Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
â± đąđđđđđđđ : Yooah(you)had everything ready to see his crush confess to antoher girl. What started with her helping him to arrange a confession, ended catastrophically. Misunderstandings, miscommunication, tension and unspoken feelings.
pairing: yang jungwon x female!reader
contains: angst. a lot, but not heavily. reader isn't very aware of her own feelings at first. blurred lines. hurt. confusion. humor. there's also fluff! stubborn both jungwon and reader. eventually smut (MDNI).
word count: 1,6k
chaconnewon's note: hello! here's the first chapter. as always, it's proofread but since english isn't my first languague there may be some mistakes. â„ïž
â â â â â â â â â â sᄱrᄱá„á„Čdᄱ of mᄱᄣá„Čá„ᄎhoᄣ᧠ââ 01 â
| next
The room fell in silence as the scene developed itself.Â
It was supposed to be the first day of springâthe sun shining bright through the class window, the temperature rising slowly as the first flowers began to bloom. That was the day Jungwon decided to confess his love to one of his classmates. He had everything planned; what to say, how to say it, even wrote an additional letter to expand his feelings better and give it to her after his confession was done.Â
For weeks,Yooah was hearing him talking about this precise moment. His eyes shining with anticipation, with a joy Yooah knew she couldnât give to him. Not like she liked himâat least that was what she kept saying to herself, but Yooah couldnât help feeling a bit attracted to him when she saw how dedicated Jungwon was about his feelings. How he planned everything since the confession day to the ways he would do it. Spring? The same day when days start to feel longer and the sun shined brighter like his feelings? The same day that everything seemed to be more colourful, more worth it? That was romance.Â
Jungwon asked her for help. He knew right away that Yooah preferences could be different from his crushâs. In fact, everyone's preferences are different. She liked quiet meetings, keeping the focus away from her. But Jungwon felt bold. Bold enough to announce it in front of all their class. And since Yooah and her were so differentâŠ
Slowly, the room fell in silence. Jungwon clutched his letter into him. This named classmate, at first, looked interested. Even a bit excited about hearing Jungwonâs love confession to her. The way she smiled pointed rightâ she would accept, become his girlfriend and then be the cutest couple on the campus.
They all thought that.Â
Even Yooah.Â
Even Jungwon.Â
But within seconds, her smile took a different meaning. It wasnât warm anymoreâit was stupidly arrogant. Like she was waiting for it. Waiting for him to fall for her and then, when his hopes were impossibly high, turn him down like nothing. It was like she was seeing this coming, like she was expecting him to confess
âDo you think we are in high school?â She scoffed, her smile no longer pleased.
That was the exact moment everyone shut up. Jungwon's smile trembled a bit.Â
â⊠What?â
âI said if you think this would work.â The classmate chuckled dryly, clearly offended. âWhy on Earth would you think I am into you?ââ
That exact moment Jungwon stopped listening, only his painfully fast heartbeat in his ears. Did he hear right? He thought she would be into him, that those shared smiles and glances were reciprocated⊠That he wasn't hallucinating. Yooah was as surprised as him, debating if approaching would be a good idea. The other girl was still laughing, making mean comments that boiled Yooahâs blood and made Jungwon feel pathetic. In one motion, the girl classmate took Jungwonâs letter from his hands, not caring the way he looked at her; pleading, begging silently to not expose his feelings in front of everyone once he was rejected.
But she didnât seem to care.Â
The morning passed in blur. Jungwon was nowhere to be found and Yooah was constantly searching for him, glancing around in case to catch a glimpse of him. Of course that didnât happen. The memory of Jungwonâs faceâhurted, humilliatedâhaunted her for the rest of the day. The ache in her chest was a clear sign she shouldnât ignore, but she pushed her feelings to the side and focused on finding Jungwon.Â
For, at least, give him silent support.Â
When she turned the corner, she bumped into someone. Yooah took a few steps back, rubbing her forehead slowly as her eyes went up. She bumped into Heeseung.
Heeseung was one of Jungwonâs closest friends, before they even made it to the university. His eyes were filled with unspoken worry.Â
âDid youâŠ?â
âI havenât seen him yet.â He said, lowering his voice when a few students passed by them. âI swear to God ifââ
âThere is no use in blaming her now.â Yooah cut him gently, sighing before continuing. âWe should focus on finding him.â
Heeseung nodded, resignated. But, what could they do? They didnât want to put on a show; that would make Jungwon feel worse than he probably does right now.Â
They waved goodbye and Yooah resumed his search for him.Â
For another twenty solid minutes she looked everywhere. Every empty class, the nurse room, the cafeteria(although she was pretty sure he wouldnât be there)and even inside the boyâs bathroom. Itâs like he has vanished from the school, from the world.Â
When she was about to give up, from afar she saw a silhouette sitting alone on a bench, in the middle of the empty campus. At first she approached slowly, like someone who would approach an injured animal. Jungwon acknowledged her but didnât say anything.Â
She sat beside him, keeping a small distance between both bodies. She felt suddenly nervous, not quite sure what to say.Â
Until he broke the silence.Â
âWhy didnât you tell me?â
Yooah blinked. Once, twice, before turning her head slowly to look better at him. Her eyes were calmly searching for his, for any clue that told her what he really meant by that.Â
âWhat are you talking about?â
âWhy didnât you tell me that she didnât like things like that? That she would reject me like that?â
His words sank deep and for a moment she didnât know what to say. She was processing his words, the way he said themâplain, hurted, accusatory. He sounded like the whole mess was Yooahâs fault
âI⊠I didnât know how she was going to react, Jungwon.â She tried to explain to him softly but that only seemed to piss him off more.Â
âYou helped me.â
âI did. But I gave you plenty of ideas of how you couldââ
âAnd yet you let me pick the worse one.â He hissed.Â
Yooah fell silent for a moment, her heart hammering inside her chest. He was blaming her. He was fucking blaming her for his rejection. She felt a pang inside her ribcage: pain, disappointment⊠name it however you want. How was she supposed to know? Was she now a magician? A fortune teller? Her nails dug painfully against her palm.Â
God that was ridiculous.Â
âI canât believe youâre actually blaming me instead of her for hurting your feelings. It wasnât me the one that made fun of you in front of the whole class yet youâre here calling me out.â Her voice was defensive, pained almost.Â
And how couldnât it be? Her friend, one of her most trusted friends, was attacking her for nothing! For something she had no control on it.Â
When she looked back at him, he was playing with his hands, a habit he developed when he was nervous or thinking too much, a habit she knew very well. But at that moment, she didnât think about him regretting his words. She thought about how forward he was. How his mind jumped into shitty conclusions that made zero sense.
The following silence was deafening, charged with unspoken words and emotions. And she hated the fact that his words were heavier for some reason beyond the disappointment and unfairness.Â
She was the first to leave the field, and even if it hurted, she didnât look back.Â
Later that night she was lying on her bed, staring at the ceiling. The conversation she had with Jungwon played on and on inside her head. She tried to understand him, the reason behind his outburst with her even though she knew she didnât do anything wrong.Â
But as time passed by, she couldnât find a good solid reason to defend him. And in the very end, she ended up thinking she was just a useless friend when it came to advice.Â
Her phone vibrated beside her head, on top of the pillow. She slid her finger through the screen and unlocked it. There were several messages from their group chat, probably trying to lighten up the mood.Â
riki: whoâs down for a game play 2niteee?
jakey: sounds good! im in. wat we playing tho?
heeddeung: lol? valorant? stardew valley?
Oh. The last game⊠was Yooahâs favourite. Along with Jungwonâs favourite. True was the fact that itâs been a long time since she actually played. Always using the familiarity and coziness of that game to avoid her problems or stressful days. She would play with him, messing with each other for who died first inside the cave.Â
jakey: bro.Â
riki: bro.Â
heeddeung: bro.Â
heeddeung: my bad ig??? maybe something chill for the night would be okay, idk
wonniecat: if you guys play valo im in.Â
Yooah stared at Jungwonâs message. He never rejected playing a cozy game. And always, always would ask her to join him.Â
But tonight, that wasnât happening.Â
riki: naah thatâs fire. who else?
jakey: count me in.Â
heeddeung: me too.Â
jay: not tonight. have to study.Â
jakey: who else? @yooah maybe?
Her heart skipped a beat. She played valorant too. In fact, she learnt how to play thanks to Heeseung and Jungwon. And even when she didnât feel like playing, they would stream for her.Â
Tonight was a bit overwhelming. Yooah tried to not make the confessing catastrophe about herself since Jungwonâs feelings were hurt the most. But that wasnât about the confession anymore. It was about the fact he didnât hesitate to think it was her fault. How could she act like that conversation didnât have a place?
yooah: iâll pass. have fun ig.Â
She locked her phone, even though minutes after it would pop up notifications showing the rest of them joining a server call.Â
Yooah stared at the ceiling for a few more minutes, before sighing and deciding that going to sleep was the best option for that night
â± đąđđđđđđđ : Yooah(you)had everything ready to see his crush confess to antoher girl. What started with her helping him to arrange a confession, ended catastrophically. Misunderstandings, miscommunication, tension and unspoken feelings.
pairing: yang jungwon x female!reader
contains: angst. a lot, but not heavily. reader isn't very aware of her own feelings at first. blurred lines. hurt. confusion. humor. there's also fluff! stubborn both jungwon and reader. eventually smut (MDNI).
word count: 1,6k
â
â â â â â â â â â â thᄱ strᄱᄱt Îčs Îčsoᄣá„Čtᄱdââ 02â
previous | next
The next morning was tense as hell. Every time they crossed paths, they would ignore each other at first. Yooah's reason was because she still felt slightly hurt that the blame was on her. Jungwon, on other hand, was because guilt settled on his shoulders for snapping at her.
Even though the group still reunited every break time to chatter and all, they wouldnât talk to each other. A few glances or so, but nothing further.
The rest of the boys werenât dumb by any chance, sensing the shift of their demeanor immediately but not saying anything related to it. Because, letâs be real, if any of them dared to open their mouth, they would make the problem even bigger by not addressing it properly.
âSo⊠The class trip is around the corner.â
ââTrue! I've been thinking about it all week!ââ Jake spoke, his eyes shining with unrestrained emotion.
Once a year, the campus administration made a trip near to the beach, close to Busan. It was optional to attend, but they all decided to go together. Of course, it wasnât just a single trip. They would have to do activities related to the classes they would miss. But at the end of the day, anything was better than sitting in class for hours listening to boring lectures.
Yooah, on the other hand, didnât say a word. Her mind pushed her hurt feelings aside to be concerned about another important matterâhow the fuck was she going to afford the trip? Not that she could rely on her parents, they were already doing enough by helping her pay half of her tuition. How was she going to get the money? Working on a part-time job? The simple idea of ending classes to drag her ass into a job made her groan internally. The idea of it was very, very unappealing.
ââCan we decide the rooms we will be sharing?ââ Ni-ki asked.
ââI donât think so but we can askâŠâ
ââAt least we can choose with who we want to sit on the bus.ââ
They kept talking as they reached the cafeteria. Yooahâs steps stopped right on the door.
ââGo first, I have something to do.ââ
And she disappeared between rushed students trying to reach the canteen too. They looked at each other with clear confusion in their eyes. Once they got something to eat, they sat on a table next to the window. Jungwon didnât speak once, his mind still full of yesterdayâs humiliation.
ââSo, how are you feeling, Jungwon?ââ Heeseung asked carefully.
ââLike shit.ââ
ââYup, my bad for asking.ââ He rubbed his neck slightly uncomfortable.
Still, the conversation kept flowing. The guys were smart enough to sense that something more was up with Jungwon. They already knew that the confession had gone badly, he got hurt and now he was distant. But there was something else entirely. Why was Jungwon and Yooah tense with each other?
Suddenly, Heeseung remembered she was looking for him yesterday and as long as he knew, she was the last person he talked to.
Heeseung started to pay more attention to Jungwonâs body reaction. His body wasnât clearly facing them, which showed that he didnât want to get involved in any conversation but why was his body tensing every time someone mentioned Yooahâs name? When he looked around, Heeseung saw Jay looking at Jungwon too, frowned.
Maybe they could talk to each other later back at home.
Time flew when the last class came to an end. Yooah stretched slightly her arms above her head, her sore muscles tensing subtly before relaxing, leaving an aching phantom feeling. She hung her bag onto one shoulder as she started so leave the class. Her head felt like it was about to explodeâpretending to be okay around her friends so she wouldnât make anyone uncomfortable, the argument with Jungwon yesterday, and now the trip.
Maybe if she skipped the canteen until the trip she could afford the payment. Or maybe really get that part-time job. Would any of her hobbies be good enough to get money from them? She sighed, feeling her chest tightening slightly.
ââDo you think you could escape canteen time with me?ââ
A familiar voice sounded in front of her. She snapped her head up as Sunoo stood there, holding two canned coffees in his hands. He handed one to her, that sweet smile curved on his lips.
She smiled, the first smile since yesterday.
ââIâm not gonna ask. Because if you didnât reach me first that means you either donât want to talk about it or youâre not ready.ââ Sunoo said, falling one step beside her.
ââI⊠just think a lot.ââ Which wasnât a lie.
ââCan I know what you were thinking about? Earlier when you left, you seemed⊠lost in your thoughts.ââ
Yooah sighed, her fingers playing with the plastic cap of her coffee. Was it a good idea? Probably yes. Speaking about her concerns would make them less heavy and bearable. But once again, that wouldn't change a thing. Her business with Jungwon was hers. Same with the money issue. Why would she put Sunoo into such a situation?
''I'm not sure if you're gonna be able to help me andâ"
"Hey, I'm not gonna help you if you don't want me to. I can just⊠listen. But I see that something happened. And judging by the timing, must be about yesterday's catastrophe."
She took a small sip from her coffee. If Sunoo sensed something, probably the rest of them did too. She didn't want to be selfish, she didn't want to bring up her shit and make Jungwon look like his feelings were less or didn't matter at all.
"Let's say I'm just tired. Nothing to worry about."
But as the words slipped through her lips, even she didn't believe in them. And Yooah could see in Sunoo's eyes that he didn't either.
They walked side by side with a slightly heavy atmosphere, sharing a comfortable silence until Sunoo spoke again Not to ask Not to push her to speak but to say something random that would ease the tension. And it worked. They continued to chatter a bit more before they said their goodbyes.
When Yooah arrived at her home, she went straight to her room, tossing her bag to the floor and stared at the bed. It was too soon to sleep so she went to take a warm, long shower.
Lost on her thoughts as the water cascaded over her body, she made up her mind a bit. There was no use feeling so sad about Jungwon. Sure she hated to see how one of her closest friend's feelings were hurt but that didn't mean that she should allow him to make her feel bad. And even though she knew she was replaying the scene over and over again, she couldn't stop.
By the time she came back to her room after showering, her phone was vibrating with new messages from the group chat. They were talking about playing video games again. She accepted but didn't turn her mic on, just listened to them talk about trivial things. Occasionally she laughed at herself for some stupid shit Ni-ki would say but nothing more. Just enjoyed her gaming night before sleep.
The next few days were absolute chaos. Homework increased, her sleep schedule got messed up and in her free time she applied for several jobs until she got accepted in one particular coffee shop that turned out to be a place for study sessions.
At first, she was bad at it. She got so many instructions about how to prepare different types of coffee, pastries and more. She had just one coworker to do all the work with her, leaving both of them practically running around nonstop. She cursed to herself while cleaning the tables, not wondering why people couldn't keep a job like that. And why here were always âHelp Wantedâsigns every few weeks.
Still, she kept trying. Because a part of her wanted that 'independence' to afford her stuff. not only the trip but also to step into the working world for the first time. And it was stupidly hard to adapt.
''I can't do this anymoreâŠ'' She groaned.
It was only her fourth shift, and she was already tired.
Her coworker chuckled, shaking his head slowly.
''Think about this⊠We're getting paid weekly. By the end of the week, you will have all your hard work returned.''
Yooah leaned into the mop, looking through the window. That was true. She couldn't wait to see how much she earned for being overworked and how much she would keep stressing to reach her goal.
''How are you so composed? Like running around to get it all done doesn't affect you.''
''This isn't my first time working. I already know how stressful a coffee shop can be.''
The coffee shop was empty when the closing time approached. Yooah was cleaning the last set of mugs while humming a song to herself. Even when her body was feeling tired and tense she found some comfort about enduring another day.
The lights went off, the floor was mopped and when she closed the main door, locking it with the spare key, she felt like she could breathe again. No more orders, no more spilling coffee over herself, no more demanding.
The walk back home was quiet. No students in sight, just a few people heading home too, probably as exhausted as she was from their work shift. Tonight, after getting home, showering, and grabbing something to eat, there won't be any gaming time nor group call.
Just her, lying on her bed and staring at the ceiling.
â± đąđđđđđđđ : Yooah(you)had everything ready to see his crush confess to antoher girl. What started with her helping him to arrange a confession, ended catastrophically. Misunderstandings, miscommunication, tension and unspoken feelings.
pairing: yang jungwon x female!reader
contains: angst. a lot, but not heavily. reader isn't very aware of her own feelings at first. blurred lines. hurt. confusion. humor. there's also fluff! stubborn both jungwon and reader. eventually smut (MDNI).
word count: 1,6k
chaconnewon's note: hello! here's the first chapter. as always, it's proofread but since english isn't my first languague there may be some mistakes. â„ïž
â â â â â â â â â â sᄱrᄱá„á„Čdᄱ of mᄱᄣá„Čá„ᄎhoᄣ᧠ââ 01 â
| next
The room fell in silence as the scene developed itself.Â
It was supposed to be the first day of springâthe sun shining bright through the class window, the temperature rising slowly as the first flowers began to bloom. That was the day Jungwon decided to confess his love to one of his classmates. He had everything planned; what to say, how to say it, even wrote an additional letter to expand his feelings better and give it to her after his confession was done.Â
For weeks,Yooah was hearing him talking about this precise moment. His eyes shining with anticipation, with a joy Yooah knew she couldnât give to him. Not like she liked himâat least that was what she kept saying to herself, but Yooah couldnât help feeling a bit attracted to him when she saw how dedicated Jungwon was about his feelings. How he planned everything since the confession day to the ways he would do it. Spring? The same day when days start to feel longer and the sun shined brighter like his feelings? The same day that everything seemed to be more colourful, more worth it? That was romance.Â
Jungwon asked her for help. He knew right away that Yooah preferences could be different from his crushâs. In fact, everyone's preferences are different. She liked quiet meetings, keeping the focus away from her. But Jungwon felt bold. Bold enough to announce it in front of all their class. And since Yooah and her were so differentâŠ
Slowly, the room fell in silence. Jungwon clutched his letter into him. This named classmate, at first, looked interested. Even a bit excited about hearing Jungwonâs love confession to her. The way she smiled pointed rightâ she would accept, become his girlfriend and then be the cutest couple on the campus.
They all thought that.Â
Even Yooah.Â
Even Jungwon.Â
But within seconds, her smile took a different meaning. It wasnât warm anymoreâit was stupidly arrogant. Like she was waiting for it. Waiting for him to fall for her and then, when his hopes were impossibly high, turn him down like nothing. It was like she was seeing this coming, like she was expecting him to confess
âDo you think we are in high school?â She scoffed, her smile no longer pleased.
That was the exact moment everyone shut up. Jungwon's smile trembled a bit.Â
â⊠What?â
âI said if you think this would work.â The classmate chuckled dryly, clearly offended. âWhy on Earth would you think I am into you?ââ
That exact moment Jungwon stopped listening, only his painfully fast heartbeat in his ears. Did he hear right? He thought she would be into him, that those shared smiles and glances were reciprocated⊠That he wasn't hallucinating. Yooah was as surprised as him, debating if approaching would be a good idea. The other girl was still laughing, making mean comments that boiled Yooahâs blood and made Jungwon feel pathetic. In one motion, the girl classmate took Jungwonâs letter from his hands, not caring the way he looked at her; pleading, begging silently to not expose his feelings in front of everyone once he was rejected.
But she didnât seem to care.Â
The morning passed in blur. Jungwon was nowhere to be found and Yooah was constantly searching for him, glancing around in case to catch a glimpse of him. Of course that didnât happen. The memory of Jungwonâs faceâhurted, humilliatedâhaunted her for the rest of the day. The ache in her chest was a clear sign she shouldnât ignore, but she pushed her feelings to the side and focused on finding Jungwon.Â
For, at least, give him silent support.Â
When she turned the corner, she bumped into someone. Yooah took a few steps back, rubbing her forehead slowly as her eyes went up. She bumped into Heeseung.
Heeseung was one of Jungwonâs closest friends, before they even made it to the university. His eyes were filled with unspoken worry.Â
âDid youâŠ?â
âI havenât seen him yet.â He said, lowering his voice when a few students passed by them. âI swear to God ifââ
âThere is no use in blaming her now.â Yooah cut him gently, sighing before continuing. âWe should focus on finding him.â
Heeseung nodded, resignated. But, what could they do? They didnât want to put on a show; that would make Jungwon feel worse than he probably does right now.Â
They waved goodbye and Yooah resumed his search for him.Â
For another twenty solid minutes she looked everywhere. Every empty class, the nurse room, the cafeteria(although she was pretty sure he wouldnât be there)and even inside the boyâs bathroom. Itâs like he has vanished from the school, from the world.Â
When she was about to give up, from afar she saw a silhouette sitting alone on a bench, in the middle of the empty campus. At first she approached slowly, like someone who would approach an injured animal. Jungwon acknowledged her but didnât say anything.Â
She sat beside him, keeping a small distance between both bodies. She felt suddenly nervous, not quite sure what to say.Â
Until he broke the silence.Â
âWhy didnât you tell me?â
Yooah blinked. Once, twice, before turning her head slowly to look better at him. Her eyes were calmly searching for his, for any clue that told her what he really meant by that.Â
âWhat are you talking about?â
âWhy didnât you tell me that she didnât like things like that? That she would reject me like that?â
His words sank deep and for a moment she didnât know what to say. She was processing his words, the way he said themâplain, hurted, accusatory. He sounded like the whole mess was Yooahâs fault
âI⊠I didnât know how she was going to react, Jungwon.â She tried to explain to him softly but that only seemed to piss him off more.Â
âYou helped me.â
âI did. But I gave you plenty of ideas of how you couldââ
âAnd yet you let me pick the worse one.â He hissed.Â
Yooah fell silent for a moment, her heart hammering inside her chest. He was blaming her. He was fucking blaming her for his rejection. She felt a pang inside her ribcage: pain, disappointment⊠name it however you want. How was she supposed to know? Was she now a magician? A fortune teller? Her nails dug painfully against her palm.Â
God that was ridiculous.Â
âI canât believe youâre actually blaming me instead of her for hurting your feelings. It wasnât me the one that made fun of you in front of the whole class yet youâre here calling me out.â Her voice was defensive, pained almost.Â
And how couldnât it be? Her friend, one of her most trusted friends, was attacking her for nothing! For something she had no control on it.Â
When she looked back at him, he was playing with his hands, a habit he developed when he was nervous or thinking too much, a habit she knew very well. But at that moment, she didnât think about him regretting his words. She thought about how forward he was. How his mind jumped into shitty conclusions that made zero sense.
The following silence was deafening, charged with unspoken words and emotions. And she hated the fact that his words were heavier for some reason beyond the disappointment and unfairness.Â
She was the first to leave the field, and even if it hurted, she didnât look back.Â
Later that night she was lying on her bed, staring at the ceiling. The conversation she had with Jungwon played on and on inside her head. She tried to understand him, the reason behind his outburst with her even though she knew she didnât do anything wrong.Â
But as time passed by, she couldnât find a good solid reason to defend him. And in the very end, she ended up thinking she was just a useless friend when it came to advice.Â
Her phone vibrated beside her head, on top of the pillow. She slid her finger through the screen and unlocked it. There were several messages from their group chat, probably trying to lighten up the mood.Â
riki: whoâs down for a game play 2niteee?
jakey: sounds good! im in. wat we playing tho?
heeddeung: lol? valorant? stardew valley?
Oh. The last game⊠was Yooahâs favourite. Along with Jungwonâs favourite. True was the fact that itâs been a long time since she actually played. Always using the familiarity and coziness of that game to avoid her problems or stressful days. She would play with him, messing with each other for who died first inside the cave.Â
jakey: bro.Â
riki: bro.Â
heeddeung: bro.Â
heeddeung: my bad ig??? maybe something chill for the night would be okay, idk
wonniecat: if you guys play valo im in.Â
Yooah stared at Jungwonâs message. He never rejected playing a cozy game. And always, always would ask her to join him.Â
But tonight, that wasnât happening.Â
riki: naah thatâs fire. who else?
jakey: count me in.Â
heeddeung: me too.Â
jay: not tonight. have to study.Â
jakey: who else? @yooah maybe?
Her heart skipped a beat. She played valorant too. In fact, she learnt how to play thanks to Heeseung and Jungwon. And even when she didnât feel like playing, they would stream for her.Â
Tonight was a bit overwhelming. Yooah tried to not make the confessing catastrophe about herself since Jungwonâs feelings were hurt the most. But that wasnât about the confession anymore. It was about the fact he didnât hesitate to think it was her fault. How could she act like that conversation didnât have a place?
yooah: iâll pass. have fun ig.Â
She locked her phone, even though minutes after it would pop up notifications showing the rest of them joining a server call.Â
Yooah stared at the ceiling for a few more minutes, before sighing and deciding that going to sleep was the best option for that night
â± đąđđđđđđđ : Yooah(you)had everything ready to see his crush confess to antoher girl. What started with her helping him to arrange a confession, ended catastrophically. Misunderstandings, miscommunication, tension and unspoken feelings.
pairing: yang jungwon x female!reader
contains: angst. a lot, but not heavily. reader isn't very aware of her own feelings at first. blurred lines. hurt. confusion. self-doubt. humor. there's also fluff! stubborn both jungwon and reader. eventually smut (MDNI).
word count: still on process.
autor's note: hello! after a long time, I wanted to try something different. this series will be in third person since I feel more comfortable writting long stuff like that. Below you'll have the individual chapters. Some are already written, some not. I'll update them slowly. I hope you really like it! â„ïž
01 âââ đ serenÉde of melÉncholy (wc: 1,6k)
02 âââ đ the street is isolÉted (wc: 1,6k)
03 âââ đ Én endless night (wc: 2k)
04 âââ đ even if it's not the Énswer (wc: 1,6k)
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
i feel like iâm not the only one who struggles with feeling like that so i felt the need to address it here, because maybe some of you donât know how much of a difference interactions actually make for us!! of course likes are fun and i think i can speak for all of us when i say that weâre always very thankful for each and every like on our works but at the end of the day, a like is just a tap on the screen.
what truly motivates us are comments, reblogs, even shooting up an ask telling us that you enjoyed our fic. that human interaction is key!! it makes us feel like our work is actually appreciated, like weâre not just speaking into the void without getting anything back. personally i get so overjoyed whenever i see a comment or a reblog with tags talking about the fic or an ask with some nice words about my works because to me it means that what i created actually matters - it strives me to do more and lifts my mood when iâm hesitant about continuing posting.
donât be shy about expressing your opinion on the fics you read!! we writers donât bite, quite the opposite - every little bit of feedback we get is motivation, and more motivation equals more amazing fics for you to read. <3
contains: soft dom!heeseung x fem!reader, masturbation(f.), cum tasting, praises, panty stealing, veeery slight dirty talking.
wc: ???
a/n: as always it's proofread but there could be mistakes or just phrases that don't make sense at all since english it's not my first language enjoy. âĄ
Playing around with your brotherâs best friend wasnât for the weak. He didnât tell you specifically to not get involved with any of his friends but you could tell by the way he looked at you whenever you got closer to them. Honestly, your intentions were just simple: make friends and get to know them better since they would spend so much time in your house.
But your brother had to play his role of âbig brotherâ, and you were sure as hell he told them to not land a single finger on you. It was obvious since there was always a small space between them and you, even though you all were sitting comfortably on the sofa.Â
That afternoon your brother invited his friends to spend some time before the classes started again. You were lying on your bed, legs hanging from the edge of the bed as you felt yourself getting bored. The loud voices from your brotherâs friends kept you distracted but not for long. You didnât want to see them. And not because you didnât like them, in fact, you had a soft spot for one of them, especially. It was because you just were tired besides bored, and you werenât sure if you could put a smiley face just for them. They would ask, inquire, even bother about. And you were not having none of it.
Three soft knocks on your bedroom door caught your attention. You lifted your head, looking directly at it, but the door remained closed.Â
ââCome in.ââ You answered, sitting on the edge, brows furrowing with confusion. Your brother usually would open the door without asking but who was knocking then?
The door cracked open, revealing a fluffy dark hair first. A curious look searching for you met your gaze, almost lighting up when he found you inside.
ââHey, how are you? Your brother told me you were feeling kinda off and I just wanted to check.ââ
That shouldnât get your heart racing like crazy, but it did. You knew Heeseung was a caring person, someone who was very attentive, alert around his surroundings. Being the oldest in his friend group led him to take some responsibilities such as looking out for the rest of his friends, being someone who people can rely on and so on. Him being here shouldnât be as surprising as you made it look but still. . .
ââYeah, well, Iâm tired. Just that.ââ
ââJust that.ââ He says, mimicking your words.
Since when was he inside your room? Door closed and well accommodated in your desk chair? Not like you minded though but you didnât see him come in. Maybe you were too occupied daydreaming about that little shaking your heart did after seeing him.Â
Silence stretched between you two. Heeseung was humming some old song while he was swinging in your chair, eyes darting at any object in your room. You shifted on your bed, legs crossed as you looked at him. His soft hum made you feel at ease, like he belonged in your room. You liked his company, the way everyone felt comfortable around him made you look at him differently at some point.
His fingers were drumming against your armchair, and with your gaze glued to them, your mind started to shower you with some kind of flashbacks. Weeks ago, in some party your brother arranged, was the first time you felt a spark between you two. The living room was crowded, people dancing aimless at the music beat. And then you felt it, his hand placed at your waist, gentle but firm at the same time. He passed behind you and for a moment he squeezed it before leaving you there, with emotion bubbling in your chest that you couldnât put words on them.Â
After that, there were subtle hints that something was going on. What? You couldnât quite tell. Whenever he came to your place, just to hang out with your brother and you showed up just to grab a drink, or look for something in the living room, his eyes were searching yours. They were sparkling with unspoken thoughts. And you did notice it. How could you not?
Or every time the group laughed at something silly or dumb, you were the first person he was looking at, leaving you confused and flustered.
âây/n?ââ
You snapped back to reality. He was closer than before, his knees almost brushing yours. Heeseungâs gaze was curious over you, studying your facial expression, what kind of thoughts were running on your mind. And you hated how simply you could open to him, like a book. Like you wanted him to read everything about you.
ââOh, you still have that bruise?ââ Heeseung pointed at the dark, blue-ish spot almost on your inner thigh.
Instantly you pressed your legs together, hiding it. He raised an eyebrow, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. He came closer, palms resting at your knees.
ââIt hurted, didnât it?ââ
ââYes, I didn't though I bumped so hard.ââ You giggled, earning a breathy laugh from him.
Heeseung caressed your knee, and then looked at you.
ââOpen them for me.ââ
Your breath hitched, feeling the heat scaling quickly to your cheeks. What the fuck? You looked back at him. His head was tilted waiting for a response. At first look, he didnât sound like he was teasing, or speaking with double meaning. But something shifted in your room, the way his gaze was almost piercing youâŠ
ââSpread them so I can take a look at your bruise, dummy.ââ
You thought about it, once, twice⊠And then, without saying anything, your legs parted. Slowly like you were unsure of what to show. Yeah, right, the bruise you forgot you had in⊠such a place. You didnât think anyone would remember. Not even you, and hell not even Heeseung.
Heeseung leaned closer to the bruise, examining it. His face was inches away from it and you asked yourself why the hell he had to be so close to you. From another point of view it looked so intimate and suddenly thought: what if your brother showed up unexpectedly at your room? It made sense since he was his friend, and knew he was with you. In your room. Alone.
Your body stiffened and you werenât sure if it was because of the thought of being caught in such a committed position, or it was because you felt his fingers rubbing softly the dark patch on your skin. When your eyes looked down, Heeseung was already looking directly at them. They were subtly darker, sparkling with some energy you didnât know what was. For a moment, none of you dared to say anything. Just let that silence stretch between you two again.
His fingertips kept rubbing your inner thigh skin, so slowly ascending near to the edge of your pyjama shorts, where the bruise was no longer extended.
ââYou look so tense, y/nâŠââ He said.Â
Of course, like he wasnât inches away from actually touching your clothed core.
ââ... But still so pretty as always.ââ
You looked away quickly, embarrassment almost swallowing you whole. Heeseung took you by your chin with his free hand, making you look directly at him. Your face felt hot, your cheeks were burning like hell, tinted with a strong shade of pink. Luckily you werenât the only one with that flushed look on your face. Even if it was a bit, Heeseung was flushed as well.
While holding still your chin, his other hand travelled further. His fingers brushed slowly your core through your pyjama shorts. The sudden touch made you hiss, and tried to close your legs but he was between them, sitting on your chair and making it impossible to protect your pussy. You felt your breath unsteady, heavy as his fingertips moved in slow circles against your covered clit, pressing just the necessary amount of pressure. And even though it was just a gentle press, it had you contracting your legs.
Heeseung carefully watched your reactions, your expressions. Seeking if you felt uncomfortable. But as soon as he heard a soft whimper leaving your lips, he knew he was doing good.Â
ââHe-HeeseungâŠââ You softly whined, his gaze looking quickly at you.
You couldnât dare to say anything, not finding the right words because of that gentle yet firm stimulation on your clit, You just spread your legs a bit more, letting his hand move more freely. His movements didnât stop. If anything, he pressed slightly firmer into it, making you contract your legs muscles.Â
His touch was gentle, almost caring for someone who claimed to be âjust your brotherâs best friendâ, and even though both of you knew damn well that what you were doing was âwrongâ, complicated, neither of you seemed to stop. You let him explore at his own rhythm, watching his expressions carefully. And he was attentive at every reaction, every hitched breath, and even the way your fingers curled around the sheets beneath you.
ââWe shouldnâtâŠââ You trailed off, words dying in your throat as you felt his fingers sliding lower and pressing against your clothed entrance.
You inhaled sharply, eyes fluttering closed briefly. With that movement, he said everything and nothing at the same time. Like he knew it, but didnât want to stop.
And honestly, you didnât want either.Â
When you opened your eyes again, he was closer than before. His fingers stopped teasing, instead his hand went to your hips, fingers digging firmly on the flush of your skin. His body leant in, so close to your face you felt his warm breath fanning over your lips. The way Heeseung was looking at youâwith want, with that patience that always was typical of him, made your heart clench with unfamiliar warmth.
Then you felt it. His lips on yours. Tentative. A single, gentle pression. Seeing that you didnât pull away, he moved them slowly, parting his own lips to capture yours, setting a comfortable rhythm for you to follow. And so you did. You kissed him back, and realised you always wanted to do that. To share this moment with him. He wasnât your first kiss, and you were pretty sure you werenât his either but you could swear that felt different to any other person you kissed before.
The air felt thicker by now, filled with the distant sound of kisses and the feelings neither of you dared to say out loud. When he pulled away first, your senses came back, hyperaware of your environment. Your ragged breathing, his softs pants, both of your cheeks flushed.
ââCan I keep going?ââ Heeseung asked, his soft spoken words tightening your chest.
You nodded with anticipation. And thatâs all that he needed.
Slowly but carefully, Heeseung hooked his fingers on the waistband of your pyjama shorts and underwear, tugging it slightly before sliding the clothes down your legs before tossing them on the bed, behind you. With his hands on your knees, he spread your legs again and that time didnât hesitate when his fingers went directly to circle your clit.
Your arms that were supporting your body weight almost gave out, using all your strength to stay sat in front of him. Heeseung started slowly again, testing, knowing your body and your reactions.
ââYou are doing so well already.ââ He praised softly, even though his voice was undeniably strained.Â
As minutes went on, soft pants started to leave your lips. He used your slick arousal to coat his fingers and rub easily your nub of nerves, earning gentle whimpers from you. His pace was maddening but also felt the right amount. But as if he could read inside your mind, his pace quickened. Soon, squelching sounds filled the room, along with your breathy moans and his soft grunts.
His free hand tilted your chin, forcing you to look at him. And that was a big mistake. Because his eyes were dark, piercing yours. His brows were furrowed as he was using all his strength to keep his hand going. But the truth was he was holding back to not actually moan your name like he was the one getting pleasured.Â
ââLook at you⊠So wet and puffy.ââ He hummed, making your whole body shudder.
And it was embarrassing to say less, the way you were almost dripping thanks to a bit of teasing, a slow kiss and now by getting your clit circled tightly and firmly.
ââYou touch me⊠so good.ââ You managed to say, unable to look away due his thigh grip on your chin.Â
ââMhn? Feels good?ââ
He pressed harder making you almost writhe right there. He didnât slow down not even once; the hand that was on your face had to descend lower to hold into your hips and prevent you from moving against his hand. That was his job to do, not yours. Yours was sitting prettily and took his fingers.Â
ââI bet youâre close.ââ He whispered, his fingers sliding just to tease your entrance. ââWant me to keep going, mh? Until you make a mess on my fingers?ââ
He didnât give you time to respond when two fingers slid inside you, pressing against your upper wall and massaging it as his finger pumped steadily in and out. Your hand flew quickly over your mouth, biting it hard to muffle your sounds. Your legs trembled more visibly now, your panicked yet pleading eyes looking at him.
The builded tension finally snapped. Your fingers curling so tight into your bed covers that even your knuckles turned white. Your orgasm hit you hard, your inner walls clutching his fingers tightly and your thighs trapping his wrist between them.
The wave spreads through your body endlessly, hot and dizzy, leaving your heartbeat painfully uneven. Your trembling hand whipped away the small amount of drool that soaked your mouthâs corner as you bit it to remain silent.Â
Carefully, he pulled his fingers away, taking his time to take a look at your shivering body. Flushed cheeks, panting and your well fucked pussy. It was too much for him to handle, but he took every last amount of self control he had left to breathe in and out. Without thinking, he brought his fingers inside his mouth, humming at the sweet and salty taste. Heeseung sucked them clean before releasing it with a small, wet pop.
ââYou good?ââ He asked, lowering his voice. He quickly looked around your room, grabbing your water bottle that was on your night drawer and handing it to you. ââHere, drink some.ââ
As you did, he couldnât help but smile softly at you. What you just did⊠wasnât just a one-thing night. Not for him, at least. And the thought of you again squirming thanks to his fingers, or twisting beneath his body made his heart beat faster. But on top, the image of you kissing him again, standing close to his body and maybe, just maybe, talking about your feelings, was what made his head dizzy.Â
You left the bottle forgotten on your bed, that shy look coming back to your eyes as you gently closed your legs.
ââYou should come back downstairs⊠My brother gets extremely suspicious.ââ You smiled.
He chuckled, knowing right that the moment he stepped in the livingroom, he would be interrogated by him. Probably angry because he took so long, and her brother wasnât dumb by any chances. But he couldnât care less.
ââThis is for you.ââ
He took your pyjama pants as he gently placed them back to place. Like a lover would do. Then, he ruffled your hair with affection.
ââAnd thisâŠââ Heeseung shook your panties slightlyâwhich were still moist from the previous teasing. ââ...is for me.ââ
contains: soft dom!heeseung x fem!reader, masturbation(f.), cum tasting, praises, panty stealing, veeery slight dirty talking.
wc: ???
a/n: as always it's proofread but there could be mistakes or just phrases that don't make sense at all since english it's not my first language enjoy. âĄ
Playing around with your brotherâs best friend wasnât for the weak. He didnât tell you specifically to not get involved with any of his friends but you could tell by the way he looked at you whenever you got closer to them. Honestly, your intentions were just simple: make friends and get to know them better since they would spend so much time in your house.
