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jaylaxies · 28 days ago

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CALL ME WHEN YOU HATE ME LESS

PAIRING: jake sim x fem!reader (ft. jaehyun and heeseung).

GENRE/CW: smut, angst, eventual fluff, porn with plot, unprotected sex, cunnilingus, fingering, choking, blowjob, using panties as a gag, spitting kink, edging, squirting, slight overstimulation, mentions of fighting, blood, usage of nicknames, slowburn if you squint, emotional trauma, lmk if i missed anything!

WORD COUNT: 18,321 words. (18.3k)

SYNOPSIS: Jake Sim was a walking academic hazard—hot, broody, and failing just about everything that wasn’t football. Enter you, his new tutor: organized, overachieving, and absolutely not here for his attitude or his annoyingly perfect lips. But between late night study sessions, petty insults, and one very inconvenient almost-kiss, things start spiraling—fast. He’s supposed to be you project. You are supposed to hate him. Instead, you both are one sarcastic comment away from either a breakdown or a makeout, and honestly, it could go either way.

WARNING: 18+ content, minors dni (the full fic will include smut).

A/N: hihi, angels! if you have seen this before then yes, it is a revamp of my jeno fic as requested by a few anons! i hope you guys will enjoy it! all likes, comments, reblogs are highly appreciated! it keeps me motivated! iloveyou all and happy reading <33

Chapter 1: Raised in Shadows, Told to Shine.

Comparison.

The core of all insecurities. The onset of overthinking. The path to self loathing.

That’s what comparison does to a person—drive them to the edge of insanity in hopes of turning into something; into someone the others will look up to, compare themselves to.

It was a bad thing per se, but it was motivation enough for Jake to work harder in order to leave the country, to get away from his family.

The reason? His mother ever so conveniently happened to have fallen in love with a rich guy, someone who never knew what struggle meant, and Jake was just four back then, he didn’t bother changing his surname. It didn’t take much time for him to settle into the lifestyle, however, no matter how much he could have prepared to face his step-brother, he simply couldn’t bother looking him in the eye.

Why? Because he was known to be the epitome of perfection. Jung Jaehyun was the son every parent wanted, the student every teacher was fond of, the doctor every nurse wanted to work with.

The sweet dimple on his cheek was a great asset in melting the hearts of everyone in his proximity or afar.

Jake on the other hand, wasn’t quite sure why he wasn’t considered to be enough, especially when he got decent grades throughout his school life, he wasn’t a bother, kind to those who were around them, but it changed.

It changed when he got daily reminders of how he wasn’t even close to how amazing and successful his step brother was.

That’s when things started looking down for Jake. He stopped caring about the grades, he wasn’t sure why he was supposed to put up a I’m so good, so smart act in front of others when there was no reason for him to do that.

Others didn’t bother doing the same for him.

Rather, he tried to work upon the only thing he was passionate about, the only thing that mattered to him—football.

Despite winning several trophies for playing the sport, his parents labelled it to be useless, which broke the last fragment of his heart, shattering it to the point of no return.

Which would explain his current demeanor—moody, permanent scowl on his perfectly sculpted face and no care for the others around him. His sole focus being football, which is also the reason behind his current dilemma.

“Being an excellent player in the sports team does not guarantee you your scholarship, Mr. Sim,” Jake’s teacher incharge spoke up, taking off her specs right after reviewing his annual grade report, “you’re failing three out of five modules, and if you don’t start getting back on track soon, then I’m afraid you won’t be able to play in the team anymore.”

Fuck.

Jake had been neglecting his studies, he admits, yet he never thought that he’d reach this point. It’s not that he wasn’t smart, he simply had no motivation to go on with his studies. His parents could easily pay the university to keep him around, however, he wanted nothing from them, which also explains why he got himself a scholarship in the first place.

“I’m sorry if I’m late.” Jake’s eyes snapped wide open, turning back to see his step brother entering the teacher’s cabin.

“Why are you here?” Jake asked, a muscle in his jaw twitching but Jaehyun only smiled.

Jake’s professor was equally stunned, probably even more with her jaw wide open at the appearance of such a handsome young man.

“I called him in since your parents were busy,” his professor said, handling Jake a letter, “go and find your tutor in the council room, she’ll be helping you with the upliftment of your grades, Mr. Lee, and now if you’ll excuse us, I’ve got to fill in your brother with your current situation,” she said the last part awfully sweetly as Jaehyun sat down in one of the vacant chairs, smiling at her kind tone.

Jake scoffed, the demeanor change around Jaehyun went crazy and he wasn’t a fan of it, especially when he was called in to complain about his mistakes.

He simply wanted to leave the university and never come back.

He waited, taking deep breaths before punching the wall, not being able to contain his anger. The impact did hurt, yet he paid no heed to it, the blood dripping as he walked towards the council room to get over with the day.

The name written on the sheet wasn’t unfamiliar to him, rather it only wearied the already infuriated boy as he knocked on the door of the student council room, which was empty except for you sitting there, working on a few papers which appeared to be the newsletter for the month.

“Come in,” you allowed, not looking up as Jake made his way inside the room, observing the surroundings where he’s never been before.

Then he looked your way, taking in your appearance. You looked cozy in your university varsity jacket, your specs sitting on your nose as you buried yourself in reading whatever it was that you were reading. He couldn’t deny you looked pretty in a way that’s comforting to eyes.

With no words exchanged, he pushed the letter towards you, which finally made you look up at the source of disturbance, your eyebrows raising slightly as you most certainly did not expect the star football player to visit you in the council room, which he’s never been to before.

He simply stood there, hands shoved into his pockets while still looking around, and you took a second to grab the letter, skimming over to read and understand that the letter was given by Mrs. Kim, the teacher in charge of your department, requesting you to take up the few teaching sessions you had applied for, Jake being the student you’ll have to teach for the same.

You clicked your tongue, folding the letter exactly as it was before pushing it his way, your arms folding across your chest as you finally spoke up, “I reject. I don’t wish to teach you.”

His eyes were quick to snap towards you, finally staring right into your own eyes, irritation clear as he pushed his tongue on his inner cheek, eyebrow raised.

“Aren’t you supposed to kiss your professor’s feet, given that you’re in student council? And here I thought you’d be a good girl.” Jake rasped, resting his arms on your table, leaning down to your level.

You chuckled, expecting the exact response from him, “this is exactly why I don’t want to waste my time on you—you athletes don’t wish to study, you just require a passing grade, for which, I don’t have time to spare.”

“What the fuck do you mean waste your time?”

“Sim Jake, you’ve got more money with you than your bank account can handle, so I’m sure losing your scholarship won’t do you much harm,” you said with a sickening smile, “you’ve got no interest in studying, your attendance record states that oh so proudly.”

“You don’t know shit about me,” Jake seethed out, messy hair strands falling over his eyes.

“I know everything I need to know about you. Now excuse me, unlike you, I actually have work to do,” you said, passing him a tight lipped smile, not letting the proximity faze you.

“You—”

Jake’s sentence was cut short with two sharp knocks on the slightly ajar door, a head peeking in, successfully garnering your attention. You could feel your mood doing one eighty with the sudden intrusion of this stranger—whom you didn’t wish to be a stranger around anymore, your eyes softening, lips parting as you stared at him in awe.

Meanwhile, if Jake thought that the day was done being a bitch to him, then he was wrong because the level of irritation that bubbled up in him the moment he saw the change in your expressions.

“Sorry to interrupt, may I get in?” Jaehyun asked, smiling his usual dimpled smile, which had you swooning in record time.

You could practically see veins of frustration popping out on Jake’s neck, “no. Your work is done, you should head back home,” he groaned, but Jaehyun only looked you way, continuing to get in, looking your way.

“I’m Jaehyun, Jake’s elder brother. I can’t thank you enough for agreeing on giving him tutoring lessons, especially with how busy you must be with council duties,” he spoke up, shaking your hand, which was smaller in his warm, big hands.

Jake scoffed, “she’s not—”

“Of course, Jaehyun! It’s my pleasure to help him out, and it’ll only help me better with my extracurricular credits! It’s no problem,” you nodded, a gentle smile on your face as your eyes practically twinkled with excitement, taking in the beauty that Jaehyun beheld.

It was ridiculous.

It was absurd how just two sentences; paired with a sweet smile from his brother, were enough for you to change your decision, in the span of two seconds at that.

He tightened the hold he had on the strap of his black bag, “no fucking need. I’ll find another tutor,” Jake deadpanned, walking out of the room, not paying attention to Jaehyun who called out his name in the background.

He wouldn’t let you use him to get to his brother.

With that thought, he decided to detour and make his way to the gym, trying to blow off steam by practicing punching, each one getting progressively stronger as his mind replayed the difference in your behaviour when it came to him and his brother.

It didn’t bother him that his knuckles were bruising, he knew he needed this extrinsic pain to get rid of the obvious hurt he felt each day.

And he couldn’t understand why he felt so affected by your actions, especially when it was the first time you had met.

Jealousy was indeed a bitch.

Chapter 2: Surrendered to the skirt.

Two days passed by and Jake’s mood showed no progress in terms of improving, rather, he felt worse each time the memory invaded his brain. He tried his best to sit down and open the first module of the unit he had to study.

It’s not like he was bad at studying, he was just a bit out of practice, and well, his mental health wasn’t doing much to help him get any better.

Just when he was about to actually get a hang of getting into the topic, the doorbell rang. His parents were out for business, as usual, and his step brother was busy doing morning shifts, which meant that he was alone at the mansion, minus the myriad of worker staff they had to take care of the place.

Essentially, he had to get down to see who it was at the door, only to spot you leaning against the doorframe as one of the attendants had asked you to wait. He stopped, observing you from the staircase as you typed something on your phone.

Why were you here after clearly rejecting him? Why were you here when he’s clearly told you he doesn’t want you to be his tutor?

Scoffing, he walked down the stairs and towards you, standing right in front of you, clearly invading your personal space as he decided to lean against the same side of the thick door frame with his brows raised.

You took a second to take in his appearance as he was clad in casual gray sweatpants with a blank tank, which honestly did nothing to hide his muscles.

“Why are you here?” Jake asked with a bored tone.

“I’m here to teach you, remember?” You gave him a pointed look.

“And I clearly told you I don’t wish to study from you, it’s better if you leave now. I’ll just tell Mrs. Kim that you taught me,” he said, almost turning back to go inside.

“And have them wondering how you failed even after getting tutored by me? Yeah, I don’t think so,” you shook your head, inviting yourself in without second thoughts.

“Y/n, I’m not fucking kidding, you should leave. Besides, the one you came for isn’t at home at the moment,” he muttered bitterly.

That caught your attention, “oh? Busy with a job then?” You asked, looking around the exquisite paintings hung at the entrance of his place.

“Are you gonna leave or do I have to call the guards to escort you out?”

You chuckled, “you really don’t want the previous year questions I have? The council students get them each year you see, they’re bound to guarantee you good marks,” you explained with a smirk.

Jake groaned, his lip bitten as he tried to think if tolerating you would be worth the questions, but his football career was at stake and there was no better option but to accept it.

“What’s the catch?” Jake asked after a few seconds, sighing with defeat.

“Nothing at all. We both know that you need these papers to get the grade that you wanna achieve and I’ll get my extra credits,” you reason.

“You just wanna meet my brother,” he said dryly, “either way, you won’t get to see a lot of him, he’s always at the hospital, working and being the perfect son he is. Plus, he’s definitely not into uni students,” he looked you up and down, soon gulping and looking elsewhere.

You were clad in a pretty skirt which showed off your legs—which you did wear in hopes of crossing paths with Jaehyun, but you completely missed how Jake was staring at your body.

He wasn’t sure if it was out of hatred that he stared at you, or it was admiration because you were one of those people he despised—overachievers.

You were in the student council, got good grades and professors favoured you, it wouldn’t be a surprise if your parents loved you for being the ideal daughter. It most certainly didn’t help that your appearance seemed as if you were the sweetest, kindest angel on earth, which wasn’t the case when you were around Jake though.

“I’ll manage,” you shrugged, “so, I need your final word, Mr. Sim.”

“I am sure I can find better tutors than you,” he raised his brows, challenging you and you didn’t look fazed at all.

“I am quite literally the best, professor Kim asked me to tutor you for a reason, besides, no one’s gonna agree to help you out with exams being only one month away,” you made your point, extending your hand for him to finalize his decision.

Overconfidence. He sighed.

Jake stared at your extended hand, thinking of the bigger picture here. He’d get tutoring and would be able to score decent grades if he gets back to his usual routine of studying.

Downside? He’d have to face you each day.

Sighing and keeping his feelings in check, he simply nodded, taking your smaller hand into his as he accepted the offer, suddenly aware of the warmth of your palm and how it leaves a tingling feeling behind as you shake his hand firmly with a smirk.

“So, where are we gonna study?”

Chapter 3: Silent room, a loud mind.

Turns out, it’s not that easy to sit down and just teach Jake.

Given the amount of classes he had missed, or rather, the amount of classes he had managed to attend, it was clear that he didn’t even have the basic idea of the syllabus for the semester modules.

Moreover, you had already pissed him off by mentioning how you didn’t expect him to have such a clean and organized room, as if you had already decided that he was going to be a messy human.

Moving forward, you both sat down next to each other with your laptop open in front of you as you made him write down all the topics he needed to cover for the next month, forming a sort of timetable of a kind.

It was surprisingly peaceful between you two, as if you both wished to get over with it as soon as possible, behaving as civilly as you could but there was this one thing that Jake couldn’t stop doing.

Overthinking.

It’s the way you looked his way with disappointed and concerned filled eyes whenever he messed up, the way his jaw clenched when you told him to do better, the way he couldn’t help but stare at your glossed up lips as you looked around his room, eyes settling on his childhood pictures which were framed.

It was also new to him to actually interact with people outside of his football team, especially girls. He couldn’t remember the last time he had talked to one. He wondered what was going on in your mind, he wondered if you were silently judging him through it all.

That’s all what people in his life did anyway.

“You were cute as a kid, what happened to you now?” You joked, chuckling as you looked his way, only to find his mouth slightly agape.

He hadn’t expected you to say that, and he certainly didn’t want to retort back with something that would ruin his mood, “I grew up to be hot is what happened to me,” he replied smoothly.

“Oh, so you do know how to joke around,” you raised your brows in surprise. It was indeed the image he had formed over the years. The image of him being nothing more than a rude jock who wouldn’t even reply to someone nicely.

Now that you were actually interacting with him, you were going to find out how many of the rumors were true about him.

He only leaned closer at your statement, you could see his muscles flexing as he rested one arm on the table in front of you both, “it’s not a joke, love. I am hot.”

You scoffed at the term of endearment, suddenly aware of his scent now that he was so close to you, “and egoistic too,” you helpfully added.

“Rightfully so.”

Your childish argument was interrupted that very second as the door to Jake’s room swung open, revealing the exact man you came to see.

Jaehyun was smiling, dressed in black slacks and a button up shirt as he welcomed you here, and you were quick to notice Jake’s mood turning fowl that very second.

“Thank you so much for coming here, Y/N. Let me send a few snacks and drinks for you both while you study,” he smiled, and you rushed up to stand, not even bothering about the pen that fell down as you did so.

“Jaehyun,” you walked up to him, much to Jake’s dismay, “oh, you don’t have to do anything,” you smiled sweetly, and he only shook his head softly, grabbing your arm.

“Don’t worry about it, just sit and relax, okay?” He squeezed your arm, going downstairs and you sighed with a smile. Even his scent was perfect to you.

“You done daydreaming?” Jake asked, deadpanning once his brother had left.

“You done solving the question?” You retorted.

He sighed, as if his energy was drained already, “yeah, just check and get this over with,” he said, handing you the binder and looking elsewhere.

It was probably the first time you actually paid attention to his dejected tone, as if he didn’t have the energy to fight back, and you obviously didn’t wish to irk him more, especially when he looked so frustrated right now. Thankfully, a lot of his answers were indeed correct, which was another surprise to you.

He was smart, he just simply didn’t wish to study.

“Something wrong?” He asked, cocking his brow and you blinked, “you’re actually not as dumb as you portray yourself to be,” you mumbled, checking everything thoroughly.

It should’ve been insulting to Jake per se, but even the slightest amount of approval was a big thing for him, causing the corner of his lips to curl up. He felt insane, the amount of emotions he felt in a single day was perhaps the reason for the same, courtesy of you.

He was glad Jaehyun didn’t enter the room again, sending in a servant staff to give you the snacks instead, which maintained the peace throughout the session.

You couldn’t help but notice how well he concentrated once there was silence in the room, your eyes focused on his hand gripping the pen, making it seem more veiny than it already was.

Also, you didn’t miss the hint of a smile ghosting his face when you told him he did a good job right before leaving, which made you think of a few things, one being—

He looked beautiful with a smile.

Chapter 4: You can’t read my mind, so read my lips.

As much as Jake loved the comfort of his room, he really wanted to avoid you bumping into Jaehyun again.

Even the thought of your interactions, your fake sweet smiles, made him wanna punch the wall. Jaehyun really had it easy and Jake never understood why, it was no joke that Jake was decent looking as well, talented in his own way, and a kind hearted person who just happened to have a protective wall around him so as to not get hurt any further.

Which is why you had been tutoring him in the library from the past ten sessions, his own personal request to avoid having privacy with you.

Heck, even Jake didn’t know it was his own mind trying to protect him, which is why he couldn’t let anyone in, anyone.

Which made this situation far from ideal as he had you pressed against the library wall, no distance between you both as you closed your eyes in pure distress.

“What the actual fuck is he doing here?” Your question was directed more to yourself, which confused Jake further.

He poked his tongue into his cheek, annoyance creeping through, “what the fuck is going on?” He asked.

“Shhh, not so loud,” you pressed your palm against his mouth, “just hide me.”

He rolled his eyes, grabbing your wrist effortlessly, pinning it above your head, “you don’t tell me what to do, yeah?” He mumbled, flustering you under his gaze before your eyes travelled back to where you were looking initially.

He sighed in annoyance, looking back at the direction of your supposed fear.

Lee Heeseung. Another of Jake’s football teammates.

“Why are you hiding from Heeseung,” he asked, brow raised as he leaned into you.

“Ugh,” you groaned, “he’s my ex, he shouldn’t even be in the library, he’s never here!” You were stressed and Jake smirked devilishly.

“Fucking hell, you’re the girl he keeps on stalking and crying about?” He chuckled, “let me call him,” he turned away for a second.

You used your free hand to grab his nape, “don’t fucking move,” you mumbled.

Perhaps you were too harsh with the grabbing, also not calculating the proximity enough, because Jake’s nose was brushing against yours, lips close to the point of touching, and a low groan escaping his lips as your name rolls out his tongue in the most angry grunt ever, “what the actual fuck are you doing?”

“J—just let him leave,” you mumbled, gulping and closing your eyes, his mint breath fanning your face as heat crept up your neck, up till your ears.

“What will I get out of it,” he asked, his free hand resting on your waist now, “why should I help you?”

“I’m literally helping you study, Jake,” you seethed out.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you,” he groaned, making you open your eyes, staring into his deep ones now, suddenly feeling small under his gaze, and well, his body.

“What?” you asked, looking away to check if Heeseung had left, pushing Jake away the second you confirmed it.

Jake, however, wasn’t having any of it.

With a scoff and the shake of his head, he grabbed your wrist again, twisting it behind your back, not putting too much pressure so it just hurt but still made it clear how he would not let you go so easily, “you can’t run from me.”

“Let go, I fucking swear—” you let out, squirming around and pushing him, he didn’t budge at all sadly.

“You do realize I’m a lot stronger than you, right?” He chuckled.

“Fuck—what do you want me to do?” You rolled your eyes, jaw clenching as you looked at him.

Before he could answer, your eyes widened in fear yet again as you yanked his arm so forcefully, he had no chance to balance himself, a yelp leaving his mouth as you ran and he was following right after you.

Heeseung was back and you could just not deal with his ass anymore, hence the overwhelming response. Fight or flight? Flight for sure. Dragging Jake into it might be a stretch but hey, whatever helped you run away from the gremlin, right?

“Y/N,” Jake hissed yet again, once you stopped by your seat, gathering both yours and his belongings scattered across the table from when you were studying a few minutes back, before getting up to find a book, before seeing Heeseung roaming around the halls of the library.

It was quite amusing to Jake if he was being honest, a mix of feelings as you grabbed his wrist effortlessly yet again, your eyes set on the exit door leading to the parking lot where Jake’s Ferrari Purosangue stood proudly.

