop, your eyes glued to the screen as its glow dances over your face. He can’t ignore the fuzziness taking over him as you share your dinner straight from the pot, chopsticks and hands bumping occasionally.

Jake washes the pot in the sink. Gentle clink of steel on steel, soft murmur of running water, you in the doorway, eyes on him. He is overwhelmed by how domestic, how easy this is—and how desperately he wishes he could stay in this moment forever.

With his hands dry, he follows you to your room, neck flushing under his collar as he shuts the door. Leaning against it, he watches you sink into the mattress, setting up your laptop. Chuckling, you pat the empty spot on the bed. “I don’t bite, Jakey.”

Jake knows now, from experience, that you absolutely bite, so your reassurance only concerns him. But still, like the big, brave girl he is, he crosses the room and sits on the bed, leaving a respectful, Jesus-approved distance between you. The newness of this, its fragility, throws him off. Not too long ago, you were fighting men off with a stick. In fact, Jake was half-convinced you’d leave Jaehyun’s party with Na Jaemin. A guy you haven’t said anything about since pre-friends-with-benefitsgate—an observation he finds only mildly relieving. He’s too busy thinking about what it means, if anything, to relax into the fact that you’re with him now.

If whatever you two are doing can be considered ‘with’ each other.

Sharing a pot of ramen and watching Gossip Girl is easy enough though. Familiar. The two of you wouldn’t have made it to the middle of season four if he wasn’t enjoying it. Like this, far enough apart for an extra person to sit between you, two whole episodes start and finish with neither of you reaching out to touch the other. Jake would like to think — on his part — it’s only proof of his master level self-control, wanting you so desperately but holding back. Proving to himself, to you that this isn’t just about sex or whatever else for him. That Jake can behave and make rational decisions when it comes to you.

And maybe, if this was a different Friday, in a different week, or Sunghoon hadn’t shown him that verse, he might have believed that. But Sunghoon had shown him that verse, and Jake is thinking a bit too much about his right hand, and the sinning, the cutting off and throwing away of the whole thing. About Hell and the suffocating weight of one decision—an all-consuming decision, worth his potential damnation.

On your part, he has no clue what the hold up is, seeing as this is the first time you’ve made it through a Gossip Girl blast without starting something, never mind watching a full episode. By now, your hand would normally have found its way into his pants, or your lips to his neck. But there you sit, unmoving, focused as ever, like on your tenth rewatch you still care about whether Blair or Dan gets the internship at W Magazine.

As if you can read his mind, or the part of it that you occupy, you reach into his underwear and take a hold of his dick. You go through all the familiar motions — twisting your wrist while you stroke it, thumb over his tip when you reach it — and Jake, as always, eats it up, melting like wax in your fist. He is only mildly humiliated by how much you get to him, how quickly he loses his shit when it comes to you, shuddering and whining, hips bucking in a matter of strokes. And then, you stop—hand slipping away like nothing happened, like he’s not hard as a rock in his pants, precum staining his underwear because of you.

Jake — fighting for breath — can only stare at you, watching you ignore him for the show instead. A few minutes pass like this until you sigh, hitting pause with a dramatic motion. “What are you looking at?”

“You.”

At this, you roll your eyes, but Jake grabs your wrist. Somehow, he’s only now appreciating you in his hoodie. Admiring how it sits on you—sleeves too long, fit too baggy. Historically, Jake’s generally emaciated look hasn’t really lended itself to seeing you, or anyone else, in his clothes, so it’s tripping him out how much he likes it. The way the fabric pools around you, covering your body completely.

“Ugh,” you mutter, trying and failing to hide a smile. “Quit looking at me like that.” He’s not sure why you insist on playing this game, on why you make it seem like you’re doing him a favour when you want him just as much as he wants you—but he won’t pretend he doesn’t like working for it, like it’s not that much better when you cave.

“Like what?” he asks, playing along in a soft voice.

“All horny and.. weird.”

Jake laughs. “You think I look weird?”

“A little.” You shrug.

“Shit,” he mutters. “You’re not into that? I thought my off-putting nature was part of my charm.”

This makes you smile, leaning in without closing the gap. Instead, you tuck a stray lock of hair behind his ear, your touch making his stomach flip. He can’t take it any longer, being so close and doing nothing about it, so he wraps his fingers around your wrist to hold you there, and closes the gap himself. It’s everything—it’s always everything. The warmth of your lips against his, the way you hold him, like it’s more than just a kiss for you too.

There’s nothing he likes more than this.

Biting down on his bottom lip, you pull away a little. “Is this part of your grand plan to make it up to me?”

Jake hums, dick throbbing in his pants. “Yeah, baby.” He nods, still attached to your mouth. “Been thinking about it all day.”

“It’s working.”

A breathless laugh—amused, turned on, taken aback. He pulls away, patting his lap and you don’t hesitate to straddle him, sparks between your bodies. Palms on your hips, fingers grazing the soft fabric of your yoga pants. A stir in his chest—heart hammering when he looks at you, breathless. Thank you, God, he thinks, sincerely. I needed this. His gratitude tangles quickly with guilt, uncertainty. Am I doing the right thi—your hand rests on his, snaps him out of it. Eyes soft, lips parted, want written all over your face. So beautiful, and so different from the resting frustrated face you seem to wear whenever he’s around—which he won’t pretend to dislike.

“Wanted to come over here and see you last night.”

Sheepishly, you twist the cuff of your sleeve between your fingers. A stark change from your usual behaviour, rarely reserved about anything — at least not with him — and so mouthy until he gets his hands on you. “I wish you did,” you mumble, looking away.

“I should’ve, baby, but I’m here now,” he says softly.

Another kiss—deeper, slower. An act of restitution — one of many to come — the way his tongue moves against yours, eager to keep to his word. He reaches for the curve of your waist, fingers digging into the soft flesh under your hoodie. The swell of your breast against his palm, cool zipper brushing his knuckles. He tugs on it just enough for you to smile against his lips.

“Can I take this off?”

You nod, clearly flustered, worked up already.

Pulling at the zipper, he savours every inch of skin that comes into view. A shaky inhale seeing your bra—the same one from the pictures, having the exact same effect. Holy shit. Lace under his fingers, touching it as gently as he can manage like it’s sacred, because to him it is. He can’t look away, gaze fixed, reverent. Holy shit. Jake clears his throat, mouth suddenly dry, like he’s seeing you for the first time. The pictures don’t do you justice, not even close. And he loves the pictures.

You’re watching with lidded eyes, and swollen lips. He cups your cheek. “My pretty girl. So gorgeous,” he says, though it doesn’t seem enough. With two languages to choose from, Jake should have the words. But he doesn’t. Not for this—for you.

Heat diffuses beneath his hand, coating your cheek as you turn into his touch, hiding your face. Smiling lips pressing a muffled word into his palm. “And?”

“And I’m sorry about last night.”

You raise an intrigued brow, no longer hiding. “And?”

“I’m an idiot.”

A grin, a glorious grin as you nod. “I just wanted you to say it wouldn’t happen again, but this is way better.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters, rolling his eyes. “I’m a big idiot, and you’re the smartest girl I know. It’s not going to happen again, I promise.”

Sudden betrayal in your squinted eyes, clutching your hoodie over your chest, his palm trapped against the cup of your bra—he almost thanks you. Deeply unimpressed, you scoff. “You know other girls?”

Charmed, Jake smiles, freeing his hand. “Don’t worry, baby. None of them make me as nervous as you.” A kiss before you can respond, pulling your chest flush with his. You hum against his lips, whimpering when he rolls his hips into yours. Hands on your back, quickly unclasping your bra. He nips at the spot below your ear, making you shiver. “And none of them get me this hard either.”

“I know,” you say simply, but your breathlessness undercuts your confidence, and steals his patience.

Taking your hoodie and bra off, he guides you onto your back, settling between your spread thighs like it’s where he belongs. At a loss for words, he squeezes your hip, eyes catching on every part of you. Hard nipples, soft plane of your stomach—nothing about you he doesn’t love. Jake gulps, awestruck, always awestruck. Overwhelmed by the weight of how much he wants this. Wants you.

“So perfect, baby,” he whispers, finally. “So, so perfect.”

A smile tugs at your lips, hands coming up to cover your face. “Shut up,” you grumble.

Huffed laughter slips out of him, endeared. Aching slightly, wondering if you don’t know you’re the most breathtaking thing he’s ever seen. He tugs your hands away, holding them in his, lips brushing your knuckles before he leans in and pecks yours.

Slow, desperate kisses along the curve of your jaw, trailing the length of your neck to your shoulder. He lingers, sucking pretty love bites onto your collarbone, soothing the skin with his tongue after. A shudder, as you pull his hair, whimpering under him. He could stay like this all day, forever if you let him. Lips on your nipple, finally, licking, biting.

Your moan is instant, pulled from somewhere deep, and he groans at the sound, tongue flicking just to hear it again. “Jake,” you say, breathless. Even better. “Jake, please.”

“Tell me what you want, baby,” he says, nosing between your breasts, the warm skin there heady, dizzying.

“Want your mouth—can’t wait any longer.”

His dick twitches as he lifts his head. Takes you in—your pouty lips, ruffled hair, sweat beading on your skin. Jake is not going to come in his pants again because of you. No matter how much it feels like he is. That won’t happen. It can’t. He’s an adult man with self-control. He tells himself these things over and over, willing them to be true, even though he knows better.

Jake leans up, pressing a kiss to your lips. He can’t get enough. “I’m not going to make you wait,” he says—a blatant lie. He has every intention to make you wait, at least a little.

His fingers toy with the waistband of your underwear, slipping beneath, eyes wide when he feels the heat of you. Fuck. You take his middle finger easily, pulling him in, clenching around it, and the choked sob you let out sends a sharp spike of need along his spine. He lets his thumb brush your clit, slow, deliberate. You’re too worked up to focus on kissing now, squirming underneath him, nails digging into his forearm. His lips trail your throat again, more marks, his own breath coming faster, a little unsteady—almost as wrecked as you.

“I feel like—” You pause, mouth falling open to let out a harsh exhale. “I’ve been waiting for a while, baby, need it.”

For reasons he doesn’t fully understand, there’s just something about hearing that word. Baby. So rare from you, uttered only at your most vulnerable, that always undoes him. Has him acting at your beck and call without a second thought—so it can’t come as a surprise when he tears your pants off, presses his lips to your core, and groans hungrily, breathing you in.

There’s a certain reverence to it all, he can’t help it—it just comes naturally with you, a need to please you, worship you. His arms wrap around your thighs, keeping you in place, savouring the soft whine you let out when his nose brushes your clit.

Fuck.

He likes this a lot more than kissing. Likes the way you moan and cry out his name, the way you tug his hair, and crush his head between your soft thighs. Loves the way you fall apart on his tongue, and the way you taste. The wet look in your big eyes — chest heaving, breath ripped out of you — after he licks you clean.

The tension lingers, sweet and heavy, pressing in on Jake from all angles when he finally pulls away, leaving a kiss to your inner thigh before sitting back on his heels. He watches you, sinking into the sheets—lashes fluttering, bottom lip pulled between your teeth. Spent and glowing as you look at him. Jake pulls off his shirt, cool air pulling goosebumps along his skin. A deep breath, a few deep breaths. You ask in a quiet voice if you can wear it. He nods, hands moving instinctively, fingers brushing your skin as he helps you put it on.

“Did so good for me, baby. Didn’t you?” he asks, pulling you into his arms, hand stroking your back.

You lift your head from his chest, a dreamy look in your eyes when you look up at him. “Does that surprise you, Jakey?”

His breath hitches, heat spreading on his cheeks and neck. He doesn’t have the upper hand with you, not at all. But he does have the option to kiss you instead of answering so he does that. Kissing you until you say, one minute, against his lips, and leave the room.

Soft warmth settles in Jake’s chest as he heads to the kitchen, smiling. All of this, these moments after sex, makes his heart race. Makes him want to get on his hands and knees and beg you to love him back—though he would settle for like. This routine, this quiet afterwards might honestly be his favourite part of it all. The two of you, inhabiting this tiny world you’ve carved out together—big enough for you and him only. The flat to yourselves. Your head on his chest. You even asked to wear his shirt! These moments when the thought of being your boyfriend doesn’t seem so out of reach. When he feels like he is your boyfriend.

He can’t stop smiling.

At the sink, he washes his hands before pouring you a glass of water, and when you step out of the bathroom, he’s already there, leaning against the wall. He melts at the sight of you—barefoot and sleepy-eyed, a smile on your face. His favourite sight in the whole world. He can’t believe his blessings, that you would want him — even if only for sex — and each day he spends with you makes it harder for him not to test how far he can push it.

“Hey, pretty girl,” he says, handing you the glass. “You feeling okay?”

You hum in response, thanking him. Your fingers slip around his, warm and delicate, and he has to remind himself to breathe as you lead him back to your room. Jake’s eyes are glued to you, addicted to the way you fill out his shirt. It’s senseless—how a piece of his own clothing, something so familiar, suddenly looks brand new just because you’re the one wearing it. Looks better. Nipples nudging the soft cotton, hips curving out into the hem, ass hanging out of it. He lies down on the bed, watching you, each movement entrancing him. His heart stills in his chest when you tie your hair back, shirt riding up enough to show off the lace of your underwear. It’s too much. It’s perfect. He clasps his hands in his lap, trying and failing to cover the effect you have on him.

You get into bed, body molding to his like a second skin. Head on his chest, ear pressed over his heart—hearing it thud, no doubt. Jake wraps his arm around you, fingers splaying over your back, holding you close. He exhales slowly, wondering how much longer he can lay here like this, with you, before he overstays his welcome. He’s made good on his promise, done what you invited him here to do, and it’s not late enough that you’d object to him leaving at this time. Your breath is a steady lull on his skin. Asleep, probably. But then—your hand trails on his stomach, fingers resting on his waistband, and he can’t help feeling a bit bad.

He knows better than to think anyone could make you do something you didn’t want to do—but has no idea if that includes him, too. Novelty long gone. Your curiosity sufficiently sated, while he kills himself trying to pretend he’s fine being just a friend to you again. This is hardly a perfect arrangement, but Jake feels nice sometimes, worthy and handsome, knowing you want him too—even if it’s only sex. It’s really good sex.

As if you can hear his brain thinking his arousal away, you reach into his underwear. All of his blood rushes south, your soft palm wrapping around him. His mouth opens, then shuts. He wants you, he always will, and it’s all he can do to pray that won’t cost him this friendship—or you.

Jake clears his throat, shakes his head. “You don’t have to.”

“I know, Jakey. I want to.”

He kisses the top of your head with a soft, contented sigh, fingers curling around the back of your shirt. Eyelids fluttering shut. It’s good, more than—leagues better than when he does it himself. Perfect. A shiver runs through him when you kiss his stomach, leaving a mark on the ticklish skin. He wants to look, really wants to, but he doesn’t want to come yet. Your lips brush his belly button and the hair underneath. A mumble of his name into his skin that he hears, feels, but can’t address.

“Jake,” you say again, leaning off of him.

He hums, eyes snapping open when you whisper in his ear, “Do you want to stay over?”

A nod. “Yeah, baby. I’ll stay over.” The words spill out of him with no consideration for the long day he has ahead.

You pull his earlobe between your lips, nipping gently, a jolt down his spine. “Good boy.”

The praise makes him throb in your hand. Fuck, he thinks. Absolutely none of these words are in the Bible.

Jake wakes up in an empty bed, your door ajar. It’s only eight — too early to rush — and he stretches out his arms, twisting against the mattress. Fifteen lonely minutes go by without you, and so he gets up, dragging his feet through the apartment.

You’re in the kitchen, speaking in a hushed voice to Jimin—who seems to forget about the whole whispering thing for long enough that her voice rings through the hall when she says, “You need to get a grip before you get hurt!”

Sensing him, you whip your head towards the doorway, spotting Jake where he stands. Jimin wears a too-tight smile as he approaches. “Nervous about the game?” She doesn’t wait for an answer. “Great! Listen, I have to run, but good luck out there!” she says, patting his shoulder before leaving the room in a cloud of jasmine.

Chewing your lip, you follow her out with your eyes, blinking when the door clicks shut behind her. Jake shifts his weight between his feet, tensing his abs on instinct when your gaze trails over him. You don’t comment, but you linger before looking away. For a second, something unreadable passes over your face—gone as soon as you speak. “Do you want something to eat?” you ask, smiling, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. “We need to do a food shop, but I can make you some..” You trail off, pulling the fridge open. “Greek yoghurt with blueberries.”

“Is everything alright?”

You nod, not meeting his gaze. “Jimin just thinks I’m stretching myself a bit thin.” You huff a small laugh, trying to downplay it, but your shoulders stay tense. Pulling out the punnet, you frown at it. “Greek yoghurt on its own?” you suggest, throwing the blueberries into the bin.

Jake shakes his head, a small, appreciative smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I need to go soon, I still haven’t packed.” He fiddles with the drawstring on his pants, eyes lingering on you. Still so beautiful with a crease between your brows—he wants to reach out, smooth it over with his thumb. “Are you going to be alright by yourself?” It’s a bit of a useless question, he knows what you’re going to say. Knows you would tell him you were fine even if your arm was hanging off. You know it too, if the arch of your brow is anything to go by.

A chuckle. “Don’t worry about it, Superstar—you have a game to play.”

Jake hesitates, wondering if he should argue or just accept it. You’ll be fine. You always are. But something about leaving feels harder this time. Feels wrong. “You’re more important to me than a college football game.”

In theory, it’s true.

In practice, he’s not going to skip his game, not unless you ask him to—which you won’t. His football career is running on a clock that will only tick for two more terms after the summer. In his email, a timetable awaits, outlining all of his games for his last season. It’s provisional, for now, but bears weight regardless. He can’t afford to miss a game right now, but he’s a little shaken by the feeling that he can’t afford to leave you either.

You smile, a barely there curve of your lips as you close the fridge. Taking his hand in yours, you give it a squeeze, a steady reassurance. “Honestly, Jake. I’ll be alright. And if I’m not, I’ll still be here when you get back. So go.”

For someone so desperate to get rid of him, you’re having a hard time parting with his hoodie. He doesn’t want it back, but he needs something to wear to the car. It’s only fair, he showed up in only his t-shirt after all—his t-shirt that you’re still wearing and seem reluctant to return. You pull it close to your body like it’s yours now.

“It’s two degrees out,” he reminds you. “Do you want me shirtless in that?”

A sick and twisted silence passes, long enough to convince Jake you’re actually going to say yes. He watches your gaze flick downwards, want for him so clear that his dick twitches. Dragging your fingernail over the dip in his abs, your touch leaves a trail of fire in its wake.

He’s thankful for the discipline he’s developed in the new year—consistently following Sunghoon to the gym, eating unseasoned chicken breast and three eggs at breakfast because Sunghoon does, because Sunghoon is.. a lot. Wide shoulders, solid frame. Built like God put him on Earth to look good shirtless, and Jake—well. He eats the chicken. He lifts the weights. He does his best.

“No, not really,” you say, frowning as you shove the hoodie into his arms.

Jake smiles, glad you didn’t take too long to come around. He puts it on, zipping it slowly. Eyes on you the whole time, and when his abs disappear beneath the fabric, you sigh. His lips twitch, pleased.

At your front door, he hugs you—contemplates never letting go. The scent of coconut drifts up from your hair, and it tugs at something deep in his chest. His fingers tighten, pressing into your waist. He frowns. He shouldn’t miss you—not this much, not for one night. A night where, realistically, he wouldn’t see you even if he stayed home. But no amount of logic or reason is enough to make him feel better.

“I wish you were coming with me,” he says, mumbling into your collarbone.

You lean back a little, fingers carding through the hair at the nape of his neck. For a second, a desperate, fleeting second, he thinks that maybe you’ll say, fuck it, and come along, that you might see the appeal of sneaking around a four-star hotel with him. He can picture it already—matching fluffy robes, doing your skincare routine together at the end of the night, sharing a twin bed while Jay Park snores in the other one.

Instead, you look up at him with a smile that turns his knees to mush. “Not my fault you suck at planning, Jakey.”

He groans, tips his head back, feigning exhaustion. “Right, because everything is my fault, and I’m the villain in your story. I get it.”

You roll your eyes. “Get out of my apartment,” you say, but your grip doesn’t ease.

Jake exhales a laugh, but he doesn’t move either. Just stands there, holding you, memorising this like he’s shipping off to war—your hands on his skin, your vanilla scent under his nose. “Without a kiss?” His voice comes out quiet, hopeful—half teasing, half not. He’s stalling, trying to buy another second. Maybe two.

You push at his chest a little. “Out, Jake.” But you’re smiling and he feels your fingers tighten just a fraction before they let go.

Jake only smiles, his arms locked around you. He dips his head, pressing a kiss to your temple, and his voice is soft when he says, “I’ll text you when we get there.”

A sigh slips out of you, feigning annoyance, but the brush of your fingers down his arm gives you away. “Yeah, yeah. See you later.”

He grins. “You’ll miss me.”

A beat passes before you speak, just long enough for Jake’s smile to falter as he watches you. You pout, hand on his cheek, thumb moving tenderly over his skin. “No,” you say, shaking your head. “But you’ll miss me.”

“I already do.” He’s not lying.

Jake doesn’t kiss you before he leaves, which is okay. He tells himself it’s okay. But regrets it the whole drive home, drumming his fingers against the wheel as if he can tap the thought away. He regrets it while he stuffs his kit and toiletries into a duffle bag. And he regrets it on the bus, staring out at the passing motorway, the new Beabadoobee album blaring in his headphones. He’s so consumed by his regret that he doesn’t even have it in him to pretend he’s annoyed when Jay falls asleep with his head on his shoulder.

Not for lack of trying, Jake doesn’t sleep, and as it turns out, the protein bar he found in his backpack earlier is not enough sustenance for a three-hour journey. The bus rumbles on, road stretching out endlessly through the windscreen when he takes a look. He sighs, cracking his knuckles and willing himself to stop thinking about you. This doesn’t work either, and he’s typing out a text to you before he realises.

Jake: I hope you’re feeling better ❤️

Jake: I’ll see you soon, okay?

You reply with a picture of yourself in bed—glasses on, a book in your lap, lips curved into a soft, easy smile that makes something in his chest tighten. He stares for too long, caught up in the details. Gentle slope of your nose, loose strands of hair framing your face, dark love bites peeking out from under the collar of your shirt. His stomach flips, a giddy laugh slipping out. He wishes he could do something, turn the bus around, and go see that pretty face in person.

YN: All good, Jakey !!! Just needed to shower apparently..

Jake: My gorgeous girl :)

Jake: You did smell kinda weird when I hugged you

YN: ???

YN: Don’t even joke lad.

Jake snaps a quick selfie—grinning, a little flushed, hair messy from having his hood up. In the corner, Jay is dead asleep, mouth agape, face smushed into Jake’s shoulder. He laughs quietly, sending the picture, heat flooding his cheeks when you react with heart eyes.

YN: Such a pretty boy ☹️

YN: Jay obviously

Jake: Obviously.

It’s just past two when they start filing off the bus, the sharp coastal wind biting at Jake’s cheeks. He shoves his hands into his pockets, shoulders hunching against the cold. The hotel in front of them is huge—way nicer than anything they actually need. But still, it’s nice, knowing that the football budget is going to something tangible, that they enjoy. A small comfort. The younger boys he sees like brothers will be looked after when he’s gone, and that thought warms him despite the cold. Towering windows glint in the afternoon sun, the kind of place with sleek, startlingly shiny floors and crystal chandeliers that don’t make sense for a one-night stay. But he’ll take this any day over the dingy motels he remembers from first year, stained towels and plywood mattresses.

At the front desk, Jay stands in line next to Jake with his eyes shut, as if three hours asleep on the bus weren’t enough. Jake knows better than to say anything though — after three years on the same team — he understands that Jay isn’t tired. He’s following a ritual. The Rilakkuma band-aid on his wrist is proof of that. And in case that isn’t enough, Jay doesn’t touch the key card either. He claims the bed furthest from the door, sits on the edge of the mattress, and blasts Mama, You’ve Been On My Mind—the Joan Baez and Bob Dylan live version, not the Bob Dylan studio outtake. And he listens to it twice before saying a word to Jake. Of course, because they had a single brief conversation before that first away game three years ago, their post-check-in discussions are forever based around two subjects: food, and you.

Jake: We’re here :)

YN: Has Jay asked about me yet?

Jake: One more stream

YN: Ah, almost settled then, I see

Jake laughs at this, a small exhale from his nose as he watches you type.

YN: If you stayed home, would he just.. not play?

Jake: Never considered that but I’ll ask later

Jake: Kick-off at 5:30 btw

YN: Good luck 🥳🥳🥳

He reacts to the message with a heart and tosses his phone aside, pressing the heel of his hand to his empty stomach. It’s a lot, Jay’s routine, but Jake isn’t in a position to judge him too harshly. Ever since high school, he eats a bowl of brown rice, grilled chicken and vegetables before away games, like it’s a charm against failure. Because it is. Because the first time he did, he played the best game of his life, and now the thought of eating anything else makes his stomach coil. It might seem silly to believe that a bowl of rice could change the outcome of a game, but Jake has seen it first-hand and isn’t willing to risk it again.

Jay is humming, oblivious, bobbing his head slightly, and Jake can’t help the smile on his face as he watches. Music spills from his headphones—Dylan’s voice a scratch against the air, Baez’s softer, sweeter. It’s almost grating, a taste he’s yet to acquire. They don’t talk much outside of football, not really, but there’s a closeness anyway. Built from hours of drills, sharing meals after training, and rooms for away games, retreats. A sudden rush of dread hits Jake, remembering that after next year — after graduation — the two will likely never share a room again. Even more hauntingly, they may never share the pitch again. Jake shakes his head. The plight of the student athlete, he supposes.

A happy sigh comes from Jay as he takes his headphones off, standing up. He stretches his arms out over his head, turning to Jake, grinning. “Hey, buddy.”

Jake would never admit this to him — or anyone — but he has a lot of respect for Jay. He takes training seriously, giving his all even during warm-up games, he’s got killer technique, and is (unfortunately) really nice. If Jake couldn’t make captain, he’s glad it went to Jay.

“I was talking to your girlfriend the other day.” The grin doesn’t fall from Jay’s face when he speaks, wagging his brows.

The G-word makes Jake roll his eyes—even though he likes hearing it, praying that God is listening and taking notes.

“She cornered me in the library to ask if I knew how to make a pie.”

“That sounds like her,” Jake says, smiling too.

His cheeks burn thinking about what you said yesterday—about how you’d wanted to bake him a pie. The memory jolts him. He digs through his bag without thinking, quickly finding the tinfoil abomination he made sure not to leave the house without. Jay catches it easily in his left hand when he tosses it over, eyeing it suspiciously before unwrapping it.

“She ended up making cookies, but I guess you knew that.”

He blinks at them like they might explode. “Wait, she made these for you?” Jay tilts his head, impressed. “You might not be as hopeless as I thought.”

Giddiness overwhelms Jake as he nods. It’s weird, a bit ridiculous even, how a batch of cookies can feel like a championship win—better. He likes it though, and doesn’t try to fight his smile.

His stomach rumbles into the silence. “Do you want to come get food?” He always extends an invitation to Jay.

“I’m good, man.”

And Jay never accepts.

This meal is a sacred one. As soon as Coach announces the hotel, Jake pulls up Uber Eats and Google Maps on his desktop to meticulously survey the surrounding area. And if his work reaps unfavourable results, he’ll call the hotel to enquire about the microwave arrangements. And if that doesn’t work out, he calls the convenience shops nearby to ask them.

He knows how he must seem, but before the first away game of this season, he brought his rice bowl in tupperware, had to eat it cold, and sprained his ankle on the pitch. So to say he was delighted when he found it on the menu of a local place would be an understatement—an independent Mexican restaurant with a 4.7 star rating only twenty-minutes away on foot. Perfect. His Promised Land. He applauded the monitor when he saw it.

Tres Mesas—a quaint restaurant, with three tables and a TV in the corner playing the news on mute, but damn if that wasn’t the best bowl of brown rice, grilled chicken, and pico de gallo he’s eaten in his life. The rice was fluffy, the grilled chicken tender, smoky. Even the pico de gallo was incredible—he only ordered it because he hadn’t looked at the vegetables yet, and panicked when the waitress sighed. Luckily, it’s the one component of the meal he’s willing to play fast and loose with. He can’t actually remember which vegetables he ate that first day, just that he enjoyed them.

When he finishes eating, he gets up from his table with half a mind to go to the kitchen and ask for a photo with the chef. He settles for going to the cash machine across the road and taking out a tenner for the tip jar by the till. On the walk back to the hotel, he texts his dad a photo of the bowl, looking at it lovingly as he sings its praises via text.

Jake: Kick-off is at 17:30 💪 will let you know how we get on, love you

On the way to the other school, again, Jay rests his head on Jake’s shoulder—whether he’s awake or not is anyone’s guess. But when Jake’s phone vibrates in his pocket, he retrieves it with as little motion as possible, just in case.

Dad: I’m glad you enjoyed your meal. Was it hot? 😂.

Dad: You do not need luck, son. You are always wonderful. Love you.

Jake: It was hot, dad 😭😭😭 of course, it was

Jake: Way too soon…………..

Warm-ups go by in a blink, a blur of sweat and jump squats until Jake finds himself standing in the tunnel with everyone else. Muscles humming, heart racing. He shakes out his limbs and prays to God for a miracle.

At church, when someone gives a testimony, they say, “God is good,” and the rest of the congregation responds in unison, “All the time.” Then, that person says, “All the time,” and in unison, the congregation says, “God is good.”

Jake doesn’t know why he finds it so grating, but week after week, he sits in his seat suppressing an eye roll while muttering the responses along with everyone else. However, when the ref blows the whistle to call full-time — scoreboard reading: HOME 0, AWAY 4 — ‘God is good’ sits on the tip of his tongue. He covers his mouth with his collar, pressing his lips together so it doesn’t slip out.

Thankfully, he doesn’t have time to dwell on it, because Kim Sunoo comes running up and jumps on his back, looping his arms around Jake’s neck, and he nearly topples over. The rest of the team come rushing towards them, loud and triumphant. Jay reaches them first, his eyes gleaming with pride as he ruffles Jake’s hair. Adrenaline courses through him, dulling the ache in his legs.

And as they start to leave the pitch, heading for the locker room, he kisses his hand, points to the sky, and mouths, thank you.

People are often surprised to hear Jake admit that the best part of winning a game isn’t the roaring crowd, his coach’s praise, or even personal satisfaction. No, the best part of winning a game is laughing at the dinner table with his teammates after, and washing down a tomahawk steak — mushrooms and potatoes on the side — with a glass of champagne. And all on the university’s dollar at that.

Winning the first away game of the spring semester was more than enough cause for celebration, and Jake — full-bellied and alcohol glazed — has been keeping an eye on his drinks all night. He glances at his empty glass, pleased with his restraint. Someone had to keep a level head, and it wasn’t going to be Jay. O Captain! Our Captain!—for whom the only thing between tipsy and shit-faced is a whiff of vodka. Maybe less.

Turns out, Jake was worried about the wrong guy.

Nishimura Riki, 186 cm of arms and legs, dawdles over, red in the face (and ears and neck) and stumbling. With each step, his well-consumed IPA sloshes dangerously in his glass, splashing the back of his hand when he comes to an abrupt halt. “Sunoo, move,” He starts. “Need to talk to Jake.” His voice is slow and syrupy, at least an octave higher than normal.

Their youngest — their scrawny Goliath — only turned eighteen a few months ago, and (quite bravely) attended his first three months of college parties completely sober until then. He’s still figuring out his limits, and Jake can’t help but be endeared by this large child—if not a little alarmed.

“Knock yourself out, kid,” Sunoo says, amused, as he stands up. He sticks around for long enough to make sure Riki doesn’t fall over trying to sit, and takes his empty seat at the other end of the table.

This conversation he came stumbling over for is a request — delivered in a harsh whisper, hand over his mouth — to sit beside each other at the next meal. Jake flinches, too startled to respond, when Jay stands abruptly from his chair. “Get up, Riki. I’ll swap with you.”

Childlike delight floods Riki’s flushed face, looking up at his captain like manna from the sky, and wrapping his gangly arms around him when they cross paths. Jake shares a look with Jay as he sits in front of him—equal parts amusement and concern.

“Do you think I could finish that off for you?” Jay asks, gesturing to what’s left in Riki’s glass.

He nods quickly, extending it. “Of course, I’ll just get ano—”

“No!” Jake all but yells, cutting him off. “I mean, Coach is limiting us to three drinks tonight, so, no more.” A lie he deems more than necessary, a lie he wishes someone had already told.

Riki grins, leaning in. “That’s my sixth.” A laugh, and then another bubbles out of him as he sinks into his seat, shoulders racking. This disclosure seems as surprising to Jay as it is to Jake—not at all. He is extremely lucky that his teammates like him so much. Settled, finally settled, Riki shifts, letting his bony knees dig into Jake’s thigh. “Did you see my tackle? What did you think? Am I getting better?”

Jake nods sincerely, Riki’s been working hard — eager to prove himself so Coach won’t regret signing a first-year — and it’s paying off. “It was clean, buddy. You did great,” he says, meaning it. And Riki doesn’t try to hide his boxy grin.

On his other side is Jungwon—head tipped back over his chair, knocked out after one mojito. Jake takes a photo, sends it to you. Lil bro can’t hang. You reply right away: AWWWWW cutie 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹 how much did he drink lmao.

Jake: Mojito

Jake: Singular

YN: 😭😭😭

Jake can’t suppress his smile, taking a selfie at a high angle and sending it to you. What about me am I cutie ?

YN: Yes, very cutie !!! You look so handsome 🤒

YN: So blushy, baby, are you also very drunk?

Cutie. So handsome. Baby. Jake is as giddy as he is confused. All that in the span of two consecutive text messages—he can’t believe his luck, struggling to tamp down his sudden desire to buy a lottery ticket. You might even tell him you miss him if he plays his cards right.

Jake: Sweet girl 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

Jake: Not drunk just a few glasses of champagne hehehehe

YN: So you’re drunk 😭😭😭

Jake: You can’t see but I’m rolling my eyes

YN: I believe you, Jakey 😐 put the phone down and celebrate w your friends, okay?

YN: We can talk when you get back to your room !!!

What an exciting suggestion—talking in his room. With you. Jake stares down at his phone, in awe. Wow, he thinks. So clever. He almost wants to get up and start bragging about you like a proud parent. Oh. That is not an image he likes.

Jake: Whatare you gonna do if I keep texting? Leave me on read?

Yes, apparently—you read the message as soon as it sends and don’t reply. Don’t even start typing. Thirty minutes pass by before they leave the restaurant. Jungwon on Jake’s back. Riki on Jay’s.

He was never very good at cards.

Finally in bed, light-headed and smiley after three glasses of champagne, Jake pulls up your contact and calls you. He waits, staring up at the ceiling, tapping his fingers against his phone case. The room hums softly around him. After a few rings, you answer, and he smiles at the sound of your voice. “Hey, Superstar! Congrats!”

“Thanks, gorgeous,” he says, eyes fluttering shut. “What are you doing tonight?”

“Jimin and I are going to pres at Yizhuo’s and then the club. I actually think we’re leaving soon, but it should be good—Yizhuo hasn’t come out since Valentine’s.”

The mention of Valentine’s makes Jake’s breath hitch, fingers tightening around his phone as the memory comes rushing back—relentless. He hasn’t been out since then either, now that he thinks about it. That night. The dance floor. Your breath fanning his neck when you asked him to kiss you.

Jake froze, caught off guard. “What?”

“Don’t be a kid about it, Jakey,” you said in his ear. “If you don’t kiss me, Jaehyun will.”

The thought of Jaehyun kissing you, again, while Jake was stuck at zero kisses in ten years, made him sick. Historically, he had always been unlucky when it came to you—countless games of spin the bottle spent kissing the person to your left, watching as you kissed his friends. Yet there you were, asking him to kiss you and he was hesitating. Stupid, really. Ridiculous.

He cleared his throat, heart pounding. He’d read too many romance novels, seen too many films, to believe that you two could kiss once and it wouldn’t change everything—but he liked you, and he suspected he always had. So he asked, “You really want me to kiss you?”

“Please,” you said, voice small, vulnerable, as if you were giving him a piece of yourself and begging him not to break it.

Through the phone, your voice hits his ear, bringing him back. “Did you fall asleep?” You don’t sound anything like you did last month.

“No, no, I was just thinking,” he says faintly, a distracted beat passing as something crosses his mind. “Hey, what was that about with Jimin earlier?”

“Nothing,” you say quickly, and he's certain that’s the end of it. “She just thinks I’m going to get hurt when you go off, and use all your new experience on someone else.” You laugh, and he can’t tell if you’re amused by the notion of getting hurt, or there being someone else.

Jake wasn’t expecting you to tell him anything, never mind that. The thought that you, or Jimin — or anyone — could think there was someone else. That there could be someone else, hollows his chest, grinds an ugly gear in his brain. But it clears up a lot about this morning, she wasn’t being weird, she was.. warning you? His thoughts race, a million and one questions rattling in his head.

“Are you?” Is the one he asks, not fully equipped for any of the answers you might give.

A long quiet beat passes. “Are you?”

This feels like an opening, an opportunity for him to set some things straight. How could there ever be anyone else? To confess, maybe. You’re it for me, you’ve always been it for me. He can’t bring himself to—it doesn’t feel right to say over the phone. “If something was seriously wrong, you would tell me, right?” he says instead. At your silence, he continues. “The world won’t end if you open up to me, you know. That’s what I’m here for.”

“Of course. You’re my best friend,” you say belatedly.

“Yeah,” he says, ignoring the ache in his chest. “Always.”

You don’t reply right away, a minute passing before you clear your throat. “I have to go, okay? But I’ll text you.”

Jake nods even though you can’t see. “Have fun tonight.”

“Thank you, Jakey.” You hang up.

His phone vibrates with a text from you. Fit check 🤧. You’re wearing a lace tank top and a little black skirt. I’ll have a drink for you since you’re staying in! He stares at the photo—flutter in chest, heat on cheeks. His screen locks, and his reflection grins back at him, clear-eyed, flushed. Happy. Unlocking his phone, the photo stares back at him—you, so beautiful, and so far away. His thumb brushes the screen absentmindedly. Gosh, he misses you.

Jake: You look so perfect……wish I was there 🤒

Jake: Look after yourself, cutie

YN: Haha thanks me tooooo

YN: Yes sir 🫡

He types out that he misses you but thinks better of it, clearing the message and leaving a heart-react on your response.

“Was that your girl on the phone?” Jay asks, closing the bathroom door behind him.

Smiling, Jake turns the phrase over in his head. My girl. Butterflies erupt just thinking about it. Another silent prayer. “It was.”

Jay only nods, taking his charger from his bag and plugging it into the wall by his bed. He takes a long sip of water from his bottle and sighs, relieved, Jake thinks. For a long time, Jay looks at him from the other end of the room, saying nothing.

Until. “You’re a good guy, Jake,” he says, his tone a bit too serious for Jake’s liking. “And it’s fine that you like her, it’s good that you like her, but how much longer are you going to keep that to yourself?” he asks, looking at Jake like he actually wants an answer.

Sighing, Jake pinches the bridge of his nose. “I get that you think you’re helping, but just—maybe stay out of it.”