But your brother had to play his role of âbig brotherâ, and you were sure as hell he told them to not land a single finger on you. It was obvious since there was always a small space between them and you, even though you all were sitting comfortably on the sofa.Â
That afternoon your brother invited his friends to spend some time before the classes started again. You were lying on your bed, legs hanging from the edge of the bed as you felt yourself getting bored. The loud voices from your brotherâs friends kept you distracted but not for long. You didnât want to see them. And not because you didnât like them, in fact, you had a soft spot for one of them, especially. It was because you just were tired besides bored, and you werenât sure if you could put a smiley face just for them. They would ask, inquire, even bother about. And you were not having none of it.
Three soft knocks on your bedroom door caught your attention. You lifted your head, looking directly at it, but the door remained closed.Â
ââCome in.ââ You answered, sitting on the edge, brows furrowing with confusion. Your brother usually would open the door without asking but who was knocking then?
The door cracked open, revealing a fluffy dark hair first. A curious look searching for you met your gaze, almost lighting up when he found you inside.
ââHey, how are you? Your brother told me you were feeling kinda off and I just wanted to check.ââ
That shouldnât get your heart racing like crazy, but it did. You knew Heeseung was a caring person, someone who was very attentive, alert around his surroundings. Being the oldest in his friend group led him to take some responsibilities such as looking out for the rest of his friends, being someone who people can rely on and so on. Him being here shouldnât be as surprising as you made it look but still. . .
ââYeah, well, Iâm tired. Just that.ââ
ââJust that.ââ He says, mimicking your words.
Since when was he inside your room? Door closed and well accommodated in your desk chair? Not like you minded though but you didnât see him come in. Maybe you were too occupied daydreaming about that little shaking your heart did after seeing him.Â
Silence stretched between you two. Heeseung was humming some old song while he was swinging in your chair, eyes darting at any object in your room. You shifted on your bed, legs crossed as you looked at him. His soft hum made you feel at ease, like he belonged in your room. You liked his company, the way everyone felt comfortable around him made you look at him differently at some point.
His fingers were drumming against your armchair, and with your gaze glued to them, your mind started to shower you with some kind of flashbacks. Weeks ago, in some party your brother arranged, was the first time you felt a spark between you two. The living room was crowded, people dancing aimless at the music beat. And then you felt it, his hand placed at your waist, gentle but firm at the same time. He passed behind you and for a moment he squeezed it before leaving you there, with emotion bubbling in your chest that you couldnât put words on them.Â
After that, there were subtle hints that something was going on. What? You couldnât quite tell. Whenever he came to your place, just to hang out with your brother and you showed up just to grab a drink, or look for something in the living room, his eyes were searching yours. They were sparkling with unspoken thoughts. And you did notice it. How could you not?
Or every time the group laughed at something silly or dumb, you were the first person he was looking at, leaving you confused and flustered.
âây/n?ââ
You snapped back to reality. He was closer than before, his knees almost brushing yours. Heeseungâs gaze was curious over you, studying your facial expression, what kind of thoughts were running on your mind. And you hated how simply you could open to him, like a book. Like you wanted him to read everything about you.
ââOh, you still have that bruise?ââ Heeseung pointed at the dark, blue-ish spot almost on your inner thigh.
Instantly you pressed your legs together, hiding it. He raised an eyebrow, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. He came closer, palms resting at your knees.
ââIt hurted, didnât it?ââ
ââYes, I didn't though I bumped so hard.ââ You giggled, earning a breathy laugh from him.
Heeseung caressed your knee, and then looked at you.
ââOpen them for me.ââ
Your breath hitched, feeling the heat scaling quickly to your cheeks. What the fuck? You looked back at him. His head was tilted waiting for a response. At first look, he didnât sound like he was teasing, or speaking with double meaning. But something shifted in your room, the way his gaze was almost piercing youâŠ
ââSpread them so I can take a look at your bruise, dummy.ââ
You thought about it, once, twice⊠And then, without saying anything, your legs parted. Slowly like you were unsure of what to show. Yeah, right, the bruise you forgot you had in⊠such a place. You didnât think anyone would remember. Not even you, and hell not even Heeseung.
Heeseung leaned closer to the bruise, examining it. His face was inches away from it and you asked yourself why the hell he had to be so close to you. From another point of view it looked so intimate and suddenly thought: what if your brother showed up unexpectedly at your room? It made sense since he was his friend, and knew he was with you. In your room. Alone.
Your body stiffened and you werenât sure if it was because of the thought of being caught in such a committed position, or it was because you felt his fingers rubbing softly the dark patch on your skin. When your eyes looked down, Heeseung was already looking directly at them. They were subtly darker, sparkling with some energy you didnât know what was. For a moment, none of you dared to say anything. Just let that silence stretch between you two again.
His fingertips kept rubbing your inner thigh skin, so slowly ascending near to the edge of your pyjama shorts, where the bruise was no longer extended.
ââYou look so tense, y/nâŠââ He said.Â
Of course, like he wasnât inches away from actually touching your clothed core.
ââ... But still so pretty as always.ââ
You looked away quickly, embarrassment almost swallowing you whole. Heeseung took you by your chin with his free hand, making you look directly at him. Your face felt hot, your cheeks were burning like hell, tinted with a strong shade of pink. Luckily you werenât the only one with that flushed look on your face. Even if it was a bit, Heeseung was flushed as well.
While holding still your chin, his other hand travelled further. His fingers brushed slowly your core through your pyjama shorts. The sudden touch made you hiss, and tried to close your legs but he was between them, sitting on your chair and making it impossible to protect your pussy. You felt your breath unsteady, heavy as his fingertips moved in slow circles against your covered clit, pressing just the necessary amount of pressure. And even though it was just a gentle press, it had you contracting your legs.
Heeseung carefully watched your reactions, your expressions. Seeking if you felt uncomfortable. But as soon as he heard a soft whimper leaving your lips, he knew he was doing good.Â
ââHe-HeeseungâŠââ You softly whined, his gaze looking quickly at you.
You couldnât dare to say anything, not finding the right words because of that gentle yet firm stimulation on your clit, You just spread your legs a bit more, letting his hand move more freely. His movements didnât stop. If anything, he pressed slightly firmer into it, making you contract your legs muscles.Â
His touch was gentle, almost caring for someone who claimed to be âjust your brotherâs best friendâ, and even though both of you knew damn well that what you were doing was âwrongâ, complicated, neither of you seemed to stop. You let him explore at his own rhythm, watching his expressions carefully. And he was attentive at every reaction, every hitched breath, and even the way your fingers curled around the sheets beneath you.
ââWe shouldnâtâŠââ You trailed off, words dying in your throat as you felt his fingers sliding lower and pressing against your clothed entrance.
You inhaled sharply, eyes fluttering closed briefly. With that movement, he said everything and nothing at the same time. Like he knew it, but didnât want to stop.
And honestly, you didnât want either.Â
When you opened your eyes again, he was closer than before. His fingers stopped teasing, instead his hand went to your hips, fingers digging firmly on the flush of your skin. His body leant in, so close to your face you felt his warm breath fanning over your lips. The way Heeseung was looking at youâwith want, with that patience that always was typical of him, made your heart clench with unfamiliar warmth.
Then you felt it. His lips on yours. Tentative. A single, gentle pression. Seeing that you didnât pull away, he moved them slowly, parting his own lips to capture yours, setting a comfortable rhythm for you to follow. And so you did. You kissed him back, and realised you always wanted to do that. To share this moment with him. He wasnât your first kiss, and you were pretty sure you werenât his either but you could swear that felt different to any other person you kissed before.
The air felt thicker by now, filled with the distant sound of kisses and the feelings neither of you dared to say out loud. When he pulled away first, your senses came back, hyperaware of your environment. Your ragged breathing, his softs pants, both of your cheeks flushed.
ââCan I keep going?ââ Heeseung asked, his soft spoken words tightening your chest.
You nodded with anticipation. And thatâs all that he needed.
Slowly but carefully, Heeseung hooked his fingers on the waistband of your pyjama shorts and underwear, tugging it slightly before sliding the clothes down your legs before tossing them on the bed, behind you. With his hands on your knees, he spread your legs again and that time didnât hesitate when his fingers went directly to circle your clit.
Your arms that were supporting your body weight almost gave out, using all your strength to stay sat in front of him. Heeseung started slowly again, testing, knowing your body and your reactions.
ââYou are doing so well already.ââ He praised softly, even though his voice was undeniably strained.Â
As minutes went on, soft pants started to leave your lips. He used your slick arousal to coat his fingers and rub easily your nub of nerves, earning gentle whimpers from you. His pace was maddening but also felt the right amount. But as if he could read inside your mind, his pace quickened. Soon, squelching sounds filled the room, along with your breathy moans and his soft grunts.
His free hand tilted your chin, forcing you to look at him. And that was a big mistake. Because his eyes were dark, piercing yours. His brows were furrowed as he was using all his strength to keep his hand going. But the truth was he was holding back to not actually moan your name like he was the one getting pleasured.Â
ââLook at you⊠So wet and puffy.ââ He hummed, making your whole body shudder.
And it was embarrassing to say less, the way you were almost dripping thanks to a bit of teasing, a slow kiss and now by getting your clit circled tightly and firmly.
ââYou touch me⊠so good.ââ You managed to say, unable to look away due his thigh grip on your chin.Â
ââMhn? Feels good?ââ
He pressed harder making you almost writhe right there. He didnât slow down not even once; the hand that was on your face had to descend lower to hold into your hips and prevent you from moving against his hand. That was his job to do, not yours. Yours was sitting prettily and took his fingers.Â
ââI bet youâre close.ââ He whispered, his fingers sliding just to tease your entrance. ââWant me to keep going, mh? Until you make a mess on my fingers?ââ
He didnât give you time to respond when two fingers slid inside you, pressing against your upper wall and massaging it as his finger pumped steadily in and out. Your hand flew quickly over your mouth, biting it hard to muffle your sounds. Your legs trembled more visibly now, your panicked yet pleading eyes looking at him.
The builded tension finally snapped. Your fingers curling so tight into your bed covers that even your knuckles turned white. Your orgasm hit you hard, your inner walls clutching his fingers tightly and your thighs trapping his wrist between them.
The wave spreads through your body endlessly, hot and dizzy, leaving your heartbeat painfully uneven. Your trembling hand whipped away the small amount of drool that soaked your mouthâs corner as you bit it to remain silent.Â
Carefully, he pulled his fingers away, taking his time to take a look at your shivering body. Flushed cheeks, panting and your well fucked pussy. It was too much for him to handle, but he took every last amount of self control he had left to breathe in and out. Without thinking, he brought his fingers inside his mouth, humming at the sweet and salty taste. Heeseung sucked them clean before releasing it with a small, wet pop.
ââYou good?ââ He asked, lowering his voice. He quickly looked around your room, grabbing your water bottle that was on your night drawer and handing it to you. ââHere, drink some.ââ
As you did, he couldnât help but smile softly at you. What you just did⊠wasnât just a one-thing night. Not for him, at least. And the thought of you again squirming thanks to his fingers, or twisting beneath his body made his heart beat faster. But on top, the image of you kissing him again, standing close to his body and maybe, just maybe, talking about your feelings, was what made his head dizzy.Â
You left the bottle forgotten on your bed, that shy look coming back to your eyes as you gently closed your legs.
ââYou should come back downstairs⊠My brother gets extremely suspicious.ââ You smiled.
He chuckled, knowing right that the moment he stepped in the livingroom, he would be interrogated by him. Probably angry because he took so long, and her brother wasnât dumb by any chances. But he couldnât care less.
ââThis is for you.ââ
He took your pyjama pants as he gently placed them back to place. Like a lover would do. Then, he ruffled your hair with affection.
ââAnd thisâŠââ Heeseung shook your panties slightlyâwhich were still moist from the previous teasing. ââ...is for me.ââ
âââăâ BREAKAWAY âžâžâž yang jungwon .á
YANG. J ౚà§
SYNOPSIS! â youâre a sweetheart, which makes you the most popular girl in school. and that has perks, being with the most popular guy in school. what was once a beautiful relationship, suddenly turned toxic and abusive. as a final senior project, youâre partnered up with the one and onlyâyang jungwon. the nerdiest yet sweetest boy. and the more you hang out with him, the more your heart suddenly heals.
# original plot !
ăâă â PAIRING: yang jungwon x popular girl/f!reader, â„ GENRES: angst, smut â„ WARNING (S): soft smut as jungwon in this story is a virgin! toxic boyfriend. slight read of abuse. emotional fl. â„ WORD COUNT: 5k â„ ÂĄthe way i portray some idols is not how they act in real life! reader is advised.
it was a slow monday when the driver pulled up in front of the school gates. the brakes screeched a little, announcing your arrival louder than you wanted. you grabbed your backpack and phone as the driver stepped out to open your door. you thanked him with a small bow before heading toward the entrance.
you smoothed out the wrinkles in your skirt and ran your fingers through your hair to make sure everything was in place. a few heads turned. people whispered, waved, smiled-some shy, some a little too eager. you waved back, polite as always, the kind of friendly that made everyone think they knew you.
unlocking your phone, you tapped your boyfriend's name and sent a quick text: hi, u here? then you looked up again, walking slowly through the halls like you had all the time in the world.
you'd just reached the stairs when someone suddenly jumped onto your back. you turned around to find your best friend, seol sullyoon, grinning from ear to ear.
"you're so lost in your own world!" she laughed, looping her arm through yours as you both started up the stairs together.
"sorry," you apologized. "i hate monday's."
sullyoon let out another laugh. "i know that." she said. "i'm actually excited today. the teacher's finally gonna give us our senior project and partners. i hope we're together!"
you looked at her with a playful look. "sully, last time we were partners, we ended up failing the assignment."
she playfully rolled her eyes. "it was one time, it won't happen again."
you both laugh it off as you finally made it to your homeroom. you walked inside, the both of you instantly heading for the seats in the back. there, you take out your books and pencil bag, until you finally spotted your boyfriend.
he leaned against his desk, his basketball in his hand as his friends surrounded him in a circle. someone said something that made him laugh out loud, which sullyoon finally looked up.
"oh, there's yeonjun." she says in a flat tone. "has he seen you yet?"
you shook your head. "i don't think so. i wonder if he saw my text."
sullyoon scoffed, loud enough for only you to hear.
"yeah, right."
you turned to her. "why that tone?"
"y/n, are you really that blind? he doesn't even pay attention to you anymore. why don't you just break up with him? wonyoung's basically waiting for you both to end it any minute now."
you froze for a second, eyes darting toward the front of the room. you couldn't break up with him. it wasn't that easy. you didn't even have a say in when things ended, he did.
"you're crazy. it's just your mind," you said with a small laugh, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach your eyes.
sullyoon sighed. "don't know what spell he has you under, but i hope you leave him, y/n."
that was the last thing she said before the homeroom teacher walked in. everyone shuffled into their seats, the room quickly going quiet. you stared at the board, pretending to listen, though her words still hung heavy in the air.
the teacher opened his book and adjusted his glasses, writing on the board. "alright, let's talk about the senior project."
half the class groaned, and a few people muttered something under their breath.
everyone knew the senior project was a lot to handle. it had a reputation-stories from past classes about sleepless nights and near breakdowns.
"this year," the teacher began, "you'll write about how storytelling affects empathy."
you tapped your pen against your notebook, pretending to focus while sneaking glances at your boyfriend across the room.
"and," the teacher continued, "you'll also write a short story. you'll work in pairs, groups of two."
half the class cheered, the other half groaned. you silently prayed you'd be paired with someone you actually knew.
the teacher started reading out names, and you and sullyoon leaned toward each other, whispering little comments about the pairs, some harmless, some not so much until your names came close.
"sullyoon with...park jongseong."
sullyoon groaned immediately. "jay? the guy who carries his guitar everywhere?"
"he's not bad," you giggled.
"no-he's a loser." she rolled her eyes dramatically. "switch with me, please," she begged, tugging at your arm.
"y/n... you'll be with..." the teacher paused, squinting at the paper in his hands. "yang jungwon."
you closed your eyes and let out a quiet sigh, annoyance slipping through before you could hide it. sullyoon giggled beside you, whispering, "never mind."
you glanced across the room. jungwon sat near the corner, black glasses slipping down his nose, eyes glued to the board like he couldn't care less. jay nudged him, laughing about something, but jungwon barely reacted.
you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and turned back toward the front, trying to focus as the teacher kept reading names.
"choi yeonjun with...jang wonyoung."
the sound of his voice saying her name made your chest tighten. the teacher closed his notebook and started explaining the rest of the project, but his words blurred into background noise.
you couldn't stop looking at them, your boyfriend and the girl who'd been waiting for this exact moment.
maybe this was how she'd win.
and maybe what hurt most... was that part of you already knew she would.
â
after school, you made your way toward the gym to meet yeonjun. it had become routine, heâd finish practice, youâd wait, and then heâd take you somewhere before heading home. it was your little thing.
you turned the corner, spotting the tall gym building just as the doors swung open. your lips curved into a small smile when you saw himâuntil you realized he wasnât alone.
beside him stood a tall girl, long black hair catching the afternoon light, pale skin glowing under the sun. wonyoung.
you stopped walking. not too close, but close enough for them to notice if they bothered to look.
they stood side by side, laughter spilling between them. yeonjun said something that made her tilt her head back, her posture perfect, her gaze fixed on him like no one else existed. then you saw how his hand brushed against the edge of her skirt, casual, familiar. a smirk tugged at her lips.
you stepped forward, heart thudding, voice soft but steady.
âyeonjun?â
he turned toward you, his hand slipping back as wonyoungâs fingers tightened around her backpack straps.
âiâll see you tomorrow,â she said lightly, her gaze flicking to you. âfor our senior project, of course.â
she brushed past you with a smirk that lingered longer than her perfume, leaving behind the kind of silence that burned.
you took a few steps forward, stopping in front of yeonjun. âwhat was that about?â you asked quietly, trying to sound calm but already hearing the tremor in your own voice.
he sighed, dragging the towel from around his neck to wipe the sweat on his temple. âit was about the senior project. you heard her.â
âbut it didnât seem like it,â you said, your voice soft but sharp. âthe way you were so close to her felt off. do you know sheâs trying to get after youââ
before you could finish, his hand shot out and grabbed your wrist. hard. the sudden pressure made you stumble closer, your breath catching.
his eyes met yours, calm in a way that felt dangerous.
âdonât question anything and just listen to what i say,â he hissed, eyes locking onto yours.
âokayâjust let go of my hand, youâre hurting me.â your voice came out small, trembling. his grip only tightened.
you met his gaze, searching for something gentle, something familiarâbut all you saw was anger. irritation. this wasnât the yeonjun you knew. at least, not the one you thought you knew.
âitâs gonna blow my fucking mind that youâll start complaining about me working with wonyoung,â he muttered, his voice low and rough. âitâs not my fault youâre working with that loser in our class, and iâm not making it a big deal.â
his fingers finally released you. the ache in your wrist pulsed, and you winced quietly. he didnât even look sorry. he just stared, waiting for you to say something.
âiâm sorryâyouâre right,â you whispered, forcing a smile, brushing your hair out of your face before the tears could spill.
you swallowed the fear sitting heavy in your chest, pretending everything was fine just as the gym doors opened. a group of boys walked out, laughing loudly, breaking the tension for a brief, fragile second.
they looked over at you and yeonjun, and you recognized one of themâjungwon.
his eyes caught yours for a moment, and you could tell he noticed the gloss in them, the way they gave you away even when you tried to hold it in.
the taller guy beside him bounced a basketball against the floor, walking up for a handshake with your boyfriend.
âjun, great practice today,â he said with an easy grin.
âah, heeseung. itâs always a great practice when weâre on the same team, right?â yeonjun replied, laughing in that sarcastic way only you could read.
you glanced toward jungwon again. he was talking to jay now, but his attention flicked back to you. his hand pushed his glasses up his nose, and you saw the quick shift in his eyes when he noticed how you were holding your wrist, protective and hidden.
you tucked your hand behind your back, breaking the eye contact just as quickly. yeonjun said a few more goodbyes, his tone suddenly lighter, charming again.
the group of seven walked off together, their voices echoing down the hallway until they disappeared.
a moment later, yeonjun turned and started walking toward the exit. you followed, quickening your pace to keep up, just like always.
if anyone had watched from afar, theyâd probably feel bad for you. theyâd say you didnât deserve this. but if only they knew you werenât trapped, not really. you stayed because you were manipulated into thinking you had to.
and because, in some twisted way, you wanted to.
the next day, the empty halls glowed with morning light spilling through the windows. the air felt fresh, untouched. tuesdays were usually the days you came in earlyâyour quiet time before the noise, before everyone else filled the space.
your shoes clicked softly against the floor as you walked, eyes fixed on the tiles ahead of you. the memory of yesterday still clung to you like static, refusing to let go. every time your wrist brushed against your thigh, you felt that faint ache, a reminder of something you didnât want to name.
you reached your classroom door, turned the handle slowly, and slipped inside.
it was quiet.
and then you noticed, you werenât alone.
jungwon was there, sitting in his usual seat near the window. his back faced you, shoulders slightly hunched, headphones on. sunlight hit his desk, making the edge of his laptop screen glow faintly. his pen moved across a notebook, neat and rhythmic, as if he didnât even notice the world around him.
you froze for a second, unsure if you should say something. you didnât want to disturb him. but then your knee brushed against a chair near the door, the metal legs scraping softly against the floor.
his head lifted immediately.
he turned to look at you, eyes blinking as if adjusting to the light. he studied you for a second, then pulled off his headphones and stood up.
âare you okay?â he asked.
you nodded quickly, brushing it off. âyeah, it didnât hurt,â you said, a small, nervous laugh slipping out.
he watched you for a moment longer before sitting back down. âi was just researching for the project,â he said. âcame in early to look for a few things.â
you glanced at his desk, at the open laptop and a small stack of papers beside it. âwhereâd you get the computer?â
âitâs mine,â he said simply, not looking up. âbut i donât tell anyone i bring it. itâs best if you donât say anything.â
you smiled faintly. âi wonât.â
he adjusted his glasses, then turned the screen a little toward you. âdo you want to write some of this down? we can keep researching, if youâd like.â
âsure,â you said quietly.
you sat down, and jungwon carefully carried his laptop over to your desk, setting it between you. you just listened to the quiet tapping of keys, the occasional page turn, the hum of the lights above.
it was awkward at first. you didnât know how to talk to someone like him, someone who seemed so quiet, so careful with his words. but after a few minutes, you began to relax. he wasnât difficult to be around. just⊠still.
âyou know,â you said after a while, tapping your pen against your notebook, âwe could read something together for this project. like, a book that explores empathy.â
his gaze flickered toward you, curious. âa book?â
you nodded, smiling a little. âyeah. i think books can do that better than anything. when you read someoneâs story, you have to feel what they feel.â
he thought about it for a moment, eyes drifting toward the window. âthatâs true,â he said quietly. âreading does that to you.â
you tilted your head. âdo you read a lot?â
âi used to,â he said. ânot as much lately. but⊠iâd like to start again.â
you grinned a little. âthen iâll make you a list,â you said. âbooks that really make you feel something. iâll send it to you later.â
his lips curved, barely, but enough for you to notice. âalright,â he said. âbut only if you promise to tell me which oneâs your favorite.â
you laughed quietly, nodding. âdeal.â
the silence that followed was soft, not awkward anymore. it was something that made the morning air seem lighter.
he looked at you then, just a glance, but long enough for you to see the sincerity in his eyes. âyouâre different from what i thought,â he said suddenly.
you blinked. âwhat do you mean?â
he hesitated. âyou seemâŠvery real. not just kind. like you actually mean it.â
your lips parted slightly, caught off guard. âiâthank you,â you said, voice almost a whisper. âthatâs⊠nice of you to say.â
you didnât realize until later that your hand had shifted, your sleeve riding up just enough to expose the faint bruise around your wrist, the one youâd been trying to ignore.
his gaze dropped to it immediately.
you noticed, too late. you laughed awkwardly, tugging your sleeve down quickly, pretending not to see his expression.
after a quiet moment, he spoke, his voice careful. âdoes that hurt?â
you hesitated, eyes fixed on your notebook. âitâs not what you think,â you murmured.
he didnât say anything for a moment. then softly, âiâm not here to judge.â his tone wasnât cold. it was gentle, like he didnât want to scare you away. âput an ice pack over it. the cold helps with inflammation.â
you looked up at him. through his glasses, you could see his calm eyes. you didnât know what to say, so you just nodded.
âokay,â you whispered.
he gave a small nod back, returning his attention to his notes.
neither of you said anything. and yet, it felt like something small or something unspoken had changed between you.
the classroom door opened then, breaking the quiet. another student walked in, greeting the two of you.
jungwon straightened a little, closing his notebook.
you kept your eyes on the window, sunlight still spilling across your desk.
â
that night, the house was quiet. the kind of quiet that let every thought echo in your head.
you were lying on your bed, the soft hum of your lamp filling the silence. sullyoon was beside you, sprawled out with a pillow hugged to her chest, her hair messy from rolling around.
âso,â she started, voice muffled by the pillow, âi met up with jay today to exchange numbers for the project.â
you turned your head toward her. âand?â
she groaned dramatically. âhe was so weird. i walked up to him, right? and he wouldnât even give me his number at first. he kept insisting i listen to this song he made like, right there, in the hallway.â
you laughed softly, the sound breaking the stillness of your room. âiâm sure heâs not that bad. we just all have different interests.â
sullyoon sat up, tossing the pillow at your stomach. âclearlyâŠâ she giggled. âstill, i didnât want to be seen with him. people were staring.â
you caught the pillow and hugged it, still smiling. for a moment, it almost felt normal, like nothing else existed outside your room.
then sullyoon shifted slightly, her tone changing. âspeaking of people staring⊠i heard something.â
you raised a brow. âwhat now?â
âpeople were talking,â she said, playing with the corner of the blanket. âthey said you and jungwon were sitting next to each other this morning.â
you rolled your eyes. âwe were just doing research. people are so nosy.â
âmhmm,â she hummed, grinning. âas long as yeonjun doesnât hear about it.â
the smile on your face faded. the room suddenly felt heavier.
you hadnât talked to him all day. no text, no call. nothing. and even though youâd seen him in the halls, it felt like he wasnât really there anymore. like heâd already pulled away.
âwhatâs wrong?â sullyoon asked softly, her voice careful.
you didnât answer. your fingers toyed with the bracelets layered on your wrist, the ones youâd worn to cover what you didnât want anyone to see. you hesitated, then slowly pulled them down.
sullyoonâs breath caught in her throat.
the bruise was darker nowâpurple and blue, the shape of his hand still faintly visible.
âoh my god,â she whispered, sitting up straighter. ây/n, who did this?â
you avoided her eyes. âwe just had a disagreement,â you said quietly. ânothing more.â
sullyoonâs face fell, her expression changing completely. âdonât lie to me,â she said. âthis was him, wasnât it?â
you stayed quiet.
she got off the bed, pacing a little. âyou need to go to the hospital. they can give you something for the swellingââ
âare you kidding?â you interrupted, your voice cracking. âmy dad works there, sully. if he finds outâŠâ you trailed off, shaking your head. âyeonjun would be mad.â
âmad?â sullyoonâs tone broke, her eyes filling with disbelief. âyouâre seriously thinking about him right now? y/n, he hurt you. being assaulted isnât something you hide to protect him.â
her words hit you like a wave, and suddenly everything youâd been holding in came out. your eyes blurred, and the tears came before you could stop them.
âi donât know what to do,â you cried, your voice trembling. âi donât think he loves me anymore. i try, but he doesnât love me back.â
sullyoon sat down beside you again, pulling you into her arms. âhey,â she whispered, brushing your hair away from your face. âdonât say that. donât ever think you need to earn someoneâs love like that.â
you sobbed quietly against her shoulder, her warmth grounding you for the first time that day.
âyou donât deserve this, y/n,â she said, voice firm but gentle. âyou deserve someone who looks at you the way you look at him. someone who doesnât make you feel small.â
you didnât answer. you just held on tighter.
outside, the sky had gone dark. the city hummed faintly through your open window.
and somewhere in the distance, your phone buzzed. you didnât look at it, but you already knew who it was.
and it buzzed again. once, twice. the vibration filled the quiet room.
you didnât move at first. your head was still pressed against sullyoonâs shoulder, her hand gently running through your hair.
âyouâre not gonna check that?â she asked quietly.
you swallowed hard. âno.â
but after a few seconds, the sound came again. another message. and then another.
sullyoon reached over, grabbed your phone from the nightstand, and glanced at the screen before you could stop her. her expression shifted, tightening with anger.
âitâs him,â she said flatly. âof course itâs him.â
you took the phone from her hand slowly, your thumb hovering over the screen.
yeonjun, 8:43 p.m.
where are you?
yeonjun, 8:44 p.m.
iâve been calling.
yeonjun, 8:45 p.m.
are you ignoring me now?
your stomach twisted. every message made your chest feel smaller, like he could see through the screen.
yeonjun, 8:47 p.m.
answer me, y/n.
sullyoon watched you, her face tense. âdonât respond,â she whispered. âplease.â
you turned off your phone, pressing the power button until the screen went black. suddenly, the silence came back.
âiâm tired,â you murmured.
âthen sleep,â sullyoon said softly. âiâll stay here, okay?â
you nodded weakly, pulling the blanket over your body as she turned off the lamp. the room dimmed, shadows falling across the walls.
but sleep didnât come easily. every time you closed your eyes, you saw his face, his grip, the way he looked at you when he was angry.
and beneath all that fear, there was something else. something you hated yourself for feeling. longing.
you hated that even after everything, a part of you still wanted him to text again. to say he was sorry. to tell you he loved you.
when you finally drifted off, your phone stayed off. the world outside continued without you, and you didnât have to hear his voice in your head.
the next couple of days, they came slower than usual.
the light through your window felt softer, but the heaviness in your chest hadnât left.
you got ready quietly, layering bracelets over your wrist again before heading out the door.
by the time you arrived, the halls were already buzzing. students filled every corner, laughing, shouting, alive in a way you didnât feel.
you walked through them like a ghost, pretending not to hear the whispers or the noise around you.
as you reached your classroom, you stopped. jungwon was there again, same seat by the window, his hand resting under his chin as he looked outside.
he noticed you almost immediately.
âmorning,â he said, his voice calm as ever.
you smiled faintly. âmorning.â
âhowâs your wrist?â
you froze.
his tone wasnât pushy. it wasnât pitying either but just soft, like he really wanted to know.
you adjusted your bracelets, pretending to check your bag. âitâs fine,â you said quietly.
he nodded, closing the book in front of him. âif you need help with the research later, iâll be in the library after class.â
you looked at him then and for a second, you almost said thank you. almost told him everything.
but you just smiled instead. âokay.â
he nodded once, his gaze drifting back out the window.
and even though the morning felt heavy, something about his calm made it a little easier to breathe.
â
the cafeteria was half full, humming with the kind of noise that made it hard to think but easy to disappear in. trays clattered against tables, students shouted across the room, laughter came in bursts. sunlight pooled through the tall windows, painting soft squares of gold over the floor.
you sat in your usual spot by the window with sullyoon, the two of you sharing a tray of fries and all kinds of dips you both created. sullyoon twirled a fry between her fingers as she talked, her eyes bright with the kind of excitement she hadnât shown in a while.
âokay,â she started, sounding reluctant, âiâll admit itâjayâs not that bad.â
you blinked, surprised. âwait⊠what? you mean the same jay you were complaining about all last week?â
she let out a dramatic sigh and fell back in her seat. âi know, i know. i take it back. heâs actually really nice once he stops being so awkward. like, heâs kinda funny.â she paused, a small grin tugging at her lips. âand talented, too.â
âtalented?â you repeated, smirking a little.
âyeah! sometimes when we finish working early, he plays a few notes from his songs. heâs been writing stuff for months, apparently. i tried one of his guitars the other day, itâs harder than it looks.â
you laughed softly, biting into your fry. âso now you like him.â
she narrowed her eyes playfully. âdonât twist my words. i said heâs nice. thatâs all.â
you smiled, shaking your head, and you suddenly felt lighter in your chest. the air between you and sullyoon had that warm, easy comfort again like the world outside didnât matter.
but that illusion shattered when a familiar voice cut through the noise.
âmind if i sit here?â
you froze mid-breath. the tray trembled slightly as it was set down.
yeonjun stood beside you, his expression unreadable. he didnât wait for an answer before sliding into the empty seat next to you. his shoulder brushed yours, and every muscle in your body went still.
sullyoonâs face immediately hardened. âwhat do you want this time?â
he ignored her completely, turning his gaze to you. âsully, you mind giving me a moment with y/n?â
âwhy?â she snapped, leaning forward. âso you can hurt her again?â
the words hit the air like glass breaking.
yeonjunâs jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing just slightly. the way he looked at her, silent, sharp, dangerous and it made the space between you grow heavy. sullyoon stared back for a moment, unflinching, but her lips pressed into a tight line.
she gathered her tray and stood. âtext me later,â she muttered, looking at you one last time. there was worry in her eyes, the kind that lingered even as she walked away.
yeonjun watched her go before leaning closer to you, his voice calm but firm.
âwhy havenât you been answering my calls or texts?â he asked, his tone dipping lower. âdid you forget you have a boyfriend, hm?â
your hand tightened around your fork. you didnât look up. âi just⊠wanted some distance,â you said quietly. âthatâs all.â
he went still. then, almost casually, his hand slipped beneath the table, fingers brushing your knee before settling on your thigh. you felt the weight first, then the slow, deliberate pressure of his grip.
your breath hitched.
âthereâs no distance between us,â he said softly, almost kind. âyou know iâm the only one who can comfort you⊠right?â
he tilted his head, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. his touch was gentle, but his fingers lingered just a little too long.
you forced a small nod, your voice barely a whisper. âright.â
his smile was faint, content. âyou donât know how lonely i was these past few days,â he murmured. âi needed you, y/n.â
his thumb brushed against your thigh again, pressing down until it almost hurt. the cafeteria around you blurred into noise, distant laughter, trays clattering, chairs scraping the floor but all you could focus on was the numb, pulsing ache spreading through your leg.
âyouâre gonna come over after school, okay?â he said, eyes fixed on you. âyouâll make it up to me.â
you looked up at him, and your vision swam. his eyes, usually so charming, looked dark now like they belonged to someone else.
âokay,â you whispered.
âgood girl,â he said quietly, leaning back. âonly you can make me feel so good. no one else ever will.â
you managed a tiny smile, one that didnât reach your eyes. you just needed him to stop.
he reached for his tray, stabbing a piece of chicken with his fork. âand i donât want you hanging out with that bitch anymore,â he added between bites. âsheâs a bad influence. you get it from her.â
you didnât answer. you couldnât.
he ate like nothing had happened, humming under his breath. you stared at your food, the warmth of the room turning suffocating.
a tear rolled down your cheek before you could stop it. you wiped it away fast, pretending to scratch your nose. your chest felt heavy, your hands trembling slightly as you reached for your drink.
then, through the blur of your lashes, you looked up.
across the cafeteria, jungwon sat with his friends. a half-eaten sandwich in front of him, his notebook open. he wasnât laughing or talking like the others.
he was watching you.
not with pity. not curiosity. just quiet awareness.
your breath caught. you looked away, but the weight of his gaze lingered. it somehow felt more comforting than anything youâd felt in days.
you swallowed hard, pushing your tray away.
and for the rest of lunch, even as yeonjun leaned back beside you, humming softly, you felt that quiet look across the room like a lifeline you werenât ready to reach for yet.
â
after school, the halls were almost empty. just the quiet shuffle of footsteps and the sound of lockers closing in the distance.
you were supposed to meet yeonjun. you always did.
but today, you didnât want to. not yet.
your chest felt heavy just thinking about him, so instead, you turned down the corridor that led to the library. jungwon had mentioned in the morning that heâd be there after class, finishing up research for your project. maybe that was reason enough to go.
the library was half-lit, the late sunlight stretching across the tables and shelves. rows of books stretched out in silence, and the air smelled faintly of paper and dust. you walked quietly between the tables, your hand brushing along the edge of the shelves until you spotted him.
jungwon sat by the far window, his laptop open and notebook spread out beside it. his pen tapped lightly against the page as he worked, focused and completely in his own world.
you hesitated for a moment before taking a small breath and walking over. the sound of your footsteps made him glance up. he pulled one of his headphones off and looked at you with that quiet, almost startled expression of his.
âoh,â he said softly, straightening up in his seat. âhey. didnât think youâd actually come.â
you smiled faintly, setting your bag on the table across from him. âyou said youâd be here, right? figured iâd help out a little.â
he gave a small nod, closing his notebook halfway so you could see. âi was just finishing some notes on the article we read yesterday in class. itâs kind of boring, but⊠i guess it makes sense once you break it down.â
you sat down, your chair creaking lightly. âyou always make it sound easier than it actually is.â
he chuckled under his breath, brushing his bangs aside. ânot really. i just overthink everything.â
âthatâs a good thing,â you said quietly. âshows you care.â
jungwon glanced up at you, his expression soft but unreadable. âyou sound like you needed a reason to be here.â
you looked away. âmaybe i did.â
the silence that followed wasnât awkward, it was gentle. he turned his screen toward you, scrolling through a few tabs filled with articles, highlighted lines, and bookmarked links.
âhere,â he said. âi found some books we can use too. oneâs about character empathy in literature, another talks about how writers connect emotion through perspective.â
you leaned closer, reading the titles. âyou really did your homework.â
he smiled slightly. âyou can borrow them if you want. theyâre at the front desk.â
âthank you, i will.â you smiled, setting the books to the side. from your bag, you pulled out your own notesâscribbles from last week that looked rushed and uneven. jungwon slid his laptop a little closer, placing it between you both so you could see.
he pointed to a few sentences on the screen, explaining the main ideas heâd written down. you followed along quietly, nodding every so often. the sunlight through the library window caught the edge of his glasses. the calm made you forget everything else.
after a while, your throat felt dry. you cleared it softly, breaking the silence.
âiâm sorry for not doing anything about the project this past week,â you said. âiâve just been⊠kind of on my own lately.â
he didnât look surprised. he just gave a small nod, his tone steady.
âi figured,â he said. âitâs fine, i can handle it.â
âi donât want you to think iâm taking advantage of you,â you said quickly, your fingers fidgeting with your pen.
âbut youâre not,â he replied. âyouâre here now, arenât you?â
you nodded slowly, a shy smile tugging at your lips. âwe can hang out after school. iâll make it up to you. iâll work hard this time.â
jungwon glanced up from the screen, the corner of his mouth curving slightly. âare you really trying to show off right now?â
you laughed quietly. âmaybe. i might be the kindest person, but iâm also really smart.â
he chuckled under his breath, adjusting his glasses before nodding. âthen donât let me down.â
you both smiled at each otherâsmall, simple, but real. it felt nice to be seen without feeling small.
you kept working side by side, the sound of pages turning and keys clicking filling the quiet space between you. jungwon leaned forward slightly, his brows furrowed as he tried to explain a section you didnât quite understand.
âno, likeâthis part connects back to the data from last week,â he said, pointing at your notes.
you nodded, trying to focus, even though your mind felt foggy. still, it was peaceful here. for once, you didnât feel like you had to watch what you said or how you moved.
the library was nearly empty now. it was now just the hum of the air conditioner and the faint tapping of shoes in the hallway. jungwonâs voice was low, calm, almost comforting.
âsee? you got it,â he said, smiling when you finally caught on.
you smiled back, about to say something when a sudden voice cut through the quiet.
âthere you are.â
your whole body froze.
you didnât even have to turn to know who it was. jungwon looked up first, his expression confused. yeonjun stood near the end of the table, still in his gym clothes, hair damp with sweat and his duffel bag slung over one shoulder. his jaw was tight.