“Get in!” You screamed even though you were far from the threat (read: Heeseung) now.

“That’s my car in case you forgot—”

“Now.”

“So fucking annoying—” He grumbled, with a small smile playing on his lips.

You looked so bothered as if you were chased by Ghostface and not Heeseung, even though you probably wouldn’t run away from the prior. It was comical regardless, the long breath you exhaled once you were comfortable on his premium quality car seat, head leaned back fully.

You opened your eyes after a few seconds only to find Jake’s eyes on you, face curved into an amused look. You stared at one another for a second, two seconds, three seconds—and he burst out laughing.

It was probably the first time you saw him laugh like that—so freely, without any care in this world. It was loud but breathless, making his eyes crinkle with small crescents forming, his perfectly aligned pearly teeth showing as he went on, laughing at your disheveled state and crazy response to everything that happened the past twenty minutes.

You were calm and composed for the most part, it was rare for you to look this frustrated over anything, which came as a surprise to Jake, the whole situation seemingly pure comedy to him.

You observed him so carefully, your own lips twitching into a smile and before you knew it, you were laughing alongside him so normally as if two friends were laughing over a joke.

A weird sort of warmth spread over your body, it made no sense honestly, you were pinned to the wall just a few minutes back and Jake looked as if he’d burst into flames with his anger, and now he’s laughing at your disheveled, non-composed state.

Once Jake caught you staring back at him with glittering eyes, and a little smile, he froze. It was easy for him to come back to his senses (read: put his walls back up) which only made your smile drop too. It was awkward, both of you looking elsewhere while clearing your throats, definitely not something you expected.

“Uh—sorry about that, yeah,” you mumbled, playing with the loose threat of your sweater sleeve.

“Yeah, no problem,” he retorted, turning the car engine on to start driving.

Why was it awkward? Because you laughed together like two absolutely normal individuals? Because you had Jake pinning you to the wall to avoid your ex?

Or because you almost kissed. Almost.

The ride back to your apartment was silent, no songs playing in the car, just the small buzz of engine, and the nail tapping on the screen of your phone—to avoid any kind of conversation happening, also clearly missing out on how Jake glanced at you every few seconds, the speed of his thoughts running faster than his own car.

“I’ll—see you tomorrow then?” Your voice cracked as you said so, wincing slightly at your own tone.

Jake was about to chuckle again, yet he covered it with a low cough as he mumbled a yes, as you opened the door once he stopped in front of your apartment.

That’s it, you were leaving, and his eyes didn’t leave you till you disappeared into the apartment.

He gripped the steering wheel tighter, groaning as he banged his head into it, a low horn sound only frustrating him further. It was hard for him to drive after, the scene of you being so vulnerable yet glaring at him like a scared little vixen trying to look brave, replayed in his mind.

No, he couldn’t drive, couldn’t focus on the road anymore, stopping the car at a random parking lot of a fast food chain, grabbing his phone to pull up Instagram, specifically Heeseung’s account.

He didn’t have to scroll much to find the picture he was looking for—his teammate, Heeseung, standing right next to you with his arm resting on your waist. Jake didn’t know why that picture left a bitter taste in his mouth all of a sudden, knowing well how badly Heeseung fucked up when he cheated on you.

And now the asshole is running after you again.

You didn’t deserve that, you deserve someone better—someone perfect like you.

He went back, not having it in him to look at the picture again, instead, going to your account now. It looked professional, all your posts being highly calculative to make your feed look pleasing. Your highlights, however, had this one particular picture—a picture of you smiling without a care in the world, so raw, so genuine, so beautiful.

Beautiful.

Jake thought you looked beautiful, and it made him angry.

He was angry—because deep down, he desired to be the reason for your smile.

Chapter 5: Pretty in pink, but my head’s in the dark.

Jake made you smile.

You did know that laugh was contagious, however, you didn’t think you’d actually give in to Jake’s sweet chuckles.

Sleep didn’t come to you easy when the constant reminder of the study session poked the back of your mind, not to mention what happened in the library earlier, where you and Jake almost kissed—

No.

You shook your head. Such niche experiences never falter you, so why was this such a big deal?

Another groan left your mouth, but alas, your body was relaxed enough to sleep so you woke up energetic the next day. It felt oddly friendly when you saw Jake at the University, and he threw a two finger salute your way, you waved back before going your way.

“You’re zoned out, again.” Karina, one of your classmates, pointed out and you sighed as she rambled about how you needed to let some guy in, quite literally, to blow off some steam, which you clearly weren’t doing, hence the stuck up energy.

Being descriptive about it didn’t help either—yet another reminder of how Jake’s body was pressed against yours this hour, yesterday.

Heat crept up your neck, urging you to pack up and leave the room. It was hot, stuffy almost for you to do anything, which is why you found yourself studying at the empty seat of the University park.

You had to face him again, of course, there was no escape to that, and as if the universe was testing you, the time passed by way too quickly for your liking and soon, you found yourself standing in front of the main door of Jake’s place.

Before you could even ring the bell, the door opened to a huffing Jake, almost as if he ran downstairs, but how did he know—

“Hey,” he whispered, looking around.

He didn’t wait for your reply, simply grabbing your wrist and dragging you inside, your skin burning at the unexpected touch, but you didn’t shake him off of you, only asking in a low tone, “what are you doing?”

“Shh,” Jake mumbled, as though he was trying to avoid someone, or rather, trying to hide you from someone. His efforts were futile, however, once he heard that stern voice of his mother booming through the walls of his mansion.

Now you get why Jake was in a hurry, the look on her face had a chill going down your spine.

You felt Jake stiffen alongside you, his hold on your wrist now tighter, uncontrollably so.

“You must be the new tutor for Jake,” she said, scrutinizing every bit of your existence, Jake’s jaw clenched at her unwavering gaze.

“Yes ma’am, It’s a pleasure meeting you,” you tried to say, only for her to cut you off.

“Trust me, darling. There must be no pleasure in helping Jake, but I do hope he learns a thing or two from you—you look like a smart young lady, hopefully, a positive influence on him.”

You looked at her with your mouth open slightly, not believing the sight in front of you. No mother should look down on their children like that, ever.

“Mrs. Jung, I hope we’re talking about the same Jake because he is amazing at studies, he grasps concepts faster than I do, and then I believe I’m the one who’s learning from him right now!” You smiled, full of enthusiasm, feeling Jake’s hand dropping down from your wrist.

“In fact, I’ve never seen anyone play football so perfectly while also being so brilliantly academically smart, I firmly believe his grades will shock you this time. Now, if you’ll excuse us, it’s time for our tutoring session.”

You passed her a small smile, the shock clear on her face, before grabbing Jake’s hand and taking him along with you—to his room. You didn’t look back, simply closing the door as you breathed out with a pissed expression.

Jake’s heart was beating fast, he wasn’t sure if he had words to speak at this moment, so staring at you was all he could do.

You spoke for him.

You defended him.

No one’s ever done that, no one cared enough to understand, moreover, it didn’t help how you looked angrier than him at the situation.

“W—Why?” Jake couldn’t keep his voice in check, “you didn’t have to—say all that.”

That’s when you turned around, facing him. All your anger disappeared once you focused on his face, so vulnerable, so confused, so desperate to know your answer.

“Jake,” the gentleness in your voice only made him gulp and look down at the floor, “I hope you don’t believe a word she says, because that’s not true,” you spoke, inching closer.

You were not one who was good at making people feel better, Jake of all people at that, however, this gave you an insight of why Jake is the way he is—closed off, hence the lack of words from your side, but you knew you had to say it.

That’s the thing, we judge people too quickly, you always had snarky remarks for him, not knowing how deep they cut him. He looked shaken right now, traumatized, especially because you experienced a part of his life which he never wanted to share with anybody.

“Jake, you’re doing so well, you know that right?” You whispered, as genuine as possible, your fingers grabbing his own, which made him look up at you finally.

He was shaken, not from his mother’s words—he was used to them—but from yours.

“No one’s ever said that,” he spoke so silently, you almost missed it. You held his hand tight—being almost angrier than him while answering his mom back—he isn’t sure if he’ll ever be over that.

Jake didn’t realize his eyes were glistening.

“What?” You breathed out.

He gulped yet again, jaw clenched now as he struggled to get his words out, the floor being the most interesting thing to him, “defended me. No one’s done that.”

“I—is that why you hate Jaehyun? Because people only see him?” You asked, wincing at the question when you saw him stiffen again, a sharp pang in your chest once he brushed your hand off of his.

“Don’t. Don’t fucking go there.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Oh I fucking know what you mean. Everyone sees him fuck—you see him, because he’s perfect, right? That’s what he is, perfect,” he seethed out, “you don’t know what it’s like—to live in someone’s shadow,” there was a flash of pain in his eyes.

You stayed mum, letting him speak.

“Every place, every room, every fucking person just sees him,” he muttered, “I need to be better, but it’s never enough, because he already did it—Jaehyun did it better. You look at him the same way as others do, and me? The afterthought—the failure.”

Your heart broke a little, guilt settling in because unknowingly, you fueled the same anger and trauma for him.

“Jake,” you mumbled, “you’re not a failure.”

“You don’t know me.”

“I’m starting to,” you spoke, and he looked up, “and thank god you’re not Jaehyun,” you chuckled, fingers ghosting near his jaw, your touch featherlight, making him suck in a deep breath.

“Why?” He asked, voice barely above a whisper, eyes hopeful, which scared him.

“Because you’re real, you don’t fake your emotions. You don’t smile at somebody who you don’t care about, you get angry, messy, you let yourself be shown how you are,” you lip twitched slightly as you said so, your own heartbeat rose at the sentences you so easily uttered, “that’s what makes you a human, Jake, a human who’s trying his best, which is what matters.”

He blinked.

He wanted to speak, but he couldn’t, simply leaning into your touch with his eyes closed.

“You’re you, the stupid jock who’s not scared of anything, yeah?” You tried to make him smile, which helped as you saw his lips curving up.

Midway through your sentences, you genuinely questioned yourself about why you even like Jaehyun, it was honestly just your mind playing games with you.

“You scare me,” he muttered.

“Why?”

“Because you say things so convincingly, it makes me wanna believe you.”

“Then why don’t you?”

“Just—don’t say it when you don’t mean it.”

“I do,” you said in a breath, his eyes on yours now, more intense than ever, “I mean every word.”

He stared a little longer, staring at you unamused as if you’d laugh in his face right this second. You didn’t.

“You’re serious,” he said, voice hoarse.

You nodded softly.

Jake took a single step forward, the air around you so tight, it felt like a rubber band stretched to its max, on the verge of snapping back.

You inhaled sharply once Jake’s cold hand brushed the hair on your shoulder, grazing against your bare skin, moving up your nape.

“Do you have any idea what you just said to me?” He murmured, eyes locked on yours, turning you around easily to pin you against the wall—something he liked to do, apparently.

“Tell me,” you mumbled.

If someone told you two days back that you’d be in Jake’s room, calming him down before getting into a compromising position with him, you would have laughed in their faces. It was reality for you now, something that made you feel so unconventionally flustered.

The way he brushed his thumb along your jaw, slow and deliberate, made you shiver, “you’re making me forget that i’m supposed to hate this—feeling anything.”

You were hanging on the last bit of your sanity, drowning in Jake’s scent, his nose brushing against your cheek, hand gripping your waist, heat radiating off of your body.

“Jake—”

“Say it again,” he whispered.

“Say what?” You breathed.

“That you’re glad I’m not him.”

You chuckled under his hold, your voice still shaking, “I’m so glad—so fucking glad you’re not him.”

His breath sounded like a curse, lips hovering a breath above yours, you could feel his hesitation against your skin. He wasn’t sure if he had the right to touch someone as perfect as you, yet you didn’t stop him, the space in between you was so tight, it might as well elicit electricity.

You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t blink, only leaning into his touch, resting your hand over the top of his on your jaw. The touch was faint, yet you could feel it everywhere.

You held your breath as he leaned in—

Knock.

Jake swore under his breath as you flinched, it physically hurt him to step back.

“Jake?” Of course, it was Jaehyun who had to interrupt you two.

Your hands trembled as Jake moved to the door, and you quickly turned towards the desk, rushing to sit down, pretending that nothing had happened—that you didn’t almost kiss Jake a few seconds back.

“Fuck,” he muttered, eyes furious with a hint of daze in them. “Yeah?” His voice came out strained as he asked Jaehyun through the door.

“Mom wants to talk to you,” He said.

“Be right down,” he answered, shaking his head, staring at your way one last time, holding eye contact for a second, letting you see just how much he hated this situation, veins popping in his neck.

Then he opened the door, closing it behind him and disappearing from your eyesight.

You stayed there, overwhelmed, lips tingling, pulse racing.

A truth burned your skin in an excruciating pain.

If he had kissed you, you wouldn’t have stopped him.

Chapter 6: I can go from A to Z, but U is what I want.

Jake hadn’t texted you all night.

Not that you waited, except, you did.

He never came back to the room after Jaehyun called him out, you waited, till you couldn’t anymore and had to rush out before your mind drove you to the edge of insanity.

So you grabbed your bag, rushing to the first place you thought of—the courtyard behind the Science block. It was calm, no student in sight, thankfully.

Your five minutes of calm ended a second too quickly, a voice calling out your name in its full glory. You cursed the universe for treating you like this and you didn’t have to turn around to figure out who it was.

Heeseung.

“I gotta admit, I didn’t peg you to fall for the broken type.” He stepped out smiling as insane as a villain who hasn’t moved on does.

“Still stalking me?” You rolled your eyes, “get a fucking job.”

“I call it being invested,” he smirked, shoving hands in his pockets, “it’s honestly a downgrade, going from me to Jake.”

“Not again,” you muttered, grabbing your book which you had just taken out.

“I mean, trading me for Jake?” Voice full of pity.

“As if you were an option, Heeseung,” you turned sharply.

That shut him up for half a second.

“I just don’t get it,” he said, voice colder now. “He’s always angry, I was angry, I made you feel something, can he say the same?”

Your head was hurting by now, as you mumbled yet another shut up, only to be stopped by Heeseung as he grabbed your arm.

“What? He’s the angry, tortured type. You’re into hopeless projects now?”

“I’m into honesty,” you snapped, “something you don’t offer.”

“What does he have that I don’t?”

“Self awareness maybe,” a voice came from behind you, low, cold, almost lethal.

Jake was here.

“Let go of her,” he said, dead-eyed, he was ready to snap.

And Heeseung did, a scoff leaving his mouth before he smirked, “great, speak of the devil.”

Jake raised his brow, “you done?”

Heeseung chuckled, “not even close.”

You sighed, “of course not,” this day couldn’t get worse.

“You really think this is love or whatever?” He said, looking at Jake but his words were directed to you instead, “he’s gonna burn you someday, and you’re gonna let him.”

Oh god, you were not having any of this, why was this conversation even happening? It made absolutely no sense.

Jake moved faster this time, but you blocked his chest with your arms, “enough,” you said sharply.

“Ask him to leave.” Jake said, voice low.

“Heeseung, just leave,” you said, turning to him.

But he didn’t, and so Jake did, shoving past you as you rolled your eyes, Heeseung’s sinister smile only widening, getting so close to him, he had to lean back slightly.

“Don’t test me, and don’t come near her again, or else I won’t be this patient.” Jake spoke.

“Aw? You’re gonna hit me in front of her, Jake?”

“I don’t need to, she already cut you deeper than I ever could.”

Heeseung stilled once, clenching his jaw, before turning to you, maintaining eye contact, “she’s not your girl, Jake.”

“You don’t know that,” he gritted his teeth.

“You’ll come back,” Heeseung’s jaw ticked as he said so.

“Hold your breath until I do,” you replied.

That was it, he left. It wasn’t silent, nor dramatic, but with enough tension to let you know that he will be coming back.

Once he was gone, you shoved Jake, hard.

“The fuck was that?”

“What? I came here trying to find you, only to witness you talking to him.”

“I didn’t want it to happen either, but the world hates me,” you mumbled, grabbing your bag and walking away with Jake following you behind.

“I fucking hate that he still gets to talk to you, why does he have access to you?” His voice rose and you prayed no one would hear him, thankfully this area was empty.

“He doesn’t, and why do you even care?” You asked, with distress clear on your face, “pretending like I mean something to you in front of Heeseung is just as worse, Jake.”

“I—”

“No, you won’t even talk about last night, as if it didn’t happen,” you snapped and he froze, “you didn’t even come back to your room.”

His silence was your answer, and you knew this conversation wasn’t gonna go any further, Jake couldn’t do that—he was scared of opening up, and he was scared of answering those questions, so even though you were hurting on the inside, you let him be.

“Tomorrow, library, at five. Be on time.” You mumbled, leaving him behind you.

“Fuck—fuck!” Jake punched the wall next to him. He didn’t want you to go—the first person who ever tried to understand him, took his side, defended him. He was beyond scared of letting his guard down, so he groaned, sliding down the wall.

“How do I even tell you I want you?”

Chapter 7: I know that I’m hard to read, but you got me here to stay.

The library was too quiet for how loud your mind was. The sound of your pen dragging across the paper felt almost intrusive as you tried to finish your assignment.

It had been three nights since the library fiasco.

Two nights since the almost kiss.

One night since the blow up with Heeseung.

You almost didn’t wish to come here, yet here you were, with the sample test papers ready, clad in your little black skirt, a cardigan too loose for you, waiting for Jake to show up—hoping he would.

The clock ticked. He was a solid nineteen minutes late now, another minute and you’ll get up to leave. That’s when you heard the lazy footsteps approaching your side, the farthest corner of the library. You expected him to sit in front of you, yet he opted to sit right next to you, so close you could feel the fabric of his jeans brushing against your thigh. He took a seat without permission, like he had the right to be, like nothing had happened.

He came in like guilt personified, shoulders hunched, hoodie loose, hair an unbrushed mess of indecision. And when he saw you?

He hesitated.

You didn’t look up, simply sliding him the sheet of questions to solve, the air around you turned weighted. His pen scratched, your leg bounced, you sipped water and he watched the corner of your mouth, practically burning holes into you.

It was unbearable.

This tension—it’s not a war but there’s rarely ever any peace. Catherine and Heathcliff reincarnated, except you weren’t on a moor, you were in a library, trying not to fall apart across the wooden study table.

Just yesterday, he burned through Heeseung like jealousy was oxygen.

He couldn’t stop staring, yet he solved the questions for forty minutes, sliding the sheet back to you for checking, expecting some sort of conversation now, anything, even a little hum of acknowledgement from your side, but none of it happened.

He watched you scribble your pen over the margin, circling a few things, ticking the others, lip bitten in concentration. He observed you so intensely, how your eyes flicked across his answer sheet, but you didn’t look his way, not even once.

“You won’t even talk to me now?” He asked, keeping his voice in check.

“Four answers wrong, you did pretty well, can do better still,” you mumbled, passing him the paper.

“Y/N,” he sighed, tired, he was afraid of this happening—letting you down, and that’s exactly what he did. Running away from his problems was what Jake always did, he wasn’t perfect, he knows it, but he wants to try and be better, better for you.

“You came late,” you said, still not looking up.

“I didn’t sleep last night,” he exhaled, jaw clenched as if trying to control his words.

“Not my problem,” you retorted.

“I was thinking.”

“You should study instead.”

“You hate me now, huh?” Jake leaned forward, voice flat.

You blinked. The question hit out of nowhere.

“I don’t hate you,” you replied carefully. “But I don’t know how to deal with you either.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“No, Jake. It’s the truth. And that’s more than you’ve been giving me.”

He looked at you then, really looked—eyes narrowed, like he was keeping a war behind them, trying his best not to show his emotions. His eyes were empty, yet so full of you, you being the only person he wanted to see.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he said, quietly. “I don’t know how to be—good at this, with you, I’ve never done this before.”

“And yet you’re good at disappearing. You’re good at leaving me hanging like none of it mattered, Jake. Even a text would have made it better, just one text.”

You weren’t yelling. You didn’t need to. Your disappointment was louder than any raised voice.

Jake sat back in his chair, breathing shallow. “You kissed me back.”

Your throat tightened, “you didn’t kiss me at all.”

“Exactly,” he muttered. “Because I would’ve ruined it. Ruined you.”

You shook your head slowly. “No, Jake. You didn’t kiss me because you’re scared of how much you actually want to.”

His fingers were now balled into fists. “And you’re not?”