Jay blinks, his brows twitching together for the briefest second before smoothing out. Jake hadn’t meant for it to come out so sharply. Silence stretches out over them, long and heavy, and before he can take it back, Jay exhales slowly, looking away.

“I’m not trying to hurt your feelings. It’s just—” A pause. When he finally speaks, his voice is softer, like he’s saying something that will cost him to admit. “Look, I’ve tried sleeping my way from friend to boyfriend, and it doesn’t work. At some point, you’re going to have to show her you care about more than just sex, and I hope, for your sake, as your friend, that you do it before it’s too late.”

Jake stiffens, every muscle in his body tensing up. Heat spreads from his ears down the back of his neck, sharp and unforgiving. His first instinct is to argue, to say something to get on Jay’s nerves, but he relents—there’s no point in arguing over something they both know is true.

He clears his throat, sighs deeply. “Thank you, Jay, for your unsolicited advice,” Jake says, turning around and screwing his eyes shut, willing for sleep to pull him under.

It doesn’t.

Jay shuffles around the room for a bit before flicking off the light. Jake wonders if he should say something, but he knows there’s no need. Grudges don’t belong in their friendship—it shows on the pitch when something’s off. So they get everything off their chests, yell at each other if they have to, and move on like it never happened.

And yet, he feels bad for meeting Jay’s vulnerability with sarcasm. He goes over the things he could say, again and again, until he hears snoring over his shoulder.

With a sigh, Jake rolls onto his back and rubs a hand over his face. He sends a text to Sunghoon—a question he already knows the answer to: Do you think I’m fucking things up w YN? It’s only after hitting send and putting his phone under his pillow, that sleep finally overtakes him.

In the morning, he stirs before waking up, dragged from sleep by rustling fabric and soft, persistent thuds. A moment later, something light smacks him in the face, jolting him from his slumber. He squints into the morning light, a blurry shape above him. A pillow. To the face, again. When Jake’s eyes finally focus on Jay, he has the faintest idea that he’s being rewarded for something. He’s standing there, looking down at him, all tan skin and toned stomach, arms flexing as he swings the pillow again. It’s annoying, really, how effortlessly put-together he looks, and Jake forces himself to look away, covering his face with his hands.

“Morning, princess!”

Jake groans. “What, Jay? What is it?” he asks, sufficiently disturbed.

“They wouldn’t let me bring a plate for you, so you need to get up before breakfast is done,” Jay says, aiming another hit at Jake’s chest.

Still trying to get his bearings, Jake slaps at the pillow and pulls the blanket over his head. Jay isn’t having it. He smacks him with what Jake suspects is all of his might. At this point, it’s hard for Jake to stay touched by the fact that Jay had wanted to fix him a plate.

“Fine, fine!” Jake’s voice isn’t quite working yet, the words coming out in a low rumble as he sits up. “I’m going.”

“How’d you sleep?” Jay asks, hugging the pillow to his chest.

Jake shrugs. “Pretty good. You?”

“Same.”

Jake inspects Jay, searching for a sign that last night is still hanging over him too. But he looks.. fine—bed already made, bag packed, hair still damp from the shower. Jake knows Jay well enough to tell when something’s wrong, and there isn’t even a trace of tension on his face. No irritation, nothing at all—he’s over it. It should be a relief, but instead, it makes Jake’s heart sink.

“I have to tell you something, but you can’t make a big deal about it,” he says, stretching a little as Jay nods. “You have to promise, dude.”

Jay rolls his eyes, but extends his pinky anyway, curling it around Jake’s. “I promise.”

Jake is struck by how still the room feels, like it’s holding its breath. Why is he doing this? Jay has already moved on, and now, because of Jake and his lack of self-regulation, they’re standing around shirtless in a hotel room, miles away from home, holding hands. It’s all very bizarre, and he is looking forward to stepping down from the top of this mountain-sized molehill he’s made.

He sighs, tired of himself. “You were right, about.. everything. And I’m sorry,” he admits.

Jay grins, his smile smug, almost feline, in a way that entrances and confuses Jake at once. “About everything?” he asks, amusement in his tone, making Jake wonder whether he’s taking this seriously.

“Come on!” Jake says, incredulous, holding up their locked fingers.

Jay’s smile falters, and he rolls his eyes. “Oh no. I broke my promise,” he says, voice dripping with sarcasm. “I suppose you’re going to make a scene now? Tell me, Jake, what are you going to do? Tell me off? Spank me? Amputate?”

Irritated – flustered, maybe — Jake yanks his finger free, cheeks hot. He pulls on a shirt with a little more force than necessary, not bothering to look at Jay as he does.

“Listen, if it makes you feel any better, I already knew I was right,” Jay says, and the smile on his face is audible. “I do accept your apology, though.”

Jake exhales, a tension he hadn’t even noticed unwinding from his shoulders. He steps out into the hall feeling lighter, relieved, so chipper he takes the stairs instead of the lift, practically skipping down them. The air in the stairwell is crisp against his skin, the smell of coffee drifting up as he gets closer and closer to the dining hall. His phone vibrates in his pocket, lighting up with three messages from Sunghoon when he checks it.

Hoon: You are definitely handling things in a way I wouldn’t even recommend to my worst enemy!

Hoon: But things have a weird way of working out for you so

Hoon: Don’t worry too much 💪

Jake: Thanks?

The morning rush has thinned, and the emptying buffet trays aren’t his favourite sight—congealed scrambled eggs at their edges. He fills his plate anyway, hungry and happy enough to ignore how yellow the eggs are. At the nearest table, he chews absently, crunching crispy bacon, sipping pulpy orange juice, and his mind drifts. Jay’s voice, Sunghoon’s text, the lingering hum of a hundred past conversations—background noise. He pulls out his phone before he even registers the impulse, thumbs flying over the screen.

Jake: Hey, pretty girl :) how was your night?

YN: It was good! And then Yizhuo threw up all over the smoking area which was.. terrifying

YN: But I was in bed at 1 a.m. which I’m counting as a positive!

Jake: Sorry about Yizhuo, how’s she feeling? How are you feeling?

Jake: Damn it’s early, are you okay?

YN: Okay, 20 questions 🤨 Like shit. Good. On my way! To Pilates.

Still hungry after breakfast, Jake leaves the dining hall to take a shower and pack his bag before they leave. He sleeps for the whole journey, head on top of Jay’s.

When they step off the bus at uni, Jake waves goodbye to the team and heads straight for his car—he doesn’t go home. The drive is endless, knee bouncing at every red light, grip tight on the wheel. When he reaches your building, an older couple lingers by the entrance, hand in hand, giggling. He slips past them, taking the stairs two at a time. At your door, he stops, hunching over to catch his breath before knocking.

It takes a while, but Jimin opens the door, her smile falling when she sees him. “Jake, hi,” she says quietly, though it sounds like a question. She doesn’t step aside to let him in. “She’s not home, you just missed her actually. Jaemin picked her up.”

Just hearing Jaemin’s name is like a stake to the chest. Jake tenses without meaning to, jaw tight. He’s been avoiding the guy like the plague since Jaehyun’s birthday, when he cornered Jake in the kitchen. “Are you two, like, serious, or what?” he asked, voice low even though they were alone.

Throughout ten years of friendship, Jake had been asked that question more times than he could count. Throughout four years of pining, it was one of two questions that made him want to throw himself into oncoming traffic. He didn’t need to follow Jaemin’s eyeline or hear another word to know exactly what he meant. Who he meant—you, of course. In the living room, laughing with the birthday boy, Jake’s jacket slung over your shoulders as you waited for him to bring you a can of Sprite.

Jake only shrugged, the red cup of water in his left hand crunching a little under his tightening grip. “We’re friends.”

“So I’m allowed to ask her out?”

That was the second question that got under Jake’s skin—not just because it was reductive, but because it wasn’t his decision to make. And yet, there came Jaemin, like every guy before him, asking as if they really think that if Jake had any say in it, you’d be with anyone but him.

With a sigh, he said, “I’m not her father, Jaemin. It’s up to her.”

Jaemin smiled, pulling a cigarette from behind his ear. “You got a light?”

“No.” He shook his head, shoving his clenched fist into his back pocket, the cool metal of his lighter grazing his right knuckle. “Can’t smoke in here anyway, mate.”

The memory slams into him, full-force, knocks the wind out of him. “He did?”

“She didn’t tell you?” Jimin tilts her head. “Weird.”

His brain stalls, unsure which thought to torture himself with first: that you’re seeing Jaemin, or that you didn’t tell him. As it turns out, the more hurtful thought is of the text you sent him an hour ago while he was asleep on the bus, the reason he’s even here.

YN: Travel safe, Jakey, I can’t wait to see youuuuu <3

Jimin’s hand reaches for the door. “Goodbye.”

His lips part, trying to gather his thoughts, to say something before the door clicks shut in his face. Nothing comes to mind, but your voice rings out into the silence. “Who’s at the door?” The sound of it rattles through him, curious, gentle as ever, and the seconds that pass stretch out in front of him, vast and unending.

Jimin only frowns, her shoulders slumping. She seems more disturbed by the fact that now she’ll have to let him in than the fact that she’s been caught lying. “Oops,” she says simply, leaving the door open as she goes back to her room.

Sighing, Jake leaves his shoes next to yours and locks the door behind him, his fingers fumbling a little as he twists the key. Smelling food, he goes straight to the kitchen where he finds you. You’re standing by the stove, hair covering your face, lost in the task at hand: trying to tear open a bag of cheese without scissors. You succeed. Before he says a word, you look over at him, and the grin that spreads over your lips makes his stomach swoop, butterflies tumbling around like they’re looking for a point of exit. You’re perfect. There’s something about that smile that brightens everything around you, grounding and dizzying him all at once.

“Hey,” he says, breathless, smiling too.

You turn off the stove before stepping into his space, arms looping around his waist like you need this as much as he does. “Jakey,” you mumble into his chest.

It’s nice to see you, he can’t overstate that, and he suspects it always will be. Yet, even with you in his arms, he can’t smooth out the crease in his brows, can’t relax into your touch like he wants to—like he’s been thinking about since he left yesterday. The only thing on his mind is whatever the fuck is going on with Jimin, and how to ask you about it.

“I see you’ve done your food shop,” he says dumbly, looking over your head at the pot on the stove.

“Uh huh.” You nod, tilting your head back to look at him. “I even got those chocolates you like.”

Jake smiles, his hand coming up to cup your cheek, liking the way you lean into his touch. “You didn’t have to do that.”

You shrug, but the softness of your voice betrays your attempt at nonchalance. “I wanted to make sure you had a reason to come and see me.”

“You’re being really sweet,” he says, frowning. He doesn’t mean to sound suspicious, but for some reason, it’s easier to question you than to believe you might actually want him here. He presses the back of his hand to your forehead. Your skin is warm, but not feverish. Normal. Still, he keeps it there. “You feeling okay?”

You roll your eyes, catching his wrist and pulling his hand away. “Are you okay? You look like Jimin caught you out there praying for pussy.”

It would have been less mortifying if she had. He chuckles, an awkward huff of air that sounds more like a strangled cough than anything close to a laugh. Pressing his fist to his mouth, he clears his throat as if it will somehow clear the feeling in his chest, too. As if summoned simply by Jake thinking about her, Jimin comes into the kitchen, buttoning up her coat. Her eyes skip over him like he’s not there, her smile reserved for you.

“I have to go, but I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” she says, opening her arms.

You step forward without hesitation, slipping into her embrace like it’s second nature. The hug is warm and sweet, the two of you in your own world while Jake is stuck in its orbit, watching it spin without him. “I’ll miss you,” you say sincerely. “Text me when you get there.”

Jimin ruffles your hair when you pull away, smiling when you protest. “I miss you already.” And with that, she squeezes your wrist affectionately before turning on her heel without so much as a glance in his direction.

At the sound of the front door swinging shut, Jake sighs, glancing at it like he expects her to reappear. To say it was all a big joke, that she was doing a bit, and hug him too—the way she would have done a month ago, before..

It’s quiet in the flat—just you and him. He shifts on his feet, shoving his hands into his pockets, watching you watch the pot on the stove. You take off its foggy lid, steam curling out as you sprinkle grated cheddar into it—cheese dakgalbi. His mouth waters.

Silence persists. Not awkward, not quite comfortable. He has to ask. “Did you ask Jimin to pretend you weren’t home?”

A laugh bubbles out of you, amused by the mere suggestion. You shake your head. “No.”

Jake sniffs, his voice quieter than before. “Is she mad at me or something?” He tries for casual, but he sounds a bit pathetic.

You give him a look—confused, as if you didn’t see the way she’d ignored him. “Did she tell you I wasn’t home?”

He nods slowly, saying nothing about the Jaemin-shaped elephant in his proverbial mind-room. Instead, he reaches into the cupboard behind him, the hinge creaking softly as he pulls out a bowl for you. He hands it over without meeting your eyes.

“Aren’t you hungry?”

There’s too much going on in his head to navigate your line of questioning. “What are you talking about?”

You hold up the dish like the answer to his question is written on its base. “One bowl,” you say—it isn’t, by the way, the answer. He looked.

“I’m not staying,” he says without meaning to, though now that he’s thinking about it, he likes the idea of going home and being alone with his thoughts. It might even be nice to sit in silence on the couch with Sunghoon if he’s home.

Putting the bowl down, you take a step back, and scoff. Defensive. Hurt, he thinks. You sigh. “Why are you here then?”

Your question, your tone, makes him feel a little silly. Silly for cancelling his plans with Jay to come here. Really silly, actually. For thinking you missed him too. For thinking, can’t wait to see you, meant anything more than just something nice to say to a friend who’s been away.

“Well.. I don’t know.” Jake shrugs. “I just wanted to look at you or something, I guess. Make sure you were alright.”

Your expression softens, a step towards him, eyes — wide, searching — meeting his. “Stay, Jake. Please.”

His breath catches, taken aback by this unprompted offering of vulnerability—asking him to stay because you want him to, not because he asked if he should. He wonders if it could always be like this. If you could be like this with him again. Open. Gentle. Like before.

“Did you miss me?” Jake asks, greedy for you to open up. To give him more than just a little. “While I was away?”

“It was one night.”

“So? I missed you,” he admits.

Your eyes flicker over his face, but you don’t answer. No, you roll your eyes like he’s being ridiculous—it bothers him though he knows it shouldn’t. He approaches you before he can think better of it, hands finding the counter on either side of you, caging you in. You don’t resist or pull away, only tilting your head to meet his gaze. And fuck, you’re right there and so beautiful. Close enough for him to see the way your eyes widen ever-so-slightly. Close enough that his pulse trips over itself.

“Why won’t you tell me you missed me?” he asks.

You arch a brow. “Why do you want me to tell you if you already know?”

Jake exhales sharply, tilting his head, pressing his fingertips into the counter like it’ll ground him. “I just—” He pauses. Swallows. Tries again. “Please.”

A hesitation. He feels your hand on his waist, your fingers squeezing. Sees the way your lips part, like you might actually say it. But you don’t. “Why?” you ask instead.

He blinks, throat working around an answer that won’t come out. And suddenly, he feels stupid. Standing here, begging you to say something he already knows, something that shouldn’t matter so much. His eyes flick to yours, and he tries again, softer this time, whispering, “Please, baby.”

Finally, you break, quietly confessing, “I hate being away from you.” And it’s a million times better.

A startled breath escapes him, soft and disbelieving. His heart stumbles over itself, warmth flooding his chest. He blinks at you, processing, the words replaying in his head, sweeter each time. His fingers twitch against the countertop, resisting the urge to touch you, but you’re looking at the floor, and that won’t do. Gently, he tilts your chin up, your eyes meeting his—all wide and pretty, uncertainty flickering in them.

He swallows, voice unsteady. “Say it again.”

A slow smile curves your lips, and he sees the flash of realisation in your eyes—you’ve got him, you know you do. “I hate being away from you, Jake,” you repeat, confident now.

The shape of the words on your lips, how they roll off your tongue, hitting him with so much affection it’s a wonder he doesn’t burst into tears. Those words spoken to him, in your voice, by you. He takes a deep breath. “See? That wasn’t so bad,” he says, trying to tease but his voice is too soft.

You roll your eyes, but your lips are twitching, fighting a smile. “It was excruciating.”

Jake hums, brushing his thumb along your jaw, memorising the feel of you, liking the way you gulp. “My poor girl,” he teases, a pout on his lips. “I was about to drop it, you know. One more why, and I’d have let you off the hook.”

And then — before you can fire back some sharp remark — he kisses you.

He takes his time, desperate — quite frankly — to make up for what he missed yesterday morning. His hands find the small of your back, pulling you close as if he can’t bear being away from you again. Every touch is a relief, his gratitude and adoration poured into the warmth of his lips against yours. A tiny sound, low and wanting, slips from your mouth to his, stirring his chest. When he pulls away, your lips linger, and he almost can’t find in him to break the connection. You chase his kiss, whining a little—so cute it weakens his knees, and he can’t help but smile, liking the flutter in his stomach.

Looking down at you, he exhales shakily, heart pounding. Overwhelming warmth fills him up, crams itself into every single part of him, knowing that this is real. That you’re real, and you’re here, with him.

“That wasn’t so bad either, huh?” he asks, giggling, his voice almost as light as he feels.

You beam at him before hiding your face in his chest, letting out a giddy laugh as he rubs circles on your back, chin on top of your head. You hate being away from him. The words echo in his head, surreal, sweet.

He’s not convinced he’ll ever stop smiling.

Until his stomach growls, loud, slicing the quiet. Another laugh from you, the sound vibrating through him — too real to be imagined — as you pinch his waist. “Come on, baby,” you say, eyes sparkling. “Let’s eat.”

You slip out of his hold, and Jake, helpless to do anything but follow, wraps his arms around your waist at the stove. His chest is pressed to your back, fingers curling into your sides so you don’t leave again. If you mind, you don’t voice it. You sway a little against him, humming the same song he was listening to on the bus.

Why can’t he stay here, with you, like this, forever?

His bowl warms his lap while you put your glasses on, turning on the TV. Gossip Girl fills the screen, the voices familiar, comforting, fading into the background when you sit, your thigh pressed against his. He wonders if you realise how much of the space in his head you occupy. The flavours are rich, familiar, perfect—he’s never had cheese dakgalbi as good as yours. He sighs happily. Heart skipping a beat when he glances over at you, finding you already looking at him. You hate being away from him. Lips kiss-bitten, lenses foggy from the steam. You give a tender smile.

Jake bites back a grin, stuffing chicken into his mouth so he doesn’t speak and admit to something crazy—the future in his head, with you. Your child (children if you want them, a dog if you don’t (hopefully a dog even if you do)), and countless nights together like this for the rest of your natural lives.

Beside him, sane, you give commentary—perfect outfits, Serena’s hair, ugh, why is Chuck here? He nods, too far gone to do anything but copy your homework and change the answers a bit. That dress is beautiful, there’s probably tutorials if you look, why is Chuck here?

After he clears his bowl and what you couldn’t finish from yours, you make a pillow out of his shoulder. Sighing, you get comfortable while he inhales the familiar scent of your shampoo, your hair brushing his cheek. Shifting closer, you press into him, his arm tightening around you. It doesn’t take long for your breath to even out. Jake’s chest swells, overwhelmed by how much he likes this. He presses his lips to the top of your head, the softest kiss of his life, and lets his eyes flutter shut.

He hates being away from you too.

Jake has rescheduled this dinner with his parents so many times, his mother actually called him. He didn’t answer. Instead, he flinched, threw his phone to the other end of the couch and waited for the ringing to stop. If it weren’t for his dad texting to ask about it, he wouldn’t be standing on the doorstep of his family home doing breathing exercises.

He takes one last deep breath before putting his key in the lock. Inhale. One, two, three. Exhale. One, two, three. Open the door. “I’m home!” he calls out, stepping inside and taking off his shoes.

Jake’s mother gasps in the kitchen as if she’s surprised, jogging out into the hall. “Jaeyun!” she cries, arms flung around him. “Oh, my boy, it’s so good to see you.”

He only nods, letting go prematurely, long before she releases him.

“It’s just a shame you’re harder to reach than the Prodigal Son.”

“Yeah.” Jake gives her a tight smile, a slow nod. “Just got a lot on at the minute with uni. Good to be home though.”

She’s already heading back to the kitchen, talking over her shoulder. “Dinner’s nearly ready, so you’ve come at the perfect time. You might think about changing?”

With furrowed brows, he looks down at his outfit. Jeans. Jumper. Hardly unpresentable. “I think I’m alright, actually, Mum,” he says, following behind her.

Seeing his dad stand up from the table tugs Jake’s lips into a boyish grin. “Dad,” he whispers, breathless, pleased, allowing himself to be pulled into a hug, his dad’s unchanged cologne hitting his nose. Floral, warm. Strong arms around him.

“How are you, son?” he asks, quiet, private, just for them.

“I’m good, Dad. I’m good.”

The simmer of broth. Oil frying eggs in a pan. The smell of beef strikes him, turning his hunger fierce. His stomach rumbles quietly, unsoothed by his attempts at rubbing it. He asks if his mother needs a hand, and she waves him off, shakes her head, it’s her pleasure to cook for her son. She’s wearing her apron, the same red checkered one she’s had for as long as he remembers, stirring a pot by the stove. She looks so motherly like this. As if she might come over and kiss the top of his head just because. Pat his back and say good job for simply existing. It’s all very maternal of her, like that instinct has finally kicked in, twenty short years postpartum. Maternal in a way that digs a nasty pit in his stomach. The mum-in-a-million, best-mum-ever figure he always thought Big Mum made up to push Mother’s Day cards.

“Are you seeing anyone?” his dad asks.

That word choice sticks out to him, it’s almost been a full year of anyones and peoples from his dad and it still warms his heart in a way he’s not sure he’ll ever adjust to. There had been some.. concerns when he was younger and innocently introduced his first school friend, Jaehyun, to his parents as his boyfriend. Concerns that were not entirely baseless, as Jake’s teenage years would soon reveal to him.

“Any nice girls?” his mother corrects from the kitchen, not looking away from the drawer as she takes cutlery out. “Oh, who was that girl you used to be friends with? What was her name? From school, Jaeyun? Funny girl. Her mother used to teach you, what was she called?”

Jake mumbles your name, reminds her that the two of you are still friends. He’s not sure why she insists on this song and dance, when both of them know she wouldn’t exactly be happy if he brought you — or anyone — home. He bites the inside of cheek remembering you — age fourteen — sitting at this very table, passing Jake the salt shaker and scrunching up your nose at the mention of church. Church? No, my parents said church is for people who think they’re better than everyone else. Only Jake and his dad found that funny.

She puts cutlery down for all three of them, looking down at him after placing his chopsticks. “The atheist?” she asks, saying the A-word with a certain level of distaste that Jake can’t help find amusing.

“Yes, mum. The atheist,” he confirms, holding back a laugh at the amused smile his dad — the other atheist — wears.

There’s a look on her face when she hums, as if satisfied he acknowledged your lack of faith out loud. “I mean, you’re a bit young for a relationship, anyway.”

“I’m twenty,” he points out.

She raises her brow from over the kitchen island, stopping in her tracks with a steaming pot in hand. “Do you want to get married?”

Jake shrugs, watching as she puts the pot on the table, letting the smell of short ribs envelop him. “I mean.. not right now, but at some point? Maybe?” The words leave his mouth unthinkingly, seeming wrong as soon as he says them.

“So why would you be looking for a girlfriend?”

His mouth opens and promptly closes again, unsure of what to say. Jake glances at his dad, but he only takes a sip of his water. He’s not going to argue with her—he never does.

“Look.” His mother sighs, tucking her hair behind her ears as she takes a seat at the table next to his dad. “A lot of people your age are out drinking and having sex, and I understand that’s how this country is, but that is not how we raised you, Jaeyun—we didn’t bring you here for that. Sex isn’t about your age; it’s about marriage. And until then, you shouldn’t even be thinking about it, never mind having it.”

Mortified, he runs a hand over his face. “I’m not having sex. Jeez, Mum.” It’s a lie that only gets harder to say the more he tells it. He might actually abstain — even from hand stuff — until marriage, if he has this conversation again.

“Are you drinking?”

“No, I’m not drinking.” This lie is easier. “I’m an athlete.” Because half of it is true.

His mother tilts her head, affronted. “Jaeyun, you’re a Christian first.”

A familiar tension wraps around him, not any easier to manage for how often he feels it around her. “You’re right, Mum. Sorry.”

She seems pleased enough with this, her eyes lingering on him for a beat before they narrow. “I heard from Sieun’s mum that you weren’t at church this week.” Of course, she heard. She is always hearing things about Jake, and Sieun’s mum always seems to be the one saying them.

“I had a game.”

“On Sabbath?”

There is, for Jake, no winning where his mother is concerned. Because, of course, his breaking of the Sabbath is what matters right now. Never mind that he’s playing at a level she used to brag to her friends about. Never mind that he’s doing that, and getting top marks in his classes, and still finding time for family dinner every other week. Never mind that last term he spent two days with an IV drip in his arm from overworking himself and she didn’t text him back when he told her.

Jake’s jaw tightens, teeth grinding as he forces himself to swallow the words burning on his tongue. A glance at his dad, who’s staring down at his empty plate, pretending not to hear. Finally, he clears his throat, setting his glass down with deliberate care, a delicate arm over his wife’s shoulders. “Honey..” He trails off, eyes flicking to his son quickly. “How about we say grace before dinner gets cold?”

Conflicted relief settles over Jake’s shoulders at this. He knew his dad would step in eventually. He had to. This is the man who sat him down at thirteen and explained consent to him in careful, measured words—again at seventeen before he moved out. The man who passed him a beer on a fishing trip when he was sixteen, told him to sip slowly, to learn the taste so he wouldn’t feel the need to prove anything to anyone later. Who had wrapped him in a hug, kissed the top of his head last year when he said he likes boys too. You’re my only son, Jaeyun. I want you to be happy. He can’t look at his dad, see the hard lines of his face, the silver strands of his hair, without seeing that too.

He nods obediently when his mother tells him to pray, holds hands with his parents, closes his eyes. His dad’s rough hand squeezes his and he smiles. “Dear Lord, thank you for giving us the opportunity to sit around the table tonight as a family. Please bless the food we’re about to eat, and the hands that made it. In your name’s sake we pray, amen.”

With that, they eat ugeoji galbitang—Jake’s favourite. He likes it too much to let anything, even his mother (who makes it best), ruin it for him. Luckily, his dad steers the conversation, shares his wins at work, compliments Jake’s highlight tape from the game over the weekend, talks about the trash movie he’s got lined up for them to watch tonight.

Tonight. Together. As a family. Jake always spends the night after dinner, no exceptions. But he’s certain that if he spends any longer than he needs to in this house, he’ll die. He needs to come up with something, an excuse, a lie, something suddenly remembered. A commitment heavy enough that he must leave at once to attend to it. He thinks about Sunghoon, about you—but Jake’s mother is a blood is thicker than water kind of woman, and in her eyes, the only things thicker than blood are God and school.

He clears his throat, takes a sip of water, keeps a hold on his glass even when he puts it down. “That sounds great, Dad—I mean Operation Christmas Drop sounds truly awful, but I have a paper due tonight and it’s saved on a USB so I’ll have to go home to submit it.”

His mother continues to eat, unbothered. It’s hard to watch his dad’s smile falter, but he nods, understanding. “Another time, then.”

Dinner continues, marked mostly by the clatter of cutlery—chopsticks on side plate, spoon on bowl. There are a lot of negative things Jake could say about his mother, but she’s the only woman in the world who could call him an embarrassment for quitting violin at fifteen, then console him with her cooking. Even the simplest sides — her fried eggs and white rice — move Jake beyond words.

He clears the table when they finish eating, his parents packing up the leftovers while speaking quietly to one another as Jake washes the dishes. He strains his ears over the running water, but it’s no use, only catching murmured honeys and nos. Coming home is a bit like being caught in a loop sometimes, like he’s checking off boxes on a list:

1. Mum warns Jake about premarital sex

2. Jake lies and says he’s not having it

3. Dad sits in silence, pretending he didn’t buy Jake condoms when he went off to college

4. Substitute sex for some other mostly harmless vice

5. Rinse and repeat.

This absurd script they’re following, these roles they all fall into, time and time again. He can’t be the only one exhausted by this.

Jake dries his hands with the dish towel hanging from the oven door and scratches at the back of his neck. “I’d really better go,” he says. “Thanks again for dinner, Mum.”

He doesn’t hang around for her response, taking the stairs two at a time until he gets to his room. Slipping on his jacket, he looks around at the walls again. Certificates, postcards. Barer now since he took some of his favourite posters with him when he moved. Still, his Dune poster, brought home from a midnight showing, hangs above his bed. He’d stayed at Jaehyun’s house that night—his mother would never let him out so late with friends. As much as he loves it — the outline of Timothée Chalamet, Paul, tall and trim in his stillsuit — he left it behind. A quiet reminder of his small rebellion.

Leaving always feels so final, like he has to memorise the details of his childhood room even though he’ll be back in two weeks. A sighs, more than ready to leave, but stops short, seeing the photo booth strip under his light switch. You and him, frozen in the pink frames of a four-cut photo, sixteen forever. In the last shot, your arm is around his shoulders, lips pressed to his cheek. Back then, he didn’t think he liked you—not the way he does now. But his skin had burned where you kissed him, and he hadn’t washed his face that night, afraid to lose the trace of your clear lip gloss.

After four years, the memory sends a swarm of butterflies through his stomach, his fingers reaching up to brush his left cheek. He takes the photo, slipping it into his jacket pocket before joining his parents at the door.

“I just want you to make good decisions,” his mother says, hugging him. Her perfume is floral, familiar. He breathes it in, holding on just a second longer than normal.

“I’m trying.”

“Come on, I’ll walk you out,” his dad says, already putting on his shoes.

Jake’s chest tightens. He gulps, nodding, waves at his mother. Her eyes burn holes into his back as he follows his dad out. March’s breeze whips his jacket, lunchboxed leftovers warm his palms. They walk in silence to Jake’s car.

“Are you happy, Jaeyun?” His dad’s voice is soft, careful. “None of this matters if you aren’t.” His calloused fingers rub at the back of Jake’s neck—a comfort. “Not your grades, not football, not church.. It’s no use working so hard if you’re not happy.”

Jake nods. “I am usually,” he admits.

A grin. Crinkled eyes. “That’s all I ask of you.”

“Are you happy, Dad?”

His dad’s face softens, shoulders relaxing. “With you as my son?” A chuckle slips out of him. “How could I not be happy?” He pulls Jake into a tight hug, his arms strong and steady. Jake squeezes back, fingers gripping his dad’s shirt.

“I love you,” Jake says, the words muffled against his dad’s shoulder.

His dad holds him even tighter. “I love you, son.”

They pull apart slowly, reluctant. A shared exhale. Breeze biting, still.

“Drive safe, okay?”

Jake nods, unlocking the car. “I will.”

His dad smiles again, giving him a nod before heading back to the house. The porch light is off when Jake starts his car.

Thirty silent minutes pass by in a blur, unregistered until he’s taking off his seatbelt outside his building. Backpack on, leftovers in hand, he goes inside, dragging his feet up the stairs to the eighth floor. He doesn’t even have to slow his pace or catch his breath at the door to his flat—at least the gym is paying off.

Sunghoon isn’t home. Monday night. Evening practice. Jake leaves the food on the kitchen counter to cool down and goes to his room. His bed, neatly made, fresh sheets, looks tempting, but he has other plans for the night. He gets changed and sits on the couch, waiting for Sunghoon.

For the next hour, his phone goes off regularly, but none of the notifications are from you so he doesn’t care. It only dawns on Jake that he can simply text you when he wants to see your name in his phone.

Jake: Can I come over?

YN: I thought you had family dinner tn?

YN: Oh. I’m not at home but you can call me!!! My signal is a bit shit on the train rn but you can always call me, Jake

Jake: It’s okay, usual shit w my mum lol

Jake: Idk why I always think things will be different when I go there and always get surprised when they’re not

YN: I’m sorry she gives you such a hard time, baby

YN: I know you don’t feel like it but you’re doing such a good job. You’re juggling shit I don’t even want to imagine and you still make time for football and all your uni stuff and to make everyone in your life feel special. I promise you’re not fucking anything up at all.

YN: You don’t have to keep going over there, you know.. I get you like seeing your dad but surely you two can hang out alone? Another fishing trip, maybe? I know you had a really good time in the summer

The summer—the fishing trip, the beer, the hug. He smiles.

Jake: Yeah, maybe

When he hits send, a key turns in the lock. Sunghoon—whistling to himself after practice. It’s nice one of them had a good Monday, that’s half of the people in the flat. Much better than thirty seconds ago, when a hundred percent of people in the flat were having a terrible day. His footsteps pad down the hall and he freezes in the doorway, brows raising in surprise. A beat. “Hey, buddy. I didn’t know you’d be back tonight.”

Jake clears his throat, but the roughness of his voice persists. “Left early.”

Sunghoon hums, nodding once before he leaves, coming back in a t-shirt and sweatpants, two beers in hand as he sits on the couch. He hands one to Jake, pulls the tab on his own, and takes a long, slow sip. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really.” Jake shakes his head. “I put some ugeoji galbitang in the fridge for you. I don’t know if you saw.”

“Nice, man, thanks.”

These are the last words from either of them for hours. Even when one of them gets up to use the toilet, or Sunghoon goes to get more beer. It’s not until two a.m. that they speak again.

“Are you alright if I turn in? I need to be up soon.” Sunghoon yawns, arms stretched out in front of him.

Jake nods, yawning too. “Yeah, of course. I should get some sleep anyway.”

Sunghoon lingers, his hand curling and uncurling on the edge of the couch. “You sure?” he asks, only standing when Jake nods again.

Jake collects the cans, flicking the lamp off on the way out. He turns towards the kitchen but stops in his tracks, looking over his shoulder. Sunghoon’s heading to the bathroom, hand on the doorknob when Jake says, “Thank you.” For being my best friend. For doing nothing with me for hours, he doesn’t say.

Yet Sunghoon seems to understand. He always does. In three steps, he reaches Jake, a reassuring pat on his shoulder. “You’re my best friend,” he says, matter-of-factly, and leaves Jake in the hall, locking the bathroom door behind him.

When Sunghoon is done, Jake goes to the bathroom, brushes his teeth. He steps into the shower, appreciating the heat of the water on his skin, how he reddens under it. Washes his face, his hair. Stands aimlessly under the spray until he starts worrying about the planet. He feels a bit better after this. Moisturises in his room, puts Vaseline on his lips, gets into bed.

He’s lying on his side, staring at the wall. He pats around the mattress for his phone, finding it and calling you without thinking. It rings out, because, of course, you can always call me, Jake, does not mean: call me at three in the morning.

He looks at his screen for so long it locks. Too dark to see his reflection on it. Thankfully. He opens your text thread, drafting a message. Called by mistake HAHAHAHAHA dw! Delete. Sorry for calling so late, maybe we could hang out when you’re up? Coff—there’s a knock at his door and he locks his phone, tucking it under his pillow like a child.

“What is it?” he calls out.

The door clicks open behind him, closes softly. Your voice. “Hey, Jakey.”

He sits up immediately, your name falling out of his mouth like a question. You’re standing there in your pyjamas, angelic, everything he’s ever wanted, blued by the moon shining through his window. And if he wasn’t so upset, so convinced he’s making this all up, he would scold you for coming over at this time in only a vest and shorts. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t move too abruptly, so as not to disrupt the dreamscape. Slowly, carefully, he lifts the end of his duvet, a silent invitation. You step towards him, crawling into his arms, soft skin warm on his, a kiss to his chest.

This is.. real?

You are real?

Turning on his lamp, he pushes your hair from your face, studying you. Soft bow of your lips, gentle slope of your nose, flutter of your lashes when you blink. Lamplight cuts sharp orange angles over your cheekbone, carving you out of the dark. He kisses you, a fleeting press of his lips to yours. To check.

You are real, and breathtaking, always so breathtaking, and here, with him.

“How did you..?” He trails off, unsure what to ask—get here? Know I needed this?

“Hoon called and came to pick me up,” you say, answering both of his questions at once.

This is.. overwhelming. Beyond. That Sunghoon would think to call you, go so far as to pick you up at this hour. That you would get out of bed for this—for him. That there are people in his life, bound only to him by choice, who care this much. Jake swallows around the lump in his throat, eyes stinging with hot tears, desperate to spill.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, cupping his cheek in your palm. “I’m so sorry, baby.”

Baby. Your baby. He has half a mind to tell you he loves you, but he’s touched, not insane, so he bites his tongue. Hides his face in the crook of your neck.

“Oh, Yunie,” you say, stroking his back, your touch a grounding force. “I wish there was something I could do.”

He kisses the spot where your neck and shoulder meet. Lifts his head. Smiles as the first tear slips from his cheek onto yours. “You’re here.”

Jake kisses your lips—soft, fleeting, hardly more than a peck. It’s not enough. Another kiss, longer, lingering, your warmth undoing him. Wrapping you in his arms, he tucks you close to his chest, clinging onto you like a lifeline. I love you. Over and over, he thinks it. Prayers on a rosary. So loud in his head he’s not convinced you can’t hear him. His eyes flutter shut, and with your steady breath on his skin, he lets himself fall asleep.

Jake wakes up first, grinning at the sight of you curled against him, your face squished into his chest. His arms tighten instinctively, as if to keep you there, as if you might slip away. He watches you, still as he can, taking in the quiet, the warmth, you. As if sensing his gaze, you open your eyes, sleep-heavied blinks as you look up at him. You shift in his hold, turning your head enough to see his alarm clock. 08:46. A groan leaves your lips, and you bury your face back into his chest.

He kisses the top of your head, mumbling against it. “Morning, baby.”

Your groan doesn’t stop, drawn-out, dejected, rumbling against his skin until you tip your head back. “Come shower with me.” Your voice is thick with sleep, the words said as if you think it might be the only solution for your suffering.

And it would be rude of him not to at least help you find out.

Jake has definitely had more productive showers, but he’s never had a better one than this. Skin on skin. Lips on lips, and neck, and chest. Slippery hands all over each other. Wet heat overwhelming him—press of bodies, rush of water. Trembling breath, racing heart. Your fingers around his wrist, guiding his hand between your thighs.

By the time you’re clean, and moisturised, there’s only twenty minutes until your class starts. Pulling a pair of his sweatpants over your hips, you make a joke, laughing to yourself as you blame Jake for what you started. He’s a terrible influence, using his masculine wiles to seduce, corrupt, and make you late.

He snorts, shaking his head. “So I’m a pervert in this fantasy of yours?”

“I think you like it, Jakey,” you say, walking towards him, arms looping around his neck, fingers in his hair, chuckling. “Making a harlot out of an honest woman.”

Jake pinches your waist, liking the way it makes you jolt and squeal—trying to focus on that instead of the sharpness of the word harlot against his ears. He almost shudders, jarred by its dissonance. Sounding more like a word that might share a page with some of the other words that have disturbed him recently. Words he’s done a good job of pushing to the back of his mind—words he’s putting in a lot of effort to keep there. He sniffs, leaning down to kiss you. It was a joke, Jake. You were joking. It was a Christmas joke.

“Alright, Virgin Mary,” he mumbles against your lips, pulling away before you accuse him of further debasing. “Let’s go.”