âiâve been looking for you,â he said, his tone calm but the kind that made your stomach drop.
âyeonjun,â you breathed out, your voice barely above a whisper.
jungwonâs eyes flicked between the two of you. âhey, weâre justââ
âworking?â yeonjun cut in, his smile sharp. âyeah, i can see that.â
he stepped closer, his sneakers silent against the floor. you could smell the faint trace of his cologne mixed with sweat. he looked at you, not jungwon, as if daring you to move.
âyou didnât answer my text,â he said.
âiâI was busy,â you muttered, your voice shaking.
âbusy,â he repeated, his gaze dropping to your notebook, then back up. âwith him?â
jungwon straightened, his tone careful. âitâs just schoolwork. nothing else.â
yeonjun tilted his head slightly, a mocking laugh slipping out. âyeah? didnât ask you, man.â
your fingers gripped the edge of your chair. âyeonjun, stopââ
he turned his attention back to you, the warmth in his voice gone. âyou were supposed to come over after school, remember?â
jungwon glanced at you, noticing the way your hand trembled. the silence that followed was heavy, suffocating.
âweâre almost done,â you said quietly.
yeonjunâs jaw clenched. âthen finish it later.â
you swallowed hard, looking down at your open notes. jungwonâs hand shifted slightly, like he wanted to say something, but stopped himself.
âcome on,â yeonjun said, his voice softer now, almost coaxing. âletâs go.â
you looked up at him, eyes uncertain, torn between fear and obligation.
jungwonâs eyes met yours, silently asking if you were okay.
but you just nodded weakly, closing your notebook.
âiâll see you tomorrow,â you said to jungwon, forcing a small smile that didnât reach your eyes.
and yeonjun, satisfied, placed his hand on the small of your backâgentle to anyone watching, but you could feel the weight of it.
you followed him out, your steps quiet, your heart heavier than before.
days turned into weeks, and somehow, despite everything that tied you to yeonjun, you found yourself spending more and more time with jungwon.
sometimes, the two of you would wander into the bookstore next door, pretending to look for references but really it was just wasting time and flipping through novels youâd never finish, trading recommendations.
he always had one tucked under his arm, a different book every week. sometimes heâd bring one for you too, sliding it across the table without saying much.
âyouâd like this,â heâd say, eyes still on his notes.
and you always did.
around him, you laughed a little easier. your shoulders didnât feel so heavy. he never asked too many questions, never pushed. he justâŠlistened. and in the quiet, you found a kind of peace you didnât realize youâd been craving.
yeonjun still called, still texted, still showed up but those hours with jungwon, whether it was in the libraryâs golden light, the scent of roasted coffee, or the rustle of pages turning between you, felt like the only moments you could truly breathe.
sometimes heâd notice the way youâd flinch when your phone buzzed, or how youâd turn it face down on the table. he never said anything, but his eyes would linger for a second longer, soft, almost protective before going back to his notes.
and you knew he noticed, just like he noticed the faint marks that hadnât faded yet.
still, he stayed.
and you, against every reason you gave yourself not to, started looking forward to seeing him.
youâd slide into the seat across from him, setting your bag down before he even looked up.
âyouâre late,â heâd say softly, but there was a hint of a smile.
âbarely,â youâd reply, pulling out your notebook. âyou just come early.â
his lips curved slightly, like he wanted to argue but didnât bother. instead, he reached for his cup, fingers wrapped around the chipped handle. âyou want something to drink?â
âjust water,â you said. âiâm still trying to recover from yesterdayâs caffeine crash.â
âright,â he chuckled. âyou practically vibrated through the library.â
you laughed quietly, remembering how jittery youâd been, flipping through pages faster than your brain could process. the sound of his laugh made you relax, it always did.
after he came back from the counter, the two of you worked in silence. your pens moved in rhythm. the world outside felt like background noise. every now and then, youâd glance up, watching the way jungwonâs hair fell into his eyes or the way he tilted his head when he was focused.
then, without meaning to, you sighed. not loud, just enough for him to notice.
he looked up. âyou okay?â
you hesitated. it wasnât like you wanted to tell him, it just felt like the truth was sitting too heavy in your chest to ignore.
âjust⊠tired,â you said. âschoolâs been a lot lately.â
jungwon leaned back, his gaze gentle but searching. âis it school,â he asked quietly, âor something else?â
your fingers froze on your notebook. you wanted to look at him, but you couldnât. instead, you traced a line on the page, your heart thudding faster than it should.
âmaybe both,â you finally whispered.
he nodded slowly, as if he already knew. and maybe he did.
âyou donât have to explain,â he said. âbut if you ever want to, iâll listen.â
you looked up then and something in his eyes made your throat tighten. he wasnât trying to fix you, wasnât trying to make you talk. he was just there.
some time later, you were staring at your notes, rereading the same paragraph over and over again, but nothing was sticking. the words just blurred together. jungwon sat across from you, jotting something down, his focus steady as always until he glanced up.
his eyes lingered on you for a moment. the way your hand rested against your cheek, how your eyelids seemed heavier than usual. he didnât say anything about it, but instead, set his pen down.
he hesitated for a second, rubbing the back of his neck. âmy friend jakeâheâs having a little hangout this weekend. nothing big, just a fire by the beach. jayâs bringing his guitar, so heâll probably be singing a few songs.â his eyes flickered toward yours. âdo you wanna come?â
you blinked, caught off guard. âa hangout?â
âyeah,â he said simply.
you hesitated, your mind immediately flashing to yeonjun. if he found out, heâd lose it. the thought alone made your stomach twist.
as if sensing your hesitation, jungwon spoke again, softer this time. âweâre not doing anything, i promise. itâs just a few of us. iâll have you back by your curfew.â
âfire? singing?â you repeated, tilting your head.
he laughed, the sound light and genuine. âjayâs not bad, i promise. my friend heeseung sometimes joins in too and itâs fun hearing them.â
you raised an eyebrow, trying not to smile. âyou sure itâs not some kind of ritual youâre trying to pull me into?â
his lips curved into that cheeky smile you were beginning to recognize. he shook his head, eyes crinkling slightly. âno rituals. just⊠people, music, and a fire.â
you stared at him for a moment, watching the way he smiled. so easy, unbothered, like he didnât expect you to say yes but hoped you would anyway.
you tapped your pen against your notebook, pretending to think, though your heart was already answering for you. you hadnât done something for yourself in a long time. not since before everything started to feel heavy.
âhm,â you said finally, glancing down at your notes again. âare you sure itâll be fun?â
âyes,â jungwon said, a small grin tugging at the corner of his lips. âwell⊠fun in a quiet kind of way. itâs not like a party or anything.â
you laughed softly. âgood. i donât think iâd survive another party.â
he chuckled, leaning back in his chair. âso⊠does that mean youâll come?â
you met his eyes. there was something kind in the way he looked at you. it made you feel like you didnât have to guard yourself so tightly.
you nodded slowly, a faint smile forming. âyeah. iâll come.â
his face lit up, though he tried to play it cool. âreally?â
you shrugged. âreally. but only because you said thereâs music.â
he laughed, shaking his head. ânoted. iâll tell jay he owes you a good song.â
the moment lingered, light and warm. it was strange how easy it felt to agree to something so simple. to let yourself say yes without thinking about who might get angry later.
the weekend came faster than you expected. youâd told yourself you werenât going and make up a lame lie. but jungwon had texted you the details anyway.
and somehow, you found yourself getting ready.
you straightened your hair, grabbed your bag and checked your phone one last time. you stepped outside and the air was cooler than usual, soft against your skin as you walked to the front gate.
when you opened it, jungwon was already there, waiting on the sidewalk. his hoodie was pulled over his head, his backpack slung over one shoulder. when he saw you, his lips curved into a small, familiar smile. behind him, a white van idled by the curb, faint music playing from inside.
âhey,â he said, shoving his hands into his pockets. âyou made it.â
âyeah,â you said quietly. âguess i did.â
he opened the van door for you, and the noise immediately spilled out. music, laughter, someone arguing about snacks.
you froze for a second when you saw how full it was. there were faces youâd only ever seen around school, and you werenât expecting to feel this out of place.
you climbed in carefully, trying not to trip on the small cooler near the seat.
âguys, this is y/n,â jungwon said, closing the door behind you. âsheâs helping me with the senior project.â
âoh, hey!â said the boy sitting closest to the door. he had a bright grin and dimples that appeared the moment he smiled. âiâm jake.â
âheeseung,â said the one behind the wheel, raising a hand in a lazy wave.
âsunghoon,â added another from the seat behind, his tone short but not unfriendly.
âriki,â came a voice from the back.
âand thatâs jay,â jungwon said, nodding toward the guy who was tuning a guitar resting against his leg.
âhey,â jay said with a quick smile. âhope you like music. youâre kinda stuck with us for the next hours.â
you laughed softly. âiâll survive.â
but before you could sit down, a familiar voice piped up from the back seat.
âoh my god, you actually came!â
your head turned, and your heart skipped. âsullyoon?â
she smiled wide, tucking her hair behind her ear. âhi! jungwon didnât tell you i was coming, did he?â
you looked between them, eyes wide. âno, he didnât.â
jungwon rubbed the back of his neck. âi thought itâd be a surprise.â
âwell, it worked,â you said, a little breathless but smiling.
âcome sit next to me,â sullyoon said, moving her tote bag off the seat.
you slid in beside her as the van started moving, the sound of the tires humming against the road. the others kept talking about what songs to play, who packed whatâbut it wasnât as intimidating as youâd thought.
you leaned your head lightly against the window, watching the city blur past in streaks of light. sullyoon nudged your shoulder, whispering, âyou okay?â
âyeah,â you said. âjustâŠiâm not really used to all this.â
âtheyâre nice,â she assured softly. âyouâll see.â
jungwon turned around from the front seat, meeting your eyes briefly. âcomfy back there?â
you smiled a little. âyeah. thanks for inviting me.â
his grin returned. âgood. it wouldnât be the same without you.â
and as the van rolled farther out of the city, surrounded by people who felt unfamiliar but strangely easy to be around, you realized you were actually glad you came.
â
the beach was the perfect place to forget. the waves crashed loud and heavy, a constant rhythm beneath the laughter echoing through the air. the sky was fading into a soft blur of pinks and oranges, streaked with gold like a painting youâd want to keep forever.
the boys unloaded the van, voices overlapping as heeseung struggling with the cooler, ni-ki juggling bags of snacks, jake shouting directions like a camp leader. you and sullyoon wandered ahead, your shoes sinking into the cool sand.
âthere?â sullyoon pointed at a little dip in the ground.
âtoo far from the shore,â you said, glancing around. âsomething closer.â
âokay, how about that one?â she pointed again, a grin forming. the spot was perfect, close enough to the waves but shielded by a few rocks.
âyeah,â you smiled. âthat works.â
you laid your towel down, shaking off the sand. the air smelled like salt and sunscreen, the sound of the sea loud enough to drown out your thoughts.
jungwon walked up a few minutes later, crouching next to you. âwant something to drink?â
âsure. maybe a soda?â
he nodded and jogged back to grab it, then returned with two cans. he sat beside you, close enough that his shoulder brushed yours when he handed it over.
âthanks,â you murmured, opening the can.
the fire pit slowly came to life in front of you. jake and ni-ki argued about who knew how to light it better, sunghoon making sarcastic comments from the background.
âyou wonât trust a former boy scout?â jake boasted, match in hand.
âthatâs exactly why we donât,â sunghoon shot back, earning laughter from everyone.
jungwon leaned closer, lowering his voice. âfor the record, i also doubted him.â
you laughed softly, taking another sip. the fire caught after a few tries, and soon orange light danced across everyoneâs faces.
as the night went on, the air grew cooler, music mixing with the crackle of flames. jay started strumming his guitar beside sullyoon, who watched him like heâd just invented sound. heeseung began to sing, his voice low and steady.
jungwon turned to you and smiled faintly. âsee? not a ritual.â
you laughed quietly. âyou were right.â
you didnât know how much time had passed after that. the conversation had slowed, people broke off into smaller groups, the sky now a deep navy blue. you and jungwon were still sitting by the fire, legs almost touching, the warmth from it brushing your knees.
he was quiet for a moment, his fingers fidgeting with the tab of his soda can. then he said, âyou know, iâm really glad you came.â
you turned to him. âyeah?â
he nodded, his eyes flicking between you and the flames. âitâs nice seeing you outside of⊠everything else. you seem lighter here.â
you smiled faintly, gaze softening. âyeah. itâs been⊠a while since i felt that way.â
silence hung between you, comfortable this time. he looked at the fire again before speaking. âcan i ask you something?â
you hummed in response.
âwhy do you stay with him?â
the question hit harder than it shouldâve. you looked down, the sound of waves filling the space between you. âbecause i love him,â you said, voice quiet, âor at least⊠i think i do. i donât know anymore.â
he didnât say anything right away, just listened. you could feel his gaze though steady, and understanding.
âbut he doesnât make you happy,â jungwon finally said. âi can see it. everyone can.â
you exhaled, a shaky laugh slipping out. âi guess i just forgot what happy feels like.â
he turned slightly, his knee brushing yours. âyou shouldnât have to forget that.â
you looked at him then. the firelight flickered across his face, highlighting his soft brown eyes behind his glasses, the small crease between his brows when he focused on you.
âitâs not so easy,â you whispered.
âitâs not,â he admitted, âbut maybe it starts small.â he paused, hesitating before saying it. âlike sitting next to someone who actually cares.â
your heart stuttered. you didnât look away this time. âyou care?â
his lips curved, just slightly. âmore than i probably should.â
you didnât realize how close youâd leaned in until you caught the faint scent of his cologne.
âfor what itâs worth,â you said softly, âyou make me feel⊠seen.â
his expression softened at that, eyes flicking down to your lips for half a second before returning to your face.
âthatâs good,â he said, voice barely above a whisper. âyou deserve that.â
your burned marshmallow finally slid off the stick, dropping into the sand. the two of you laughed quietly, breaking the tension.
âguess iâll have to make another one,â you said.
âyouâre terrible at this,â he teased.
âiâm distracted,â you countered, smiling.
jungwon chuckled, shaking his head. âthen iâll help you next time.â
you looked at him for a beat longer than you shouldâve, warmth pooling in your chest.
â
the van hummed softly against the night air, headlights cutting through the dark road. it was past midnight now, and everyone had fallen asleep. heads leaning against each other, the sound of steady breathing blending with the soft rumble of the tires.
heeseung drove with one hand on the wheel, eyes fixed ahead. the music was low, an instrumental playing faintly, barely enough to fill the space.
you sat by the window, the cold glass pressed against your temple. the city looked different at this hour, quieter, slower, like it was giving you space to think. you watched as the lights passed by in streaks of white and yellow, tracing reflections across your skin.
you turned slightly, and caught jungwonâs eyes on you.
his head rested against the seat, chin tilted slightly in your direction. when your eyes met, he didnât look away.
you blinked, lips curling into a small smile. âdonât stare at me,â you whispered, voice light. âi get nervous.â
he smiled genuine. ânervous?â he repeated, his tone teasing, but gentle. âi just didnât realize how beautiful you look under the moonlight.â
you let out a quiet breath. âyouâre imagining it,â you said. âtoo much sugar, too many sâmores.â
he chuckled under his breath. âdonât push away my thoughts.â
âthen what do you want me to say?â
he looked at you, that same easy smile on his lips. âmaybe a thank you?â
you exhaled a laugh, looking down at your hands. âthank you, jungwon.â
he tilted his head slightly, his voice dropping softer. âiâll call you beautiful again just to see that smile of yours.â
the air between you stilled. it wasnât heavy, just full. charged with something you didnât know how to name.
you turned your head toward the window again, the city rolling by. âyouâre different when you say things like that,â you said, your voice barely a whisper.
âdifferent?â he repeated, amused.
you nodded, keeping your eyes on the glass. âyeah. because i believe you when you say them.â
he was quiet for a second, maybe caught off guard. âthatâs not a bad thing, is it?â
âit could be,â you said softly. âi donât know what iâm allowed to feel right now.â
he shifted slightly, the van rocking gently with the road. âyou donât have to be allowed,â he said after a moment. âyou just feel what you feel.â
you turned your head, meeting his gaze again. âbut itâs not that simple.â
he nodded slowly. âi know itâs not. i justââ he paused, exhaling, searching for words. âi see the way you look when youâre around him. like youâre somewhere else. and i hate that.â
you blinked. âwhat do you mean?â
âlike youâre waiting for something bad to happen,â he said quietly. âand i get it. youâre used to it. but it shouldnât be like that, y/n.â
his words felt heavy. they landed somewhere deep in your chest, not in the way that hurt, but in the way that felt true.
you turned back toward the window, voice quiet. âi donât know when it got like that. at first, he made me feel seen, you know? and then it just⊠changed. like the better i tried to be, the less he wanted me.â
jungwonâs eyes softened. âthatâs not your fault.â
âi know,â you said, though you didnât sound like you believed it. âbut sometimes i think if i leave, iâll lose everything. heâs been in my life for so long⊠i donât know who i am without him.â
he stayed silent for a moment, like he didnât want to interrupt your thoughts. then he said, âyouâre the same person. just⊠quieter. scared to speak.â
you smiled weakly. âyou notice everything, donât you?â
he shrugged, smiling back. âyouâre easy to read when youâre not pretending.â
you huffed a soft laugh. âis that supposed to be a compliment?â
âmaybe.â he grinned. âi just like when youâre honest.â
you looked down, fiddling with your sleeve. âhonestly?â you said after a pause. âi had fun tonight. with you. i havenât felt like that in a long time. like light, i guess. like i could breathe.â
âgood,â he said, voice low. âyou deserve that.â
you hesitated, then whispered, âyou make me feel safe, jungwon.â
he smiled faintly, his voice barely audible. âthat means more than you think.â
there was another pause, the kind that didnât need to be filled. you could hear the soft hum of the engine, the faint whisper of the wind outside.
you finally said, âthis feels wrong, doesnât it?â
âwhy?â he asked.
âbecause iâm still with him.â
jungwonâs gaze stayed steady. âyeah,â he said quietly. âbut right and wrong gets blurry when youâve been hurt too long.â
you swallowed, your chest tightening. âdonât make me fall for you, jungwon.â
he gave a small laugh, almost bittersweet. âmaybe i already have.â
you looked at him as your faces were up close. his soft expression, the flicker of the streetlights on his face, the way he seemed like he meant every single word.
you didnât know what to say. you didnât know if you were supposed to say anything.
so you didnât. you just let your hand fall beside his on the seatâand when his fingers brushed yours, you didnât move away.
and for the rest of the ride, neither of you spoke again. but you could feel the quiet truth between you. that something real had started, even if it wasnât supposed to.
â
the van slowed to a stop in front of your neighborhood, headlights washing over the familiar gate. everyone else was still asleep. heeseung murmured something about dropping you off and waved lazily before pulling the handbrake.
you unbuckled your seatbelt, the metal clicking quietly. jungwon stirred beside you, straightening up. âiâll walk you,â he said, his voice still soft from the long ride.
you nodded. âokay.â
the air outside was cool, it clung gently to your skin after a long day. the street was empty, save for the soft flicker of a lamppost nearby. the sound of the van engine faded as heeseung pulled the shift to park, leaving you and jungwon standing at the gate.
the quiet felt almost fragile, like if you said too much, it would break.
âthank you for today,â you said finally. âfor⊠inviting me.â
jungwon smiled faintly, his hands shoved into his pockets. âiâm glad you came. you looked happy, itâs nice seeing that.â
you looked down, kicking at the gravel. âi didnât realize how much i needed it.â
âyou should do it more often,â he said. âjust⊠live a little. away from him.â
you looked up at him. there was something in his eyes again, the same softness from the car. the same quiet pull that made you want to stay a little longer.
âjungwonâŠâ you started, but didnât finish.
he took a small step closer, his voice barely above a whisper. âyou donât have to say anything. i know.â
your heart flutteredâconfused, nervous, warm all at once. âyou make it sound simple.â
âit is,â he said, smiling gently. âyou just havenât had simple in a while.â
you smiled back. the world felt small, just you, him, and the soft hum of the night.
then, behind you, a car door slammed.
you turned instinctively and your stomach dropped.
yeonjun was there, leaning against his car parked just a few feet away. the glow from the streetlight caught the sharp edge of his jaw, the look in his eyes unreadable. his arms were crossed, his expression somewhere between calm and dangerous.
âi called you,â yeonjun said, voice low, almost calm, which was worse than if heâd shouted. his eyes flicked from you to jungwon, then back again. âyou didnât answer. where were you?â
your hand tightened around your bag strap. âmy phone died on the way here,â you said softly. âbut i went to the beach, with jungwon and hisââ
âthe beach?â he cut you off sharply. his jaw flexed, his tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek like he was holding something in.
you froze. jungwon shifted slightly beside you, but didnât say anything.
âyou think thatâs okay?â yeonjun said finally. his tone stayed even, but the way his gaze bore into you made your stomach twist. âyou just⊠go somewhere, donât answer your phone, and i have to find out like this?â
âiâI didnât mean toââ
âi think your boyfriend deserves to know where you are, donât you?â he continued. his smile didnât reach his eyes. it was one of those smiles that made your chest tighten because you knew it meant something worse later.
âiâm sorry,â you said quickly, desperate to keep the peace, especially not here. not in front of jungwon.
jungwon stepped forward slightly. âitâs my fault,â he said evenly. âi was the one who invited her.â
yeonjun didnât even look at him at first. his eyes stayed on you, like he was waiting for you to say something else. finally, he turned.
âyour fault?â he repeated, letting out a quiet, humorless laugh. âcanât believe a guy like you had the guts to run off with my girlfriend.â
jungwon blinked, calm but tense. âa guy like me?â
âyeah,â yeonjun said, taking a step closer. âa loser. someone who thinks heâs better than everyone else.â
you stepped in between them immediately, your voice trembling. âstop it. please. it wasnât like that.â
yeonjun didnât move back. his hand reached out, brushing your shoulder, too softly at first, before sliding around your neck in a way that made you stiffen. âcome on, babe,â he said quietly, eyes still on jungwon. âi was just joking around. werenât we?â
before anyone could answer, the driverâs door opened. heeseung stepped out, shutting it behind him. the noise sliced through the air.
âyeonjun,â he said, tone polite but firm. âis there a problem?â
yeonjunâs hand dropped, but his stare didnât. he turned his head toward heeseung, smirking a little. âno problem. just telling your friend here to know his place.â
âdonât worry,â heeseung said, crossing his arms. âhe does.â
the silence stretched, the only sound the ocean wind and the faint hum of the car engine.
yeonjun finally nodded, forcing a smile. âgood to know.â he turned back to you, voice suddenly softer. âletâs go inside, yeah?â
you nodded faintly, glancing over your shoulder one last time. jungwon stood where he was, his expression unreadable behind his glasses. you raised your hand slightly. a small, hesitant wave.
heeseung caught your look. he gave you the smallest nod, like he understood.
then yeonjun led you toward the gate, his hand still at your back, his grip just a little too tight.
inside your house, you moved on autopilot. kicking off your shoes by the door, hanging your jacket. you could feel his eyes burning into your back, the weight of his stare like physical pressure.
"so," his voice cut through the quiet, sharp as broken glass. "you just decided to spend the day somewhere else and not tell me?"
you kept your back to him, fingers trembling slightly as you straightened you shoes. "i was just hanging out with friends."
"friends?" the word came out like a curse. "you mean sully. i saw her in the van when it was park there. i thought i said you couldnât hang with her.â
the admission hung between them. he'd been checking on you, tracking your movements even when you didnt known it. of course he had. yeonjun always knew where you were, who you were with, what you were doing. today had been your first attempt at freedom in months, and it had lasted exactly six hours.
you finally turned to face him, the staircase feeling like both an escape and a trap. "it wasn't just sully. there were other people there too. we were just... having fun."
"fun," he repeated, the word dripping with disdain. he took a step forward, and you instinctively moved back, your hand finding the banister. "you don't trust me anymore? you're seeing people that you're not supposed to, hm?"
the accusation was familiar, the same circular argument they'd had a dozen times before. but something felt different tonight, the air crackled with a new kind of danger.
"i just want to hang out and not worry about anything," you said, the words tasting like surrender. "we obviously can't do that."
his expression darkened, the carefully controlled mask slipping to reveal the anger beneath. in two quick strides he was in front of you, his hand snapping up to grip your jaw, fingers digging into the soft flesh. "you think you can just do whatever you want? disappear for hours without telling me where you are?"
tears pricked at your eyes. "it won't work anymore, yeonjun. your guilt trips don't work on me."
"i'm so lonely without you," he whispered, his breath warm against your ear.
something in you snapped. "lonely?" you pushed against his chest, breaking free. "you think i haven't heard about you and wonyoung? i saw a condom wrapper in your car!"
he laughed, a cold, hollow sound. "you're crazy. i used that with you." his hands reached for you again, but you stepped back. "baby, you're imagining things."
the manipulation was so familiar, so practiced. but this time, the words didn't stick. "i don't wanna be with you anymore."
his face transformed. the mask of concern melting into pure anger. his grip tightened on your arms, fingers digging into your skin. "you don't get to decide that. we're not done until i say we're done."
"you realize how unhappy i am?" your voice broke. "i don't want this. i don't want you."
the slap came fast, sharpâa stinging heat that spread across your cheek. you stumbled back, catching yourself on the dresser as tears finally fell, silent and hot.
he froze, staring at the red mark blooming on your skin. "fuck." in an instant, he was pulling you into his arms, his voice frantic. "i'm sorry, i'm so sorry, i didn't mean to." his lips sought yours, desperate and pleading.
you turned his face away, pushing against his chest. "no. don't."
"baby, pleaseâ"
"get out." the words were quiet but firm. "leave. i never want to see you again."
for a moment, he just stared at you. at the tears tracking through the redness on your cheek, at the resolve in your eyes that he'd never seen before. then, without another word, he turned and walked out.
the door clicked shut downstairs. you stood there in the sudden silence, your cheek throbbing, your heart breaking, but you were free.
you sat there on your bed, your cheeks still wet. the silence in your room felt heavy, but for once, it wasnât crushing. it was peaceful. your chest rose and fell in a rhythm that finally felt your own.
you exhaledâlong, shaky, but real.
the tears didnât stop, but they changed. no longer from fear, but from relief.
you whispered to yourself, barely audible, âitâs over.â
your phone buzzed. a single vibration against your nightstand. you reached for it, your hands still trembling.
jungwon 1:53am
iâm outside. do you wanna talk?
your heart skipped. you blinked at the screen, almost not believing it. you didnât even hesitate, you just moved.
you ran down the stairs, your heartbeat still uneven. when you opened the front door, the night air hit you.
jungwon stood just outside the gate, still as ever, but when his eyes met yours, relief washed over his face.
âyouâre here,â you breathed out, a small, tired smile tugging at your lips.
he nodded, his voice soft. âi told heeseung that iâd stay. i didnât like how things were left.â
you nodded too, smiling faintly just seeing him there. his presence alone steadied something in you.
he took a small step closer, his eyes scanning your expression. âare you okay?â
you sighed, your voice barely a whisper. âno. things got bad.â
his gaze flickered down, catching the faint red mark on your cheek. his jaw tensed, not with anger, but with concern. âi figured,â he said quietly. âthatâs why i didnât wanna leave without knowing you were okay.â
the night hummed softly around you. the distant sound of a car, the rustle of leaves, your shaky breaths meeting the calm in his.
then you spoke, hesitant but certain. âdo you wanna come in?â
he glanced past you, noticing how dark the house was inside. âyour parents?â he asked gently.
you shook your head. âmy dadâs a doctor. he stays overnight at the hospital. and my momâs out of town, some convention thing. iâm always alone.â
jungwonâs lips curved into a small, understanding smile. âthen iâll keep you company,â he said softly.
you stepped aside, letting him in. the house was dim and quiet. the kind of quiet that usually felt heavy, but tonight, it didnât. his footsteps behind you felt light, almost careful, like he didnât want to disturb the peace you were slowly finding again.
you turned to face him once you reached the living room. âdo you want water? or something?â
he shook his head. âno, but thank you for asking.â
you looked at him for a long second, his messy hair from the drive, the tired look in his eyes, the warmth behind it all and something in your chest eased.
you led him up the stairs, the air still heavy from what had just happened. every step you took felt loud against the silence of the house, and jungwonâs quiet steps followed close behind. when you reached your room, you turned the knob and pushed the door open, the faint scent of vanilla still lingering from your candle earlier that week.
you stepped inside first. he stayed near the door for a moment, his eyes flickering around the small desk cluttered with books, the half-open curtains letting the moonlight spill across your bed.
you sat down, crossing your legs on the mattress. it felt strange, being in your room after what happened. jungwon walked over slowly and sat beside you, careful not to get too close at first.
neither of you said anything. the silence wasnât awkward, just thick, full of the things neither of you knew how to say.
then, his voice broke it. âdo you have anything i can put on that?â
you blinked, touching your cheek instinctively. âitâs fine,â you said quietly. âit doesnât hurt that much. donât worry about it.â
he frowned, the corners of his mouth tightening. âhow can i not? itâs getting worse by the minute.â
you smiled faintly, trying to lighten it. âjust think about right now,â you said, your voice soft. ânot what happened. whatâs happening with us.â
he looked at you for a long second. âwhat is happening with us?â he asked, half teasing, half serious.
you laughed quietly. a sound that felt almost foreign after the past hour. âi donât even know,â you admitted. âbut⊠it feels different. it feels like i can finally breathe.â
he nodded, eyes never leaving you. âyou finally broke it off didnât you?â
you nodded. âyeah. i told him i didnât want to be with him anymore.â
âhow did he take it?â
you huffed a laugh. âhow do you think?â
jungwon smiled softly, shaking his head. âyou know what i mean.â
âhe tried to act like it wasnât real,â you said. âlike i didnât have a say in it. but i meant it. i told him i was done.â
he exhaled slowly, as if heâd been holding his breath since the moment you walked outside. âiâm proud of you,â he said quietly.
you smiled, almost shyly. âthanks.â
he leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees, thinking. âyou know⊠i was scared to come back,â he said after a beat. âi didnât want to make things worse. but i justââ he looked up, eyes flickering toward yours, ââi couldnât leave knowing you were hurt.â
your heart squeezed at his words. âyou didnât make it worse,â you said softly. âyou made it better.â
he smiled, small but real. âthatâs all i wanted.â
you looked down at your hands, playing with your sleeve. âyou know, when i was with him⊠i kept thinking this was normal. the arguing, the guilt. all of it. i just got used to feeling like i was the problem.â
jungwonâs expression softened, his voice low. âyouâre not the problem. not even close.â
you met his gaze again, eyes stinging. âthen why does it feel like it?â
âbecause he made you believe that,â he said gently. âthatâs what people like him do. they make you think youâre the one who needs fixing, when you were never broken.â
you didnât even realize how close heâd gotten until you could feel his breath when he spoke. your throat tightened, a lump forming there. âyou really think that?â
he nodded. âi donât say things i donât mean.â
you stared at himâthe way his glasses slipped slightly down his nose, the small crease between his brows when he spoke, the steady calm he carried. it was nothing like yeonjunâs intensity. it was quiet. safe.
you smiled weakly. âyouâre⊠too good to me, you know that?â
he gave a half-smile, voice softer now. âi donât think thereâs such a thing as being too good to someone.â
you laughed under your breath, eyes falling to your lap. âi like that youâre like this.â
âhow?â
âyou actually care,â you said, meeting his eyes again. âno oneâs ever looked at me the way you do.â
jungwon didnât say anything at first. he just looked at you. a look full of things he hadnât said yet. his hand lifted, slow and unsure, and came to rest gently on your cheek.
you leaned into his touch before you even realized it.
âyou wouldnât have gotten hit if i was there,â he whispered, his voice almost breaking.
you shook your head, eyes closing briefly. âitâs okay. iâm okay now.â
his thumb brushed lightly over your skin, and you could see the conflict in his eyes, the want, the hesitation, the fear of ruining something pure.
he swallowed hard. âcan i⊠ask you something?â
you nodded, your voice barely above a whisper. âyeah.â
âcan i⊠kiss you?â he asked, carefully like the words themselves were fragile.
you felt your heart stutter, your chest tightening. his eyes were soft, waiting, not demanding, not expecting. just asking.
you smiled, small but certain. âyes.â
you leaned in, and so did he. the first kiss was gentle, almost hesitant. just the soft press of his lips against yours, warm and questioning. when he pulled back, his eyes searched yours, checking, making sure. the care in that simple gesture made your throat tighten.
"was that okay?" he whispered.
"more than okay," you breathed, your hands coming up to frame his face. "you can... you can kiss me like you mean it."
the second kiss was different, still tender, but with more confidence. his hands found your waist, pulling you closer until your bodies aligned, and you could feel the nervous tremor running through him. when you parted for air, his forehead rested against yours.
"i've never..." he started, then trailed off, cheeks flushing.
you understood. "it's okay," you murmured, your thumb stroking his cheek. "we can take this slow. we don't have to do anything you're not ready for."
"i want to," he said quickly, then looked embarrassed by his own eagerness. "i mean... i want to be with you. i just... don't really know what i'm doing."
the honesty in his admission made your heart swell. after years of yeonjun's performative confidence, his constant need to prove he was the best at everything, including intimacy, this vulnerability felt like breathing fresh air.
"can i show you?" you asked softly.
he nodded, his eyes wide and trusting.
you guided his hand to your cheek, then leaned in to kiss him again. slower this time, showing him the rhythm, letting him feel the way your lips moved together. when he tentatively tried to mimic your movements, you smiled against his mouth.
"like that," you encouraged. "just like that."
as the kisses deepened, you could feel him growing more confident. his hands began to explore, first your shoulders, then your back, always checking in with his eyes to make sure he had permission. when his fingers brushed against the hem of your shirt, he paused.
"is this...?"
"yes," you breathed. "you can touch me."
you showed him how to remove your shirt, his movements clumsy but earnest. when his hands finally made contact with your bare skin, he gasped softly.
"you're so beautiful," he whispered, his voice full of wonder.
the reverence in his touch was unlike anything you'd experienced. where yeonjun had always been demanding, taking what he wanted without regard for your comfort, this boy, this beautiful nervous boy, treated every inch of you like something precious.
when it came time to remove his own clothes, his hands shook. you stilled them with yours.
"we don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with," you reminded him.
"i want to," he insisted, though his nerves were palpable. "i just... what if i'm bad at this?"
you cupped his face, making him look at you. "there's no such thing as bad," you said firmly. "it's not a performance. it's just us, being close. whatever happens is exactly what's supposed to happen."
the trust in his eyes as he nodded nearly broke you.
as you helped him out of his clothes, you talked him through every step, explaining what felt good, guiding his hands, praising him when he found the right rhythm or pressure. when he grew frustrated with his own inexperience, you kissed his forehead.
when you were both completely bare, he just looked at you for a long moment, his expression so full of awe that you felt tears prick your eyes.
"can i..." he gestured vaguely, his meaning clear.
"yes," you said, lying back and opening your arms to him. "come here."
he crawled on top of you, his hand resting on your cheek before going in for another kiss. you laid below him, but your hands tightened around his neck and you dove into the kiss more deeply. even if he was new to this, you wanted to go further. your tongue slipped into his mouth, and he naturally met yours in response.
it felt so natural. like this was all too familiar. and you loved the way your body responded to himâthe way your skin warmed wherever he touched, the way your breath hitched when his fingers traced patterns along your spine.
he finally pulled back, his breathing uneven, and his fingers went up to his glasses to take them off. he placed them carefully on the nightstand, and you had a perfect view of his eyes. his dark brown eyes that usually hid behind the glasses now looked at you face to face, vulnerable and completely present.
"you're so beautiful," you whispered, your thumb brushing over his long lashes. "you have the most beautiful eyes. but you won't get to see me clearly and i want you to see this beautiful moment."
he chuckled softly, the sound warm and intimate in the quiet room. "trust me, i can see you better like this. everything else is just details." his gaze was so intense, so focused entirely on you that you felt truly seen for the first time in years.
you smiled, placing a soft kiss on his lips before your hand rested on his bicep, feeling the strength and gentleness coexisting in his muscles.
jungwon's head dipped to your neck, leaving small kisses that made you whimper just a little. he kept going, his lips tracing a path of fire down your collarbone until he reached your breasts. he looked up at you, his eyes asking permission, and you nodded, your breath catching in anticipation.
his hot tongue covered your nipple, licking and exploring with a reverence that made your whole body heat with pleasure. your hands flew to his hair, tugging at the soft strands as the sensation coursed through you. when he moved to your other breast, biting gently, you let out another loud whimper that seemed to encourage him. he looked up at you again, licking his lips while you desperately felt the building eagerness.
"wonnie, i need you... inside, now," you begged, your voice thick with desire.
he sat back up between your thighs, his hands resting gently on your knees. "tell me if I hurt you," he said, his voice husky with emotion as he positioned himself.
"you won't," you assured him, smiling as you tried to comfort his nervousness. "i know you'll never hurt me. just go slow," you guided, your hands coming up to frame his face. "listen to my breathing. if I tense up, slow down. if i relax, you can go a little deeper. we'll find our rhythm together."
he followed your instructions with intense concentration, his brow furrowed in focus. when he finally entered you, his eyes widened with wonder, and you could see the realization dawning that this was different from anything he'd imagined.
you let out a soft moan, your hands moving to his back as you tried to take all of him in. "oh," he breathed, the sound full of awe. "you feel..."
you smiled up at him, brushing the hair from his forehead. "i know. you feel amazing too. just like you belong here."
he moved slowly, thrusting into you as he watched your expressions with attention. there was a moment of adjustment, your body accommodating his different size and rhythm, but soon the initial discomfort melted into pure pleasure. your legs spread wider, inviting him deeper, letting him find his own comfortable position within you.
you continued to let out soft moans and encouraging words, letting him know he was doing wonderfully. your validation seemed to give him confidence. his movements became more assured, deeper, but he remained acutely aware of your body, constantly checking that he wasn't causing you any pain.
"mm, jungwon..." you moaned into his ear, your fingernails tracing gentle patterns across his back. "you're doing so good, baby. so perfect."
âyou feel so good, princess," he breathed between ragged breaths. "this is all worth it... every moment led to you."
you felt a familiar warmth building in your lower stomach, that delicious tension coiling tighter with each of his movements. jungwon picked his head up from where it had been buried in your neck and finally looked directly at you. you both smiled, your hand coming to his cheek before pulling him into a deep, meaningful kiss.
his kisses made you feel cherished and safe. they were relaxing, almost like you needed this connection after everything you'd been through. like a healing balm for wounds you'd carried for too long.
he finally pulled away, and you could see he was struggling to form words as he approached his climax. he tried to pull away. "wait, i shouldâ"
âit's okay," you assured him, pulling him back toward you. "just let go. i want to feel all of you. i want this connection to be complete."
as you spoke those words, your own release washed over you, bringing him deeper into you as you lost all sense of time and space. he followed moments after, burying his face in your neck with a choked sob of your name. "fuck...y/n," he groaned, his entire body trembling with the intensity of his release.
afterward, he collapsed beside you, breathing heavily. then he turned to look at you, his eyes shining with emotion he couldn't put into words. he pulled you close, bringing you to his chest, and you adjusted yourself into the curve of his body. your breathing was still trying to settle from the intensity of the moment, but with him so close, you felt an overwhelming sense of calm.
your voice finally broke the comfortable silence. "jungwon, that was amazing."
he rubbed circles on your back as he closed his eyes, a contented sigh escaping his lips. "really?"
you nodded against his chest. "it all felt so right with you. so comfortable and natural." you paused, the words feeling both vulnerable and true. "i never want to leave you after this."
his arms tightened around you. "i'm not going anywhere," he whispered into your hair. "i'm never letting go."
the certainty in his voice settled deep in your soul, and you believed that love didn't have to hurt, it could feel exactly like this. safe, cherished, and completely, wonderfully right.