“We’re not talking about me.” You looked away.

He scoffed, turning to look at you fully, leaning in with his hand now resting on your thigh, burning the skin with his touch.

“You want honesty, huh? So here it is—I’ve been thinking about you, about everything that’s happened in the past few days, no one’s ever messed with my mind so much and it fucking scares me. You’re messing me up—”

You couldn’t hear more, not when he was so close, not when he poured his heart out to you. Nothing about you two was normal, even your heartbeat was synced with how abnormally high they were.

“Shh,” you mumbled, covering his mouth with your palm, and even the rude gesture calmed him down—your touch calmed him down.

“You have an exam tomorrow.” You said and he stared, “study, pass the exam, and we’ll talk, yeah?”

He blinked, almost as if you showed him mercy, and gave him a chance to do something, to prove that he’s worthy of being near you. His scholarship, football, future—everything was at stake, but did he care? No. He cared about not letting you down. He wanted to prove himself to you.

“You—you promise?” He asked, gripping the extra sheets and notes you passed his way.

You nodded, eyes softer now. You didn’t wanna hurt Jake, you could see just how hard he tried to fight with his demons, but this time, you wanted him to win.

“I’ll be waiting.”

You turned to leave then, leaving Jake with his thoughts as he watched you leave, eyes on your legs. He gulped, looking back to the paper to find a line scribbled in your handwriting.

You already know the answer, you’re just afraid of getting it wrong.

It wasn’t about the question, it was about him.

He just wanted to be worthy enough to stand in front of you and say I didn’t fuck this up this time. So he started, he worked all night, solved as many sample problems as he could, everything felt like a punch in the gut but he couldn’t give up, not this time.

Jake couldn’t sleep at night,

I’ll be waiting.

That’s what you told him, and he was looking forward to it, because for the very first time in his life, someone wasn’t waiting for him to fail.

He woke up before his alarm had the chance to ring, didn’t care about his mother’s remark on how he woke up on time for once, or how Jaehyun gave him a long, unreadable look. Jake didn’t react, he had bigger problems to tackle today.

You were just as restless as him if not more, checking your phone every few minutes as if you’d get any text from Jake. He must be busy studying, you hope that was the case.

He walked into the exam hall calm, focused, terrified. He didn’t skip questions. He didn’t zone out.

He solved the final problem two minutes before time and rechecked every line like his life was hidden in the margins.

When he walked out of that room, his shirt clinging to the back of his neck from sweat, his palms aching from gripping the pen too hard—he knew. He’d done it. Or at least, he hoped he did.

Yet, he didn’t text you, he wouldn’t until he got the results.

Chapter 8: Jealousy is but a red thread around my throat.

You waited, not loud, but silently.

Two whole days, you held your breath, even planned on visiting the football practice to just get a glimpse of Jake, yet you couldn’t muster enough courage to do so. God, you were so affected by everything he did, and this felt so very suffocating, waiting on someone. You knew what you felt, there was no point in denying it, however, you couldn’t figure out how it happened, so quickly at that.

Heck, even Jaemin was more present in your chat inbox, even though you never replied to him, it just made you wonder if your time with Jake was just a hoax.

Did you imagine it all?

On the other hand, on the other side of the city, sitting in a dim room with sunlight pouring in, Jake was drowning in darkness.

The exam portal was open in front of him, he refreshed the page every two seconds, not being able to sit still. His hands were shaking, not from fear but from want. From the feeling of your voice telling him that you’ll talk to him once he proves himself.

He gave up the wait, the result wasn’t out the whole day. It was three in the morning when the notification woke him up like a jolt.

Results were out.

He rushed to check it, the numbers stunning him as his jaw hung open.

83%

Not perfect. But more than enough.

Enough to pass. Enough to stay on the team.

Enough to say, Look. I did it. I’m not a fuck-up. The first thing he thought of was you. So he typed—just two words.

Jake: I passed.

Because he didn’t know how to say what he really wanted to—I passed, and all I could think about was your voice. I passed, and I still don’t feel whole unless you tell me you’re proud. I passed, and it’s not enough if I can’t show you.

Your reply came back six minutes later.

You: I knew you would.

It was soft, gentle. But was it enough for Jake? No. It should’ve been enough, but it wasn’t.

He didn’t reply, he didn’t text you again. He opted to skip the lectures for the day and stay in his room, blinds closed, only darkness consuming him.

You knew it was hard for Jake, you knew you shouldn’t wait for his reply or him approaching you—he was too scared to do that, which is exactly why you grabbed your bag and went to his place the first thing in the morning. Maybe Jake needed time, but you had to check.

You rang the bell, your heart pounding as you did so, expecting Jake to open up and see you. Once the door opened, your pulse stuttered.

Jaehyun.

Of course, it had to be him.

“Y/N,” he said your name smoothly, “didn’t know you were coming by.”

You hesitated with a small chuckle, exhaling the breath you were holding, “is Jake home?”

He nodded, stepping aside to let you in, “yeah, he’s in his room, didn’t come out this morning at all.”

“Oh,” you said softly, wondering if he was alright.

There was a pause, an awkward silence after that, you felt heavy, wanting to go upstairs but you weren’t sure if you were allowed to.

Jaehyun closed the door behind you. “He’s been off since the results,” he said, voice low. “I thought passing would help, but I don’t know. He kind of shut down again after telling us he passed.”

You gulped, chest tightened at the revelation.

“I came to check up on him, I’m not sure if he wants to meet though.”

“He’d want to see you.” Jaehyun said, smiling sincerely, “you’re good for him.”

Your eyes widened at that, “I’m not sure he thinks that.” You tried to smile, “can I go to his room?”

“He locked the door, I think he’s sleeping,” Jaehyun said apologetically.

“I don’t wanna bother him.” You smiled sadly, “those are good pictures,” you mumbled, looking at the wall full of frames, particularly the ones with Jake in them.

“Yeah, I took most of those,” Jaehyun replied with another smile, he knew you wanted to talk to Jake so he suggested something, “Maybe if you take him something to eat? I can give the breakfast he skipped—”

“Oh no, I can run to the bakery and get something—”

Then you noticed a movement in your peripheral vision, you turned around to find Jake. He was standing down the hall, his fluffy hair a mess, eyes wide as if he didn’t expect you to be here—especially with Jaehyun.

“Hey,” you breathed out.

No reply.

“Y—you didn’t reply, I came to see you,” you tried speaking again.

However, his expression didn’t change and suddenly, you felt like you shouldn’t have come here at all. He was frozen even when you said you wanted to make sure he was okay. Then he came back to his senses, clearing his throat.

Jaehyun left the room, letting you two be alone.

“Why didn’t you ask for me?” He whispered, just sadness in his voice.

“I did, that’s what I came for,” you tried to explain.

Jake stared at you, he was so broken inside he couldn’t let himself believe it. You dressed up, all pretty, your eyes so soft, your lips turning into a pout of disappointment. You looked perfect, and you came here for Jake? He just could not believe it.

“You were talking to him,” Jake said, referring to Jaehyun, his voice broken.

“He opened the door, what can I do?” You shook your head, trying to explain, “you didn’t even text back, Jake.”

“I don’t know what to say,” he replied, “I’ve never done this before, I’ve never had someone wait for me and mean it.”

Your lips parted to reply but he wasn’t done.

“You said you’d talk to me after the exam,” he went on, voice sharper now, “but when you showed up, you let him open the door. You let him tell you how I was.”

“I didn’t—” your voice faltered, “I didn’t come for him.”

“Didn’t look that way.”

That hurt. You flinched. “Jake, why are you doing this?”

“Because I waited for you,” he snapped. “I sat in that room like a fucking idiot thinking you’d come to see me. Not make small talk with my brother or compliment his photography.”

“You heard that?” You froze, it wasn’t your intention to do any of that.

“I heard everything, every second you spent without taking my name,” he said.

Just like that—he hurt you. Every conversation was about Jake, every single one. He just couldn’t see it.

“I thought I was getting better,” he admitted, quieter now. “I thought passing the exam would mean something. That it would be enough.”

“It was,” you whispered. “Jake, it is. I am proud of you.”

“Then why didn’t it feel like it?” His voice broke on that line. He ran a hand through his hair, pacing a step away, then back, like his own body was a prison.

You stood frozen. Every word hit somewhere different.

“I wanted you to come,” he said, softer now. “Not to check in. Not to ask if I’d eaten. I wanted you to come for me. Just for me. You don’t get it, Y/N.”

“No,” you stepped forward. “You don’t get it. You think everything is about being chosen or abandoned. But not everyone’s trying to leave you, Jake. Sometimes people show up. But you keep slamming the door in their face.”

He turned away. “Then go.”

“I came for you.” You said one last time, your eyes watering, not being able to contain the hurt you held in them.

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have.”

That one landed like a punch.

Your mouth opened. Then closed. You nodded. Just once.

“Fine.”

You turned.

And you left.

And this time, he didn’t stop you.

Chapter 9: I know that I’m hard to read, but you got me here to stay

You spent most of your morning crying alone in your student council room, but it just wasn’t enough, not when you were being wronged every second of the day, not when the person you wanted kept running away from you no matter how hard you tried. At least you did.

You couldn’t run away though, you had an important meeting with your council at six in the evening, by that time, you had done everything to make yourself look normal again, but your mind was entirely elsewhere, in another realm, a realm where things were different.

Jake, on the other hand, left his room as soon as he realized how wrong everything had gone. All afternoon his own words replayed in his mind, how he asked you to leave and how you left a single tear drop on the floor before you turned around and left.

Maybe you shouldn’t have.

It felt like biting into something rotten, saying that out loud to you. Like watching the one and the only thing he wanted turn and walk away. You didn’t yell back, you didn’t beg, you went still, and left. He saw you leave—he made you leave.

And he let you go anyway. Because that’s what he did. Because pushing people away was easier than asking them to stay.

Until now.

Now he was pacing in his room like a caged animal, hoodie still damp, heart in his throat. He kept hearing your voice in the hallway. Kept seeing your face. Kept remembering the way you reached for him and he didn’t reach back.

His chest felt tight, his limbs tense. He couldn’t stay here, not in this house, not knowing you might never come back.

He had to find you.

So he ran. He ran to the courtyard, not caring about the rain pour, soaking him up from head to toe. You weren’t in the library, not in the council room, the classrooms were empty. He was panicking.

That’s when he heard a voice, turning around the corner of the athletic department, he walked straight into one of his football teammates he couldn’t stand at all—Minjae, a loud-mouthed asshole, smiling like a madman.

“Fucking hell, Lee Jake, you look like shit.” He grinned.

Jake didn’t answer, he was in a hurry, he had to find you, to make things right with you, he was about to push past Minjae when—

“Oh, by the way,” he smirked, “Heeseung told us a lot about how you finally landed his ex, the pretty goody two shoes, Y/N.”

Jake froze, jaw clenched at the mention of you and Heeseung in the same sentence, coming from an asshole at that.

“Didn’t think you’d have a go at someone like her. She seems to like guys who have more brains than biceps.” He laughed at his own joke.

“The fuck did you just say?”

Minjae laughed. “Chill, man. I’m just saying—props to you, seriously. Girl like that? All polished and pretty and loyal? I mean, not that it’ll last. Girls like that don’t stay with guys like us. She’ll figure it out eventually.”

Jake’s vision turned black.

“Say that again,” he said, voice like static.

Minjae raised his hands. “Relax. You don’t need to get all—”

The punch landed before he could finish.

Minjae hit the ground hard, water splashing up from the impact, the rain pouring down heavier now. He tried to shove Jake back, but to no avail as he bent down, his fist colliding with Minjae’s jaw again.

Jake wasn’t fighting Minjae per se, he was fighting every single voice that told him he wasn’t enough, that he could never live up to his brother, that he could never be with someone as perfect as you. That’s what he believed too, till you actually became real for him.

His mind was elsewhere when he took a blow to his jaw, lip bleeding now, Jake stumbled but scoffed before punching him again, and again, till his knuckles were shredded, a throbbing in his jaw which almost felt like fire.

It was only when someone pulled him off of Minjae, Jake stopped, spitting out blood in the rain slick grass. Everything hurt, but not as much as his burning chest.

“Are you insane?” Someone yelled his way, “what the fuck is wrong with you?”

Jake didn’t bother answering, pulling out his phone and rushing away, typing out texts to you.

Jake: where are you? please say something i’m so fucking sorry Y/N i didn’t mean it i didn’t mean any of it i swear Y/N please

No response. His messages were just there, unread, and unanswered. He simply didn’t know why.

He didn’t know how you had been in the private meeting room for the past hour, student council prep being a whole scheduling disaster, handling arguments about clubs and their out-of-the-worldly budget demands.

You were half awake at best, distracted by the storm that brewed outside. Your phone vibrates once, then again, and when you finally pull it out to check the numerous missed calls—your screen goes dark. Perfect, just on the day you didn’t bring your charger or powerbank.

The feeling in your gut—it wasn’t good, which is why you excused yourself mid meeting, something you never do, to rush back home. You were soaked as you ran to your apartment, close to the University, thankfully. You plugged your phone in to charge as you rushed to take a shower, hoping the hot water would soothe your nerves. It didn’t.

You kept thinking about Jake, about the fight at his place earlier, how he asked you to leave with the saddest look in his eyes, and how badly it hurt you. You were out of the shower in fifteen minutes, toweling your hair with one hand and rushing to check your phone with the other, not expecting a myriad of notifications.

17 Missed calls.

6 Voicemails.

26 Unread texts.

The last of which made your blood run cold.

Jake: Y/N please i’m outside

You rushed to the front door, and he was there—leaning against the wall beside your entrance, hoodie clinging to him, hair wet and plastered to his forehead, eyes closed and him wincing like he couldn’t hold himself up anymore. Like it hurts too much to exist. Hands bruised, lip split, and he opened his eyes—bloodshot, glassy.

“Jake,” you gasped out loud, “w—what happened?” You said, going close to him.

“I tried to find you,” he said, voice wrecked, “I tried but I couldn’t, I thought that maybe you blocked me.”

“No—I was in a meeting and my phone died, god I’m so sorry—fuck, come inside.” You shook your head in distress.

“Y/N,” he groaned, and you gently helped him when he didn’t move, like he wasn’t allowed to, “I fucked up.”

“Shh, come inside, it’s cold,” you whispered and he nodded after a moment of hesitation. You tried to be calm, you tried to take control of the situation for once and he listened, this time he did when you took him to your room.

You didn’t ask how this happened to him, only guiding him to the bathroom, “you’re soaked and bleeding, take a shower, i’ll put your clothes in the wash and dryer.”

He opened his mouth to say otherwise, but you didn’t let him, grabbing a fresh towel and handing it to him.

“Are you sure you want me here?” He asked, vulnerable.

“I wouldn’t have opened the door otherwise, Jake, I do.”

He nodded, swallowing hard as he disappeared into the bathroom without another word and you worked your washing machine and dryer, sitting down right after, exhaling and letting your guard down, hands shaking with worry.

You were glad Jake was taking his sweet time inside, because you had no clue how to go on with this situation. Jake stalling coming out simply because he was ashamed, also consumed in how good your shampoo smells. He was at your place, in your bathroom, all bloodied up, why? Because he couldn’t be normal for once and let you in.

His walls came crashing down each time you came closer to him, but this time, he didn’t want them to go back up the second he touched you, this time, he wanted you inside with him.

His clothes were dry very soon and you kept them in your room, waiting outside by the sofa, letting him come out all dressed up. The water stopped soon, the door creaking as he came out, and you were sitting on the sofa, hair still wet.

Then Jake opened the door, you stood up at the noise, and he looked your way in a silent plea to ask you if he could sit next to you, and you nodded. He held up the bloodied towel, “I’m sorry,” he whispered, and you smiled softly, taking it away from him.

The silence was too loud after as you both sat next to each other, you waited for him to say something, waited for the reality of tonight to settle in—to make sense, to stop trembling beneath your skin. And then he spoke as you took out your medicine kit, gently grabbing his hand to take a look at his bruised knuckles.

“Y/N,” he took your name as if it was the only thing he knew.

He watched you kneel in front of him, your eyes not angry, just steady, quiet, and unbearably kind. His fingers trembled in yours, you gently pulled the sleeve back, pressing a warm damp cloth to the wounds, making him wince slightly at the contact.

“Sorry,” you breathed out.

“I deserve worse,” he breathed back.

“No, you don’t,” you said, looking up at him.

He laughed under his breath, “why are you so kind to me? I don’t deserve it, Y/N.”

“You don’t get to decide what I give you, Jake,” you replied, “you’re bleeding, again.”

“Not my first time.”

You gripped him tighter, “and that’s supposed to make it better?”

“No,” he said, voice low, “just means I’m good at it by now.”

You didn’t answer. Just ripped the antiseptic packet open a little more forcefully than necessary and pressed it to the bruised line of his knuckles. He flinched.

“Good,” you muttered. “Means you still feel something.”

“God, Y/N—”

“No,” you snapped, trying your best to act normal but you both were far from that, “not yet.”

You cleaned the split in his skin with the kind of precision that only comes from anger—controlled, careful, but deeply furious.

“You don’t get to act like none of this mattered,” you said, eyes locked on his wounds. “You don’t get to disappear into your guilt and then show up bleeding and say I didn’t know where else to go. That’s not enough.”

His jaw clenched. “I didn’t come for a reward.”

“Good,” you said coldly. “Because you’re not getting one.” You wrapped gauze around his hand slowly, tight enough that it would sting.

He didn’t pull away.

“I came because I thought I’d lose you,” he said through his teeth, “I came because I’m fucking terrified that I already did.”

“Who’s fault is that?” You said, standing up, “you keep doing this thing, you pull me in, let me see you and then the very second it gets real, you shut the door in my face.”

“I know,” he said. Loud. Frustrated. “You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t see the way you look at me when I say the wrong thing? Like you’re trying so fucking hard not to walk away?”

“You told me to go!”

“I didn’t mean it!”

“Then don’t say it!” You shouted, “don’t look at me like I’m everything one second and then act like I mean nothing the next!”

“I didn’t think you’d stay.”

“I stayed!”

You were both breathing hard now. Staring at each other like you didn’t know whether to cry or kiss or throw something, You still stood in between Jake’s legs, him looking up at you. Jake ran a hand through his damp hair, pacing a few feet before turning back to you, eyes wide and glassy.

“I ruin things,” he said, “I always have. I don’t know how to love something without fucking it up. But I wanted you anyway—I still do.”

Your throat tightened. “And I’m supposed to what? Carry all of that? Be your exception?”

“No,” he said, stepping closer. “I just need you to see that I’m trying. Even if it’s ugly. Even if I’m bleeding and loud and afraid. I need you to see me, and stay anyway.”

You stared at him.

He looked like someone who hadn’t slept in days. Someone who’d gone through hell and walked straight into another fire because you were at the center of it.

Your voice cracked, “you don’t make it easy.”

“I know.”

You looked down at your hands—his blood still faintly on your fingertips. He reached out slowly. You didn’t move. Not when his fingers curled around your wrist. Not when he pulled you in his lap, not when his forehead leaned into yours like he was holding on for dear life.

“I hate that I hurt you,” he whispered. “But I’d rather burn with you than freeze without you.”

“I wasn’t gonna leave, Jake.”

“I know.”

“Then why—”

“Because I’m sick,” he said suddenly. “Sick of being the one who’s always too much. Too angry. Too wrong. I get one thing right—one fucking exam—and even then I screw it up by throwing a punch at someone who talks shit about you and then picking a fight with the only person who’s ever actually looked at me like I could be more.”

Your breath hitched. You grabbed the gauze, wrapped it around his hand. Tighter than needed.

“Then be more, Jake.”

He stared at you.

“Be more,” you repeated, “because I’m tired of being in love with someone who’s so determined to hate himself.”

That silenced him. Fully. Until he spoke again.

“You’re in love with me?”

The words dropped like a bomb between you.

You froze. Swallowed. Refused to take it back, chuckling to yourself at how easily you let go and told him that, “yeah—god help me, I am.”

Then you tried to move back, only his arms wrapped around your waist tighter, holding you in place, “you don’t get to say that and walk away.” He growled.

“Who said I’m walking away?” You mumbled, holding onto his shoulder for support.

It was unreal, how close you guys were but still not close enough, it was never enough.

“You’re mad at me,” Jake stated.

“I should be mad.”

“I’m mad too,” he added.

“Good,” you rolled your eyes, trying to move again.