He drives you home so you can get your stuff, and you make a beeline for your room when you arrive. He doesn’t follow. Instead, he takes a deep breath and knocks on Jimin’s door.

She groans when she sees him, head falling back. “What?” she huffs, voice thick with irritation.

“Can we talk?” he shifts on his feet. “Please?”

Jimin’s answer takes a while. She eyes him with her arms crossed over her chest. He can’t help looking over his shoulder, at your closed door, wondering how long you’ll take to change and pack your bag. With a sigh, Jimin steps aside, and he takes a cautious step in, making a point to stay near the door as he closes it—unsure how welcome he really is.

“What did I do to you?” he asks hesitantly, watching as she sits on the end of her unmade bed.

“You didn’t do anything to me.” Jimin shrugs, continuing when Jake opens his mouth to speak. “But I’m sure you’ll forgive me if I don’t trust the ‘innocent’ guy best friend who pounces at the first chance he gets.”

“Pounces?” he repeats, like it’s his first time hearing the word. “I’m not an animal, Jimin. There was no pouncing. If anything, she pounced on me.”

“So she’s an animal, is that what you’re saying?”

Jake sighs, seeing there’s no way to win here. “Sure,” he says dryly. “She’s a tiger. Happy?”

This doesn’t amuse Jimin. “What do you want with her?”

He shrugs like he hasn’t given it much thought. “I want whatever she wants. If she wants to hook up, we’ll hook up. If she doesn’t, we won’t.”

“You like her.” It’s not a question, but an accusation that softens her voice, raises her brows.

Jake chews his lip, and that’s enough. Jimin’s jaw drops. “Oh, my God. I was worried you were going to hurt her, and this whole time I should’ve been worried about her hurting you.” She shakes her head, a laugh of disbelief coming out. “Good luck.”

He’s not sure what he was expecting, but it wasn’t this.

Until it involved him, Jake hadn’t heard much about your sex life since first year. Thankfully. Kim Mingyu — Hot Mingyu, as you and Jimin still call him — is the last name he remembers. Older, massive, lived up to his moniker. He was always talking about the gym or his tech start-up, and eventually, he ended things because he didn’t believe Jake was just your friend. Jake suspects that the memory of Hot Mingyu will stick with him forever, because it was the first time it ever occurred to him that he didn’t want to be just friends with you.

Jimin apologises, opening her arms and approaching him. She says that she should’ve known. Quiet, sympathetic, Jake thinks, hating it. But the door swings open, hitting his back before she can hug him. You poke your head into the room with a smile, oblivious. “Ready to go?”

Back in the car, you try to peer pressure Jake into speeding, and he appeases you, doing thirty-two miles per hour in a thirty zone. Giving up with a huff, you turn your body away from him, knees against the passenger door. He’s too busy thinking about what Jimin said to comment—what the fuck does good luck mean?

And he’s so busy trying to figure that out, he doesn’t even realise you’re still wearing his sweatpants until you get out of the car. “Thanks for the lift, Jakey.”

Jakey smiles. Jakey waves. Jakey watches you leave. Jakey sits in his car for an hour before going home.

He finds Sunghoon—home from practice, and eating an early lunch by the kitchen window. Standing, like he always does when he eats alone. “Hey, buddy,” he says, glancing quickly over his shoulder. “Feeling better?”

Without a second thought — or a first one — Jake charges towards him, tackling him more than he hugs him. “Thank you.”

Sunghoon goes stiff, completely tense in Jake’s hold. A shrug, slow and unnatural. “Don’t mention it,” he says, voice strained. A single, awkward pat of Jake’s back. “Could you please let go of me now? For a minute?”

Apologising, Jake quickly releases him, feeling bad for the ambush. “I’m going to thank you again for last night, and I need you to accept it this time. You didn’t have to do that for me, but you did it anyway.”

Sunghoon turns, amused, leaning against the wall and taking a spoonful of yoghurt to the mouth. “I’m waiting.”

“Thank you, Sunghoon. Really.”

“You’re welcome, Jake,” he says, monotone, but his eyes are soft and he’s smiling. “And if you’re going to the library today, can we go together? I’m slacking, man—I need to lock in. Quickly.”

Jake chuckles at his deflection, but nods and says, “Of course.”

They have different approaches to studying — Sunghoon puts his headphones on, and hyper-fixates on his task for as many consecutive hours as he can; Jake swears by Pomodoro, twenty-five minutes on, five minutes off — but they work alongside each other quite effectively. Jake squints at AutoCAD. Sunghoon scrolls through physio clinic listings. Jake texts his dad, asking if they can go fishing soon. Sunghoon continues to look for summer placements. Parallel play.

His Pomodoro timer goes off silently, a notification in the corner of his laptop screen, and he lets out a relieved breath—he has high hopes not to study anything architecture related after this term, in a perfect world, he’ll never have to so much as look at a building again. When he checks his phone, his dad has replied, suggesting that they go next weekend, and he’s still typing when Jake opens their thread.

Dad: And if you want, you can bring that ‘friend’ of yours. It would be nice to see her again.

Dad: The atheist. 😆.

Jake: Yeah, dad, that sounds good haha. I’m sure she’d love to! I’ll ask

Sunghoon takes off his headphones, thick brows furrowed as he looks over at Jake. “Training starts, like, now, no?”

The time is bright and reproachful on Jake’s screen. 19:55. Five minutes to get to Coach’s office on the other end of the building. A jolt of panic launches him out of his seat, shoving his laptop and notebooks hurriedly into his bag while Sunghoon watches, yawning.

“Can I come?”

The question catches him so off guard, his hand freezes over the zipper of his backpack. “What? To training?” Jake asks, cocking his head. “I mean, probably. We have analysis before we start so I’m not sure about that, but you can definitely watch us on the pitch if you want.”

A sigh of relief, as he stands. Firm hand on Jake’s shoulder. “Thank God, bro—can’t be fucked walking home.”

They’re the last to arrive, but thankfully Coach isn’t there yet. None of the guys question Sunghoon’s presence, they’re actually more pleased to see him than they are their own teammate. He leads Sunghoon to the end of the room, instructing him not to draw attention to himself—he gives a thumbs-up, whispering, got it, when the door clicks open.

The first thing Coach says is, “Who the fuck is this guy?”

Why he thought his gargantuan best friend could be inconspicuous anywhere, never mind standing right behind him, is anyone’s guess. Sunghoon, for some reason, says nothing. Jake clears his throat. “He’s—uh—he’s my flatmate, Coach.”

Coach sighs, rubs his face with his hand. “Whatever. Don’t speak unless I speak to you. Understand?”

“Sir, yes, sir.” Sunghoon gives a firm nod, raising a hand in salute.

Another sigh from Coach, wrinkles in his forehead showing as he mutters something to himself. “We have a lot to cover, so let’s not waste more time.” He pulls up the match video on his laptop—always calling them the highlights, but criticises them aggressively. “Yang, what have I told you about hogging the ball?”

Jungwon’s smile is audible. “That I’ve improved a lot, and you’ve never seen a better sportsman than me.” This answer wins him a death glare. “Fine, I hogged the ball a little, but we won!”

This seems to amuse Coach, who laughs and looks around the room. “A little, the boy says.” The video starts—a minute long clip of Jungwon with the ball at his feet, neglecting multiple opportunities to pass. No cuts. “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t bench you.”

“I’m not seeing the big deal here. We literally won.”

“You didn’t win this weekend because you have a selfish striker,” Coach says coldly. “You won because the other team was incompetent. And if you keep playing like that, you’ll cost us the season.”

Jungwon isn’t smiling anymore.

Analysis goes on like always. Backhanded praise; thinly-veiled insults; Coach is pleased with his decision to appoint Jay Captain—words that no longer form a lump in Jake’s throat. In fact, he even pats Jay on the back, smiling sincerely when he looks over.

Jake: Post-match went well 💪

Dad: Of course, son. You played brilliantly! So proud. 😆.

Training flies by in a blur of five-a-side games and recreations of some of the poorer plays from Saturday’s game, Coach giving real-time corrections with varying degrees of rudeness. And before he knows it, the final whistle blows, dismissing them. Jake jogs off the pitch, legs heavy with exertion, mind buzzing with the rush of playing. His shirt is damp with sweat, sticking uncomfortably to his stomach, but he can’t look away from his reflection in the locker room mirrors. Cheeks and neck flushed, glowing. He looks good. Feels good—too good to just stand there staring at himself. So, he takes his shirt off, and without much thought sends you a photo.

YN: Day 537727272724733 without dick: I came just from seeing this picture

Jake: Has it been that long?

YN: I can’t count how many times I squirted while looking at that

YN: Fr though come over rn. Need that bad.

Jake: Are you objectifying me?

YN: Is it working .

Jake: Yes. But I need to drop off Riki and Hoon then shower so……..

Jake: Wait up for me?

YN: Fine.

The drive to Riki’s place has never been so long, and Sunghoon sleeps the whole way. Growing impatient, Jake almost starts driving off before his teammate is even all the way out of the car. Every light is green on the way home, no traffic at all—a blessing, Jake thinks. He takes a quick shower, brushes his teeth, and leaves the flat in a hurry, sprinting down the stairs to get back to his car.

He buckles his belt with shaking hands, a text lighting his phone screen. Checking it immediately, he sees that Sunoo sent a Reddit link to the team group chat: like palmer’s not one of the best players in the league rn. Curious, he clicks it, the app’s familiar logo colouring his screen orange, and before Sunoo’s video has the chance to load, something else catches his attention—the number 54 sitting on his notification tab. His heart sinks to his stomach, he knows exactly what’s waiting for him under there. But he clicks it anyway, rereads the post he made only two weeks ago now. And looks straight at the comments, knowing what they’ll say before he sees them.

It is a sin, brother. And there is a demon inside of you that wants you to keep committing this sin. You need to repent and flee from fornication at once. This sin is extremely demonic, it took me away from Christ completely, and I was on my way to h*ll.

The Holy Spirit is working in you. Thank God for giving you a conscience and do not go through with it no matter what.

You want advice? Turn to 1 Corinthians 7:2 and Hebrews 13:4. The Bible is very clear that the only acceptable time for sex is after marriage.

Honestly bro, just marry her lmao

I lost my job, my girlfriend left me, and I got hit by a car after indulging in fornication. It is not worth it, my brother, take heed. I will pray for you.

Jake’s brain buffers, the words blurring together as he scrolls, searching for a different answer. Someone, anyone in the comments telling him it’s okay, that he will be okay, and he’s not going to hell for simply wanting to have sex.

Nothing.

A humourless laugh comes out of him, an exhausted huff. He rests his heavy head on the steering wheel—he can’t be bothered anymore. This isn’t just sex for him. There’s a future here—he’s not sure what it is, or how he’ll get there. But surely, surely, something good, something worthwhile is at the end of this. And isn’t that worth something? Wouldn’t God want him to enjoy himself?

Jake takes a deep breath, white-knuckle grip on the wheel, and says a prayer. “Dear Lord, thank you for all you’ve done for me—but I’m not waiting any longer. I’m really going to do this, Jesus. And there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

Jake pauses, peeking around the car with one of his eyes to check for hellfire—the coast is clear.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “Amen.”

It’s the most cautious drive of his life, checking every mirror and blindspot thrice, hands sitting firmly at ten and two—kissing twenty miles per hour the whole way. Parked outside, he climbs over the centre console to use the passenger door because it opens out onto the pavement, and no way one of those cars that’s going around striking down the sexually immoral is going to spawn there. He uses the stairs instead of the lift, and makes it to your flat in one piece.

He doesn’t even have a chance to knock before you pull the door open, telling him he took so long as you take him by the hand and tug him over the threshold. “My fault, baby,” he says, apologetic. Jake bites his lip, eyes trailing over you. Fallen strap of your tank top, nipples pressing through thin fabric, shorts riding up. Good God. He gulps, dick stirring in his pants as you drag him to the living room.

Sinking into the couch, he looks up at you, eyeing him like you want to eat him alive—he’d let you, he wants you to. He pulls you into his lap, kissing you. A moan tugged out of his chest when you grind down on him. At this, you pull away, chest heaving. Lips swollen, wet. He can’t help but reach out and touch them, tracing your mouth with his thumb, pressing down on your plush bottom lip, before pushing it past your teeth. Fuck. Your eyes meet his, hazy, unfocused as you suck on his thumb, letting your tongue graze the tip. Holding his wrist, you stroke it and take his finger all the way to the knuckle, looking at him the same way you do when you’re kneeling between his spread thighs.

You tug at his shirt, mumbling around his finger. “Why are you still wearing this?”

“Waiting for you to take it off of me, baby.”

An imperceptible hitch of your breath before you reach for the hem, tugging it over his head. You bite your lip, admiring him and his cheeks burn scarlet under your gaze. “Can’t believe you look like this.” Warm hands on his skin, fingers trailing his abs and the fading love bites you’d left behind. “Such a lucky girl,” you whisper, awestruck as you kiss him urgently.

Emboldened, eager for more praise — and frankly, extremely turned on — he stands, grip firm on your ass when he does.

“Holy shit,” you utter, pulling away, eyes blown and unguarded. “Have you always been this strong?”

This acknowledgement of his efforts makes his entire body flush, hot and bothered from head to toe. As he shrugs sheepishly, he can’t help wishing he could be more nonchalant when it comes to you. Wishing he could just nod, say yeah—even though you both know the strength and the muscle definition are new. Jake’s stomach flutters when you smile, leaning back into him, kissing and mumbling against his lips that he’s so hot.

In your room, the two of you collapse onto the bed, attached at the hips and mouth. He begins to understand some of those freaks in the subreddit, how this — how you — could easily knock him off-kilter and take over his life. You grab his wrist, tugging his hand towards the spot between your legs, and killing his train of thought in the process.

Nothing else registers except your soft cotton shorts, drenched against his fingers and stuck to you. “Holy fuck,” he mumbles.

“Do something about it.”

Nodding, he pulls the fabric off of you, moves it to the side. Sucking a breath through his teeth, he stares straight ahead. Shocked, turned on by how wet you are, and his fingers slip around so much he has to focus to keep them on your clit. It’s worth it, more than, for the way you whine, rutting your hips on his hand. Groaning, he lets his finger slip into you, adjusting his pants when you moan, his thumb working your clit in circles. Another finger slips inside, so easy, so slick and so warm, your walls clenching around him. The sound alone makes him dizzy. “So fucking wet,” he says, pressing deeper, fingers curling, watching your mouth fall open. “You’re killing me, baby.”

Completely under your spell, he can’t look away from the spot where his fingers disappear into you. “My pretty girl.” He hums, licking his lips. “So pretty all over.” Jake’s dick actually hurts looking at you, straining against his pants, darkening the fabric with precum. Adding a third finger, he presses harder on your clit, groaning when your back arches off the bed. “You like it, huh? Feels good?”

You only moan in response, clutching the sheets in your fists as you shake against them. It doesn’t take long for you to gasp, letting out a cry of his name as your body gives in, release spilling out around his fingers all while he stares in awe, open-mouthed. The soft curves of your body, flushed and shuddering and perfect.

Panting, you look up at him with sparkling eyes and tug lightly at your waistband. He guides your hips up gently, pulling your shorts down and leaving them at the end of the bed. “Your turn,” you breathe out. Jake stands up from the bed to take his sweats and underwear off without a second thought. Your gaze traces his body, tongue wetting your lips, eyes caught on his dick as it smacks his stomach. “Need a minute.”

“Course, baby.” He needs a minute too, hardly able to tear his eyes off the cum painting your pretty pussy white. As gently as he can, he runs his fingers through it, bringing them to his lips and humming around them. Oh, my God. “Tastes so good.”

A lazy smile curves your lips and you nudge his chest with your foot, leaning up on your elbows. “Twelve days. It’s been twelve days, Jake.”

Confused, he tears his eyes from between your legs, looking up at you instead. Sweat-slicked skin glowing in the dim lamplight. No one has ever looked so beautiful, he’s certain. “Of what?” he asks, stroking himself absentmindedly.

Your eyes follow the movement of his wrist, chewing on your bottom lip for a beat before your gaze flicks up to meet his. “Earlier, I said some stupid number and you asked if it’s been that long.”

“Twelve days,” Jake repeats, hardly believing it. Hardly believing the fact that you’re laid out in front of him, glowing, gorgeous, and he’s still waiting—for what, he’s not sure. “Whoa,” he mutters, leaning over you, his hand on your cheek. “Twelve?”

You nod, pouting. “Twelve,” you repeat, holding onto his wrist, kissing his palm. “Don’t make me wait any longer.”

“Condom, baby.” He pulls away, but your grip on him tightens.

“Don’t need it.”

Jake raises a brow. Sceptical. Horny. “Are you sure?”

“Certain. But I’ve never..” You trail off, clearing your throat.

He knows what you mean, and his stomach flips over. “Same,” he admits. “Where should I..?”

“Inside. Please.”

His eyes widen, searching yours, staring. You nod again, saying, please.

Leaning down, he kisses your cheek. “Missed this, baby. Missed you,” he admits. He feels you shudder under him, a shaky breath fanning his skin when he nudges your clit with his tip. Lifting his head, he looks down at your face, taking you in. Lidded eyes blinking heavily, fluttering lashes, sweat beading along your hairline. “Still can’t believe it—how lucky I am, getting to see you like this.”

“Never wanted anyone this much.”

His breath ceases, butterflies tumbling in his stomach. “Me neither.” The words feel bigger than they should, heavy as they settle between you. A beat passes slowly, his heart shifting in his chest. He leans in, pressing his lips to yours and hoping this kiss is enough to tell you everything he can’t quite say out loud.

“Please, Jake,” you say, mumbling against his lips.

So hot and so soft and so wet. Holy fuck. He sinks his teeth into his lip, freezing. It’s his tip, literally just his tip, but it’s enough to leave him lightheaded. He wonders if he’ll even last long enough to get to the part where he’s all the way in. “Won’t last long like this,” he says out loud, his own voice seeming distant.

You’re looking up at him with wet eyes, shaking—breath harsh, shallow. “Good,” you whisper. “We can go again, however you want it.”

Again, he thinks, looking forward to it. As if he’s not already losing his mind.

“Need more,” you breathe. “More, baby. Please.”

Rocking his hips forward, slow as he can, he holds his breath at the feeling of you opening up around him, inch by precious inch. It’s incredible he went so long without this. Twelve whole days. Unfathomable now—impossible, surely. Both of you whine as he bottoms out, a ragged sigh coming out of him, his head falling. Relieved. Wound up. He opens his eyes and regrets it immediately—you, mouth agape, eyes screwed shut. Holy shit. “You okay, baby?” he manages.

A smile spreads over your lips, a content breath slipping out of you. “Perfect, Jakey. Always forget..” You trail off, shaking your head, struggling to get the words out. “Forget how big you are.”

His entire body flushes, set alight. “You always take it so good, though. Such a good girl, yeah? Fit me just right.” He knows how it sounds, but he means it. Truly. It’s never felt like this. He didn’t even know it could feel like this — so perfect, so right — until you. The rightness of it all is so intense he almost comes then and there, biting his lip so hard he tastes copper on his tongue.

The clench of you around him is raw and startling, forcing stars behind his eyelids with each blink. There’s a brief, stunned silence when Jake finally pulls his hips back, like neither of you quite believe it. There’s nothing between you like this, no clear distinction between your body and his. Your hands skim his back, delicately tracing the column of his spine with your nails, careful, venerating, plump lips apart as your eyes meet.

Before he knows it, he’s thrusting all the way back in, one smooth, desperate stroke. A half-gasp, half-sob cry of his name comes out of you, unravelling him entirely as your legs wrap around his hips. Breath staggered, shallow, he tries to keep his cool, letting his mouth find your neck—trailing the distance from top to bottom. Four kisses long.

Not bothering to suppress his own moans and whimpers, he sets a steady rhythm, relieved that you seem to be enjoying this as much as him, mewling and clawing at his skin. Trembling, gasping, you — cut and pasted from his dreams — pull him in and the need to spend forever like this consumes him. With another cry of his name, you tense around him, head tipping back into the pillows as your orgasm hits. And he’s right there with you, skin burning from the inside out as he falls apart, gasping your name when he comes, filling you up.

He doesn’t move right away — he’s not sure if he can — staying on top of you while you card your fingers through his hair, panting. As his heartbeat steadies, he leans up on his palms. You look at him, all soft and sleepy and perfect, still catching your breath.

“Hi,” you whisper, smiling.

“Hey, baby.”

Neither of you seem to be in any rush to move, so he rolls you onto your sides, all tangled up and face to face. You press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth before curling into his chest, your skin damp and hot. Bowing his head, Jake offers a silent prayer—not seeking forgiveness, but giving thanks.

A week goes by as usual—football, uni, seeing you. No pestilence or famine. No mark of the beast branded on his chest. Two suspiciously placed pimples on his forehead that have not sprouted into horns. No vehicular retribution. So far, no smiting.

The spring sun sets slowly, pinkening Jake’s wall through the cracks in his blinds. He has the apartment to himself while Sunghoon’s at training, so he’s making the most of his alone time. Head on pillow, phone in hand, switching through apps every few minutes as it nears time for him to leave. It’s a dangerous game, his favourite perhaps — doomscrolling time in bed — one that typically ends with him missing his plans, or staying up into all hours of the night watching Cole Palmer edits, and eighty-seven part Tiktok storytimes.

Tonight’s plan — every Wednesday night’s plan — is Bible study at church. And it’s not like he doesn’t want to go, honestly, he’s looking forward to it. It’s just that Chelsea played Arsenal yesterday, and won, so the edits are extra good, hot off the press and populating his for you page. Jesus would understand, surely. Would do the same, probably. As it stands, he’s watched this one edit of Palmer’s last-minute goal four times, and finds himself reciting, City’s boy is Chelsea’s man, with the commentator as your name pops up on his screen. A phone call.

“Jakey, hey,” you say, voice so sweet his lips curl up. “Can I see you? In like, an hour, maybe?”

“Are you alright?”

You hum in response. “Just want to see you.”

Something about the words, their softness, sincerity, knocks the wind out of him. He clears his throat, pulling the phone from his ear to check the time. 18:30. His stomach flutters, his heart racing, suddenly struck by your absence as if he hadn’t realised he was alone. A voice he’s gotten good at tuning out reminds him that he already missed church this week because he slept in, so he should at least go to study tonight.

“I have Bible study in an hour, and it’s on until like half eight, but I’m free after that.”

“Ugh,” you groan, and you sound so genuinely perturbed by this news that he has to fight a smile. “Jimin and I are having the girls over at nine.”

“Thirty minutes is plenty,” he points out.

You sigh. “I don’t mean sex, Jake. I just.. want to spend time with you,” you say softly, “I’m kind of missing the friends part of this whole thing.”

Jake shifts against his pillow, a pit in his stomach. He frowns, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Okay, yeah, I’m sorry. Of course.” The words come out quickly, tripping over his tongue. “I’m all yours tomorrow, I have nothing on,” he says, only slightly lying—he has football training in the evening.

“I’m not free until Sunday..” You trail off. “What if I come to your Bible study? Can I do that?”

A slow moment passes while he considers this. You? Come to Bible study? “But you’re.. an atheist.”

“So what? If your church friends are as hot as you, I’d like to see for myself.”

“They aren’t, but I’m happy you said that.” This is.. only slightly untrue. If you ask Jake, his church friends are hotter than him. In a silent prayer, he wishes ill on Mark Lee and Hamada Asahi. Nothing major, of course, just enough that they can’t make it tonight—an itchy throat, runny nose. Anaphylactic shock, maybe.

“Do I have to dress up or anything?”

He shakes his head even though you can’t see. “You can wear whatever you want, it’s casual. Do you need a ride?”

“A ride home, maybe?” you say, sounding unsure. “I’m out right now.”

“What are you doing?”

You hesitate, stumbling over your words to say, “I’m—uh—I’m looking at records with Heeseung.”

This information makes Jake’s stomach tense—just a little. Lee Heeseung. Tall. Older. Freakishly handsome. Sits at the friends-you’ve-kissed table with Jake. And Jaehyun. And Yizhuo. An—have any of your friends gone unkissed? Sigh. He feels significantly unspecial.

“Oh..” he offers, trailing off, unsure what to make of that. “Find anything cool?”

“Like you won’t believe!” The excitement in your voice is not lost to the phone, in fact, it’s so clear he can picture you rocking on your feet as you speak. He grins at the thought, distracted enough not to worry about when Heeseung graduated from drunken makeout to sober hangout. “Okay, I have to go, but I’ll see you in an hour!”

Jake laughs on an exhale. “See you in an hour.”

With the end of the call, his Palmer edit starts again, and Jake falls back into the for you page like nothing happened. Edit after edit, each more creative than the last slip by at the swipe of a thumb, but now he’s starting to think that maybe he should wash his hair before he sees you, and you know, put on a suit, or something. In a casual way. Hair washed. Suit on hanger. It only takes four tries to settle on the perfect hoodie and baggy jeans, and with a spritz of his good cologne, he leaves the flat.

It’s colder out than he’d like, the March chill nipping at him as he sits on the church steps, worsened he’s sure by his lack of a jacket. He prays you had the foresight to wear a jacket. If you didn’t—well, there’s not much he can do if you didn’t. Why didn’t he bring one for you? Jake sighs, breath clouding in front of him like smoke. Logically, he knows he’d be better off waiting in his car or inside, but he’s glued to the spot. What if you get lost? What if you miss the massive, traditional cathedral with the steeple and the steps? Or his car in the parking lot? What if you somehow miss all of those things located at the address he sent you?

Bible study starts in ten minutes, but time stops when he sees you. Wearing a jacket, zipped all the way up to your chin. He exhales, relieved, a part of him unravelling. Before he realises, he’s jogging over, pulling you into a hug. He can’t resist breathing you in — all soft vanilla and coconut — glad to see you. Your arms loop around his neck, hands — ice cold — on his skin, making him shiver. You pull back, just a touch, and press your lips to his cheek in a soft kiss. Jake stiffens, his breath catching as the warmth of your lips lingers on his skin.

As you walk ahead towards the church, he can’t stop focusing on the spot where your lips brushed his skin, resisting the urge to reach up and touch it. You’ve been talking, he realises, and he hasn’t heard a word—a distant hum until he catches the question in your voice.

“What did you say?” he asks, eyes flicking up towards you as you turn to face him on the steps.

You’re a whole head taller like this, gaze trailing over every inch of his face. “Are you alright? You look a little sick.”

Jake forces a smile, nodding. “All good,” he says, trying to convince himself more than you.

He moves ahead, deliberately putting space between you, avoiding any chance for you to press further. His stomach flutters when you take his hand, the touch small, soft, but he smiles nonetheless as you give it a gentle squeeze. The foyer is empty when you arrive, but the murmur of voices from the Parish hall reaches his ears, grounding him.

Jake holds the door open, gesturing for you to go in first as he follows behind you, taking stock of the room. No Asahi (thank gosh), but Mark is here, beaming, talking to—is that Park Jihoon? Back from college? Today? (What the fuck???) Sunghoon, at least, is a grounding sight, a sigh of relief slipping out of Jake when he sees him—sitting with.. Kim Chaewon? Of ‘Park Sunghoon, you’re dead to me,’ fame. Incredible. Somehow, your being here is the least surprising part of this whole affair.

Sunghoon grins when he sees Jake, but he jumps from his seat seeing you, and jogs across the room to say hi. Much to Chaewon’s displeasure, he throws his arms around you, and Jake sees her eye twitch. With his hands on your shoulders, Sunghoon looks at you like it’s been years, genuine delight on his face. “I hope you feel blessed tonight, really.”

Jake eyes his friend, trying to suss him out, but he can’t discern the source of his elation, which makes him wary. If he knows his friend—Sunghoon’s happiness is coming at Jake’s expense.

“May God bless you, Jake.”

He can’t help rolling his eyes. “Thank you, Mr Chaewon.”

“It’s not what it looks like,” Sunghoon says wearily, shaking his head.

Jake’s brows touch his hairline, hardly believing his ears. He leans in, asking quietly. “You’re not sleeping with her?”

“Okay, yeah, it’s exactly what it looks like.” Sunghoon scratches the back of his neck, excusing himself before going back to his seat and leaning toward Chaewon, whispering something in her ear that makes her smile.

Quiet lingers in Sunghoon’s absence, just long enough for Mark to come over, elated, as he daps him up. “Hey, man! Good to see you,” he says, grinning. He means it. It really is good — for Mark — to see Jake. And to think, Jake had been praying for this guy’s demise just an hour ago. Guilty, embarrassed, he echoes Mark’s sentiment, smiling at this ray of sunshine man in front of him.

“I’m Mark,” he says, extending a hand for you to shake. He repeats your name when you say it, nodding, that warm smile on his sweet face. “Thank you for coming, I’m so glad you made it,” stupid, charming Mark continues, still holding onto your hand.

You lean up to Jake’s ear when Mark leaves, whispering. “I thought you said your church friends were a bunch of ugly, incel freaks.”

He snorts, eyes on his shoes. “They are.”

“Mark definitely isn’t.”

“He’s abstaining,” Jake blurts out, looking around to make sure no one’s close enough to overhear. “Which is fine,” he adds, trying to play it off. His gaze catches on Jihoon and his new college biceps, and in a panic, he stumbles over his words trying to deter you from him too. “And Jihoon.. well..” Jake’s voice falters. A pause. “He’s in love with Mark.”

“How convenient.” You roll your eyes, sitting down in the empty seat behind you. “Who’s Jihoon?”

Jake shakes his head, checking his phone as he sits. “Nobody.”

Hoon: You brought her to Bible study bro?

Jake: She wanted to come

Hoon: You picked a good night, I’m excited to get into tonight’s study!

Hoon: Godspeed, brother. Amen.

He sighs, shaking his head as he tucks his phone into his pocket. Beside him, you shift a little, your knee bumping his.

Mark clears his throat, pulling Jake’s attention back to the circle. “Is there anyone who wants to say a prayer to get us started?” he asks, looking around the room.

From the other side of the circle, Sunghoon’s hand shoots up, and Jake has to stop himself from sighing in relief. Some of the other more.. enthusiastic members of the church pray for a while, but Sunghoon has a certain way of getting to the point. Bowing his head, he clasps his hands neatly in his lap. “Dear, Lord. Thank you for bringing us here safely this evening,” he starts, voice steady and sincere. “Please bless the study we’re about to take part in and help us to understand. Thank you for touching Jake’s heart and allowing him to bring a friend, may she be filled by your word.” He pauses, clearing his throat.

At this, Jake steals a glance up, eyes flicking to Sunghoon, only to see him staring already, a wide grin on his face. What the Hell? Jake’s stomach twists as he looks away, focuses on his hands in his lap, the white-knuckled grip he has on his pant legs.

“In your name’s sake we pray, amen.”

A resounding amen follows, and when Jake looks at you, you’re shooting Sunghoon a thumbs up like he just delivered the prayer of the century—not a terrifying snippet of what the night might entail if he has anything to do with it. In his seat, Sunghoon crosses one leg over the other with a smirk, winking at Jake.

Who needs enemies with a best friend like this?

“Uh, thank you for that, Sunghoon,” Mark says, taking a seat. “Jake, can I ask you to open 1 Corinthians 6:18, and read it out for us?”

“Of course.”

Jake ignores Sunghoon’s eyes on him as he pulls out his phone, searching for the verse in his Bible app. 1 Corinthians. Perfect. He’s at ease, trying to remember its exact wording, something about how love is patient and kind. Sunghoon was right, with a study topic like this — light, inoffensive — tonight is a good night to have brought you along. Who knows? Maybe divine intervention will have you confessing your undying love for him before the night’s over.

He sits up straighter in his seat when he finds it, smiling. “Reading from the New International Version, 1 Corinthians 6.18: Flee from sexual immorality—” Wait. What? Jake stops short, his stomach dropping. He skims the rest of the verse and offers a silent prayer, suggesting to Jesus that now is a perfect time for His second coming—you know, if He’s planning on it. Amen. There’s a choked-off snicker from the other side of the circle. Sunghoon.

“Uh—sorry. Going on.” Jake clears his throat, ignoring the heat creeping up the back of his neck. “All other sins a person commits are outside the body, but whoever sins sexually, sins against their own body.”

Before he has a chance to lock his phone or launch himself out the window, Jihoon starts speaking. “I think it goes without saying that this is not a space for judgment. Everyone’s journey is their journey and no one here is without sin.”

“Exactly, Hoon,” Mark says, nodding. “So now that I’ve scared you all into abstinence, is there anyone who wants to talk about what they think that verse might mean?”

Silence. Everyone glances at each other, waiting for someone else to speak. No one does.

Mark exhales, slumping in his seat. “Really? Nothing? Great. Well—uh.” He rubs the back of his neck, his eyes flicking to the ceiling as if God might come down and help him out. Maybe even rapture him. That could be cool, and Jake could maybe be raptured next. “Look, I didn’t pick this topic to scare anyone. I mean, I don’t even pick the topics—there’s a whole timetable, and, well.. some of your parents are freaking out about you.” His mouth twists like he shouldn’t have said that. “Anyway—that’s not the point. What I mean is..”

He straightens up, trying again. “If you don’t want to wait, that’s your choice. I’m not here to judge anybody—it wouldn’t be fair. And honestly? I think there are ways to have sex that can honour your body, you know? Staying safe, using protection, getting tested. Being clear about consent, setting boundaries, being open with your partner.”

Mark’s words hang in the air, oddly light, completely unexpected—quieting the uncertainty in Jake’s head for the first time in weeks. Sex as an act of honour to the body. Not negative, nor neutral, but.. positive. That this idea could exist at all, never mind be voiced in church of all places, seems so absurd that he looks around the circle to see if anyone else is as surprised as him—but they aren’t.

“It’s about making choices that protect you — emotionally and physically — while respecting whoever you’re with.” Into the silence that follows, Mark clasps his hands together. “How about we wrap things up here, and go home early, huh?” More silence. “Great. Okay. Does anyone have any prayer requests? Anything they want to thank God for?”

It takes a while, but mentions of sudden illness and new jobs go in one of Jake’s ears and out the other as Mark prepares to say the closing prayer, and Jake hardly realises everyone’s standing up and moving their seats until you nudge him.

“You okay?”

Clearing his throat, Jake nods, stacking your chair on top of his and adding them to pile in the corner of the room. He introduces you as his friend to a seemingly unending carousel of the nosey people he grew up around. Of course, you already know Sunghoon, and Chaewon is extremely pleasant when she realises you’re not vying for his attention.

In his car, you tell Jake about the records you found—loads of folk stuff, first-press hip-hop LPs from the mid-’90s, obscure bootlegs people had brought in going for dirt cheap. You didn’t get anything, but it was a great trip. Heeseung got this insane home-pressing of songs by Laufey and the Black Eyed Peas for the girl he’s seeing. When Jake parks the car, you show him the picture you took of the jacket—a poorly Photoshopped monstrosity of the Monkey Business cover with Laufey’s face over all the members.

“We’ll have to go together when you have time.” You shake your head, laughing. “Oh, and thanks for letting me crash—it can’t have been easy having the Whore of Babylon sitting next to you, but I had fun tonight. It was funny.”

“Funny?” Jake repeats.

“Yeah.” You shrug. “I don’t know, it just seemed like Mark was trying to be nice about the whole.. premarital sex is damning thing.”

The thought doesn’t even make him cringe. No pit in his stomach. Steady heartbeat. Is he.. cured?

Jake hums. “He was, wasn’t he?” A mumble, spoken more to himself.

“Don’t you find that phrase sort of funny? Premarital sex—as opposed to the pure and moral matrimonial sex.” You laugh, head falling back against the headrest. “I’m not trying to be rude about it or anything, I just find it amusing.”

Shaking his head, Jake smiles. “No, I know.” A beat. “I think I do too.” He means it.

You reach for your seatbelt, pressing the button and taking it off. Jake does the same, hesitating before reaching for the door handle. “Are you free next weekend?” he asks, chewing on his lip.

“Yeah, how come?”

“I’m going fishing with my dad, and he was wondering if you’d want to join us.”

“Your dad was wondering, but..” You trail off, looking out over his shoulder, like you’re checking for pedestrians or anyone else who might behold your Jake-related vulnerability. “Do you want me there?”

“You know I do.”

Turning your body to face him, you lean against the door. “Mm.” A sage nod. “But I want you to tell me.”

“You mean a lot to me, so it would mean a lot if you came with us.” Jake takes your hand in his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “I really want you there.”

At this, your gaze falls to your linked hands, fingers intertwined in your lap. Holding his breath, he waits for your response, half-expecting you to brush him off, roll your eyes. Traffic flows outside, heavy, Jake thinks, for this time on a Wednesday evening. More quiet—too many clumsy beats passing to count.

Finally, your eyes find his, a smile on your lips, voice soft under the hum of cars passing in the street. “You mean a lot to me too.”

The lake house—his dad’s childhood home. Unchanged. Perfect. Dark wood floors that bear the scuffs of time—some from Jake’s own football boots as a child, others older, carved by lives before his. Faint scent of saltwater and old books with cracked spines. Frozen in time, but not untouched.

Three months have passed already since Christmas, the last time he and his parents were here. No gifts, no tree, just shit films and quality time. But the lake house always strikes him anew. The fleeting nature of this solid structure, this sanctuary where his father had been a boy. Eight-year-old handprints immortalised in the patio concrete, height marked on the living room doorway. The boy in the photos that Jake will never meet, though looks exactly like—his broad-nosed, full-lipped father.

Your voice is sudden over his shoulder. “Whoa.” Jake almost flinches despite its softness. He can’t believe you’re here.

“Yeah,” he utters, finally looking at you.

Jake has never dared to imagine you here, worried it wouldn’t ever live up to the real thing. And he was right. His heart stutters like a skipped stone. In your winter coat, chin hiding under your fluffy scarf, hair frizzed on the left side from where you’d slept against it in the car. The spread of the trees, vastness of the lake peeking through them, all framed by the open door behind you like something from a postcard.

Jake carries your bags upstairs, and you follow, getting a tour. The master bedroom is the last stop—queen-sized bed, en-suite bathroom, a space meant for two. You’ll be sharing it for the night—news that would mortify his mother if she found out. A thought that, only in theory, delights Jake.

In the kitchen, you prep ingredients for dinner while discussing Gatsby—his dad’s favourite. Materialism. Affluence. The American Dream. The excitement is mutual. You, eager to pick his brain. His dad, grateful for an audience more responsive than his students. Jake listens in silence, peeling carrots—heart warmed by the ease with which you converse. Comfortable, unmarred by years apart.

“Gatsby could’ve had anything he wanted in the world—but he never got to have Daisy,” his dad says, checking the fridge.

You hum in response, a soft sound of disagreement. “He had Daisy in some ways, I suppose,” you offer, sounding hopeful, seeking approval, Jake thinks.

“I think that might be more tragic than if he’d never had her at all.”

In the corner of his eye, Jake sees you tilting your head, brows furrowed. His dad laughs, not mean-spirited, no, an endeared sound he remembers from childhood—too scared to get back on his bike after his first fall; first wobbly tooth wrenched from his mouth by his own hand.

“A taste doesn’t make a meal, sweetheart—it just leaves you hungry,” he says after a moment.

In the same split second that Jake looks up at you, your eyes flick over to his. He can’t be hungry forever, surely not, that would just be cruel. His stomach curls in on itself at the thought. For a single, fully indulgent second, he lets himself believe that you might be hungry for him too.