âËâč àż
this is lowkey bunz, but i just wanted to release this. -_-
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
I was struggling a lot lately. To keep writting, vet school and my last fuckass job bUT I'm still working on more fics to publish, heheh. Just as slow as always because I struggle a lot with English and I get demotivated really fast.
So far I'm working on:
A Heeseung fic.
A Jungwon series.
A Ni-Ki drabble.
And an OT7 imagine.
Also, the Heeseung news got me devastated but after thinking about it, I'll keep going on, I don't care what anyone says, ENHYPEN is seven. And that's what makes me want to continue.
Pairings: Autistic! Jake x Caretaker! fem! reader
Wordcount:32k
Summary:Hired to help a brilliant, autistic young man navigate a world that is far too loud, you, a newly graduated social worker learns to speak his unique language of logic, LEGOs, and quiet routines. As you become the one permanent variable that makes the static in his mind finally stop, the strict boundaries of your job description slowly blur into a profound, life-changing connection.
Warnings:Caretaker/Client Relationship (Blurring of Professional Boundaries), Autism Spectrum Representation, Sensory Overload & Severe Meltdowns, Ableism & Public Bullying, Mild Self-Harm (Frustration Stimming/Hitting Head - quickly stopped by Yn), Panic Attacks/Hyperventilating, Emotional Angst (Self-Doubt/Feeling "Broken"), Hurt/Comfort, Protective Reader, Extreme Fluff, Touch-Starved Jake, Slow Burn, First Time/Virginity Loss (Jake), Smut (M/F)(FULL CONSENT Iâm not a weirdo đ), Sensory-Focused Intimacy, Emotional Overstimulation (Happy Tears).get those tissues ready for the absolute softest boy.
A/N: can you tell I love writing for jake because I can. I did a lot of watching videos with people that have autism and this fic came to mind, how we all should treat people even if theyâre different from us the same because theyâre trying too! But Iâm such a sappy girl.Anyways Like always Please Like, Reblog and Comment! They are very appreciated.
[Masterlist]
The diploma on your wall was still crooked. It had been hanging there for three weeks, a piece of expensive cardstock in a cheap black frame that declared you were now a Bachelor of Social Work. It was supposed to feel like a victory lap. Instead, it felt like the starting gun of a race you weren't sure you were qualified to run.
You were twenty-two years old. You had a head full of theoryâsystems theory, behavioral psychology, crisis intervention modelsâand absolutely zero real-world experience. The imposter syndrome wasn't just a whisper in the back of your mind; it was a scream.You sat at your small kitchen table, staring at the file folder the agency, New Horizons Support Services, had couriered over that morning.
Client Name: Jake Sim.
Age: 23.
Diagnosis: Autism Spectrum Disorder (Level 1/High Support Needs during sensory events). Notes: History of high caregiver turnover. Client experiences acute sensory overload. Rigid adherence to routine is required. Previous workers reported difficulty establishing rapport."High caregiver turnover." That was the phrase that stuck. In the social work world, that usually meant the client was "difficult"âaggressive, non-verbal, or physically demanding.But looking at the photo clipped to the inside of the file, you didn't see "difficult." You saw a boyâno, a young manâlooking away from the camera. He wasn't smiling. His hair was a fluffy, dark brown mop that seemed to be trying to swallow his head. He was wearing a hoodie that looked three sizes too big. He didn't look aggressive. He looked⊠retreating. Like he was trying to fold himself into a shape that the world wouldn't notice.You closed the file. You drank your lukewarm coffee. You adjusted your blazer, which felt too stiff and too "adult," and grabbed your keys. "Okay," you whispered to the empty apartment. "Don't mess this up." The house was in a quiet suburb, the kind with manicured lawns and basketball hoops in every other driveway. It was a beige two-story with a wrap-around porch.
You parked your beat-up sedan on the street, checking your watch. 8:55 AM. Five minutes early. "On time is late, early is on time," your practicum supervisor used to say. You walked up the path, your heels clicking loudly on the pavement. You made a mental note to wear sneakers next time if you got the job. Click-clack sounds could be a sensory trigger. Think, Y/N. Think.
You rang the doorbell.It opened almost immediately, revealing a woman who looked like she hadn't slept a full eight hours in a decade. She was beautiful, with the same dark eyes as the boy in the photo, but there were deep lines etched around her mouth."You must be Y/N," she said. Her smile was warm, but her eyes were scanning you, assessing you. It was the look of a mother bear who was tired of fighting off wolves but was ready to do it again if she had to. "Hi. Yes, I am," you said, extending a hand. "Itâs so nice to meet you, Mrs. Sim."
"Sarah, please," she shook your hand firmly. "Come in. Take your shoes off at the door, if you don't mind. We try to keep the outside noise⊠outside."
You stepped into the foyer. It was cool and smelled faintly of lemon pledge and lavender. It was aggressively tidy. Not a speck of dust, not a stray shoe.
"So," Sarah said, leading you toward the kitchen. "You've read the file?"
"I have."
"Forget half of it," she said bluntly. She leaned against the granite island, crossing her arms. "The agency writes those reports to cover their liability. They make him sound like a list of symptoms. 'Sensory processing disorder.' 'Social deficits.' It makes him sound broken." She looked at you, her expression fierce. "Jake isn't broken. Heâs just⊠on a different frequency. Heâs brilliant. Heâs funny, in his own way. But he feels everything. Imagine if you couldn't turn down the volume on the world. Thatâs Jakeâs life. Every light is a spotlight. Every sound is a siren." You nodded, listening intently. "I understand. My goal isn't to 'fix' him, Sarah. Itâs to help him navigate the volume."
Sarah softened. She let out a long breath, her shoulders dropping. "The last girl⊠she treated him like a toddler. She used that high-pitched 'baby voice.' Jake hated it. Heâs twenty-three. Heâs a grown man. He just needs help with the logistics of being a grown man."
"I promise," you said seriously. "No baby voice."
Sarah smiled, a real one this time. "Okay. Heâs in the living room. Itâs his⊠sanctuary. Heâs having a good morning, so heâs building. Just⊠go in slow. Let him come to you. If you push, heâll shut down."
"Got it."
"Good luck," she whispered. You walked down the hallway. The floorboards were carpeted here, muffling your footsteps. The house was unnaturally quiet. No TV, no radio, no hum of appliances. You reached the archway of the living room and stopped.The room was large, with heavy blackout curtains drawn halfway, filtering the morning sun into a soft, hazy glow. The furniture was pushed to the perimeter of the room.The center of the floor was occupied by a city.There were thousandsâliterally thousandsâof LEGO bricks. But they weren't scattered. They were organized into plastic trays by color, size, and function. Grey plates. Blue pins. Technic beams.
And sitting in the middle of it all was Jake.
He looked exactly like the photo, but realer. Vivid. He was sitting cross-legged, hunched over a massive, half-built grey structure. He was wearing a faded brown hoodie with fraying cuffs, the hood down, revealing that fluffy hair that curled slightly at the nape of his neck.He was muttering. A low, rapid-fire stream of words.
"...clutch power on the 2x4 is insufficient for the torque... need to reinforce the sub-frame... bag twelve, bag twelve, where is the axle connector..."
You took a breath. You stepped into the room.
"Hi, Jake," you said softly. He didn't flinch. He didn't look up. He didn't acknowledge you existed. His long, elegant fingers continued to snap pieces together with a rhythmic click-click-click. You remembered your training. Parallel play. Don't force interaction. Join the space. You walked over to the sofa, which was a safe ten feet away from his construction zone. You sat down slowly. You placed your bag on the floor. You didn't pull out your phone. You just sat there, hands in your lap, watching him. Minutes ticked by. Five. Ten. Most people would have been awkward. They would have cleared their throat or tried to start small talk about the weather. But you found yourself strangely captivated. There was something hypnotic about the way he worked. He wasn't playing. He was engineering. He would pick up a piece, rotate it, inspect it for flaws, and then place it with the precision of a surgeon.
He was beautiful. That was the unprofessional thought that popped into your head. He had a strong jawline, soft lips that were currently pursed in concentration, and eyelashes that were unfairly long. Fifteen minutes in, he paused. He held a long, grey Technic beam in his hand. He frowned. He looked at the instruction bookletâwhich was thick enough to be a phone bookâthen back at the beam. "The inventory is incorrect," he said. He didn't look at you. He spoke to the air. But it was an opening.
"Is a piece missing?" you asked, keeping your voice low and level.Jake stiffened slightly. He turned his head slowly, like a wary deer. For the first time, you saw his eyes. They were big. That was the only word for them. Big, dark, liquid brown eyes that held a depth of innocence that hit you right in the chest. They were "puppy eyes" in the truest senseâguileless, open, and slightly fearful.He looked at you. He blinked. He looked at your feet. He looked at your hands. Then, finally, he looked at your face.
"Itâs not missing," he corrected you. His voice was smooth, deep, and sounded very matter-of-fact. "Itâs the wrong molding variant. This is a 32523, but the instructions call for a 32524. The friction ridges are different. If I use this, the stabilizer fin will wobble." He held the piece out, not to you, but in your general direction.
"That sounds frustrating," you said. "A wobble would ruin the structural integrity."
Jakeâs eyes widened a fraction. He pulled his hand back. "Yes. Structural integrity is the primary variable. Most people don't care about the wobble."
"Well, if you're building the UCS Millennium Falcon," you said, gesturing to the box you recognized in the corner, "you want it to be perfect. Itâs a collector's item."
He froze. He turned his body fully toward you now, abandoning the LEGOs for a second. "You know the model number?" he asked. It was a test. "75192," you said. "Released in 2017. Itâs the biggest set they ever made, right?"
You thanked your lucky stars for your younger brother, who had begged for this set for three Christmases in a row.Jake stared at you. He was processing this data. New girl. Not loud. Not baby voice. Knows the Falcon.
"It was the biggest," he corrected gently. "Until the Art World Map. But the World Map is just tiles. Itâs 2D. The Falcon is 3D engineering. Itâs superior."
"I agree," you smiled. "Maps are boring compared to spaceships."
The corner of his mouth twitched. A micro-smile. It was there and gone in a second, but you saw it. "I'm Jake," he said. He looked at your name tag, which you had clipped to your blazer. "You are Y/N."
"I am."
"Are you going to tell me to clean this up?" He gestured vaguely to the chaos on the floor. "The last one... Jenny. She said it was a tripping hazard. She made me put it in bins before I was done." The distress in his voice was subtle, but clear. He remembered the disruption of his routine. "No," you said firmly. "I am not going to make you clean it up. Itâs not a mess, Jake. Itâs a system. I can see you have the plates sorted by size." Jake let out a breath he seemed to have been holding since you walked in. His shoulders slumped, the tension draining out of him.
"It is a system," he whispered, relieved. "Sorted by function, then color."
He picked up the grey beam again. He looked at it, then at you.
"Do you want to... inspect the sub-frame?" he asked. "Itâs very dense."
It was an invitation into his world.You stood up and walked over. You didn't rush. You sat down on the floor, crossing your legs, keeping a respectful distance.
"Show me," you said.For the next two hours, Jake Sim taught you about the physics of plastic bricks. He showed you how the internal technic frame supported the weight of the outer shell. He explained the concept of "SNOT" (Studs Not On Top) building techniques.
He didn't make eye contact often. mostly he looked at his hands or the model. But every now and then, when he was explaining a particularly clever bit of engineering, he would look up at you to see if you were following. And when he saw that you were listeningâreally listening, not just nodding politelyâhis face would light up.It wasn't a loud happiness. It was a quiet, glowing satisfaction."You're a good listener," he said abruptly, around 11:30 AM. "Thank you, Jake."
"Most people stop listening after the first sentence about gear ratios."
"I like gear ratios," you lied. Well, a half-lie. You liked him talking about gear ratios.
"Okay," he said. He turned back to the pile. "I'm hungry now. It is Tuesday. Tuesday is grilled cheese."
"Do you want me to make it?"
He paused. He looked anxious. "Do you know the cut?"
"Diagonal?" you guessed. He nodded vigorously. "Diagonal. It tastes better. The surface area of the crust is distributed more evenly."
"I can do diagonal." You went to the kitchen. Sarah was sitting at the table, pretending to read a magazine, but she was clearly listening to the silence in the living room. She looked up as you entered. "Heâs... talking," she said, sounding stunned. "I heard him talking."
"He was telling me about the Falcon," you smiled, grabbing the bread. "Heâs brilliant, Sarah. He knows more about engineering than I know about anything."
Sarahâs eyes welled up. She blinked them back quickly. "He likes you. He usually ignores them for the first week. Or hides in his room."
"I think we're going to get along just fine."You made the grilled cheese. You cut it diagonally. You placed it on a plate (blue, his favorite color, according to the file).
You brought it to him. He ate it sitting on the floor, wiping his hands meticulously on a napkin between bites so he wouldn't get grease on the LEGOs.
When the shift ended at 3 PM, you felt exhausted but exhilarated. You gathered your bag."I have to go now, Jake," you said.He didn't look up from bag thirteen. "Okay."
"I'll be back tomorrow."He paused. He placed a brick. Then, without looking up, he spoke."Bring sneakers," he said.
"Sneakers?"
"Your shoes," he pointed to your heels you put back on without looking. "They go click-clack. It echoes. Sneakers are quieter. Stealth mode."
You smiled. "Stealth mode. Got it. Sneakers tomorrow."
The morning sun was hitting the pavement differently today. Yesterday, it had felt like a spotlight of judgment; today, it felt like a gentle invitation.You parked your sedan in the same spot, checking the time. 8:50 AM. You were establishing your own routine: ten minutes early, park, breathe, enter. Consistency was the currency of trust, and you intended to be rich in it. You looked down at your feet. Gone were the stiff, "professional" black heels that pinched your toes and echoed like gunshots in a quiet hallway. In their place were a pair of white Converseâclean, soft-soled, and silent. You had spent twenty minutes the night before scrubbing a scuff mark off the toe, irrationally worried that a smudge might disrupt the visual harmony of Jakeâs morning. "Stealth mode," you whispered to yourself, grabbing your bag. You walked up the path. You made a conscious effort to step lightly, rolling from heel to toe. The silence was noticeable. You felt less like an intruder and more like a ghost, slipping into the ecosystem without disturbing the wildlife. Sarah opened the door before you could ring the bell. She was holding a mug of coffee with two hands, looking slightly more awake than yesterday, though the tired lines were still etched deep around her eyes. She wore a soft grey cardigan wrapped tight around her frame. She looked down immediately. She saw the sneakers. A small, genuine smile touched her lipsânot the polite, strained smile of yesterday, but something softer. A crack in the armor.
"You listened," she said, opening the door wider. "He asked for sneakers," you said simply, stepping into the cool, lemon-scented foyer. "I figure he knows his ears better than I do."
"Youâd be surprised how many people argue with him on that," Sarah murmured, closing the door with a soft click. "They say, 'Oh, you'll get used to the noise.' As if he can just will his neurology to change."
"I'm not here to argue with him, Sarah. I'm here to work with him."
"I'm starting to believe you." She gestured toward the kitchen. "Heâs eating. Itâs a... process. Keep your voice low. Morning transitions are hard. His brain is still booting up." You followed her down the hallway, your rubber soles making no sound against the hardwood. The house was still unnaturally quiet, a sanctuary of stillness against the chaotic world outside. When you entered the kitchen, the scene was almost tableau-like in its precision. The kitchen was bathed in natural light, but the blinds were tilted just so to prevent any glare. At the round wooden table sat Jake.
He was wearing a different hoodie todayâa navy blue one, equally oversized, the sleeves pulled down over his knuckles. He was hunched slightly over his plate, his focus absolute. On the plate were two scrambled eggs and three strips of bacon. But "scrambled eggs and bacon" didn't quite do justice to what you were seeing. The eggs were a uniform yellowâno brown spots, no runny bits. They were separated perfectly from the bacon. The bacon itself had been cut into precise, one-inch squares.Jake held his fork in his right hand. He didn't shovel the food. He speared one square of bacon, lifted it, inspected it for a brief second, and then ate it. He chewed rhythmically. He swallowed. He took a sip of water from a clear glass (no ice, you notedâice clinks). Then, and only then, did he spear a forkful of eggs.
It was a ritual. A sequence.
"Hi, Jake," you said, pitching your voice to a soft murmur, staying near the doorway.
He paused mid-chew. He didn't look up immediately. He finished chewing, swallowed, and took his sip of water. Then, slowly, he turned his head. His hair was messy from sleep, sticking up in tufts in the back, giving him a disarmingly boyish look. His eyes were heavy, blinking slowly as they found you. He looked at your face. Then, immediately, his gaze dropped to the floor. He stared at your white Converse for a long, intense five seconds. You stood perfectly still, letting him inspect the data.
"White," he said. His voice was raspy with sleep, deeper than it had been yesterday.
"White," you agreed. "And rubber soles. No clicking."
He nodded onceâa sharp, decisive chin dip. "Stealth mode active."
"Active," you smiled. He turned back to his eggs. "Acceptable." Sarah let out a silent breath beside you. She touched your elbow gently and tilted her head toward the sunroom adjacent to the kitchen. It was close enough to see him, but far enough to talk without hovering over his plate. You followed her, sitting on a wicker chair while she perched on the edge of a loveseat. She watched her son eat with a mixture of fierce love and terrified vigilance. "Okay," Sarah whispered, turning to you. "Lesson number one: The morning sets the algorithm."
You pulled a small notebook out of your bag. "I'm listening."
"Jakeâs energy is a battery," Sarah explained, keeping one eye on the navy-hooded figure at the table. "Most of us start the day at 100%. We spend energy, we get tired, we sleep. Jake starts the day at maybe... 60%. Just existing costs him energy. The lights, the texture of his sheets, the smell of the coffee Iâm drinkingâit all costs him."
You wrote down: Baseline energy lower. High sensory tax.
"If breakfast goes wrong," Sarah continued, her voice tight, "if the eggs are slimy, or the bacon is burnt, or the spoon is the wrong weight... he loses 20% right there. Then he starts the day in a deficit. And a deficit means a meltdown is almost guaranteed by noon."
"So the routine isn't just about being picky," you said, realizing. "Itâs about conservation."
"Exactly," Sarah nodded, looking grateful that you got it. "Heâs controlling the variables he can control, because the rest of the world is completely out of control for him. That plate?" She pointed to his breakfast. "Thatâs safety. He knows exactly what the bacon will taste like. He knows the texture of the eggs. Itâs predictable. Predictability is safety." You watched Jake spear another square of bacon. The deliberate nature of it made sense now. He wasn't just eating; he was grounding himself for the day ahead. "Tell me about the food," you asked. "I noticed he cut the bacon before he started." "Texture and size," Sarah said. "He has trouble with proprioceptionâknowing where his body is in space, and sometimes, manipulating utensils while chewing is too much multitasking. If the food is big, he worries about choking. Or getting grease on his face. He hates having a dirty face. It feels like burning to him."
"So we keep it bite-sized," you noted. "Clean face, no unexpected textures."
"And no mixing," Sarah added quickly. "The eggs cannot touch the bacon. If the syrup from a waffle touches the sausage? The whole meal is ruined. Itâs contaminated."
"Separation is key."
"Yes." Sarah took a sip of her coffee, her eyes darkening slightly. "The last aide... she thought it was 'silly.' She tried to mix his corn and mashed potatoes to 'save space' on the plate. He flipped the table." You looked at the calm, quiet boy eating his squares of bacon. It was hard to imagine him flipping a table. "He felt bad about it for weeks," Sarah whispered, seeing your expression. "He cried for two days. He kept saying, 'I broke the plate, Mom. Iâm bad.' Heâs not violent, Y/N. Heâs never hurt a fly on purpose. But when the sensory overload hits... itâs like a power surge. His body just explodes to get the feeling out."
"I read about the meltdowns in the file," you said gently. "But the file called them 'behavioral outbursts.'"
Sarah scoffed. "Behavioral implies heâs doing it to get something. To manipulate. Heâs not. Itâs a system crash. Itâs pain. Imagine someone blasts an airhorn in your ear while flashing a strobe light in your eyes and scratching a chalkboard. Thatâs what a disrupted routine feels like to him. The screaming, the rocking? Thatâs him trying to survive the input." You looked at Jake again. He had finished his food. He was now wiping his mouth with a napkin. Once. Twice. Fold. Wipe again. "What do I do if he crashes?" you asked. "You don't talk much," Sarah said firmly. "Thatâs the biggest mistake people make. They try to talk him down. 'Calm down, Jake. Use your words, Jake.' He can't use his words. His language center shuts off. Talking just adds more noise."
"So... silence?"
"Presence," Sarah corrected. "Quiet, heavy presence. He responds to deep pressure. You saw the weighted blanket yesterday? He lives under that thing when heâs stressed. If heâs spiraling, don't touch him lightlyâlight touch feels like bugs crawling on him. But a firm squeeze? A hand on his shoulder, pressing down? That tells his brain where his body is. It anchors him." You wrote down: No light touch. Deep pressure. Silence > Words. "Heâs an empath, you know," Sarah said suddenly, her voice softening. You looked up. "The file said he has 'social deficits.'"
"The file is garbage," Sarah waved a hand dismissively. "He struggles with social cues. He doesn't understand sarcasm or hidden agendas. But emotions? He absorbs them like a sponge. If you are stressed, he will be stressed. If you are sad, he will be devastated. He can't filter out other people's feelings. Thatâs why he withdraws. Itâs too loud emotionally." She looked at you pointedly. "So, you have to be calm. Even if youâre panicking inside, you have to be a rock on the outside. If you bring chaos into this house, he will shatter." It was a heavy responsibility. You were twenty-two. You were barely an adult yourself. But looking at Sarahâs exhausted face, and Jakeâs solitary figure at the table, you felt a steel rod of determination form in your spine.
"I can be calm," you promised. "I can be a rock." Just then, the chair scraped against the floor in the kitchen. Jake stood up. He picked up his plate and glass. He walked to the sink, rinsed them both, and placed them in the dishwasher. Then, he turned and walked toward the sunroom. He stopped in the doorway, his hands shoved into the front pocket of his hoodie. He looked at his mom, then at you. "Breakfast is complete," he announced. "Good job, honey," Sarah said.
Jake looked at you. His eyes were clearer now, the sleepiness gone, replaced by that keen, observant intelligence you had seen yesterday. "Are we going to the living room?" he asked you.
"We can," you said, standing up. "Or we can do something else. Whatâs the plan for Wednesday?"
Jake frowned slightly. "Wednesday is... mid-week. The energy is medium." He tapped his fingers against his thigh. "I want to disassemble the sub-frame of the Falcon. I dreamed about a better anchor point for the hyperdrive."
"Disassembly," you nodded. "Sounds like a plan."
He turned to leave, then paused. He looked at your feet again.
"They really are quiet," he murmured, almost to himself. "Like a ninja." Then he disappeared down the hallway. Sarah let out a laugh, a short, breathy sound. "A ninja. Thatâs high praise. He likes ninjas. They have discipline."
"I'll take it," you smiled.
"Go on," Sarah shooed you gently. "I'm going to actually take a shower without worrying the house is burning down. You have the conn."
"I have the conn," you repeated. You walked down the hallway, your sneakers silent on the carpet. You found Jake in the living room, exactly where you left him yesterday. He was kneeling beside the massive LEGO structure. He didn't look up when you entered, but his shoulders didn't tense up either. He knew you were there. He accepted you were there.You walked over to your spot on the sofa and sat down.
"So," you said softly. "The hyperdrive anchor. What was wrong with the old one?"
Jake picked up a section of the ship. He rotated it, his eyes narrowing in concentration. "It was too rigid," he said. "If the ship moves, the stress fractures the connector. It needs flex. The universe has flex. Ships should too."
"Thatâs a good philosophy," you noted. "Flexibility prevents breaking."
He looked up at you then. A long, steady look. "Yes," he said. "
People break because they don't flex. They are rigid about the wrong things."
You felt a chill go down your spine. For someone who supposedly struggled with social concepts, he had just nailed the human condition in two sentences.
"I'll try to be flexible, Jake," you said. "Good," he said. He handed you a small bucket of grey pins. "You can sort these. By length. The short ones go on the left."
It was an order, but it was also an inclusion. He wasn't just letting you watch; he was letting you help. You took the bucket. You slid off the sofa and sat on the floorâkeeping a respectful three feet of distance.
"Short ones on the left," you repeated. You worked in silence for twenty minutes. It was a comfortable silence. The only sounds were the click-click of his building and the soft rattle of your sorting.
"Y/N?"
"Yeah, Jake?"
He didn't look up. He was fitting a gear into place.
"Thank you for the shoes," he said. His voice was quiet, almost swallowed by the room. "The clicking... it hurts my teeth. It makes my spine feel itchy."
"I didn't know," you said. "I'm sorry about yesterday."
"You didn't know the variable," he said simply. "Now you have the data. You updated your software."
"I did."
"That is efficient." He paused, then added, "Jenny never updated her software. She just wore the loud shoes every day." Your heart broke a little for him. You could imagine him sitting here, day after day, his spine "itching" from the sound, unable to articulate why he was so agitated, while a well-meaning but oblivious support worker clattered around him. "I will always try to update my software, Jake," you vowed. "If something hurts, you tell me. Iâll fix it."
He looked at you. He studied your face, your eyes, your posture. He was looking for the lie. He was looking for the condescension. He didn't find it. "Okay," he said.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a single, red 2x4 brick. He held it out to you. "This doesn't belong in the Falcon," he said. "The Falcon is grey and beige. This is red. Itâs an anomaly." You reached out and took the brick. It was warm from his pocket. "What should I do with it?"
"Keep it," he said, turning back to his work. "Itâs a good color. High saturation. But it needs to be somewhere else. You can hold it."
You closed your hand around the red brick. It felt like a token. A peace offering. A key. "I'll keep it safe," you said.You spent the rest of the morning sorting pins and listening to him explain the difference between torque and horsepower. You watched the way his hands moved, so sure and graceful. You watched the way the sun caught the gold flecks in his brown eyes.You thought about Sarahâs warning: He feels everything.You looked at the boy who was building a spaceship to escape to a galaxy far, far away, and you thought, I will make sure this room is safe enough that you don't have to leave.By lunchtime (grilled cheese, diagonal cut, blue plate), you had learned more about thermal exhaust ports than you ever thought possible.
But more importantly, when you put the plate down in front of him, he didn't just stare at the food.He looked up. He gave you a micro-smileâa tiny quirk of the lip.
And as he took his first bite, you realized that the crooked diploma on your wall didn't matter. The textbooks didn't matter. This mattered. The quiet boy, the blue plate, the silent shoes, and the fragile, beautiful bridge you were starting to build, brick by brick.
The warm, soapy water in the kitchen sink was turning a pale, creamy orangeâthe remnants of the roasted tomato bisque you had served for lunch. You moved the sponge in slow, rhythmic circles against the bottom of the ceramic bowl, the motion meditative. Three months. It had been ninety days since you first walked into this house with your squeaky dress shoes and your imposter syndrome. Ninety days of learning that "on time" meant ten minutes early, that "quiet" meant silent, and that the world was a cacophony that Jake Sim fought to tune out every single minute of his life. Sarah had left an hour ago. It was a milestone, really. For the first two months, she had hovered. She was a ghost in the peripheryâfolding laundry in the next room, "checking emails" at the dining table while you and Jake were in the living room, watering plants that were already drowned. You didn't blame her. The stories she had told you about previous support workers were horror shows of incompetence and impatience. But last week, she had looked at you, then looked at Jake, who was calmly explaining the aerodynamics of a LEGO helicopter to you, and she had exhaled. A long, heavy breath that released years of tension.
"I'm going to the grocery store," she had said today, pulling on her coat. "Alone. And then... I might go to the library. I might be gone for three hours."
"Go," you had smiled, handing her keys. "We have the conn."
"You have the conn," sheâd repeated, a small, terrified smile on her face.
And she had left. Now, it was just you, the soup bowls, and the faint sounds of explosions coming from the living room. You rinsed the bowl, placing it in the drying rack. You wiped your hands on the towel, taking a moment to scan the kitchen. It was spotless. Jake liked spotless. Clutter was "visual noise." If a spoon was left on the counter, he wouldn't say anything, but he would stare at it, his brow furrowed, his internal processor snagging on the anomaly until you moved it.You thought about the lunch you had just shared. Tomato soup. Pureed. No chunks. You had learned the hard way about Jakeâs dietary landscape. It was a map filled with landmines.
No surprises. That was the golden rule. A piece of onion in a smooth sauce was a betrayal. A crunch in a soft food was a systemic failure. And the colors... that was a fascinating chapter in your education. Jake hated white foods. You remembered the "Cauliflower Incident" of Month Two. Sarah had been sick, so you tried to make dinner. You mashed cauliflower, thinking it was a healthy alternative to potatoes. You put a scoop on his blue plate. Jake had looked at it like it was radioactive waste. He had pushed his chair back, his breathing hitching.
"Itâs a ghost," he had whispered, his eyes wide with genuine distress. "It has no data. Itâs blank."
"It's cauliflower, Jake," youâd said gently.
"Itâs deceptive," heâd countered, his voice trembling. "It looks like nothing, but it tastes like wet earth. Itâs lying to my eyes." He hadn't eaten it. He hadn't eaten anything that night until you brought him a glass of milk. Milk was the exception. You had asked him why, fascinated by the logic. "Milk is structural," he had explained, drinking it down in three large gulps. "It builds bone density. Calcium is a metal. Itâs not food; itâs construction material. Therefore, the color is irrelevant."
Logic. It was always about logic. You smiled to yourself, folding the dish towel. You checked the clock. 1:15 PM. Transition time. You walked out of the kitchen, your worn-in Converse making zero sound on the hardwood. You moved like a shadow, a skill you had perfected to avoid startling him.You stopped in the archway of the living room.The blackout curtains were drawn, creating a twilight effect that Jake preferred. The only light came from the massive 65-inch TV screen, which was currently exploding with red and blue light. Spider-Man: No Way Home. Again. Jake was sitting on the floor. He never sat on the couch when he was watching Spider-Man. He needed to be grounded, literally. He sat on the plush rug, his legs crossed, his posture rigid with focus. And he was wearing the pajamas. It was 1:15 PM on a Tuesday, but Jake was wearing a matching set of flannel pajamas covered in little Miles Morales masks. He had three sets. One with the classic logo, one with the Venom symbiote (which he only wore when he was moody), and this one.
He loved them because they were "high-tensile cotton," soft but durable, with no tags. He loved them because Peter Parker was his hero. You leaned against the doorframe, crossing your arms, just watching him.It was... cute. There was no other word for it. He wasn't just watching the movie; he was participating in it. He held a small LEGO minifigure of Spider-Man in his left hand. Every time Tom Holland shot a web on screen, Jakeâs left hand would twitch, mimicking the thwip motion. It was a subtle stim, a way of processing the action. You knew why he loved Spider-Man. He had told you, in bits and pieces, over the last three months. "He has to wear the suit," Jake had said once, tracing the logo on his pajama shirt. "Because the world is too loud. The suit dampens the input. It holds him together."
"And the Spidey Sense?" you had asked. "Overload," Jake had replied, his voice serious. "When the air changes pressure. When he hears everything at once. He has to learn to dial it down. That is... relatable." Peter Parker was a boy who was overwhelmed by his own senses, who had to hide his true self to survive, who was awkward and nerdy but deeply good. Of course Jake loved him. Jake was him, just without the radioactive spider bite. On the screen, Spider-Man was swinging through New York, the camera panning dizzyingly. Jake rocked slightly back and forth, syncing his vestibular system with the movement on screen.You waited for a quiet moment in the dialogue before speaking. You never interrupted an action sequence. That was a rule. The scene changed to Peter and MJ talking on a roof. "Does the mask fit today?" you asked softly. Jake didn't jump. He knew you were there. He had probably heard your breathing change when you entered the room.
He turned his head slowly. His hair was a chaotic, fluffy halo around his headâhe had shampooed it this morning, and it always got extra floofy on wash days. His big brown eyes blinked at you behind his glasses. "The mask is theoretical," he said. His voice was that familiar, soothing baritone. "But the pajamas are optimal. The flannel is at peak softness."
"They look very comfortable," you said, walking over and sitting on the sofa behind him. You didn't sit on the floor with him unless invited. "Is that the bridge scene?"
"It is the preamble to the bridge scene," Jake corrected gently. He turned back to the TV, but he leaned back slightly, resting his shoulders against the front of the sofa, right between your knees. It was a small gesture, but it meant the world. It meant you are safe. You are part of the furniture. I can rest on you. You resisted the urge to reach out and run your fingers through his hair. You knew he liked head scratches, but only when he initiated. Unexpected touch was "bugs." Initiated touch was "grounding."
"I made a discovery today," Jake said, his eyes still glued to the screen.
"Oh?"
"The soup," he said. "The viscosity was different."
Your heart skipped a beat. "Different bad or different good?"
He paused. He tapped the LEGO minifigure against his knee three times. Tap. Tap. Tap.
"Different... efficient," he decided. "You roasted the tomatoes longer. The caramelization added depth. It reduced the acidity. It was... surprisingly pleasant."
You let out a breath. "I'm glad. I tried a new recipe."
"It is approved," Jake said. "You may add it to the rotation."
"Noted. Roasted tomato bisque: Approved." He went quiet for a moment, watching Peter Parker awkwardly try to explain his feelings to MJ. "Peter is bad at talking," Jake observed. "He is," you agreed. "He gets nervous."
"He has too many variables in his head," Jake said, twisting the LEGO figure. "He wants to say 'I like you,' but his brain is saying 'villains, aunt may, geometry, web fluid.' The output gets jammed."
"Does your output get jammed, Jake?" you asked softly.
He went still. The rocking stopped. He turned his head around to look up at you, craning his neck. His face was upside down from your perspective. His eyes were wide, searching yours. "Sometimes," he whispered. "With you."
Your breath caught. "With me?"
"Yes." He blinked. "Usually, with people, the output is jammed because I don't have the script. I don't know what they want me to say. Itâs... static."
He paused, thinking hard, his brow furrowing.
"But with you," he continued, "the output jams because... there is too much data. I want to tell you about the soup. And the LEGOs. And the way your shoes don't make noise. And the way you smell like vanilla and oats. It all tries to come out at once. And I get... stuck."
He looked so earnest, so frustrated by his own inability to verbalize the torrent of thoughts in his head.
"Thatâs okay," you said, your voice thick with emotion. "You don't have to say it all at once. You can just give me one piece of data at a time."
He seemed to consider this. He righted his head and turned back to the TV.
He reached into the pocket of his Spider-Man pajama pants. He pulled something out.
He held his hand up over his shoulder, blindly offering it to you.
"Data point one," he said.
You reached out and opened your hand. He dropped a small, plastic object into your palm. It was a LEGO piece. A translucent blue "power blast" piece that came with the Spider-Man sets. It was meant to look like energy or webbing.
"Itâs a web," he explained, staring at the screen. "It connects things. It holds things together when they are falling." You closed your fingers around the small, sharp plastic. It was better than a diamond ring."Thank you, Jake," you whispered. "I love it."
"Itâs polycarbonite," he added practically. "It won't break."
"Neither will we." He hummedâthat happy, vibrating sound that meant he was content. He leaned harder against your legs. "Do you want a snack?" you asked after a few minutes of comfortable silence. "Itâs 1:30." Jake stiffened. The snack question. It was always a gamble. "No sweets," he said immediately. "Sugar makes my teeth feel fuzzy sometimes. It makes my brain go bzzzzzt." He made a chaotic hand gesture. "No sweets," you promised. "I was thinking... pretzels? Or cheese cubes?"
"Cheese cubes," he said decisively. "Cheddar. Sharp. Cut into 1x1 centimeter blocks."
"I can do that."
"And... maybe milk?"
"Milk is structural," you recited his rule back to him.
"Correct," he said. "Milk is structural."
You stood up to go to the kitchen. Jake turned to watch you go.
"Y/N?"
"Yeah, Jakey?"
He looked at you, really looked at you, with that puppy-dog innocence that masked a profound, deep-feeling soul.
"Sarah is gone," he stated.
"She is."
"And the house is not on fire."
"Nope. No fire."
"And I am not screaming."
"You are definitely not screaming."
He nodded, a slow, satisfied movement. "This is a successful variable test."
"I think so too."
"Okay. Cheese cubes now."
He turned back to the movie, lifting his LEGO Spider-Man in the air to help Peter Parker swing across the screen. You walked to the kitchen, clutching the translucent blue LEGO piece in your pocket like a talisman. You opened the fridge and pulled out the block of sharp cheddar. You got the knife. You cut the cheese into precise, measured cubes. You thought about the last three months. You thought about the crooked diploma on your wall that you used to feel unworthy of. You didn't feel unworthy anymore. You didn't feel like a social worker "managing a case."
You felt like a web. You were holding him, and he was holding you, and together, you were swinging through the chaos of the world, one quiet, comfortable afternoon at a time. You put the cheese on the blue plateâmaking sure none of the cubes were touchingâand poured the milk. "Coming through," you whispered to the empty kitchen. "Stealth mode active." You walked back into the living room, where the boy in the Spider-Man pajamas was waiting for you, safe in the sanctuary you had built together.
The six-month mark didn't arrive with fireworks. It arrived with a quiet, steady hum of competence. You were no longer the nervous grad with the squeaky shoes. You were Y/N, the keeper of the routine, the translator of the static, the one who knew that if the humidity was above 80%, Jakeâs hair would frizz and the sensation would make him irritable unless he wore his hood up. You knew him. You knew the specific cadence of his breathing when he was happy (slow, deep) versus when he was anxious (shallow, catching in his throat). You knew that he categorized people by color auras he imagined for themâSarah was a soft yellow, you were a "protective blue." Sarah trusted you completely now. She had started taking yoga classes on Tuesday mornings. She had gone to lunch with a friend. She was reclaiming pieces of her life because she knew that when she left the house, you had the conn. "We need apples," Jake announced one Tuesday morning. He was standing in the kitchen, staring at the fruit bowl. It contained three bananas (too ripe, brown spotsâhe wouldn't touch them) and one orange. Zero apples. "We do," you agreed, closing the dishwasher. "Honeycrisp. No bruises."
"The Gala ones are mealy," Jake said, a shudder running through his shoulders. "Mealy is... bad texture. It feels like wet sand."
"Honeycrisp it is." He looked at you then. He was wearing his "going out" clothes: dark jeans that were soft and worn-in, and a grey hoodie that didn't have logos. He looked calm. His hands were steady at his sides. "I can assist," he said. You paused. "You want to come to the store?"
"Yes." He nodded once, firmly. "I have calculated the variables. It is Tuesday. The store is statistically less crowded at 10:00 AM. I can select the apples myself. To ensure quality control."
It was a big step. You hadn't taken him to the grocery store in two months. The last time had been... okay, but tense. He had gripped the cart handle so hard his knuckles turned white."Are you sure?" you asked gently.
"I am operating at 90% battery," he stated confidently. "I have my hoodie. I am prepared."
"Okay," you smiled, grabbing your keys. "Letâs go on a mission."
The drive was easy. You played his favorite playlistâlo-fi hip hop beats with no lyrics. He tapped his fingers against his thigh in time with the rhythm, looking out the window at the passing trees. "The leaves are changing," he noted. "Entropy."
"Itâs pretty though."
"It is acceptable decay," he conceded. You pulled into the parking lot of the massive supermarket. It wasn't too full, just as he predicted. Tuesday mornings were for retirees and stay-at-home parents. You turned off the engine.
"Okay," you said, unbuckling. "Game plan. In, apples, maybe some of that specific cheddar you like, and out. Fifteen minutes max."
"Stealth mission," Jake whispered. You got out of the car. Jake got out.