But he didn’t let you, not this time, his thumb brushing your cheek.

That was it. That was when Jake finally let go. He couldn’t delay this anymore, not again, not when you were right in front of him, not when your soft lips brushed so tenderly against his bruised ones, not when you told him you were in love with him—not when he knew he had to have you.

He surged up and into you—hands gripping your face, mouth pressing against yours like it was the only way to breathe. It wasn’t gentle, it wasn’t neat, it was everything you’d been holding back.

Lips slotted together, you could taste blood on your tongue from where he was hurt before, which only made you groan into the kiss, he was frustrated, so frustrated, not having it in him to let go for even a second.

You gasped, arms flying up to clutch at his shoulders, pressed chest-to-chest, his body was warm—too warm—and you could feel his tension in every line.

You broke the kiss first, panting, eyes wide. “You shouldn’t—” you tried to say, especially when his body was hurting.

“I have to,” he breathed, leaning in again. “Let me, just once. Please.”

You didn’t stop him, grabbing his nape and pulling him into you once again, because when Jake kissed you again, it felt like pain, penance, and pleasure all in one. It was as if he was trying to earn your forgiveness with his mouth, trying to pour out everything he couldn’t say to you, groaning into your mouth when your hips shifted over his lap.

“I fucking—” He said midway the kiss, “god I—”

You shushed him gently, “you don’t have to say it.”

“I love you,” he breathed out, forehead pressed against yours, eyes earnest and full of life for the first time since you saw him, “I don’t care if it’s too early, I can’t fucking not say it, I love you, I—”

Before he could ruin the moment with the spiral in his throat, before he could pull back in fear, you pressed your lips against his like it was the only thing anchoring you to the earth.

He responded like he’d been starving. Mouth hot, desperate, hands gripping your waist like the world was falling apart and he only had seconds left to memorize you. The kiss was brutal in the way it made you feel, there was no choreography to it, no elegance—just lips, teeth, breath, and aching hunger.

His mouth was swollen. Your lips, bruised from how much he kissed you like he didn’t know how to stop.

“Tell me to stop,” he breathed.

You stared at him. “I don’t want you to.”

Then you grabbed his jaw once you heard him wince, “does it hurt?” You asked, pecking his jaw, trailing kisses all over.

“It’s the only thing that doesn’t hurt,” he whispered, letting your lips take over, tracing every bit of his face and neck, his eyes closing with the fire that you ignited within him.

“This feels like a dream,” he whispered.

“It’s not.”

“But it could be,” he added, almost to himself. “You—like this, in my lap, in your apartment, touching me like I’m not a monster.”

You cupped his face again, guiding his eyes to yours, “you’re not a monster, Jake.”

“You don’t know the things I’ve thought.”

“Then tell me.”

His voice cracked, “I thought I’d die if I didn’t see you again. I thought that maybe I’m already ruined and maybe I don’t deserve you but I can’t stop loving you anyway. I thought—”

You kissed him again. Slow this time. Deep and aching, “then stop thinking,” you whispered, “just be here—with me.”

His fingers trembled as they curled into the hem of your shirt.

“Can I?”

You nodded.

He pulled the fabric up carefully, reverently, and you helped him, raising your arms until it was off. His breath hitched. Not because of how you looked—but because he was looking at you like that.

Like something sacred.

You grabbed the back of his hoodie, tugging. He hesitated for a split second before pulling it over his head. The sight made your breath catch.

His torso was littered with bruises, some dark purple, some already fading yellow. His ribcage dipped where the muscle was taut with tension. You reached out, fingertips grazing over a particularly harsh mark near his side.

He flinched. “That one’s from earlier.”

Your jaw clenched, “you shouldn’t fight because of me.”

“I wasn’t,” he said, “I was fighting every voice in my head that said I wasn’t worth your love.”

You kissed the bruise.

He gasped.

“I hate that they ever made you feel like that.”

His hands slid back up to your sides, lips brushing your jaw. “You make it go quiet.”

“I want to,” you whispered.

Your kisses grew slow again, heavier with emotion than desire. You could feel his heartbeat where your chest pressed into his, your hands in his hair, his head tilted just enough to deepen the kiss. You rolled your hips slightly in his lap, and he groaned again, burying his face in your neck.

“Fuck, Y/N—”

“Jake,” you murmured, your nails dragging softly along his back, “look at me.”

He lifted his head. His eyes—wild, glassy, full of everything he couldn’t say.

“I love you,” you said again. “I’m not afraid of it. So don’t be either.”

He leaned forward, pressing your foreheads together.

“I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t.”

“You’re so fucking pretty, did I ever tell you that?” He mumbled against the skin of your neck, brushing his lips all over before placing open mouthed kisses over the expanse of your clavicle, “so fucking pretty.”

Jake wasn’t gentle anymore, not when he’d been craving your presence, craving you. He couldn’t help but treat you like a reward, like he finally had won the only thing in life that actually mattered to him.

He was quick to grab your waist and flip you over, getting on top of you on the couch that was too small for things he had planned in his mind. It was almost like a dam breaking the way his mouth was on your neck, biting, sucking, claiming you.

“Jake—” you mumbled, your back arching as you felt his body pressing into you, fingers wrapped around his wet locks as he marked your skin with every ounce of desperation he had, his fingers mapping out every inch of your body as if he’s afraid he’d forget it—as if he could ever forget anything about you.

The warmth of his hands brushed over your bra clad nipples, a whimper leaving your mouth. Jake wasn’t undressed yet you could feel him getting hard, and god you wondered just how big he was, grinding into you as if he was already inside your cunt.

“I hurt you so fucking much,” Jake mumbled, lips ghosting over your tit, “now I’ll hurt you in the way you want me to,” he said with dark eyes, yanking your bra down enough for your nipples to show, latching his mouth to you all in light speed.

All his life Jake couldn’t take control of anything, but seeing you shiver under him just made sense to Jake, he had to take control—he had to make you feel so good, you wouldn’t ever look at anyone else.

“You’re fucking crazy,” you whispered, already disheveled with how needy you were, wetness pooling in your panties, soiling the new pair you had put on not too long ago.

“Yeah? You drive me crazy, baby,” he chuckled, and that sound went straight to your pussy. Jake was hot, so fucking hot, but him using nicknames on you with his deep tone—only god knows how you would survive this.

You bit your lip to conceal your moans, which only infuriated Jake, biting your nipple harshly to make sure you scream, “don’t fucking hide your pretty voice,” he said.

His hands went to your other breast and he gave it a tight squeeze, your eyes were on him as you watched his lips parting, letting his tongue make contact with the tip of your very hardened nub. He bites down on your nipple, making you cry out, but quickly soothes it with his tongue before switching to the other side, he wants to drive you wild with pleasure, to possess every inch of your body.

Lost in the haze of pleasure, you surrender yourself completely to Jake’s possessive touches, letting him have his way with you. The room fills with the sounds of your moans and his desperate sucking, a symphony of carnal desire. In this moment, there is nothing but you and Jake, and the burning hunger that consumes you both.

Jake’s hands roam across your body, his touch electric against your skin. He grabs your hips, pulling you flush against him as he claims your lips in yet another searing kiss, tongue delving into your mouth, hot and hungry, making you more hungry for his touch—for him.

“I—can’t,” you whimpered, wanting more of him.

Jake chuckled, “can’t even speak now, hm? What happened to the feisty lil’ girl who couldn’t shut up?”

“Fuck, shut up,” you mumbled, tugging on his hair harder, which only made him groan and squeeze your tits harder, coming up to brush his lips against yours, hot breaths intertwining as he smirks, hand travelling down your body, very close to the hem of your shorts.

“Want me to shut up?” He asked, squeezing your neck with slight pressure, your mouth opening in a gasp—he took the opportunity to spit in your mouth, watching your eyes widen as watches you gulp it down, “good fucking girl,” he mumbles.

You were too gone to function anymore and you had just started, but you knew one thing—whatever Jake wanted, you’d let him do it to you.

That man was no less than a Greek god with how sharp his features looked, especially in the dim light of the room, muscles flexing, abs on full display as he held himself up on top of you to press kisses all over.

In a swift second, he pulled you up to unclasp your bra, throwing it away somewhere to continue pressing hot mouthed kisses down the valley of your breasts, and down your tummy, caressing it with the pad of his thumb, spending a good few seconds covering the expanse of your skin.

You breathed harder once he reached the waistband of your shorts, his hooded eyes, almost drunk, looking up at you before he swiftly pulled them down, throwing them on the floor somewhere.

He couldn’t be gentle even if he tried, not when he was this thirsty, holding your legs open as he settled in the limited space that the couch held for him. Madman—that’s what he was and you couldn’t help but moan when he got closer to your panty clad cunt, burying his nose in the wet fabric, sniffing the scent of your arousal, groaning as he locked your thighs under his arms, which flexed harder now.

You moaned his name as if a broken record repeating the same thing over and over again and he only mumbled things you couldn’t hear in your cunt, licking the already wet cloth, biting his lip at the first taste of you, “fuck—you’re so fucking perfect,” he says licking you harder, kissing your inner thighs alongside, leaving bites all over—he was feral.

He slid your panties to the side, and the sight he had in front of him drove him to the edge. Jake was an impatient man, yes, he was messy, he was not the softest, but seeing you like this just made him realize how much crazier he could be.

That first taste emboldens him and he dives in like a man starved, lapping at your folds like he’s trying to consume you entirely.

His desperate tongue delves deep inside, fucking you with rapid strokes and curling to hit your sweet spot. You cry out sharply at the intense sensation, fingers tangling in his tousled raven hair to hold him in place. He grips your thighs tightly, holding you down and open for his onslaught as he devours you.

Jake zeroes in on your clit, flicking and circling the sensitive bundle of nerves rapidly. Your back arches off the couch as he suckles hard on the throbbing bud, two fingers pumping inside your clenching hole.

“Fuck—Jake, I’m gonna cum!” You wail, thighs trembling violently around his head as your climax approaches rapidly. He doubles his efforts, fucking you harder with his fingers and lashing your clit mercilessly with his tongue.

He curls his fingers to stroke your G-spot with every thrust, drawing out more of your copious arousal to lap up greedily. Your walls start to flutter and clench around him as the pressure builds unbearably.

Jake chuckled, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your body. “You like that, baby?” He practically purred, before sucking your clit into his mouth, flicking it with his tongue.

“Fuck—yes,” you gasped, your head falling back against the couch. Jake was relentless, his tongue exploring every inch of you, driving you closer and closer to the edge.

“Don’t stop,” you pleaded, your thighs trembling as you stared at the ceiling with your mouth open, desperate for air.

Jake pulled back for a moment, looking up at you with a wicked grin, “you want more, kitten?” He teased, running a finger along your slit, “go on then, beg for it.”

You groaned in frustration, but you were too far gone to care, “please, Jake,” you begged, fueling his ego.

“Shhh, be a good lil’ kitten for me, yeah?” He mumbled into your core mindlessly, sending shivers up your spine as your thighs shake. He didn’t stop, but just when your ecstasy was about to crash—

He stopped.

You let out a frustrated groan and Jake only got up with the essence of you sprawled over his chin, his hard on begging to be freed.

“Fuck?” You asked, trying to get up on your elbows, looking at him incredulously.

He only gave you a once over, tongue poking his cheek from inside before he came closer, swooping you up in his arms easily as you yelped, eyes wide as he carried you to the bedroom, “no patience, huh?” He asked.

He was proud of himself for making you this weak, for cracking your high wall down so he could see you, so he could ruin you. Jake was possessive, especially after knowing what you and Heeseung went through, he wanted you to have the best, and he was willing to be the best for you.

“I—I was gonna cum!” You said, holding on to him for support.

“Did I say you could?” He replied smoothly.

“What—Jake what the fuck?” You whined and he only chuckled.

“Be patient, love, or else you won’t be coming all fucking night, yeah?” He said as he let you get down on the bed.

You looked so innocent, eyes watery, hair messy, looking up at him like an angry little kitten trying to look tough. He climbed the bed and you moved back, till your back hit the headboard and he hovered above you, caressing your cheek as he cupped your jaw, tilting your head up to look him in his eye. Your heartbeat speeding up yet again, and good lord you loved being manhandled by Jake.

“What are you thinking?” He asked, thumb pushing on your lower lip.

“Nothing.” You mumbled.

He leaned in closer, “not thinking of my cock inside your pretty little cunt, hm?” He asks, watching you shiver at the thought, “by the time I'm done with you, you’ll be begging me to let you cum.”

Your jaw clenched as you slide your hand up Jake’s torso, tracing all the way from his abs to his neck, his own body reacting to your touch, cock twitching inside his pants by the time your hand rested on his nape, pulling him even closer so your noses were touching.

“You know, Jake, you talk big game. Don’t make promises you can’t back up,” you mumbled to rile him up.

Jake’s eyes flashed with a mixture of lust and irritation at your challenge, “oh, you’re going to regret those words,” he whispered, his hands gripping your hips possessively. “I’m going to make you beg for my cock, baby.”

He punctuated his statement with a sharp thrust of his fingers, two of them plunging deep into your sopping wet pussy. You gasped, your back arching off the bed as he worked them in and out, stroking along your sensitive walls.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he panted, his thumb rubbing firm circles on your clit. “I can’t wait to feel this perfect little cunt wrapped around my cock.”

You moaned, your hips rolling to meet his hand as he fucked you with his fingers. “Then stop talking and do something about it,” you shot back, your voice breathy with desire.

Jake chuckled darkly, withdrawing his fingers only to bring them to his mouth. He sucked them clean, his eyes never leaving yours as he savored your taste. “Mmh—delicious,” he purred, “but I’m not done playing with you yet.”

Before you could protest, he was pushing your thighs apart and settling between them. His tongue delved into your folds, lapping at your arousal like a man starved. You cried out, your fingers tangling in his hair as he devoured your pussy with single-minded intensity.

He worked you over mercilessly, his tongue and lips and teeth finding all the right spots to drive you wild. You bucked against his face, your thighs trembling as the pleasure built inside you. Just when you thought you might burst, Jake would back off, leaving you desperate and aching for release.

“Jake, please,” you whimpered, tugging on his hair in a futile attempt to guide him back to where you needed him most, “I need to cum. Please let me cum.”

He lifted his head, his chin glistening as he looked up at you. “Not yet,” he shook his head, his fingers continuing their maddeningly slow circles on your clit, “I want to hear you scream first.”

“I fucking can’t!” You breathed out, trying to control your moans again, “someone’s gonna hear and—ah—complain about it,” you said, which only made him scoff.

“Is that it, hm? Have it your way then, princess,” he mumbled, yanking your soiled panties down all the way, balling it up in his first to make a gag out of it and shoving it down your mouth, “now you can scream all your want, Y/N.” He said, taking your name in his deep voice.

And if you weren’t crazy before, now you had reached your limit of madness, even a poke from his side was like a pleasant burning wound to your skin, his actions also made you realize just how hungry Jake was for being the one in control.

You squirmed beneath Jake, feeling utterly at his mercy as he continued his torturous teasing. The gag in your mouth muffled your moans but couldn’t silence them completely, much to Jake’s enjoyment. Your body arched, yearning for more, desperate for release.

“Such a needy lil’ thing, aren’t you?” Jake growled, his fingers still circling your sensitive bud, “I can feel how wet you are, taste how wet you are, dripping for me, hm?”

His words made you clench, fresh arousal coating his fingers. He gathered some of your slickness and slowly dragged it up to your throbbing clit, applying just the right amount of pressure. Your hips bucked up in hopes of seeking more contact.

“Hm—so responsive,” Jake purred, looking pleased with himself, “I could do this all night—keep you on the edge, begging so desperately for me.”

“Please—” you tried to say around the gag, your eyes pleading, you were so close, teetering on the brink of an explosive climax. Just a little more.

But Jake seemed determined to deny you that satisfaction, easing off right as you were about to fall over into your state of euphoria, frustration bubbled up inside you, mingling with the overwhelming lust coursing through your veins.

“You’re going to have to do better than that, baby,” Jake taunted, nipping at your inner thigh, “I want to hear you scream my name—let everyone know who you belong to.”

His fingers circled, feather-light touches that drove you wild with need. You thrashed beneath him, incoherent noises of desperation spilling from your lips. Jake just chuckled darkly, clearly enjoying your plight, removing your gag to hear you gasp loudly, his name on the tip of your tongue.

Jake was cruel, so cruel the way he denied your orgasm yet again with a smirk playing on his face, a whole one eighty from how he was an hour back and you were crying by now, something he seemed to enjoy too as he licked your face, tasting the salty teardrop you let out, “this makes me wanna ruin you more, y’know?”

“Fuck—Jake, let me cum please,” you sobbed as he took you in his arms.

“You wanna cum, hm?” He asked as you settled on his lap, his hard on pressing against your thigh as you nodded, “fuck, you look so pretty crying like that for me, like a doll, a doll for me to use, hm?”

You couldn’t take it anymore, getting off and undoing his pant buttons as he watched you with amusement how you struggled to take off his pants and boxers, only to find his cock waiting for you, hard and proud.

Jake’s cock was throbbing, hard and ready to burst, as you took him into your mouth, your tongue swirling around his tip in a teasing manner. You could taste the salty beads of precum leaking from his slit, the flavor sending a jolt of desire straight to your core.

“Fuck—baby,” Jake groaned, his fingers threading through your hair as you bobbed your head, taking him deeper into your throat. “Your mouth feels so good. Keep going just like that, good girl.”

You moaned around his length, the vibrations making him shudder. Your own arousal was dripping down your thighs, coating them with your slick essence. The wet sounds of your slurping filled the room, mingling with Jake’s heavy breaths and grunts of pleasure.

“Shit—fuck, take it easy, I won’t be able to hold back," he panted, his grip on your hair tightening, “I’m gonna fucking come down your throat if you keep sucking me like that.”

You redoubled your efforts, eager to taste his release. Your tongue flattened against the underside of his shaft as you sucked harder, determined to milk him of every last drop. Just as you felt him start to swell, signaling his impending orgasm, you pulled away with a pop.

Jake’s eyes jolted open, a mix of confusion and frustration flashing across his face. “What the fuck, baby? Why the fuck did you stop?”

You just smiled coyly up at him, licking your lips. “Because I want you to cum inside me. I want to feel you fill me up with your hot cum, or are you too much of a coward to fuck me?” You teased, your grin making him scoff.

God he loved you.

Jake growled, a predatory gleam in his eyes. In a flash, he grabbed your hips and flipped you onto your side, your back pressed firmly against his torso.

Before you could even process the sudden change in position, he was lined up at your entrance, the head of his cock nudging your slick folds.

“Teasing me will only get you punished,” he warned, his voice low and husky with desire. “I’m going to fuck you so hard, you won’t be able to walk straight for a week.”

With that promise, he slammed into you, burying himself to the hilt in one powerful thrust. You cried out at the sudden intrusion, your back arching as he filled you completely. Jake set a brutal pace, pounding into you with wild abandon.

You let out a sharp cry as Jake’s thick cock stretched you open, filling you so deeply that you could feel him bulging through your lower abdomen. The feeling of his hard length pulsing inside you sent shockwaves of pleasure through your body, making you arch your back and press your ass against him.

“Lord—ah yes,” you gasped, grinding against him, “you’re—so fucking big.”

Jake grunted in response, his fingers digging into your hips as he continued to pound into you at a furious pace. The sounds of skin slapping against skin and your needy moans filled the room, mixing with the creaking of the bed frame beneath you.

“Shit, your cunt is so tight,” Jake mumbled, his breath hot against your neck. “Squeezing my cock like a desperate doll—you were made for me, baby. Made to take my dick and milk me dry.”

His filthy words only heightened your arousal, making you clench even tighter around him. You could feel your orgasm building again, the tension coiling in your core as he hit that special spot deep inside you with each thrust.

“Please don’t stop, not this time,” you pleaded, your nails digging into his thighs. “Fuck me harder, Jake. I’m so fucking close.”

He was quick to flip you over again so you were resting on your back, his hips settling in between you as he held your thighs up, your legs resting on both his shoulders with ease as he snapped into you harder, plunging his cock with more need, as if he was a monster hungry for lust and only lust.

Jake snarled, his hips snapping forward with a newfound vigor. One hand moved around to rub firm circles around your clit, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. Your body began to tremble, your breath coming out in short gasps as you found yourself on the brink of ecstasy.

“Cum for me,” Jake demanded, pinching your clit hard, “I want to feel you cum all over my dick, baby.”