“Jesus, kid,” his dad says suddenly, gripping Jake’s wrist and dragging him towards the sink. “You’re bleeding.”

Surprised, Jake blinks down at his hand, vivid red spilling from his index finger down the drain—carrot still half-peeled and bloodied.

“Fuck, Jaeyun,” his dad goes on. “That could’ve been really nasty. Are you alright?”

Jake only nods, distantly hearing his dad tell you where to find the first aid kit. Your footsteps disappear upstairs. Quickly, the stinging behind his eyelids turns into a pathetic flow of tears, his shoulders wracking as his dad wraps an arm around him. A kiss to the top of his head. “You’re alright, kid. Everything’s going to be alright.”

He doesn’t want to be hungry anymore.

All thanks to Jake’s little episode, the two of you are banished from the kitchen, and decide to take a walk. His feet lead you toward the dock, and you light up—jogging ahead, eager to reach the water. Standing at the edge, swaying, wind whipping your hair around your head. Leaning forward, you point out a green shed in the distance. A smile in your voice. “East Egg,” you say happily.

Jake remembers enough from the film to at least understand this reference, smiling too. “Alright, Mr Gatsby.” He wraps a protective arm around your waist, pulling you back. “That’s enough, baby, you’ll fall in.”

You laugh, turning in his hold. He’s hooked on your lips, their shape, how they part to form your words. “I do say, Old Sport.” You start. “You’re looking rather flushed.”

Air flees from his lungs, stolen. You — his Daisy — wrapped up in his arms, palms flat on his chest. Everything he wants, but can’t have. Tragic maybe. But wasn’t Gatsby brave, at least, to want in spite of what was feasible? Isn’t Jake? He shakes his head slightly, clearing the thought—you are not Daisy, nor is he Gatsby. There need not be tragedy here.

For a second too long, your gaze lingers on his lips—you’re waiting for a kiss that you won’t initiate. Everything about this moment feels primed for it. Alone on the water, the steady crash of lake against rock, virtually no space between you. But he’s stuck. Unmoving. The wind stings his ears. You shiver, teeth chattering before you press your lips together. Jake can feel the window shutting, but still, he does nothing.

Clearing your throat, you blink up at him. “Let’s head back, Jakey. We’ll freeze to death out here.”

Jake opens his mouth. Falters. Then, softer than he means to, he asks, “Will you kiss me?” The words startle him, borrowed from you and that night—almost two months ago now.

You nod, smiling. No hesitation, no second-guessing. Just the curl of your fingers around his jacket, the tipping of your chin. The steady, certain, press of your lips on his. Relief crashes into him, unfurling the tension in his chest. Warmth, soft and overwhelming all at once, sinking into his skin.

By the time you get back from the dock, dinner is almost ready—late lunch, really. Budae jjigae curling through the air, filling the house completely. The three of you eat together at the table, conversation weaving in and out between bites. Jake eats like it’s his first meal in ages, tearing into the steaming jjigae like it might disappear.

Full to the point of fatigue, he washes the dishes and sinks into the couch, head resting against the cushions, limbs loose and heavy with contentment. He twists the cuff of your sleeve between his fingers when you cuddle into his side, nursing a glass of water. In the armchair, as always, is his dad, book open in his lap, though he’s hardly reading. You keep pulling him into conversation, peppering him with questions about lecturing you must have been holding onto for years.

Eventually, the wind settles, and armed with fishing rods, and bait his dad picked up on the drive over, the three of you make your way back to the dock. Empty-handed, you run off ahead, giddy laughter, and a called out, come on, over your shoulder.

“She hasn’t changed a bit,” his dad says fondly, gaze lingering on Jake. “You haven’t either.”

He gives him a curious look. “Is that a good thing?”

A shrug, warmth in his dad’s eyes. “I think so.”

On the dock, Jake kneels by the tackle box, patient as ever as he shows you how to hook the bait, and hold the rod steady. His voice is quiet, calm, guiding your hands with his own until you get the hang of it. Following his instructions, you take it quickly, your cast smooth—a smile in his dad’s voice when he tells Jake you’re a natural. Pride swells in his chest as if the compliment was for him. Your line tugs almost immediately, breath catching in your throat as Jake scrambles over to you, an incredulous laugh from over his shoulder.

“You’ve got one!” he calls out, more excited than you are. “Reel it in, you have to reel it in!”

You fumble a little bit, but get it when you calm down. A flash of silver breaks the surface, water scattering in drops. Jake grins from ear to ear, like you’ve made the biggest catch of the season. Or at least caught something slightly more inspiring than a fifteen centimetre ssogari.

His dad chuckles, clapping you on the back. “Wow, sweetheart. Great job!” he says, nodding affectionately.

With some help, you hold up your catch, shaking with excitement — fear, maybe — while Jake snaps a photo, capturing the moment and sharing it with Sunghoon.

Jake: Baby’s first catch 😭😭😭😭😭

Hoon: So cute, no way !!! Where’s yours?

Hoon: Bring me next time I miss your hot dad :(

Jake furrows his brows, locks his phone without replying, and turns back to you.

“Are we going to cook it?” you ask, curiosity piqued.

“Uh, no.” He shakes his head, laughing softly. “We just look at them for a bit and then put them back.”

It’s a busy day in the water apparently, for you and Jake’s dad at least. Jake, for all his enthusiasm, catches nothing—the fish did not choose him this weekend. Eventually, as the sun starts to dip, you all pack up, leaving the water behind in exchange for something warmer.

In the garden, the night settles over you, thick with cold as the fire pit does what it can to fight off the chill. Flames flicker, snapping into the quiet, soundtracking your laughter and stories, the smell of smoke curling around you. In the seat beside Jake, your arms are wrapped around his, your head resting on his shoulder. His dad across the fire, its glow catching in the lines of his face, softening them and showing off his fond smile.

Eventually, Jake’s dad rises, brushing off his hands with a yawn. He leans down, pressing a kiss to the top of Jake’s head, and one to yours. A quiet goodnight, familiar, unhurried. In the doorway, he pauses, pointing a finger at his son. “Make sure the fire’s all the way out before you go to bed, okay?”

Nodding, Jake wishes him a goodnight again. Through the glass door, his dad moves through the kitchen, checking the sockets before flicking the light off, and disappearing down the hall. Resting his head on top of yours, he exhales. “You want another drink?”

“No, thank you.” You lift your half-full can, cider sloshing noisily. “I’m good, baby.”

Jake gets up, stretching his arms and legs before heading into the house, enveloped by the quiet of the kitchen. Pulling open the fridge, harsh light spills across the tiles as he reaches for a beer. Cold beads of condensation slip against his fingers, a relief as he lifts it, presses it to his cheeks to quell the heat blooming there. Baby. He giggles. Will he ever get used to that?

Opening his can, he sits back down and kisses your temple. A sip of beer warms his insides, he looks at you and smiles. “Did you have fun today?”

You nod eagerly, then seem to think better of it. Tilting your head. Pursing your lips. “I’m a little disappointed though.”

“Oh, yeah?” He arches his brow, leaning back in his seat. “How so?”

Your lips twitch. “It’s stupid but I guess I had it in my head that you were like—I don’t know, actually good at fishing, or something. But wow, Jakey.. You suck.”

“Ever heard of beginner’s luck?” he says, rolling his eyes, too endeared by you and the grin on your lips to bite back. “You’re lucky I like you too much to take that personally.”

A suggestive lift of your brow, a smug smile. “Oh, so you like me, huh?”

Briefly, Jake entertains the thought of telling you — finally fucking telling you — that he like-likes you. It seems simple enough, only three words. Four technically if he says ‘like-like’ out loud the way a child might. He watches you, searching—do you already know? And if you don’t, and he tells you, will anything change?

Firelight flickers over your face. Jake shrugs. “Yeah, quite a lot, actually.”

Chuckling, you bring your cider to your lips and take a long, slow sip. Over the edge of the illustrated can, you eye him. Gaze steady. Unnerving. Like you’re in on something he’s not.

You shrug.

Reaching out, his fingers curl around your wrist, gently lowering the can. His lips find yours, soft, insistent. Pineapple and raspberry, artificial and sweet, from your tongue onto his. He hums against your mouth, a quiet, come here, before pulling you in, guiding you into his lap. You straddle him easily, arms draped over his shoulders. The kiss deepens, slow at first, then desperate as heat pools in his stomach.

Hands mapping skin through your layers, fingertips pressing, still curious, eager after so long. Your chests rise and fall in sync when you pull away, trembling breath clouding together in the cool air. Blinking down at him, an expression he can’t read takes over your face. “You really like me?” you whisper. Your question clarifies the look on your face—expectant, waiting for an answer he’s scared to give.

As he sees it, there are only two ways for this to go—worst case: you laugh, cackle, call him insane for thinking he has a chance with you; best case: his confession doesn’t repulse you. Clearing his throat, he tries to calm the storm in his chest. “I do,” he says after too long, startling himself with his volume.

You don’t take off running for the hills, which he can only assume is a good thing. Instead, you smile. Cradling his face in your hands and kissing him. Then, movement. Slow shift of your hips back and forth against his—maddening. Press of chest to chest, hushed moans shared between you. A kind of tender desire that turns the cold night sweltering.

After too long, dazed and sleepy — fire extinguished — the two of you giggle, hand in hand, all the way upstairs. Brushing your teeth together in the en-suite, letting peppermint kisses turn warm and lazy as you pull Jake into the shower with you.

He pinkens in the heat, warm water slipping over your bodies in rivulets. Skin sliding over skin, pressed together. Steam curls, fogging the glass. Hands on your cheeks, holding your face to his—lips locked. Slow, lazy, taking his time. Trying his best to make the morning last forever like this. Kissing. Smiling. Your fingers card through his hair, tugging the wet strands, pulling groans from his mouth into yours.

Breathless, he pulls away, tucking his head against your neck. His arms fall around your waist, keeping you close. Noses along the sensitive skin there, inhaling your shower gel—syrupy sweet, so painfully you. He presses his lips together to keep from saying something stupid. Your touch is delicate, tender, on the back of his head, fingers curling around the overgrown locks at the nape of his neck.

It’s unfair to be going home so soon, the shortest trip of his life. Behind closed eyes, Jake can’t help picturing weeks here in the summer with you. Long days spent swimming in the lake. Short nights spent cuddling despite the heat. Sunscreen on hot skin. Aloe vera on burns. Tan lines and salt air. Summer. He’d be your boyfriend by then, right?

“I don’t want to go home,” you whisper.

He kisses your damp skin. “Just say the word and I’ll bring you back, baby.” His voice is low, muffled into the base of your neck. “In the summer, maybe? We can stay for ages if you want.”

Saying it out loud, this partial voicing of his thoughts for you to hear, summer feels much bigger than just a word, a season. Much bigger than anything he can imagine. An almost confession. A promise to you. To himself. He clears his throat, feeling exposed.

Your eyes are wide when he looks at you again, cupping his face in your palm, thumb stroking his cheek. You lean up, pressing your swollen lips to his. “Summer,” you repeat, smiling.

Jake doesn’t sleep, he’s not sure if he could if he tried. He’s laying there, flat on his back, your head warm and sleepy on his chest. His fingers move absently through your hair, slow and repetitive, more for him than for you. Your breathing is steady, relaxing him. A thought comes to mind—the sunrise. He shifts carefully, not wanting to wake you yet as he reaches for his phone. 05:47. Smoothing his palm over your shoulder, he whispers your name. You only hum in response, stirring.

“Come on,” he mumbles, pressing a kiss to your hair. “I want to show you something.”

“The sun isn’t even up yet,” you grumble into his skin, eyes still shut.

“That’s the point.” His voice is gentle but insistent. Leaning in, he presses his lips to your temple. “It’ll be worth it, baby.”

You groan, rolling away from him, face in the pillow. “Fine.” And as if in protest of the early morning, you don’t say much else. You do let him help you into your jacket though, smiling as he zips it up and kisses your forehead.

Hand in hand, the two of you trudge slowly along the trail, footsteps soft in the grass. Saltwater and pine fill the air, seeming stronger in the waning dark. Finally, through the trees, the lake unfolds, a glassy mirror of the brightening sky above, day’s first light stretched thin over the horizon.

When you reach the rocks, you whisper, “Whoa.” Taking a seat next to Jake, pulling your knees to your chest and leaning into him when he wraps his arm around your shoulders.

The sky splits open above your heads, dawn unfurling in soft brushstrokes of pink and orange. A dreamlike shimmer in the water—silken ripples of gold rolling towards the shore, crashing against the dock. The hues grow deeper and more vibrant, shifting quickly before his eyes. For years, this sunrise has been his favourite view. But now, with you sitting in it, soft and golden, hair ruffled from sleep and the wind? Fuck—he couldn’t think of anything better if he tried.

Whispering, he asks, “Worth it?”

You turn to him, eyes soft, smiling. “Very.” You let a long beat of silence pass before asking. “How many hookups have you brought here, Jakey?” Your voice is soft, a little more than curious.

Breathless, Jake laughs, suddenly nervous as if there’s a right and a wrong answer. “Hookups aren’t really my thing,” he admits, shaking his head. “So, zero.”

Your brow lifts, sceptical, but you don’t press. Not immediately, anyway. You even let Jake turn back to the water, following his gaze when he nods towards the horizon, and mumbles, look. You let the colour bloom for so long he thinks you’ve dropped it.

You haven’t. “Are you lying to me?” you ask quietly.

“You of all people should know I wouldn’t even kiss someone, never mind hookup with them, if I wasn’t losing my mind over them.” The words slip out before he can stop them, before he can think better of it. If you’re overthinking what he said, you don’t show it.

He doesn’t have anything more to say, so he doesn’t say anything at all. But in his peripheral, you’re still watching him. There’s something in your eyes he can’t decipher. At least not correctly. It reads love. It reads you want him how he wants you, and it’s disarming.

A while passes before Jake is ready to speak, his voice coming out softer than he means for it to. “What’s up?”

“It’s—” You cut yourself off, looking around. Amused, hesitant somehow, as you laugh—soft, and content, and nervous, he thinks. “Your dad thinks we’re together, you know,” you tell him eventually.

Jake puts a lot of effort into keeping his eyes from rolling, knowing exactly what his dad is up to. The prospect of his dad acting as a wingman is both relieving and mortifying. He arches his brow. “Together how?”

You sniff, eyes on his. “He thinks you’re my boyfriend, and I didn’t correct him.”

For a second, he forgets how to breathe, heart hammering against his ribs. Brain scrambling to catch up with you and what you just said about not correcting him. A thousand questions threaten to spill out at once, but none of them make it past his lips. Why not? Do you want that? Do you want me? It would be easier, he’s sure, to say nothing and kiss you instead. But your eyes are still on his, steady, not giving anything away, and he has to ask, voice low, cautious. “Are you going to correct him?”

“Do I need to?” You sound so calm, so relaxed about it all that Jake’s skin heats under your gaze.

He shakes his head. “I don’t think so.”

“Then no,” you say, smiling—small but certain, like you’ve made up your mind. Like you made up your mind long before this conversation. Your hand finds his cheek, thumb tracing his jaw. “I’m not going to correct him.”

And before he can reply, your lips are on his. Soft. Gentle. Everything he wants for the rest of his life.

By the time you make it back — boyfriend and girlfriend, hand in hand — Jake’s dad is sitting on the couch, curled around a cup of coffee and his book. He’s smiling, eyes gleaming as he makes a joke, something about the love bird catching the worm, and Jake is too happy to do anything but grin from ear to ear as you hide your face in his chest.

Upstairs, you share the shower, eager hands tracing dips and curves innocently until you leave with pruned fingers. Skincare, then moisturiser, then clothes. Stolen kisses whenever he has the chance. Jake’s dad is flipping pancakes at the stove when you get to the kitchen, forbidden bacon crackling beside him. Despite his best efforts, morning slips into afternoon with no regard for what he wants. Breakfast is eaten. Bags are packed. Your lips have been sufficiently kissed. It’s time to leave already.

The drive is fine, uneventful mostly, until his dad pulls into a rest stop. “Alright, everybody out. Stretch your legs, use the toilet if you need,” he says, cutting the engine.

You rush out of the car, yelling, one minute, over your shoulder as you run towards the building. Standing by the passenger door, Jake stretches his arms above his head, exhaling long and slow. Over the car’s roof, his dad clears his throat. “I’m sorry I haven’t done more for you—about your mum.” He hesitates, then says, quieter, “I love you, son. We both love you so much. I’m on your side, okay? You’re my only son, Jaeyun.”

Jake’s arms drop. He feels silly for having them up at all. Overwhelmed, he nods once, sniffing. “I love you, Dad.”

Smiling, his dad gets back into the car and Jake follows. Hardly a moment passes before he sees you through the windscreen, running back, so beautiful and all his—finally, actually his. Your eyes are sparkling when you open the door.

“They had these awesome keychains at the gift shop—look, Mr. Sim, it’s an angler!” You thrust the plush fish toward him, grinning like you caught it with your bare hands.

A chuckle, hand squishing it. Jake’s dad ruffles your hair, a gesture so familiar, so lived in, that Jake can’t shake the feeling that he’s dreaming. The fondness in his dad’s smile is overwhelming. “That’s great, sweetheart. I love it,” he says, voice thick with pride—again, like you caught the fish with your bare hands.

“It’s yours.”

“Oh, I can’t accept this.”

“Mr. Sim, it’s a keychain that cost me a pound, not real estate.” You hesitate, then add, quieter, “I actually got one for all of us. My father never took me on any kind of trip, so..”

At the mention of your father, Jake’s jaw tightens. His fist clenches in his lap, memories pressing in—too many nights spent comforting you over the phone, or sneaking out to do it in person. A quiet beat passes, stretched taut and straining at the edges, your words lingering, heavier than you probably meant them to be. Closing his fingers around the keychain, his dad clears his throat before he speaks, firm and sincere. “The three of us can go wherever you want, alright?”

You don’t say anything, but your nod is enough. And with a small smile at Jake, you hand him a matching angler, fingers brushing his. He can’t resist bringing your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles.

From the driver’s seat, a quiet exhale. “Now’s as good a time as any I suppose.” Jake’s dad reaches into his jacket pocket, pulling out two keys. “Got these cut this morning. It’s ours, kid. Use it whenever you like.”

Jake feels the cool metal against his skin. Turning it over in his hand as his dad presses the second key into your palm. He can’t look away from it, silver catching the light. No big speech, no song and dance—just his dad extending a promise, sharing this part of him with Jake, and with you. The weight of his uncertainty melts away. Swallowing past the lump in his throat, he glances at you, lips twitching up. Safe and familiar, solid and long lasting—the lake house. Yours. His. Ours. A future that doesn’t feel quite so far, or so unattainable anymore.

EPILOGUE

The lake house. Summer, finally. You’re sitting on the countertop while Jake makes breakfast—a view that has quickly become your favourite.

He reaches up into the cabinet, newly formed muscle shifting under tan skin. Shoulders solid and broad, the visual representation of all the strength he’s been using on you—picking you up and tossing you around like it’s nothing. His hair is still messy from bed, longer than ever and curling around his ears. Plaid pyjama pants sitting low, showing off the love bites staining his hips in pretty blooms of red and purple.

Sighing, he runs a hand through his hair. “I know how to scramble an egg,” he says, so long after your comment, you’d forgotten you said anything at all. His voice is low, thick with sleep even though you’ve been up for a while now—he’s definitely playing it up, but you like it too much to complain.

“I know you do, Jakey. I just—”

He interrupts you with a kiss, faint peppermint clinging to his lips as he mumbles, “I want to cook for you. Will you let me do that, darling? Please?”

Darling. Your heart does a flip, abrupt and ungraceful. “Fine,” you concede, twirling his hair with your fingers. “But I’m making dinner.”

Jake groans, resting his forehead on your shoulder. “Right, because I’m an idiot sandwich, and you’re Little Miss Gordon Ramsay.”

“Mm.” You smile. “Exactly.”

Nodding, he tips his chin up towards yours until your lips brush. “Yes, Chef,” he says, and it makes you laugh too much to keep on kissing him. But he tries anyway, teeth bumping as you share giggles. Eventually, he gives up, pressing his forehead to yours, hand on your waist. “Going to miss having this place to ourselves.”

You can’t even remember the last time you spent so long away from Jimin, and as much as you’re looking forward to seeing her — and Sunghoon — again, you’d be lying if you said you won’t miss being alone too, and the freedom of walking around the house in varying degrees of undress. A soft smile pulls at your lips. “It’s only one weekend, baby—Hoon has his placement to get back to,” you say, a voice of reason even though you feel the same.

Two weeks. Two whole perfect weeks with Jake—entire days spent out by the lake. Swimming or reading Emily Henry while he tries to fish. Big hands smoothing sunscreen over your back, plump lips pressing kisses to your tan lines. The press of solid muscle on soft flesh, sweat-slicked skin on sweat-slicked skin.

Jake’s lips curl into a grin, wide, boyish. So handsome—unbelievably so. “A lot can happen in one weekend.”

Unfortunately, he raises a good point, but you won’t admit that for him to hear. A lot can happen in one weekend—it did. But it wasn’t the time frame, it was the lake. You’ve deduced it has magical properties. An ability to make days slip into each other, to draw large feelings out before you can properly think them through. Yesterday, while Jake tied your bikini back up — deft fingers slick with the sunscreen he’d just rubbed on your back — you told him that you want this, with him, for the rest of your life. The words tumbled out of you, tugged from your brain by the lake. And so, like any mature twenty-year-old girl would, you promptly rolled off of the dock and into the water, refusing to emerge until it hurt to hold your breath. Jake only smiled when you came back up seconds later, pushed your hair from your face and kissed you. Told you that he wanted it too.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks, big brown eyes staring deep into yours.

“My boyfriend.” It’s a word that still makes your stomach flutter, that hasn’t lost its novelty even after three months.

“Your boyfriend,” Jake repeats, nodding along. “Mm, handsome guy, I’ve heard. He’s super lucky.”

Heat floods your cheeks, and you can’t help but look away, biting back a smile. “Easily distracted too,” you point out. “He’s burning my breakfast.”

With wide eyes, he glances over his shoulder, a horrified look on his face. “Fuck,” he mutters, turning back to you. He doesn’t move though, only leaning in to kiss you again. His soft lips on yours, unhurried, like he’s got all the time in the world.

Admittedly, you’d let him kiss you like this forever if it weren’t for the smell of burnt egg — and burgeoning fire hazard — drifting between you. You pull away, shoving his shoulder with a laugh. “Go, Jake.”

“They’re already burnt.” He shrugs, unconcerned, as a lopsided grin spreads over his lips. “I’ll eat them.” With that, he returns to the stove, turning off the burner and flipping the charred eggs onto a plate.

Outside, you sit at the wooden table Jake built when you first arrived. You’d made an offhand comment, said it might be nice to have breakfast out on the deck, and he went off in search of scrap wood. He was successful, putting together a neat little table for the two of you to eat at—your initials and his etched into the grain, housed in a wonky love heart that gives you butterflies every time you see it. The sun warms your shoulders through one of his t-shirts, your legs crossed in your seat, and his palm heavy on your knee. You can’t look away from him. You don’t want to. There’s something about Jake, this way. The patch of raw skin on the bridge of his nose, scattered freckles dusting the centre of his face, faint band of pale skin where his sunglasses have been living recently. Jake. Your Jake. Leaning in, you press a kiss to his soft lips—your local heaven.

extra note: happy zreamy blog birth omgggg my first fic nothing to lose came out two years ago today (apr 3 2023) and i can finally say i've written at least one fic for each member 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ thank u sm to everyone for being so lovely, it means a lot !!! all my love, zo xoxo

permanent tag list: @asahicore @ikeublr @loverseon @dreamy-carat @littlefluu @cherrymxxnie @mrloverboy3000 @blooqz @immortalonie @enhastolemyheart @fancypeacepersona @heatrache @kxwinasblog @kimjkejyy @anofi

#jake smut #enhypen smut #enha smut #enhypen scenarios #jake scenarios #jake sim smut #jake sim x reader #enhypen imagines #enhypen oneshots #jake oneshots #jake imagines #enhypen hard hours #enhypen jake smut #enhypen jake scenarios #enhypen jake oneshots #enhypen jake imagines #fic.jake

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moonheecore · 5 months ago

Text

Oops, Juno? — sjy (m)

Pairing: Boyfriend! Jake X Afab! Reader

Genre: Smut🔞 (Minors DNI), fluff, slight angst, college AU, established relationship

Warnings: Soft Dom! Jake, protected & unprotected sex, baby daddy Jake, condom tempering (not by Jake), toxic mother trope, abortion mentioned, frat parties, multiple orgasm, oral (f. receiving), dirty talking, breeding kink, pregnancy sex, slight lactation kink, cream pie, squirting, body worship, body changes during pregnancy mentioned, slight degradation but mostly praising, hopefully I didn’t miss out anything else.

Summary: Getting accidentally pregnant was the last thing you ever imagined. You were still in school, with so many plans for the future ahead of you. Yet, you felt certain that keeping the baby was the decision you wanted to make. What would your aloof mother think? and, perhaps most importantly, you wonder if Jake would feel the same way?

a/n: obviously, this fic was inspired by Sabrina’s song but my friend recently showed me this cute movie called Look Both Ways, which I took heavy inspiration from as well. So enjoy baby daddy Jake! Please reblog and leave comments— not just likes!

Main masterlist

Word count: 16k

The bass of the music from downstairs were only a faint echo in your mind, the party a mere distraction compare to what you and your boyfriend were about to do in the frat house's microscopic bathroom.

Everything in your spatial consciousness was spinning in the best way possible. You were in that sweet spot of being drunk from the shots of tequila, yet sober enough to feel the highs of Jake’s lips pressing messily against yours.

He had your back arched against the sink, his body pressed so close to yours that you couldn’t help but melt under his overpowering presence. You moaned loudly into his mouth as his sinful tongue slipped past your parted lips, the deep kiss becoming desperate and full of lust.

The warmth of his mouth and the taste of him, mixed with the bitter spirits, sent your heart racing. His large hands soon glided along the underside of your thighs, slipping beneath the fabric of your skirt to grope the soft flesh of your ass. You tug at the soft strands of his hair tangled between your fingers, leaving his freshly permed curls disheveled.

"Fuck, miss you so much." He moaned, plump lips not even taking a second's break from sucking on your saliva coated lips. "How the hell did I survive without having my dick in you for so long.”

You giggled at his cuteness, pulling back slightly to give him a peck on the nose. “It’s only been one week, Jake, not forever.”

“Feels like forever,” He whined, burying his face in the crook of your neck to inhale your sweet scent. You let out a soft sigh as he started kissing your skin, leaving a trail of sloppy nibbles and licks that were sure to turn into prominent hickeys by the next day.

"But you know what I look forward to?" he sighed, mouthing at your delicate pulse as you crumbled with every lingering suck he left on your skin. You let out a soft hum, signaling you were listening, but were caught off guard when he suddenly hooked his arms under your knees and lifted you to sit on the slightly damp sink.

The new position allowed your legs to wrap around his waist, your hands threading around his neck as your fingers tangled in the soft hair at his nape. He was perfectly slotted between your thighs, giving him the freedom to shamelessly roll his hips into your core. Your eyes fluttered closed, and soft, whiny moans escaped you as you felt his hard on rubbing against your dripping center.

Jake looked at you, eyes hooded with lust, pupils blown out wide, and that signature smirk playing on his lips.

“Feeling just how tight your little pussy will be around my cock.”

Just the sound of his sultry accent was enough to make you moan with desire, your lips crashing back into his in a clumsy, heated embrace. The two of you exchanged thick globs of saliva, noses brushing as you breathed each other’s air like it was oxygen. Your skirt rode up as he flipped it to reach the hem of your lace panties, tugging at the fabric haphazardly until they slid down to your knees, exposing your dripping core. Meanwhile, you hurriedly worked to unbuckle his belt, letting his pants and briefs fall to his ankles.

“Jake,” You gasped, pulling away to catch your breath, your lips bruised and swollen. “Just fuck me right now— I can’t wait any longer.”

“No prep?" Jake rested his forehead against yours, a slight hint of worry flickering in his eyes. "Are you sure?" As much as he wanted to feel your walls engulf him with as little space as possible, the thought of hurting you gnawed at him, despite how horny and drunk he was.

“Jakey, please, need you to fuck me hard until I’m loose.”

You gave him that needy look— the one with that wild, almost unhinged glint in your eyes that he knew all too well. It was the same look that reminded him why he wanted to fuck you forever, burying himself inside you and staying there until the world fell apart. The heat of your words drew a deep, guttural growl from him, a sound filled with raw need, frustration, and the kind of bliss only you could give him.

"Condom, inside my chest pocket, now."

You didn’t hesitate as you reached for a condom from his jacket. Jake’s husky voice casting a spell that sent heat straight to your core, thickening the air with anticipation and arousal. The sharp sound of the plastic tearing open sent a thrill through your body, amplifying the intensity of the moment. Jake was just as eager, stroking his hard, leaking cock in preparation as you carefully rolled the condom down his length.

"Fuck, you're dripping, baby" Jake gripped your hips firmly, his other hand guiding the base of his cock as he teasingly circled the tip against your gaping hole. A gush of arousal soaked your folds, running down your inner thighs, and Jake had to bite his lip at how beautifully drenched you looked. "So fucking wet for me."

You let out a sharp gasp as he pressed his swollen head past your entrance, followed by a loud moan when he buried his entire cock inside you in one swift motion, not giving you a moment to adjust to the intrusion. Your hands clawed at his shoulders, and your legs wrapped tightly around his waist to steady yourself. Your walls burned from the tight stretch, stinging with the fullness of his girth. Yet, you couldn’t help but buck your hips, the mix of pain and pleasure surging through your veins.

Jake began to pace himself once he bottomed out fully inside you, his hands gripping your thighs and spreading them wider to give himself more room to thrust in and out with ease.

“Pussy’s so fucking tight,” he groaned, wincing at the vice-like grip your gummy walls had on him. Jake was losing his mind at how your dripping cunt fought to keep him inside, gripping him so hard he could barely move. Yet, the friction created as he forced himself out and slammed back in felt deliciously sublime, prompting him to increase the speed of his hips as he chased every bit of pleasure like a madman.

“Gonna make you remember the shape of my cock, right, baby?” he asked, letting out a soft measured laugh at your fucked-out expression.

The space between your eyebrows scrunched up each time his fat tip hit the deepest parts of your insides, and the back of your head repeatedly thudded against the mirror with the force of his thrusts. You couldn’t help but let out a strangled sound as his cock filled you completely with overwhelming pleasure. The drag of his delicious veins against your tender walls made your tongue slip out, caught in a haze of ecstasy that intensified the throbbing pressure in your stomach.

“Shit, you’re so cute when you can’t think straight, doll,” He cooed, sinking precisely into your sensitive cervix for what felt like the millionth time that night, just to hear how wet you were. The loud squelching of your juices echoed through the bathroom, and you were certain Jake was reveling in the wet, messy heat of it all.

"So fucking sexy like this." His fingernails dug into the plush of your thighs, holding you still as he pounded into you. Jake pressed a kiss by your ear, groaning, his voice a husky whisper as his thumb sneaked between your bodies to rub your aching clit. "Makes me wanna ruin you 'til you can't close your legs like a slut."

His reckless touch on your swollen pearl sent jolts of pleasure through you, your body trembling as the impending release built up inside you. Your stomach tightened, a surge of ecstasy rising so intensely it felt like you were on the verge of exploding, his cock reaching so deep that you can feel him in your lungs—

"J-Jake!" His name spilled from your lips, trembling and edged with agony from the overwhelming pleasure. "I'm so close, fuck, I—I’m gonna cum."

"I know, baby," Jake gritted out, teeth clenched as your walls squeezed and throbbed around him erratically. He knew you were close, especially with the way your hands tugged at his damp hair and your head shook vigorously as he continued to tease your clit with expert precision.

"Come for me, that’s it, beautiful—"

You felt the familiar blinding lights taking over your vision as you came undone on his cock within seconds. Jake didn’t stop bucking his hips while your body slumped heavily against the sink before finally stilling with one last hard thrust. His eyebrows furrowed, and his lips uttered curses aloud as it became increasingly wet, sloppy, and messy between your legs. There was so little room between your bodies that his balls were practically suction-cupping themselves to your ass, filling the condom with his creamy release.

Jake rested his forehead against yours, both of you panting heavily into the small space between you. Your mouths hovered just an inch apart, breathing hard from the intensity, while the air around you thickened, heavy with the humid scent of sex and sweat.

As the fog in your mind started to clear and your heartbeat slowed enough for you to catch your breath, Jake pulled his cock out of you, rolling off the used condom and tying it before tossing it aside. But your gaze lingered on him— his chest heaving, his eyes dark with lingering arousal, and his wet cock still hard against his abdomen.

"Fucking hell," Jake cursed, desperation thick in his voice as he cupped your jaw, his eyes pleading for your attention. His other hand brushed back the damp strands of hair clinging to your skin. "I need to fuck you again, baby, please. I'm so fucking horny for you." There was pain hinted at the edge of his tongue, his pleading gaze ignited something primal within you. You were both exhausted, yet the sheer need in his eyes made it impossible to resist.

Ignoring the tremor in your legs, you let Jake manhandle you, spinning you around and bending you over the sink. You caught a glimpse of your reflection, your hair and makeup in disarray, while Jake hastily put on another condom. It was the first time he had ever asked for a second round, and the sheer need in your body triggered a craving to feel his cock stretching you again, yearning to experience every inch of him filling you up once more.

He bunched your skirt up, rocking his head against your entrance before pushing his entire cock inside you with little resistance. You relaxed your walls to welcome him wholeheartedly, and both of you let out satisfying moans in unison. Jake didn’t miss a beat, immediately thrusting at an ungodly pace, his hands gripping your hips tightly enough for you to feel the sting of his hold. You felt a slight pinch of pain from his roughness, yet it only added to the pleasure that began to build, to the point where you started to lose track of where you began and he ended.

“Such a good girl for me.” Jake swore he was fucking in love with the way you pushed your hips back to meet his thrusts, watching your jiggling ass bounce with every collision of flesh against his abdomen. “Could fuck this pretty pussy every second, and I still wouldn’t get enough of it.”

You choked back your tears and saliva as Jake tangled his fingers in your hair, roughly pulling you back and forcing your spine to arch. The new angle allowed him to strike your cervix relentlessly, making you scream in pleasure, loud enough that the entire party probably knew you were having sex at this point. You glanced at his reflection, his head thrown back as he moaned and hissed every time you squeezed your walls around his sensitive length deliciously.

The pressure in your stomach teetered on the edge, your clit throbbing madly as Jake split you open relentlessly, leaving you feeling like a ragdoll, surrendering to his every desire. The stimulation was so intense that you could taste your second release on the tip of your tongue. But this one was different from the first— far more intense. It struck you that you were on the brink of squirting from sheer overstimulation.

"C-Can't take it anymore—" you gasp, desperately clawing at the smooth surface of the sink for leverage. "Need you to fill me up and make me full.”

That was all it took for your boyfriend to feel outmatched, pushing him over the edge and making him fully commit to ravishing you to your core. Like a switch flipping, Jake shifted, bending one of your legs onto the counter as he planted his foot firmly on the tiled floor, mounting your lower half and stretching your pussy mercilessly. The force had your chest pressed flat against the surface as you gasped for air.

“Gotta fill you up, little slut,” he taunted right in your ear, but his voice faltered as he neared his own high, using his words to push both of you closer to the edge. “I’d fuck you full of my cum, get it so deep inside you, baby, you won’t even be able to squeeze all of me out.”

Jake smirk haughtily as all you could do was to reach back and pull his thighs closer as he fucked you like his personal flashlight.

“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you, baby? Love it when a part of me's swimming inside you.” At this moment, Jake was practically spouting dirty thoughts off the top of his head, biting his lip to suppress an almost whiny moan, holding on to his high just a little longer to let you drown in yours first.

Your response was reduced to fucked-out babbling, making Jake almost chuckle at how ethereal you looked breaking apart because of his cock. In the back of your foggy mind, you wished the barrier of the latex condom would disappear, imagining how raw and textured he’d feel stroking every inch of your walls.

Just the thought of that sent you spiraling over the edge, the once heated sensation bursting like millions of butterflies in your stomach as waves of pleasure constricted your throat. Jake looked down to see your sweet juices pouring between your legs, drenching his thighs and the floor below as you hit your second orgasm in complete bliss.

Burying his face in your hair, Jake’s frame lurched greedily, releasing himself right after you. He choked out groans after groans, emptying ropes of hot cum into the condom. It didn’t take long for him to finish, relishing the solace of the afterglow, yet he stayed wrapped around you from behind, shielding you before you could collapse in exhaustion.

"Good job, sweetheart. Just like that, I've got you, baby girl."

Jake could say the filthiest and meanness things during sex, but moments like this made you appreciate the beautiful juxtaposition of it all— a perfect balance of wild and soft.

"You did so well, baby. I'm so proud of my pretty girl. Always so good for me."

He kissed the side your forehead, showering you with honey-coated compliments as you rested your head in your hands in complete surrender, softly sobbing at how wrecked you felt after such intense pleasure. Everything felt perfect and warm as he let you catch your breath and calm your nerves, his hands gently squeezing your thighs for comfort. Before long, the party's music filtered back into the room, and the muffled sounds of others laughing drunkenly passed through the hallway behind the closed door, signaling that you both were beginning to regain your bearings and clean up the mess you’ve made.

“What are you smiling at?” you shot him a side-eye from the mirror as you fixed your mascara, catching Jake leaning against the sink, arms crossed, watching you with complete bliss and biting his lip to hold back a grin. You both knew it would be tough to rejoin your friends without looking like you’d just had mind-blowing sex. Then again, your social circle was all too familiar with you and Jake disappearing suddenly—it was no secret what the two of you had been up to.

“Jake, seriously, you’re starting to creep me out,” you added, eyeing him suspiciously as his grin widened.

"Hmm, I don't know," Jake mused, sighing contentedly as he lazily wrapped his arms around your waist, resting the bridge of his nose on your shoulder to bask in your scent. The soft light illuminated his face, making his eyes glimmer like you were the center of his world. "I think I need to make you squirt more often, because that was so fucking hot."

You let out a scoff. “Yeah, maybe its because you won’t stop running your mouth about your freaky breeding kink on me,” You teased, playfully rolling your eyes, though you couldn’t stop the blush creeping up your cheeks.

“C'mere, baby, let me put a baby in you.” Jake leaned in with a mock pout, pulling you closer into his side. His tone dripped with sarcasm as he lowered his voice to an exaggerated sultry whisper.

"Eww, Jake, stop it!" You shoved his face, feigning annoyance but laughing at how ridiculous he was.

The genuine laughter you shared made the moment feel pure and carefree, a blissful innocence that you cherished with Jake. It was almost naive, as if you were both untouched by the weight of the world. Looking back, those playful words were more than just a joke— they were a subtle hint of the storm brewing, the harsh reality that fate had quietly set in motion.

You felt like your whole world was turning upside down, and it wasn’t just figuratively— it was literal. The familiar burn of nausea crept up your throat, your stomach twisting as the astringent taste started to rise up to your esophagus, making everything spin.

Two red lines stared back at you, the cause of it all. The first test brought denial, the second was to make sure, and the third was acceptance— gripped by absolute shock as the reality set in.

You were definitely pregnant.