He reached into his hoodie pocket. And froze. He patted his left pocket. Then his right. Then his jeans. He turned to look at the backseat of your car. "Y/N," he said. His voice wasn't calm anymore. It had a sudden, sharp edge to it.
"What is it?" You walked around the car to him.
"My headphones," he said, staring at the empty backseat. "I... I put them on the table. By the door. I didn't pick them up."
Your stomach dropped. The headphones. The Sony noise-canceling over-ear ones. His shield. His buffer against the world. He never left the house without them.
"Oh, Jake," you said, scanning the car quickly, hoping they had just fallen. But you knew. You had seen them on the console table when you grabbed your keys. You had been so focused on making sure you had your wallet that you hadn't done the equipment check. "I forgot them," he whispered. He looked at the looming sliding glass doors of the supermarket. Suddenly, the building didn't look like a store. It looked like a monster's mouth.
"We can go back," you said immediately. "Itâs a ten-minute drive. Weâll go get them."
Jake shook his head. He was clenching his fists at his sides. "No," he said. He looked at you, his brown eyes wide and pleading. He wanted to be brave. He wanted to show you he could do it. "No. Itâs Tuesday. 10:00 AM. Low crowd density. I can do it. I have to flex."
"Jake, you don't have to flex on this. The store is loud."
"I can do it," he insisted, his voice rising slightly. "If we go back, we lose the window. The crowd density increases after 11:00. We are here. I am capable."
He looked so determined. He pulled his hood up over his head, tightening the strings until only his nose and eyes were visible.
"Hood up," he muttered. "Muffled." You hesitated. Every instinct in your social worker brain said abort mission. But every instinct in your heart wanted to support his autonomy. He was an adult. He was telling you he could handle it. "Okay," you said, your voice low. "But the secondâthe secondâyou feel the static getting too loud, you squeeze my hand three times. And we leave. We leave the apples, we leave the cart, we just go. Deal?" "Deal," he said. "Three squeezes. Emergency exit." He took a deep breath, puffing out his cheeks. "Letâs execute." The mistake became apparent the moment the automatic doors whooshed open. You had forgotten how aggressive a grocery store is. You filtered it outâyour brain ignored the hum of the freezers, the beep of the scanners, the squeak of cart wheels, the generic pop music playing over the PA system. But for Jake, without his headphones, there was no filter.
He flinched as we stepped onto the linoleum. The air conditioning blasted him, a physical wall of cold air.
"Okay?" you checked, moving close to his side.
"Buzzy," he muttered, keeping his head down. "Lights are... flickering. 60 hertz cycle."
"We'll be fast," you promised. "Produce is right here."
You steered him toward the apples. He kept his hands shoved deep in his pockets, his shoulders hunched up to his ears. He was making himself small.
"Honeycrisp," you said, grabbing a plastic bag. "Help me pick three good ones."
He focused on the task. The task was a lifeline. He inspected the apples with intense scrutiny, turning them over in his hands.
"Bruise," he whispered, rejecting one. "Soft spot."
He found three perfect apples. He placed them in the bag gently.
"Good," he said. "Done."
"Okay. Cheese next? Aisle four."
"Aisle four," he repeated. "Dairy. Cold."
You started walking. The store was indeed mostly empty, but 'mostly' isn't 'completely'.
A cart rattled past us. One of the wheels was stuck, making a rhythmic thud-squeak-thud-squeak sound.
Jake winced. He pressed his shoulder against yours. You leaned back into him, offering your solidity.
"Almost there," you murmured.
We turned into Aisle Four. And thatâs when the variables shifted. An employee was restocking the yogurt. He was tossing the plastic containers onto the shelf. Clack. Clack. Clack. At the other end of the aisle, a price scanner beeped loudly. BEEP. And then, the intercom crackled to life. "Price check on register three. Clean up in aisle nine." The voice was distorted, loud, and metallic. It echoed off the high industrial ceilings. Jake stopped walking. "Jake?" you whispered.He didn't answer. He was staring at the yogurt cups. His breathing had gone shallow. In-in-out. In-in-out. "Too many," he whispered. "Too many layers."
"Okay," you said instantly. "We're done. Letâs go."
You reached for his hand.But then, the final variable dropped. A woman turned the corner into the aisle. She was pushing a stroller. Inside the stroller was a baby.
The baby wasn't just crying. It was shrieking. It was that high-pitched, piercing wail that evolution designed to be impossible to ignore. It cut through the air like a jagged knife.Jake gasped. It sounded like he had been punched in the stomach.
His hands flew out of his pockets and slapped over his ears, pressing the fabric of his hood tight against his head. "No," he whimpered. "No no no."
"Jake," you said, stepping in front of him. "Look at me. Eyes on me." But the baby screamed again. A sharp, fluctuating cry. Jakeâs knees buckled.
He didn't fall; he crumbled. He dropped straight down to the cold linoleum floor, curling into a tight ball. He tucked his head between his knees, his hands clamped over his ears so hard his knuckles were white. "Make it stop," he keened. It was a high, thin sound of pure distress. "Itâs needles. Itâs needles in my ears."
The woman with the stroller stopped. She looked at the grown man curled on the floor. She looked at you.
"Is he okay?" she asked, her voice loud, concerned but intrusive.
"He's fine," you said, your voice sharp, protective. "Please, just keep moving. The noise." She looked offended, but she pushed the stroller away. The crying faded, but the damage was done. Jake was rocking now. Fast. Forward and back. Forward and back. Thump. His head hit his knees. Thump. "Jake," you said, dropping to your knees beside him. You abandoned the cart. You didn't care about the apples. "Jake, I'm here. I'm right here." He couldn't hear you. The static had swallowed him. He was in the red zone. System failure. You saw the panic in his posture. He was hyperventilating, gasping for air that felt too thick to breathe. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, a relentless strobe to his overloaded brain.You knew what you had to do.You moved in. You sat on the floor behind him, wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling his back against your chest.
You wrapped your arms around his chest, over his arms, locking your hands together.
And you squeezed. "Deep pressure," you whispered into his hood. "I've got you. I am the shield." You squeezed him with everything you had. You compressed his ribcage, grounding him. He fought it for a second, his body rigid and trembling, radiating heat. He let out a sobâa broken, terrified sound. "Hurts," he choked out. "Everything hurts."
"I know," you murmured, resting your chin on top of his hooded head. "I know, baby. Transfer it to me. Give me the noise." You started to rock with him. You synchronized your movement with his. Forward. Back. Forward. Back.People were staring. A manager was walking over, looking concerned.You held up one hand, palm out. Stop.
The manager paused. He saw the way you were holding him. He nodded once and backed off, diverting traffic away from the aisle. Thank god for small mercies.
"Breathe with me," you commanded softly, pressing your sternum against his spine. You took a deep, exaggerated breath. In. You held it. Out. Jake struggled. His breath was catching in jagged hiccups. "Focus on my arms," you said. "Feel how heavy they are. Feel the floor. The floor is hard. You are here. You are Jake. I am Y/N."
"Y/N," he gasped. It was a lifeline.
"Thatâs right. I'm right here. I forgot the headphones, Jake. Iâm so sorry. I messed up. But Iâve got you now." He was shaking violently, the adrenaline crash hitting him.
We sat there on the floor of Aisle Four for what felt like an eternity. It was probably ten minutes. Slowly, the rocking slowed. His hands, still clamped over his ears, loosened their grip slightly.
"Static," he whispered. "Itâs... lowering."
"Good. Keep breathing."
"The baby?"
"Gone. The baby is gone."
He slumped back against you, his weight fully supported by your chest. He was exhausted. A meltdown burned energy like a marathon. "I fell down," he whispered, shame creeping into his voice. "You sat down," you corrected firmly. "You did what you needed to do to survive the input. That is valid."
"People are looking."
"Let them look. Theyâre just jealous of how good I am at hugging."
He let out a weak, watery huff of laughter. It was a tiny sound, but it broke the tension. "Okay," you said, loosening your grip just a fraction. "Can we move? Or do we need more time?"
"Car," he said immediately. "I want the car. The bubble."
"Okay. We're going to the car. Do you want to walk, or do you want me to help you?"
"Help," he whispered. "My legs are... jelly. The signal is weak."
"I've got you."
Standing up was an ordeal. You had to hoist him up, his arm draped heavy over your shoulders. He kept his head down, eyes squeezed shut, hiding inside his hood.
You left the cart with the apples and the cheese. You didn't look back.
The walk to the exit was a gauntlet, but you moved fast. You glared at anyone who lingered too long with their gaze. Move along, your eyes said. This is my person.
When the automatic doors whooshed open, the humid, real air hit you. It was better than the recycled freeze of the store.
You got him to the passenger side. You opened the door. He practically collapsed into the seat. You ran around to the driver's side and got in. You locked the doors. You didn't start the car. You just sat in the sudden, blessed silence of the sedan.
Jake pulled his knees up to his chest, curling into a ball on the seat. He pulled his hood down further. "I failed," he said. His voice was muffled and thick with tears.
"No," you said, turning to him. "No, you didn't."
"I did," he insisted, a sob breaking through. "I said I could do it. I said I could flex. But I broke. The baby cried and I broke." He turned his head to look at you, and your heart shattered. His face was wet with tears, his eyes red and swollen, looking at you with such profound disappointment in himself. "I wanted to be good for you," he whispered. "I wanted to show you I could be normal." You unbuckled your seatbelt. You reached across the console. You couldn't hug him fully, so you put your hand on his knee and squeezed hard. "Jake," you said fiercely. "You are good. You are so good. You don't have to be 'normal.' Normal is boring. Normal is overrated."
"But I ruined the mission. No apples."
"Screw the apples," you said. "Jake, look at me."
He blinked at you. "This was my fault," you said. "I forgot the headphones. I am the support worker. It is my job to check the equipment. I sent you into a construction zone without a hard hat. Of course it hurt. Thatâs not you failing. Thatâs physics."
"Physics?"
"Yes. If you pour too much water into a cup, it spills. The store poured too much noise into your ears. You spilled. Thatâs just cause and effect."
He sniffled, processing this logic. "So... I didn't malfunction?"
"No. Your sensors were just overwhelmed. And you know what? You signaled. You didn't scream at the lady. You didn't throw the yogurt. You sat down. That was control."
He wiped his nose on his sleeve. "It felt like dying."
"I know," you softened. "I know it did. And I am so, so sorry I let that happen to you."
He looked at your hand on his knee. He reached out and covered it with his own. His hand was cold and clammy. "You squeezed me," he said softly.
"Always."
"You blocked the noise. You felt like... a wall."
"I will always be your wall, Jake." He looked up at you then, and the look in his eyes was so open, so raw, it took your breath away. It wasn't the look of a client looking at a worker. It was the look of a man looking at his safe harbor. "I don't like it when you're sad," he whispered, reaching up to touch your cheek. You hadn't realized you were crying until he brushed a tear away with his thumb. "I'm not sad," you lied, your voice wavering. "I just... I hate seeing you hurt."
"I'm okay now," he said. "The static is gone. You're here."
He leaned his head across the center console, resting it awkwardly on your shoulder. It wasn't comfortable, the gear shift was digging into his side, but he needed the contact.
"Can we go home?" he asked. "To the blanket?"
"Yes," you sniffed, resting your cheek on his head. "Home. Blanket. And Iâm ordering pizza. No cooking tonight."
"Pizza," he agreed. "Pepperoni. Symmetrical distribution."
"Symmetrical distribution," you promised.
You started the car. The engine purred to life. As you drove out of the parking lot, He reached over and took your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. He squeezed three times.
Thank you
It was the signal you had established for "emergency exit," but in the quiet of the car, with the sun filtering through the trees, it felt like it meant something else entirely.
You squeezed back three times.
You're WelcomeÂ
You drove home in silence, hand in hand, the apples forgotten, but the trust between you stronger than any reinforced concrete. You had weathered the storm. You had survived the spill. And you knew, with absolute certainty, that as long as you had the conn, he would always be safe.
The plan for New Yearâs Eve was simple, safe, and delightfully boring. You were going to wear your ugliest, most comfortable sweatpants, order an obscene amount of pad thai, and binge-watch the new drama that had dropped on Netflix. You had bought a bottle of cheap sparkling cider (because champagne gave you a headache) and planned to be asleep by 12:05 AM. You were looking forward to the silence. After 9 months of working as a support specialistâa job that required hyper-vigilance, constant emotional regulation, and a lot of noise managementâsilence was a luxury.
Then, at 9:45 PM, your phone buzzed.
Caller ID: Sarah Sim.
Your stomach did a little flip. Sarah never called after hours unless something was wrong. You answered immediately, pausing the drama where the lead actors were staring longingly at each other in the rain. "Sarah? Is everything okay?"
"Y/N, I am so sorry," Sarahâs voice was breathless, pitched high with stress. In the background, you could hear the distinct panic motion. "I hate to do this to you on a holiday. I really, really hate it."
"Sarah, breathe. Whatâs going on?"
"Itâs my sister. Linda. She slipped on some ice in her driveway and... well, it looks like she broke her hip. Sheâs at the ER, and her husband is out of town on business, and the kids are..." She trailed off, a jagged sound of frustration escaping her. "I have to go. Iâm preparing to go there now. But I can't take Jake. The ER waiting room on New Year's Eve? It would be a nightmare. The sirens, the people, the smell of antiseptic... heâd spiral before we even checked in."
"Say no more," you said, already standing up and reaching for your keys. "Iâm coming over."
"Are you sure? Itâs New Yearâs. You must have plans. Youâre twenty-three, you should be out at a party."
You laughed, grabbing your coat. "My plans involved noodles and pajamas, Sarah. Iâm not missing anything. Iâll be there in twenty minutes."
"Thank you," she sobbed, a sound of pure relief. "Thank you. Heâs... heâs anxious. The fireworks have started early in the neighborhood. Heâs got his headphones on, but heâs pacing."
"Iâve got him," you promised. The drive to the Sims' house was a gauntlet of festive chaos. Even though it wasn't even 8:00 PM yet, the suburbs were alive. You saw teenagers running on lawns with sparklers, and every few minutes, a distant pop-pop-pop of firecrackers echoed off the houses.
You gripped the steering wheel tighter. You knew exactly what those sounds were doing to Jake. To him, a firecracker wasn't a celebration. It was a sonic assault. It was unpredictable, sharp, and threatening. It was a breach of the peace he worked so hard to maintain. When you pulled into the driveway, Sarah was already standing on the porch. The front door was open behind her, spilling warm yellow light onto the snow-dusted concrete. She had her purse over one shoulder and her car keys clutched in her hand like a weapon. She looked exhausted, her hair pulled back in a messy bun, wearing a coat over what looked like lounge clothes.
"You made good time," she said as you walked up the path, your sneakers silent on the pavement.
"Traffic was light," you said. "Go. Go take care of your sister. Don't worry about anything here."
"Heâs in the living room," Sarah said, glancing back at the house. "He ate dinnerâchicken nuggets, oven-baked, no sauce. Heâs... rigid tonight. The noise is getting to him. He keeps checking the windows."
"I'll handle it," you assured her. "We'll build a fort if we need to. We'll turn up the white noise."
She squeezed your arm, her eyes wet. "You're a lifesaver, Y/N. Happy New Year."
"Happy New Year, Sarah."
She hurried to her car, and you watched her back out before you turned to the house. You took a deep breath, shaking off the cold and the residual stress of the drive, and stepped inside.The transition was instant. The outside world was a cacophony of wind and distant explosions. Inside, it was a sanctuary. The air smelled of lemon and old books. It was warm.You locked the door behind you, turning the deadbolt with a soft click. "Stealth mode active," you whispered to yourself, toeing off your shoes and leaving them on the mat.You walked down the hallway. The house felt different at night. The shadows were longer, the silence heavier. You could feel the tension in the air, a static charge that radiated from the living room. You reached the archway.
The blackout curtains were drawn tight, sealing the room against the flashing lights outside. The only illumination came from the TV screen. Jake was sitting on the couch.Usually, he sat on the floor with his LEGOs, or in his recliner. But tonight, he was curled up in the corner of the sofa, knees pulled to his chest.
He was wearing a blue hoodie you hadn't seen before. It looked incredibly soft, a velvet-touch fabric that caught the light of the TV. His pajama pants were a dark plaid flannel. He had his big Sony headphones on, but they were slightly askew, as if he had been adjusting them frequently.He was watching Big Hero 6. The scene where Baymax and Hiro are flying over San Fransokyo at sunset. It was a quiet, visually stunning scene.
He didn't hear you come in.
You stood there for a moment, just watching him. He looked small. He was a grown man, broad-shouldered and tall, but curled up like that, protecting his vital organs from the invisible threat of the noise, he looked like the boy in the file photo from six months ago.You stepped into his line of sight, moving slowly so you wouldn't startle him.Jakeâs head snapped up. For a second, there was fear in his eyesâa deer-in-headlights look. Then, recognition flooded in. His face transformed. The tension in his jaw released. His shoulders dropped three inches.
His eyesâthose big, expressive, puppy-dog eyes that had hooked you from day oneâlit up. It wasn't a dramatic smile; it was a softening. A light turning on in a dark room. He pulled his headphones down around his neck.
"Y/N," he said. His voice was rough, like he hadn't spoken in hours.
"Hi, Jake," you said softly, walking over to the couch. "Your mom had to go help her sister. So you're stuck with me tonight."
"I am not stuck," he corrected immediately, uncurling his legs. "This is an upgrade. Mom is stressed. Her aura is jagged yellow. You are blue. Blue is calm."
You smiled, sitting down on the opposite end of the couch, giving him space but close enough to be an anchor. "I'm glad I'm blue. How are you holding up? Itâs loud out there." Jake frowned, looking toward the curtained window.
"The explosions are irregular," he murmured. "There is no pattern. Pop. Then silence. Then boom. My brain tries to predict the next one, but it can't. Itâs a broken algorithm."
He picked at the fuzz on his blue hoodie. "I hate the sound. It vibrates in my teeth."
"I know," you said sympathetically. "Itâs the worst kind of noise."
"But..." He hesitated. He looked at the TV screen, where colorful lights were dancing. "I like the data. I like the chemistry."
"The chemistry?"
"Strontium carbonate," he said, listing it like a fact from a textbook. "That makes red fireworks. Barium chloride makes green. Copper chloride makes blue. Itâs just burning metal. It should be beautiful. Physics is beautiful."
He looked at you, his expression wistful and sad. "I want to see the chemistry. But I can't handle the physics of the sound wave."
Your heart gave a little tug.You thought about the parking lot downtown. The one on the hill that overlooked the river. It was a popular spot, but if you stayed in the car...
An idea formed."Jake," you said slowly. "What if I told you there was a way to see the chemistry without feeling the sound wave?" He tilted his head. "That is impossible. Light and sound travel together. Well, light is faster, but the sound always arrives."
"Not if we're in a bubble," you said. "My car. Itâs insulated. If we drive to the lookout, park, roll the windows up tight, turn on the heater, and put your headphones on... youâd see them through the windshield. But you wouldn't hear the boom. Or at least, it would be a tiny thud. Not a bang."
He stared at you. You could see the gears turning behind his eyes. He was calculating the risk. "The car is a Faraday cage," he whispered. "For sound."
"Exactly. A shield." He looked at the window, then back at you. He trusted you. You had established that over six months of grilled cheese sandwiches and LEGO builds. You were the one who saved him in the grocery store. You were the one who brought the frozen peas for his headache.
"Can I bring my blanket?" he asked.
"Yes."
"And the headphones?"
"Non-negotiable."
He took a deep breath. He stood up. He smoothed down the front of his soft blue hoodie.
"Okay," he said. "Letâs go to the bubble."
The preparation for the expedition was precise.
Jake put on his shoes (velcro, no laces to trip on). He grabbed his grey weighted blanket. He put his headphones on, checking the battery life (84%âacceptable). He grabbed a small bag of pretzels, just in case he needed to chew to regulate his jaw tension.
You walked him to your car. The cold air bit at your cheeks. Somewhere down the street, a firecracker went offâa sharp CRACK. Jake flinched violently, stopping in the middle of the driveway. His hands flew to his ears over the headphones.
"Hey," you said, stepping in front of him, blocking his view of the street. "Eyes on me. Look at my coat. Look at the buttons." He focused on your coat. He breathed in. He breathed out.
"Car," he gasped.
"Car," you agreed.
You got him inside and slammed the door. You ran to the driver's side and got in. You immediately cranked the heater and turned on the radio to a classical stationâlow, steady cello music. "Status?" you asked, looking at him. He was adjusting his headphones. He pushed the noise-canceling button. The world outside muted.
"Status green," he said, though his voice sounded far away to himself. "The seal is tight."
"Okay. We're moving."
The drive to the lookout took twenty minutes. The traffic was light; most people were already at their parties. You drove carefully, avoiding potholes, keeping the ride as smooth as possible. Jake sat in the passenger seat, clutching his weighted blanket to his chest. He watched the streetlights pass by, counting them under his breath.
"You look nice," he said suddenly. You glanced at him, surprised. You were wearing sweatpants and a puffy coat. You had zero makeup on. "I look like a marshmallow, Jake."
"No," he said seriously. "Your face is... nice. And you look calm. You always look calm. It makes the inside of the car feel slow."
"Slow is good?"
"Fast is scary. Slow is safe. You feel safe."
You felt a flush rise to your cheeks that had nothing to do with the heater. "Thank you, Jake. You look nice too. That hoodie looks very soft."
He looked down at his chest. He rubbed the fabric. "It is velvet-fleece blend. Sarah bought it. I usually only wear hoodies with zippers, but this one... the texture is superior. It feels like a cat."
"A cat hoodie. I like it." You reached the lookout. It was a large paved lot on a bluff overlooking the River. Across the water, the city skyline was lit up. There were other cars parked there, facing the river, their engines idling, mist rising from their tailpipes.
You found a spot near the edge, away from a truck that was blasting bass-heavy music. You put the car in park. "We have arrived," you announced.
Jake leaned forward, peering through the windshield. The view was panoramic. The dark water reflected the city lights, creating a shimmering mirror.
"The vantage point is optimal," he noted.
"We have about fifteen minutes until midnight," you said, checking the dashboard clock. 11:45 PM.
"Fifteen minutes," Jake repeated. "900 seconds."
He leaned back, relaxing slightly. He pulled the weighted blanket up so it covered his chin, leaving only his eyes and nose visible. He looked like a cozy, anxious turtle. "Y/N?"
"Yeah, Jake?"
"Why are you here?"
The question caught you off guard. "What do you mean?"
"Itâs New Year's Eve," he said. "The social convention is to be at a gathering. Drinking ethanol. Counting down with many people. You are twenty-three. The data suggests you should be partying." He turned his head to look at you. His eyes were searching yours in the dim light of the dashboard.
"I didn't want to be at a party," you said honestly. "Parties are loud. And the floor is usually sticky. And you have to talk to people you don't know."
"You don't like loud?" Jake looked surprised.
"Not really. I do it for work, but... I like quiet. I like slow."
"Like the car."
"Like the car." You turned in your seat to face him fully. "And besides... Iâd rather be here. With you." Jake went still. He stared at you. You could see him processing the statement, turning it over in his mind, looking for the hidden meaning.
"With me?" he whispered. "But I am... work."
"No," you shook your head gently. "You stopped being just work a long time ago, Jake. We're friends. Right?"
He blinked. "Friends."
"Yes. And I like hanging out with my friend. Especially when he teaches me about strontium carbonate." A slow, shy smile spread across his face. It started at the corners of his mouth and reached his eyes, crinkling them. He snuggled deeper into his blanket. "Friends," he tested the word. "That is... acceptable. Highly acceptable."
He looked back out the windshield. "Sarah says friends don't get paid to hang out."
"Well, tonight I'm not getting paid," you lied (technically the agency would bill for this, but the sentiment was real). "Tonight Iâm just Y/N."
"Just Y/N," he echoed. "And just Jake."
"Just Jake."
The dashboard clock clicked to 11:59 PM.
"One minute," you said. "Sixty seconds."
Jake tensed up. He pressed his hands over his headphones, ensuring the seal was perfect. "The bubble holds," he whispered to himself.
"The bubble holds," you confirmed.
Across the river, in the city center, a single flare shot up into the sky. A white streak against the black. Thenâbloom. A massive golden sphere exploded in the air. It was huge, glittering, and silent. Inside the car, you heard nothing. Just the cello music and the heater. Jake flinched visually when the light exploded, his shoulders jerking up. He waited. He braced himself for the boom.
One second. Two seconds. No boom. Just a soft, dull thud that vibrated vaguely in the floorboards, barely noticeable. Jake let out a breath. His shoulders dropped.
Another one went up. Red this time. Strontium carbonate. It burst into a heart shape.
Jake leaned forward. He pressed his hands against the dashboard. His eyes went wide. "Red," he breathed. Then came the finale. The sky erupted. Greens, blues, purples, golds. It was a chaotic, beautiful mess of chemistry and light. The river below caught the reflections, doubling the show.
You weren't watching the sky.
You were watching Jake.
The colored light from the fireworks washed over his face in wavesâblue, then red, then gold. His glasses reflected the explosions, making his eyes look like they held galaxies.
His mouth was slightly open in awe. The fear was completely gone, replaced by a childlike wonder that was so pure it made your chest ache. He wasn't the anxious young man in the grocery store aisle. He wasn't the client with the file. He was just a boy loving the lights.
He looked beautiful.
The soft slope of his nose, the messy hair falling over his forehead, the way his eyelashes caught the light. You felt a swell of emotion so strong it almost knocked the wind out of you. It wasn't just affection. It wasn't just protectiveness.
It was love. You had known it for a while, but here, in the quiet bubble of the car, with the new year raining down in sparks of fire, it felt undeniable.
Suddenly, Jake turned his head.
He caught you staring. Usually, when you were caught staring, you would look away. You would check your phone. You would pretend you were looking past him.
But tonight, you didn't. You held his gaze. The fireworks were still exploding behind him, framing his silhouette in halos of light.Jake looked at you. He saw the way you were looking at him. He didn't flinch. He didn't look down at his shoes.
He smiled.It wasn't his polite smile. It wasn't his nervous smile. It was an innocent, soft, intimate smile that said I see you seeing me, and I am okay with it.
He reached up and pulled one side of his headphones back, just an inch, breaking the seal.
"Happy New Year, Y/N," he said softly.
The cello music swelled. The heater hummed.
"Happy New Year, Jake," you whispered.
He didn't put the headphone back. He kept looking at you. His gaze dropped to your lips, then back up to your eyes. It was a fleeting glance, one he probably didn't even realize he made, but you saw it.
"The chemistry is beautiful," he said.
"Yeah," you breathed, looking right into his brown eyes. "It really is."
He held your gaze for another long second, the air between you thick and warm and incredibly soft. It felt like the start of something. Not a frantic race, but a slow, steady walk.Then, he turned back to the windshield as a massive blue weeping willow firework drifted down toward the water. "Copper chloride," he noted, sliding his headphone back into place. But he reached out his hand, the one not holding the blanket, and placed it palm-up on the center console.
It was an invitation. You reached out and placed your hand in his.
His fingers closed around yours. His hand was warm. He squeezed three times.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
You squeezed back three times.
The fireworks ended. The smoke drifted over the river. The year turned over.
But in the quiet car, holding Jakeâs hand while he hummed a happy little tune under his breath, you knew the best part of the year had already begun. The new year didn't come in with a bang. It came in with a soft, steady warmth, wearing a blue hoodie and holding your hand.
March arrived with a slow, hesitant thaw, washing away the stubborn winter snow and leaving behind a world that felt raw, muddy, and ready to wake up.
It had been months since you first walked up the driveway of that quiet suburban home, a fresh-faced social work graduate clutching a file folder that tried to summarize a human being into a list of clinical symptoms. Back then, you had been terrified of making a mistake, of wearing the wrong shoes or breathing too loudly. Now, as the first hints of spring began to show through the living room windows, you navigated the complex, beautiful landscape of Jake Simâs life with a quiet, practiced confidence.
You were officially his support worker. But unofficially, you had become his translator, his anchor, and his closest confidante. The boundaries of your job description had blurred into a deep, unwavering affection. You weren't his girlfriendâyou strictly maintained your professional role, aware of the ethics and the fragile nature of his trustâbut the feelings you harbored for the twenty-four-year-old were a warm, heavy reality in your chest that you could no longer deny.
Over the winter, the walls Jake had built to protect himself from a world that was too loud, too bright, and too unpredictable had slowly begun to lower. He was more trusting now. The rigid, closed-off young man from the file was gone, replaced by someone who sought out your presence.
You knew him completely. You knew his dietary map so well you didn't even need to consult the notes Sarah had left you on your first day. You knew he despised the texture of anything "mealy," like certain types of apples or boiled potatoes. You knew he had a strict rule against white-colored foods because they felt "deceptive" to his brain, with the sole exception of milk, which he categorized as "structural calcium" rather than a beverage. You had even managed to successfully introduce new variables into his routine. It had happened on a quiet Tuesday in early March. You had taken a massive gamble and driven him to a small, dimly lit Mexican restaurant on the edge of town for a late lunch. Jake had been rigid in the passenger seat, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his gray hoodie.
"Spicy is a pain signal," he had informed you, his brow furrowed anxiously behind his glasses. "Capsaicin tricks the brain into thinking the tissue is burning. I do not wish to be tricked. My baseline for sensory input is already at capacity."
"I promise we won't get anything spicy," you had assured him, parking the car in the empty lot. "But they have chips. Corn chips. And I think youâll like the texture. They're uniform and crunchy." He had agreed to the mission, trusting you enough to step inside. The restaurant was practically deserted, which kept his anxiety at bay. When the basket of warm tortilla chips arrived, Jake had inspected one like a scientist examining a new element. He noted the uniform triangle shape. He took a tiny bite.
The loud, satisfying crunch made his eyes widen. He hummed, a low vibration of approval in his chest.
Then, you introduced the mild salsa. You explained that it was blended completely smoothâno hidden chunks of onion or tomato to surprise his palate. He had dipped the microscopic corner of a chip into the red sauce. He ate it. He blinked, processed the flavor profile, and dipped again, a little deeper this time.
"The acidity of the tomato cuts through the oil of the corn chip," he had observed, looking at you with a profound sense of realization. "It is mathematically balanced. It is... highly acceptable."Chips and smooth salsa had instantly become a staple. You started keeping jars of it in the pantry, and he would happily eat it as a snack while watching his shows.That same evening, the shift in his trust had become distinctly physical. You were sitting on the couch in the living room, the blackout curtains drawn, watching an animated movie.Usually, when you watched movies, Jake would either sit on the floor, grounded on the rug, or he would sit on the far end of the sofa, leaving a careful, deliberate two-foot gap between you. He wasn't big on physical proximity unless he was in the middle of a meltdown and needed deep pressure to ground himself.But that night, he had sat down on the sofa and looked at the gap. He looked at you. And then, he scooted over.He didn't press flush against you, but the gap shrank to a mere inch. You could feel the warmth radiating from his arm. When he leaned forward to watch a visually intense scene, his shoulder brushed against yours, and he didn't pull away.You had frozen, your heart doing a strange, fluttering tap-dance against your ribs. You didn't pull away, but you didn't push closer, either. You just sat there, hyper-aware of his presence, feeling incredibly honored that he felt safe enough to let his guard down and share your personal space.
A few days later, a new sensory challenge presented itself.
It was a rainy Thursday afternoon. The house was quiet, but Jake was not. He was pacing the length of the living room, his steps heavy and agitated. He kept reaching up to swat at the back of his neck, rolling his shoulders, and grimacing as if something invisible was attacking him. "Jake?" you asked softly from the kitchen counter, where you were organizing his schedule for the week. "Is your shirt tag bothering you? I can cut it out."
He stopped pacing. He looked at you, his brown eyes clouded with severe distress. He reached up and grabbed a handful of his dark, fluffy hair at the nape of his neck. It had gotten long over the winterâcurling over the tops of his ears and brushing against the collar of his hoodie. "Itâs not the shirt," he said, his voice tight and breathless. "Itâs my hair. Itâs touching me. Every time I turn my head, it feels like cobwebs. Constant, heavy cobwebs. It is distracting my processor. The input is overwhelming."
"Do you want me to ask your mom to make an appointment at the barber?" you suggested gently. The look of sheer, visceral terror that crossed his face made you instantly regret the question. The barber was a sensory nightmare for him. It meant the loud buzzing of electric clippers vibrating against his skull, the strong smell of chemical barbicide, the bright fluorescent lights, and the unpredictable, light touch of a strangerâs hands on his sensitive scalp."No," he breathed, taking a step back, his hands flapping slightly at his sides as he tried to regulate his rising panic. "No barber. The buzzing hurts my teeth. The cape is too tight on my throat. I can't. I can't go."
"Okay," you said instantly, keeping your voice low and soothing. "No barber. I promise, Jake. We won't go." You thought for a second, watching him scratch frantically at the back of his neck.
"What if... what if I did it?" you offered.
He blinked, his hands freezing. "You?"
"Me. Right here in the kitchen. No buzzing clippers, just regular scissors. We can take breaks whenever you need to. I won't tie a cape around your neck; we'll just use your favorite soft towel."
He considered this. His logical brain weighed the risk of a bad haircut against the immediate relief of getting the "cobwebs" off his neck. He looked at your hands. He trusted your hands."Do you have the data?" he asked skeptically. "Are you trained in cosmetology?"
"I don't have the data yet," you admitted with a reassuring smile. "But I have YouTube. Give me ten minutes to study the algorithm."
He let out a long breath, his shoulders dropping a fraction. "Okay. Ten minutes."
You set up a wooden dining chair in the middle of the kitchen linoleum. You found a pair of sharp styling shears Sarah kept in the bathroom vanity. You propped your phone up against the sugar bowl and watched a video titled How to Trim Men's Medium Length Hair - Scissors Only.When you were ready, Jake walked into the kitchen. He had changed into an old, faded t-shirt. He sat down in the chair, his posture rigid as a board. You draped his favorite plush bath towel over his shoulders, securing it loosely with a binder clip so nothing constricted his throat."Okay," you murmured, standing behind him. "I'm going to touch your hair now. Deep pressure, just like we always do."
"Deep pressure," he echoed, closing his eyes tightly.
You placed your hands firmly on his scalp, letting him feel the solid weight of your touch before you ran a comb through his dark waves. He shivered slightly, but he didn't pull away."I'm going to start at the back," you narrated, knowing that unexpected sensory input was his biggest trigger. "You're going to hear the scissors. They make a sharp snip sound."
Snip. Snip.
"It sounds like a metronome," Jake observed softly, his hands gripping the edges of the wooden chair seat. "A fast metronome."
"Just focus on the rhythm," you soothed, working meticulously.
You weren't a professional, but you were infinitely careful. You trimmed the heavy curls away from his collar. You cleared the bulk from the sides. Every time you had to fold his ear down to cut around it, you warned him first.
It took forty-five minutes. A barber would have been done in ten. But this wasn't about efficiency; it was about safety. He sat perfectly still for you, enduring the falling hair and the metallic snip of the blades because he knew you were on the other end of them."Alright," you said finally, stepping back and carefully brushing the loose trimmings off the towel. "I think we're done, Jake. The cobwebs are gone."
He opened his eyes. He reached a hesitant hand up to the back of his neck. He felt the smooth skin, the clean line of hair that no longer brushed his collar. He felt around his ears, marveling at the empty air.
A slow, brilliant smile broke across his face. He stood up, shaking off the towel, and turned to look at you."It is optimal," he breathed, running his long fingers through the top of his hair, which you had left perfectly fluffy. "The static is reduced. My head feels... lighter. The processing speed is back to normal."
"You look very handsome," you smiled, reaching out to brush a stray clipping from his shoulder."Thank you, Y/N," he said softly, holding your gaze for a long moment. "I trust your scissors."
The trust they shared spilled over into the following week.
It was a chilly afternoon, the kind that made the house feel like a cozy, insulated bubble. It was the perfect afternoon for baking. "Cookies," Jake had announced around 2:00 PM, pulling his favorite glass mixing bowl from the cabinet. "The barometric pressure is low. We need to introduce a superior olfactory variable. Vanilla and butter."
"Sugar cookies?" you asked, rolling up your sleeves and washing your hands.
"Cutouts," he specified, retrieving his plastic container of cookie cutters.
Baking with Jake was a science experiment. He didn't believe in "eyeballing" ingredients. Everything was leveled with the flat edge of a butter knife. The dough had to be chilled for exactly thirty minutes. You did the main workâmeasuring, mixing, and rolling the heavy dough out flat on the counterâwhile he stood close beside you, supervising the chemistry of it all.
When it was time to cut the shapes, Jake took over. He treated the rolled-out dough like a puzzle of spatial geometry. He had chosen the star cutter and a specific dinosaur cutter.
"The goal is optimization," he explained seriously, pressing the star into the very edge of the dough. "We must minimize the negative space between the shapes to reduce the need for re-rolling. Re-rolling introduces excess flour and toughens the gluten matrix."
"You are a cookie architect," you laughed, watching his precise, careful movements.
"I am maximizing yield," he corrected gently, pressing the dinosaur cutter down directly next to the star.
You took the filled trays and slid them into the oven. "Okay, timer set for twelve minutes." But variables happen. Your phone buzzed on the counterâit was a call from the agency about a sudden change in scheduling protocols. You answered it, stepping into the hallway so you wouldn't disturb Jake, who was focused on washing the mixing bowl. The coordinator on the phone was chatty, and you got pulled into a frustrating, complicated discussion about paperwork.
You didn't hear the oven timer go off over the sound of the phone call.
You smelled it first. The sweet, buttery scent of baking cookies suddenly turned sharp, followed by the undeniable, acrid smell of burning sugar.
"Oh, shoot!" you gasped, hanging up on the coordinator mid-sentence.
You ran into the kitchen, grabbed the oven mitts, and yanked the trays out. Smoke billowed into the air.You slammed the trays onto the stovetop. The cookies were ruined. The stars were a dark, unhappy brown, and the dinosaurs looked like they had been caught in a prehistoric meteorite strike. They were hard as rocks and blackened around the edges."Dammit," you sighed, your shoulders slumping in defeat. You felt a hot prickle of tears in your eyes. You were his support worker; you were supposed to be on top of things. You had ruined his perfectly optimized geometric dough because you were distracted.Jake turned around from the sink, drying his hands on a towel. He looked at the smoking trays. He looked at your face.
He saw the disappointment. He saw the way you were picking at your thumbnailâa nervous habit he had memorized over the last six months.
He walked up to the stove. He looked at the burnt, sad little dinosaurs.
He reached out and picked one up. It was still hot, but he barely flinched.
"Jake, don't, itâs going to taste like ash," you warned, reaching out to stop him.
He lifted the burnt cookie to his mouth and took a bite.
A loud, aggressive CRUNCH echoed in the kitchen. You winced, waiting for him to spit it out. You knew how sensitive his palate was. Bitter flavors were usually an instant, gag-inducing rejection.He chewed thoughtfully. He swallowed. He looked at the cookie, then looked at you.
"The structural integrity is phenomenal," he stated, his face completely serious.
"Jake, they're burnt."
"They are heavily caramelized," he corrected smoothly. "The Maillard reaction was simply allowed to progress further than usual. It adds a... bold, smoky complexity."
He took another bite. Another loud crunch.
"And the crunch is superior," he continued, holding eye contact with you. "Soft cookies crumble. These cookies are resilient. They require effort. I appreciate the effort."
He was overriding his own intense sensory aversions. He was eating a burnt, bitter cookie just to protect your feelings, to make sure you didn't feel like you had failed him. He was a total sweetheart, wrapping his rigid sensory needs around his care for you.Your heart melted right into the linoleum. You couldn't help yourselfâyou walked over and wrapped your arms tightly around his waist, pressing your face into his chest in a brief, fierce hug.