With a scream of his name, you practically exploded, your pussy clamping down around him like a vice as your orgasm crashed over you. Your body convulsed, your back bowing as wave after wave of intense pleasure washed through you, which shocked Jake because you weren’t just having an orgasm.

You were squirting all over his cock.

Jake followed shortly after, his cock pulsing as he spilled his release deep inside you, as he breathed hard, watching you with surprised eyes.

“Fuck,” he groaned, grinding against you to prolong your shared climax, “you’re so fucking hot, so fucking mine.”

You whimpered at the feeling of his hot cum painting your walls, the sensation making your pussy flutter around his shaft. Jake held you close as you both rode out the aftershocks, his softening cock still buried inside you.

“You’re mine,” he mumbled, “say it.”

“Yours—I’m yours,” you breathed as best as you could.

“Again.”

“I’m yours, Jake.”

“Fuck—again.”

“So so fucking yours, I’m all yours Jake.”

“Mine,” he whispered, so possessive.

After a few moments, Jake carefully pulled out and rolled you onto your back. He pressed gentle kisses along your jawline and down your neck, his touch soothing and tender in contrast to the rough passion from moments before.

“That was intense,” he murmured, nuzzling against your collarbone, “I don’t think i’ll ever get enough of you, baby. You’re fucking addictive.”

You smiled up at him, reaching up to cup his face. "I could say the same about you. The way you fuck me, it’s like you’re a fucking beast.”

“Was I too harsh?” He asked, placing soft kisses all over, “I’m sorry I just lost control—you have no idea how badly I need you, I don’t think I can stop,” he confessed.

You kissed him again, “then don’t stop, just don’t.”

That’s all he needed to hear for the night, that you were finally his, and he was yours. He smirked, the night was just getting started.

Chapter 10: Hate me less? You love me more.

You don’t remember how the night ended, not when Jake kept his promise of how you wouldn’t be able to walk anymore once he was done with you, and he was precise about it. He was far from done when he made you fall apart on his cock so many times, you lost count.

It was a crazy switch up once you both were done, he took care of you, almost like he was made for it, helping you clean up in little bathtub which was definitely too small to fit the both of you, yet he helped you bath, a faint blush on his face as you laughed once he tried to act sly, touching you again when you were so sensitive and overstimulated.

Turns out, Jake can be super clingy when he has to be, also not letting you go once you get out of the tub, helping you dry your hair, helping you moisturize your body, helping you smile by kissing you every few seconds.

He held you to sleep, not before hearing you say you actually want him and it’s not a dream. Jake doesn’t remember if he ever felt this way before, this warmth called happiness that you provided him so easily.

“I love you,” he mumbled to your sleeping figure, he was whipped, already thinking of your future together. Yeah, maybe it all happened too quickly, he still wouldn’t have it any other way. He wouldn’t mind getting through all the hurt again if it meant that he’d wake up to you sleeping next to him—to you loving him.

It was perhaps the best day of Jake’s life.

The air felt different today.

Not because of the weather, which was finally warm and breezy after days of storm and stress, but because Jake was walking beside you—not behind, not ahead—beside you. His fingers were laced with yours, his thumb brushing over your skin every few steps like he was still checking if this was real, he still couldn’t believe it.

It was.

You passed the main quad slowly, in no rush. The two of you didn’t need to say much. Conversations dimmed as you walked through. You could feel the glances, the whispers.

Someone definitely said your name. Then his.

And then, clear as day, they whispered.

“Wait—are they actually holding hands?”

Jake didn’t flinch.

Not like he would’ve, weeks ago. Not like the boy who couldn’t stand being seen, being known. Instead, he just grabbed your hand a little tighter—casual, sure, and completely unbothered. His expression said it all—Yeah, and?

You chuckled. “Think they’re combusting?”

“Oh, definitely,” he said, tugging you closer with a smugness he barely bothered to hide anymore. “Especially that one girl who’s walking with me, who swore she’d never even look at me.”

“She wasn’t entirely wrong,” you teased. “You were kind of a menace.”

He groaned, tossing his head back, “were?”

You laughed, and it made him smile, soft and full, the kind of smile he used to hide and now gave you freely.

“You’re doing that look again,” he said, side-eyeing you. “Like you’re psychoanalyzing me.”

“Maybe I am. Can’t help it. You’re a walking dissertation, y’know?”

“Yeah? What’s the title?”

You looked up at him with a shrug. “How to fall for someone you’re supposed to hate.”

That made him stop walking.

You blinked, startled, but he was already turning to face you, his hoodie sleeves pushed up just enough to show the fading bruises on his knuckles—old reminders of the version of him you never gave up on.

“I’m glad you did,” he said. “Fall for me, even when I made it so damn hard.”

You smiled slowly, the kind of smile that made his breath catch. “You still do.”

“Yeah, well,” he squeezed your hand, “at least I’m hot.”

You were too busy rolling your eyes to realize you’d just walked past Heeseung and his friends until the entire bench went awkwardly quiet. Heeseung looked up, eyes flicking from your joined hands to your face, and then to Jake—who didn’t even spare him a glance.

He was too focused on you. Too content stealing a bite of your ice cream like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Let’s go,” you muttered, trying not to laugh as you nudged him forward.

Jake followed. No hesitation.

Because this, the hand holding, the quiet teasing, the stares that didn’t matter anymore, this was normal.

And for the first time in his life, Jake finally understood: Normal didn’t mean boring.

It meant chosen. It meant enough.

It meant being yours.

THANK YOU FOR READING!

permanent taglist:

@jaeminvore @macaroonff @ajayke-reads @en-myworld @lunalovesstories @jayzdaze @deobitifull @celeste-hoon @mari-oclock @kpoprhia @ikeuizm @woniebae @lalalalawon @blessedcursd @skzenhalove @heesuncore @seuomo @kyurizeu @haechan-nahceah @tobiosbbyghorl @jezzebear @jaehoonii @itsgivingitalian @bunhoons @hyacandoit @luvswonyoung @ma-riiii @addictedtohobi @heeliopheelia @haanigurl @dopedels @kaykay11sworld @glitterjay @skzooluvr @yongbokified @prkhaven @kristynaaah @tinycatharsis @filmnings

taglist open! send an ask or comment to be added!

#fic : call me when you hate me less #enhypen hard hours #enhypen smut #jake smut #enha smut #kpop smut #jake sim #jake imagines #enhypen imagines #jake x reader #jake x you #jake sim smut #jake hard hours #enhypen #smut

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playwithsyd · 2 months ago

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Book Influencer Side Hustle

hello everyone,

this mod adds a new side hustle for your bookworm Sims to enjoy, and hopefully make a few Simoleons by doing something they love.

get famous, high school years, city living required

includes the following:

Book Influencer Side Hustle

with this side hustle Sims will be able to gain fame and followers from posting or promoting book related content! some interactions will allow Sims to gain or lose followers and earn simoleons by posting books, promoting authors, and networking with publishers.

levels

small book Influencer

average book Influencer

big book Influencer

Create Book Reviews

Sims can now create book reviews by using any video station. I created a new version of the video station from get famous with a cozier feel. book reviews are the only reviews allowed at this video station.

book bunny video station

9 swathes

if you'd like to add more romance books to your game you can check out my post here. additional mods I recommend - reading animation override by simkatu book cover default replacements by simkatu

download (public release - June 1)

thank you for the support // please do not reupload or claim as your own

#ts4 #ts4cc #ccfinds #simblr #the sims 4 #sims4cc #mycc

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sims-by-burinis · 5 years ago

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Сравниваю графику в Sims 1, 2, 3 и 4 (часть 1)

Графика во всех играх из года в год совершенствуется. Однако, есть игры, графика которых опережала своё время (например, вышедшая в 2008 году GTA 4), или, наоборот, отставала от него. И серия The Sims - не исключение. Так в какой же части Sims графика круче? Разберусь подробнее. Для этого я выставил все настройки в четырёх частях на ультра, никакие моды не использовались.

Sims 1

Играя в вышедшую в 2000 году первую часть Sims, создаётся впечатление, что графика этой игры как в середине-конце 90-х. За это графика и была раскритикована критиками, к тому же у многих уже были Half-Life и Quake с крутой в те годы графикой. А через год после выхода первой части Sims выйдет GTA III с графикой уровня Half-Life. Сначала посмотрим дом семьи Гот:

Как вы видите, графика фактически не менялась ещё со времен выхода более ранней SimCity 2000 в 1993 году, а вот интерфейс технически современный, на мой взгляд. Теперь посмотрим один из парков:

Фактически всё то же самое. Но, если присмотреться, то можно заметить, что детские горки и лошадки, а также прилавок с едой выполнены более качественно. В общем, графика первой части древняя.

Sims 2

Вторая часть, вышедшая в 2004 году, отличается более крутой графикой, так как выполнена в 3D. Интерфейс в игре также стал более удобным. Посмотрим на режим создания городка (я выбрал Долину желаний):

Здесь графика, в общем, хорошая для тех лет. Горы и местность здесь почти, как в вышедшем в 2001 году отечественном авиасимуляторе Ил-2, но все постройки имеют детализацию меньше.

Теперь зайдем к семье Противз:

А вот здесь дом, в который я зашел, выглядит более качественно. Здесь текстуры травы выглядят качественно. Даже тени видны. Здесь графике я поставлю 5. А насчёт симов? Для этого я зайду в редактор создания персонажа. Я не стану подробно описывать всех созданных для CAS симов, а остановлюсь лишь на некоторых.

Как мы все знаем, внешность персонажей во второй части была раскритикована за дефекты их лиц. Как вы видите, на отобранных мною симках эти дефекты есть. В частности, у блондинки нос широкий. У смуглянки глаза почти как в аниме, только чуть поменьше. А вот у азиатки глаза, хоть и уже по высоте, но заметно широкие по ширине. Насчёт тех лиц, что есть в предустановленных пресетах, выглядят они... УЖАСНО!!! Это просто ужас, Карл! Если в середине 2000-х такие лица ещё можно было использовать, пусть даже и подкорректированные игроком, то сейчас на такое почти невозможно смотреть.

А для мужиков ЕЩЁ ХУЖЕ!!! ФУУУУУУ!!!

Большое спасибо мододелам на MTS, которые пофиксили этот "кошмар" на симах. Теперь я проверю воду в прудах. Для этого я зашел в парк "Зеленый уголок":

Тут вода в прудах выглядит лучше, чем в первой части. В общем, во второй части графика круче, чем в первой, но дефекты внешности... ну вы помните. Переходим к третьей части Sims.

Часть 2

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formula-ghost · 1 month ago

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I know who you are, you'll be fine // FC43 x Alpine social media manager!reader

I know who you are series // Chapter 1

SUMMARY: Becoming Franco Colapinto’s social media manager could be the end of your career, or the beginning of the love story you never thought you’d have.

WARNINGS: Not 100% lore accurate (ignore the sim video that Franco did for Australia, also let’s pretend Franco was in Monza during the Japanese GP, etc.); fuckboy Franco, SMUT 18+ MINORS DNI (Fingering and loss of virginity, protected PIV), YN is a Lewis Hamilton hater for the plot. Title from At The Beach In Every Life by Gigi Perez!

WORD COUNT: 9.9k

“Franco Colapinto.”

“...what about him?”

“He’s your newest client.”

“But he’s a reserve driver.”

“Exactly. He has plenty of time for content. He’s the perfect client, really.”

You know right then and there what this was about. Franco Colapinto was your punishment.

Your boss looked away, as if she knew that you saw right through her. You balled your hands up over the fabric of your skirt, gently tensing and releasing the curves of your palm as a defense mechanism. You were a professional. You could do this.

“If this is about Lewis…”

“You know it’s about Lewis, YN,” your boss replied, a tired tone in her voice. “It was my fault for giving you too much. I set the expectations too high.”

“I can do it!” you said, your voice a bit too insistent, eager yet desperate. “I have so many ideas for the move to Ferrari—”

“And he’s not going to do them. He has made that abundantly clear. Look, I’m sorry YN, but it is what it is.”

“I don’t think this is fair.”

“It’s not. I put too much on you, expected things that you couldn’t deliver, though no fault of your own. But it’s out of my hands.”

“Yet I’m the one being punished for it?”

“A reserve driver isn’t a punishment, YN. Franco is young, charismatic, and social media audiences love him.”

“He’s a PR nightmare,” you muttered under your breath.

“Well, then good thing you’re not his PR manager,” she responded, her eyebrows raised in a cautionary glance. The conversation was all but done. “Look, just try to make the best of it. He’s the perfect guinea pig, he’ll do whatever we ask him to. Just get some good content and we can review a potential switch at the end of the season. Okay?”

You agreed, though not without a frustration that you held close to your chest, pushing it down for the sake of professionalism.

This time last year you had been on top of the moon; after a successful multi-year social media campaign with McLaren, your boss had given you a prestigious challenge of a client: Lewis Hamilton.

Everyone knew he was…difficult, to say the least. A legend of the sport, of course, but a thorn in the side of social media managers across the paddock.

He HATED his media requirements. Every year he negotiated to get as little media time as possible. His managers quit left and right. No one, truly no one, could get that man to cooperate with the social media team.

That was, he became your client. Or at least, you thought.

But after months of the merciless push and pull, promises made and abandoned, avoiding emails and tracking him down in the paddock, you had gotten little out of him, and what did come of it was just a few videos that completely flopped. The people could tell he didn’t want to do it.

For the first time in your short but brilliant career, you had failed.

The result? Getting demoted to the social media manager of a reserve driver. Someone who never got posted, never made the grid, and was hardly ever even at the paddock. A waste of your time and his, really.

Who did your boss think she was, acting like this wasn’t a slap in the face? You’d spend the next year following around a rookie, a wannabe, creating content that no one wanted to see and would never get posted anyway. Your career was effectively ruined. You weren’t sure who to be angrier at.

But also, you weren’t sure whether you had the right to be angry at all.

Back home, the homework began. Who was Franco Colapinto?

Of course, you had seen him around the paddock in his time at Williams. He was…charming. Talkative. A social media manager’s dream…if he was a full-time driver.

You clicked through articles, interviews, instagram pages—he was a handful.

It was with this mentality that you walked into the filming studio, where they were making the intro for the new season. It was chaos; employees running every which way, drivers getting made up, producers tweaking the sun-hot lights against the green screen.

But Franco was nowhere to be found. Of course he wasn’t.

You sighed, already annoyed with your new client, who you hadn’t even met yet. This wasn’t his fault—it was your failure which had led to all of this. But you couldn’t help your annoyance, especially when you walked past Lewis in the hallway, clad in his new, bright, Ferrari red race suit. He trudged past you without giving you so much of a second glance.

Did he know that he had ruined your professional life? Did he understand how deeply and irrevocably he had screwed you over?

It’s not that deep, you said to yourself. Let go of it. Make the best of all this.

You walked back into the main studio, where a few drivers were getting the finishing touches of hair and makeup ready before the filming began.

“Hey,” your coworker called to you, and you ran to the familiar voice. “YN, you’re gonna love this new camera. Come check it out!”

He handed you the camera, and you zeroed in as he walked you through the settings. He was right, it was spectacular—so spectacular that you filtered out everything going on around you.

You jumped when a face came into view.

“Hola.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ, you scared me!” you laughed, as you smoothed down your shirt in nervousness, handing the camera back to your coworker, who also laughed at your expense. “I didn’t even see you come up. You’re Franco, right?”

Asking was just a formality. You knew his face, the sound of his voice, everything that there was to know already.

He nodded, and you continued, “Oh, great, I was looking for you. I’m YN, your new social media manager for Alpine.”

“Oh, I know you,” he said. “You don’t remember me? We met last season.”

You must have made a quizzical expression, because he continued, “In the paddock, I asked about Lewis?”

Oh, yeah, you did remember.

You sighed, angrily turning off your phone. He was supposed to be here 30 minutes ago to film a tiktok. A task that would take him no more than 15 minutes… blown off. Texts unanswered. You were at your wits end.

A tap on your shoulder.

Behind you, the newest paddock sensation, a young Argentine buzzing with publicity.

“Franco,” he said, extending his hand to shake. “You’re waiting for Lewis, right? I saw you in the Mercedes garage earlier.”

“Well,” you said, sarcastically laughing to yourself, “I was. Doesn’t seem like he’s going to make it, though.”

“Ah,” Franco responded. “I was going to ask you to introduce us.”

The laugh that came out then was genuine.

“What?” Franco asked. “I’m serious.” By the look on his face, you could see his honesty.

“Well, hopefully you’ll have more luck reaching him than I do.” The comment was tame, in all respects, but you still felt that twinge of unprofessionalism that scared you. You could never be too open or honest in the paddock. You never knew who was listening, what would get back to people…especially with someone as high-profile as Lewis.

“He’s…unreliable?”

“He’s a busy man.” A perfect save. “Wish I could be of more help. But, hey, good luck out there today.”

“Wishing someone on an opposing team good luck?”

“I never claimed to be a Mercedes fan. They just sign my checks.”

“So, can I claim you as a Colapinto fan?” he said, a sly grin stretching across his face. You had heard of his playful banter before. You hadn’t heard how charming he was.

“I’m just… a racing fan.”

“No wonder you’re with Lewis, then.”

“Speaking of, I should go find him. But really, good luck,” you said, sending him a smile before you had to scurry back to the garage to find Lewis and give him a useless talking to. All in a day’s work, you supposed.

“Oh, yeah, I remember,” you said, the memory coming back to you. “You did end up meeting him, right?.”

“I did, no thanks to you,” he said, his voice light and playful. He was clearly more excited than you.

“Well, next best thing, you stole his social media manager. Now I’m your problem.” Hopefully he didn’t teach you the art of evasion, you thought.

“Well, it means Lewis and I are basically teammates then, no?” Franco said, laughing. The interaction was cut short by your coworker, one of the directors, calling him over to finally get to work.

So you assumed your place behind the cameras, getting as much behind the scenes content as you could, making yourself invisible. It’s what you were best at: being in the background, watching, observing, seeing the stories and details that others didn’t. Tiktok dances and challenge videos were fun, but the real job? You needed an eye for it. You needed to see what others overlooked.

The day flew past as your camera’s memory filled up with photos and videos of Franco. You studied them later that night, in the quiet loneliness of your hotel room, clicking through all the content you had gotten.

You zoomed in on the small details of his face: the way the light hit his curls, the reflection of his long lashes as they glanced right into the camera: it was good. As you memorized the details of his face, you couldn’t help but feel a glimmer of hope grow in your stomach.

Maybe this wasn’t the death of your career after all. And hell, spending a year with good company couldn’t hurt.

He’s not too hard on the eyes, either. The thought left just as quick as it had arrived, but even though you were alone, a blush crept up into your face.

Well…were you wrong? He was young, fit, charming, and God, how handsome.

You rolled your own eyes, unamused with the back and forth in your brain. You were a professional, not a fan. You were better than this. Besides, you weren’t exactly his type.

“I’m not anyone’s type,” you said, with a snarky laugh on your lips, as you told the whole situation to Kika over coffee.

You had grown close to Pierre’s girlfriend in your short time at Alpine, though when you looked across the table, you saw someone the exact opposite of you. Beautiful, elegant, successful…and here you were, on a glorified babysitting assignment.

“Don’t say that,” she responded. “Self-deprecation isn’t attractive.”

“It’s not self-deprecation. It’s just the truth. I mean, half the paddock just thinks social media personnel are annoying, and anyone outside the paddock just matches with me to see if I can introduce them to drivers.”

“Introduce them to Franco, then. He’ll talk their ears off until they’re begging him to be quiet” Kika laughed.

Truthfully, Franco was talkative. That was one of his best qualities.

“I bet he doesn’t have any problem getting matches,” you muttered, a twinge of jealousy in your voice. Franco was just…alluring, in a way not many others were. You had grown to know and love his playfulness, his sense of humor, and his genuine smile. He made work fun again.

“You’d be surprised,” Kika said, raising her eyebrows.

“What?”

“I’ve heard he’s on Raya,” she said, swirling her spoon on her mug. “But he’s single. You’d be cute together.”

You couldn’t help the laughter that followed, so thick and dripping with self-loathing that it choked you.

Kika looked up from her cup. “It wasn’t that funny. I’m serious.”

“Me. And Franco Colapinto. Kika, be so for real!”

“What? You wouldn’t go for it?”

“He’s my client! Besides, he’s a Formula 1 driver and I’m…his social media manager. He dates models, I… don’t date anyone.”