This had to be a bad dream, right? So why weren’t you waking up from this nightmare that was becoming your reality? You sat on the toilet for what felt like forever, tears blurring your vision as your blood ran cold, leaving you physically trembling. Just as you were on the verge of spiraling, teetering on the edge of losing it, you summoned the last bit of strength you had left and reached for your phone to call your best friend.

“Are you sure, Y/N?” Lena stammered at the other line of the call, obviously shocked by the sudden news. “I mean, it could be a faulty test, right? It happens all the time. Maybe you just took it too early, or—” She trailed off, grasping for any reason to make sense of situation.

“I took three tests, Lena. All of them were positive. I've been throwing up all day,” You cut her off, managing to say the words with surprising calmness. “…and I didn’t get my period last month.”

That last sentence dropped like a bombshell in the conversation, heavy and palpable. You found yourself staring at the tiles on the floor, feeling your heartbeat pounding in your throat.

"My mom's gonna kill me," You confessed, sniffling as tears pooled down your cheeks.

"Then she'll have to walk over my dead body to get to you,"

You let out a shaky laugh, tears still streaming down your eyes as your best friend's fierce protectiveness washed over you like a safety net.

Since sophomore year, she had been your unwavering rock, and sharing a room had forged an unbreakable bond between you two. You had witnessed each other’s tears, shared countless laughter-filled nights, and navigated through the chaos of sleepless mornings. In that moment, you realized how deep your connection truly ran, and how you would always stand by each other— no matter the challenges that lay ahead.

"You're at your mom's for the weekend, right?" Lena asked, her voice laced with concern. "Did she say anything?"

You shook your head, wiping away the streaks of tears. "No, she's out with her friends. I told her I had a stomach bug, so she just left me alone." The lie tasted bitter, but you couldn't bring yourself to face the truth with her yet.

You'd never had a great relationship with your mother.

Since childhood, her overbearing nature always overshadowed any sense of nurture. To outsiders, she might have seemed strict, but to you, she was much more than that. Your relationship felt like a façade— one-sided and suffocating. She controlled every detail of your life: the school you attended, the friends you made, the choices you had— all under the guise of it being for your own good.

It was isolating, exhausting, but how could you have known any different?

That was the only kind of 'love' you'd ever experienced from her.

As a woman, you understood her fear— that she didn’t want you to end up like her, a single mother struggling to make ends meet. But as a daughter, you felt lost, torn between resentment and attachment. Despite everything, a part of you still craved her approval, even after all these years, no matter how insecure she made you feel.

The memories came crashing down all at once, drowning your mind with an intensity that you couldn’t ignore. Layer by layer, the real emotion beneath it all surfaced, raw and exposed, stripping away every defense you’d built.

"Lena," you whispered, your voice barely audible, a fragile plea that echoed through the cold, empty bathroom of your mother’s house.

"I'm so fucking scared."

You heard a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the call, realizing you might have overburdened Lena with such heavy responsibility. Then came the small sniffles, and your heart ached for her. Lena had always been the strong one between the two of you— the sensible one who didn’t let emotions or opinions sway her. But when it came to you, she never hesitated to show her vulnerability.

"Y/N, I'm here for you," Lena's voice was steady, a lifeline in the chaos. "If the odds are against you every step of the way, just know I'll always be there. You're stronger than you think, whether you believe it or not. We'll get through this, okay? Believe it."

The fear slowly dissipated from your body. It was still there, lingering in the background, but the relief of having an anchor, someone to hold you steady, eased some of the weight. It didn’t mean everything would be fine, but at least you weren’t facing it alone.

“Are you planning to tell Jake about the pregnancy?"

You leaned back, feeling the weight of yet another hurdle coming your way.

Oddly enough, you weren’t as stressed about telling Jake as you thought you would be. You knew, without a doubt, the baby was his. It had always been him, from the very beginning until now. No matter the circumstances, you both always used protection, and it made the situation feel unfair, frustrating even, that this was happening despite being so careful.

"I'll have to tell him, won't I?" You bit the inside of your cheek, fingers raking through your hair as the weight of the decision settled in. From the other end, you heard Lena hum softly, offering silent support. "It makes me feel guilty, keeping it from him," you continued, your voice softer now. "He deserves to know too."

"If that's your decision, Y/N, then I'm all for it," Lena's voice was like a lifeline, and you found yourself nodding along, feeling a small sense of relief.

"We’ll talk more when you're back. For now, rest up and eat something, okay?"

"Okay," you agreed softly. "Thank you, Lena. I love you."

"I love you too, babe."

As the call ended, silence filled the bathroom, the weight of everything crashing back down. You stood up slowly, shoving the pregnancy test into your pocket before heading to the sink. The cold water felt like a shock to your system as you splashed it on your face, trying to freshen up, trying to calm the storm inside. Your mom would be home any minute, and you needed to pull yourself together before you faced her.

But as you glanced at the mirror, you froze. Taking a step back, you caught your full reflection. Your hand instinctively drifted to your stomach, resting there, your eyes fixated on that part of your body as if it held something fragile, something precious.

Without hesitation, you had already made up your mind.

The decision was clear, solidified in your heart. Now, it was only a matter of telling the people around you— facing them head-on, no matter the reactions, no matter the consequences thrown at you. You knew what you wanted, and nothing could change that. The hardest part was yet to come, but you were ready. Or at least, you had to be, for the sake of the baby.

You and Lena stood on the front porch of the frat house, the thumping bass of the music vibrating through the ground, colorful lights flashing from the windows. A group of guys passed by, carrying crates of booze, laughing and shoving each other as they rushed inside. This was just another typical Friday night, the same parties you'd been to countless times before.

But this time, it was different.

What once felt thrilling now felt heavy. It had only been three days since you found out you were pregnant, and now it was finally time to tell Jake the truth. Breaking the news during a party wasn’t ideal, but with exam season looming just a few weeks away, he had been buried in his studies and packed schedules. Before you left to visit your mother, you had promised him you would meet him at the party his frat brothers were hosting. You wanted to tell him sooner rather than later, feeling the weight of the secret pressing down on you.

“Ready?” Lena asked, pulling you from your thoughts. You nodded, even though your mind was far from prepared. Still, your body moved forward, stepping into the house with a single intention in mind.

As always, the frat party was a chaotic mess— a dumpster fire than anything resembling fun.

People spilled out into the backyard, filling every corner with shouts of excitement and laughter. The air was thick with the scent of sweat, spilled beer, and a faint haze of smoke. You maneuvered through clusters of people, dodging arms flailing from overenthusiastic dancers, while a group of guys at the far end chanted loudly, egging on someone attempting to chug down a towering concoction that was far too much for any person to handle.

Lena had already left to meet your other flat mates, Ningning, who were somewhere in the mayhem as well. She had insisted on staying with you, but you reassured her that you needed to do this on your own. She gave you an encouraging smile, though it was strained with concern, mouthing “good luck” before vanishing into the crowd.

You scanned the room quickly, eyes darting in hopes of catching a glimpse of your boyfriend in the crowd, but he was nowhere in sight. Giving up, you headed towards the dim hallway leading to the back rooms, where you spotted Sunghoon and Jay leaning casually against the wall, deep in conversation with red cups in hand. Their eyes lit up when they saw you approaching.

You shoot them a small smile. “Hey guys, have you seen Jake in this mess?"

Jay raised an eyebrow, placing a hand on his chest to feign offense. “I’m gonna ignore how rude that sounded, 'cause you’re looking at the mastermind of it all,” he joked, causing you to laugh when you saw Sunghoon rolling his eyes at his friend.

“He went to grab more drinks for the beer pong game later,” Sunghoon chimed in, loud enough over the music, nodding toward the kitchen. “You might find him there.”

You thanked them and made your way toward the kitchen, grateful for the chance to escape the chaos of the main party. The noise dulled slightly as you reached the quieter part of the house, the kitchen door slightly ajar. Fewer people lingered here, just a couple of others milling around, chatting quietly. It was a breather from the overwhelming energy outside— an oasis of calm amidst the havoc.

You spotted your boyfriend's figure from afar, wearing the familiar denim jacket he always lent you over one of his hoodies— the same ones you were sure you'd 'stolen' and given back a dozen times. He was crouched down by the huge fridge, hauling out what you assumed to be chilled alcohol for the game later. You carefully approached him from behind.

“I swear to God, if you're here to yap at me for being slow—”

“I thought you liked it when I yap and you listen,” You mused, snickering as he let out a surprised “What the fuck!” and almost hit his head on the top of the fridge.

He stood up with a playful grin once he recognizes your voice, the corners of his smile stretching so wide that his cheekbones popped out. His eyes glinted under the dim kitchen light before he swooped you off your feet, wrapping you in a tight hug.

You never knew how much you needed his embrace until you felt it.

You buried your face into the crook of his neck, breathing in the familiar scent of fresh laundry and the warmth of summer sunlight. His hands held your almost fragile frame gently— one arm wrapped around your waist, while the other ran softly through your hair. The tenderness, laced with a sense of quiet possessiveness, made you melt instantly. His laughter rang like music in your ears, almost pulling you out of the moment, reminding you that soon you’d have to tell him you were pregnant. The thought made you cling to him tighter before he could pull away and break the hug.

"Sorry, I thought you were Jay just now," he apologies with a chuckle, closing the fridge door.

You pulled back, “Jay? Wow, I knew I was second place, but didn’t think I’d lose out to him.”

“Please, don’t.” He scrunched up his nose in disgust, letting out an exasperated sigh. “He’s been at my ass all day, and I don’t want him ruining our time tonight, yeah?” Leaning down, he pressed a loving peck to your lips, his eyes sparkling with affection.

You hummed softly in response, a smile creeping onto your face, but inside, a twinge of guilt gnawed at you. You were about to drop a bombshell that could change everything, and the thought made your heart race. “I get it. Just focus on having fun tonight,” you replied, trying to keep your tone light despite the weight of your secret.

Jake took a deep breath, excitement bubbling just beneath the surface. “I actually have some good news to tell you,” he said, glancing at you with a wide grin that made your heart flutter.

Your curiosity piqued, and you leaned in closer. “What is it?”

He couldn’t contain his enthusiasm, running a hand through his hair in a nervous gesture. “I got a call from the aerospace company that I applied to as my first choice for my internship, and…” He paused, glancing up at you, his eyes sparkling with anticipation as he bit his lower lip.

“I got in.”

Your heart drop to the floor, a mix of apprehension profuse the joy swirling within you.

Fuck, you were so incredibly happy for him. You had witnessed him at his hardest, and you understood just how much this fruit of his labor meant to Jake. As a literature student who could barely remember where the calculator app was on your phone, you felt worlds apart from his major. Yet, you knew how tirelessly he had worked, calling you late at night to share his worries and pour out his hopes and dreams. This was the only reputable company that could offer him a decent wage in exchange for experience and rapport in the future.

This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for him.

You stared at him, unsure how to react appropriately with your current mindset, your heart aching with a sunken, bitter feeling. The light in his eyes shone like beacons as he waited for your response, expecting you to share in his joy and rapture over the achievement, totally oblivious to your internal struggles. But as you opened your mouth and then closed it again, words eluded you, and heavy breaths made the air feel suffocating.

You have to tell him, you have to tell him now.

“Hey, love, what’s going on? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Is everything okay?” Jake sensed something was wrong immediately, reaching out to squeeze your shoulders as he studied your expression. Concern furrowed his brow, and his voice softened.

You have to, you have to tell him, the nagging voice in the back of your mind insisted, drowning out Jake's worried tone. Your heart raced, each beat echoing the weight of the secret you were holding.

“J-Jake,” You breathed out, forcing yourself to calm down as you swallowed hard the tears down. He looked back at you, his gaze so delicate and tender that it eased some of the tension in your body. This was it. You were finally going to tell him.

“Jake, I’m—”

Your phone rang, interrupting the moment and pulling you back to a nervous wreck. The incoming call distracted you just enough to pause, and you fished your phone out of your pocket, hoping to silence it quickly. But when you saw the caller ID, your heart sank. It was your mother— the last person you wanted to hear from right now.

You glanced up at Jake, who was still watching you with a mixture of concern and curiosity, and you hesitated. Should you answer it? Your mother always had a knack for timing, and you weren’t sure you were ready to face whatever she might say. But your gut told you to answer before an even bigger storm might brew. Taking a deep breath, you swiped to answer, turning slightly away from Jake to create some privacy.

“Hello?” you said, trying to keep your voice steady, your hand gripping the phone a little too tight.

There was a brief pause on the other end, then your mother’s familiar voice broke through, laced with tension. “Come home this instant,” she said, her voice tight, barely masking a simmering anger.

You felt Jake’s eyes still on you, his concern deepening as you tried to keep calm. Your heart started to race.

“Mom, can it wait? I’m in the middle of something right now.”

“No, it can’t,” she cut you off sharply, her voice dropping to a low that was too calm for the norm that sent a cold shiver down your spine.

“I found the pregnancy test box, Y/N. You come home right now.”

The line went dead. The call had ended— but you felt like your heart had stopped, too.

Everything around you faded, and the weight of her words hit like a punch in the gut. It felt as though the skies were collapsing, the floor beneath you quaking, and a massive tsunami was about to engulf you, drag you under until you were drowning in its depths. Your mind screamed, but it was muffled, like you were submerged underwater, gasping for air. The panic consumed you, threatening to pull you under until Jake’s hands grabbed you, grounding you in the moment.

"Y/N?” His voice pierced through the chaos, pulling you back to your feet. He held you tightly, eyes wide with fear. “What’s going on?"

The concern etched into his face only made it harder to breathe, and you realized that everything— the secret, your mother's words, and now his worry— was closing in around you.

“I-I have to g-go,” you stammered, your voice trembling as the words spilled out before you could stop them. Jake’s confused expression only mirrored the chaos inside you, his brow furrowing in concern as he watched you struggle. The words felt foreign, like they didn’t belong to you, slipping from your lips without your permission.

“I-I’m sorry, Jake, I—” you said quickly, your words rushing together as the urge to flee surged inside you. “My mom— she needs me. I-I have to go. I-I’ll explain later, I promise, I swear I will, but I just can’t do it right now."

There was a heavy silence between you, thick and suffocating. In your panic, it felt like an invisible chasm had opened between the two of you, a space you couldn’t cross. Jake just stared at you, really looked at you, his eyes searching yours, trying to understand the storm raging inside. You could see it clearly: he wanted to reach out, to help, to ask what was wrong.

But he knew. He knew that pushing you right now would only make it worse. If he asked you what was wrong, it would shut you down completely, triggering an even deeper spiral of panic. It would be like setting off a chain reaction, a cascade that neither of you could control. So, in that brief, agonizing moment, Jake made the choice— the most rational one he could. He stepped back emotionally, even if he wanted to do the opposite, because he trusted you enough to do it.

"Okay," he said softly, his voice steady and calm, though you could see the tension in the way he closed his eyes for a brief moment, as if grounding himself. When he opened them again, they were full of quiet understanding. "Okay, alright," he repeated, nodding slowly.

“Do you need me to drive you there?"

You shook your head, trying to steady your shaky breath. “It’s okay,” you murmured, “Lena can drive me there.”

Jake nodded, his expression softening slightly, though the uncertainty still lingered. In that moment, you realized you’d let something slip— Lena knew something he didn’t. You could see it register in his eyes, that small detail, and though he didn’t ask, it seemed to give him a bit of solace.

“Okay, then I’ll see you later?” Jake’s voice was gentle, no malice, no pressure— just pure reassurance. You nodded quickly, already turning to find Lena, but something pulled you back. Before you knew it, you were taking a few steps back to him.

Without warning, you cupped his face in your hands and kissed him deeply. It was sudden, impulsive, but necessary. Jake responded immediately, his hands instinctively finding their place on your hips, pulling you closer as if you were meant to fit together like this. The familiar spark ignited in your stomach— the same fireworks that always went off when you kissed him like this. But you knew this wasn’t the time to get lost in it, not when the weight of everything was still hanging between you. As much as you craved the comfort of this moment, you couldn’t let it deceive you into thinking everything was okay, not yet.

You broke the kiss, your heart heavy. Without looking back at Jake, afraid of the emotion in his eyes that might unravel you, you turned away and walked toward the uncertainty awaiting you.

You told Lena to wait in the car as you made your way toward the front door of your childhood home.

The house had aged intricately over the years, like an old photograph fading with time. The paint had faded, the pipes were rusted, and there were dents and scratches on the concrete frame despite the darkness of the night. You could almost see your younger self playing in the soil of the front yard, learning to ride your bicycle along the pavement, and spending whole days looking out the front door window, watching your neighbors across the street— the mother and daughter holding hands, heading off to the movies or the park.

You couldn’t remember the last time you held your mother’s hand.

The living room was eerily calm, the chill in the air contrasting with the faint glow from the dining room where the kitchen was. Under the chandelier's soft light, your mother sat at the end of the table, a mug of tea beside three pregnancy test boxes she’d found in the bathroom trash. The sight made your chest tighten. You didn’t dare step fully into the kitchen, stopping at the entrance. Crossing your arms, you tried to keep your trembling fingers at bay, the weight of the confrontation pressing down on you.

“What was the result?” She asked, her voice aloof and measured. Your mother didn’t look up at you at first, resting her chin on the palm of her hand, her gaze fixed on the table.

“Mom, I can explain—”

“What was the result, Y/N?” She looked up at you, and the sight took you aback. She looked exactly the same as she did when you were younger— emotionless and disappointed. Every day brought the same look, and to be truthful, you were getting sick of it.

You let out a deep exhale, the ticking of the clock on the wall booming in the silence like a bomb.

“I’m pregnant.”

For a moment, there was nothing— just the sound of your own heartbeat drumming in your ears. You knew she already knew the answer to the question, but saying it out loud, was what made her explode.

“Why would you do this? Why would you ruin our lives?” Her voice broke through the stillness, sharp and furious. You closed your eyes when she finally screamed at you, when she finally snapped. A part of you almost welcomed the outburst— it was better than the cold, emotionless calm. At least now she was showing something, even if it was anger you never wanted to face.

“I gave you everything— an education, food, clothes, a home. What more could you possibly need?” she spat, listing out each thing like a burden she’d carried for years, each word cutting deeper than the last like you were some kind of chore that needs to be completed.

"Why did you let this happen to yourself?"

"Mom, please, it was an accident, okay? Do you really think I wanted to get pregnant right now?" Your voice grew louder, more adamant, as frustration surged through you. The insinuation that you had done this on purpose felt like a slap to the face, and you couldn't hold back the intensity any longer.

"Does he know, hmm?" Her voice dripped with mockery, almost ending in a cruel laugh as she rolled her eyes dramatically, like she already had it all figured out. "Do the guy or guys you’ve been fucking, know about this?" She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest, her gaze piercing through you like she was daring you to respond.

Anger started to bubble up inside you.

You had constantly reminded her that you had a boyfriend, afraid of how she might initially react, but slowly easing her into the idea of Jake since you started dating. But she always seemed uninterested. Every time you suggested a small lunch or dinner to get to know him, she was "too busy" or had some excuse. It reached a point where mentioning his name would earn you that same blank expression— like she had no idea who he was. You had to remind her again and again, as if his mere existence wasn’t even worth remembering in her life.

"No, I haven’t told Jake— my boyfriend, about the pregnancy yet," You explained, sucking your teeth as you tried to keep your voice calm and civil despite your current temper.

"But I was going to, until you decided to call me."

"Oh, so this is my fault now?" she shot back, her voice rising with incredulity as she stood up from the chair, her frustration spilling over. "My fault that you didn’t tell your boyfriend? You think he didn’t have a hand in this? That he didn’t know exactly what he was doing when he got you into bed?"

"Mom, that's disgusting! Why would you even say that?" You yelled, feeling heat rise to your head at her accusation against Jake, as if he had lured you. This was it— her strategy every time you argued, twisting the conversation to make you feel guilty, manipulating your words against you to gaslight you further.

"Jake would never—"

"I don't want to hear it," she interrupted, holding up her hand to silence you. You hated that you instinctively obeyed, that your body seemed to give her the authority.

"You're having an abortion," she declared, as if her decision were final. "You're going to transfer to a community college close to home, and you're going to leave the dorm. No more of your friends' influence."

You shake your head with defiant, standing your ground.

“You can't control my life anymore, Mom," Your face and body felt defeated, not because you were giving in, but because you were so emotionally exhausted that you could barely summon the energy to fight back.

"And I'm not having an abortion because that's not for you to fucking decide."

Your mother scoffed, marching toward you with her eyes wide, filled with disbelief, as if she couldn’t fathom what you had just said.

“Is this some kind of revenge against me?” she demanded, her voice rising with each syllable. “I knew you weren’t happy with me, but I never expected you to pull a stunt like this! Wake up, Y/N! Be fucking mature for once! This is reality— own up to your mistake!” She punctuated her words with a sharp gesture, her finger jabbing the air between you right up to your face.

She stared directly into your eyes, her jaw clenched in anger, and you fought to hold back the tears threatening to spill over.

“You're just like your fucking father,” she whispered, the insult leaving a bitter burn in her mouth.

You watched as her face began to process the weight of her words, finally opening the Pandora's box of emotions. Years of pent-up frustration, anger, and hatred had found their origin, and you could finally understand why she acted the way she did. The way her expression twisted whenever one of her friends mentioned how much you resembled your father, the absence of any pictures or traces of him in the house—it all made sense now. You weren’t even sure if he had ever paid child support or if he simply allowed your mother to have sole custody when you were born.

But none of it mattered anymore; at this point, you just didn’t care to know.

"That's it, isn't it? That's the reason my life ended up like this." You pressed, your voice thick with repugnance, like a time capsule unsealed, exposing the buried resentment lodged deep in your heart. A sneer nearly crossed your lips as you watched your mother’s whole body and face seemed to recoil.

"And you have the audacity to pin me as some revenge-driven monster? Well, take a good look in the mirror, Mom." You spat the last words venomously, your eyes narrowing and fists clenching at your sides as she flinched.

"Well now you don't have to worry anymore, because I don't ever want to see you again." You said, stepping back without hesitation as your hand tightening around the doorframe.

There were so many things you wanted to tell her, so many broken and damaged pieces she left behind on the path for you to rebuild. But now, you didn’t think it was worth it anymore. It was time to let go of those pieces, to let them shatter on the ground, and finally forge something of your own.

Your mother stood frozen, her face pale as the words slowly sank in. For some reason, from this new angle in the light, the wrinkles on her face seemed deeper, the strands of white in her hair more prominent— visible signs of how much time had passed, how long you had suffered beneath her, though you hadn’t truly noticed until now.

You caught a glimpse of a doodle near the kitchen entrance as you turned away, the charcoal lines of a pencil embedded in the wallpaper. You remembered it clearly— marking your own height as a child because there was no one around to help you. That sense of independence, forged so young, was the reason you were so driven to break free, to shatter the chains the moment you were able.

"I hope you have a happy life mom."

Your final, genuine wish echoed through the lonely kitchen as you walked away from your mother for the last time, swearing never to look back again.

You looked up from your phone when you heard soft knocks on your bedroom door. You were lying comfortably on your bed, but you sat up to see who was coming in. You knew Lena and Ningning mentioning they were going out to buy groceries later, which left only one other person who knew where the emergency key was kept hidden at the entrance.

"Knock, knock," Jake's voice called out playfully as he popped his head through the slightly open door. "I brought you cookies." You couldn’t help but laugh at the sight as he tiptoed in with a puppy-like grin, carefully closing the door behind him. In his hand, he held a brown bag with the logo of your favorite bakery from across the street, sitting at the edge of your mattress.

"You didn’t have to." You cooed, taking the bag with a grateful smile.

He shrugged as you scooted over, making room for him to settle beside you. "I know, but I wanted to. Besides, cookies always make you feel better."

The smell of warm cinnamon and sweet chocolate invaded your senses, and though you would have devoured the cookies like any other day, the lingering effects of your morning sickness made everything taste and smell a little off. So, you hesitated, placing the bag aside for now.

You and Jake leaned back against the headboard of your bed, your shoulders pressed together in the small space. Without thinking, you rested your head on his board shoulder, seeking comfort in his presence. Jake shifted, adjusting his posture to let you settle in more comfortably, letting out a satisfied smile when he felt you snuggled closer before placing his head on top of yours.

"Hey, Jake," You said softly, using the tips of your toes to poke his shin playfully. He hummed in response, turning his head slightly to acknowledge you.

"Have you ever thought about the future?"

He gently rested one of his feet on top of yours, playfully pinning it down, as you try to wiggle out from under the weight but failing. "Yeah, Sometimes when I can't sleep." he replied, his voice low and thoughtful. "My mind just kinda zones out, and then it’s like an endless loop of ‘what ifs’ and all that stuff."

You hummed in response as if you could relate to his situation all the time, your voice soft as you asked, "Do you sometimes think about our future together?" Your gaze drifted down to where your playful ministrations had left your limbs tangled together in the sheets, pillows thrown off somewhere on the floor.

"Yes," he admitted faster than you expected, his voice quiet but sure, as his hair lightly tickled your ear. He let out a small laugh at the end, "Maybe just a little too much."

You moved away, standing up straight as the muscles in your neck throbbed from the prolonged awkward position. But mostly, it was to gauge Jake's expression after your random questions that he seemed so willing to answer.

Your silence gave Jake a chance to really observe you. The dark circles under your tired eyes were more pronounced, your eyes slightly red, and your hair tied in a cute, messy bun. He had to resist the urge to reach out and tuck a stray strand behind your ear, instead opting to give you some space and time to think.

"I've been sick for a few days now, throwing up a lot in the mornings and don't really have the appetite to eat anything," You explained, hugging a pillow tightly to your chest. Jake moved closer to listened to you intently. "At first, I thought it might be the stupid gas station sushi we ate, but then I realized... I didn’t get my period last month. So, I took some tests just to be sure..."

Jake furrowed his brows, confusion flickering across his face. "Y/N, what do you mean…" His voice trailed off, his mind racing to put the pieces of information you told him into perspective, like fragments of a puzzle slowly finding their place in a bigger picture. Then, something clicked. Before he could fully process it, the words slipped out.

"You're pregnant."

The disbelief was evident in his voice as he stared at you eyes as wide as saucers. You nodded, confirming what he could barely believe.

"I don’t understand…" He began, rubbing his temples in deep contemplation. "I just don’t understand how this happened. We always used protection, right?" He looked back at you, then his gaze drifted, almost unconsciously, to your abdomen. "Then… how did we…?"

"I don't know." You admitted, looking as lost as he did. "The last time we did it was at the bathroom at Jay's party. Did the condoms you used yours?" You asked, as Jake prone over your questions.

"Yeah, I usually keep one in my wallet or pocket, but the second..." His face suddenly fell, panic setting in as realization dawn on him, like getting hit with ice cold water over the head. He blinked rapidly, his voice wavering. "Someone was handing some out at the start of the party, and I took one without thinking. You don’t think they would have—"

"Tampered with it?" You finished, disbelief sharp in your voice. "Fuck, Jake, I think whoever gave it to you did."

At the time, he hadn’t even considered, hadn’t paid attention to the possibility that someone could do something so messed up. Now, the realization hit him hard. He ran a hand through his hair, his face pale, looking almost sick, like he might throw up at any moment.

"I can’t believe this. I didn’t even think to even fucking check. I just… trusted it." His shoulders slumped, letting out a grunted sigh of guilt. You caught the shimmer in his eyes, his anger and confusion crashing together like deadly waves.

"All of this is my fault," He murmured, his voice breaking, fully grasping the predicament he'd put you in. "I'm so sorry, Y/N. It's all my fucking fault."

You reached out immediately, cradling his face gently, your thumbs brushing over the apples of his cheeks in comfort. Instinctively, he placed his hands over yours desperately, grounding himself in your touch.

"Don’t blame yourself, Jake," You said softly, your gaze steady on his. "If there’s anyone to blame, it’s those people who did this, okay? What they did was fucked up."

He took a deep breath, trying to absorb your words, but a new concern flickered in his eyes. "Does your mom know?"

Jake wasn’t foreign to the details of your childhood, though he wouldn’t say it was easy for you to confide in him about your complicated bond with your mother when you first started dating, so he only knows bits and pieces. You’d described it simply, brushing over the pain, which was probably why he’d even thought to ask about your mother's reaction now.

"She knows," You confessed tensely. "Remember when she called me last time at the party? She found the box for my pregnancy test." The memories flowed back in slow motion, and Jake took your hand, intertwining it with his larger one to give you a reassuring squeeze of encouragement.

"She told me to get an abortion, to leave everything I have build here and come back home," You swallowed hard, but the tears didn’t stop flowing out your eyes. "But I told her she can't control my life anymore, that I’m keeping the baby and before I knew it, she was out of my life for good this time."

Jake pulled you gently onto his lap, wrapping his arms around you and guiding your head to rest against his chest. One hand caressed your back while the other held the back of your head, and you surrendered to the release, letting the tears flow freely into his embrace. He murmured soft reassurances, pressing his lips affectionately to the crown of your head. Rocking you gently, he created a safe space for you to let it all out. You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer, finding comfort in his warmth like never before.

"I’ll support whatever you choose, Y/N. It should always be your choice what you do with your body, and I’m so proud of you for standing up to your mother," he reassured you softly. You hadn’t thought it was possible, but in that moment, you felt yourself falling even more deeply in love with him as you shared one heartbeat.

He took a steadying breath, whispering to you saccharinely. "If you choose to keep the baby, our baby, then I’ll do everything in my power to keep both of you safe. Whatever it takes, I’m here."

You knew it would be a struggle for both of you— neither of you had the bandwidth to fully handle what lay on the other side of this journey. But seeing him here, trying his best to pull through for both of you, gave you the smallest glimmer of hope. And you knew you’d always do the same for him. This moment may have been small, but it was enough to make you believe, even if just for a second, that you’d both get through it.

Time seems to flow like a river, and everything in your life has gradually started to find its place, evolving naturally around your sudden change in plans for the future.

The first people you and Jake told about the pregnancy were his parents. It felt inevitable— both of you always wanted them to be a meaningful part of your child’s life from the very beginning. And knowing Jake, you doubted he’d be able to keep it a secret for long; he was too close with his family, and sooner or later, he was bound to let it slip. Telling them felt like the right first step.

"Do you think your parents are gonna take the news alright?" You ask him from the passenger seat as Jake settles into the driver’s.

His parents were always different from your own— present in his life, involved in every moment, big or small. You had spent countless Christmases and Thanksgivings with them over the years, and they welcomed and treated you like their own, to the point where Jake and his older brother would sometimes joke about how much their parents liked you better than them, often telling you how much they always wanted a daughter of their own to adore.

Since then, you had come to understand exactly where Jake got his warmth and kindness. His parents were the kind of people who loved wholeheartedly. Yet despite this, you couldn’t shake the fear and worries that they might see your pregnancy as too soon, that they might wonder if you were taking their youngest son’s future from him before it had even fully begun.

"They'll be...understanding, that's for sure," Jake replied, though you caught a hint of skepticism in his own words.

"But I don't want you to worry too much. Besides, I don't think my parents would be too opposed to becoming grandparents either if it’s you." He reached out to hold your hand, bringing it to his lips to kiss the back of it lovingly.

That's how you both found yourselves driving back to his hometown one weekend, sitting together on the couch in his family’s living room across from each other as you shared the news. You had braced for their reaction as expected— a mix of happiness, confusion, and, above all, a deep-seated worry for the two of you and the baby.

Their faces showed their desire to be supportive, though you couldn’t fault them for the anxiety that crept into their expressions. Despite their concern, they were ready to help as much as possible, which you appreciated deeply. But you and Jake had already agreed: you’d take full responsibility, not wanting to lean too heavily on their kindness.

After that, you and Jake decided to share the news with your close-knit friends, knowing that having the right support system could make all the difference. Besides, it felt uncomfortable keeping something so important from the people you trusted— those who had been by your side for so long.

There was an initial look of shock on their faces— Ningning had her hands covering her mouth, Sunghoon's signature eyebrow was raised so high it practically touched his hairline, and Jay’s jaw seemed to drop to the floor. The only one who didn’t blink twice was Lena, who sat on the couch with a smug smile, amused by the other's reaction to your pregnancy.

“Surprise...?” You squeaked, though they remained frozen in their spots.

It seemed almost unreal that this was happening. Sure, they knew Jake was the most likely among them to be married or even become a father first, but you were the more liable one compared to Jake’s clumsy nature, which overall balance out the relationship. The two of you were also the only ones in a committed relationship amongst your friends.

Anyone could guess that you and Jake were eventually going to end up like together together, but they hadn’t expected it to happen so abruptly.

“How far along are you?” Ningning was the first to speak, immediately pulling you into an enthusiastic hug.

“Almost 2 months,” You replied, gently cradling your lower abdomen to show her. You glanced at Jake, who was smiling beside you. “We’ve got our first gynecology appointment next week to get an ultrasound.”

You didn’t miss the way her eyes filled with tears and her lips pouted as she stared lovingly at you and Jake together. Seeing her so excited and sentimental made you feel almost emotional yourself. She pulled you into another tight hug, and you gladly returned it.

“Dude, you’re gonna be a fucking baby daddy,” Jay said, approaching Jake with his usual fervor and pulling him into a rough hug, in typical Jay fashion.

After congratulating you, Sunghoon smacked Jay on the chest with a serious scowl. “Oh my god, Jay, don’t curse in front of the baby!”

Lena joined the group, draping an arm over your and Jake’s shoulders with a proud smile. “So now that everyone knows you’re pregnant, let’s just agree that I’m going to be the baby’s best godparent.”

You and Jake laughed at the chorus of denial coming from the others, obviously objecting to who truly had the worth to hold that title. The situation was almost comedic, and you could always count on your friends to lighten the mood by arguing among themselves about something so minuscule regarding the baby. At the sight of that, you found a comforting relief in your chest just watching them, knowing that your baby was going to have so many reliable adults (sorta) to look after and pamper them until the end of the world.

Next week arrived, and the gynecology appointment came swiftly. You and Jake patiently waiting at the receptionist waiting room for your name to be called. There was a unspoken nervousness that course through the both of you, but you held each other's hand in silent encouragement as the staff gave you some documents to signed over in the mean time.

“—and who is the person accompanying you, Ms?” the nurse asked without thinking over the counter, causing you to pause and glance at Jake awkwardly.

You weren't sure what to tell her. It made sense to say that Jake was your boyfriend; surely she would understand, right? But maybe the self-consciousness was creeping in, making you fearful of being judged as incompetent or insecure in your situation for choosing to have a baby despite not having the security of marriage. You had seen the debates about it all on the internet, and it was only human to feel a bit self-conscious about people's views.

Jake shot you one of his warm smiles when he noticed your hesitation— the kind that always made you feel safe. Wrapping his arm around your waist, he replied nonchalantly, never breaking eye contact with you.

"I'm the baby's father, ma'am."

Jake’s words gave you the strength you needed throughout the process— from meeting the doctor, to her placing the ultrasound device on your abdomen, to watching the faint outline of your baby on the monitor. Unfortunately, the baby’s heartbeat couldn’t be heard in the early phase of the 1st trimester in your case, which was probably for the best, since you and Jake would have likely ugly cried even harder if you’d heard it together.

Things started to fall into place one by one— Jake began his internship without a hitch, and you continued with your classes as usual. Despite Jake’s concerns, you promised him you wouldn’t push yourself too hard, though it took plenty of reassurance to ease his puppy-like worry. You’d told yourself that if you could make it to an 8am lecture on Greek monologue after partying until 3am on the same day, you could handle at least that much of hardship of pregnancy.

The biggest change was Jake’s decision to rent an apartment now that he was earning a steady income. He thought it was a good idea for you both to have a shared space to take care of the baby, knowing it would be challenging to do so while living separately. You were happy to keep things minimalistic, just grateful for Jake’s sacrifices, though he always assured you he was more than okay with it— jokingly saying that he can now finally have you all to himself to spoil.

And he did. Jake took care of you more than you could care for yourself. He was patient with you during your sudden mood changes, cleaned the place on days when you were physically incapable of doing so, and still managed to satisfy your odd cravings in the middle of the night when he came home from work. Even then, he was willing to massage your legs when the swelling caused you pain to walk.

It almost felt like you were taking him for granted, and there were moments when you wondered if he might become exhausted by the constant stress. You wouldn’t blame him if conversations of regret started to dwell in his mind. Yet every day, without fail, he would lay down beside you on the bed at the end of the day while facing each other. His hand would trail to caress your protruding stomach as he whispered sweet words, as if he were already communicating with your unborn child, thanking you for your efforts of giving him the chance to be a father.

With his help, the feelings of insignificance and uselessness began to fade in the background, and you slowly accepted that pregnancy was not an easy journey. Both of you were holding each other by a thread, sharing the hope of welcoming your child by the end of this dark tunnel.

Almost four months passed by more quickly than you expected. The physical and emotional changes you and Jake faced each day made time feel both swift and excruciatingly slow— if that was even possible. However, the silver lining was that your body was getting used to the growing baby. You were finally able to move around freely instead of feeling stuck between your bed and the sofa. Your appetite had returned to normal, allowing you to eat without much difficulty.

At your recent appointment with the gynecologist, the baby had reached the stage where the gender could be clearly identified. Your friends, eager to make it a lasting memory, insisted on throwing a baby shower and gender reveal party to mark the occasion. Jake and Lena went out to pick up the specially ordered cake from a bakery, while Sunghoon and Ningning teamed up to decorate the living room (despite some playful bickering about where things should go). You and Jay took charge of the food and drinks for the guests— well, mostly Jay, since he insisted you sit down and rest while he handled everything.

Jay nagged you more than usual as he rummaged through your fridge, clearly concerned about how empty it was. In the meantime, he prepped a bunch of healthy snacks for you, making you laugh at his grumbling but underlying affection, almost as if he were the one who was pregnant instead of you.

The party began once everyone arrived, including some of your close friends like classmates Sunoo and Minjeong, along with Riki and Jungwon—juniors Jake had met through his dance club— and, of course, Jake's parents.

Your apartment, once a quiet space for just you and Jake, now felt like a lively festival, filled with so many loved ones. The excitement in the room warmed your heart as you sat at the table with the gender reveal cake in front of you. Everyone of them wore colors representing the gender they believed the baby would be— though some were definitely more adamant about their guesses.

"Hey, love," Jake greeted, leaning down to give your forehead a gentle kiss before taking the seat beside you. "How’s our little corn doing?"

You found it adorable that Jake had taken to giving the baby different nicknames based on their size each week. Ever since he stumbled upon a website showing how big the baby was at each stage, he’d started affectionately referring to them as different fruits and vegetables, each one a silly little surprise for you to look forward to.

"Doing good, though their mom would really appreciate it if they’d stop kicking her uterus so much.” you replied, resting a hand on your bump.

"Ohhh, we’ve got a little football player on the way," Jake said with a goofy grin, clearly eager to teach his child how to kick a ball just like his father had taught him.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling at his endless excitement. It made your maternal instinct flutter, imagining Jake crouching down to his knees, patiently guiding a mini version of yourselves in the park as you watch them from your seat at the picnic blanket.

You and Jake already knew that no matter what the child was, you’d love them. It didn’t matter to either of you, as long as the baby was healthy. That’s why you opted to wear white for the gender reveal, without any expectations.

"Come on, guys," Sunghoon called, gesturing for you both to focus on the party. His digital camera was already set up to record in the center of the room. "Cut the cake!"