"You are the absolute sweetest guy in the world, Jake Sim," you mumbled against his shirt.He patted your back awkwardly but affectionately with his free hand. "I am just analyzing the data," he said, taking a third, agonizingly crunchy bite. "But thank you. They really are good."The emotional safety established on those quiet afternoons paved the way for something far more delicate.
It happened late one evening, a few days later. Sarah had gone to a late movie with a friend, leaving the two of you in the living room. The lights were dimmed, and the TV was playing softly in the background.
Jake was sitting on the couch, his knees pulled up to his chest, picking at a loose thread on the hem of his hoodie. He had been quiet for an hour, a heavy, contemplative silence that usually preceded a deep thought.
"Y/N?" he murmured finally. His voice was low, lacking its usual confident, factual cadence."Yeah, Jakey? I'm here."
He kept his eyes glued to the loose thread. "I had a birthday a few months ago. Before you started working here."
"I know," you smiled gently. "Your mom told me. You turned twenty-four."
"I am twenty-four," he repeated, rolling the number around in his mouth like it tasted strange and unpleasant. "You are twenty-three."
"Thatâs right. Youâre older than me."
He didn't smile. His brow furrowed deeply, and he stared down at his hands.
"Twenty-four is a prime integer for adulthood," he said softly. "I read articles online. At twenty-four, normal men are... doing things. They are driving on the interstate. They are navigating tax brackets. They are going to loud places and drinking ethanol. They wear suits that scratch their necks. They live alone."
He swallowed hard, the vulnerability in his voice jagged and painful to hear.
"I do not do those things," he whispered, his voice trembling. "I cannot drive on the highway because the cars move too fast and the input overwhelms my processor. I cannot do taxes. I wear pajama pants with cartoon characters on them. I spend hours sorting plastic bricks. I need Mom to help me make doctor appointments. I need you to help me go to the grocery store."He turned his head to look at you, his brown eyes swimming with a profound, deep-seated insecurity. It was the awareness of a man who knew he was out of sync with the timeline of the world, a man who felt like he was failing a test everyone else inherently knew how to pass.
"I feel... broken," he choked out, the word hitting the quiet room like a dropped glass. "Like I missed the manual on how to be an adult. And you... you have a degree. You fit in the world. I don't understand how you can stand being here with someone who is stuck on the wrong setting."Your heart cracked right down the middle. You shifted on the couch, turning fully toward him, and reached out to take both of his hands in yours. You held them tightly, anchoring him to the present moment."Jake, look at me," you said fiercely.He blinked, a single tear slipping down his cheek, but he met your eyes."There is no manual," you said, your voice steady and full of absolute conviction. "There is no 'normal' in adulthood. Everyone is just guessing and hoping they don't mess up."He sniffled, processing this. "But they do the normal things."
"Normal is a myth," you promised him. "You think because I have a degree I know everything? Jake, I had to Google how to fix a leaky pipe yesterday, and I still couldn't do it. I am terrified of making phone calls to strangers. I eat cereal for dinner three nights a week. Everyone has things they can't handle. Adulthood is completely new for everyone, and we're all just trying to survive the input."
You let go of one of his hands to reach up and cup his cheek, gently wiping the tear away with your thumb.
"You aren't broken, Jake. You are just you. You built a working replica of the Titanic from memory. You notice when the air pressure drops before the weather app does. You ate a burnt, charcoal cookie just so I wouldn't feel bad about my baking skills. Do you know how rare that kind of empathy is? How brilliant your brain is?"
He leaned into your palm, closing his eyes, a shaky breath escaping his lips.
"You don't have to like loud bars or scratchy suits to be a man," you whispered, maintaining your professional boundary but pouring every ounce of your care into your words. "You just have to be kind, and honest, and try your best. And you do that every single day. You don't have to fit into the rest of the world, Jake. Everything is new, and you just find where you fit most."
He opened his eyes. The fear was slowly draining away, replaced by a quiet, thoughtful relief.
"Find where I fit most," he repeated, testing the weight of the concept.
"Exactly. And you fit beautifully right here, just the way you are."
He let out a shaky breath, a small smile finally breaking through the sadness. He wrapped his arms around your waist, burying his face in your neck, pulling you into a tight, grounding hug.
"You are my favorite variable, Y/N," he mumbled against your skin. "Thank you for the data." To prove your point that his interests were valid and wonderful, you stopped by a department store the very next morning before your shift. When you walked into the house, you handed him a plastic shopping bag. "What is this?" he asked, eyeing the bag suspiciously. "A reminder that what you like is perfectly fine," you smiled.
He reached in and pulled out a brand new, neatly folded package of pajama pants. They were dark navy blue, covered in small, minimalist red Spider-Man logos.
"I checked the tags," you said proudly. "They are tagless. And itâs a modal-cotton blend. Super soft." Jakeâs eyes lit up instantly. He rubbed the fabric between his thumb and forefinger, checking the friction coefficient.
"It is superior," he breathed, a wide grin stretching across his face, the insecurities of the previous night completely forgotten. "The texture is incredibly smooth. Thank you, Y/N."
"You're welcome, Spidey. Go test them out."
He hurried down the hall. When he returned, he was wearing the new pants, looking incredibly cozy and relaxed. He did a small crouch in the living room, testing the stretch of the fabric."Range of motion is uninhibited," he declared happily. "They are perfect."The final days of March brought the first true, undeniable breath of spring. The sun came out, warm and insistent, waking up the dormant life in the backyard.
It was a Saturday morning. You were standing at the kitchen sink, washing out your coffee mug, while Sarah sat at the island, looking over some mail. Jake had been outside in the backyard for twenty minutes, "patrolling the perimeter" in his new Spider-Man pajamas and a light jacket.
You watched him through the window. He was pacing the fence line, his hands in his pockets, enjoying the gentle breeze.Suddenly, he stopped. He knelt down in the grass, inspecting something on the ground. Carefully, with precise, deliberate movements, he pinched something between his fingers and plucked it from the earth.
He stood up and turned around, walking back toward the house with a determined stride.
When the back door opened, he walked straight into the kitchen, bypassing his usual routine of wiping his shoes exactly three times. He walked right up to you, holding his hand out, his fist closed around something delicate.
"I found anomalies in the grass," he announced.
He opened his hand.
Sitting in his palm were a half-dozen dandelions. They were bright, aggressive yellow, their stems slightly crushed from his firm grip.
"They are weeds," Jake explained, looking at you earnestly. "Most people apply herbicide to them to make their lawns uniform. But I researched them. They are the first food for bees in the spring. They are incredibly resilient. They grow through cracks in the driveway. They do not care if they belong; they just grow where they fit."
He held the messy, yellow bouquet out to you."I picked them for you," he said, his brown eyes locking onto yours. "Because you are resilient. And because you help me find where I fit."You stared at the bright yellow flowers.You were horribly, violently allergic to dandelions. The pollen made your throat itch, your eyes swell, and your nose run like a broken faucet. If you held them too close, youâd be sneezing for the rest of the day in absolute misery.You didn't hesitate for a microsecond.
You reached out and gently took the crushed, beautiful weeds from his hand. You would never, ever tell him."They are the most beautiful flowers I've ever seen, Jake," you said, forcing your breathing to remain shallow so you didn't inhale the pollen directly. "Thank you so much. I love them."
His chest puffed out slightly with pride. "They require water. A small vessel. Their stems are short."
"Iâll put them in a shot glass right now," you promised.
You turned around, grabbed a small glass from the cupboard, filled it with water, and arranged the dandelions carefully on the windowsill above the sink. As soon as his back was turned to grab a glass of water, you quickly turned your head and stifled a massive, aggressive sneeze into the crook of your elbow.
"Bless you," Jake said, drinking his water.
"Just dust," you lied smoothly, your voice thick as you quickly washed your hands with soap to remove the pollen. "Spring dust."
Sarah had watched the entire exchange from the kitchen island, her mail forgotten. As Jake wandered into the living room to adjust the volume on the TV, feeling successful and completely at ease, Sarah stepped closer to you.
She looked at the dandelions in the shot glass, and then she looked at you, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "You're allergic to those, aren't you?" she whispered, having seen you pop an antihistamine just yesterday when a neighbor mowed their lawn.
"Deathly," you whispered back, rubbing your itchy nose with the back of a clean hand.
Sarah let out a soft, watery laugh. She reached out and squeezed your arm, her grip tight and full of a mother's profound gratitude.
"He hasn't picked flowers for anyone since he was six years old," she said, her voice cracking with emotion. "Before the world got too loud and he folded in on himself. I used to wonder if Iâd ever see that sweet, expressive little boy again."
She looked out toward the living room, where Jake was happily sitting on the couch, completely in his element. He wasn't hiding behind his hands or his headphones. He was just a young man, comfortable in his own skin, wearing the Spider-Man pajamas you bought him."Heâs not just surviving anymore, Y/N," Sarah said, looking back at you with fierce, unwavering respect and praise. "He is living. He is confident, and he is himself again. But heâs not doing it alone. He has you. You brought him back."
You looked at the dandelions, their bright yellow petals soaking up the sun in the window, stubborn and resilient against all odds. You weren't his girlfriend, and you were technically just doing your job, but looking at the life and light that had returned to Jake Simâs eyes, you knew you were exactly where you were supposed to be.
"I think we're just finding where we fit, Sarah," you smiled, your eyes watering from the pollen, but your heart completely full. "I really do."
April crept in with a deceptive warmth, bringing days that started crisp and ended bathed in golden, gentle sunlight. Over the past month, the trust between you and Jake had solidified into something unbreakable. The boundaries of your job title as his support worker had softened so completely that you often forgot you were on the clock. You were just Y/N and Jake, navigating the world together, one carefully calculated variable at a time.
Because he had been doing so wellâexpanding his safe foods, managing his sensory input, and initiating communicationâyou had planned a special outing.
There was a specialty hobby shop about twenty minutes away. It wasn't a big-box toy store with screaming children and blinding fluorescent lights; it was a quiet, dimly lit collectorâs shop. It smelled of old cardboard, modeling clay, and dust. More importantly, they carried retired, vintage LEGO sets. Jake had been talking about a specific, out-of-production Architecture set for three weeks. He had saved his own money for it, meticulously budgeting his allowance in a small notebook.
"The crowd density on a Thursday at 11:00 AM will be approximately 12% of peak capacity," Jake had announced that morning, standing by the front door.
He was prepared. He was wearing his noise-canceling headphones securely around his neck, ready to be deployed at a moment's notice. Underneath his unzipped, soft grey hoodie, he wore a subtle, vintage-wash Spider-Man t-shirt you had found for him online. It didn't have any scratchy tags, and the seams were flat.
"The math is solid," you agreed, jingling your car keys. "We have a clear window. Are you feeling good? Battery at 100%?" He closed his eyes for a brief second, running an internal diagnostic. "Battery is at 94%. I slept well. The eggs were uniform. I am ready to initiate the mission."
"Let's go get that set, Spidey."The drive was peaceful. You kept the radio volume low, playing a soft instrumental track that Jake liked because the time signature was mathematically consistent. He spent the drive looking out the window, his fingers tapping a complex, rhythmic pattern against his thigh. He was excited. It was a subtle excitement to anyone else, but to you, it was loud and vibrant.
When you pulled into the strip mall where the hobby shop was located, the parking lot was blissfully empty."Twelve percent capacity might have been an overestimation," you smiled, turning off the engine. "Looks like we have the place to ourselves."
Jake unbuckled his seatbelt, a small, proud smile on his face. "My calculations included a margin of error. Empty is an optimal variable."
You walked into the store together. The bell above the door chimedâa soft, pleasant ding that made Jake blink, but he didn't flinch. The shop owner, an older man reading a magazine behind the counter, offered a quiet nod and went back to his reading. It was perfect.
Jake immediately navigated toward the back corner of the store, where shelves were stacked high with pristine, sealed boxes.
You hung back a few feet, giving him space to explore his element. This was his territory. He moved down the aisle with absolute reverence, his eyes scanning the boxes, reading the piece counts and set numbers like they were lines of poetry.
"They have it," he whispered suddenly.You stepped closer. "The Architecture set?"
"Yes." He pointed to a high shelf. "Set number 21010. The Robie House. 2,276 pieces. It was discontinued years ago. The dark red brick count is unprecedented."
His hands started to move. It was a happy stimâhis fingers fluttering rapidly in front of his chest, a physical manifestation of the joy bubbling over in his brain. He bounced slightly on his heels, a soft, high-pitched hum of pure excitement vibrating in his throat."I have the exact funds required," he said, turning to look at you, his brown eyes shining with absolute delight. "This is... this is a highly significant acquisition."
"I'm so happy for you, Jake," you beamed, your heart swelling at the sight of his unbridled joy. "Let me help you get it down."
You reached up and carefully pulled the box from the top shelf, handing it to him. He took it as if it were made of glass, tracing the edges of the cardboard, his happy humming growing a little louder.
And then, the bell above the door chimed again.
You didn't think much of it at first. But then the voices carried down the aisle. Loud, booming, aggressively casual.
"Bro, I swear they sell Warhammer stuff here, just look."
Three guys turned the corner into the aisle. They were roughly Jake's age, maybe a year or two younger. College kids. They were wearing baseball caps backward, reeking of sharp, chemical body spray that immediately made your nose wrinkle. They were talking over each other, their voices echoing harshly in the quiet shop.
You saw Jake stiffen instantly. The happy humming cut off. His fingers stopped fluttering and clenched into tight fists around the edges of the LEGO box. He instinctively took a step back, pressing his shoulders against the shelving unit, trying to make himself smaller. He lowered his head, his hair falling forward to shield his eyes.
You casually moved, placing yourself slightly in front of him, creating a physical buffer between him and the newcomers.
The guys walked down the aisle, completely oblivious to the sudden tension. One of them, a guy in a bright red polo shirt, stopped to look at the shelf right next to where Jake was standing.
"Man, who drops three hundred bucks on plastic bricks?" the guy scoffed, laughing loudly. Jake flinched at the volume. His hands were shaking. He pulled the box tighter to his chest. He was trying to be invisible, but the movement caught the guy's attention.The guy in the red polo looked at Jake. He looked at the way Jake was hunched over, avoiding eye contact. He looked at the vintage Spider-Man t-shirt peeking out from the hoodie.Then, the guy smirked. He nudged his friend.
"Hey, check it out," he said, not bothering to lower his voice. "We got a real-life man-child over here. Hey buddy, aren't you a little old for the kids' aisle?"
The words hung in the air, heavy and sharp.
Jake froze entirely. His breathing hitched, catching in his throat. He squeezed his eyes shut."Excuse me," you said immediately, your voice cold and sharp as a razor. You stepped fully in front of Jake, locking eyes with the guy in the red polo. "Back off."The guy raised his hands in mock surrender, letting out an obnoxious laugh. "Whoa, chill out. I was just making a joke. Didn't realize his mommy was here to defend him."
"I said, back off," you repeated, taking a step toward him, the protective fury blazing in your chest. You didn't care about professionalism. You didn't care about causing a scene. You only cared about the man trembling behind you. "Keep your mouth shut and walk away."The second friend sneered, looking Jake up and down. "Jeez, what's wrong with him? He's shaking like a weirdo. Does he need a diaper change or something?"
Snap.
You moved forward, jabbing your index finger hard into the second guy's chest. "If you say one more word to him, I am going to have the owner throw you out by your hair. You are pathetic, miserable little bullies. Walk. Away. Now."
Your voice wasn't yelling, but it was deadly. The guys looked at your face, realizing you were genuinely a second away from a physical altercation. The bravado faltered.
"Whatever, crazy bitch," the red polo guy muttered, rolling his eyes. "Place is a freak show anyway. Let's go."They turned and swaggered out of the aisle, laughing loudly to save face ,mimicking disabilities, their heavy footsteps echoing as the front door chimed and they left the store.The silence that followed was suffocating.You turned around instantly, your heart hammering. "Jake," you breathed, reaching out. "Jake, I'm so sorry, are you okay?"
He wasn't okay.He was staring blankly at the floor. His face was entirely devoid of color. The box he had been holding so carefully slipped from his numb fingers, hitting the linoleum with a loud, hollow thud.
"Jake?" you asked softly, not touching him, knowing better than to initiate contact when he was in shock.He didn't look at the box. He didn't look at you. He reached up with shaking, jerky movements and pulled his noise-canceling headphones over his ears. He turned around, completely ignoring the set he had saved up for, and began speed-walking toward the exit."Jake, wait!" you called, abandoning the box on the floor and jogging after him.You caught up to him just as he pushed through the front door. The bright April sun hit him, and he squeezed his eyes shut, his hands coming up to grip the edges of his headphones so hard his knuckles turned stark white.
"Car," he choked out, his voice thick, rough, and entirely monotone. "Take me to the bubble."
"Okay," you said instantly, unlocking the car with your fob. "We're going. We're going right now."
He practically dove into the passenger seat, slamming the door shut. He didn't put his seatbelt on. He pulled his knees up to his chest, curled into a tight, defensive ball, and pulled his hood over his head and his headphones. He was burying himself alive.
You got in, started the car, and drove.The twenty-minute drive back to his house was the longest of your life. The silence in the car wasn't the comfortable, companionable quiet you were used to. It was a heavy, toxic, suffocating silence. It was the sound of a mind tearing itself apart.You wanted to reach over. You wanted to pull over to the side of the road, wrap your arms around him, and squeeze the pain out of him. But his body language was a massive, neon DO NOT TOUCH sign. He was completely closed off. The static in his head had turned into a roar.
When you pulled into his driveway, you noticed Sarah's car was gone. She was at her yoga class. It was just the two of you.
Jake opened his door before you even put the car in park. He scrambled out, almost tripping over his own feet, and half-ran to the front door. You hurried after him, unlocking it quickly.He didn't take his shoes off. He walked straight down the hallway, into his bedroom, and slammed the door.
You stood in the empty, quiet living room, your heart breaking into a thousand jagged pieces.You gave him ten minutes. You knew he needed time to process the massive spike of negative data. You went to the kitchen, poured a glass of ice water, and tried to steady your own breathing. Your hands were shaking with residual anger at those boys. You wanted to drive back and key their car.
But anger wouldn't help Jake.
After fifteen minutes, you walked down the hall and stood outside his bedroom door. You listened.You didn't hear crying. You heard a rhythmic, dull thump. Thump. Thump.Your stomach dropped.It was a sound you had only heard once, during his worst meltdown months ago. He was hitting his head. Not hard enough to cause a concussion, but hard enough to try and physically jar the overwhelming thoughts out of his brain. It was a frustration stim.
You didn't knock. You opened the door.
The blackout curtains were drawn, plunging the room into darkness. Jake was sitting on the floor in the corner, wedged between his bed frame and the wall. He had his knees pulled up, his arms wrapped tightly around his legs. He was rocking violently forward and backward.
Every time he rocked back, the back of his head hit the drywall. Thump.
"Jake, stop," you said, your voice firm but laced with panic. You crossed the room in three strides.
You dropped to your knees in front of him and slid your hand between the back of his head and the wall. When he rocked back again, his head hit your soft palm instead of the drywall.He gasped, the unexpected texture breaking his rhythm. He opened his eyes, glaring at you through the darkness. His cheeks were wet, but he wasn't sobbing. He was hyperventilating, trapped in a spiral of pure, toxic shame.
"Get out," he rasped, his voice raw.
It was the first time he had ever told you to leave. It felt like a physical blow to the chest, but you held your ground. You kept your hand behind his head.
"I'm not leaving you, Jake."
"Get out!" he yelled, a sudden, desperate burst of volume. He grabbed your wrist, trying to pry your hand away from the wall. His grip was frantic. "You are off the clock! Go away! Go back to your adult life!"
"I don't care about the clock," you said fiercely, refusing to let him push you away. You slid closer, ignoring his attempts to push you back, and grabbed both of his wrists, holding them firmly against his chest. Deep pressure. "Look at me. Look at my face."
"No!" He squeezed his eyes shut, turning his head away, trying to hide his face in his knees. "Don't look at me. I am... I am a freak show. I am a man-child."
He was echoing their words. The toxic data had infiltrated his system, overwriting all the confidence you had built together over the last six months.
"They were wrong, Jake," you pleaded, leaning in until your forehead was almost touching his. "They were stupid, miserable bullies who don't know anything about you."
"They were right!" he cried out, a ragged sob finally breaking through his throat. He stopped fighting your grip, his whole body slumping in defeat. "I am twenty-four years old! I wear a superhero shirt! I play with children's toys! I can't even go to a store without my mom or my... my paid caretaker to defend me!"
He pulled his hands out of your grip and buried his face in his palms, weeping openly. The sound of his heartbreak was agonizing.
"I thought I was doing good," he sobbed, his chest heaving. "I thought... I thought I was finding where I fit. But I don't fit anywhere. I am broken. The world looks at me and they see a joke. And you... you just pity me."
"Jake, no," you gasped, the tears finally spilling over your own eyelashes.
"You do," he insisted, his voice muffled by his hands. "You are beautiful. You are smart. You fix leaky pipes and drive cars and yell at scary men. You are a real adult. I am just your charity case. I am a job. You just pretend I am a man so I don't feel bad."
The absolute devastation in his voice, the deep-seated insecurity that had been completely laid bare by three cruel strangers, ripped through you. He didn't just feel humiliated; he felt unlovable. He felt like an imposter in his own life.
You didn't try to reason with him. You couldn't fight this level of emotional static with words alone.You moved. You uncrossed your legs and slid directly into his space. You didn't ask for permission. You wrapped your arms tightly around his trembling shoulders and pulled him forward, practically dragging him out of the corner until his chest hit yours.You wrapped your legs around his hips, trapping him in a tight, full-body embrace. You buried one hand in his dark, fluffy hair, pressing his head firmly against your shoulder, and wrapped your other arm tightly around his back. You applied as much deep pressure as your body could physically muster, crushing the space between you.
He stiffened violently, a gasp tearing from his throat at the sudden, overwhelming input. But he didn't fight it. He never fought your pressure.
"Listen to me," you whispered fiercely into his ear, your voice trembling with unshed tears and absolute conviction. "Listen to my voice. You are going to delete that data right now. Do you hear me?"
He let out a broken, hiccuping sob against your neck, his arms hovering uselessly at his sides.
"You are not a charity case," you continued, holding him tighter. "You have never been just a job to me. Those boys in the store? They are cowards. They tear people down because they have nothing interesting or beautiful inside their own heads. But you? Your brain is a masterpiece, Jake."
He shook his head weakly against your shoulder. "I'm a child."
"You are a man," you stated firmly, pulling back just enough to force him to look at you. You grabbed his face in both of your hands, your thumbs wiping away the hot tears streaming down his cheeks.
His brown eyes were wide, bloodshot, and utterly shattered, staring at you in the dark room. "A real man isn't someone who wears a scratchy suit and drinks at a bar," you told him, staring directly into his eyes, refusing to let him look away. "A real man is someone who is kind. Someone who is honest. A real man notices when I'm sad and gives up his favorite weighted blanket to comfort me. A real man eats a burnt, awful cookie just so I don't feel like a failure. A real man picks resilient yellow weeds for me because he knows I love them."He let out a shaky breath, his chest rising and falling rapidly against yours.
"You are the strongest, bravest, most incredible man I have ever met, Jake Sim," you whispered, your voice cracking. "And I don't pity you. I am in awe of you."
You didn't plan the next part. You didn't calculate the professional boundaries or the risk of sensory overload. You just acted on the overwhelming, desperate need to prove to him that he was loved exactly as he was.You leaned forward and pressed your lips to his.It wasn't a hesitant, chaste peck. It was firm, grounding, and full of every ounce of love and fierce protectiveness you harbored for him. You kept your hands cradling his face, anchoring him to the sensation.For one agonizing second, Jake froze. He went completely rigid beneath you. The new sensory inputâthe softness of your lips, the heat, the overwhelming intimacyâwas massive.
But then, he melted.
A soft, desperate whimper vibrated in his throat. His hands, which had been hovering uselessly, came up and gripped your waist with a frantic strength. He didn't know what he was doing, but his instincts took over. He pressed back into the kiss, his lips moving clumsily but eagerly against yours. He clung to you like you were the only solid thing left in a world that had suddenly turned to quicksand.
You kissed him until the shaking in his body finally, slowly began to subside. You kissed him until the frantic rhythm of his heart slowed to a manageable beat against your chest. When you finally pulled back, you kept your foreheads pressed together, both of you gasping softly for air in the quiet, dark room. Jake's eyes were closed. His eyelashes were wet with tears, but his face had lost that pale, terrified pallor. His hands were gripping your hips so tightly it almost hurt, grounding himself in your physical presence. "Did you mean it?" he whispered, his voice incredibly small, incredibly fragile. "I meant every single word," you promised, stroking your thumbs over his cheekbones. "You are my favorite person in the entire world, Jake. I don't want a 'normal' guy. I want you. With your Spider-Man shirts and your LEGOs and your beautiful, brilliant brain." He opened his eyes. The shattered glass look was gone. The insecurity hadn't vanished completelyâit never did, not instantlyâbut the toxic shame had been washed away by the absolute certainty in your voice and the lingering heat on his lips.
He swallowed hard. "I dropped the Robie House set."
You let out a wet, tearful laugh, pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose. "We can go back tomorrow. Or we can order it online. Whatever you want."
"Online," he decided immediately, his voice gaining a fraction of its usual factual cadence. "The crowd density in that store is heavily polluted with negative variables."
"Online it is." He took a deep breath, processing the massive emotional shift that had just occurred. He loosened his death-grip on your waist, moving his hands up to carefully, hesitantly wrap his arms around your back, returning the full-body hug. He rested his chin on your shoulder, burying his nose in your hair.
"You smell like vanilla and anger," he murmured into your neck.
You laughed again, burying your face in his soft hoodie. "I was very angry. I wanted to hit them."
"I am glad you didn't," he said seriously. "Assault is a felony. That would disrupt our routine."
"You're right. No felonies."
You sat there on the floor for a long time, tangled together in the dark. The sting of the outside world, the cruelty of strangers, was still there, but it was locked outside. Inside this room, inside the circle of your arms, he wasn't a man-child. He wasn't a broken algorithm.
"Y/N?" he whispered after a long silence.
"Yeah, Jakey?"
"When you kissed me... the static stopped completely."
"Yeah?"
"Yes. It was... highly effective. Superior to the noise-canceling headphones."
You smiled against his shoulder, your heart finally settling into a steady, peaceful rhythm. "Well, then I guess I'll just have to keep doing it. For medicinal purposes, of course."
"Agreed," he hummed, the vibration rumbling happily against your chest. "Frequent application is recommended." And as you held him in the dark, feeling the steady beat of his heart against yours, you knew that no matter how loud or cruel the world got, you would always be his quiet place. And he, in all his honest, beautiful complexity, would always be yours.
The aftermath of that afternoon on his bedroom floor shifted the entire axis of your relationship. The kiss had been an impulsive, desperate act of protection on your part, meant to shock him out of a spiral of toxic shame. But for Jake, it had fundamentally rewritten his internal algorithm.
You had become his baseline. In the weeks that followed as April blossomed into a warm, gentle May, Jake became undeniably, profoundly clingy. It wasn't a demanding, suffocating kind of clinginess. It was a quiet, constant gravitational pull. He simply needed to be in your orbit.
Before, he had valued his solitary space. He would spend hours in the living room building LEGOs while you read in the armchair, comfortable but separate. Now, if you sat on the sofa, he sat on the sofa, his hip pressed firmly against yours. If you stood at the kitchen island cutting his grilled cheese or pouring his milk, he would stand right behind you, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from his chest.
He initiated touch constantly. It was never light or brushingâhe still hated the "spiderweb" feeling of gentle contact. Instead, it was firm and deliberate. He would reach out and wrap his long fingers securely around your wrist while you were talking to Sarah. He would drop his heavy head onto your shoulder while waiting for the microwave to beep. He would randomly press his palm flat against the center of your back as you walked down the hallway.He was seeking deep pressure, but more than that, he was seeking you. You were the variable that made the static stop, and he wanted that quiet safety as much as possible.
You didn't mind it. In fact, your heart swelled every single time he reached for you. You returned his affection in equal measure, leaning into his weight, squeezing his hand back, and resting your cheek against his fluffy, dark hair whenever he ducked his head into your neck.
Nothing was labeled. You hadn't sat down and had a formal discussion about being "boyfriend and girlfriend." You were just existing in this warm, safe bubble of mutual adoration, letting Jake process the new physical and emotional data at his own pace.
Sarah, of course, noticed the shift immediately.
It was impossible to miss. One Tuesday morning, you were standing at the stove, carefully stirring a pot of oatmeal (no lumps, perfectly smooth). Jake had padded into the kitchen wearing his tagless Spider-Man pajama pants and a soft grey t-shirt. Instead of sitting at his usual spot at the round table, he walked straight up behind you. He wrapped his arms around your waist, burying his face in the space between your neck and shoulder, and let out a long, contented sigh that vibrated against your back.You had simply smiled, leaning back against his solid chest, and kept stirring. "Morning, Jakey. Did you sleep well?"
"Eight hours and twelve minutes," he mumbled into your skin, his arms tightening in a firm squeeze. "The humidity dropped. The sheets felt correct."
Sarah had walked in right at that moment, pausing in the doorway. She froze, a mug of coffee half-raised to her lips. She stared at the way her son, who had spent his entire life flinching away from unexpected contact, was willingly, eagerly anchoring himself to another human being.She caught your eye over Jakeâs shoulder. You offered her a soft, reassuring smile.Sarahâs eyes immediately filled with tears. She didn't say anything to disrupt his peace; she just pressed her lips together, gave you a shaky, incredibly grateful nod, and quietly backed out of the kitchen to give you both privacy.Later that afternoon, while Jake was in the backyard inspecting the growth of his beloved dandelions, Sarah sat next to you on the porch."I have never seen him like this," she whispered, watching him carefully step over a line of worker ants on the patio. "Heâs always been so guarded. Even with me, sometimes. His sensory threshold is just so delicate. But with you... itâs like he doesn't have a threshold at all. Youâre just part of him.""He makes it easy, Sarah," you said honestly, pulling your cardigan tighter against the spring breeze. "Heâs so honest. Thereâs no guessing games with him. I know exactly where I stand."
"You know he likes you, right?" she asked gently, turning to look at you. "More than just as a support worker. I know the agency has rules, but Y/N... I am his mother. And I have never, ever seen him look at someone the way he looks at you."
"I like him too," you admitted, the truth feeling warm and bright in the cool air. "I really, really do. Weâre just... taking it slow. I want him to figure out the feelings on his own timetable."
"Take all the time you need," Sarah smiled, her shoulders dropping in profound relief. "Just... thank you. For seeing him. For really seeing him."
The culmination of all those quiet, clingy weeks happened on a rainy Friday evening.
It was Movie Night. The blackout curtains were drawn, creating a cozy, insulated cave in the living room. The TV was glowing brightly with the saturated colors of Spider-Man: Far From Home.
Jake was sitting on the sofa. You were tucked seamlessly into his side. His arm was wrapped heavy and secure around your shoulders, and your legs were tangled together beneath his favorite fifteen-pound grey weighted blanket. The pressure of the blanket combined with the solid weight of his body pressing against yours was incredibly grounding.
On the screen, Peter Parker was awkwardly fumbling through a conversation with MJ in Venice, clearly overwhelmed by his circumstances and his desperate, clumsy desire to just tell her how he felt.
Jake was usually hyper-focused during Marvel movies, cataloging the physics of the web-shooters or the structural damage to the buildings. But tonight, he was distracted.
His fingers were tracing a repetitive, rhythmic circle on your upper arm. One, two, three. One, two, three. It was a self-soothing stim. He had been doing it for twenty minutes."Is the volume okay?" you whispered, tilting your head up to look at his profile. The blue and red light from the television painted sharp angles across his jawline."The volume is at level 14. It is optimal," he replied softly.
He didn't look down at you. He kept his eyes fixed on the screen, but his brow was furrowed in deep concentration. He stopped tracing circles on your arm.
"Y/N?" he murmured, his voice rumbling in his chest against your side.
"Yeah, Jake?"
"Peter's heart rate is elevated," he observed, watching the animated panic on Tom Holland's face. "He is experiencing a stress response. But there is no immediate physical threat. The elemental monsters are not present in this scene."
"No," you agreed softly. "There are no monsters. He's just stressed because he's trying to talk to MJ."
"Because he wants to give her the black dahlia necklace," Jake stated factually. "Because he likes her."
"Exactly. He likes her, and he's terrified of messing it up. Feelings can cause a stress response too, Jake. Adrenaline. Sweaty palms. A fast heart rate."
Jake went completely still. The slight, rhythmic bouncing of his foot beneath the weighted blanket stopped. He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing.
"I have been experiencing a stress response," he said. The admission was quiet, almost a whisper, as if he were confessing a systemic error.
Your heart did a tiny, nervous flip. You shifted slightly under the heavy blanket, turning your body more toward him. "Are you experiencing one right now? Is the environment too loud?"
"No," he said quickly, his grip on your shoulder tightening in a firm, reassuring squeeze. "The environment is safe. The blackout curtains are closed. The blanket is heavy. You are here. The variables are all controlled."
"Then what's causing the stress response, Jakey?"
He finally pulled his eyes away from the television screen. He looked down at you. His dark brown eyes were wide, intensely focused, and swimming with an emotion so raw and heavy it practically took your breath away.
"You," he said simply.
You froze. "Me?"
"Yes," he nodded, his expression deadpan but his eyes betraying a frantic, searching vulnerability. "I have been analyzing the data for weeks. Ever since... ever since the incident at the hobby store. When you kissed me. My baseline changed."
He pulled his hand away from your shoulder, bringing it up to rest flat against the center of his own chest, right over his heart.
"It feels heavy in here," he explained, his voice trembling slightly as he tried to articulate the abstract chaos inside his mind. "But it's not the bad heavy. Itâs not a meltdown. Itâs like... like when I put the weighted blanket on, but itâs on the inside of my ribs."He reached out and carefully took your hand, lacing his long, elegant fingers through yours. He squeezed firmly.
"When you are not here, the static comes back. When you leave to go to your apartment, I count the hours until 8:50 AM when your car pulls into the driveway. I check the window. And when I see you wearing your quiet white shoes... my heart beats very fast. Like Peter Parker." Tears immediately pricked the back of your eyes. The absolute, unvarnished honesty of his words was staggering. There were no games. There was no posturing. He was laying his entire internal processor bare for you to see. "Jake," you breathed, your voice thick.
"I didn't know how to categorize the data," he continued, his thumb rubbing firmly over your knuckles. "I read the diagnostic criteria for anxiety, but the symptoms didn't match perfectly. Because anxiety makes me want to hide. This feeling... makes me want to be exactly where I am. Sitting right next to you. With no gap between the cushions."
He looked back at the TV for a split second, pointing at Peter and MJ, who were now sharing a quiet, charged moment on the screen.
"Peter feels it," Jake said, looking back down at you. "He feels the heavy, fast thing in his chest. And he calls it love." A single tear spilled over your eyelashes, tracking hotly down your cheek. Jake saw it. He immediately let go of your hand, his face falling into a mask of panic. "You are leaking. I said the wrong thing. I processed the variable incorrectlyâ"
"No, no, Jake, look at me," you interrupted quickly, reaching up with both hands to cup his face. You held his cheeks firmly, applying the deep pressure he needed to stay grounded in the moment. "I'm not crying because I'm sad. I'm crying because I'm happy. Because it's a good heavy feeling."
He stopped pulling away. He leaned into your palms, his wide eyes searching yours for confirmation. "It is a good variable?"
"Itâs the best variable," you sobbed out a watery laugh, swiping your thumbs under his eyes. "You're saying you love me, Jake?"
"Yes," he said. He didn't hesitate. He didn't stutter. He looked at you with an innocence and a certainty that shattered every doubt you had ever harbored. "I love you. I love your quiet shoes. I love that you know I need the cheese cut into squares. I love that you fought those loud men for me. You are my safe place, Y/N. I love you."
Your heart took a massive, soaring leap against your ribs. You pulled his face down and pressed your lips firmly against his.
It was better than the first kiss. The first kiss had been born of panic and desperation. This kiss was born of absolute, undeniable clarity. Jake responded instantly, his hands coming down to grip your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. He kissed you with that same meticulous, focused attention he applied to everything he cared about, learning the exact pressure and rhythm that made you sigh into his mouth.
When you finally pulled back, you were both breathless. Jakeâs glasses were slightly askew, and his cheeks were flushed a beautiful, vibrant pink.
"I love you too, Jake," you whispered, resting your forehead against his. "So much. My chest gets heavy when I look at you, too."
He let out a long, shuddering exhale, a massive weight lifting off his broad shoulders. He bumped his nose affectionately against yours. "Optimal," he whispered, a huge, gummy smile breaking across his face. You laughed, tangling your fingers in the soft hair at the nape of his neck. "Since we both have the same data... does this mean you want to be my boyfriend?"
Jake paused. He blinked, processing the terminology. He tilted his head slightly.
"Boyfriend," he repeated slowly. "And you would be my girlfriend."
"If you want to be."
He thought about it. "Labels are useful. They categorize relationships so the boundaries are clear. A girlfriend is a primary, permanent variable."
"I would very much like to be a permanent variable, Jake."
His smile widened, crinkling the corners of his dark eyes. "Yes. I will be your boyfriend. That is... a very pleasing symmetry."
"It's perfect symmetry." He pulled you back against his side, wrapping his arm securely around your shoulders, tighter than before. He dragged the weighted blanket higher up over your chests, cocooning the two of you in the dim, flashing light of the television.
"Y/N?" he asked softly, resting his cheek on the top of your head.
"Yeah, boyfriend?" you teased gently. He hummed, a deep, happy vibration that rattled pleasantly against your ribs. "I do not need to buy you a black dahlia necklace like Peter Parker, do I? Because you do not like jewelry that clicks against the table. And glass is fragile."
You couldn't help the joyous laugh that bubbled out of you. "No, Jake. No glass necklaces required."
"Good," he said practically. "I will buy you more smooth salsa instead. It is a superior investment."
"I'd love nothing more." As Spider-Man swung across the screen, saving the city from chaos, you sat safely in the dark, anchored by the weight of the blanket and the boy who held you. There was no more static. There was no more confusion about where you fit into his life. You were dating Jake Sim, and as he pressed a firm, deliberate kiss to your hairline, you knew absolutely that you had found exactly where you belonged.
The transition from support worker to girlfriend wasn't just an emotional shift; it required a logistical one, too.
Two days after that rainy movie night on the couch, you walked into the drab, fluorescent-lit office of New Horizons Support Services and placed your ID badge on your supervisor's desk. You explained that you could no longer remain objective. You didn't give them the deeply personal details, but you told them enough: the professional boundary had dissolved, and it was no longer ethical for you to clock in and bill the state for the time you spent at the Sim household.
Your supervisor had sighed, citing "high turnover" again, but you didn't care. You walked out of that office feeling lighter than air.
You drove straight to Jakeâs house. When you walked through the front door, you weren't wearing your agency polo. You were just wearing a comfortable sweater and your quiet white Converse. Jake was sitting at the kitchen island, meticulously peeling an apple in one continuous ribbon. Sarah was at the stove, boiling water for pasta. "I quit my job today," you announced softly, standing in the archway.
Sarah froze, the wooden spoon pausing in the pot. She turned to look at you, panic momentarily flashing in her dark eyes. "You... you quit? Y/N, what happened? Did the agencyâ"
"No, Mom," Jake interrupted. He didn't look up from his apple, but his voice was remarkably steady, imbued with a quiet, undeniable pride. The apple peel fell to the cutting board in a perfect spiral. "She did not quit me. She quit the agency. It is a conflict of interest for her to be on the payroll." Sarah blinked, looking back and forth between the two of you. "Conflict of interest?"