“So you don’t like it when he flirts with you?”

“He flirts with everyone. Hell, he flirted with you,” you snorted.

“He is charming,” she said, a small smile coming to her lips. “You’re right, it’d never work. You’re too professional, and he’s a nightmare. But it would be cute.”

You rolled your eyes as you both got up to make your way back to the paddock for the day. You and Franco had come to the first race in Australia, and you’d been like his shadow, tethered close to him, always with a camera in hand to capture candid moments. It didn’t matter, though. All the focus was on Jack Doohan and Lewis Hamilton. They even told Franco to avoid the media.

It had given you quite a bit of time to get to know him, though.

“So, they really just have you following me around, huh?” he said, raising an eyebrow as he sipped his mate.

“Well, someone has to keep you in line.”

“No, I’m good,” he said, that familiar toothy grin coming back in full force. “I’ve been a good boy.”

You blushed, involuntarily, though otherwise keeping your outward composure. “I was on social media last year. That’s absolutely not true.”

“But last year doesn’t count, no? I didn’t have a pretty personal assistant following me around keeping me in check last year.”

“Well, wherever she’s at, she needs to be paid more for putting up with your antics,” you chuckled.

“I haven’t really been that bad, have I?” he said, cocking his head to the side in genuine curiosity.

“No,” you said, taking a sip from your water bottle. “You’ve been a perfect client, actually.”

“Then why are you so grumpy?”

You furrowed your brow. Perhaps you hadn’t been hiding it all as well as you thought.

“It’s got nothing to do with you. Just…personal stuff.”

“What, is there a man I need to speak to?” You laughed, recalling your conversation with Kika earlier.

“God, no, I’m single. It’s just…” You debated telling him. Franco, of all people, would understand frustration over employment contracts. He buzzed with the typical anticipation of a reserve driver, hoping and praying for a chance on the track again. You could tell all this sitting around and avoiding the media was doing him in.

But you didn’t want to add more to his plate. After all, none of this was his fault. You sighed, continuing, “You know, behind the scenes F1 stuff. Nothing you have to worry about.”

“Behind the scenes? Do I not get security clearance?”

“Not for this, Colapinto.”

“That’s not fair. I was going to give you security clearance to see something really cool.”

“Oh?” you questioned.

He glanced to his left and right, making sure that everyone was far away enough. He learned in towards you, and his eyes met yours, and your heart skipped a beat.

He whispered, “When we get back to Enstone, I’m going to show you the sim.”

While everyone else went straight from Australia to China, you and Franco took a detour back to Enstone. He kept his word, taking you into the secluded back room where they kept the sim.

Being the social media manager for a smaller team’s reserve driver had its perks. McLaren and Mercedes would much rather give you a million dollar raise than let you see their sim, let alone film and post it.

“Wow…” you muttered, as Franco showed you all the settings and special buttons, clearly as excited about it as you were. “Are you sure I’m allowed to see this?” you asked as he slid into the seat.

“Of course,” he said. “Even better, you’re allowed to film it.”

“Just a few laps around virtual Bahrain?” you said.

“We can do more, if you want.” He pulled at the collar of his race suit. It wasn’t the real deal—that was with the team, being transported to China—but the one for filming purposes, the one that was tighter. You noticed the way it hugged the sharp curves of his body as he settled into the seat, the pink fabric sitting snugly against the round of his thigh, up into his waist and to the slope of his chest, pulled back from his neck so he could breathe easier.

Was he having trouble breathing? You certainly were.

It was moments like these where you couldn’t help but notice his beauty. While he warmed up and completed a few virtual laps, you focused your cameras, zooming in on the twitch of his feet on the pedals, the way his chest rose and fell in careful concentration, and the zooming back and forth of his eyes, fixated on the pixels mere feet from his face. The lights you had set up rested on his lashes, illuminating them in a golden glow. He looked like something otherworldly: soft yet sharp, calm and focused.

He was in his own world when he slipped into that seat. And as always, you watched, you noticed, you saw, from the outside.

“Hey guys, it’s Franco here…” he began, and his voice faded into the background as your gaze zeroed in on his pixels in your camera screen, this visage of him that wasn’t quite real.

As your eyes traced every detail of him, you felt within you a deep desire to reach out and touch him.

No. God, YN, that’s weird, you thought to yourself.

Still, as he bit his lip and rounded the last digital corner, you couldn’t help that thought creeping up: how warm his skin would be against yours, the soft touch of two bodies meeting, a sensation you’d never felt before.

“...so that’s a lap in Bahrain, ehm, racing is great here, so hopefully we have another good race this year.”

You were pulled out of your reverie as Franco looked at you. “Good?” he asked.

“Great. Perfect, actually,” you said, trying not to stutter, feeling like a kid caught in trouble. Please don’t blush, you begged yourself, but you could already feel the warmth in your cheeks that would inevitably become redness. You just hoped he didn’t notice.

“Stay there, though. I wanna get some stills,” you said, adjusting your camera lens. You zoomed in and out, but the lighting from where you were sitting off to the side wasn’t quite right. You got up, biting the inside of your cheek as you adjusted your settings, never letting your eyes leave your lens.

“Can I…get closer?” you asked. “The lighting is weird.”

“Go ahead,” he said, looking back at you. His gaze was…intense. In a way it hadn’t been before. It sent shivers down your spine.

“Look back at the screen,” you said, and he obeyed, as you closed the gap between the two of you, craning your back to move your camera in between him and the screen. But now you were a shadow, casting the light away from his frame that should have glowed.

“I can’t quite…” you said, muttering to yourself, but he disobeyed your orders, looking at you.

“Here,” he said, pushing back the steering wheel. “Just climb over me.”

That was a horrible idea. The worst idea you had ever heard. But the reflection of the screen light on his face against the dark background—he looked ethereal. You had to capture it.

So you swung one leg over his, his feet still firmly resting on the pedals, as you hovered to deny yourself the touch that you so unprofessionally felt yourself longing for.

Only inches from your face, he stared down the lens of your camera, his gaze powerful enough to send shivers down your spine, leaving little gasps choked in your throat.

You clicked the camera again and again. You had plenty of pictures. You just didn’t want to move.

Fate had other plans. You heard the snap only second before you felt it shoot into your back—the steering wheel, once pushed back, had sprung forward into you with a vengeance, throwing you off balance, and you fell into Franco, cushioning your fall by landing your palms against his chest.

You dropped your camera, a true gasp falling from your mouth, as you heard the screen crack. You didn’t look at its shattered remains on the floor, though. All you could see was the Argentine underneath you, the deep brown pools of his eyes and his perfectly rounded curls, mere centimeters from you now.

You were still for a beat too long. But you didn’t miss when his eyes quickly darted away from yours and down to your lips.

“I—I am so sorry, YN,” he said. “Are you…gonna get the camera, or…?”

You immediately moved to get up, scrambling to create as much space between you and Franco as possible. You winced as you saw the shattered glass of your camera screen littering the floor.

“I could have sworn I heard the wheel click into place. I’m so sorry YN, here, let me help.”

You ignored him, but still he leaned down next to you, his race suit sinfully tight against the curves of his body you had been so close to just seconds ago.

“I’m fine, it’s just—”

“Shit, you’re bleeding.”

In the chaos, some glass had cut into your hand. He grabbed your wrist, and you looked up, locking eyes again with him. Your face must have been redder than a Ferrari.

“Just leave it. Let’s get you bandaged up, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you said, letting him lead you away from the sim room, relishing the touch of his skin against yours, even as your blood ran between it.

“No way!” Kika said, swirling her coffee with a familiar flick of the wrist.

“And I was bleeding,” you said, holding up your hand, now bandaged from the snafu only a few days prior. “But I was so nervous he had to grab my hand, and we locked eyes and it was AWFUL!”

“Really?” she said, a smirk on her face.

“Really. I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life.”

“Then why are you smiling right now?”

“I’m not,” you said, painting your face in an intentional frown.

“Yes, you were. Oh, you all would be so adorable!”

You rolled your eyes. “I can never face him again. Not after I…accidently straddled him.” You laughed sarcastically, though a flume of anxiety rose in you. You would have to face him again in…well, not even an hour.

And when that time came far too soon, the awkwardness in the air was palpable.

“So…” he droned on, looking away from you, “Another weekend of avoiding the press?”

You closed your laptop. “Let’s go talk to some fans.”

“Good idea.”

If only Franco had known the weight of your suggestion. You had hated Mercedes fans—they made demands you couldn’t fulfill, and blamed you when their darling driver refused to make any content. But Franco fans were sweet, and as devoted as any fan base could be.

Still, as you stood in the background and watched a group of Chinese fans—all women—coo at him, you felt a twinge of something deep in your chest you couldn’t quite name.

You saw them giggle and bat their eyelashes as he effortlessly wooed them, leaning up against the nearest wall, giving them sly grins and the occasional wink that would send their hearts racing. He even blushed when they collectively cooed at him when he tried on a panda headband; an adorable moment to catch on camera, but one that, deep down, disgusted you.

Were you…jealous?

No. You weren’t a fan. Of the sport, maybe. But Franco? He was a smooth-talker. A player. Eye candy.

You sighed as you packed up your camera bag—a replacement having quickly been given to you by Alpine—as the man in question made his way over to you.

“What’s got you in a bad mood?”

“Nothing,” you answered, not even bothering to look up at him.

“I can tell something’s bothering you. Is it your hand? Is it hurting?”

“A little bit,” you said, hoping your half-lie would give you an out. “Can’t believe my own client would do this to me.”

“Aw, do you want me to kiss it better?” he joked, and you laughed.

“Get back to the garage, Colapinto,” you answered, rolling your eyes.

“Come with me to Monza,” he said, looking at you over the brim of his mate cup, his eyes never leaving yours.

“You’re seriously asking me this.”

“Yes. It’s the least I can do to make it up to you. For breaking your camera.”

“So…to make up for the fact that you broke my work camera, you’re going to ask me to do more work?”

“It wouldn’t be work. Unless you wanted it to be. It’d be like a… behind the scenes pass. I already cleared it with Flavio.”

Truthfully, you had been dreading the days leading up to Franco’s long stint away from the track. He had to go test older cars in Monza, and you’d be staying back in Enstone.

Well, that’s what you had thought. Apparently, Franco had other plans.

“Don’t you think that’s a little…weird?” you asked. “I mean, you’re my client.”

“It doesn’t have to be weird if you don’t make it weird. You’re just working from home.”

“Working from home, in a hotel in Italy.”

“You can say no if you want,” he said. “But I know you won’t. You’d miss my beautiful face too much.”

Your day was full of his oh so beautiful face, though. You saw him endlessly while working—whether his real form of his digital visage—and his smile haunted you even when you went back to your lonely hotel room every night, trying to find rest in the quiet stillness. You had abandoned your dating apps. You had stopped texting back your friends.

You playfully rolled your eyes, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of realizing just how correct he was.

“C’mon,” he said, nudging you in the side with his elbow, and you sharply inhaled at the contact. “We can get real wine and pasta.”

“You can’t even eat pasta. Or drink.”

“Just go with the bit,” he said, in mock annoyance at your stubbornness. “I’m trying to do you a service here. I know you’d get so lonely without me here.”

Again, he was too right. Working with McLaren had been enjoyable, but corporately stiff. And working with Lewis had been, well, awful. But Franco? He was quickly becoming something of your professional muse.

You bit your cheek, running through the pros and cons in your head. “You really took this all the way up to Flavio?”

“Yes,” he answered.

But he was your client. A client you were, unfortunately, crushing on. Yes, you had to admit it—even you couldn’t be delusional any longer.

And the thought of it scared you. How close you were to saying yes. Yes, I’ll run away to Italy with you. Take me to your hotel room.

Where was that stone-faced professional you had always been? Where was your dignity? In the hands of Franco Colapinto, a young, charming race car driver who seemed to be a tad bit too enamoured with you, just as you were with him.

You couldn’t let your fantasies get ahead of you. This was your job, a job you’d worked far too hard at to just give it up on a whim. But Franco sat before you now, his brown doe eyes looking at you, begging you to come with him.

No one had ever wanted you.

Romantically, at least. Even friendships had been fleeting, shallow. You compensated with work. People wanted your expertise, your labor; that was enough, you told yourself.

But no one had ever really wanted you, your presence, your being.

Except, Franco did.

“I…I really can’t,” you said. “I just have too much to do at Enstone.”

Franco didn’t try to joke this time. You saw the subtle shift in the glint of his eyes, a soft disappointment he wouldn’t speak. “No worries,” he said.

But that night, back alone at your hotel room, you couldn’t sleep, replaying the scene over and over again.

If I go to Monza, I’ll regret it, you said to yourself. It’s crossing a line. He’s a client. Not your boyfriend.

He wants you there, another voice said. He wants you there.

Enstone didn’t want you. Formula 1 was indifferent. It’d replace you in an instant if you failed to perform—a reality you’d come to know too well.

Though the hour was late, you grabbed your phone, tapping his name without thinking, your mind blank as the phone rang once before he answered.

“Hello?”

“Does the Monza offer still stand?”

“For you? Of course.”

Against your better judgement, you found yourself in a hotel room in Monza a few days later—not any hotel room. Franco’s hotel room.

He had proposed that you should watch the Suzuka free practice together that day. It was one of his rare days off during testing, and you could spare an hour or two, so why not?

You hadn’t expected this, though.

Franco, in nothing but grey sweat shorts, stretched across his bed. He patted the empty space next to him, inviting you to come lay next to him.

“Really?” you asked, barely suppressing a nervous laugh.

“What?”

“This is…hardly professional.”

“I’m not on the clock.”

“Well, I am,” you said, carefully sitting down next to him, leaving a deliberate amount of space.

“What, is something bothering you?” he asked. He knew the answer. He just wanted to hear you say it.

You glanced back at him, giving yourself a minute to take in all of him: his defined muscles, perfectly tanned skin, even the scar that ran across his collarbone. You didn’t have it in you to say anything.

“Not at all,” you answered. You looked away and a sense of shame fell over you.

He was your client. And here he was, practically naked in front of you, and you didn’t have the courage to say a word about it. Because he wanted you next to him.

It all felt so…pathetic. So even though you kicked off your shoes and stretched out next to Franco, you didn’t truly relax. He rested his arm against the headboard behind you, and it all felt too intimate. Wrong.

You just prayed for the ending of free practice, keeping your eyes glued to the screen to avoid his gaze that kept lingering when it shot you sideward glances.

When Sky Sports went to commercial, Franco got up, stretching and letting out a long sigh. You rolled your eyes. He was insufferable.

“Don’t tell my trainer,” he said, exiting the bedroom and walking into the small kitchenette in the hotel suite, “but I got stuff to make mimosas. You want one?”

“You aren’t supposed to be drinking, Franco” you said, breathing a sigh of relief now that he was out of sight.

“And that’s why you keep my secrets,” he said from the other side of the wall.

Franco’s phone, on the bed next to you, lit up. A notification from Raya, the tinder of the rich and famous.

You felt sick to your stomach. What were you doing here?

You wanted to leave. But Franco came back into the room and handed you a champagne flute, which you took a modest sip from before setting on the nightstand next to you. Franco assumed his position on the bed, this time just the slightest bit closer, and you felt your breathing stiffen.

“Your phone was going off,” you said.

He grabbed it, careful to face the screen away from you, and began typing something. You crossed your arms and stared back at the TV as free practice resumed.

You watched the car race past, the familiar sound of revving engines calming you, as Franco locked his phone and put it on his own nightstand. You watched him out of your periphery, refusing to budge. Even if you wanted to, you couldn’t, frozen in place with anxiety.

“YN…” he said, and you felt his hand reach out and touch your arm.

“Oh, shit!” you said. “Jack just crashed!”

In front of you were pixels of carnage, thousands of dollars in repair, and a damaged reputation.

Franco looked at the screen, grimacing.

“Is he okay?” you asked, to no one in particular. You sat up, focusing even more intently, watching Jack climb out of the car. You breathed a sigh of relief. Even Franco was focusing now.

“I should probably call Flavio,” he said. “They might need me.”

“This could be your chance,” you said, looking back at him, but your face turned redder than a Ferrari at what you saw.

Franco was…most definitely not focusing on free practice, evident by the outline of his grey sweatpants that showed far too much.

“And, I, um… I should go call the media team, make sure they’re good to, you know, uh… I’ll see you later, Franco.”

You got up and left without another word.

After that you were more cautious, more professional. You saw Franco less, anyway. But he didn’t leave your mind.

Another coffee date with Kika, and as always, Franco was the topic of discussion.

“Did you hear what he said in that podcast that just came out?” she asked.

“No?”

“He’s a fan of sex on the first date.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” you snorted. Your mind went back to the Raya notification, the way he tilted his phone away from you. You swallowed back the jealousy.

“I still think you should go for it,” she said, smiling.

“No,” you replied, no smile on your face. “He’s for the streets. He retweeted a random girl’s ass the other day.”

Kika skillfully ignored your comment. “In that podcast, he also was talking about how hard it is in F1 to make genuine connections with people. It reminded me a lot of what you said before, about just wanting someone who wants you for you.”

“Well that’s what everyone wants, isn’t it?”

“Sure. I’m just saying, I think you have more in common with Franco than you realize.”

“He’s a nice guy. He’s just…not for me.”

“How so?”

“Kika, he’s my client.”

She paused, her brows furrowing, staring into the last dregs of her tea cup. “I guess you’re right. I just hate to see you so lonely.”

“I’ll live. I mean, I’ve gotten this far.”

“But that’s no way to live. You deserve to be happy with someone.”

“We don’t always get what we deserve, though, do we?”

“I got the seat.”

“What?”

“I got the seat. Jack’s out after Miami. But you can’t tell anyone.”

“I—how do you know?”

“Flavio told me. Oliver is going to resign. Things are about to get crazy.”

Franco ran his fingers through his hair, the golden strands illuminated by the little slats of light through your hotel blinds. It was late at night, and Franco was still beautiful, even in his disheveled state.

“You can’t tell anyone. Promise me.”

“Franco, I don’t even have anyone I’d tell.” It came out a lot…sadder than you had anticipated. It had been a long, lonely day at your cubicle in Enstone while Franco was on the sim. “And why’d you tell me, anyway?”

“I didn’t know who else to go to. I just…I’m sorry, I know it’s late and you’re mad at me—”

“Mad at you? I’m not mad at you.”

“You’ve been so distant lately. Since we got back from Monza.”

“I’ve just been… busy.”

“I know,” he said, looking off into the distance, away from you. “Things are about to get a lot busier.”

“Well, I’ll be here,” you said, your voice soft. He looked back to you, and in that moment, you wanted nothing more than to kiss him.

Your eyes drifted down to the soft roundness of his lips, imagining them on your own, and you swallowed hard, as if you could rid yourself of the desire that felt strong enough to strangle you.

“Why haven’t you been around recently?” he asked. He knew you were ‘busy.’ That’s not what he was asking. But you couldn’t find the words to tell him how you really felt.

“Got tired of looking at your face, so I gave you over to PR,” you joked, reflexively using your sarcasm as a shield. “You’re their problem now.”

“Problem? I’ve been nothing short of perfect.”

“You retweeted—”

“Don’t remind me.”

“And on that podcast—”

“What was wrong with what I said on the podcast?”

“Seriously? You think there’s nothing wrong with talking about your first date sex preferences with the world?” you laughed, only half joking.

“No. I stand by what I said. Why should you wait if it feels right?”

“Because nothing is ever that simple. Feelings lie to you. You don’t really know someone that well to really know what you’re getting yourself into.”

“What, did you have a bad ex or something?”

“No. I…don’t have any exes. I’ve never had a boyfriend.”

“Really?”

“Never.” You looked to the floor, embarrassed, though Franco’s face was shrouded in as much darkness as the rest of the room. “But still, I’d never sleep with a stranger. It’s just too important to…give yourself away like that. I think it should be something loving.”

Franco was silent; the room was quiet enough that you were sure you could hear his heartbeat.

“I don’t think it really matters that much,” he said. “People always come and go. If you wait for the perfect person, you’ll never have anyone. Soulmates, and all that…it’s just hopeless romantics. It’s never like that in real life.”

“You don’t believe in true love?”

“I don’t want to look back on my youth and realize I wasted it waiting for the one,” he said. “There is no perfect person. There’s just people. And I want to enjoy my time with people while they’re here.”

“What if you regret it? Sharing yourself with someone who doesn’t appreciate it?”

“Then you made a mistake. And life goes on.”