Everyone was on the edge of their seats watching as you and Jake held the knife handle together, slowly slicing through the cream-covered cake. With a shared giggle, you let the slice fall onto the plate, finally revealing the baby pink sponge cake inside. The room erupted in cheers, and party poppers went off with a loud bang, showering everyone in sparkling confetti that rained down in celebration.

You saw Jake’s mother crying tears of joy as Jake's father hugged her with a beaming smile. Your friends couldn't stop clapping and cheering, thrilled about the little princess they’d soon welcome to adore. The energy in the room was electric as Jake pulled you into a tight embrace, whispering “our baby girl” over and over into your ear. You clung to him, echoing his words between choked sobs as you cried together on his shoulder.

You were so happy and so grateful for this moment, yet you couldn't shake the petrifying feeling in your heart. It was a strange inkling that created a small hollow space within you, making it difficult to focus throughout the party, despite your efforts to maintain a smiling facade and convince yourself that everything was alright. You might be able to trick yourself and everyone else, but you knew you could never fool your boyfriend.

"Something's on your mind, isn't it?" Jake asked gently as you both got ready for bed after the party. You looked into his eyes after sitting on the edge of the bed and changing into your nightgown, sighing in defeat as you realized you couldn't say no to him.

"Do you think we're doing the right thing?" You asked genuinely, a hint of perturbation coloring the cadence of your words.

Jake moved to sit beside you, his fingers gently tracing the contours of your face as he leaned in closer, his warmth radiating against you. You couldn’t get enough of the way he looked at you, as if you held his entire universe in your hands. He was intimately familiar with the map of your features, just as he understood your proclivity to overthink, knowing precisely the right words to soothe you. Others might see you as a brooder, but he understood your concern as a reflection of how deeply you cared— about him, about the baby.

"Anything that involves you will always be right," He said. It was a soft whisper in the twilight moonlight, where everything felt quiet and serene, drawing your attention to his expression.

You couldn’t help but notice the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes as he smiled, accentuating the unique quirk of his pouty lips that you adored kissing. It reminded you of the first time you met, when he put in so much effort to impress you with his playful antics and awkward yet charming jokes. You both ended up laughing throughout the entire date, a feeling that blossomed into something deeper.

The way he kissed you now brought back the same feeling you’d had back then, making you feel like you might explode. He traced your jawline gently before grabbing it hastily, angling your lips up to meet his whilst your free hand itched to grab his shoulders. You almost bumped noses as Jake leaned in to deepen the kiss, making it hard to breathe with the intensity of it all.

“She'll love you.” You managed to gasp with the opportunity you had, though he didn’t let you go for long. Smiling against your lips as he realized you meant your baby girl, he slipped a hand down to cup your bump, his smile widening as he felt a tiny kick against his palm.

"She’ll love us," Jake murmured, pulling back just an inch, his gaze flickering to your lips with lust before capturing them again, this time with a ravishness that left you winded. His tongue ventured into your mouth with a hunger like it was the first time, exploring like it was uncharted territory, yet his lips moved against yours with a softness that melted you. Unable to resist, you reached up and tugged gently at his hair, opening your mouth wider to show him you wanted this as much as he did.

"Move up here for me, love." His hands brushed gently along your sides, encircling your waist as he guided you toward the middle of the bed, helping you settle against the headboard in a comfortable position.

"Is this okay? Are you comfortable?" Jake asked with a hint of worry, his palms stroking your inner thighs as your nightgown ride up slightly to expose your skin while you shifted along the mattress.

"I'm okay, Jake," You reassured him, brushing his bangs aside to get a clearer look at him. His slow, mallow pace made you feel a little impatient, a spark of intense desire starting to burn. "I want you to keep going," You begged, voice barely above a whisper.

Jake’s mouth slid against yours at your command, sending a warm thrill through you as he coaxed your bottom lip, nibbling on it like something sweet. Jake took this moment to peel your nightgown from your body over your head, making sure you didn’t have to lift a finger as he helped you undress, leaving you in just your panties for him to stop and gaze at.

It took every fiber of your willpower not to shy away and hide from Jake. You were hyper-aware of the physical changes your body had undergone, noticing them unconsciously every morning in the shower. Beyond the growing weight of your belly, you’d observed your areolas darkening, your breasts and curves becoming fuller, and the stretch marks becoming more prominent.

You constantly reminded yourself that this was normal, that it was natural for your body to look and feel this way because pregnancy is complicated. Dwelling on these changes would only hurt you internally, especially when you were certain Jake didn’t think twice about any of them. You knew he loved you unconditionally, for who you were, not just your body.

It was evident in the way Jake’s hooded eyes trailed over your naked skin, studying with fascination every inch with a look of awe. There was something both primal and possessive in his gaze as he swallowed with a heavy breath, instinctively licking his lips. It was as if, just by being there, you were ripping his insanity piece by piece. Heat rose to the tips of your ears, your heart racing as his intense admiration pulled you deeper into the moment, slotting himself between your legs.

"You're beautiful," His hands groped the flesh of your thighs before roaming upward past your stomach to squeeze your breasts. The brush of your hardened nipples against his palm rendered you speechless, sending a jolt of pleasure straight to your core.

"I look like a planet," You softly joked, finding it rather hard to believe.

Jake looked up at you with a smirk, dipping his head to lick a stripe along the valley of your breast. “Then, I can’t believe I’m gonna say this, but—"

You nearly knocked your head against the headboard when Jake took one of your perked nipples between his swollen lips, letting out a breathless whine as he pulled on the pebble with his teeth.

“—I’ve never wanted to fuck a planet so badly in my life after seeing you.” His groan rumbled against your chest.

You would have point out everything remotely wrong with his statement if only he wasn’t working wonders on your breast. His mouth move to suckle on the hardened nipple, his tongue swirling around it messily while his other hand kneaded the other breast, fingers twisting and flicking at the sensitive nub. He alternated between ministrations, giving each peak the same well-deserved attention that makes your back arch at the pleasure.

Your hands searched for something to hold on, slipping under his shirt to trace the defined contours of his back muscles. Just the sensation of your nails clawing desperately over his skin made him shiver.

Jake knew how tenderly aching every part of your body was due to the pregnancy. You were so responsive, so sensitive— completely under the mercy of his touch, letting out loud moans of his name that turned him on. He was obsessed with the way you threw your head back, your skin shuddering with goosebumps, and the way your hips twitched when he rubbed two fingers over your clothed sex, feeling just how wet you were as it soaked through sticking to his fingers.

“Can you feel how wet you are, baby? Your pretty little cunt is drooling for me.” Jake taunted, feeling the vibrations of your whimpers as he moved away from your breasts, placing final, gentle kisses on each puckering nipple to ease their soreness.

"Yes," you shuddered, feeling him press down sharply against your core, making your legs tremble. “Please do something, J-Jake, I’m going crazy."

“I know, baby, I know. Let me take care of you." Jake cooed, pulling his shirt over his head to expose his lean physique.

Your eyes lingered on the prominent bulge straining against his sweatpants before he sank on his stomach between your legs. His fingers slipped under the waistband of your panties and peeled the damp fabric from your pussy eagerly, tugging it until it was completely off your legs.

You blushed, noticing the way his face hovered at eye level so close to your bare pussy. His pupils were blown out, and you could feel the warmth of his breath ghosting over your aching core.

"So swollen and pretty," He purred, watching your moist folds glistening with arousal as you clenched over nothing at his words. His thumb pressed gently on your skin, spreading the delicate flesh to reveal your puffy clit while his other hand held you firmly under your thigh.

A stream of curses spilled from your lips as Jake flattened his tongue against your wet folds, lapping at your slit with fervor to work you open. His plump lips were soft, yet his tongue had a roughness that drove you wild, the contrasting sensations leaving you breathless as he devoured you.

Jake let out low groans of pleasure, spurred on by your fingers tangled in his hair, your nails grazing his scalp as you urged him closer to your bucking hips. He felt your thighs pressing in on either side of his face, only driving him to inhale deeply as the tips of his nose nudge against your clit with every lick and suckle, savoring your scent and juices as it grew sweeter.

“You taste so good, baby, could munch on you forever," He mumbled, moving his skillful tongue to roll over your throbbing clit, flicking the bundle of nerves playfully as he relished in the way you were grinding against his mouth.

The lewd sounds you made were a hymn that only fueled Jake’s desire, making him groan as he hump his clothed erection against the mattress, his tip twitching with precum because you tasted too good to be true. Jake was a devotee when it came to you. Your body was a holy temple, and your beautiful cunt was a deity he was willing to kneel before in worship, especially if heaven tasted like it did between your legs.

"J-Jakey, oh my God," You sobbed out, squeezing you eyes shut. "Feels so, so good—Hmnh—"

You nearly choked on your own words when Jake probed his middle finger to your entrance, his saliva mixed with your slick arousal allowed him to insert his finger smoothly into your velvet walls. You instinctively clenched around his digit at the intrusion, savoring the way he curled it just right, grazing that sensitive spot that made your abdomen pulse erratically.

He didn’t move the finger, as if slipping it in was simply to give your tightening walls something to clutch around, to loosen you and make you feel occupied. You couldn’t help but stare at the ceiling, panting heavily as the knot in your stomach tightened. If just one finger was making you feel this intense, you couldn’t imagine the burning sensation his thick cock would bring instead.

Jake sensed the shift in your demeanor when he glanced up, watching you fondled your tender breast with one hand, while the other cradled the underside of your protruding belly as your body writhed. You were close to release, and this spurred him on, his mouth lapping over your delicate pearl with a rapid, more intense rhythm than before, and soon the bedsheets were damp with your creamy juices running down his chin.

"I'm gonna cum, oh God, Jake! I'm gonna—"

Your mouth opened wide, caught up in your orgasm, unable to utter a single sound as your face contorted, nearly blacking out as waves of release crashed over you. Jake’s tongue wriggled against your engorged clit with precision, feeling your walls clenched his finger in a vice-like grip, each movement making the pleasure of your climax worth while.

"Such an obedient pussy.” He mouth out along the expanses of your spent slit, sliding between your cheeks and along the groves of your folds until he languidly kissed your clit. “You came on my tongue so fucking good, baby."

It took a moment for you to recover. It had been months since you’d had any sort of copulation like this, and the expenditure of your release left you shivering under the cold sweat on your skin, the tremors gradually subsiding.

Still, you mustered enough energy to prop yourself on your elbow, watching as Jake sat up and plunge his wet middle finger into his mouth, savoring every drop of your excess essence like liquid gold. Disheveled and his cheeks flushed pink, licking his cum-stained cupid's bow.

Jake leaned forward to kiss you, letting you taste yourself on his lips. "You’re doing so well for me," He whispered, his hands rubbing your stomach affectionately, as if to check on the baby's state. "Are you okay? Want to keep going?"

You nodded blankly, your finger trailing down to pull on the drawstrings, making him chuckle as he helped tug them loose. Jake hurriedly pulled down his sweatpants with your aid, tossing them onto the bedroom floor. His length spring stiffly against his abs, the tip a deep shade that matched your flushed cheeks as you realized just how eager you’d looked reaching for his pants.

"Sorry." You apologized. "Just...need you inside me right now."

"You're so cute when your cock hungry," Jake shakes his head, giving you those bedroom eyes before pressing a teasing kiss to the corner of your lips. "Lie down for me, love, and let me make that aching pussy feel good."

Jake helps you settle your head on the pillow, guiding you to lie down on your side, as lying on your back was no longer an option. You feel the mattress dip behind you as he wraps his body snugly against your back, pulling you close to his chest. You wish you could face him, craving the intimacy of it while he fucks you, but with your belly in the way, spooning from behind was the best position.

One of his hands went beneath you, supporting the underside of your stomach to hold you in place. You could hear him spit on his palm, his other hand pumping and lubricating his cock in preparation, making your toes curl in anticipation. His hot breath fanned against your nape, his lips sliding across your skin with feather-like kisses.

“You stay just like that.” Jake remarked, and you whimper out loud when you felt his cockhead circling your entrance, probing at the hole experimentally with the slightest pressure. “Let me know if it’s too much.”

He began easing himself into your tightness slowly, hearing you wince as his length stretched against the resistance of your wall.

"Relax for me, baby. Let me in— yeah, just like that. Good girl."

His thumb circled soothingly on your hip encouragingly as you gradually dilated, allowing his tip to press on the deepest part of your swelling walls. Biting your lower lip, you curled inward, cheeks smushed against the soft pillow, on the verge of exploding as Jake buried himself fully, stilling to give you time to adjust to his size.

It was impossible to believe you'd had his cock so many times before, familiar with just how large and hard he could occupied inside you. But now, with your body rearranged to accommodate a living being in your womb, you felt as though you were bursting at the seams, struggling to take all of him.

It didn’t help that this was the first time you felt each other so raw, without any latex barrier to dull the heat as he seeped into your sensitive walls, every vein pressing against your plush insides. Jake was grunting heavily too, squeezing his eyes shut as he felt you pulsing tightly around his cock, like a snug sleeve almost too small to take him, fully realizing just how swollen you were due to the baby.

"Y/N," He soothes breathlessly close to your ear. "Am I hurting you?"

"N-no," You managed to reply meekly, albeit the initial painful sensation was starting to fade but soon turns pleasurable. You could feel your walls adapting to Jake's cock, and a pleasant pressure began to build rapidly. You found yourself craving friction, bucking your hips back slightly to signal him. "You can move, Jake."

The pace of his thrusts was steady at first. He was testing the waters on how far he could take while gauging your reaction. He was attentive to your body language, and when your moans started to increase in volume and your ass bounced back to meet his thrusts halfway, Jake gripped your hips more aggressively. He pulled out until only the head of his cock was almost out before pounding back until his pelvis was flushed against the curve of your spine. He did it over and over again, making you go insane, feeling each other’s sweat sticking your back to his front.

"T-Too deep, Jake. Fuck, it's too fucking deep," You slurred, your voice heavy as if lost in the clouds, the lewd sound of skin slapping echoing in the room as he hit your sweet spot mercilessly from behind.

"Yeah, baby? You like how I fuck your tight pussy?" Jake laughed lowly, nipping at the shell of your ear.

He wished he could see your expression as he grabbed your leg and lifted it, hooking it over his thigh. The angle allowed him to kiss that spot so perfectly engraved in you that the pleasure was almost blinding, making it feel as though he was splitting you apart.

"Feel that? Can you feel how deep I am?"

You were too speechless to answer, so hyperfocus on reaching your high when you felt your baby’s kicking against your belly. You couldn’t help but place a hand over Jake’s, his hand that never left its spot to support the weight of your lower stomach. You didn’t know what came over you to let those incoming words slip. Maybe deep down, you knew how much Jake's paternal instinct would enjoy hearing them.

"G-Gonna make you a dad, Jake." You gasped out when his hold on your leg tightens, your brazen words made his body tense up. "Fuck, gonna make you the father of our babies."

Like a flip of a coin, you were haunted with the beat of the bed squeaking in tandem with Jake's thrust. It was ruthless, it was feral and with each punch of his tip against that sweet spot ripples unbearable pleasure, leaving you a mess of screams.

"That’s right, love. You’re gonna take all my seed like your body was meant to, right? Let me fill your womb until you're nice and full." Jake's voice deepened, a savagery in his demeanor to absolutely batter and bruise your birth canal that you'd have no choice but to accept his cock and his sperm.

You let out a pathetic yes, captive by the way Jake was so turned on by the prospect of him putting another baby in you that your body was slowly surrendering yourself to his gospels. Jake could feel his self control loosening, one hand reaching to grasp your bouncing tits from behind to roughly pinch a tender peak.

"Can’t wait to see you nurse our babies like a good mama.” He was biting the shell of your ear as you squirmed, feeling his thumb’s nail running roughly over your nipple. “Letting them latch on your pretty little nipples until you're leaking with milk.”

His words affected you in ways that felt almost ludicrous, your tender buds and heavy bosoms tingling with anticipation at the mere thought of that sucking motion once your baby is born. Familiar white spots dotted your vision as your release drew closer, the knot in your core tightening so deeply that there wasn’t a semblance of control left in your mind.

Jake was slipping under your touch as well, feeling your gaping hole pulling him in like a sealed vacuum. He couldn’t help but imagine his cock imprinted on the pink linings of your cunt, teetering at the brink of delirium but focused solely on seeing you come undone before giving in to his own desire.

"Gonna make you my wife, baby." Jake's assaults slows down but he used that as a leverage to rail you deep and precise, his movements were deliberate that he knew just the right amount of power to beckon your orgasm forward. "You’ll let me use your pussy forever, until all you can do is get pregnant and have my kids, yeah?"

Incoherent screams of agreement spilled from your lips, and you felt an atomic-like stir scattering from head to toe as your threshold was crossed. Jake said words that encouraged your release— I love you, baby, want you to cum for me. Your climax was blinding, yet at the same time, it revealed the answer to the universe: all you could think about was Jake, Jake, Jake and how much you love him back.

The said man anchored your body close as you convulsed uncontrollably, letting your orgasm wash over you, growing limp with overstimulation. Jake continued to thrust his aching cock once, twice more, his swollen tip twitching against the entrance of your cervix before he let out a long, begrudging moan of triumph into your shoulder, ropes of his creamy cum coated your walls, marking you profoundly with his seed.

Jake always daydream about this moment; all those fantasies led to this as he felt his thick load dripping down the crack of your pussy, spilling down to your inner thighs as you couldn't hold any more of him.

There were no words shared between you two for a minute, ragged breathing and the humidity of sex occupied the space. The aftermath of your highs were intoxicating you in the best way possible, leaving no room for arguments that he had fucked you to another dimension. You wished to bask in this atmosphere a little longer, to soak in each other's presence and recover your bearings. But Jake, ever attentive, lifted himself up, no matter how exhausted he was, and rested his chin on your shoulder, leaving a trail of kisses up to your pulse.

One hand reached out to push away the wispy strands of hair clinging to your sweaty forehead as you craned back to look at his smiling face and gooey haze, reaching out to hold his jaw as well.

You snorted tiredly. "You have that creepy smile on you again."

"You said yes," He leaned closer to whisper against your lips, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he lands a quick peck to your lips.

You frowned, tilting your head in confusion. "To what?

"My proposal."

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woniedarlin · 14 days ago

Note

I love the bf! enha yapper x listener. May I request bf! enha where the reader is sulking and the members are consoling her

Sulked and Soothed

pairing: boyfriend! enhypen x fem! reader

caution: This fic contains excessive amounts of sulking 😙

author's note: Thank you for the request anonie!! I’m so sorry it took so long. I hope you all enjoy it. Happy reading! ♡

permanent tag list: @sol3chu @chlorinecake @13tter @jung1w0n @layzfy @firstclassjaylee @ijustwannareadstuff20

HEESEUNG

You were upstairs, curled up by the window, and sulking….no, wallowing. Because Heeseung, your boyfriend, who was supposed to understand you the most, had ultimately dismissed your feelings earlier. You had been genuinely upset about something, and instead of taking it seriously, he had just laughed. You were so frustrated. So, to prove a point, you kicked him out of the shared house. Dramatic? Maybe. Justified? Absolutely.

Now, you sat by the open window, arms crossed, refusing to acknowledge the traitor currently standing outside on the lawn. Because, of course, Heeseung didn’t just leave. That would be too easy. No. Instead, he had decided to stand dead center…

With a boombox.

And he was singing.

“AND IIIIIIIII WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOUUUUUUU”

Your soul left your body.

“LEE HEESEUNG, WHAT THE ACTUAL-”

he was belting.

loud.

painfully and purposely off-key.

“Oh my god,” you groaned and yelled. “Please tell me you’re not doing this!”

‘’CAN’T HEAR YOU, BABY! THE MUSIC’S TOO LOUD”

“YOU’RE WAKING THE WHOLE NEIGHBORHOOD.”

“Good!” Heeseung grinned. “They need to know my suffering.”

You wanted to disappear. Your window was wide open. You could feel the judgmental stares of imaginary people at you. And just when you thought it couldn’t get worse…It got worse. Because then? He switched songs. A slow, romantic ballad started playing, and before you could even process it, Heeseung, your insane boyfriend,

sank to one knee.

and sang-

“CAUSE ALL OF ME! LOVES ALL OF YOU!”

You grabbed your pillow and launched it out the window.

He dodged. Smirked. “Missed me.”

“I AM THIS CLOSE TO ENDING YOU.”

“Then come down and do it.”

Oh.

Your eye twitched.

Heeseung, still kneeling, gave you that lovesick gaze. “I’m sorry, baby,” he said. “I shouldn’t have brushed you off. I get why you’re mad. And I swear I’ll listen properly next time.”

You glared. “Next time?”

“I mean-” He coughed. “There won’t be a next time! Because I’ve learned my lesson!”

Well…you were tired of sulking. With a groan, you pushed yourself up, stomped to the door, and went downstairs.

“EVEN WHEN I LOSE, I’M WINNINGGG”

You ripped the door open. “I CAN’T TAKE THIS ANYMORE.”

He cut off mid-note. “Oh, thank God. My knees were starting to hurt.”

You pointed at the boombox. “And what even is that?”

He turned it off and set it down carefully. “Found it in the garage. Thought it would be romantic.”

You let out a long sigh before finally meeting his eyes. Heeseung was still kneeling on the ground, looking up at you with the softest, most adoring expression you’d ever seen. “…You do sound good when you sing,” you muttered.

Heeseung’s grin widened instantly. “I knew it.” He got up in one swift motion until he could slip his arms around your waist and pull you into him. “Forgive me?” he asked and kissed your temple.

Fine. He won this round.

“Come on, let’s go inside,” he murmured while nudging his nose against your hair.

“…Only if you promise to never, ever do that again.”

“No promises, babe.” He reached past you to grab the boombox. “This might come in handy next time.”

You shot him a glare. “If you bring that thing inside, I’m locking you out again.”

Heeseung laughed and threw an arm over your shoulder as he led you back in. “Noted. I’ll hide it somewhere you won’t find it.”

You rolled your eyes as he shut the door behind you and pulled you closer.

You knew this wouldn’t be the last time this would happen.

JAY

It started with betrayal. Or at least, that’s what it felt like. Jay had done something…something unforgivable. (Okay, maybe not that unforgivable, but still.) And now, in your fury, you had stolen his prized possession.

His beloved leather jacket.

You strutted around the house in it, arms crossed, chin high, making a point of looking better in it than he ever had. Meanwhile, Jay was sprawled out on the couch, watching you. “You’re committing to this, huh?”

You huffed as you flicked your hair over your shoulder. “I deserve to wear it after what you did.”

His lips twitched. “Right. And what exactly did I do again?”

Your eyes narrowed. “You know what you did.”

He bit back a smile. “Oh, of course. My bad.”

You shot him a look before flipping the collar up dramatically. “Well, since I’m suffering here, I’m keeping this.”

Jay tilted his head,

And then, he smirked.

“Damn,” he said and stretched his arms behind his head. “You look good in it. Maybe you should keep it.”

You froze.

That was not the reaction you had planned for.

“What?”

Jay shrugged. “I mean, it suits you. Almost like it was made for you.”

Your brain is short-circuited.

This was supposed to be revenge. You were supposed to be tormenting him.

Not… whatever this was.

Suspicious, you added. “You don’t even care that I took it?”

“Nope,” he said quickly. “I kinda like seeing you in my clothes.”

Your cheeks burned. “That’s not the point, Jay.”

“Isn’t it?”

Ugh. Why was he like this?

Still sulking, you plopped down on the couch, arms crossed. Jay watched you for a moment, then, with an annoyingly soft chuckle, wrapped an arm around your shoulder. “You done being mad at me yet?” he murmured.

You let out a sigh. “TBD.”

Jay laughed as he pressed a quick, warm kiss to your lips. “Alright, take your time.”

And just like that…

You almost forgot what you were mad about.

JAKE

It started with a mistake. A thoughtless mistake. Jake had forgotten something important. And now, you were sulking.

Correction: you were sulking so hard that you had locked yourself in the bedroom.

Jake had knocked at least ten times.

“Babe?”

Silence.

“Okay, I know you can hear me.”

More silence.

Jake sighed. “Fine. If you don’t talk to me, I’ll just-”

A small slip of paper suddenly slid under the door.

You reached for it and unfolded it.

In his messy handwriting, it read:

“I’M SORRY :(”

You scoffed. Does he think one sad face is enough?

You placed the note aside and went back to sulking.

Five minutes later…

Another note.

“I REALLY MEAN IT :(((”

Another five minutes.

“PLEASE FORGIVE ME? :((( I WILL DO ANYTHING.”

You rolled your eyes. Anything?

Still, you stayed silent.

Jake sighed. “Okay. Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

Then, music started playing.

Sad music.

You perked up, recognizing the song. Through the door, Jake sang along, pouring his entire heart into the lyrics. You hated to admit it, but… his voice was pleasant. Still, you weren’t ready to forgive him just yet. Another song started. But this time…It was cheerful.

Too cheerful.

And then-

You choked.

Was he rapping Eminem?

“His palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy-”

You covered your mouth to keep from laughing.

“There’s vomit on his sweater already, mom’s spaghetti.” he rapped horribly, adding the worst beatboxing noises known to man. It was so bad, so stupidly bad, that your body betrayed you.

A giggle slipped out.

Jake immediately stopped.

“Wait. Was that… was that a laugh?”

You cleared your throat. “No.”

“Yes, it was,” he sang. “I heard that.”

“…No, you didn’t.”

“Baaaabe,” he whined. “Come on, I made a fool of myself out here.”

You hesitated, and then, finally, you unlocked the door. The second it clicked open, Jake pushed inside and engulfed you in a hug. “I missed you,” he mumbled into your hair.

You sighed. “I was only gone for, like, thirty minutes.”

“Yeah, but that’s like ten years in boyfriend time.”

You rolled your eyes, but your arms found their way around him anyway.

Jake grinned. “Soooo… I’m forgiven?”

You huffed. “No.”

But with the way you were smiling into his chest?

Yeah. He was forgiven.

SUNGHOON

Sunghoon messed up. You hadn’t spoken a word in the last ten minutes of the car ride. Not a sigh. Not a hum. Complete silence. And Sunghoon, being Sunghoon, knew he was so screwed. Then, the worst thing happened. You turned to him blankly and said, “Pull over.”

His hands tightened around the wheel. “Wait. What?”

“Pull. Over.”

Sunghoon panicked. “Babe, listen, let’s just talk-”

“NOW.”

Okay, yeah. You meant business.

With a resigned sigh, he turned toward the curb and parked the car.

But what he wasn’t expecting…

was for you to swing open the door, step out, and start walking away.

In heels.

Sunghoon’s jaw dropped. “Are you…baby!”

You didn’t even spare him a glance. One foot in front of the other, heels clicking against the pavement, eyes fixed forward. Sunghoon, still in shock, leaned over to the passenger seat, watching you go. “Are you seriously doing this right now?”

Again, no response.

His head thudded against the steering wheel.

And yet, here he was. Driving at a walking pace, following you down the street with his window rolled down.

For fifteen minutes.

At first, he tried apologizing.

“Okay, okay, I get it! I messed up! But baby, PLEASE get back in the car!”

Nothing.

Then, he tried reasoning.

“Look, I swear I didn’t mean to. Can we talk about this inside the car? Where there’s air conditioning? And no chance of you breaking an ankle?”

Still, nothing.

Then, he threatened.

“I will physically carry you back inside.”

You kept walking.

Sunghoon groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Oh my god.”

People were staring.

A group of teenagers stood at the corner, pointing and whispering to each other. Even an older man with a dog shot Sunghoon a disapproving look. This was officially the worst day of his life. And yet, he still wouldn’t leave you alone. “Okay,” he pleaded. “You win, alright? Just… please, baby, let me drive you home.”

Silence.

“…I’ll buy you whatever you want.”

Nothing.

“I’ll let you pick the next date.”

Nope.

“I’ll never steal your fries again.”

…Okay.

You stopped.

Sunghoon held his breath.

You turned slightly, just enough for him to see your raised eyebrow.

“…Swear?”

Sunghoon nodded immediately. “On my life. On my ancestors. On my future children’s inheritance.”

You eyed him for a second longer. Then, you turned around and walked back to the car. Sunghoon, relieved, unlocked the door so fast he nearly broke the button. The second you slid into the passenger seat, he exhaled deeply and gripped the wheel.

“…Are you still mad?”

You crossed your arms, looking out the window.

“…Maybe.”

Sunghoon gulped. “Okay. Cool. Great.”

This was going to be a long ride home.

SUNOO

Sunoo had never known actual suffering… Until today. You were mad. Not the fake pout kind of mad, where you just wanted him to baby you. Not the playful, sulking kind of angry, where he had to smother you with affection until you caved.

No.

You were the worst kind of mad. Silent treatment mad. Sunoo had never experienced this before. And frankly? He hated it. You hadn’t spoken to him all day. Not one word. This morning, when he greeted you, you walked past him. At lunch, when he sighed, “I’m starving,” just to get a reaction, you didn’t even blink. And when he poked your cheek, flashing his sweetest smile…you swatted his hand away.

That was when he knew-

Oh. This is serious.

But Sunoo wasn’t one to give up so easily.

If you were going to be stubborn, then OK. He’d have to outdo you.

Phase One: Puppy Eyes

First, he tried his biggest weapon.

The Puppy Eyes™.

You were sitting on the couch, scrolling through your phone, pretending he didn’t exist. So Sunoo sat across you, propping his chin on his hands. He stared. Big, round eyes. Mouth slightly pouted.

But you ignored him.

What.

You didn’t even spare him a glance?

Unacceptable.

Okay. Fine. Time for Plan B.

Phase Two: Physical Affection Attack

Sunoo launched himself onto your lap. He wrapped his arms around you.

You froze. But you still didn’t say anything. Not even a “Sunoo, get off.”

Sunoo gasped. “You won’t even insult me?! Do you know how serious this is?”

Silence.

Sunoo groaned. Okay. Fine. Time for the final stage.

Phase Three: Ultimate Suffering Mode

If words wouldn’t work, and affection wouldn’t work-

Then, it was time for desperate measures.

Sunoo stood up, took a deep breath, and collapsed onto the floor.

“Goodbye, world,” he announced loudly.

Huh?

“I can’t go on like this,” he continued. “She won’t even look at me. What is the point of life?”

You exhaled sharply through your nose.

Sunoo’s eyes snapped open.

Was that a laugh?

He sat up immediately, hope rekindled.

“BABY!” He grabbed your hands. “You still love me, right? Say it! Say it, or I’ll keep going!”

You rolled your eyes.

But then

Finally

You broke.

“…Act normal for once,” you muttered.

Sunoo gasped. “YOU SPOKE TO ME!” He threw his arms around you, hugging you so tight you nearly fell over.

You groaned, trying to push him away. “Okay, okay! Get off me!”

“NEVER!” Sunoo is clinging harder. “You’re stuck with me forever, baby~”

JUNGWON

It started as a joke. Jungwon had the audacity to side with someone else during a ridiculous debate if pineapple belongs on pizza was acceptable. And even though he was clearly wrong (in your very justified opinion), he doubled down just to mess with you. So, naturally, you retaliated. By blocking him. On everything.

Phone? Blocked. Instagram? Blocked. Messaging apps? Blocked. Even his email (just to be extra.)

Jungwon figured you’d cool down in an hour or so, but when the sun set and he was still blocked? Okay, this is serious. Since he couldn’t text or call, he had to get creative. The next morning, you woke up to an unexpected email from an unfamiliar sender. Subject line:

“A Plea for Mercy”

Your curiosity got the best of you, and you clicked. Inside was the most dramatic apology letter you’d ever seen, complete with excessive formal language:

“Dearest and Most Magnificent Love of My Life,”

“I come before you today a humbled and regretful man. It has come to my attention that I have deeply wronged you, and as such, I have been stripped of my most valued privilege: direct contact with you. I write this letter in desperate hopes that you will hear my plea and grant me the mercy of unblocking me.”

Attached was a PowerPoint presentation titled:

“Why You Should Forgive Your Loving Boyfriend”

You opened it, and the first slide simply read:

Slide 1: “Because I Love You. Next Slide.”

The next few slides were just ridiculously cute pictures of Jungwon with captions like:

• Would you really abandon this face? 🥺

• Think about all the funny memes I could be sending you right now.

• You’re literally my entire world. How can my world block me?

The last slide just had three words:

“I’m sorry, baby.”

You stared at the screen, fighting back a smile. Ugh. He’s so annoying. But also… really sweet.

You sighed, picked up your phone, and unblocked him.

Not even a second later, a call came through.

“I KNEW IT!” Jungwon’s voice rang out the moment you answered. “I KNEW YOU COULDN’T RESIST ME.”

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t push it, Jungwon.”

“I’d never,” he said, not even trying to hide his grin. “Now… about that pizza debate-”

You groaned. “Do you want to be blocked again?”

His laugh was loud. “Okay, okay! I take it back! Pineapple belongs wherever you say it does, my love.”

Yeah. He knew exactly how to win you over.

NI-KI

You had been too nice for too long. For weeks now, you had put up with Ni-ki’s competitiveness.

At video games? He crushed you.

At basketball? He blocked all your shots.

At board games? He won, then did a full victory dance on the table.

At just dance?

Oh, he didn’t just win.

He humiliated you.

Not only did he perfect every move, but he dared to turn to you mid-song and go-

“Babe, you good?”

That was the last straw. So, naturally, you did what any reasonable person would do. You stole all of his shoes.

Every. Single. Pair.

And when Ni-ki went to get his shoes before heading out

He found nothing.

Just an empty shoe rack.

Immediately, he froze. Then, he whipped around, eyes wide. “…Babe?”

No answer.

Ni-ki searched the whole house before finally finding you on the bed, surrounded by all his shoes.

Ni-ki just stared.

Then, very slowly, he exhaled. “Okay.”

He walked in and flopped down next to you. “Alright, I get it. I deserved this,” he admitted, throwing an arm over his face. “I have been humbled.”

You huffed.

Silence.

Then-

“…But can I have my Jordans back?”

You turned and glared.

Ni-ki immediately sat up. “Wait, wait! Actually, no. You know what? Keep them. I’m a changed man.”His lips pressed together. He tried to fight back a smirk. “Wow. This must be what true defeat feels like.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh, now you understand?”

He nodded solemnly. “Yep. It’s all so clear now.”

You squinted. “You’re just saying that to get your shoes back.”

Ni-ki gasped. Fake betrayal. “I would never.”

You held up his Jordans.

Ni-ki immediately sat up straighter. “Wait. Be careful-”

You smirked. “Maybe I should hide them for another week.”

His eyes widened in panic. “Okay, OKAY! I SURRENDER!”

Without warning, Ni-ki lunged. You shrieked, trying to escape, but he was too fast. He tackled you onto the bed, trapping you under his arms as he snatched his Jordans back. Then, he started tickling you. You burst out laughing, kicking and writhing. “NI-KI, STOP!”

Ni-ki grinned. “Say I’m the best boyfriend ever, and I’ll consider it.”

Through laughter, you shoved at him. “NEVER!”

Ni-ki smirked. “Wrong answer.”

And so, you paid the price.

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enhaflixer · 2 months ago

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texting bf! hyung line who you’ve sent grocery shopping.

hyung line enha x f!reader

Masterlist

maknae line ver

AN: REQUESTS ARE OPEN!!! pls any and all feedback would be so so amazing i'm trying to get into writing and fics more!!!

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myjjongie · 1 month ago

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۶ৎ BENEATH THE MASK ── s. jaeyun

IN WHICH: your best friend's brother has a secret identity you didn't mean to find at 3 in the morning.

PAIRING: spider-man!jake x fem reader GENRE/WARNINGS: lowercase intended !!, one shot, fluff, slight angst, best friend's brother, emotional tension, slow burn, mentions of an injury, bleeding/blood WORD COUNT: 2.5k ₊⊹♡ EVIE'S NOTES: firstly i wanna thank claire ( @jaeyunluvbot ). i was torn between writing bsf brother jake or spider-man jake, and claire said to mix both. and that is what i did, so shout to her holy days. really loved writing this tbh. i am a huge lover for anything marvel (scott summers ily) and this was so just so much fun :3

spider-man, a proclaimed menace. at least, that’s what the daily bugle claimed. a web slinging vigilante who causes property damage alongside misdemeanors. speculations of him being a college student, didn’t help the masked hero’s case. to many, spider-man seemed like a immature kid.

but to a small majority spider-man was their savior. you were a part of that latter. your interest was just a minor curiosity. blurry photos mixed with poorly shot videos flooded your feed. or maybe it was the way the masked hero was close in your age. in the end it began to flood your mind, he was on your mind.

it wasn’t until the infamous web slinger saved you. in truth it wasn’t a life or death situation. just a minor theft, stolen back pack was all. yet spider-man was somehow there to save you instantly.

you remember the way he spoke—his tone was strangely familiar, yet out of reach. like a voice you should recognize but couldn’t quite place. that fleeting moment was enough to keep him on your mind. articles you stumbled upon? bookmarked. every post that crossed your timeline? saved without hesitation. what only started as simple curiosity had slowly turned into something more.

now here you were, crashing at yunjin’s place as usual—pajamas on, sprawled across her bed. your phone rested in your hands, screen glowing as you mindlessly scrolled, your feed unsurprisingly filled with spider-man.

“you totally have a type.”

your head turned to your best friend bewildered by her statement. her eyes remained fixed on the post displayed on your phone. sure you found the mysterious hero charming. but you wouldn’t say he’s your type, that was a bit of a stretch. yunjin, however, only giggled at your immediate defensiveness.

“come on. i’ve seen the way you talk about him. not to mention all those articles and posts you have saved. he’s totally your type!”

you rolled your eyes, heat creeping up to your cheeks. “doesn’t mean he’s my type. it’s just simple curiosity nothing more.”

“right.” yunjin hummed as she turned away from your phone. “you know instead of just day dreaming about wanting that web-head, put that focus on jake.”

your face morphed into utter shock. “absolutely not!”

yunjin snorted watching you jump up. “i mean he’s single. you’re single—“

your voice quickly cut in. “huh yunjin. i liked him one time in grade school!” you couldn’t help but stare at her like she had lost her mind. “not to mention this is your older brother we’re talking about!”

“gosh. you make him sound horrible.” yunjin pouted.

“i mean he’s not horrible. he’s a great guy. just, i was so young when i first met him. hell he was the only guy i knew at that age. so of course i had a crush on him.”

yunjin shrugged, unbothered by your words. “i mean even if you still did i wouldn’t care. plus i think it would be enjoyable watching you both bicker in a will they or won’t they kind of way.” she couldn’t help but laugh at the could have been situation.

“still not happening.”

“what’s not happening?”

both of you turned towards the doorway, where jake stood in flannel pajamas and a graphic tee. his iconic black frames perched on his nose. your face turned red, heart racing as you feared he had overheard the entire conversation.

“meh, nothing don’t worry about it. you heading to bed jake?”