Jake finally looked up. He set the paring knife down carefully. He walked over to where you were standing in the archway. He didn't hesitate, didn't check the room for variables. He simply reached out, took your hand in his, and intertwined his long fingers with yours. He gave your hand a firm, grounding squeeze.
"Y/N is my girlfriend now," Jake stated, looking at his mother with absolute clarity. "She is my permanent variable. We are dating."
For a full ten seconds, the kitchen was dead silent. The only sound was the rolling boil of the pasta water.
Then, Sarah dropped the wooden spoon. It clattered against the stove. She covered her mouth with both hands, a loud, wet sob escaping her throat.
"Oh, my God," she wept, the tears spilling over her cheeks in a flood of sheer, unadulterated joy. "Oh, Jakey." She crossed the kitchen in three quick strides and wrapped her arms around both of you, pulling you into a crushing, messy hug. Jake stiffened slightly at the suddenness of the contact, but he didn't pull away. He just patted his motherâs back awkwardly with his free hand, while keeping his other hand locked tightly in yours.
"I am so happy," Sarah cried into your shoulder, squeezing you tight. "I am so, so happy for both of you. Y/N, you... you are family. You were already family, but this... thank you. Thank you for loving him."
"I couldn't stop if I tried, Sarah," you whispered, wiping your own eyes.
From that day on, it wasn't a job anymore. You were just taking care of your love, and he, in his own brilliant, meticulous way, was taking care of you.
As the damp chill of spring gave way to the heavy, golden warmth of summer, Jake bloomed.The boy who used to flinch away from unexpected contact became entirely, wonderfully unabashed about seeking it from you. He didn't care who was watching. If he needed grounding, he took it.
You started going to the local metro parks together. It was a massive sensory step for himâparks were unpredictable. There were off-leash dogs, shouting children, and the sudden, sharp crack of baseball bats from the nearby diamonds. But he wanted to go, because he knew you liked the walking trails.
To manage the input, he wore his noise-canceling headphones, a pair of dark polarized sunglasses to cut the glare of the sun, and, most importantly, he held your hand.
Jakeâs hand-holding wasn't a casual, loose grip. It was a firm, deliberate anchor. He would press the palm of his hand flush against yours, locking your fingers together so tightly you could feel his pulse beating against your skin.
"Deep pressure," he would murmur, adjusting his grip as you walked down the shaded, tree-lined paths. "It keeps the static away. You are my tether."
"I've got you, Spidey," you would smile, swinging your joined arms gently.
One particularly warm afternoon in late June, a golden retriever slipped its leash and came bounding toward you on the trail, barking excitedly. Before you could even react, Jake stepped directly in front of you, placing his body between you and the dog. He was terrified of loud, unpredictable animals, his shoulders hitching up to his ears, but his first instinct was to shield you.
When the owner ran up apologizing and leashed the dog, Jake let out a long, shaky breath."You stepped in front of me," you said softly, rubbing his tense back as he watched the dog walk away.
"I am the boyfriend," he stated, his voice trembling slightly from the adrenaline, but laced with a fierce, protective logic. "The boyfriend protects the girlfriend from biological anomalies. It is in the protocol."
You had pulled him down by the strings of his hoodie and kissed him right there on the trail, surrounded by the buzzing cicadas and the summer heat. He had melted into the kiss instantly, his hands finding your waist, the fear of the dog entirely overridden by the overwhelming, consuming input of your lips against his.
Summer evenings in Jake's backyard became your sanctuary.
When the sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in bruises of purple, pink, and deep, saturated orange, the temperature would drop to a comfortable coolness. The neighborhood would quiet down, and the sensory input of the world would finally dial back to a manageable hum.
One evening in July, you had brought a cheap, plastic bottle of bubbles from the grocery store.Jake had been sitting on the patio chair, watching the fireflies begin to blink in the grass. You sat on the grass in front of him, unscrewed the cap, and blew a stream of bubbles into the warm evening air.Jakeâs eyes went wide. He watched the translucent spheres float upward, catching the dying light of the sunset.
"They are perfectly spherical," he breathed, leaning forward, utterly captivated. "Surface tension forces the liquid into the shape with the least surface area. It is... mathematically flawless."
"They're pretty, aren't they?" you smiled, blowing another stream toward him.
He reached out and caught one on the tip of his finger. It didn't pop immediately. He brought it closer to his face, his dark eyes reflecting the shimmering, rainbow-colored surface of the soap film."Thin-film interference," he whispered, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "The light waves are bouncing off the inner and outer boundaries of the soap film. They are interfering with each other to create the colors. Magenta. Cyan. Yellow. It is chemistry and physics working together."
Pop. The bubble vanished, leaving a tiny drop of soapy water on his skin. He laughed. It was a rare, full-bellied sound that bubbled up from his chest, pure and bright.
"Do it again," he requested, his eyes shining.
You spent an hour blowing bubbles for him. He didn't just watch them; he analyzed them. He tried to catch them without popping them. He tracked their flight paths, calculating the wind currents. And every time he laughed, your heart swelled until you thought it might burst.He looked so beautiful in the fading light. He was stripped of all his anxieties, all his fears about fitting into the "normal" world. He was just a brilliant, joyful man marveling at the physics of a soap bubble.
When the bottle was empty, he slid off the patio chair and sat on the grass beside you. He pulled his knees up to his chest and rested his head on your shoulder.
"That was a superior activity," he murmured, his breath warm against your neck. "The visual input was highly stimulating, but not overwhelming. It was... soft."
"We can get more tomorrow," you promised, resting your cheek against the top of his fluffy hair.
"Yes. But only the brand with the pink wand. The fluid viscosity was excellent."
You laughed, wrapping your arms around his chest and pulling him backward until you were both lying flat on the cool grass, looking up at the first stars pricking through the twilight. He rolled onto his side, throwing a heavy leg over yours and burying his face in your chest.
"I love you, Y/N," he whispered into the fabric of your shirt, his voice drowsy and content.
"I love you too, Jakey."
As the summer wore on, your integration into his daily life became seamless. You didn't just watch him build LEGOs anymore; you built them with him.
It was a profound level of trust. Jake was highly territorial over his LEGO sets. They were his system of order in a chaotic world. But one rainy August afternoon, he pushed the massive instruction booklet for the LEGO Rivendell set toward the middle of the coffee table.
"You may assemble the roof tiles," he announced, handing you a plastic sorting tray filled with hundreds of tiny, earth-toned pieces.
You took the tray, deeply honored. "Are you sure? I don't want to mess up the symmetry."
"I have observed your fine motor skills," he stated pragmatically, clicking a wall piece into place. "You are careful. You do not force the bricks if they resist. And... I like seeing your hands next to mine."
You spent four hours sitting shoulder-to-shoulder on the floor. You learned the specific, satisfying snap of a perfectly placed tile. You learned not to talk when he was counting studs. It was an intimate, quiet language you developed together.
When you finished the Elven council ring, Jake stopped. He looked at the structure, then looked at you."We built this," he said, the realization settling heavily on him. "Together as a unit."
"We make a good team."He reached out and traced the edge of the plastic roof you had assembled. "My life used to be a solo build. I did not want anyone to touch my pieces because they always knocked them over. But you... you reinforce the structure. You make the build stronger."By the time the leaves began to turn the vibrant reds and oranges of October, months had passed since the kiss.And with the passage of time came the deepest intimacy of all: spending the night.
The first time it happened, it hadn't been planned. You had been watching a marathon of animated movies, and the heavy rain outside had lulled you to sleep on the sofa, your head pillowed on his chest.
When you woke up, it was 2:00 AM. Jake was still awake. He was sitting perfectly still, not moving a muscle, his arm wrapped tightly around you.
"Jake?" you mumbled, rubbing your eyes. "Why didn't you wake me up? Your arm has to be numb."
"My arm is numb," he confirmed softly. "But you were in the REM cycle of sleep. Your breathing was deep. Interrupting the REM cycle causes cognitive fatigue. And... I liked the weight of you. It is better than the blanket."
You had smiled sleepily, stretching your stiff back. "I should probably drive home."
Jakeâs grip on your waist tightened instantly. His heart rate spiked against your cheek.
"The roads are slick," he said, his voice rising in that familiar, anxious pitch. "The visibility is reduced by 60%. The statistical probability of an accident is elevated."
He looked down at you, his brown eyes wide and pleading in the dim light of the living room. "Please do not drive. The variables are unsafe. My bed is... it is a king size. There is room. You can sleep there."
You hadn't hesitated. "Okay. I'll stay."
Sleeping in Jakeâs bed was a sensory experience in itself. His mattress was firm. His sheets were 100% Egyptian cotton, washed in unscented detergent because artificial lavender made his nose itch.
When you climbed into the bed, wearing a spare oversized Spider-Man t-shirt he had given you, he immediately pulled his heavy, fifteen-pound grey weighted blanket over both of you."Is the weight acceptable?" he asked anxiously, hovering over you. "It can be crushing to neurotypical nervous systems."
"It feels like a hug," you assured him, settling into the pillows.
Jake climbed in beside you. He didn't leave a gap. He closed the distance immediately, turning on his side and wrapping himself around you like an octopus. He pulled your back flush against his chest, throwing his heavy arm over your waist and tangling his long legs entirely with yours.
He buried his face in the back of your neck. He took a deep, shuddering breath, inhaling the scent of your shampoo.
"Optimal," he whispered into your skin.
You reached down and laced your fingers through his where they rested on your stomach. "Goodnight, Jake."
"Goodnight, Y/N."
You learned that Jake didn't move in his sleep. Once he found his anchoring position against you, he was dead weight. He slept deeply and heavily, his breathing a steady, soothing rhythm against your spine.
Waking up to him was even better.The first time you opened your eyes in his bed, the morning sun was filtering through the edges of the blackout curtains. Jake was already awake.He was propped up on one elbow, his chin resting on his hand, just staring at you. His hair was an absolute bird's nest of fluffy, chaotic curls sticking up in every direction. His face was soft, relaxed, completely devoid of the tension he carried during the day.
"You have a freckle on your left eyelid," he whispered, his voice deep and raspy from sleep. "I never noticed it before. It is very small. Exactly 1.5 millimeters."
You smiled lazily, reaching up to push a stray curl out of his eyes. "Good morning to you too, Spidey."
"You look different when you sleep," he observed, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth. "Your facial muscles lose their tension. You look very peaceful. It made my chest feel heavy again. The good heavy."
"I was peaceful because I was sleeping next to you," you murmured, pulling him down by the collar of his shirt until his chest rested against yours.
He hummed happily, nuzzling his nose against your jaw. Waking up together became a staple of your weekends. You learned that he needed exactly ten minutes of quiet transition time before speaking about complex topics. You learned that he liked it when you traced light patterns on his bare back to help him wake up his sensory receptors.You learned that you had never, ever felt a love like this before.
It was a love completely stripped of games, manipulation, and societal expectations. It was a love built on raw honesty, calculated variables, and an intense, unwavering loyalty.
Now, exactly six months since that rainy New Year's Eve, you were sitting in the living room on a quiet Sunday afternoon.
The Thanksgiving break was approaching, and the air outside was biting and crisp. Inside, the fireplace was crackling.
Jake was sitting on the floor, leaning back between your legs as you sat on the couch. This was his favorite position. He called it "the grounding chair." You were running your fingers slowly and rhythmically through his dark hair, scratching gently at his scalp.He had his eyes closed, practically purring.
"The tactile input is superior," he murmured, his head tilting back against your knee to give you better access. You smiled, looking down at him. He was beautiful. He was so incredibly bright. You thought about the file you had read a year ago. Difficulty establishing rapport. Rigid. High support needs. They had missed everything that mattered. They missed the way his mind was a kaleidoscope of logic and empathy. They missed the way he noticed the iridescent colors in a soap bubble. They missed the fierce, protective way he would step in front of a strange dog for the person he loved.
"What are you thinking about?" he asked, opening his eyes and looking up at you upside down."I'm thinking about you," you said softly, cupping his face in your hands.
"Is the data positive?" he asked, a small, teasing lilt in his voice. He was learning how to joke with you, understanding the cadence of playful banter.
"The data is overwhelmingly positive," you assured him, leaning down to kiss him upside down, like Spider-Man.
He smiled against your lips. He reached up, his long fingers wrapping gently around your wrists."I am operating at 100% battery," Jake whispered, looking at you with those deep, liquid brown eyes that held his entire, beautiful soul. "And you are the power source. I love you, Y/N."
"I love you too, Jake. Forever."
"Forever is a mathematical concept denoting infinite time," he stated, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I accept those parameters."
He closed his eyes and leaned back against you, completely at peace, and you knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that your parameters were perfectly, infinitely aligned.
The seven-month mark of your relationship with Jake, the world outside the house had grown cold, brittle, and gray. But inside the house, the atmosphere was a saturated, brilliant gold.
You knew the exact rhythm of his breathing when he was relaxed; you knew the precise weight of the fifteen-pound blanket; you knew that when the world got too loud, you were the quiet room he retreated into.
It was a Friday night. The wind was howling outside, rattling the windowpanes with a chaotic, unpredictable rhythm that would have usually sent Jake into a spiral of sensory defense. But tonight, the blackout curtains were drawn tight, sealing the unpredictable elements away. The living room was bathed in the warm, colorful glow of the television screen.
You were having a movie night. It was a comedic, wildly colorful animation film about a chaotic family trying to save the world from a robot apocalypse. Jake had initially been skeptical of the plot's disregard for basic physics, but he had quickly become captivated by the vibrant, symmetrical animation style and the logical, deadpan humor of the familyâs pug.For the last hour, you had been spooning on the sofa.
It was a position that had required careful calibration over the last few months. Jakeâs sensory processing meant that light, feathery touches felt like crawling insects on his skin. But deep, firm pressure was his anchor. So, he lay behind you, his broad chest pressed flush and firm against your back. His heavy arm was wrapped securely around your waist, his hand splayed flat against your stomach, grounding you both. His long legs were tangled with yours beneath the plush velvet blanket.
He was incredibly warm, a human furnace radiating a steady, comforting heat through his vintage, tagless t-shirt.On the screen, the animated pug did something ridiculous, and a bright, bubbly laugh escaped your lips. Behind you, Jake laughed âa bright, resonant vibration in his chest that you could feel all the way down your spine. It was his version of a laugh, a happy, contented sound that meant his battery was operating at optimal capacity."The canineâs center of gravity is entirely disproportionate to its mass," Jake murmured into the shell of your ear, his breath sending a pleasant shiver down your neck. "It is impossible for it to run that fast."
"It's a cartoon, Jakey," you smiled, tilting your head back slightly to rest against his shoulder. "Physics take a holiday in cartoons."
"Physics never take a holiday," he corrected softly, his nose brushing against your hair. "But I will suspend my disbelief because the color palette is soothing."
You relaxed further into his hold, feeling utterly, completely safe. But after another ten minutes of lying in the exact same position, biology demanded a shift. Your left arm, which was tucked beneath your body and wedged against the cushions, was beginning to tingle uncomfortably.
"Jake," you whispered, squirming just a fraction. "My arm is falling asleep. The nerve is pinched."
"Paresthesia," he noted immediately, his grip on your waist loosening just enough to allow you to move. "You need to restore the blood flow."
"Yeah. Just give me a second."
You pushed backward against him to free your trapped arm, using your hips to gain leverage against the cushions. You shifted your weight, pressing your backside firmly against his lap to brace yourself as you pulled your arm free and rolled your shoulders. As you pushed your hips back into him, Jake made a sound you had never heard before. It wasn't his happy, vibrating hum. It wasn't the sharp, panicked gasp of a sensory overload. It was a low, breathy whimper that hitched in the back of his throatâa sound that was raw, involuntary, and entirely instinctual.
You froze. Before you could ask if you had accidentally hurt him, you felt it. Pressed flush against the soft curve of your backside, right through the fabric of your sweatpants and his soft flannel pajamas, was a distinct, solid ridge of heat.
He was hard.For a microsecond, the living room was dead silent, save for the cartoon explosions on the TV screen. You stopped breathing, your mind racing to process the new variable. Jakeâs body, however, didn't wait for his logical brain to catch up.
Driven by a sudden, overwhelming biological imperative, Jakeâs hips twitched. He pushed forward, pressing that hard, aching heat deliberately into your backside, seeking the friction.Another soft, ragged moan escaped his parted lips, hot against your neck. His heavy arm, which was still wrapped around your waist, suddenly tightened, his large hand gripping your hip with a frantic, desperate pressure.
"Jake?" you breathed, your heart doing a wild, erratic flutter against your ribs.
He jerked slightly, as if your voice had snapped him out of a trance. The physical pressure against your back remained, but his breathing had turned shallow and erratic.
"I... I apologize," he stammered, his voice thick and wavering. He tried to pull his hips back, a sudden wave of panic radiating from his tense muscles. "I did not calculate that reaction. The friction... when you moved... the sensory input was massive. It bypassed my primary processor." You didn't let him pull away. You reached down and placed your hand firmly over his where it gripped your hip, anchoring him to you.
"Jake, it's okay," you said softly, keeping your voice low and steady. "You don't have to apologize. It's just biology. It's a natural variable."
"My heart rate is elevated to 110 beats per minute," he whispered, his chest heaving against your back. "The blood flow has heavily redirected. The physical sensation is... it is loud, Y/N. It is very loud."
"Is it a bad loud?" you asked carefully. "Is it overwhelming like a meltdown, or... is it something else?" He went still, analyzing the internal data. He pressed his forehead against the back of your shoulder, taking a shaky breath.
"It is not a meltdown," he confessed, his voice dropping to a gravelly, intimate register. "It does not feel like the static. It feels like... gravity. Like I am being pulled toward the center of the earth. It is a very heavy, concentrated need. I want..." He swallowed hard. "I want to press against you again. The pressure felt... optimal."
Your pulse skyrocketed. You had navigated countless sensory challenges together, but this was uncharted territory. Over the last seven months, your physical intimacy had been limited to deep kisses, fierce hugs, and the quiet comfort of sleeping tangled together. You had let him set the pace, knowing that the intense vulnerability of sex could easily turn into a sensory nightmare if not handled with absolute care and trust.
But right now, his body was telling him what he needed, and he was trusting you enough to vocalize it.
You slowly turned over in his arms, shifting until you were facing him on the sofa.
His dark eyes were wide, blown out, and swimming with a chaotic mix of desire, confusion, and vulnerable trust. His chest was rising and falling rapidly under his t-shirt. His hair was messy, falling into his eyes, making him look devastatingly beautiful in the flickering light of the television.
"You can press against me, Jake," you whispered, reaching up to cup his face in both hands, applying the firm, grounding pressure he loved. "If you want to. We can explore this data together. But only if you feel safe."
He leaned into your palms, his eyes fluttering shut for a second. "I always feel safe with you. You are my permanent variable."
"Do you want to turn the TV off?" you asked. "To reduce the audio-visual input?"
He opened his eyes and nodded once, a jerky, decisive motion. "Yes. The flashing lights are distracting. I only want to focus on one input. I want to focus on you."
You reached for the remote on the coffee table and clicked the power button. The room was instantly plunged into a soft, velvety darkness, illuminated only by the faint amber glow of the streetlamp filtering through the edges of the blackout curtains. The silence in the room was profound, amplifying the sound of your mingled breathing.
"Is the dark okay?" you murmured, your thumbs stroking his cheekbones.
"The dark is good," he rasped, his hands sliding from your waist to grip your thighs. "It limits the variables. I can only feel."
"Okay," you breathed. "We're going to go very slow, Jake. If anything feels like too muchâif the texture is wrong, or the pressure changes, or the static gets too loudâyou just squeeze my hand three times. The emergency exit. And we stop immediately. Deal?"
"Deal," he agreed, his voice trembling slightly with anticipation. "Three squeezes."
You moved closer, swinging one leg over his hips so you were straddling him on the wide cushions of the sofa. You settled your weight down carefully.
The moment your center pressed directly against the hard ridge behind the zipper of his flannel pants, Jake let out a sharp, fractured gasp. His head fell back against the armrest, his eyes squeezing shut as his hands clamped down hard on your hips.
"Deep pressure," he groaned, his hips bucking upward instinctively to meet your weight. "Y/N... the pressure is... oh."
"I know, baby," you whispered, leaning down to press your lips to the erratic pulse beating wildly at the base of his throat. "I'm right here. Just feel it."
You began to move, establishing a slow, rhythmic rock against him. You knew better than to be unpredictable. He needed a pattern. Forward, back. Press, release. You created a physical metronome with your body, allowing his sensory processor to latch onto the predictability of the friction. Jakeâs response was breathtaking. Stripped of his anxieties and grounded by the heavy weight of your body, he surrendered completely to the sensation. His hands roamed over your back, mapping the curve of your spine with firm, deliberate strokes. He was learning the topography of your body in a whole new way. "I need..." he panted, opening his eyes to look up at you. "The barrier. The fabric is creating a secondary friction that is confusing my receptors. I want... skin."
"Okay," you said, your own voice thick with desire. "Let's remove the barriers."
You sat up, reaching for the hem of your sweater. You pulled it over your head and tossed it onto the floor, leaving you in just your bra. Jakeâs dark eyes widened, tracing the exposed skin of your chest and stomach. He didn't reach out with a light, tentative touch; he placed his large, warm palms flat against your ribcage, anchoring himself to your warmth.
"Symmetrical," he whispered, a breathless awe in his voice. "You are structurally perfect."
You smiled, a rush of pure affection warming your blood. You reached down and grabbed the hem of his vintage t-shirt, pulling it up and over his fluffy hair. His chest was broad and pale, his muscles tense and defined under the amber light.
You leaned down, pressing your bare chest flush against his.
The skin-to-skin contact was electric. Jake let out a long, shuddering sigh, wrapping his arms around you in a crushing, desperate hug.
"The thermal transfer is optimal," he murmured into your hair, his heart hammering against your breasts. "You feel like... you feel like the sun, Y/N."
"You feel amazing, Jake."
You reached down, your fingers fumbling with the waistband of your sweatpants. You shimmied them down your legs, kicking them off the edge of the sofa. Jake followed suit, his hands shaking slightly as he shoved his flannel pajama pants and boxers down, kicking them away with a clumsy urgency.
When you settled back over him, entirely bare against him, the reality of the moment hit him. It was his first time. Twenty-four years of guarding his body against a world that was too loud, too bright, and too sharp, and he was opening all the doors for you.
"Y/N," he whispered, his hands gripping your waist tightly. Panic flickered in the depths of his brown eyes, a sudden spike in his data processing. "I do not have the manual for this. I have read the biological mechanics online, but... the practical application... what if I malfunction? What if my rhythm is inefficient?"
You stopped moving. You cupped his face again, bringing your forehead down to rest against his."There is no manual, Jake," you promised him, repeating the words you had told him months ago when he felt broken. "There is no malfunction. This isn't a test with a pass or fail grade. This is just you and me, talking to each other in a different way. You just have to tell me what feels good, and Iâll tell you what feels good. We write our own code."
He blinked, processing the logic. "We write our own code," he echoed.
"Exactly. And I promise you, everything you do is perfect to me."
He let out a shaky breath, the panic subsiding. "Okay. Initiate the sequence."
You reached down, guiding his thick, incredibly hot length to your entrance. He was trembling beneath you, a fine, high-frequency vibration of pure anticipation.
"I'm going to go very slow," you whispered, locking your eyes with his. "Deep pressure. Ready?"
"Ready."
You sank down.The entry was a slow, deliberate stretch. You took him inch by inch, allowing his body to process the immense, overwhelming sensation of being enveloped.When you were seated fully at the base, you stopped.
Jakeâs reaction was instantaneous and profound. His eyes rolled back slightly, his jaw dropping open in a silent shout. His hands flew up, not to your hips, but to your back, pulling you down into a crushing, desperate embrace. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his entire body going rigid as he absorbed the data.
"Jake?" you whispered, your hands stroking his hair. "Are you okay? Is it too much?"
He shook his head frantically against your collarbone.
"No," he gasped, a wet, fractured sound tearing from his throat. "It is not too much. It is... everything. It is all the data in the universe at once, but it is organized. It is quiet. Y/N, you are so quiet."
He meant it as the highest compliment his brain could formulate. You were the only thing in his life that silenced the chaotic noise of the world.
He didn't wait for you to establish the rhythm. His instincts, buried under layers of logic and sensory defense, roared to life. He surged upward, his hips snapping off the cushions, driving himself deep inside you. You cried out, a loud, breathless sound of pleasure that echoed in the dark room. The sound was a positive variable for him. It fueled him.He began to thrust. It wasn't clumsy, and it wasn't hesitant. It was a firm, relentless, driving rhythm. He found the mathematical perfection of the friction and locked onto it. Up, down. Press, release. He held your hips in a vice grip, ensuring the angle never deviated, maximizing the sensory input for both of you.
"Jake... oh my god, Jake," you moaned, your hands bracing on his broad shoulders as you rode the incredible wave of his momentum.
"Is the depth acceptable?" he panted, his brow furrowed in intense concentration, sweat glistening on his forehead. "Is the velocity optimal?"
"It's perfect," you gasped, leaning down to capture his lips in a fierce, messy kiss. "Don't stop. You feel so good."
He growled into your mouthâa primal, masculine sound that sent a jolt of pure electricity straight to your core. The logical, quiet young man who meticulously sorted LEGO bricks was completely subsumed by the overwhelming, consuming fire of his love for you. The pleasure began to build, a tightening coil of heat that radiated outward. The sensory input in the room narrowed down to just himâthe smell of his clean sweat, the sound of his ragged breathing, the solid, heavy impact of his hips against yours. "I'm going to fall," he whimpered suddenly, breaking the kiss. His rhythm became erratic, frantic. His eyes squeezed shut, his head tossing back against the armrest. "Y/N, my system is overloading. The pressure is too high. It's too high!" He wasn't panicking; he was climaxing.
"Let it overload, Jakey," you cried out, feeling your own climax rushing forward to meet his. "I've got you! Just let go!"
With a final, desperate, upward surge, Jake broke.
A high, fractured whimper tore from his throatâa sound of absolute, overwhelming release. He froze, his body bowing upward off the couch, every muscle pulled taut as a bowstring. He buried himself as deeply inside you as physically possible, his hands digging into your lower back to anchor you to him as he flooded you with his warmth.
The intensity of his release pushed you right over the edge. You shattered around him, your internal muscles spasming and milking him dry, crying out his name into the quiet, dark room.For a long, endless minute, neither of you moved. You lay collapsed against his chest, your breathing ragged and out of sync.
Slowly, the tension drained out of Jake's body. He slumped back against the cushions, his arms wrapping limply but securely around your waist.
You lifted your head, your hair falling in a messy curtain around your face, and looked down at him.His eyes were closed. His chest was heaving. And tracing down the sides of his flushed, sweat-dampened cheeks were two steady streams of tears.
Your heart constricted in a sudden panic. You reached down, wiping your thumb across his cheek. "Jake? Baby, what's wrong? Why are you crying? Did it hurt? Was the static too loud?"He opened his eyes. They were bloodshot, wet, and incredibly bright.He looked up at you, reaching a trembling hand up to cover yours where it rested on his cheek. He turned his face into your palm, pressing a kiss to your skin.
"It didn't hurt," he whispered, a watery, brilliant smile breaking across his face. "The static is completely gone. There is no noise left in my head at all."
"Then why are you leaking?" you asked softly, using his terminology.
"Because my capacity is full," he explained, his voice thick with a profound, overwhelming happiness. "I processed the data of the physical connection, and I combined it with the data of my emotional attachment to you. The resulting sum was larger than my internal storage. It had to spill over."
He let out a shaky, joyful laugh, pulling you back down until your ear was resting right over his racing heart."I am crying because I am exactly where I belong," he murmured into your hair, wrapping his arms around you like a shield. "You are my favorite variable, Y/N. You are the only math that makes sense."You closed your eyes, a few happy tears of your own slipping onto his chest, and held your permanent variable as tightly as you could.
EpilogueÂ
The two years following that rainy autumn night unfolded with a rhythm that was entirely your own. Your relationship with Jake wasn't built on grand, unpredictable gestures or spontaneous cross-country road trips. It was built on the quiet, steady accretion of reliable data. It was built on Tuesday grilled cheese, the specific hum of the dryer on Thursdays, and the absolute certainty that when the world outside grew too sharp, you were each other's soft landing.
The seasons cycled âthe oppressive, humid summers fading into the stark, brilliant colors of autumn, giving way to the biting cold of winter, and melting back into the muddy hope of spring. Through it all, Jake continued to bloom.
He still wore his Spider-Man pajama pants. He still organized his LEGOs by size, function, and color. He still required a predictable morning routine to conserve his daily battery. He was still undeniably, beautifully Jake. But the fear that had once defined his interactions with the world had largely dissipated. He was anchored. He had found where he fit.
It was a Saturday morning in late May. The air was warm, and the morning sun was filtering through the kitchen windows, catching the dust motes dancing in the air.
You were sitting at the kitchen island, wearing one of Jake's oversized grey hoodies, nursing a mug of coffee. You were twenty-five now, working full-time at a local community center. Your imposter syndrome hadn't vanished completely, but you no longer felt like a fraud playing at being an adult. You had a handle on your life, mostly.
Jake was standing at the counter, completely absorbed in the meticulous preparation of his breakfast. Two scrambled eggs (uniform yellow), three strips of bacon (cut into one-inch squares). "The humidity is rising," Jake noted, spearing a piece of bacon with his fork. He didn't look away from his plate. "It is currently at 68%. By mid-afternoon, it will likely exceed my comfortable threshold. My hair will experience frizz."
"We can stay inside," you offered, taking a sip of your coffee. "We have the new Star Wars puzzle. The 3,000-piece one."
Jake paused mid-chew. He swallowed and took a deliberate sip of his water.
"No," he said, finally looking up at you. His dark brown eyes were serious, but there was a subtle, nervous energy thrumming beneath the surface. He was tapping his left foot against the linoleumâa sign of processing complex variables. "I have calculated a different trajectory for today. I require a change in routine."
You lowered your mug, intrigued. A voluntary change in routine was rare. "Oh? What's the new variable?"
"I would like to visit the city Park," he announced, his posture straightening slightly. "The one with the botanical gardens. The rhododendrons are currently in peak bloom. They are highly saturated in color."
"The Park on a Saturday?" you asked, verifying the data. "It might be crowded, Jakey. High density."
"I am aware," he said, reaching up to adjust the collar of his t-shirt. "I have packed my noise-canceling headphones. I have assessed my battery level. I am operating at 98% capacity. I believe I can manage the input. It is... important."
There was a weight to the word important that made your heart skip a tiny beat. You had learned to trust his self-assessments. If he said he could handle it, he meant it.
"Okay," you smiled warmly. "Let's go see the rhododendrons."
The drive to the Park was filled with the familiar, comforting silence of Jake's lo-fi hip hop playlist. He sat in the passenger seat, his fingers tapping a complex rhythm against his thigh. He was wearing his favorite soft, navy blue hoodie and a pair of clean, comfortable jeans.When you arrived at the park, it was, as predicted, relatively busy. Families were walking dogs, joggers were navigating the paved trails, and children were shouting near the playground.Jake immediately deployed his headphones, pulling them over his ears to muffle the auditory chaos. He reached out with his right hand, keeping his gaze fixed straight ahead, and waited.You slipped your hand into his, intertwining your fingers tightly. Deep pressure. The anchor.
He squeezed your hand three times. Tap. Tap. Tap.
I love you.
You squeezed back three times.
I love you too.
His shoulders relaxed a fraction, and together, you began to walk down the main path toward the botanical gardens. The gardens were a stark contrast to the rest of the park. They were quieter, designed for contemplation rather than recreation. The air smelled of damp earth and blooming flowers.Jake led the way, navigating the winding stone paths with purpose. He stopped occasionally to examine a specific leaf structure or to identify a flower species under his breath."The Fibonacci sequence is evident in the petal arrangement of the Echinacea purpurpea," he murmured, pointing to a purple coneflower. "Nature relies heavily on mathematical efficiency."
"It's beautiful," you agreed, leaning against his side.He guided you deeper into the gardens, away from the main thoroughfare, until you reached a small, secluded clearing. In the center of the clearing was a large, ornate wooden gazebo, surrounded on all sides by massive, blooming rhododendron bushes. The flowers were a blinding, saturated magenta.The clearing was entirely empty.
Jake stopped walking. He pulled his headphones down so they rested around his neck.Â
The sudden exposure to the ambient noise of the park made him blink rapidly for a second, but he didn't put them back on.
He turned to face you.
His breathing had grown shallow. You could feel the slight tremor in his hand, which was still gripping yours tightly.
"Jake?" you asked softly, recognizing the physical signs of a stress response. "Is it too loud? Do you need your headphones?"
"No," he said, his voice hitching slightly. "The noise is acceptable. The variables are within manageable parameters."
He let go of your hand. You frowned, a sudden spike of anxiety hitting your chest. Jake never let go of your hand in a public place. It was his primary grounding mechanism.
He took a step back, putting a careful two feet of space between you. He reached his hands into the front pocket of his navy hoodie. He was searching for something.
"Y/N," he began, his voice taking on the formal, factual cadence he used when he was nervous. "I have spent the last two years analyzing the data of our cohabitation. I have observed the statistical probability of a successful, long-term human partnership."Your breath caught in your throat. Your heart began to hammer against your ribs like a trapped bird."The data indicates," Jake continued, his dark eyes locked intensely on yours, refusing to look away, "that relationships are prone to entropy. They break down due to poor communication, mismatched variables, and a lack of systemic maintenance."
He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. He pulled his hands out of his hoodie pocket. He was holding a small, square object made of dark, polished wood. It wasn't a standard velvet jewelry box. It looked distinctly handmade.
"However," he said, his voice softening, the clinical distance dropping away to reveal the raw, beating heart beneath. "My internal processor has run the simulation a thousand times. And in every single simulation, the variable that prevents the entropy... is you."
He took a step forward, closing the gap between you. He didn't drop to one kneeâhe knew that societal conventions didn't dictate the validity of an action, and the ground was dampâbut he held the wooden box out between you."You do not try to rewrite my code," Jake whispered, his eyes shining with an overwhelming, profound sincerity. "You learned my language. You understand that the static is loud, and you are the only thing that makes it quiet. You eat burnt cookies, and you do not make fun of my Spider-Man pajamas, and you provide optimal thermal transfer when I am cold."A tear slipped free from your eyelashes, tracking hotly down your cheek. You couldn't speak. You could barely breathe."I do not possess the vocabulary to adequately express the magnitude of my attachment to you," he admitted, his hands trembling slightly as he gripped the small wooden box. "But I have learned that human tradition utilizes symbolic gestures to denote permanent, primary variables."
He opened the wooden box. Inside, resting on a bed of dark blue velvet, was a ring. It wasn't a massive, flashy diamond. It was a simple, elegant band of polished titanium, inlaid with a thin, continuous stripe of dark, starry lapis lazuli.
"I selected titanium," Jake explained, his voice gaining confidence as he presented the data. "It has the highest strength-to-weight ratio of any metallic element. It is incredibly resilient. It will not warp or degrade. And the lapis lazuli is blue. You are my protective blue aura." He looked up from the ring, his gaze finding yours. The puppy-dog innocence was still there, but it was anchored by the unwavering conviction of a man who knew exactly what he wanted."Y/N," he said, his voice clear and resonant. "Will you agree to be my permanent, legally recognized variable? Will you marry me?" A sob tore from your throatâa loud, messy, uncalculated sound of pure joy. You didn't answer with words initially. You couldn't. You closed the remaining distance between you, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling his face down to yours. You kissed him with every ounce of love, gratitude, and fierce devotion you possessed.
Jake gasped against your lips, his hands instantly finding your waist, the wooden box clutched safely in one fist. He kissed you back eagerly, grounding himself in the familiar, perfect pressure of your touch.When you finally pulled away, you were both breathless. You rested your forehead against his, your tears mixing with the warmth of his skin."Yes," you whispered, your voice thick and wobbly. "Yes, Jake. A million times, yes. I will be your permanent variable."His face broke into a blinding, full-teeth smileâthe kind of smile that reached his eyes and crinkled the corners. He let out a long, shuddering sigh of absolute relief."Optimal," he breathed. "The simulation was accurate." He carefully extracted the ring from the wooden box. He took your left hand, his fingers steady now, and slid the titanium band onto your ring finger. It fit perfectly. He had likely measured your finger while you were sleeping, calculating the exact circumference."It's perfect, Jakey," you sobbed, looking at the band. "It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."
"It is mathematically precise," he agreed, admiring his handiwork.
He pulled you back against his chest, wrapping his arms securely around your shoulders. You buried your face in his navy hoodie, inhaling the familiar, comforting scent of unscented detergent and the crisp spring air.
The wedding, like your relationship, was exactly what you both needed it to be: small, controlled, and deeply personal.There was no massive reception hall filled with hundreds of strangers. There was no loud DJ blasting bass-heavy music. There were no flashing strobe lights.Instead, six months later, you stood in the backyard of the beige two-story house. The late October air was crisp and smelled of fallen leaves. The trees surrounding the yard were ablaze in oranges and reds.
Sarah had spent weeks transforming the backyard into a quiet, intimate sanctuary. Fairy lightsâwarm white, non-flickeringâwere strung through the branches of the old oak tree. The grass was meticulously trimmed.
There were only twelve guests. Your parents, your brother, Sarah, and a few close friends who understood the rules of the environment.
You wore a simple, elegant white dress with no scratchy lace or heavy, restrictive corsetry. You wore your new white Converse sneakers beneath the hem.
Jake stood at the end of the short aisle. He wasn't wearing a suit. He had tried one on during the planning phase, but the stiff collar and the tight constraints of the jacket had sent him into a near-meltdown.Instead, he wore a dark navy blue cashmere sweater over a collared shirt, and dark, comfortable trousers. He looked incredibly handsome, comfortable in his own skin, and entirely at peace.He was wearing his noise-canceling headphones around his neck, a comforting weight, but he didn't need to turn them on. The environment was safe.When you walked down the aisle, your eyes locked onto his. He wasn't looking at the ground. He wasn't looking at your shoes. He was looking directly at your face, his brown eyes shining with unshed tears.
He held his hand out to you as you approached.
You took it, feeling the immediate, deep pressure of his grip.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
I love you.
The ceremony was short. The officiant, a close family friend, spoke softly and clearly.
When it came time for the vows, you hadn't written traditional promises. You had written your own code."Jake," you said, your voice steady, holding both of his hands in yours. "I promise to always be your quiet place. I promise to never mix the eggs with the bacon. I promise to always check the weather for humidity spikes, and to always have your noise-canceling headphones charged."
Jake smiled, a single tear slipping down his cheek."I promise to fiercely protect your routines," you continued, your own vision blurring. "Because your routines are what allow your brilliant, beautiful mind to thrive. I promise to love you, exactly as you are, in every variable, in every simulation, for the rest of our lives."
Jake took a deep, shaky breath. He didn't have notes. He had memorized his data.
"Y/N," he began, his voice carrying the deep, resonant timbre that always grounded you. "Before I met you, the world was a chaotic, unmanageable input. I survived by building walls and closing doors. You did not try to break the walls down. You simply sat outside them, in your quiet shoes, until I realized I wanted to open the door."
He squeezed your hands, his thumb brushing over the titanium ring on your finger.
"You are the most statistically improbable, incredibly fortunate anomaly of my life," he said, his eyes conveying a depth of emotion that defied any clinical diagnosis. "I promise to provide optimal thermal transfer when you are cold. I promise to eat the burnt cookies so you do not feel inadequate. I promise to step in front of the unpredictable variables to shield you. I promise to be your permanent, primary partner, until the entropy of the universe consumes us both."
There wasn't a dry eye in the small gathering. Sarah was openly weeping into a tissue, clutching your motherâs hand.