“I think…we’ll have to agree to disagree on this one.” You paused. “But you still shouldn’t be telling the media any of this.”

“Why not? Why should I not be honest about who I am, how I feel?”

“Because that’s not for them to know.”

“Who else is there to tell, though?” His eyes met yours. You remembered what Kika said, how Franco had spoken about wanting real connection in a world of ruthless competition.

“I get it,” you said. “I really do. Formula 1 is…lonely.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I left home at 14, came to Spain.”

“I know,” you said. “I listened to the podcast. It’s not much better on this side of the paddock. All the travel, the long nights. I…” you paused, unsure of how much to say. “Sometimes I feel like I don’t know how to be a normal person anymore.”

“Exactly. It—it becomes all of you, you know?”

“I know. I feel like I’ve missed out on so much. And you can’t complain, because this is the life I always dreamed of.” All the lonely nights, the parties and milestones missed, the strangers unkissed; you were young, alive, but not free. You had chosen this.

The room grew quiet.

“Well, if we’re telling secrets, can I share one?” you asked, and Franco nodded, his eyes almost begging. Let me in. Let me see what you hide from the others. Let me see you.

“I hate Lewis Hamilton.”

“What?” Franco said, taken aback, clearly offended.

“He was so horrible to me last year. Constantly ignoring me or leading me around, acting like he was going to cooperate and then bailing on me. I was just trying to do my job and he made it a living hell. And I can’t tell anyone because he’s the Lewis Hamilton.”

“I can’t agree with you on this, YN. He’s Lewis Hamilton. He gets a pass.”

“C’mon, I need someone on my side!” you joked, a small smile forming at the edge of your lips.

“I can’t. You’ll have to find some other poor reserve driver for that,” he said. “Besides, I won’t be a reserve driver for much longer.”

“I’m so proud of you,” you said, your voice soft, familiar.

Franco’s eyes met yours, in the simple darkness of your room. And in that moment, he wanted nothing more than to kiss you.

“We’ll all have to celebrate,” he said.

“Of course.”

“You’ll be there?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

But upon entering Franco’s AirBNB in Monaco, you started to have regrets.

The music was blasting, drinks were flowing, and your host appeared with a smile on his face and a model on each arm, quite literally. This wasn’t the kind of place you’d ever belonged in.

“YN!” he called, raising a drink-filled hand from across the room, much to the chagrin of the woman on his arm, who eyed you up and down and gave you a passive aggressive smile. He broke away, making his way over to you, wrapping you in his arms. He smelled like a deep, woody cologne mixed with fabric softener and the tell-tale sign of a drink or two.

“You made it,” he said, cocking his head and smiling at you.

“I’m a woman of my word,” you said, giving him a stiff smile. “But I think your date…or dates…is missing you over there.”

“Oh, she’s no one,” he said, waving his arm vaguely in the direction of the women, not bothering to specify which one. “I want to introduce you to someone.”

“Oh?”

He didn’t respond, instead grabbing you by the hand and weaving you through the crowd, and into the waiting embrace of an older woman.

“Mami, this is YN,” he said, as the woman reached out to hug you, and you obliged, more out of politeness in your state of confusion.

Franco was introducing you to…his mother?

Of course, he then abandoned you to go back to his woman. Or women. There were quite a few women at this party, and some familiar faces from the Alpine garage. Still, amongst the sea of models and mechanics, you, the media girl, hardly fit right in.

Besides, Franco had told you to leave all your cameras and phones at home. You truly were without a crutch.

You exchanged a few pleasantries with his mother, albeit awkward, because, well, what were either of you doing here?

“I’ve heard a lot about you from Franco,” she said. “All good things, of course.”

“I’m surprised he’d mention me. I mean, we’re just colleagues.”

“Well, I’m glad my boy is surrounded by such kind colleagues, then,” she smiled.

Thankfully, Kika came to your rescue, and you found a spot away from much of the fanfare with her and Pierre, keeping to yourselves in the corner.

Franco, though, was the life of the party, taking shot after shot, dancing his heart away. After a while, when things showed no sign of dying down, but you were exhausted, you contemplated making an Irish goodbye.

“You’re being watched,” Kika said, leaning down to whisper in your ear. You looked up and met eyes with your host, who again was arm in arm with two beautiful women (though not the same as before), yet his eyes only laid on you.

You gave him a slight smile, and he just blinked at you, his expression conveying that he had more to say that only his eyes could tell you. The woman to his right—a blonde—whispered something in his ear, smiling flirtatiously, and he made some noise in response, never looking at the woman. She shot you a dirty glance from across the room.

You were done for the night. But as you tried to leave, you felt a hand grab you, pulling you back as Kika and Pierre made their exit.

“Where are you going?” Franco asked, his eyes glossy.

“It’s late, Franco.”

“You didn’t even dance.”

“I don’t dance.”

“Oh, c’mon YN, just one dance!”

“No, Franco, I have to go.”

“YN—”

“Franco. It’s late, I’m exhausted, this music is too goddamn loud and my head is pounding. Let me go.”

He released his grip, surprised at your snapping. Truthfully, you were too.

“I’m sorry,” you said. “I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

“It’s okay. You can go.”

“No, I—I can stay a while longer, I guess.”

“We can go outside?”

You nodded and let Franco lead you, hand in hand, to the roof, a secluded area with an infinity pool overlooking the Monaco skyline. You could feel the bass pumping beneath your feet, but the night was quiet enough, and there was a cool wind that waved its way through your hair, caressing you into a calmer state.

You leaned against the railing, and Franco joined you, so close that you could feel the heat of his body against yours.

“I don’t mean to steal you from your own party,” you said.

“I’m fine here,” he said. “I don’t think anyone is missing me.”

“I don’t know. You seemed like the life of the party there.”

“What if I told you I only threw this party for you?”

You paused. “Well, that would be kind of stupid. You should celebrate what you’ve achieved. I have nothing to do with it. Besides, I don’t usually come to these kinds of things.”

“But that’s exactly why. I wanted you to be able to experience it. Can’t say you don’t like it if you haven’t tried it.” He looked down, fiddling with his hands. “If you don’t usually like parties, then why’d you come?”

“Because it was important to you.”

You were both silent.

“You want to get in the pool?” he asked.

“I didn’t bring a swimsuit.”

“We can skinny dip.”

You laughed. He didn’t.

“You’ll have to come up with a better excuse if you want to get me undressed.”

“Who said I was trying to get you undressed? Maybe I’m giving you an excuse to stare at me.”

“You’re the one who’s been staring all night. Besides, I’ve already seen you without a shirt. I’m not missing out.”

“You’re cruel,” he joked.

“And you’re crueler,” you replied, as you both knelt near the pool, taking your shoes off, dipping your feet in the crystal blue water.

“How so?”

“You invite me to this party and make me stand around in the corner while you flirt with random models.”

“Are you jealous?” Franco asked, and you didn’t answer. He closed the gap between you, bringing his hand to yours. “YN, you know you’re my girl.”

“I’m your social media manager.”

“How long are we going to keep pretending?”

“Pretending what?” you said, turning to face him, seeing the genuineness in his eyes, fixated on you. You had no camera, no phone; you were alone with Franco, alone with your desire, and he wouldn’t let you escape any longer.

“Pretending like we don’t want each other.”

“What I really want is to keep my job.”

“I don’t see either of our bosses out here.”

“Franco…this is a bad decision. For both of us.”

‘Jumping into the pool right now would be a bad decision,” he said, smirking. “But this?” he interlaced his fingers with yours, kissing your hand where the cuts from the camera mishap had just started to scar over. “I’m sure of this.”

“Franco—”

“I want you.”

You pushed him into the pool. He reached out for you and dragged you down with him, ending you both cascading into the water in a fit of giggles.

And when you rose to the surface of the water, shivering from the cold and playfully pushing him away, he just pulled you in closer, wrapping his arms around your back, and finally pressing his lips to yours.

You dragged yourself out of the pool, cringing at the feeling of your wet dress fabric clinging to your curves, and you could do nothing but laugh.

Franco followed close after, grabbing you again, and kissed you once more, his lips hungry for yours. The embrace was messy, fighting through tangled strands of hair and the horrid sensation of wet clothes clinging to each other's bodies, but you laughed anyway, in a giggly euphoria at his touch.

“Franco, I’m freezing,” you said, smiling through the discomfort. “Can we stop the make-out session before we both get hypothermia?”

“You’re no fun,” he teased, though he did oblige, throwing you a towel. “I’m kicking everyone out. I can throw your clothes in the dryer if you want to take a shower.”

A warm shower sounded perfect. However, the idea of being unclothed anywhere near Franco sounded…like a reality you weren’t quite sure of.

“I’d appreciate that,” you said, truly shivering now. Franco herded you inside, away from the rest of the party, into a bedroom you assumed was his.

You locked yourself in the connected bathroom, quickly showering and changing into a thick, fluffy robe that Franco had left you, combing and blow drying your hair while you heard everyone downstairs filter out as the music and chatter got quieter and quieter.

But your heartbeat only got louder and louder as you stepped out, watching Franco laid out on the bed, again clad in those God-forsaken grey sweatshorts that fit him too perfectly, his toned chest on display.

“Your dress isn’t quite dry yet. Probably needs another 15 minutes,” he said, staring at his phone, typing away at something you couldn’t see before locking it and placing it face down on the nightstand next to him.

You nodded, sitting on the very edge of the bed nervously running your fingers through your hair, though it was already dry.

“YN,” he called, and you could hear his voice get closer and he sat up. “It’s late. You could stay here tonight.”

“I really should just go when my clothes are done.”

“You want to? Or you should?”

You turned around to look at him, his eyes full of something hungering, a sight that made you anxious to your core.

“Franco, I’m your social media manager.”

“And?”

“We already crossed a line—”

“I’m just asking you to stay the night,” he said. “Nothing more. It’s for your benefit, really.”

And somehow, a half hour or so later, you found yourself in nothing but your panties and one of his shirts, after conveniently realizing that this apartment only had one bedroom.

“This is…so unprofessional,” you said as Franco dimmed the lights and climbed in the bed next to you.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I do this with all my social media managers.”

“I could lose my job.”

“I’m not a snitch.”

Franco had laid down, but you couldn’t relax, instead sitting up and resting your back against the headboard, burying your face in your hands.

“What am I doing?” you mumbled to yourself, but he heard you, sitting up to meet you and gently pulling your arms away.

“You are going to sleep next to your client, who is going to mind his manners and be a gentleman and let you rest.”

“You’re hardly a gentleman.”

“That’s not true. I’ve been nothing but polite tonight.”

“Really?”

Franco’s eyes darkened as he pulled you down, resting one head above your head and one on your waist underneath his borrowed shirt, placing himself on top of you. You could feel his hardened length pressing against your bare leg. Your heart was beating out of your chest, your eyes widened, staring into his.

“If you want me to be impolite, I can do that.”

Your voice came out as shaky as an earthquake, though without any of the power.

“Are we really going to do this?”

“Only if you want to,” he said, his hands rubbing in gentle but firm circles around your hips, careful to not dip too high or low for comfort.

“I’m a virgin,” you blurted out. “I’m scared.”

“Don’t be,” he said, gently kissing you. “It’s just me. I’ll be gentle.”

His kisses trailed lower, down your neck, and you inhaled sharply as his lips grazed the crook between your chin and shoulder.

“Do you trust me to be your first?” he asked.

“I don’t know who else it would be.”

“YN,” he said, pulling back to look you in the eye. “I need to hear you say it.”

Looking up at him, wide-eyed and whispering, you had never wanted anything more. But you couldn’t let the words pass from your lips. Instead, you brought your hands up to his hair, roughly grabbing him and pulling him down to bridge the gap between you, bringing your lips together again.

He slipped his tongue in between your lips, and you opened your mouth for him, gently moaning into the kiss as he softly grinded himself against your clothed core under the blankets.

“Tell me what you want, YN,” he commanded, before grazing his teeth along your neck, biting down and sucking the sensitive skin to leave a mark.

“I want you,” you said, your voice breathy. “I need you.”

He brought his hand down to trace the edges of your panties, carefully dragging his fingers over where you needed him most, feeling your wetness grow as he just barely gave you any friction to buck up against.

“Close your eyes,” he said. “Relax. Let me touch you.”

You obeyed, taking a deep breath as Franco lifted your shirt above your head and gently pawed at your breasts, taking one nipple into his mouth while he squeezed the other.

The sounds he made were obscene as you tried to focus on just steadying your nervous breathing. But every touch electrified your skin, sending shivers through you, eliciting a sharp inhale or soft moan from your lips.

His hands trailed down to your panties, sliding them off and meeting your mouth again with a kiss. He kept his lips on yours as he swirled your growing wetness around your clit, slowly sliding his fingers up and down your slit and through your folds. You ached for him.

“You okay?” he asked, and you nodded, whimpering into his shoulder as he brought you closer and closer to the edge with just his fingers.

Slowly, gently, he slid a finger inside of you, then two, pumping them in and out with the soft rhythm of your breathing. He brought you closer and closer, sending little waves of pleasure throughout your body, but not quite letting you fall over the edge into pure bliss.

“You’re soaked,” he said, bringing his fingers from your pussy to your mouth, where you swirled your tongue around them, locking eyes with him once more.

“You ready?” he asked, and you couldn’t help the wave of anxiety that went through you. Still, you nodded, and he took off his shirts before reaching into the nightstand to grab a condom and put it on.

He grabbed you again, kissing you slow and deep, exhaling into the kiss. “Relax,” he said. “I’ve got you.”

You dug your nails into his back as he slowly pushed into you, overwhelming your sensations with the sweet burn of being totally taken by him, and the sound of his deep groan as he filled you to the hilt.

“You feel so fucking good,” he said, breathing heavily into your ear.

“Franco…” you moaned, unable to form any words other than his name as he slowly thrusted in and out of you, gently at first, then with more power. You wove your fingers into his hair as he moaned into your mouth, wanting more and more of you. You wrapped your legs around his back, pulling him in, eliminating even the tiniest of gaps between you. You wanted him in the deepest parts of you, mentally and physically. You wanted him in your soul.

“I’m so close,” he said. ‘So fucking close…” his voice trailed off into a string of Spanish curses as he plowed into you, chasing his own release, but still careful not to go too rough.

“I…I—” The words were lost to you. “Oh, God, Franco,” you groaned, feeling the soft pad of his thumb swirling around your clit, threatening to make you finish right then and there.

“I want us to cum at the same time,” he said. “Can you do that for me?”

You nodded, unable to form any sounds but those of pleasure that echoed through the room, your voices a cacophony of lust as he, with a final bucking of his hips, spilled inside of you, and brought you to the edge.

He laid on top of you in the aftermath, catching his own breath as you caught yours, and suddenly you felt a thick sense of shame. What had you done?

“Hey,” he cooed into your ear, setting both of you up, “you okay?”

You nodded, though it was a lie, but he could tell, pulling you into his arms to hold you and gently kiss your temple even through the sheen of sweat and smell of sex that now permeated through the room.

He grabbed a warm, wet towel to clean you up, then left to grab a snack from the kitchen, before curling up next to you and inviting you to lay your head on his chest. You obliged, listening to the steady sound of his heartbeat, gently grazing your fingertips over the surface of his scar.

The room was silent for a while, before he said, in a low, steady voice, “With me getting the seat, we won’t be able to see each other this often.”

“I don’t want to think about that right now,” you said, burrowing deeper in the covers, closer to him, and he ran his arm up and down your side.

“I just want you to know, I’m here. Even if I'm not…here. You know what I mean.”

You hummed in response. He continued, “But in the off season, I want to take you to Argentina. Show you around Buenos Aires, introduce you to my friends.”

“Yeah?” you whispered. This would normally be the time for a snarky comment. Bold of you to assume I want to spend my time away from work with you, or something to the effect.

But as you felt yourself drifting off in his arms, you couldn't muster up the will. You just wanted him to hold you. To see all your vulnerability, your unusual quietness, and find peace in it.

And he did. When you finally did drift off, he stared at your sleeping form, memorizing all the curves and edges of your body, the beauty in your stillness.

He gently got up, turned the lights fully off, and checked his phone one last time for the night, dismissing all his Raya notifications from his homepage, before falling asleep next to you.

388 notes · View notes

fandom · 2 years ago

Photo

Top 23 of 2023

Have you been aching to get your hot little hands on 52 weeks of data around original posts, likes, reblogs, and searches, all weighted and ranked and tied up into categories with a nice little bow on top? Well, today’s your day! It should come as no surprise that Artists on Tumblr reign supreme: from stunning traditional art, jaw-dropping digital art, fanart, sculptures, textile art—you name it, basically—this year’s list shows that Tumblr truly is the home for art and artists. Thank you, Artists on Tumblr, for enriching our dashboards day after day.

Rounding out the top three, we have two iconic shows: Good Omens is live-action, and The Owl House is animated, but both have a heck of a love story at their core. The second season of Good Omens blessed us with not one but two ineffably exquisite ships, while the final season of The Owl House broke and then healed fans’ hearts in equal measure. Thanks, @danaterrace! Actually, come to think of it, the Good Omens finale kinda did the same in reverse. Thanks to you, too, @neil-gaiman! We can’t wait for season 3.

Speaking of heartbreak and healing, Our Flag Means Death’s second season offered both in droves. The entire cast gave stellar performances, and fans couldn’t have been happier to see the kinds of representation the show displayed. Last year’s #1 topic, Stranger Things, may have dropped a bit, but trust us, you wouldn’t know it from the amount of meta, fanart, and fics in the tag. And did you hear about the live-action adaptations of both The Last of Us and One Piece? They were a preeeetty big deal this year, too. Check ‘em out if you haven’t yet (lol, of course you have). And we’d be remiss not to mention the hugely dedicated fans, fanartists, and fic writers devoting their time to all things Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Y’all deserve a little pizza, as a treat.

2023 was also a year for blockbuster movies, which of course hasn’t escaped anybody’s notice here on Tumblr. Barbie smashed box offices worldwide and left us reeling with every re-watch. How can one describe Greta Gerwig’s pink-filled opus? It certainly is one of the movies of all time. Meanwhile, with its incredible animation and soundtrack, Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse introduced us to a whole new multiverse of Spider-People, opening the portal to a veritable flood of incredible OCs. And then, of course, we got a fresh perspective on an old classic when cinephiles introduced Martin Scorscese’s cinematic masterpiece, Goncharov (1973), to a new generation of film aficionados who resoundingly agree that it is, in fact, the greatest mafia movie ever made. We’re so glad this underrated film finally got the acclaim it has long deserved.

In the realms of gaming and tech, the long-anticipated Baldur’s Gate 3 has basically become everyone’s new favorite D&D/dating sim combination. Of course, the Pokémon franchise, games, shows, and Hatsune Miku collabs remain perennial favorites. Elon Musk’s purchase of Twitter, sorry, we mean of course X, made waves across the internet. Similarly, the Reddit blackout drove Redditors to new venues, and Tumblr users welcomed the folks from r/196 with open arms—we’re huge fans of your memes, y’all, and you fit right in. Welcome, we’re glad you enjoy the chaos. Here’s a fun fact: if we included post metadata in Year in Review rankings, #polls, introduced in January of 2023, would have been the #5 topic on Tumblr this year. Phenomenal.

And, oh right. Taylor Swift had kind of a big year, what with the albums, the epic global tour, and the movie and stuff. Fantastic work, @taylorswift, the Swifties on Tumblr thank you for everything.

This is Tumblr’s Year in Review.

Artists on Tumblr

Good Omens

The Owl House

Barbie

Pokémon

Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse

Critical Role

Goncharov

Taylor Swift

Genshin Impact

Stranger Things

The Last of Us

Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles

Elon Musk

196

Star Wars

Our Flag Means Death

Crowley | Good Omens

LGBTQ

Cottagecore

Baldur's Gate 3

One Piece

Aziraphale | Good Omens

#year in review #top 23 of 2023 #tumblr2023

3K notes · View notes

woniehugs · 8 months ago

Text

OPERATION: FUCK SIM JAEYUN.

CHAPTER 1

—✧ summary: as a student, you were a huge academic overachiever, always wanting to excel in class and get the highest grades. as a teenage girl, you wanted to get some hardcore action. academics were stressful, and you needed an outlet for that stress. besides, it’s your second to the last year in high school. what could possible go wrong if you deviated and have a little fun? you’ve had your eyes on one guy for a while now, sim jaeyun. the handsome guy, the star soccer player, good at physics. now, you had another goal aside from finishing the school year as the top student: fuck sim jaeyun. one day, you get partnered together for a project, and one thing led to another, you end up in his bed. this might just turn your life for the better… or the worst.