“yeah just came to check on you both before i turned in for the night. just don’t forget you’re in charge of getting groceries tomorrow. i’ll send some money—“

“yeah yeah. i hear you jake. i’ll see you in the morning.” yunjin cut him off, breathing out a sigh.

jake softly laughed at his stubborn sister. “good night yunjin. and good night yn.”

your red ears perked at his voice. “yeah.. good night jake.” awkward eyes looking at him, taking note of the smile on his face.

with that jake walked away to his room. the faint sound of his closed door echoing from the hallway.

face planting into the pillows you groaned out. “god kill me now!”

the weight of embarrassment was too much for you. in truth you weren’t being fully honest with yunjin. one thing was true you did like jake once in grade school, but that didn’t mean there were no feelings that lingered.

you denied anything romantic you felt towards jake for years. only recently did you come to terms with these emotions that would never leave. the only conclusion now was to sleep it off—it seemed like the quickest way to forget, at least for the time being. future you would have to deal with waking up and remembering it all again.

later that night you stirred awake, eye lids struggling to open. finally finding your phone after blindly feeling for it. the bright light helping to wake you up. the weight of yunjin curled up next to you as she still slept soundly. you carefully peeled yourself out of the bed. making sure not to make any noise as you made your way to her door.

once out of the door, you began to head toward the kitchen. as you made your way down the hallway passing jake’s room, something made you pause. his door was cracked open, just slightly. just enough for you to see him.

there was jake, his black frames—something he always needed—no longer in sight. jake hunched over his bed, peeling his hoodie off with slow, careful movements. his shirt was stained a dark red at his side. blood swelling from a fresh gash on his ribs.

your eyes widened at the deep wound seeping through his shirt, panic rising as your mind raced with too many questions to count. then you scanned the room further, taking notice of the first-aid kit sprawled out beside him. surgical scissors along with antiseptic wipes littering the floor. evidence of a rushed attempt to tend to his injury. the sight only deepened the confusion settling in your chest.

and there, crumpled at his feet, was a torn mask. one you had seen countless times—so many that you could recognize it just from its color.

that signature red mixed with a web motif.

your breath hitched.

no.

no. no. no.

your best friend’s, nerdy, predictable, know it all, older brother was—

jake was spider-man.

your head began to spin, everything falling into place like a puzzle you stared at for so long. why he felt oddly familiar. why spider-man’s voice sounded like someone you knew. why he was in the right place at the right time.

it was jake.

all along, it was jake.

before you could even think about stepping back, his head snapped toward the door. toward you. jake’s gaze now locked onto yours instantly. panic spreading across his face as the situation settled in.

for a second, nothing moved. then, in one swift motion he shot up. stumbling slightly, knocking over the chair beside him. “shit.”

unfortunately for you, jake moved faster then you could react. one second you were standing outside his door frozen in place. the next, a strong hand was wrapped around your wrist, yanking you forward.

a startled gasp left your lips as you stumbled into his room. his door shortly closing behind you. before you could begin to register what had just happened, your back was pressed against the wood. jake’s arm braced by your head, caging you in. his uneven breathing being the only sound in the shared silence.

you couldn’t move, neither did he. all you could do was watch as his eyes scanned your face. seeking for your reactions, wondering if you felt lied to, betrayed, hurt.

you could see it in his dark eyes, worry cascading his body at his secret being out. indeed spider-man was someone you began to admire. but that didn’t mean jake purposely lied to you or even yunjin, there was a reason for it. so how could you hate him for something he felt hiding was right?

jake noticed the reflection of your eyes change. his tense body now softening. he could withstand everyone else hating him, maybe even his sister. but you? the thought of you hating him for this secret, crushed him every time he put the suit on. especially when he realized his feelings for you shifted all those years ago.

finally his voice broke through the silence, low and measured. “you can’t tell anyone.”

you nodded along, your brain still processing the last ten minutes. you felt dizzy, as if the world around you was spinning out of control. this was jake. your best friend’s older brother. the same guy you used to have a ridiculous grade school crush on—to your surprise, you still did. the same guy who now stood in front of you bleeding, battered, and very much not a nerdy know it all you thought you knew.

then he winced.

the sharp inhale made you snap out of it. your eyes flickered down to his ribs. remembering the fresh blood seeping through the fabric. your stomach churned at the thought.

“jake. you’re—“

“i know.” his voice was strained, body tensing up again. “can you help me?”

your eyes widened at his question. “me?”

“yeah.” jake couldn’t help let out a pained laugh at your expression. “i mean unless you want me to bleed out in my room. that’s fine.”

“no. no! i’ll help.”

jake stepped back, the absence of his warmth making you exhale. jake made his way to the bed, dropping himself onto the edge with a slow and careful motion. once settling down did he strip away his blood stained shirt, revealing his wounded body.

you had seen jake shirtless countless times before. he had the build of your usual nerd—slim, somewhat lanky, with a lean frame. but now, with the suit gone, he looked different. stronger. more defined than you had ever realized. the muscles that lined his torso was a stark contrast to the image of him you always carried in your mind. that alone made it hard to look away.

swallowing all your nerves you forced yourself to move. picking up the fallen chair, you pulled it up the bed side. gathering up the items from the first-aid kit, you settled it down next to jake.

your fingers trembled slightly as you grabbed the antiseptic wipes. jake took immediate note of this causing him to smirk at your movements.

“you’re nervous.”

you shot him a glare. “no, i’m not.”

“mhm.” jake let out a low chuckle. knowing you weren’t being honest.

you felt your cheeks burn at his laugh. yet wanting to prove a point, you pressed the antiseptic to his wound a little harder than necessary.

jake hissed. “okay, easy.”

“you know you deserved that.”

jake laughed lowly once more sending a shiver up your spine. you turned your focus back to his wound, ignoring the way his laugh made you feel. you took the moment to examine his side. a deep gash that would definitely need stitching, jake didn’t expect you to do it did he?

“don’t worry. i’m gonna stitch myself up.”

your head shot up to look at him. did he just read your mind? you saw the way jake let a lopsided smile tug at his lips. “it was written all over your face yn.”

you turned your face away feeling too shy to continue staring at him. carefully you went back to the task. your eyes couldn’t help but wander over to his bare chest. noting the way jake breathed deeply whenever you applied pressure, or when you brought a new wipe to the wound.

then gently you raised your fingers to graze against his stomach. mesmerized by how muscular his torso had become. before you could make contact, his hand shot out, grabbing yours. his grip was tight, trembling slightly, as if he was afraid of something.

“don’t.” jake breathed out, his dark eyes fixed on you, partially hidden by his messy brown hair. his voice came off low, strained, almost as if the simple request was harder than it seemed.

“sorry. i. i wasn’t thinking.” you whispered as you readjusted your focus.

jake’s breathing deepened as he studied your nervous body beneath him, his gaze faltered between your hands and your face. jake could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on him—knowing that if he didn’t stop you, everything they had would be ruined. the seemingly normal relationship you both had would slip through his fingers. it was bad enough you had found out about his secret identity this way. he couldn’t bear to make it worse by letting his feelings get in the way.

soon you finished, scooting away as jake took over, carefully stitching the wound. an occasional click of his tongue filled the room whenever he poked too deep.

the air was thick, charged with something unspoken. you didn’t know what it was. but there was a tense emotion that hung between you both.

you let out a deep exhale, your gaze lowering down to the floor, now eyeing the torn mask. with hesitant fingers, you reached down for it, gently picking it up. turning it over you stared at the face you’d seen countless of times on your screen. fingers grazing over the eye lenses, taking in the moment of jake being spider-man.

jake’s hand stilled. his gaze flickered to you, watching as you studied the mask.

then, he spoke up. his voice low yet quiet, breaking the silence.

“are you scared of me now?”

his words were barely above a whisper, worry laced between it.

your body jumped, caught off guard by his question. slowly, your gaze lifted to meet with his eyes. then you saw it, the jake you always knew. yet. he looked tired. worn out from all the responsibilities he had to bear alone. your fingers curled around the mask gripping it tightly.

“no.”

you swallowed hard, heart hammering in your chest. realization dawned on you at how much jake truly suffered alone. suffering so much he couldn’t even tell his sister. “i’m not scared of you jake.”

“thank you…” his head hung low as he focused on stitching himself up.

you continued to sit there, feeling as if jake needed the company—someone to distract him from the weight of his solitude. after a long moment jake finished up, carefully putting everything back into the kit before shoving it underneath his bed.

standing up from the chair, you knew this was your queue to leave. mask still held tightly in your hand you placed it down next to jake. before you could turn toward his door, jake’s fingers brushed against yours. barely, lightly, as if he was unsure he could touch you.

“yn. thank you again. just. please don’t tell yunjin..”

“didn’t plan on it.” you laughed softly, slowly pulling your hand from his touch. the feeling still lingering on your fingertips.

making your way to the door you slowly turned around, gaze locked back onto jake. “good night spider-man.”

jake chuckled at his hero alias the corners of his mouth curling into a faint smile. “good night yn.”

as you left his room the weight of it all still loomed on you. you knew for certain nothing between you and jake would ever be the same again.

yet somehow you found yourself happy with that new found outcome.

perm taglist ( open! refer to this post ) . . . @ikeulove @leehsngs @nickiminajleftasscheek @ijustwannareadstuff20 @enhanextdoor

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itendtothinkalot · 18 days ago

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professional yearner (jake sim edition)

summary: growing up, you had two heroes: jake and sunghoon. thick and thin, chaos and crayons, they were always there. so when your ex dumped you for "being so oddly close to your best friends” well… fair. but what he didn’t get is that you never needed him. you’ve always had jake sim and maybe that was the problem.

genre: fluff | best friends to lovers | jake's a professional yearner

characters: best friend!jake x f!reader

words: 13k??

warnings: kissing? making out? thats it!

The schoolyard was too hot. The kind of heat that made your socks stick to your ankles and your patience wear thin. It smelled vaguely like cheese sticks and someone’s forgotten gym shirt. And in the middle of it all—Jake Sim was crying.

Not the loud, hiccuping kind. No. Jake cried the way the sky threatened rain—quiet, heavy, trembling on the edge. His eyes were red, his mouth pressed into a thin, brave line, and his fingers clutched a half-crushed grape soda like it might hold him together.

Across from him stood Minhyuk Kang. Middle school tyrant. Bad haircut. Worse personality. He was smirking like he’d won something.

You weren’t having it.

Your backpack hit the ground as you stormed across the yard, fists curled tight. Your heart pounded in your ears. You didn’t even think—just moved, fueled by friendship and blind loyalty.

“Hey!” you shouted, voice cracking. “Pick on someone your own size, you—oversized… loser!”

Not your best. You were eleven. Your brain was still 60% Capri Sun.

Minhyuk blinked, unimpressed. Then shoved you. Hard.

You hit the pavement with a thud, landing on your butt. Your backpack burst open–papers, pencils, and one private doodle of a sparkly unicorn horse went flying across the asphalt.

Laughter erupted around you.

And then—

That sigh.

That tired, long-suffering sigh that said “I’m getting tired of this,” from a boy who was spiritually seventy-five years old.

Park Sunghoon.

He approached with his hoodie sleeves covering his hands and his cap tilted sideways, like he couldn’t be bothered but also like he was already deciding how to fix this. He stopped beside you and glanced at the chaos—Jake’s glassy eyes, your scraped knees, Minhyuk’s dumb smirk.

Without saying a word, he gave Minhyuk a look.

The kind of look that could curdle milk. Or send boys twice his size packing.

Minhyuk flinched. Then, like the coward he was, mumbled something about catching his bus and slinked away.

You blinked up at Sunghoon. Jake sniffed beside you.

And then—without coordination, without thinking—you and Jake both lunged forward and wrapped your arms around Sunghoon at the same time.

He froze. Sighed again. But he didn’t pull away.

“I’m gonna be stuck looking after you two for the rest of my life, aren’t I?” he muttered.

You grinned into his sleeve. “Yep.”

“Definitely,” Jake added, his voice a little wobbly but smiling now.

Sunghoon didn’t say he loved you.

He didn’t have to.

The cafeteria buzzed around you—noisy, fluorescent, filled with the sound of trays clattering and people trying too hard to sound casual. Jake was nursing a carton of strawberry milk, lazily spinning it between his fingers. Sunghoon sat across from him, trying and failing to look like he wasn’t deeply regretting his protein bar.

Jake leaned over dramatically, voice pitched just loud enough to reach Sunghoon but still just out of your range. “Look at her,” he whispered, grinning. “In love. Disgusting.”

Sunghoon didn’t look up. “I give it two minutes before she makes us throw up.”

You shot them a look over your shoulder and tossed a crumpled napkin in their direction. “Shut up. I’m talking.”

Jake put on a high-pitched falsetto immediately. “‘Hi baby. No, baby, you hang up first. No, you.’”

Sunghoon chimed in, completely deadpan. “‘Babymuffin. Babylove. Babyback ribs.’”

You bit back your laugh and turned away, pressing the phone closer to your ear, trying to keep your voice soft. “No, I’m not ignoring you. I’m with Jake and Sunghoon.”

There was a pause.

Then, flat and cold: “…Again?”

Your stomach dropped. Just a little.

“I told you I’d be with them today,” you said. “It’s the championship game.”

“You said you’d try to come to my gig,” came the reply, sharper now. “You promised. But of course you’d rather play cheerleader for those two.”

“It’s not like that,” you said, your voice tightening. “I told you weeks ago this was important. They’ve worked so hard for this—”

“Jesus. Do you even care about me?” he cut in. “Or am I just the guy you date when your real boyfriends are busy?”

Your hand clenched around your phone. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You’re always choosing them. Every time. Like I’m your backup plan—”

“They’re my best friends.” You snapped now, barely keeping your voice down. “You knew that from the beginning.”

And that was when you noticed: the table had gone silent. Jake wasn’t spinning his milk anymore. Sunghoon’s jaw was tight. Both of them were watching you.

“And you’re supposed to be my girlfriend,” your boyfriend hissed through the line. “But I guess that means nothing to you.”

You stared down at the table.

Then, softly, with every ounce of control you had left: “You should know that Sunghoon and Jake are–.”

Click.

The line went dead.

The phone hit the table with a muted thud.

You didn’t look up. Not right away. Your arms crossed, your nails digging into your sleeves. Your heart pounded too fast, too hard, and it wasn’t even from the words. It was from how familiar this had started to feel. Like you were always apologizing for choosing the people who never made you feel like a second choice.

Jake’s voice came low, tight. “What’d that idiot say this time?”

Gone was the teasing lilt, the sunshine tone. He looked like he was one bad sentence away from marching across campus and settling it the old-fashioned way. Sunghoon nudged him under the table but Jake didn’t look away from you.

You finally glanced up, eyes tired. Your voice came quiet. “It’s your championship day. Let’s not ruin it.”

Jake held your gaze for a beat longer than necessary. His jaw flexed.

But he nodded.

For now.

—

You kept your arms crossed, head low, your gaze fixed somewhere on the cracks in the pavement. Not in a sulking way. Not even angry. Just… heavy. The kind of quiet where the world felt muffled, like someone had turned the volume down on everything.

Jake didn’t say anything. Not at first.

He just walked beside you in silence—his steps matching yours like second nature. Every few moments, the soft fabric of his hoodie brushed your sleeve, but he didn’t try to fill the quiet with noise. Just stayed close. Present. Like always.

Then, after a beat, he gently bumped your shoulder with his.

You didn’t look up, not right away. But you felt it. That familiar nudge. Like he was reminding you: hey, still here.

A few more steps passed before his voice came, light but careful.

“How many fingers am I holding up behind my back?”

You stopped walking.

Your breath hitched, just a little.

God. That game.

It used to be your thing. A childhood ritual for every scraped knee, every bad grade, every time you wanted to cry but didn’t. Jake would hold his hand behind his back and make you guess. If you got it right, you’d get a prize—usually something ridiculous. A neon sticker. A broken crayon. One time, a scribbled picture of you with superpowers and him as the hulk.

You hadn’t played that game in years.

But the second he said it, a small appeared on your lips.

You glanced sideways.

“…Seriously?”

Jake smiled. The kind that barely lifted one corner of his mouth—the one that felt like a secret. Like it was just for you.

“C’mon,” he said, eyes glinting. “Let’s see if you’ve still got it.”

You swallowed.

“Two,” you murmured.

Jake didn’t break eye contact. Just slowly turned and held out his hand behind his back, showing you—

Two fingers.

You let out the softest breath of a laugh. The kind that didn’t really sound like one. Just a shaky little puff of air. But it was enough to lighten your shoulders.

Jake grinned, triumphant. “Correct. Prize pending.”

You shook your head, a real smile threatening your lips now. “You still owe me for the time you cheated and held up zero.”

Jake’s eyes widened in mock horror. “That wasn’t cheating. That was high-level psychological warfare.”

“You made me do the chicken dance in front of my mom for a sticker.”

“You did it twice.”

“You said the first one lacked commitment.”

Jake was laughing now, soft and golden, and you couldn’t help it. You laughed too. Quiet. Cracked around the edges. But real.

The silence between you didn’t feel heavy anymore.

He tilted his head toward the lecture hall ahead. “Go grab a seat,” he said softly. “I’ll get you a coffee.”

You blinked. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he said, already backing away. “Unless you’d rather have emotional support gummies.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile was warm. “Coffee, please.”

Jake gave you a little salute—two fingers, same as before. “Coming right up, princess.”

You stood there for a beat too long, then finally made your way into the lecture hall, choosing a seat near the back. You slung your bag down beside you and reached into your pocket, fingers brushing something crinkly.

You frowned. Pulled it out.

Your favorite candy.

The exact brand. The exact flavor. Not something you’d had on you today.

Your breath caught.

Jake.

He must’ve slipped it into your pocket when he bumped your shoulder. Probably while you were distracted. Quiet. Thoughtful. Stupidly considerate.

You stared at the wrapper like it meant something. Like it said everything he couldn’t.

You tucked it into your bag gently, like it was something precious.

Outside, somewhere in a line too long for a Tuesday afternoon, Jake was probably ordering your coffee with extra sugar and exactly two pumps of vanilla.

Because of course he remembered.

Of course he always did.

And maybe you didn’t say it out loud.

But in that moment—you didn’t feel so heavy anymore. Because no matter what, you had Jake.

—-

The bleachers vibrated beneath your feet, alive with nervous energy. Late afternoon sunlight poured across the field in gold streaks, turning everything too bright, too cinematic. You stood at the railing beside Niki and Sunoo, fingers curled tight around the metal bar, heart pounding harder than the game announcer’s voice overhead.

Your phone wouldn’t stop buzzing.

Are you seriously ditching my gig for those two idiot friends of yours?Again? Really?You’re always doing this.You say I'm important, but it’s always them.You’re not dating them. You’re dating ME.

You rolled your eyes.

There was no use replying. You’d tried. He never got it.

Jake and Sunghoon weren’t just friends.

They were everything. They were your history. They were your present. They were scraped knees and matching science fair disasters. They were the reason your parents felt safe sending you to college. They were Sunday family dinners and sleepovers that never really ended.

They were home.

And okay—maybe your gaze drifted toward Jake a little more than it should’ve lately. Maybe it always had. Not in a way you noticed at the time. Not in a way that meant anything.

Just… in a way. As a friend, cf course. He was just…always sweet. What could you do?

Your eyes found him instantly.

Jake—number 10.

Sunlight caught the edges of his hair, wind tugging at the loose strands near his ears. His jersey clung to him, damp with sweat, legs quick and sure as he shouted across the field. His eyes were locked in, his whole body moving with this reckless kind of energy that made him hard to look away from.

Not that you were trying to look away.

You shook your head and scanned the field again, trying to find Sunghoon—but your gaze found Jake instead.

Again.

The crowd roared as the clock ticked down. 2–2. Final minute. The tension in the air buzzed through your chest like a live wire.

“I can’t watch,” Sunoo muttered beside you, peeking between his fingers. “He’s gonna pass out.”

“Shut up,” Niki hissed. “It’s getting good.”

Your eyes tracked Jake’s every step. He had the ball now—legs moving like water, flowing past defenders like they weren’t even there. Sunghoon flanked beside him, silent and steady, drawing players away.

Then Jake cut sharp to the left.

A beat.

A breath.

And then he kicked.

The ball soared.

Time stopped.

It flew past the goalie—clean, sure—and hit the net with a glorious, perfect thwack.

Silence.

And then chaos.

The stadium erupted. Teammates swarmed the field, screaming, leaping, colliding into Jake like a tidal wave of celebration. People were crying. Someone was waving a flag. You might’ve blacked out for a second.

But Jake—Jake didn’t stay buried in the huddle.

He pulled himself out.

Looked up.

And saw you.

And then, he ran.

Straight through the chaos, through teammates and coaches and cheering fans.

Right to you.

“PRINCESS, DID YOU SEE THAT?!” he yelled, already grinning like he couldn’t contain it.

You didn’t even think.

You ran.

You jumped into his arms—legs around his waist, arms around his neck—and he caught you like gravity didn’t exist between the two of you.

He spun you around, both of you laughing, breathless and weightless in the middle of a stadium filled with noise.

“That was insane, right?!” he said, still spinning, still grinning like a madman.

“You’re insane!” you yelled back. “That’s my best friend!!”

He held you tighter for a second.

You barely noticed how close you were. How steady his hands felt against your waist. How natural it felt to be in his arms.

You didn’t think too much about the way your laugh curled into something softer as he smiled at you. Or how your fingers lingered at the back of his neck just a moment too long.

You were just happy.

And Jake?

Jake was still looking at you like you’d hung the stars yourself.

But then you saw him.

At the edge of the crowd.

Your boyfriend.

He was standing stiffly, guitar slung over his back, eyes dark. He looked right at you. Then at Jake.

Then back at you.

And you saw it happen—saw the confirmation of every suspicion he’d ever thrown at you. Every insecure question. Every argument. Every pointed “you’re always with them.”

His jaw clenched.

And then he mouthed it.

Two words. Sharp. Final.

We’re done.

And he turned.

—-

The door slammed open behind you with enough force to shake the picture frames.

You didn’t check to see if Jake and Sunghoon were behind you. Of course they were. You could hear their footsteps trailing in, less hurried than yours but tinged with the same confused urgency. Like golden retrievers caught in a rainstorm—uncertain, blinking, too loyal to run.

“I cannot believe he dumped me!” you snapped, flinging your bag onto the floor like it had betrayed you. “He. Mr. Can't-Name-Three-Films-By-Studio-Ghibli. Mr. ‘I think astrology is fake but also I’m a Scorpio so that’s just how I am.’”

You kicked your shoes off, one of them narrowly missing the umbrella stand.

Jake ducked.

Sunghoon raised his eyebrows and wisely stayed quiet.

“I mean,” you huffed, voice going up a pitch as you spun toward them, “he plays the same three songs on guitar and called Christopher Nolan ‘overrated.’ And he—that man-child with a Spotify playlist called ‘sad vibez’ and no vowels—broke up with me?!”

Sunghoon winced. Jake looked like he was watching a house on fire and wondering if throwing himself into it would help.

You threw your hands up in disbelief. “I was going to dump him! I had a list! A literal note in my phone! And this man—this emo scarecrow of a boyfriend—had the audacity to beat me to it?!”

You stormed to the living room and collapsed onto the couch like it owed you reparations, arms flung over your face as you let out a long, frustrated groan.

“I can’t believe this. He said I was emotionally unavailable. Me! The girl who went to all his stupid open mic nights and pretended his lyrics weren’t just stolen posts from 2018 Twitter in stupid long verses.”

In the hallway, Jake leaned toward Sunghoon.

“Should we, like… say something?”

Sunghoon didn’t even look away from you. “Absolutely not.”

Jake frowned. “You’re the stable one. You talk to her.”

“You’re the one in love with her.”

Jake made a wounded sound in the back of his throat. “That’s not—I mean—I’m—”

“You literally made her tea last night and wrote her name on the mug in sharpie like a loser.”

Jake whispered, “It was a nice mug.”

You sat up abruptly, glaring at them like a storm cloud with a vendetta. “HEY. Tweedle Dee. Tweedle Dum. Shut the hell up. I’m having a justified crisis.”

They both stiffened like they’d been caught shoplifting.

You threw yourself back onto the couch again, dramatically draping your arm across your face.

Silence.

Then—

“She definitely just called us Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum,” Jake whispered.

“You’re Dum,” Sunghoon replied flatly.

“At least I didn’t cry watching Tangled.”

“…You said you wouldn’t bring that up again.”

“Then stop being Dum.”

You let out a guttural groan. “Can one of you just bring me ice cream or, like, a time machine so I can go back and tell myself to swipe left?”

Another pause.

Then quiet footsteps.

And a moment later, something cold landed in your lap.

Your favorite ice cream.

Jake didn’t say a word. Just sat on the floor in front of the couch, back leaning against it like it was the most natural thing in the world, head tilted slightly to look up at you.

He didn’t smile. Not fully. Just that soft, familiar curve of his lips that you’d seen a thousand times, always reserved for you. The kind that didn’t ask for anything, didn’t demand a response—just offered quiet presence.

Sunghoon dropped onto the floor beside him with a sigh, already scrolling through Netflix.

And you?

You breathed. For the first time all day, you breathed.

It didn’t erase the anger. Didn’t fix the betrayal. Didn’t un-stupid your ex.

But it made your chest ache a little less.

Because even in your most unhinged, spite-fueled, mascara-streaked moments—you still had this.

You had your boys.

—-

Your room was quiet, except for the low hum of the party a few buildings down—the bass thudding like a heartbeat through the floorboards, too far to join, too loud to ignore.

The fairy lights on your wall glowed soft and golden, casting little halos across your shelves, your pillows, the stack of unread books by your bed.

You sat cross-legged on your comforter, oversized hoodie bunched around your hands, hair damp from your post-meltdown shower. There was still a tightness in your chest, the kind that didn’t quite hurt, but hadn’t let you breathe fully in days.

Sunghoon stood behind you, a hairbrush in his hand.

“You sure you don’t wanna go?” he asked, gently easing the brush through the tangles near your crown.

You shrugged, slow and small. “And see him all over her? I’d rather chew glass.”

Her—being the bass player in your ex’s band. The one he swore was “just a friend” until he posted a ten-second Instagram story of himself shoving his tongue down her throat. Classy.

Honestly, you still didn’t know what you ever saw in that idiot.

Sunghoon sighed. You felt it more than you heard it—low and long, his breath ruffling a strand of your hair.

He didn’t say anything else. Just kept brushing, slow and steady, like he could detangle your hurt the way he was detangling the ends of your hair.

He always did this.

Ever since you were ten and crying after a costume mishap in the school play. He’d walked you home, sat you down, and—wordlessly—grabbed the brush from your desk. He’d been doing it ever since. Whenever your heart cracked, he patched it up strand by strand.

He even used your products now. Knew the exact amount of leave-in conditioner. Knew how to finger-detangle without tugging too hard. Knew when to talk—and more importantly, when not to.

You sat still, head tilted slightly forward, letting the rhythm lull you. The brush paused near the ends.

Then came the voice.

Quiet. Measured. A little softer than usual.

“He didn’t make you happy.”

You opened your mouth. But before anything could come out—

“Not once,” Sunghoon continued. “You bent so far backwards for him I was scared your spine would snap. And he never once met you halfway.”

You stared at your lap. Said nothing.

“I know it’s only been two days,” he said, letting out a little laugh, “but honestly? The air’s been easier to breathe without him around. Jake and I Fortnite danced to High School Musical in the living room earlier. Jake even tried to do a backflip.”

You snorted. Couldn’t help it.

Sunghoon grinned behind you. “Almost died. But I’ve never seen the boy look so free.”

You hummed, lips twitching faintly. “He wasn’t that emo.”

“He had stupid hair,” Sunghoon said flatly. “And he smelled like cigarettes and insecurity.”

You bit your lip to stop yourself from smiling.

“He called The Wind Rises boring,” you muttered.

Sunghoon gasped, mock horror in his voice. “Criminal. Unforgivable.”

He gently brushed the last of your hair over your shoulder, like a finishing touch. Then crouched in front of you, eye-level now.

And when he spoke next, the teasing was gone.

“You are the actual sun,” he said softly. “And he made you feel like a flickering lightbulb. That’s not love. That’s dimming someone just to feel taller.”

Your eyes stung, just a little.

Sunghoon didn’t flinch. He never did, when it came to you.

“I hated him from the beginning. Jake started calling him ‘the ashtray’ after the second time we all hung out. Not even behind his back. Just… said it.”

That made you laugh—truly laugh—for the first time in days. You shook your head. “You two are mean.”

“We’re honest,” Sunghoon corrected, getting to his feet. “And we love you. More than that guy ever could.”

You didn’t answer. Just looked at him.

And he didn’t say anything more.

Didn’t need to.

You let your head fall back against the headboard and sighed. “Okay. If you keep monologuing in my ear like this, I’m never gonna change.”

“Change?”

“You want me to go to this stupid frat party, don’t you?”

He smirked.

“Get out,” you said, pointing at the door. “Shoo. Go do your weird little victory dance with Jake.”

He walked backward, ruffling your hair on the way like a proud big brother. “She’s back,” he sing-songed, a grin tugging at his lips.

“Not if you keep talking.”

He opened the door with a dramatic bow. “I’ll tell Jake you caved.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile lingered even after he was gone.

And yeah, your heart was still cracked.

But it felt a little less sharp now.

A little easier to carry.

And when you looked at your reflection in the mirror, your hair brushed smooth, cheeks still warm from laughter—

You didn’t look like a girl trying to forget.

You looked like someone learning how to feel light again.

—

As soon as Jake stepped through the door, he barely made it three steps before he was swallowed by chaos.

“JAKE! JAKE! JAKE!”

A rush of frat boys and soccer teammates surged toward him, loud and reckless, lifting him up like some war hero. His legs kicked midair as they carried him toward the heart of the party, chanting his name with increasing volume.

“JAKE! JAKE! MVP! MVP!”

Fairy lights spun above him, casting halos over sweat-damp foreheads. The bass pulsed through the floor, the air thick with beer and adrenaline and championship glory. Jake laughed, a little breathless, a little panicked.

“No—no, I’m good, I swear—”

Then… you saw him. Your ex. And her.

They were near the kitchen—your spot. The one you always waited at after his gigs. The one where he used to pull you into those tired, post-show hugs and whisper how glad he was you came. Now? He was there with her. Arm thrown over her shoulder like it belonged there. Like it hadn’t been around you last week. She was laughing like she’d earned it. Like she hadn’t been “just a friend” two seconds ago.

And the worst part? He looked fine. Smiling. Relaxed. Comfortable.

You weren’t sad. You didn’t miss him. But god, you were angry.

He moved on like you were an old t-shirt. Like you didn’t matter. Like he hadn’t just made you feel like you were the problem for weeks on end. Like he hadn’t convinced you to shrink for him—and then left anyway.

You stood there for one second. Just long enough to feel the burn in your chest. Long enough for your hands to curl into fists at your sides. Long enough for the blood in your veins to scream Really? Already?

Then you turned.

Fast.

Didn’t look back.

You didn’t know where you were going, only that the party felt too loud and too quiet all at once. People brushing past you, drinks in the air, music thumping. And still, all you could hear was your own pulse.

“SHOTS! SHOTS! SHOTS!”

You blinked—and somehow, it was your voice leading the chant.

Your heels dug into the floor. Your lip gloss was smudged. There was probably mascara under your eyes. You didn’t care. You didn’t want to care.

Someone handed you a shot. You didn’t ask what it was. You downed it like medicine.

It burned. But that was the point.

You slammed the glass down on the nearest surface. “ANOTHER!” you shouted, voice cracking, spinning in place. “Let’s go! If I’m gonna be replaced, I might as well be unforgettable!”

Someone whooped. Someone clapped. Someone handed you another.

You tossed it back.

You weren’t spiraling. You were burning.

And the only thing worse than being dumped… Was being replaced this fast. Like you didn’t even leave a dent.

You were angry.

Angry that he got to be fine. Angry that she got to stand where you used to. Angry that your hands still shook while his were busy holding someone else.

And yeah, you’d moved on too. You didn’t want him back. Not for a second.

But it still felt like something had been stolen from you.

And you needed control. Any kind.

So when someone handed you another shot, you took it. And when someone said, “You okay?” you laughed so hard it echoed. Loud, sharp, cracked.

“Never better,” you said, the words tilting sideways like your balance.

And then he stumbled toward you.

Tall. Drunk. Slurring your name like he knew you. Like he mattered.

“Hey,” he grinned, “you’re the girl Jake never shuts up about, right?”

You blinked. “What?”

“Yeah,” he said, swaying. “In the locker room. He’s always like ‘she’s so funny, she does this scrunchy angry face when she’s mad,’ and like… he’s totally into you.”

Your stomach twisted—but your face didn’t budge.

“Cool,” you muttered. “Love being a conversation topic.”

“He thinks you’re amazing,” the guy said, nodding like he just solved world peace. “Hey—have you ever considered going bald?”

You stared. “Excuse me?”

He squinted. “I bet you’d look hot with a buzzcut. You have a strong jaw. That’s what matters, right?”

And maybe it was the alcohol. Or the smoke in the air. Or the ache in your ribs.

But you laughed. Loud. Too loud. And you grabbed his wrist.

“Got scissors?” you asked.

He blinked. “Uh. Yeah?”

“Bring them. Let’s find out.”

He stumbled into the kitchen drawer and came back, holding up a dull pair of kitchen scissors like a prize.

You snatched them, raised them in the air. “Thank you, brave soldier,” you said dramatically. “Now go lay down before you die of alcohol poisoning.”

And you turned, marching up the stairs like a woman with a mission and a pair of scissors she had no business holding.

Jake was mid-conversation when Jungwon ran up, breathless.

“Dude. DUDE. Your girl—she just went upstairs. With scissors. Talking about rebirth.”

Jake blinked. “What?”

“She said something about French bangs and reinvention and then took the stairs like a goddamn hurricane.”

Jake didn’t even think.

He ran.

Bolted through the crowd, shouldered past two people doing body shots, and took the stairs two at a time.

Because he knew you.

He knew that look. That chaos. That split-second decision to feel anything other than the helpless, boiling anger clawing through your chest.

He remembered it from middle school, when someone said your braces made you look like a robot and you tried to cut them out yourself with nail clippers. He remembered it last year, when your cat died and you bleached your bangs at 3AM.

Jake had always known your brand of chaos.

And he had always shown up before it got too far.

Now, he shoved open the bathroom door with zero hesitation.

“Don’t—”

The words died in his throat.

Because there you were.

Standing in the middle of someone else’s bathroom, scissors in hand, eyes glassy and smile way too proud.

“Jakey!” you beamed. “I did it!”

He froze.

There was a pile of hair on the counter. Your bangs—if you could call them that—sat uneven across your forehead. One was short. The other… shorter.

One eye was half covered. The other? Wide, glassy, wild.

Jake covered his mouth with both hands.

“Princess,” he whispered.

“Do I look like Tyra Banks?” you asked earnestly.

Jake blinked. Took a step forward. Then another.

And slowly—so gently—took the scissors from your hand.

His voice dropped to a hush. Steady. Calm. Familiar.

“Hey,” he said. “Let’s put these down, yeah?”

You pouted. “But I wasn’t done.”

He gave you a small smile. “You were perfect before you even started.”

Your lips parted.

His eyes searched yours, scanning every flicker of emotion you were trying to bury beneath alcohol and eyeliner and rebellion.

“You don’t need to do this,” he said. “You’re angry. I get it. I swear I get it. But cutting your bangs at a frat party is not justice.”

You blinked. The world tilted slightly.

“He moved on,” you whispered. “Like I was nothing. Like I was just a placeholder.”

Jake’s jaw tightened. His grip on the scissors hardened.

“You were never a placeholder,” he said, voice sharper now. “You were the whole damn story. He was just a footnote.”

Your eyes welled, but no tears fell. Not yet.

“You’re angry. And you have every right to be,” he said, stepping closer, his hand brushing your cheek. “But don’t punish yourself because he couldn’t see your worth.”

Your lip trembled.

“You think I’m punishing myself?” you asked.

Jake smiled softly. “Princess, look at your bangs.”

You let out a snort. A real one. Ugly and sharp and full of sudden breath.

“I look like an art student who lost a bet.”

Jake laughed. “You look like you could start a girl gang and lead a revolution.”

His voice dropped again. Gentle. Unshakable.

“But you still look like you. And you look perfect.”

You didn’t know what possessed you, but your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. Like holding onto something solid in the middle of a storm.

Jake leaned down, resting his forehead against yours.

“You don’t have to set yourself on fire to prove you're still burning,” he whispered. “You’re enough. Even when you’re mad. Even when you're messy. Even with gravity-defying bangs.”

Your breath hitched. The room stilled.

And finally, finally, your heart began to slow.

You closed your eyes.

And Jake just held you there.

Right in the middle of the chaos, in someone else's bathroom, with scissors on the counter and party noise below—

He held you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Like he’d always been the one who would.

—

The next morning came quicker than you wanted. Your head throbbed, your mouth tasted like the inside of a frat house, and your body ached in weird places. But none of that mattered.

Because the second you looked in the mirror— “AAAAAAAAAAAH!”

The scream tore through the apartment like a war siren.

Sunghoon shot upright in bed, blanket wrapped around his legs like a noose. “WHAT THE—?!”

Jake fell off the couch with a dramatic thud, landing in a heap of hoodie and boxers. “SHE’S DYING, SHE’S BEING KIDNAPPED, THE LOVE OF—”

Both boys sprinted down the hallway like the apartment was on fire.

They crashed into your room, out of breath, expecting blood or a ghost or at least an explosion.

Instead, they found you standing in front of the mirror, gripping your bangs in both hands like you could physically undo last night.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” you wailed, your voice cracking halfway into a sob. “WHY DIDN’T ANYONE STOP ME?!”

Jake froze.

Sunghoon stared.

“I told you we should’ve hidden the mirror,” Sunghoon muttered.

“We have a bathroom,” Jake hissed back.

You whirled around dramatically, face streaked with tears, eyes wide and watery, holding up a sad tuft of hair like it was a smoking gun.

“I ruined my life!”

Jake opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Because, truthfully?

Your hair looked like it had been through a war. A bad one. Like a rodent got stuck halfway through building a nest and gave up. It was uneven in four different directions. The bangs… bent at angles. You defied geometry. Possibly physics.

Sure, you looked pretty. Beautiful. Perfect, even.

But that was only because Jake was in love with you.

And love had a way of turning disaster into art. Even when the art looked like a sewer rat.

Sunghoon sighed and rubbed his face. “I’ll make pancakes.”

He turned and walked out without waiting for a response. Pancakes were your household’s official emergency protocol.

Jake stayed. Still in the doorway. Still barefoot and half-asleep, but trying really hard not to laugh and even harder not to love you more for looking like this and still somehow being the most you he’d ever seen.

You looked up at him with trembling lips, eyes full of absolute heartbreak.

“I look like I lost a fight with a Edward Scissorhands.”

Jake blinked. “C’mere.”

You didn’t hesitate.

You launched yourself at him like a flying koala, knocking him flat on his back. You landed in a tangled heap of limbs and cotton and regret, curled into his chest, face shoved against his hoodie.

“I’M UGLY!” you wailed.

Jake didn’t even flinch. He wrapped his arms around you, full-on bear-hug style, holding you like he was trying to glue your shattered pieces back together.

“No, you’re not,” he murmured.

You let out a sound that was half sob, half snort, and buried your face deeper into his chest.

“You’re not ugly,” he said again, voice quieter now. “You’re the cutest person I’ve ever seen with a rat’s nest on their forehead.”

You groaned. “I look like Coconut Head from Ned’s Declassified.”

Jake snorted. Actually snorted.

Which made you groan even louder and smack his chest half-heartedly.

“I’m never going outside again,” you mumbled.

“You don’t have to,” he said. “We’ll start a new civilization here. No mirrors. Unlimited pancakes. Sunghoon and I will scavenge for food outside, bring it back here to feed you and our rat children.”

You sniffed.

“I’ll knit you a beanie,” he added. “It’ll say ‘emotional damage’ in rhinestones.”

From the kitchen, Sunghoon shouted, “There’s only enough chocolate chips for one stack, so I’m taking nominations for who’s had the most public breakdowns in the past 24 hours.”

“I CUT MY OWN BANGS AT A FRAT PARTY!” you yelled into Jake’s hoodie.

“And we have our winner!” Sunghoon replied.

Jake chuckled beneath you, brushing a strand of hair gently out of your eyes—or at least tried to. One strand was… vertical.

You blinked up at him. “I want them gone.”

Jake smoothed his hand through the top of your hair. “Let me try to fix them?”

You squinted. “Can you?”

“No,” he admitted. “But if I mess it up, you’ll get to yell at me instead of yourself.”

You stared at him.

He gave you that stupid little grin—warm, patient, already yours.

You sighed. “Deal.”

Jake grinned wider, brushing his knuckles against your cheek. “Okay. Let me grab scissors, YouTube, and a whole lot of…uh…prayer.”

You smiled, soft and reluctant. But real.

Because even with tragic bangs, a hangover, and your dignity in shambles—

Jake made it all feel survivable.

Maybe even a little bit okay.

You were still in Jake’s lap, curled up like a broken barbie from a 6 year old with plastic scissors, when he sat up slowly, fingers brushing back your hair with more care than you thought anyone could ever use on someone so messily undone.

“Alright,” he murmured, barely above a whisper. “Let’s fix this rat’s nest.”

You sniffled, eyes puffy. “You mean my hair?”

Jake’s lips quirked. “Same thing.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Say one more dumb thing and I’ll cry again.”

He grinned and stood, effortlessly lifting you into his arms like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Jake—” you squeaked, clinging to him. “What are you doing?!”

“You’ve clearly lost your decision-making privileges. You’re emotionally unstable. And you keep sniffling like a baby bird,” he said matter-of-factly. “So, I’m airlifting you to your redemption arc.”

You buried your face into his hoodie. “You smell like detergent and protectiveness.”

“You smell like tequila and impulsive choices.”

He walked you into the bathroom and set you carefully onto the counter, warm hands steady at your waist as you adjusted your balance. The moment you were settled, he stepped between your knees without hesitation, reaching for the comb and scissors.

You blinked. Suddenly, the bathroom was a little too quiet. A little too warm. And Jake was a little too close.

“I’m gonna try to even these out,” he murmured, running his fingers gently through your bangs. “Try being the keyword.”

“I feel like this is where I die.”

“You look like a girl on the brink of a villain origin story.”

“Perfect,” you muttered. “Make me look dangerous.”\

As you sat still on the bathroom counter, knees lightly brushing his chest. Jake picked up the scissors again, his brows drawn tight in concentration.

He was taking it seriously. Too seriously. His tongue peeked out just slightly as he combed a section of your hair, eyes sharp, focused like he was performing life-saving surgery instead of fixing your tequila-fueled haircut.

You smiled—couldn’t help it. Because how was he still so cute, even now? Even while fixing the disaster you made of your bangs, looking like an overworked stylist with something to prove.

He tilted his head, snipped gently. Paused. Tilted again.

“Stop smiling,” he muttered, eyes still fixed on your hair.

“I’m not,” you said, definitely smiling.

“I can feel it.”

You laughed softly. “You’re just cute when you’re stressed.”

That made his hands falter. Just a little.

But he didn’t say anything. Just cleared his throat and kept going, slower now—more careful. Like he was stalling. Or maybe... savoring.

Jake leaned in just a little, brow furrowed in quiet concentration. “Hold still,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.

You blinked. “What—”

“There’s a bit of hair on your face,” he murmured.

His hand came up gently, fingers brushing the side of your cheek as he tried to sweep away the tiny, stubborn strand that had clung to your skin. You froze.

Because Jake—without even thinking—tilted your chin up with one hand, and with the other, he gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. His touch lingered against your jaw, fingers grazing your cheek, and then staying there.

You froze.

Jake didn’t move either.

His hand remained cupped on your face. His thumb brushed your skin. And his eyes—God, his eyes were locked on yours like they were holding something he hadn’t meant to let show.

You could feel the shift in the air. Heavy. Quiet. Like the entire world was holding its breath, waiting.

His gaze flicked to your lips. Just for a second.

And then it flicked back.

But it was enough.

Your heart stuttered. Your knees curled inward, brushing his hips. He leaned in—slowly, almost unconsciously. You could feel his breath now. Feel the tension between you, burning like something fragile and explosive all at once.

You didn’t move.

Neither did he.

It was so close. One more inch. Half an inch. Less than that.

You could see the way his lashes fluttered when he blinked. The way his jaw clenched like he was holding something back.

His forehead almost touched yours.

And just when you thought he might do it—just when your lips parted like they were waiting—

“GET YOUR DAMN PANCAKES!” Sunghoon’s voice echoed through the apartment like an accidental earthquake.

You jolted.

Jake stepped back too fast, hands dropping like they’d been burned.

You blinked hard, your pulse pounding.

“Right,” you said, hopping off the counter like it wasn’t shaking beneath you. “Breakfast.”

“Let’s go,” Jake said, voice too casual, too quick.

Neither of you looked at each other as you walked out of the bathroom.

But your fingers were still tingling.

And Jake’s heart was still lodged somewhere in his throat.—

The three of you were seated around the kitchen table. You sat across from Jake. The air smelled like sugar, butter, and unbearable tension.

Normally by now, you and Jake would’ve been locked in a battle of sarcastic wits, tag-teaming insults about Sunghoon’s tragic playlists or the sociopathic way he peeled his oranges.

But this morning?

Silence.

Sunghoon was the only one talking.

And he noticed.

“…So I told her, yes, I do moisturize, actually, and no, you can’t just borrow my $60 toner like it’s a sample at Sephora,” he said, pausing only to cut a triangle of pancake. “Anyway. These are the fluffiest pancakes I’ve ever made. Probably because I put love into them and not repressed rage, for once.”

You nodded absently. Jake let out a weird little hum like he was underwater.

Sunghoon squinted at you both.

He continued, tone flattening: “Also, I’m quitting college to become a juice bar cult leader. I’ll sell turmeric shots and emotional detachment.”

Sunghoon blinked slowly.

“…Hello?”

Silence.

He dropped his fork dramatically. “Okay. What is going on?!”

You and Jake looked up at the same time, startled like toddlers caught stealing cookies.

“You’re both being weird,” Sunghoon said, stabbing his fork in the air like a courtroom prosecutor. “Aren’t you usually bickering by now? Or pelting me with toast? Or roasting my skincare routine?”

You blinked. “Nothing’s wrong.”

Jake coughed. “Totally fine.”

“You’re not fine,” Sunghoon snapped. “You’re sitting there like someone died. Did the bang trauma finally kill your friendship? Was it the haircut? Did a ghost tell you to never speak again?”

Sunghoon turned to Jake. “And you. You haven’t insulted me once. Not even when I said I wanted to start a juice cult.”

Jake shoved pancake in his mouth. “I support your passions.”

Sunghoon froze.

“Oh my god,” he whispered. “Who are you two?!”

You and Jake exchanged a glance.

Sunghoon’s jaw dropped. “No. No. No—”

“What?” you said too quickly.

Jake sipped his coffee like it was spiked with sedatives.

Sunghoon pointed at both of you. “Something happened. I don’t know what. But if this is about some repressed ‘we accidentally almost kissed while trimming tragic bangs’ situation, I swear to god I will scream.”

You choked on your juice.

Jake muttered, “N–nothing happened.”

Sunghoon leaned back, crossing his arms like a dad about to issue consequences.

“Right,” he said. “And I’m emotionally stable.”

He stood suddenly and grabbed his coat off the hook by the door.

You looked up. “Where are you going?”

Jake jolted upright. “Wait—wait. What? Where ya goin’, man?” His voice cracked slightly.

Sunghoon didn’t even blink. “Out.”

Jake laughed nervously. “Nooo, don’t go. We’re having a good time. Bonding. Pancakes. Healing.”

“Yeah,” you said with a smile that definitely wasn’t panicked. “Stay. We can watch something. I won’t even make fun of you for picking a romcom from the 60s.”

Sunghoon narrowed his eyes.

“…You two are being so weird right now.”

Jake blinked. “What? No.”

“Totally normal,” you said simultaneously.

The tension between you and Jake buzzed like a power line. Sunghoon stared. You and Jake sat a full cushion apart on the couch, but somehow it felt like you were breathing the same air.

After a pause, Sunghoon grabbed the doorknob.

“I’m gonna get some more eggs, we ran out of them.” he muttered, and slammed the door behind him.

Silence.

One beat.

Two.

Then you and Jake both shot up and retreated to your rooms at the exact same time, slamming your doors like a choreographed sitcom exit.

You paced around your room.

Back and forth. Arms crossed. Hair bouncing (the parts you hadn’t murdered). You could still feel the ghost of Jake’s hand on your jaw.

Yes. Okay. Sure. You almost kissed him in the bathroom. But let’s review.

You were vulnerable.

You just got dumped.

Your bangs looked like they were cut by a raccoon with ADHD.

It meant nothing.

…Right?

You stopped and groaned into your hands. “It was the vulnerability. I was emotionally compromised and Jake’s dumb face got too close.”

You paused.

“…Jake’s dumb, pretty face…”

—

Late in the afternoon, you wandered into the kitchen with a bowl of greens and the vague desire to do something normal. Something quiet. Something safe. Your fingers moved on autopilot as you chopped vegetables—lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers—something about the rhythm calming the noise in your head.

Until you heard it.

The shuffle of feet down the hallway. That familiar cadence. Soft, unhurried. Jake Sim.

You paused mid-slice.

Jake walked in a second later, completely unaware you were already there—ramen in one hand, phone in the other, texting with his usual boyish ease. The hoodie he wore was slightly rumpled. His hair still damp from a shower. He looked so effortlessly himself it made your chest ache.

He looked up.

And froze.

Your eyes met for one long, breathless second. Too long. Too much.

Then he spun around so fast he nearly dropped the ramen.

He stood in the doorway, awkwardly half-turned, clearly debating whether bolting would make things better or worse. The silence was loud.

After a beat, he cleared his throat and forced himself to turn back.

“Cool,” he said, voice pitched an octave too high. “Great. Dinner.”

He grabbed a pot from the cabinet like it was a lifeline. Filled it at the sink with determined focus, pretending not to glance at you from the corner of his eye.

You turned back to your chopping. Tried to focus.

But the air in the kitchen had shifted—thicker now. Heavier. Like all that nearly-spilled affection from the bathroom was still clinging to your sleeves.

You could feel him next to you. Could sense every inch of space he left between you. Could feel every inch he didn’t.

Then you both reached for the stove.

At the same time.

Your fingers brushed.

You both flinched.

“Sorry—” you mumbled.

“No—you—uh—go ahead—” he said quickly.

It should’ve been fine. It was a stove. It was cooking.

But it wasn’t.

Now you were standing shoulder to shoulder, the side of his arm barely grazing yours every few seconds, and it was like touching static. Every brush sent sparks to your spine.

His noodles boiled. Your chicken sizzled.

And still, neither of you moved.

Jake kept stealing glances—tiny, fleeting ones, like he couldn’t help it. Like he needed to make sure you were real. You weren’t looking at him, but you felt him looking. You felt it like a pulse.

Your heart wouldn’t stop tripping over itself.

This is nothing, you told yourself. It’s proximity. It’s leftover tension. You’re vulnerable, fresh off a breakup. You’re not—

You reached for the pan.

Too close.

Your fingers hit the hot edge. Hard.

“Shit—ow!” you gasped, jerking your hand back.

Jake turned like he’d been shot.

“What happened?!” His voice was sharp with panic as he lunged toward you. “Are you okay?!”

“I just—I touched the—” Your words tumbled over each other as you blinked at your hand, already stinging and red, the skin rising into a welt.

Jake didn’t hesitate.

He grabbed your wrist with both hands—gentle but urgent—and rushed you to the sink, flipping the faucet with his elbow. The cold water hit the burn and made you wince.

But you barely felt it.

Because all you could feel was Jake’s hands wrapped around yours. His thumb against your pulse. His breath too close. His panic louder than yours.

“You okay?” he asked again, eyes never leaving the burn. “Can you feel this? Are you dizzy? Why aren’t you saying anything—why are you—”

He stopped.

Because you were smiling.

Barely. Just the smallest curl at the corners of your mouth.

But it was there.

And so was he. Right there in front of you, looking like he was breaking apart from how badly he wanted to keep you safe. Like your pain physically hurt him.

No one had ever looked at you like that before.

And suddenly, everything shifted.

Because in that moment—burning finger, cold water, trembling hands—you knew.

You were falling for Jake.

And maybe you had been for a while.

The realization made your chest tighten. Made your throat close. You looked at him and your heart skipped like it knew this moment mattered.

Jake helped you sit on the counter, still holding your hand like it might disappear. He moved carefully—so carefully—as he opened the first aid kit, his lips pressed together in a worried line.

He dabbed ointment on the burn with a lightness that made your chest ache. His brows furrowed as he wrapped the bandage, his thumb stroking the back of your hand like a whisper.

“You never pay attention,” he muttered, voice tight with concern. “Always spacing out. Always in your head. It’s like you want me to have a heart attack.”

“You make me worry so much it’s insane,” he whispered. Like he hadn’t meant to say it. Like it spilled out before he could catch it.

You didn’t say anything. Couldn’t. Not when your pulse was roaring in your ears and his touch made you feel like you might float out of your body.

Then you heard it—quiet, almost to himself.

“God, you’re the only person in the world who makes me feel like this.”

“Like what?” You mumbled.

“Like I’m going fucking insane.”

Jake’s eyes widened a second too late. Like he’d only just realized he said it out loud.

You stared at him.

“…Say that again,” you whispered.

“I didn’t—” he started, panicking. “I didn’t mean—”

You slid off the counter slowly. Your hand still throbbed—but your heart was louder. Too loud.

You looked at him. And in his eyes, you saw everything.

The longing. The panic. The thousand things he wasn’t saying.

And then—

“If you’re gonna keep having slow-burn movie moments in the kitchen, at least don’t do it in the kitchen.”

You both jumped.

Sunghoon stood in the doorway, a grocery bag in one hand and a carton of eggs in the other. His eyebrows were already in judgmental orbit.

Jake stammered, “We weren’t—!”

“You were,” Sunghoon said, breezing past. “You were doing the eye thing.”

“What eye thing?” you asked, flustered.

“The longing one. With the breathing and the tragic backlighting. The tragic yearning...it’s disgusting.”

—

The BBQ joint was already full when you walked in—heat rising from tabletop grills, laughter spilling over like steam, the air thick with the smell of sizzling meat and farewell speeches. You stood at the entrance for a second, bag slung over your shoulder, your heart thudding a little faster than necessary.

You weren’t even sure why you’d come.

Sunghoon had bailed last minute, claiming a “group project emergency,” and you could’ve easily ghosted too. But something had pulled you here—maybe the closure, maybe the company, maybe the quiet, ridiculous hope that things might feel normal again. That you might feel normal again.

Your eyes swept the room, searching for a familiar face.

And there he was.

Jake, halfway across the restaurant, hunched slightly in his chair as he laughed at something someone said. His hair was a little messy like he’d run his hands through it too many times. His denim jacket hung on the back of his chair, sleeves rolled up as he reached for the grill tongs, utterly unaware that he’d just knocked the breath out of you.

You took a step forward. Small. Tentative. A part of you hoping—aching—that maybe he’d seen you already. He saved you a seat.

But then you froze.

Because a girl slid into the chair beside him.

She was pretty. Confident. One of those girls who didn’t need to try to draw attention. She leaned in with ease, like they already knew each other. She laughed, tossed her hair, said something that made Jake glance over and smile—polite, soft.

Not your smile.

Your feet stayed planted. Your throat tightened, jealousy wrapping around your chest like a rope. You didn’t want to feel it. You didn’t even know what it meant. But there it was.

That empty chair had never not been yours before.

And now, suddenly, it wasn’t.

You blinked hard and turned on your heel, moving so fast it felt like fleeing. You didn’t care where you sat—anywhere but there. Anywhere but near him and her.

Jay looked up from his grill station just in time to see you drop into the seat next to him with the force of someone trying to bury a feeling. His eyebrows lifted, chopsticks paused mid-turn.

“Woah,” he said, startled. “Dramatic entrance. Everything okay?”

You forced a smile that didn’t quite make it past your cheeks. “Peachy.”

Jay looked unconvinced.

You stared hard at the sizzling grill in front of you. The sound of meat crackling felt louder than the conversations around you. Too loud. Too sharp. But not sharp enough to cut through the coil of emotion in your chest.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Jake glance your way. Brief, unsure. You didn’t look back.

Instead, you reached for a piece of lettuce like it wronged you in a past life and stabbed your chopsticks through it.

Jay watched you for a moment, then cautiously leaned in. “Sooo... wanna tell me why you look like you’re about to wrestle that cabbage?”

You didn’t answer.

Because on the other side of the table, Jake was laughing again. Soft. Casual. Like nothing had changed. Like he hadn’t been on the verge of kissing you in a bathroom two weeks ago. Like he didn’t used to look at you first when he walked into a room.

But today, he didn’t.

He looked at her.

Something sharp twisted in your gut. Something bitter.

Jealousy, maybe. Or disappointment.

Not that he was talking to someone else.

But that he let her sit there. That he gave away your spot like it never mattered.

Your jaw clenched. You shoved the lettuce into your mouth like it was responsible for your emotional spiral.

Jay winced in sympathy. “So… no comment?”

“None.”

“Cool, cool. I’ll just assume you’re possessed and move on.”

He turned back to the grill, wisely choosing not to push further. You didn’t notice, but your shoulders stayed tense. You didn’t speak. You didn’t breathe right. Your fingers picked apart a piece of grilled pork until it was unrecognizable.

Across the table, Jungwon raised his voice.

“Hey! Let’s talk about the class’s power couple!”

You looked up mid-chew. Wrong move.

“Jake and her, obviously!” he said, pointing at you both with a grin like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

You nearly choked on your lettuce. “Yang Jungwon, I will throw this piece of meat in your face if you don’t–”

Jay coughed into his drink. “Here we go.”

Jungwon beamed. “What? You’re always together. It’s, like, a known thing.”

Someone else piped in. “It’s true. Jake’s always doing the sweetest things for her. Didn’t he bring you bubble tea for a whole week when you got your wisdom teeth out?”

“And didn’t he carry your whole bag once when your wrist hurt?”

“And hold your umbrella even though he was getting soaked?” Everyone at the table nodded, laughing. Agreeing. Smiling at you like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

You flushed.

Jake stayed quiet.

Still across the table.

Still next to her.

And still not looking at you.

The realization hit slow and hard—like a wave you’d tried to outrun finally catching your heels.

Everyone saw it.

Everyone had always seen it.

Except you.

Until now.

Your throat felt dry. Your chest felt hollow. And your skewer? Obliterated. You stabbed through the last piece of beef with more aggression than necessary.

Jay leaned over and whispered, “You’re gonna set off the smoke alarm if you keep grilling that poor meat.”

You didn’t respond.

Because the chair he used to save for you wasn’t yours anymore.

And for the first time—you realized how much that seat had mattered.

You didn’t even realize how tightly your hands were gripping your chopsticks until your knuckles turned white. Your jaw ached from how long you’d been clenching it. Everyone at the table laughed at something you didn’t hear, and it felt like you were underwater—sound muffled, air thick, eyes locked on your untouched plate.

You hadn’t meant to care so much.

It was just a chair.

Just a seat at a dinner party.

But it was your seat. The one he always saved without asking. The one he used to pat with a grin like, "Reserved for royalty." The one where your jacket used to end up without thinking, your chopsticks already unwrapped by the time you sat down.

So seeing someone else sitting there—smiling like she belonged there—felt like stepping into a memory and realizing it didn’t remember you back.

It shouldn’t have mattered.

You weren’t together. Not really. Not even close.

But god, that seat had never been up for grabs before.

You slid into the open spot across the table like it didn’t burn, even though every movement felt like betrayal. Like you were betraying yourself by still hoping for something you couldn’t even name.

And then, he tapped your shoulder.

You stiffened immediately, already knowing it was him.

Jake.

The very air changed when he was around. Lighter, tighter, like it had more weight and less oxygen at the same time.

“Hey,” he said, voice easy. Too easy.

You didn’t look at him.

Tap.

“Princess.”

You froze.

Your throat tightened.

Because Princess used to be the softest thing in the world. A tease. A comfort. A reminder that he knew you, saw you, adored you in all the quiet ways he never said aloud.

But now?

It felt… different. Tainted.

It didn’t land the same when your chair was already taken. When he’d let someone else into the only space you thought was sacred.

So you didn’t turn.

Didn’t smile.

Didn’t soften.

He hesitated—like he felt the shift, too.

“Hmph,” you crossed your arms like a child.

Jake’s voice dropped, lower this time. “Why are you mad at me?”

You still didn’t answer.

He let out a slow breath and walked around the table instead, crouching beside your chair like a boy trying to pick up something broken.

Your gaze stayed glued to your half-torn napkin.

“Is it… about the seat?” he asked, voice gentler now. Like maybe he already knew the answer. Like he knew exactly what that seat meant.

Your silence answered for you.

Jake swallowed hard.

“I wasn’t thinking,” he murmured. “She sat down before I even before I realized you were coming. I swear, I wasn’t trying to—”

“To what?” you cut in, quiet but sharp. “Replace me?”

Jake flinched.

You regretted it instantly. But not enough to take it back.

Because that seat—that tiny, stupid thing—meant something. And tonight, he let someone else take it like it didn’t.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice cracking just a little. “I should’ve waited for you. I should’ve saved it.”

Your hands tightened in your lap. “Forget it.”

“Princess,” he said again, softer now. Pleading. Like maybe if he said it right, it would mean the same thing it used to.

But it didn’t.

Not tonight.

You looked up, finally meeting his eyes.

And he looked wrecked. Not in the dramatic, cinematic way. Just quietly ruined. Like he hadn’t realized how deep this cut would go. Like he was only just now understanding what he’d done.

You turned away before it could get worse.

Before your face could say too much.

Jake didn’t move.

Didn’t say another word.

Just sat there beside you like he would’ve done anything to rewind the night and start over.

But some things you couldn’t undo.

You were chewing in silence, half your brain stuck in a loop of spiraling thoughts and the other half… fully aware of Jake beside you. The way he kept glancing at you every few seconds. The way his leg bounced under the table like he had something to say but didn’t know how to say it.

You shifted in your seat.

He didn’t look at you, but he nudged your knee gently with his.

Then came his voice—soft, tentative, like he was knocking on a door he wasn’t sure he was allowed to open.

“I still owe you a prize.”

Your head turned.

Jake was already half smiling. That crooked, boyish smile that always cracked something open in your chest.

You blinked. “…What?”

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

“…Two,” you whispered.

Jake turned, hand still hidden behind his back—and slowly revealed two fingers.

Your breath hitched. Just barely.

He smiled wider now, eyes lighting up like he’d been holding that hope in all night.

“Correct,” he said gently. “Which means…”

Jake stood up suddenly, brushing his hands on his jeans. “Wait here.”

You blinked again. “What? Where are you going—?”

He was already walking off, dodging servers and plates of steaming food. He made a beeline toward the front of the restaurant where the owner stood at the counter, scribbling on receipts.

From your seat, you watched him gesture animatedly. He pointed to a pen. Then to a napkin. The owner blinked, clearly confused, but handed him a small notepad and a black pen.

You watched Jake furrow his brows, crouching at a little side table and scribbling furiously, tongue poking out slightly as he focused. His shoulders hunched like he was working on something important.

He returned a minute later, cheeks flushed with effort, pen still tucked behind his ear like an afterthought.

Without saying a word, he slid the paper toward you.

“Your prize,” he said, not quite meeting your eyes.

You looked down.

It was a drawing.

A bad drawing.

Stick figures, crooked lines, and a questionable attempt at your haircut—short, jagged bangs that stuck out at odd angles, cartoonishly captured in the most chaotic way possible. You almost laughed.

But then your eyes caught the words scribbled underneath:

‘Even with that haircut, you’re still the prettiest girl in the world.’

Your breath hitched.

You looked up.

Jake was pretending to sip water, very invested in the contents of his cup.

Your fingers tightened around the edges of the paper.

“…You’re such an idiot,” you whispered.

His gaze finally flicked to yours.

And even in the low lighting of the restaurant, you saw it.

The softness.

The hope.

The fear.

Like he didn’t know how you’d take it—but he meant every word anyway.

Your throat was suddenly too tight.

You didn’t say anything else.

You didn’t have to.

Because you were still holding the drawing.

—

You slipped your bag over your shoulder, the strap digging slightly into your coat as you muttered a quick goodbye to Jay and Jungwon. They teased you on the way out—of course they did.

The air outside hit your face like a wall. Sharp. Cold. Honest.

You exhaled, breath clouding in the dark. The city lights blurred into little golden halos around you as you wrapped your scarf with clumsy fingers, your hands still shaky from the night. From everything.

And then—

“Wait—hey!”

You turned.

Jake.

He was jogging after you, his jacket flapping open behind him, cheeks flushed red from the heat inside meeting the cold outside. His hair was a little windblown. His eyes found yours like they always did—easily, like home.

You blinked, lips parting. “What are you—”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving?” he asked, breath puffing in the cold. He slowed beside you, steps syncing with yours before you even answered.

You paused, your fingers still tangled in your scarf.

“…Weren’t you still talking to her?” you asked softly. Softer than you meant to. Your voice barely carried.

The silence stretched between you.

Then, wordlessly, Jake reached for your scarf.

You froze.

“Here,” he murmured, fingers brushing yours. “You always do it too tight.”

He didn’t wait for permission. His hands moved gently, expertly—unraveling the mess you’d twisted, smoothing the soft fabric like he’d done it a hundred times. Like muscle memory.

His knuckles grazed your jaw as he tucked the ends in.

You held your breath.

And when you finally looked up, he was already watching you.

You, wrapped in the coat he gave you. In the scarf he’d fixed. In the silence he hadn’t tried to fill with anything other than quiet care.

“I’d rather be walking us home,” Jake said gently. Not a question. Not even a request.

And still—you let him.

The two of you walked slowly, the glow of streetlamps casting long shadows across the pavement.

Jake was rambling beside you—something about Jungwon’s tragic karaoke and lettuce on a grill—but your mind was somewhere else entirely.

It was on him.

It was on every version of him.

On all the times he showed up when he didn’t have to. On all the gentle, quiet ways he loved you without asking for anything back.

On the umbrella he always tilted toward you.

On the bubble teas and playlists and dumb printed emoji sheets.

It hit you so hard you physically stopped walking.

Jake didn’t notice until he took two more steps and realized your footsteps had vanished.

“—and I swear, if he ever touches a mic again—wait, hey, you okay?”

He turned around.

You stood there, frozen in place, eyes wide and glassy like you were realizing something you couldn’t un-realize.

Jake’s face shifted instantly.

“W-What’s wrong?” he asked, stepping forward, concern flashing across his face. “Did I say something? Are you—”

You didn’t answer.

You stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him—just like that. No hesitation.

You pressed your cheek against his shoulder, arms looping around his back like you needed to hold something steady. Like he was the only thing steady enough to hold.

Jake stilled.

Completely.

And then his arms came around you.

Slow. Firm. Certain.

You felt his hand press gently into your back, the other cupping the back of your neck like he was trying to piece you back together with touch alone.

Your voice cracked when it came out.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

His breath hitched. “Tell you what?”

“That you’ve been in love with me.”

Silence.

Jake went still again. His hand flexed slightly against your back.

You pulled back just enough to see him—your hands still clutching his coat, his eyes wide, mouth parted, heart in his throat.

“That would’ve made everything so much simpler,” you said, voice trembling. “Maybe I wouldn’t have dated that idiot. Maybe I would’ve chosen you. A long time ago.”

Jake looked stunned. His lips parted like he wanted to say something—but you didn’t let him.

“I thought you were just being nice,” you whispered. “I thought… you saw me, maybe, like a sister. I didn’t know…you–”

His brows drew together. Something deep and aching passed across his face.

“I’m sorry,” you went on. “I should’ve known. I should’ve seen it. You’ve always been there. Always. And I never looked at you the way I should’ve. Not until it was too late.”

Jake stared at you like you’d just knocked the air out of him.

And then.

He cupped your jaw with both hands.

Thumbs brushing the apples of your cheeks. Fingers resting gently, reverently, like you were porcelain. His eyes were locked on yours, searching. Burning.

And then he leaned in.

The kiss wasn’t tentative.

It was everything he’d held in.

Years of friendship, of quiet pining, of every moment he almost let it slip and didn’t—it all spilled into that one kiss.

His lips found yours with a kind of desperate relief. Like coming home. Like breathing after drowning. Like maybe, finally, he didn’t have to hold it back anymore.

Your hands curled into the front of his coat. You tilted up into him, breath catching as he deepened the kiss—his hands sliding into your hair, one curling at the nape of your neck, the other still cupping your jaw like he couldn’t bear to let go.

His lips moved, with tenderness, with the kind of aching care that made your knees weak and your chest full to bursting.

When he finally pulled back—just barely—you were both breathless.

Your noses brushed.

His hands didn’t move.

He pressed his forehead to yours, eyes still closed, as if he couldn’t look at you and survive it.

“You didn’t have to see it back then,” he whispered. “I loved you anyway. I always have.”

You closed your eyes.

And kissed him again.

Because you didn’t need to say it yet.

You were already saying it in every breath.

And Jake?

Jake held you like he’d waited his whole life to because well…he did.

Because maybe you hadn’t fallen first.

But you were falling harder now.

You barely made it halfway down the street before you stopped again—just to kiss him.

It started soft.

His hand found your jaw, thumb brushing lightly beneath your cheekbone as your lips pressed to his, slow and testing, like you were still trying to figure out how this all worked now. How it was real. His nose brushed yours. Your fingers curled in the collar of his coat, tugging him just a little closer.

You took three steps.

Then stopped again.

This time his hands slipped lower—one landing on your hip, the other skimming the small of your back as he leaned in again, mouth warm and insistent. His kiss deepened, lips parting against yours, breath catching in his throat as your fingers found the hair at the nape of his neck and tugged, just a little.

“Jake,” you mumbled against his mouth, your nose nudging his cheek, “we’re literally in public.”

He didn’t move away.

Just smiled against your lips. “Not my fault you’re addictive.”

You rolled your eyes.

And then kissed him again.

Longer. Slower. Your body pressed into his chest as his arm wrapped firmly around your waist. He tasted like cinnamon gum and the cold air between you. His teeth grazed your bottom lip before his lips found yours again, open and hungry now.

By the time you reached your building, the two of you were fully drunk on it—on each other.

He had you backed up gently against the brick wall by your door, your back hitting it with a soft thud. His hands braced either side of your head. Yours slid down his chest, fingers dragging across the buttons of his jacket before slipping underneath and fisting in his hoodie.

His forehead rested against yours, your noses brushing.

“I can't believe I get to do this now,” Jake whispered, breathless, lips still ghosting over yours. “Like this. With you.”

You smiled, whispering back against his mouth, “I should’ve kissed you years ago.”

“Yeah,” he murmured, his mouth dipping lower, kissing along your jaw before finding your lips again. “But then I wouldn’t have gotten to fall in love with you like this.”

Your arms curled around his neck. You were just about to pull him back in when—

“OH MY GOD. MY EYES!”

You both jerked away.

Jake turned first, one hand still protectively on your waist. You peeked around his shoulder, blinking through the haze of hormones and heat.

Sunghoon.

Standing frozen a few feet away, grocery bag in hand, jaw dropped so hard it could’ve cracked the sidewalk.

“SERIOUSLY?!” he shouted, voice breaking with disbelief. “MY ONE NIGHT OUT?! THIS IS WHAT I COME HOME TO? TONGUE WRESTLING? ON THE DOORSTEP?”

You immediately hid your face in Jake’s shoulder, laughing so hard you nearly collapsed.

Jake just grinned. “You’re just jealous you’re bitter, old, and single.”

“I LIVE HERE, YOU FERAL ANIMALS.”

You peeked up, cheeks burning, still giggling like a teenager. Jake reached for your hand, intertwining your fingers like he’d been doing it forever. His thumb traced slow circles on your skin.

Jake giggled, stepped in, slow and sure, until there was barely an inch between you. His hand let go of yours only to slide around your waist, pulling you in until your chest brushed his. His other hand found your jaw again, thumb grazing your cheekbone.

And then he kissed you. Again. Harder this time.

Behind you, Sunghoon made an actual gagging noise. “CUT IT OUT! This is why I prayed for your downfall, Jake.”

Jake just tugged you toward the elevator, still holding your hand.

—-

You barely made it into the apartment before Sunghoon yelled from his bedroom, voice muffled through the door:

“I’M NEVER WASHING YOUR LAUNDRY AGAIN.”

You and Jake burst into laughter, tripping over each other as you kicked off your shoes, still tangled in giggles and flushed skin and stolen kisses.

Jake followed you straight to your room, still holding your hand like it was his favorite thing in the world. His other hand? Firm on your waist. His mouth? Absolutely relentless.

The second the door clicked shut, he was on you again—his lips warm and insistent against your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your mouth. He kissed you like he couldn’t stop, like he didn’t want to stop, like he was mapping every inch of you with his mouth.

You laughed breathlessly, leaning back against the wall as his hands framed your face and his mouth finally, finally met yours again—deeper this time, slower but more demanding, like he was memorizing you.

“Jake—” you gasped between kisses, pulling back just enough to look him in the eyes, “we have class at eight tomorrow.”

He didn’t even blink. Just leaned back in and kissed you again, his thumb brushing along the underside of your jaw as he tilted your face up to him. “I don’t care,” he whispered against your lips.

You barely had time to respond before his mouth crashed into yours again, open-mouthed, his hand sliding from your cheek down to your waist, gripping just tight enough to make your knees weak. Your fingers threaded into the collar of his shirt, tugging him closer as your back hit the door, and you swore you felt the room spin slightly.

When you finally broke apart, panting, your lips felt swollen, kissed raw. Your heart was racing.

“So,” you murmured, dazed and breathless, “does this mean we’re… dating?”

Jake blinked, cheeks flushed, lips red. Then he grinned, cocky and breathless. “Are you asking me out?”

You rolled your eyes, still pinned between the wall and his body, smiling despite yourself. “It’s the least I could do, considering I didn’t realize you were in love with me for, like, a decade.”

Jake laughed—a low, husky sound that made your stomach flip. He leaned in again, brushing your lips with his, soft and slow this time. “You don’t owe me a single thing,” he whispered, one hand still at your waist, the other stroking your cheek like you were something fragile.

Then—just like that—he kissed you again. Harder. Messier.

He angled your chin just right and slotted your mouths together in a way that made you exhale a broken sound against his lips. His tongue teased against yours, slow and devastating, and when you whimpered into the kiss, he tightened his grip on your waist like he couldn’t help it.

It wasn’t just kissing anymore. It was kissing like gravity didn’t exist.

“Gosh,” he murmured against your lips, breath ragged, “I can’t stop. You’re like—” kiss “—a drug or something.” Kiss. “A really addictive one.”

You giggled mid-kiss, your hands sliding up into his hair. “You’re insane.”

And then SLAM.

Your bedroom door flew open like a jump scare.

Jake jumped away from you like you’d just been caught stealing a national treasure.

Before either of you could process what was happening, Sunghoon stormed into the room, dragging Jake into a headlock mid-sentence.

“WHAT THE—!” Jake shrieked.

You collapsed onto the wall, laughing so hard your knees buckled. Sunghoon grumbled something incoherent as he dragged a flailing Jake down the hallway like a sack of potatoes.

“I’m trying to sleep,” Sunghoon barked. “And instead I get moaning and giggling through my wall like I’m living in a romcom directed by Satan.”

Jake was breathless. “I wasn’t even going tor—”

“Yeah, yeah, pipe it, dumbass.”

Sunghoon slammed Jake down onto his bed and slammed the door behind him like it owed him peace.

You were still giggling in the hallway when Sunghoon’s door creaked open again. He stepped out looking 800 years tired, hoodie wrinkled and hair in chaos.

“And you!”

He pointed at you.

You stood straighter.

He stared. Then sighed.

“…Sleep well,” he muttered.

But just as he turned away, he mumbled under his breath: “God, you’re so happy it’s disgusting.”

And you were.

You were dizzy, breathless, borderline giddy.

Disgustingly happy.

And it felt perfect.

—

You laid in bed, the blanket tucked snugly beneath your chin, heart still racing from the absolute whirlwind that had been your night. Your lips were still tingling. Your cheeks ached from how much you’d smiled. Everything inside you buzzed, giddy and light, like you were a teenager with her first real crush.

Only this wasn’t a crush.

This was Jake.

You giggled into your pillow, kicking your feet beneath the covers, limbs wriggling like your body had no idea how to contain this much happiness.

Then—

Ping.

Your phone lit up beside you.

Jake 💙 i miss u already hehe

You let out an actual squeal, smacking your pillow with both hands, grinning like a complete lunatic.

God.

You’d never felt like this before. Not even with your ex. Not even close. This was warm. This was exciting. Safe. Stupid and lovely all at once.

This was Jake.

Still smiling, you typed back quickly, almost shy:

can u sneak back in?

You held your breath, eyes glued to the typing bubble.

But before it even disappeared—you heard it.

The quiet creak of a door unlocking.

You bolted upright.

Heart stuttering, you threw off your blanket and padded toward your bedroom door, cracking it open just enough to peek into the hallway.

And there he was.

Jake.

In pajama pants and a hoodie, hair tousled and fluffy, tiptoeing across the hallway like some cartoon burglar. His socked feet made no sound, but his face was full of mischief, lit up with a secret smile like this was the best part of his whole night.

He looked up and spotted you, then quickly pressed a finger to his lips.

“Shhh,” he whispered, a ridiculous grin tugging at his mouth.

You had to bite down on your knuckle to keep from laughing. He was impossible.

He reached your door in two quiet steps, gently pushing you backward into your room with both hands on your shoulders, like you were something delicate.

Just as he was about to step in—

SLAM.

Sunghoon’s door burst open like he was a horror movie jump-scare.

Jake froze.

You froze.

Both of you turned slowly, like kids caught red-handed raiding the snack cabinet.

Sunghoon stood in his doorway, hair sticking out in ten different directions, hoodie slipping off one shoulder, expression one hundred percent done with everything.

Jake opened his mouth, already guilty. “We—”

“Go. To. Sleep,” Sunghoon said flatly. His voice had the kind of force only a sleep-deprived man could deliver. “You absolute rabbits.”

You immediately clamped a hand over your mouth to muffle your laughter as Jake stepped back like a scolded puppy, both hands in the air.

“Okay okay! We’re sleeping!” he whisper-yelled as Sunghoon groaned, rubbed his temples, and slammed his door shut again.

The second it clicked closed, Jake leaned down toward your door and whispered with a grin:

“Tomorrow night, I’m climbing through your window.”

You giggled, heart racing again, and whispered back, “You better.”

And he did.

He really did. But he also got caught by Sunghoon. Again.

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