—✧ pairing: jake sim x fem! reader

—✧ genre: highschool! au, fluff, pining (mutual? you’ll see), friends with benefits, casual relationship, smut (in later parts)

—✧ word count: 4.4k

—✧ taglist: @youreverydayzebra @witheeseung @w3bqrl , @freakywonbin, @enhafika, @enhacolor, @woniebuns, @cyberstephzz, @sumzysworld, @woniefull, @aanniikkaa, @faithnsstuff, @wonnienyang, @wonlluvie, @slut4hee, @hwaluvrsblog, @jakeswifez, @dreamiestay, @jiryunie, @nikibleist, @friurt, @jungwonsstrawberriesnchocolate, @jakesimfromstatefarm, @my10monthslovesimjae, @heefever, @milanco, @khaisdrz . send an ask if you want to be added!

══════*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*══════

the clock seemed to tick so slowly, and all you wanted to do was rip your head off out of boredom. mrs. smith had been droning on and on about physics for half an hour now. you had been listening of course, but only for the first 30 minutes before your mind drifted away.

midterms were coming up. you couldn’t wait to get it over with, looking forward to the week-long break ahead. you were exhausted, or no, that didn’t seem like the right word. you just didn’t feel like following your usual routine anymore.

wake up. go to school. listen to discussions. write notes. study. go home. study again. finish writing notes. review them. sleep. and the cycle repeats.

life had always been like that for you for as long as you could remember, maybe even since you were born.

now, you were burned out. or maybe just bored. yep, that seemed like the right word for it. just straight-ass bored. you wanted to deviate from your daily routine. anything to keep your mind off of everything, especially academics.

you knew you were doing well. you barely had to worry. you were more-so worried about your nonexistent sex life. for the past few months, you’d been really craving for some action. not out of peer pressure of course. you weren’t so sure if it just had something to do with realizations of a teenage girl or if someone just accidentally poured a dose of viagra in your drink when you first went to a club all by yourself. tons of overthinking happening there. that was months ago, so there was no way the drug could’ve lasted that long.

you’re not so sure who you are anymore, to be honest.

nonetheless, the truth is that you were a horny teenage girl who craved some action. no one in your school could have ever guessed that since you’re the goodie two shoes who’s almost always the top of her class and puts on extra work to earn extra credits from teachers. that excited you in some way. no one else knew about that fact but you.

at last, the bell rang. mrs. smith ended the discussion right on time (you weren’t listening anymore. did she say anything about laws of conservation of energy?). standing up from your chair, you quickly packed your things and left the classroom, on your way to the the soccer field. your safe haven, you’d like to call it.

why there? well, because the cafeteria was too crowded for your liking. you were claustrophobic (you just hated everyone). you loved being alone anyway, and you’ve always went there to eat lunch because it was peaceful and windy outside, unlike the cramped canteen that smelled of sweat and food so disgusting you would not dare put in your mouth again.

passing by some of your favorite teachers, you greeted them with a smile on your face.

you never liked being known as the ‘teacher’s pet’, because it made you seem like you were only close with the teachers for extra credit, when in reality, you really were just a friendly person. people just liked to talk and all. at this point in your life, you really just didn’t care anymore and let them say whatever they wanted to say. as long as they aren’t going anywhere near you, you’re sure you’ll survive this school year (like previously) just fine.

once you arrived outside, you sat yourself on one of the bleachers, the middle part to be more precise. you quietly ate your lunch, looking out on the field. the only sound audible was the clanking sound of your utensils. it was mostly empty, except…

a familiar figure caught your eye in the middle of the field.

munching on your food, you squint your eyes to try to make out who it was. a part of you was a 100% sure it was one of the school’s soccer players since he wore a jersey with a number and his last name on it.

05 sim

oh. you knew exactly who that guy was.

sim jaeyun. everyone in school calls him jake. right, everyone knows him. you’d be surprised if there was someone who doesn’t unless they were a transferee. jake was one of the few guys high school girls disgustingly swooned over. apparently, he was everything a girl could ever want.

looks? check. intelligence? check. height? slightly. athletic? check. hot voice? double check. sex god? triple check. or so that’s what you heard from those giggling girls that hangout near your locker every after class.

you didn’t get the appeal at first, especially since you thought he was just a good old nice guy who happened to be one of those who accidentally became popular because his looks. based on rumors, it turned out you were completely wrong.

you hate to admit it but as time passed, you did eventually find him attractive (and still do). you could see why everyone liked him. now that you wished you could feel what it’s like to be well taken care of by a guy who could not only make everything in your life better but also fuck the living daylights out of you, you couldn’t help but imagine jake being that guy.

“oh what the fuck am i thinking.” you muttered out loud, shaking the thoughts out of your head. you couldn’t believe you were having those kinds of thoughts while eating lunch and staring hard at jake.

you gaslit yourself into thinking it was fine and totally normal since he was the only guy you found good looking in your school, and happened to be in your view. you could eat him up if you wanted to—

god not again.

mentally praying to god to forgive you for those intrusive unholy thoughts you were having, you shut your lunchbox shut and grabbed your things. trying (a bit too hard) not to drop them, you scurried off and out of the soccer field, hurrying back inside the school to pull yourself together.

because what kind of girl, especially who everyone thinks is “innocent”, thinks of having sex with a guy, who probably isn’t even aware of her existence, and way out of her league, while eating lunch? you were definitely going insane.

“i need therapy.” you whined quietly to yourself, clutching your things tighter to your chest.

you were completely oblivious to jake catching a glimpse of you ever since you walked into the field. it was definitely better that you didn’t know about that because god knows what worse things you would’ve thought if you knew and stared right back at him too.

• • •

you weren’t so sure if god was by your side or against you at this point. was he secretly listening to your secret unspoken prayers of having an opportunity to talk to the one guy you’ve been thinking about (unnecessarily too distracted. you only ever pass by him in the hallways) for weeks? or did he just want to see you suffer for having sinned and going against what you were supposed to believe in?

you aren’t a very religious person, but you sure are debating now if you should become one.

because sim jaeyun is sitting right next to you in class, looking a bit too good-looking with his stupid ruffled hair and plump lips, since when did he have such clear skin and luscious hair?

life was so unfair. unfairingly amazing. this is one of the few moments where you silently thanked god.

two weeks after midterms, classes officially started for the final term. you were more than prepared and a bit excited to receive your grades, knowing you did well in the exams. what you weren’t prepared for was how sim jaeyun entered your classroom, with his bag slung over his shoulders, your teacher introducing him to the class, and how he’ll be moving to this classroom due to his excellent grades and performance during the midterms.

what the fuck. that’s all you were thinking the whole time your adviser was talking, while jake stood beside her in front of the class with that ridiculously handsome grin on his face. you weren’t so sure what to feel. pissed? relieved? thank the heavens above that this god of a man can finally know about your existence?

you shake your head, realizing you’ve been staring too long at your new seatmate before you turned your attention back to the board and listen. this was it. maybe god really did answer your prayers and provided you with the opportunity to do whatever you wanted for the past couple months. on a silver platter. a full-course meal.

side-eyeing jake, he catches your stare and you immediately look to the front again. why’s he staring at me? is there something on my face? why’d he have to have that look? it’s so annoying. please look away. you mentally ranted, tapping one foot lazily against the ground.

the entire session, you didn’t try to look at him again after that. however, that didn’t mean you weren’t thinking about him the whole time.

• • •

“y/n.”

were you daydreaming again? why’s jake saying your name in the middle of biology? you really should’ve slept earlier last night. you quietly blame the caffeine that was slowly leaving your system for this hallucination.

“pst. y/n.”

you blinked twice, slowly turning your head to your seatmate. okay, so he was calling you. that was a first. and hopefully not the last.

jake leans towards you and you felt your heart lurch a bit in your chest. god, y/n, pull yourself together! this is the first time you’ve interacted. you better not mess this up.

“i just wanted to ask if you had an extra pen? mine just ran out of ink, and mr. lewis is about to move on to the next slide.”

blah blah blah, proper name place name, backstory stuff. that’s all you were hearing in your head.

his voice really did sound sexy with that australian accent laced in it.

nodding your head at him, you open your pencil case to lend him a pen you didn’t use yet. it was your favorite brand. you would never let anyone else use it. but if it’s jake? you can buy him all your favorite pens in the world if it meant hearing him ask from you every day.

“here you go. you can have it.” simp. that’s what you were, and nothing has even happened yet. you like to cling to that thin string of hope that maybe something could bloom from this small exchange.

jake gives you a smile, as he took the pen from you. you feel his hand linger against yours for a bit before he pulls away. “really? thanks. i appreciate it.” he goes back to writing his notes on his notebook, and you take notice of the way he bites his bottom lip in concentration and squinting his eyes to see the slides on the screen better.

as for you, you were still listening of course, but also thinking about how you’d never have to squint your eyes or try too hard to see how charming sim jaeyun really is.

although, maybe you could try a bit harder if you wanted to test his and your bed chemistry in the near future.

• • •

no. it’s final. you’re going to die a virgin.

the old you would’ve never saw this as something bad or sappy since you didn’t really give a shit about that type of stuff. well, time has passed, things have changed.

“what on earth is wrong with me?!” you grabbed your hair in frustration, throwing a little tantrum in your bedroom. you’ve just finished doing your homework for the day and some extra reading for your literature class.

a month has passed since you’ve started interacting with jake, and you’ve been putting meaning in every single interaction you’ve had which was not helping with your little crush on him.

”i’ve seen you around. i hear teachers talk about you in the faculty all of the time.” so you knew about my existence before we interacted? you definitely like me.

”careful, pretty. there’s some freshmen fooling around in the hallways.” he thinks i’m pretty? full-on delulu mode.

”mrs. smith was looking for you. something about you passing an extra page of solutions way beyond the lessons discussed.” or was he finding an excuse to talk to you? those solutions were done out of boredom anyway.

”you prefer listening, don’t you? or do you just not want to talk to me?” are you kidding? i do want to to talk to you. i just prefer listening to your australian accent. besides, i could do something better with this mouth of mine.

not that you’ll ever admit any of those things out loud.

“no. i do not have a crush on him. i’m just ovulating.” you convince yourself, pacing around your bedroom in small strides. you clearly weren’t convincing yourself very well either. who ovulates for months?

was it still even considered a crush when there isn’t even a time in the day where you don’t think about all the things you would let him do (god would be disappointed) if you just talked to him first? listening was not going to get you anywhere. he might not approach you anymore.

you did not want that to happen.

at the end of your pacing session, you stopped being in-denial and come into terms with your feelings. not only were you extremely attracted to jake, but you also wanted to get laid. who else to do the job for you other than the sim jaeyun who definitely looks like he’d do an amazing job?

that gave you a new goal for this school year.

you opened your notes app on your phone and typed it out.

GOALS FOR THE SCHOOL YEAR:

- finish the school year maintaining my rank as a top student.

- fuck sim jaeyun. (badly want to be done!!!)

• • •

the buzz of chatter filled the classroom as mrs. smith talked about having a demonstration project that showcased the principles of electromagnetism. the whole term will be given for everyone to work on the project and present it before the final term exams.

a classmate raised their hand, asking if it will be done individually since it sounded like a huge project to do alone. for you though, you wouldn’t mind if that was the case.

mrs. smith smiled sweetly, motioning for them to put their hand down. “that was the next thing i was going to say. the project will be done in pairs. before any of you ask, i’ll be the one to choose your pairs. i have a list right here.”

you bit your lip in anticipation, the groans and complaints of your classmates filled the room. a part of you was nervous about who your partner will be because it was highly likely that you’ll be doing the project all by yourself.

unless…

mrs. smith started naming the list of project partners and you feel your heartbeat start to speed up when you realize your name wasn’t called yet, and half the class already was.

you kept your gaze on the board, barely listening anymore until…

“and last but not the least, sim jaeyun and y/n l/n.”

your pulse quickened at the sound of jake’s name. whispers and mutters could be heard among your classmates the moment both of your names were called. “isn’t that cheating, ma’am? you’re pairing two of the best students together!” one of your classmates blurted out, earning a few laughters.

that was a compliment you could take.

“i promise you, macky dear, the pairs were chosen randomly.” mrs. smith replied, assuring the class that everything was fair and square, even though you were also debating in your head if it really was.

you peek a glance over at jake, just as he turned and caught your eye. he gave a small nod and a friendly smile, sending your thoughts into a spiral. a huge part of you was excited, but a small part also was making you feel nervous of spending time alone with him outside of school.

mrs. smith turned her wrist to look at her watch, “alright. i’ll give you the rest of the period to discuss with your pairs. go on, everyone. chop chop!” oh god, this is it. you thought, mentally preparing yourself for what you were going to say. you needed to take the lead or you were going to go insane.

a screech of the chair against the tiled floor snapped you out of your thoughts, eyes widening a bit when you realize jake had moved his chair closer to your desk. you keep yourself compose, clearing your throat and dusting off imaginary dust off your uniform.

“hey again.” jake greeted with a grin, pushing his hair back, “have any thoughts on what we could do for this project?”

darn that gorgeous hair. “hey to you too.” a hint of a smile tug on your lips, mentally giving yourself a pat in the back for staying composed. “well, i was thinking we could build a model on electromagnetic induction. per se a simple generator that shows how changing magnetic fields can produce electricity.”

jake nodded thoughtfully, resting his chin on his hand. “i like it. we could even add a small light bulb to show when it’s working. as for materials, we’d need some copper wire, magnets, and maybe a hand crank.”

you blinked twice in amazement, finding yourself drawn in by the way he explained things. jake’s voice was steady and confident, and you couldn’t help but notice the easy charm in the way he carried himself, how his eyes seemed to sparkle when he talked about physics.

“i can get the copper wire and magnets. i know a shop downtown that has them.”

“perfect.” jake replied, his lips curling into a half-smile that made the room a little warmer (why were you sweating), and your thoughts wander to places you probably shouldn’t let them go.

“i’ve got some spare parts from my dad at home that we can use for the base and crank.” you wondered if his voice would sound different in a more private setting, if he’d be as confident about things that had nothing to do with physics.

okay there, y/n. hold your horses.

nodding away your intrusive thoughts, you force yourself to stay in topic and keep the conversation going. “so, when do you want to start? i’m free whenever.”

jake leaned back slightly against his seat, putting his hands behind his head. you clench your hands into fists about how incredibly hot you were feeling right now. why did him doing the barest of minimums make you feel like you were going to explode?

the thoughts. put them at the back of your mind. we’ll think about the way his biceps flexed against his uniform later. just not now of all times!

“hm, how about this weekend? we could work at my place.” you squeaked, grateful that jake didn’t seem to notice your reaction. “it’s quieter, and i’ve got a good setup and place for projects.”

“y-your place?” you repeated, mentally cursing yourself for stuttering. a mix of excitement and nerves running through your veins. this was totally it for you. “sure, that works for me. saturday afternoon?”

jake’s glance held yours for a moment longer before nodding, “yep. saturday’s good. can you give me your phone number? i’ll text you the address.” without a second thought, you gave him your phone number with ease. you were totally keeping things professional.

after he texts you the address, you changed his contact to his name. “i’ll be walking my dog before we get to work though. hope that’s fine with you.” jake mentions all of a sudden.

“no problem at all.” you assure him, having found a new interest at the mention of his dog. “what’s your dog’s name?”

“layla. she’s a border collie.” jake sits up from his chair, smiling even wider with the fact that you asked about his dog. “she’s a sweetheart, you’ll love her. you’ll see her this weekend, and don’t worry, she doesn’t bite.”

you let out a sarcastic scoff, “hardly doubt that. i have severe trust issues. the last time i tried petting someone else’s dog, i ended up with a huge bite on my wrist. definitely not something i would want to risk experiencing again.”

jake laughs, “really? that’s insane! i’ve never seen dogs that aggressive before.”

“when you meet a shih-tzu, you’ll understand.”

“trust me, layla’s really nice. she likes meeting new people and can get really clingy once she gets to know them.”

you smile, “we’ll see about that.”

with the project plans settled, there was a brief silence before you spoke up again, not wanting the conversation to end just yet. it was now or never.

“you’re pretty good at this kind of stuff. physics, I mean,” you started. “have you always been into it?”

jake shrugged, a hint of a grin on his lips. “i guess I’ve always liked figuring out how stuff work. always have, though most people just know me for soccer.”

that was true.

“soccer and science,” you teased lightly. “that’s a combination you don’t see every day.”

“yeah, well,” he said, leaning in slightly, “what about you? you’re always at the top of the class. do you ever get tired of being the overachiever?”

you laughed, a little caught off guard by the question, but you’re glad he seems to want to keep the conversation going too. “i guess,” you shrugged, “i’m used to aiming for the top in everything. but honestly, i’m kind of hoping for a little more excitement this year.”

jake’s gaze lingered on you, and you couldn’t help but wonder if he could tell that there was more to your words than you were letting on. that was something you’ll never know for now.

you tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear (not on purpose ofc), growing shy under his gaze and looking anywhere else but his face. “so, besides physics and soccer, is there anything else you’re secretly amazing at?” you asked with a playful grin.

jake raised an eyebrow, a spark of humor in his eyes. “well, if I tell you, then it won’t be a secret, will it?” he smirked before adding, “but, fine… i make a mean instant ramen. like, gourmet-level stuff. think: chopped scallions, the works. not to brag or anything, but i can easily add a soft-boiled egg without breaking it.”

you try to hold in your laughter at jake’s randomness but failed miserably. “how fancy. i guess that means you’re ready to survive college. instant ramen mastery is a pretty big deal.”

he chuckled, leaning in as if sharing a secret. “yeah, i’m prepared for all those ‘late-night study sessions,’ if you know what I mean.” his tone carried a hint of innuendo, just enough to send a jolt of heat to your cheeks.

guess those rumors of him being a natural flirt were true after all.

you tried to keep your composure, fiddling with your pen to distract yourself, and dropped it on your desk. “late-night study sessions, huh?” you shot back, trying to match his teasing tone. “i hope you’re as good at cramming… as you are at cooking.”

jake blinked, momentarily taken aback by your response before breaking into a laugh. “touché,” he said, his grin widening as he looked at you. “you know, you’re cute when you get all bold like that.”

there he goes again. the way he said it, like he was genuinely amused and maybe a little impressed, made your pulse quicken once again. there was something thrilling about the way he could fluster you so effortlessly, and the fact that you’d managed to catch him off guard, even for a moment, made it all the more fun.

gosh, you could hardly believe yourself right now. you let out a laugh, shrugging it off.

“don’t worry, y/n. I’ll keep my late-night ramen skills to myself… for now.”

you giggled, shaking your head. “deal. but if you really want to impress me, you’ll have to show off those ramen skills eventually.”

jake bit his bottom lip and chuckled. you could see a glint of playfulness still in his eyes, “we’ll see,” he said softly. it was a shock you haven’t said anything that would scare him away, thankfully.

WHAT THE HELL. STOP BITING YOUR LIP!

the playfulness in his eyes made it hard to look away, and for a moment, it felt like you were already friends. more than that, even (delulu). It was an easy kind of chemistry, one that made you wonder how many more conversations like this you’d have in the weeks to come.

ugh, i still got a long way to go, and you’re barely even getting there, y/n.

you cleared your throat, breaking the moment before it could get too intense. “well, i should probably start listing down other of the materials that we need,” you said, a hint of reluctance in your voice.

jake’s smile softened, and he gave a small nod. “right. we can’t slack off, can we?” he handed you your pen and notebook from your desk before you could. he steals a glance at you for a moment before dragging his chair back to its proper place. “i’ll see you saturday then. don’t be late, layla hates it when people keep her waiting.”

you laughed and waved him off. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

someone from the other side of the room calls jake, catching his attention. he nods at them, turning to you and nodding once. he stands up from his chair, giving you one last smile as he heads to their direction. you feel your cheeks heat up at his departure.

as soon as jake is out of your vision, you couldn’t help but feel a little giddy, smiling to yourself. the rest of the class continued chatting on around you, but it all seemed muted compared to the pulse in your ears. if today was any indication, working with him was going to be… interesting, to say the least. you’re partnered with sim jaeyun for goodness sake.

as you jotted down the materials list, you couldn’t help but sneak another glance at him across the room. this was just the beginning. you had a lot more planned than just a physics project.

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