When the officiant pronounced you husband and wife, Jake didn't hesitate. He pulled you flush against his chest, wrapping his arms around your waist, and kissed you with the firm, deliberate passion of a man who had finally found his permanent place in the world.The small crowd cheered softly, clapping their handsâa muted, respectful applause that didn't startle him.The reception was a dinner held in the living room and kitchen. The food was carefully curated. There was a macaroni and cheese bar (no mixing required), a tray of perfectly uniform, sharp cheddar cheese cubes, and a massive bowl of smooth, roasted tomato bisque, a roast Sarah made, a salad.For dessert, there wasn't a traditional, multi-tiered wedding cake.Instead, there was a large platter of sugar cookies and other desserts. The cookies were cut into precise geometric shapesâstars and Stegosauruses. They were baked to a perfect, light golden brown.Jake stood by the dessert table, holding a star cookie. He looked across the room at you. You were talking to your brother, laughing at something he had said.Jake walked over to you. He didn't care that you were mid-conversation. He stepped up behind you, wrapping his arm securely around your waist, pulling your back flush against his chest.
"Deep pressure," he murmured into your ear, resting his chin on your shoulder.
"Always," you smiled, leaning back into his solid warmth.
Your brother smiled warmly at the two of you and excused himself to get more macaroni and cheese.Jake held the star cookie out in front of you.
"The bake on these is optimal," he noted, his voice a low, happy rumble against your back. "The structural integrity is sound. The Maillard reaction was controlled."
"I set three timers," you laughed, turning your head to kiss his cheek. "I wasn't taking any chances today."He took a bite of the cookie. It crunched satisfyingly.
"They are very good," he decided, chewing thoughtfully. "But..."
"But?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.
"But I think I prefer the fossilized dinosaurs," he said, his eyes crinkling with a subtle, teasing humor. "They possessed a superior... smoky complexity. And they proved that you are fallible. Which makes you mathematically perfect for me."
You let out a loud, joyous laugh, turning fully in his arms to wrap your hands around his neck."You are ridiculous, Jake Sim," you beamed, looking up at your husband.
"I am entirely logical," he corrected softly, his gaze dropping to your lips. "The data supports my conclusion." He leaned down and kissed you again, right there in the middle of the living room, surrounded by the soft murmur of your families and the warm, golden light of the fairy lights.Outside, the world continued its chaotic, unpredictable spin. The traffic roared, the sirens wailed, and the variables shifted without warning.
But inside, wrapped in the arms of the man who organized his life with plastic bricks and unyielding honesty, everything was perfectly, mathematically still. The static was gone. You were home. And you knew, with the absolute certainty of a scientifically proven fact, that you would never need to run from the noise again.
Hope you enjoyed this Drabble Please support me by Liking, Commenting and Re-blogging!
Taglist: @kristynaaah , @fancypeacepersona , @vanillakirstein ,@kyunlov. @gabrielinhaa , @blindingvenomss , @graythecoffeebean , @firstdivisiongirl , @strxwbloody ,@love4choso ,@woninabillionn , @tunafishyfishylike, @vveebee ,@heesbabygurl, @twocupsofsuga , @meandmyboringlife , @artezia4, @neabrownn , @heeevangelizesme (plz let me know if you want to be on my perm Taglist)
heeseung tells himself it means something. that youâre off-limits because youâre his best friend's girlfriend.
but when you smile at him like that, soft, warm and stupidly sweet, he forgets every reason not to want you.
and when you look up at him, all innocent and close, he forgets how to stop.
your voice carries through the apartment, soft, laughing at something jay says, unaware of the way it makes heeseungâs stomach twist. he doesn't even look up at first. just clenches his jaw, shifts on the couch, tells himself to ignore it.
youâre not his.
you're jayâs.
his best friendâs.
and thatâs supposed to mean something.
âheeseung, want some?â your voice floats toward the kitchen, sweet and warm, offering him a bite of something you made. maybe cookies. maybe something stupid and pink.
he shouldnât get up.
but he does.
and when he walks in, you're already holding out the spoon, smiling at him like youâve never made anyone feel insane.
he blinks.
you blink back, still waiting.
he swallows and leans in. takes the bite. doesnât taste it.
your lips are too close. the smell of your shampoo burns into his memory. your fingers brush his, and he has to will his body not to flinch. not to show that youâve already taken up way too much space inside him.
âitâs good, right?â you ask, oblivious.
heeseung nods once. grunts something like yeah. doesnât look you in the eye.
you beam like he gave you a real compliment. âjay said it was too sweet, butââ
âheâs wrong,â heeseung cuts in.
you smile wider. âso you do like sweet things.â
his jaw tightens. âonly when they know when to shut up.â
you laugh, thinking itâs a joke.
he doesnât laugh.
not even close.
it gets worse when you're alone.
jay disappears to take a call, and suddenly itâs just you and heeseung in the living room, your knees tucked under you, his eyes glued to the tv but not watching.
you shift. your shirt rides up just slightly.
he sees skin he shouldnât.
he looks away.
and looks again.
âyouâre quiet today,â you say softly.
he shrugs. doesnât answer.
you lean closer. your knee bumps his. your perfume sinks into his lungs. you talk like you donât notice the heat in his stare, like you donât feel the way his body coils tighter the longer heâs near you.
âyou okay?â you ask.
âfine.â
âyou sure? you lookâŠtense.â
he looks at you then. sharp. like youâve said something you shouldn't.
you blink, confused. âwhat?â
heeseung opens his mouth, then shuts it.
donât say it.
donât say it.
donât tell her you wake up hard because of her voice.
donât tell her you canât sleep unless you jerk off with her name in your mouth.
donât tell her sheâs the reason you canât look jay in the eye anymore.
ânothing,â he mutters.
but his voice is rougher than before. strained. a little too low.
you tilt your head, still smiling. still innocent.
and he breaks.
âdonât look at me like that.â
your smile fades, confused. âlike what?â
heeseung doesnât answer.
he just gets up and leaves.
because if he doesnât, heâll do something he canât take back.
you notice the change before you understand it.
heeseung used to at least look at you, sideways glances when he thought you werenât watching, little eye rolls when you teased him, dry comments that made jay laugh and you giggle.
now? he doesnât even speak.
you walk into the room and he leaves. you ask a question and he shrugs it off. every now and then, you catch him watching, his jaw locked tight, but the second your eyes meet, he looks away like you disgust him.
and maybe you should let it go.
but you donât.
because something in his silence makes your stomach twist, makes your hands clammy, makes you feel like heâs angry for reasons you donât understand.
you bring it up once, nervous, tentative, alone in the kitchen.
âheeseung⊠did i do something?â
heâs sitting at the table, scrolling through his phone like youâre not there.
you wait. silence.
âhave i made you uncomfortable or something?â
his hand freezes.
you blink. âbecause if i crossed a lineââ
âyou didnât,â he says, still not looking up.
âthen what is it?â your voice is small. âyou wonât even talk to me anymore.â
he scoffs quietly, setting his phone down.
and finally, he looks up.
his eyes are tired. dark. sharp like broken glass.
âyou think iâm ignoring you because you annoyed me?â
you swallow. âdidnât you just sayâ?â
âjesus,â he mutters, standing too fast. âyou really donât see it.â
heâs pacing now, running a hand through his hair like he canât think straight. and something in his voice is unraveling, low, rough, shaking with restraint.
âevery time i walk in here, youâre sitting on my best friendâs lap. wearing his hoodie. whispering shit in his ear like i canât fucking hear it.â
you blink. frozen. âwhatâ?â
heeseung stops. looks at you.
âyou really donât get it.â
you feel your breath catch. something in your chest stutters.
âheeseungââ
âdonât say my name like that,â he growls, stepping closer.
you back into the counter.
âyou wanna know why iâve been ignoring you?â he asks, voice low and angry now. âitâs because every time you smile at me like that, every time you say my name, every fucking time you sit too close, i wanna take you in my mouth and make you forget his.â
your heartâs racing. your thighs squeeze together without thinking. your headâs spinning.
heeseung leans in, hands on either side of the counter behind you.
âyou have no idea what youâre doing to me,â he breathes. ânone.â
your voice breaks. âyouâreâyouâre his best friendââ
âi know,â he snaps.
âyouâre not supposed toââ
âi know,â he says again, like it hurts. âyou think i want this?â
you donât speak.
because the look in his eyes says it all: he does.
and when his eyes flick to your lips, your chest, back to your eyesâyou know you do too.
his hand brushes your hip. just a test.
you donât stop him.
his voice dips lower, closer.
âsay the word,â he whispers, âand iâll back off. iâll leave right now. iâll pretend none of this ever happened.â
your breath shudders out of you. your pulse roars in your ears.
but you donât say the word.
he watches you for one more second. two.
and then he kisses you.
not soft. not gentle.
like heâs been starving for it.
he kisses you like heâs making up for every second heâs had to watch you be someone elseâs. itâs desperate and angry and messy, all tongue and teeth, his hands gripping your waist like heâs afraid youâll vanish. your back hits the counter, his thigh pushes between yours, and your hands tangle in his shirt, pulling him closer even though you know you shouldnât.
you gasp into his mouth when his hands slide under your top, rough palms on your soft stomach, sliding up slowly.
âyou think i havenât dreamed about this every night?â he growls, lips brushing your cheek, jaw, neck. âyou think i havenât heard you moan his name while i pretended it was mine?â
your breath hitches.
his fingers dig into your hips as he presses you back harder.
âyou have no idea how many times i almost snapped,â he murmurs against your throat. âyouâd smile at me, just like that, and iâd have to go jerk off in your fucking bathroom.â
your knees buckle.
heeseung laughs, dark, breathless, and scoops you up like you weigh nothing. you yelp, legs wrapping instinctively around him as he carries you to the couch and drops you onto the cushions.
âyou look good here,â he mutters, kneeling between your legs. âbetter than he ever deserved.â
âheeseungââ
âshh.â he pulls your shorts down slowly, kissing each inch of skin he reveals. âlet me taste what heâs wasted.â
youâre shaking nowâpart nerves, part adrenaline, part unbearable heat.
and when his mouth touches you, itâs like nothing else exists.
his tongue is slow at first, long licks up your folds, barely grazing your clit, dragging whimpers from your throat. he holds your thighs apart with his hands, firm but careful, like heâs keeping you open for himself alone.
âfuck,â he groans against you. âyou taste like everything i ever wanted.â
your hands fly to his hair, your hips rolling into his mouth. heeseung grins and wraps his arms under your thighs, pulling you closer, deeper onto his tongue.
âthatâs it,â he murmurs, lips dragging over your clit. âgrind on my face, baby. i want it all.â
you moan. high-pitched, broken, filthy.
he sucks on your clit suddenly, hard and deep, and you cry out, thighs trembling.
âgonna cum already?â he teases. âdidnât even put a finger in you yet.â
âheeseungâiââ
âsay it,â he whispers, voice low and thick with hunger. âsay itâs mine. this pussy. these sounds. all of it.â
âfuckâyesâyoursââ
thatâs all he needed.
he slides two fingers into you, slow but unrelenting, curling them just right as his tongue returns to your clit. you arch off the couch, crying out, gripping his hair so tight he groans.
and then you break.
it crashes over you like a wave, your body clenching around his fingers, your thighs trembling, your mouth open and silent until your voice finally tears out of your throat.
heeseung doesnât stop.
he lets you ride it out, licking through your orgasm until youâre twitching beneath him.
but when you try to sit up, dazed and weak, he pushes you back down.
âweâre not done,â he says, voice darker than before.
âwhatâ?â
âyou think i waited this long for one taste?â
you donât get a chance to respond before heâs moving, lifting you from the couch, carrying you to the mirror on the wall behind the hallway door.
he sets you down, turns you to face your reflection.
you stare flushed, ruined, lips swollen, hair a mess.
heeseung stands behind you, hard cock pressed to your ass, hands sliding up your bare sides.
âlook how pretty you are,â he says, dragging his lips over your ear. âand all for me.â
you whimper, grinding against him instinctively.
âyou gonna take it for me now?â he growls. âgonna let me fuck you like iâve been dreaming?â
you nod, barely able to speak.
heeseung smirks, and then he slides into you, slow and deep.
you cry out, head falling forward, but he grabs your chin and tilts it up.
âno,â he says. âwatch. i want you to see what i look like when iâm inside you.â
you moan, and he thrusts harder, deep, possessive strokes that make you fall apart again, too sensitive, too full.
âso fucking tight,â he grits. âyou were made for me.â
your eyes blur. your knees nearly give out.
he holds you steady, keeps fucking you through it, until youâre gasping, twitching, sobbing his name again.
âone more,â he pants. âgive me one more.â
âcanâtâtoo muchââ
âyes you can. youâre mine. youâll take everything i give you.â
and you do.
you fall apart for him again, louder, messier, dripping and shaking, and when he finally cums, itâs with a growl so animalistic it makes your whole body ache.
you collapse into the mirror. heeseung holds you upright.
genre: first time, emotional intimacy, virgin!reader, college AU, flufffffffff/smut
cw: nsfw, mdni, virgin!reader, first time, oral (f!rec), fingering, face-sitting, missionary, praise kink, breast play, creampie, emotional vulnerability, slight overstimulation, crying during sex (emotional), soft dom!Jake
wc: 4.8k
a/n: not proofread (sorryđ), itâs been in my drafts collecting dust lol hope yall enjoyyy <3
You werenât exactly friends at first. More like mutual nods across lecture halls, shared glances during group discussions, the occasional smile exchanged when your hands brushed reaching for the same classroom door. He was the kind of guy who filled a roomâJake, with his loose-limbed confidence and that lazy grin that seemed like it belonged to someone in a movie.
You didnât expect him to remember your name, let alone sit beside you two weeks in a row in Psych 204. But he did. And when you murmured something under your breath about the professorâs weird obsession with Freud, he laughedâa real, full-bodied soundâand said, âYouâre funny. I like that.â
That was the beginning.
From there, it was small things. Shared notes. Walks to the coffee shop on the corner after class. Texts that started as study reminders and turned into late-night questions about dreams, fears, music you loved but never told anyone about. He asked things no one asked. And he listened like your answers meant something.
Jake didnât make you nervous in the way most people did. He didnât crowd your space. He watched you, sureâbut gently. Like he was trying to learn you. And somehow, he made you want to be seen.
You werenât blind to the way people looked at himâthe flirting, the smiles, the way others leaned into his orbit. But he always seemed to lean back toward you. Quietly. Like you were the one pulling him in without realizing it.
The first time he touched you was barely anything. His fingers brushed the back of your hand as you reached for your cup. But it sent a current up your spine, sharp and unexpected. He noticedâof course he didâand didnât pull away. Just let his fingers stay there, resting against yours like it was the most natural thing in the world.
âYou always flinch when someone touches you,â he said softly that day, eyes holding yours. âBut you didnât this time.â
You looked away, heartbeat skittering. âI didnât want to.â
His smile then wasnât cocky or smug. It was soft. Something more reverent.
And now, everything is shifting. You can feel it. In the way he lingers a little longer when you hug goodbye. In how he brushes your hair back behind your ear, like he canât help but touch you. In the silence that falls sometimesânot awkward, but thick with things unsaid. Things youâre afraid to say.
Because youâve never done anything. Not really. Not with anyone. And that part of youâyour want, your hunger, your inexperienceâyou keep locked up behind polite smiles and tightly folded arms.
But Jake looks at you like he already knows.
And for the first time in your life, youâre starting to think⊠maybe thatâs okay.
Jakeâs room is quiet, save for the hum of his desk fan and the low music playing from his phone. Youâre curled up on his bed, your laptop balanced on a pillow in your lap, legs folded beneath you. Heâs sprawled next to you, lying on his stomach with his cheek resting on his arm, eyes flicking between his notes and your screen.
Youâve done this beforeâstudied like this, side by side, close but not too close. But tonight feels different.
Heâs closer than usual. His knee brushes yours every time he shifts. His voice is lower, slower, like heâs not in any rush to move on from this moment. When you lean forward to scroll, his hand gently tugs your hoodie back into place, fingertips brushing your spine.
You donât even pretend it doesnât affect you.
âYouâre quiet tonight,â he murmurs without looking up. âThat test stressing you out?â
You shake your head slowly. âNot really. Just⊠tired, I guess.â
Jake hums like he doesnât believe you. His fingers tap thoughtfully against his textbook before he closes it and turns toward you fully. The bed dips with the movement, and now heâs right beside youâclose enough that you feel the warmth of his breath when he speaks again.
âYou always get like this when somethingâs on your mind.â
His voice is gentle, but it cuts straight through you. Jake doesnât poke or pry. He waits. Gives you room to choose him, or not.
And tonight⊠maybe you want to be chosen too.
You stare at the screen a second longer before closing the laptop and setting it aside. âCan I ask you something?â
Jake nods instantly, like thereâs no version of the world where you could say something he wouldnât want to hear. âOf course.â
You hesitate, playing with the hem of your sleeve. Itâs stupid. Or it feels stupid. But the weight of his gaze grounds you.
âIâve neverâŠâ You trail off, pulse thumping in your throat. âIâve never really done anything. Likeâphysically. With anyone.â
There. Itâs out. Suspended between you and the walls of this room that suddenly feels too small.
Jake blinks. He doesnât laugh. Doesnât smirk or make a joke. Instead, he sits up a little straighter, head tilting like he wants to read your thoughts.
âOkay,â he says carefully. âYou mean⊠like nothing at all?â
You shake your head once, the heat rising to your cheeks. âIâve kissed people. A couple times. But nothing else. Itâs not like I was waiting for anything specific, it just⊠never felt right. I didnât want to force it.â
Jakeâs expression softens, all traces of curiosity replaced by something warmer. Protective. âThat makes sense. You should never force it.â
You nod, biting your lip. âI justâI feel like everyone around me has already done everything, and Iâm still in this⊠bubble. Like Iâm behind or something.â
Jakeâs hand reaches for yours, his fingers slipping gently between yours like itâs second nature. âYouâre not behind. Youâre just⊠you. And I really like who that is.â
Your heart stutters.
He holds your hand a little tighter, his thumb brushing slowly over your knuckles. âFor what itâs worth,â he adds, voice lower now, âI think itâs kind of beautiful. That youâve waited. That youâre careful with yourself.â
You glance up at him, surprised. âBeautiful?â
Jake smilesânot cocky, not teasing. Soft. Real. âYeah. Makes me want to be careful with you too.â
The tension between you tightens. His hand stays in yours. His eyes flick to your mouth, but he doesnât move, not until you do.
And when you lean inâbarely, uncertainâhe meets you halfway.
His kiss is gentle. Thoughtful. A question, not a demand. His lips are soft and warm, his hand slipping to your cheek like heâs afraid youâll vanish if heâs too rough. It isnât deep. Itâs barely anything. But it steals the air from your lungs.
When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, breaths mingling.
âThank you,â he murmurs, and you donât know what heâs thanking you forâtrust, maybeâbut it makes your eyes sting.
âI just⊠I donât know how to do any of this,â you admit, voice barely above a whisper.
Jake smiles. âThatâs okay,â he says. âYou donât have to. We go slow. We go at your pace.â
And for the first time, your inexperience doesnât feel like a flaw. It feels like something sacred.
Jakeâs still close. His forehead is against yours, and your hands are still clasped. Your lips are tingling, still warm from that kissânot just the contact but the meaning behind it. You didnât expect him to be so patient. So still. Like heâs waiting for your heart to steady before he asks for more.
But he doesnât have to ask. You tilt your head, let your lips brush his again, softer this time but with more weight. Like you mean it.
He responds immediately, like he was just waiting for you to want him back.
The kiss deepens slowlyâthereâs no rush in him, no pressure. Just a careful pull of your bottom lip, a low hum from his chest when your fingers curl in the front of his shirt. His other hand settles at your waist, grounding you. You think you might fall if he didnât hold you there, gently anchoring you to him, to this moment.
You feel the smile tug at his lips before he pulls back just enough to whisper, âSee? Youâre already so good at this.â
You blush, and Jake leans in to kiss your cheek, then your jaw. Thenâlower. His lips press beneath your ear, warm and slow, and your breath catches when he moves down to your neck.
The first kiss there makes you shiver. He notices.
âOh,â he says softly, a quiet chuckle in his throat, âyouâre sensitive here?â
You nod without meaning to, and he follows your pulse with his mouthâopen-mouthed kisses, the faint scrape of his teeth, a low groan when you gasp and squeeze his arm.
You donât realize when he moves, but suddenly youâre on your back, your legs still bent up on the bed and Jake hovering above you, elbow braced beside your head. He kisses you again, this time slower, longer, like he wants to feel every part of you at once. One of his hands slides up under your hoodie, fingertips brushing your skin just above the waistband of your shorts.
His touch is cautious, but it sets something off inside you. You arch up instinctively, heart hammering, and Jake pulls back only to study your face.
âYou okay?â he asks, voice like velvet.
You nod quickly, already breathless. âYeah. Just⊠nervous.â
He grinsâgenuine, a little cocky, but still sweet. âGood nervous or bad?â
âGood,â you breathe. âReally good.â
He kisses your nose. âThen can I keep touching you?â
The heat spreads down your body in a rush. You whisper, âYes,â and Jake hums like itâs the best thing heâs heard all night.
His hand slips higher, palm smoothing over your stomach, your ribsâeverywhere but where you suddenly ache for it. Heâs patient. Exploring. He pushes your hoodie up a little more and presses soft kisses to your exposed skin, warm and slow and reverent.
You swear your heart might explode when he mouths at the underside of your breast through your bra, teeth just barely grazing you. You gasp, arch again, and Jake groans into you.
âShit,â he mutters, pulling back enough to look at you. âYouâre already driving me crazy.â
His hand cups you fully over the fabric and you whimper, your hips shifting. His thumb strokes slowly over your nipple, still covered, and your breath stutters. Itâs like every part of you is waking up for the first timeânew, oversensitive, desperate to be touched more.
You donât even realize youâre squirming until Jake chuckles.
âLook at you,â he murmurs, voice darker now, his free hand stroking your cheek. âSo shy, but your bodyâs already telling me everything.â
You moanâembarrassed but also achingâand Jake leans in, his lips brushing your neck.
Your hands grip his shoulders before you can think. You whimper, completely undone by just his words.
âJakeâŠâ
He kisses you again, rougher this time, and you feel itâhis restraint starting to slip. But still, he holds back, lets you move how you need to. His mouth drops lower, trailing heat down your stomach.
âLet me take care of you,â he murmurs against your skin.
And you think you might. You think you might finally let yourself be seen, touched, loved like that.
You donât remember nodding. You donât even remember giving him permission with words. But Jake must see it in your eyes, or feel it in the way your legs relax, your thighs falling slightly open when he kisses the inside of your knee.
Because he moves like a promiseâslow, reverent, steady. He slips your shorts down your legs, easing them past your hips with both hands like heâs unwrapping something sacred. Then he presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh, warm and patient.
Your breath stutters. You feel too exposed and not close enough all at once. Youâve never had anyone see you like this. Never had anyone want to. And now Jake is kneeling between your legs, hands gripping your thighs gently, thumbs stroking your skin like heâs soothing your nerves.
âYouâre so beautiful,â he says, looking right at you. âEven when youâre nervous. Especially when youâre nervous.â
You let out a shaky breath. Your body is buzzing. Too warm. Too bare. Too full of anticipation.
âIâve never⊠I donât know what Iâm supposed to do,â you whisper.
Jake leans over you, kisses you gently. âYou donât have to do anything. Just feel. Just let me make you feel good.â
You nod, and his lips curve against yours like heâs proud.
Then he lowers himself again. Slowly. Carefully. He trails kisses down your stomach, your inner thighs, until heâs right thereâwhere your arousal pulses like a second heartbeat. His hands rest on your thighs, holding you open without forcing. His breath hits you firstâwarm, steadyâand your hips jerk slightly.
âShh,â he whispers, voice gentle. âJust breathe for me.â
You try.
Then his mouth is on you.
The first lick is slow. Deliberate. His tongue flattens against you and drags upward in a way that makes your whole body jerk. You gaspâhigh and sharpâand Jake groans like you just did something to him.
âFuck,â he murmurs, lips brushing you. âYou taste so sweet.â
Your thighs tense, but Jakeâs hands keep you steadyâsecure, never rough. He licks again, deeper now, tongue curling right where you need it. Your back arches.
âOh my godâJakeââ
His lips wrap around your clit gently, sucking, and your vision goes white for a second.
You canât think.
You can barely breathe.
The sensation is overwhelmingâhot and wet and perfect. Jake keeps going, keeps worshipping you with his mouth, like heâs starving and youâre the only thing that could satisfy him.
Youâre moaning now, helplessly, and Jake groans again.
âThatâs it, baby,â he says against you. âLet me hear you.â
You canât stop.
Your hands tangle in the sheetsâthen in his hair. You donât even realize youâre grinding against his mouth until he moans again, gripping your hips tighter to hold you steady.
Youâre so close.
Itâs building fastâtoo fastâand you warn him with a stuttering gasp of his name.
âJakeâfuckâI think Iâmââ
âLet go for me,â he breathes. âBe good and come for me, pretty girl.â
Thatâs all it takes.
You shatter, body clenching, breath catching in your throat as pleasure crashes through you in waves. Your hips buck and Jake holds you through it, licking you softly now, easing you down with kisses like youâre something fragile.
Youâre panting, legs trembling, skin flushed. You canât think, canât move.
Jake crawls back up your body and kisses youâdeep, slow, tasting like you. You moan softly into it, dazed and warm.
âHoly shit,â you whisper.
Jake laughs, low and proud. âYou okay?â
You nod. Barely. Your bodyâs still trembling with the aftershocks.
âNever been better,â you breathe.
And he smiles like thatâs all heâs ever wanted to hear.
Jake shifts slightly beside you, one hand resting low on your stomach, fingertips barely grazing the edge of your shirt. His voice is soft, but thereâs a distinct heat to it nowâlike a secret being handed to you under the covers.
âYou know what I was thinking about earlier?â he asks, like itâs casual, like heâs not about to ruin you.
You swallow, eyes flicking up to meet his. âWhat?â
He smiles, just a little. Mischievous. Reverent.
âI kept looking at your thighs when you were tucked under my blanket⊠all shy and pretty, trying to focus on your notes,â he murmurs, letting his hand trace down your hip. âAnd I couldnât stop thinking about how good youâd feel sitting on my face.â
Your breath hitchesâsharp and instant. You try to blink the heat from your cheeks, but it floods you anyway, thick and fast.
Jake watches it all happen, his thumb pressing gently into your side. âYouâd like that, wouldnât you?â he coaxes, his voice barely above a whisper now. âYou, up there⊠thighs shaking while I hold onto you and eat you just the way you need. All that pressure, all that attention, just for you.â
You donât mean to whimper, but it slips out, caught between disbelief and desire.
âIâd take my time, too,â he continues, dipping his head to kiss just under your jaw. âMake you feel everything. Over and over. Until youâre so sensitive, youâre begging me to stopâand then begging me not to.â
You feel like you might melt right into the bed. Your legs squeeze together instinctively, and he noticesâhis lips curve against your skin.
Jake tilts your chin so youâre looking straight at him. âI know it sounds intense,â he says, tone softer again. âBut Iâd never push you too far. Just enough to show you how good it can feel when you let go.â
You nod, because you trust himâbecause every nerve in your body is screaming yes.
âYou want that?â he asks gently, but thereâs a fire behind his eyes now. âYou wanna sit on my face and let me take care of you like that?â
Your voice is almost gone when it finally comes out. âYeah⊠I do.â
Jake smiles, proud and hungry all at once. âGood girl.â
Jake kisses you again, slower this timeâlong and lingering, like he wants to give you space to think, to breathe, to change your mind. But you donât want space. You want him.
He shifts, laying with his head against the headboard and patting his chest with an inviting, wicked glint in his eyes. âCâmere,â he says, voice low and coaxing. âIâll help you.â
You hesitateânot because you donât want it, but because the thought of actually doing it, of being that exposed, that open for him, makes your heart pound in your throat. But heâs patient. He just watches you with a quiet reverence, like heâs already proud of you.
So you crawl over him, tentative and shy, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his head. He slides his hands up your thighs, his touch steady and warm.
âThatâs it,â he murmurs. âJust like that. You look so pretty like this already.â
Your breath catches. Youâre hovering just above his face, your core aching and wet and barely clothed, and his grip on your thighs tightensâencouraging, not forceful.
âLet me see you,â Jake says, gently tugging your panties aside with one finger, his eyes dark and hungry but still soft around the edges. âYou donât have to do anything but let go. Iâve got you.â
You nod, swallowing hard as your fingers press to the wall behind his headboard for balance.
His hands slide to your ass, firm and sure, pulling you the rest of the way down until your thighs are flush to his face and you feel the hot brush of his tongue against your folds. You gaspâhigh-pitched and sharpâhips jerking instinctively at the jolt of pleasure.
Jake groans against you, low and satisfied, and keeps lickingâlong, slow strokes that send sparks all through your body.
You try to hold still, try not to fall apart too quickly, but his grip is steady on your ass and heâs pulling you closer, deeper, nose buried between your thighs like heâs starving for it. His tongue circles your clit and your fingers curl against the wall, your knees trembling.
He moans again, louder this time, like the taste of you is driving him crazy.
âYou can move, baby,â he murmurs between licks, his voice muffled but clear. âGrind on me. Let yourself feel good.â
You nod, breathless, and slowly begin to moveâhips rolling, unsure at first, until his tongue catches right where you need him and your body takes over. The friction is overwhelming. Perfect. His mouth is relentless, tongue flicking and swirling while he groans like youâre the best thing heâs ever tasted.
Your thighs are shaking now, your moans uncontrolled. And thenâhis hand slides between your legs, two fingers teasing your entrance before slipping in slow and deep.
You cry out, back arching, head falling forward.
âJakeââ you gasp, voice breaking.
âI know,â he says softly, still licking, still curling his fingers just right. âYouâre doing so good, baby. So sweet for me. So perfect.â
Youâre not sure how much more you can take. Every lick, every curl of his fingers, is too much and not enough all at once. Your hips grind harder, your moans getting louder, and Jake doesnât stopâhe holds you there, mouth open and eager beneath you, tongue lapping and flicking with practiced, reverent hunger.
Your orgasm hits hard and fastâunexpected, blinding. You sob out his name, thighs quivering as your entire body tenses and then collapses against him.
He holds you through it, never letting go.
And when you finally lift your hipsâpanting, tremblingâJakeâs eyes are glazed over with pure desire. His lips are wet, swollen, and he looks completely wrecked.
âCould stay like that all night,â he says with a breathless laugh. âYou taste so fucking good.â
You canât even answerâyou just collapse forward into his chest, face burning, heart racing.
âIâve got you,â he murmurs again, brushing your hair back, kissing your shoulder. âYou did so good for me.â
Your body is still trembling from the aftershocks as Jake lays you back against his pillows, fingers brushing along your sides like he canât stop touching you. His eyes search your face, warm and focused.
âYou okay?â he asks quietly.
You nod, flushed and breathless. âYeah⊠I justâŠâ
Jake leans down, kissing your cheek, then your jaw, and then your lipsâslow and soft. âTell me if you want to stop at any point, okay? We donât have to do everything tonight.â
You shake your head gently. âI want to⊠I want you.â
His expression softens even more, if thatâs possibleâsomething tender settling in his eyes as he brings his forehead to yours.
âOkay,â he breathes. âThen Iâm gonna take my time with you.â
He undresses you fully now, piece by pieceâhis hands warm and reverent on your skin, like heâs learning you by heart. You watch his eyes flick over you, and for the first time, you donât feel self-conscious. His gaze is filled with so much awe that all you feel is wanted.
Jake undresses too, slow and careful, letting you see him in turn. And when he finally settles between your thighs, he takes his timeâkissing down your neck, over your breasts, mouthing at your nipples until your breath catches all over again.
Youâre wet againâstill so sensitiveâbut the ache between your legs now has a different edge to it. A pull.
Jake props himself on one arm and reaches between your bodies with the other, stroking himself slowly, coating himself in your arousal.
âYou sure?â he murmurs, eyes locked on yours.
âYes,â you whisper, heart pounding.
He lines himself up and kisses youâdeep and fullâbefore slowly, carefully, beginning to push in.
You gasp at the stretch, your body clenching instinctively.
âBreathe,â he whispers against your lips, pausing to give you time. âYouâre doing so good. Just let me in. Nice and slow, yeah?â
You grip his hand, and he laces your fingers together, grounding you as he moves againâinch by inch, until heâs fully sheathed inside you.
The fullness is overwhelming, but not painfulâmore like pressure and heat, something impossibly intimate. You blink up at him, wide-eyed, and heâs already watching you, completely still, his other hand brushing your hair back.
âGod, you feel amazing,â Jake whispers, breath shaky. âSo warm. So tight. Youâre perfect, baby.â
Your eyes flutter, head falling back slightly as your body adjusts, and he takes that moment to kiss your throat, your collarbone, your chestâeverywhere he can reach while he holds still inside you.
When he finally starts to move, itâs slow. Deep. Each thrust is deliberate, dragging along every nerve, making you gasp softly into his mouth.
âEyes on me,â he murmurs. âI wanna see you.â
You try to hold his gaze, but itâs hardâyour eyes want to roll back with every slow stroke, each one brushing something deep inside you that makes your legs shake. But his hand squeezes yours, thumb brushing your knuckles, and he leans in to kiss you againâsoft and open-mouthed, like heâs trying to breathe you in.
When he pulls back, you whimper, eyes fluttering shut.
âDonât hold back,â he says, voice rough with restraint. âLet me hear you.â
So you doâyou let the moan slip past your lips, let your hips roll into his, and Jake rewards you with a deeper thrust, groaning softly into your neck.
âThatâs it,â he praises. âYouâre taking me so well. So fucking pretty like this, baby.â
Your body moves on instinct now, chasing the friction, the feeling, your thighs wrapping around him as the pace buildsâstill gentle, but heavier now, more urgent. His free hand slips under your back to hold you closer, chest to chest, heartbeat to heartbeat.
And when you gasp again, trembling beneath him, Jake kisses youâslow and desperateâand whispers, âIâve got you. Youâre mine, sweetheart. Let go for me.â
Jake is still moving inside youâslow now, slower than before. His thrusts are deep and gentle, drawn out like he wants to memorize the shape of you from the inside. Your legs are wrapped around his waist, and his forehead rests against yours, lips barely grazing as you breathe each other in.
âYouâre doing so good,â he whispers, like itâs the only truth that matters.
His hand finds yours again, fingers lacing tight. The other cups your jaw, thumb stroking softly as he keeps his gaze locked on you. âI want you to come for me one more time, baby,â he murmurs. âCan you do that for me?â
You nod, barely able to form the word yes, your whole body humming with overstimulated pleasure and overwhelming trust. He shifts just slightly, angling his hips to hit the spot that makes you gasp, makes your toes curl, and itâs too muchâbut just right.
Jake kisses you as you fall apart. He catches your moan in his mouth, swallowing every sound like itâs sacred. His strokes stay slow but sure, coaxing the orgasm out of you like a promise he fully intends to keep.
Your whole body clenches around him, your nails digging into his shoulder, your thighs trembling as the wave crests and breaks. Tears spring to your eyes from the intensityâhow good it feels, how safe it feels, how full your heart isâand Jakeâs right there whispering through it:
âThatâs it, baby. Let go.â
âYouâre so perfect like this.â
âIâve got you.â
You donât even realize youâre crying until heâs brushing a tear away with his lips.
âToo much?â he asks, pulling back just enough to search your face.
You shake your head quickly, cupping his cheek. âNo. Itâs perfect. Just⊠a lot.â
âI know,â he says softly, kissing your palm. âYou did so good.â
Jake comes just moments later, with your name on his lips and your body wrapped around him. Itâs not loud, not roughâjust deep and quiet and full of feeling. His hips stutter, and he holds you close, like he needs you as much as you need him.
He doesnât rush. When itâs over, he stays still for a few seconds, breathing you in, pressing soft kisses to your cheek, your shoulder, your forehead.
Then, gently, he pulls out and helps you lay back. You feel everythingâevery brush of his fingers, every whisper of skin on skinâand you donât want to let go of his hand.
âYou okay?â he asks, voice low and careful.
You nod. âYeah. Just⊠overwhelmed.â
He smiles and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. âIâve got you.â
Jake disappears for a moment and returns with a warm towel and water. Heâs gentle as he cleans you up, murmuring soft apologies every time you flinch from sensitivity. He kisses your thighs, your knees, your stomachâlike each one deserves a thank you.
Once youâre comfortable, he helps you into one of his soft shirts and pulls the covers over both of you. You curl into his chest without thinking, and he welcomes you into his arms like youâve always belonged there.
âYouâre incredible, you know that?â he says against your hair. âIâm so proud of you. I hope you know how much this meant to me.â
Your eyes sting again, and this time you let the tears fall. Not from sadness, but from being seenâcompletely and whollyâfor the first time.
âThank you,â you whisper.
Jake kisses your temple. âNo, thank you. For trusting me.â
You fall asleep in his arms, warm and safe and full in every sense of the wordâwith the quiet certainty that somethingâs changed forever⊠and you wouldnât want it any other way.
my prayers have been answered đ»đ»đ»đ»đ» (hi im the anon who requested won typing yn up) THE WAY YOU WROTE IT WAS SO DELICIOUS HELLO?????? i really love the fact that he was so considerate and thought about your comfort as well đ that's exactly how i imagine boyfriend!won like he'd be so respectful and sweet even in sex
Hi lovely! I'm so glad that you liked it, truly. <3 Feel free to request anytime you want. Also I'm glad we have the same vision about Jungwon in sex, hehehe.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
ââSince when are you reading those types of articles?ââ You arched an eyebrow.
His expression softened, just a bit. But his eyes were still sparkling with anticipation. Jungwon's hands were fidgeting a bit, like waiting for your green light to proceed. You were speechless at first, how did your boyfriend end up asking you that? Not like you werenât interested in trying and exploring new things but something in his eyes⊠He was so enthusiastic about it.
ââIt's true baby! Being tied during sex is expands your senses and makes it a better experience for you.ââ
ââAnd what about you?ââ You came back, arms crossed above your chest.
ââMâMe what?ââ His voice shuddered a bit.Â
Jungwon knew you weren't dumb, and always had a purpose behind his actions or words. Sure, ropes, restrictions⊠were fun and exciting for sex, maximizing your other senses. Feeling his touch more noticeable, being able to smell his body scent but you were just curious. Why now? Why all of a sudden?
ââJâJust let me try, okay? I will enjoy it anyway.ââÂ
You pretended to think about it for a second. Since he was so eager to tie your arms and legs, and you didnât mind it at all⊠you could surely give it a try.
When you nodded, something in the air and his gaze shifted. He started to kiss you slowly, like he was releasing his pent-up emotions since he asked for that. He wanted to take it slow, not rushing things so both of you could enjoy the moment. While his lips were moving against yours, his skillful hands found your pants, hooking his finger in the hem of them and sliding it unhurriedly through your legs.Â
His palms caressed your thighs, deliberate, tempting. Soon they ascended through your stomach, your muscles tensing under his touch. In one swift movement Jungwon discharged your top too, leaving you just in your underwear.
ââIf it hurts, if itâs too much, please tell me, okay? I will stop immediately.ââ
You nodded, melting inside because of his concern.
While you sat pretty in his bed, he shifted to his night stand to take out the ropes. Your curious gaze lingered on them. They were red, thick. And something twisted inside your stomach. Excitement? Nervousness? Fear? You couldnât tell, but soon his words appeared in your mind, relaxing your body a bit. Jungwon came back, settling beside you.
ââPut your arms together.ââ His voice was⊠rasp, almost breathy. Like the idea of you being tied up was too much for him. You pressed your arms together in front of you, elbow to elbow, wrist to wrist. Gently but firm Jungwon started to pass the rope around your arms, firmly.
Your eyes looked at him: on his face was a soft blush spreading slowly, and his breathing was a bit ragged. He tried to stay calm but the heart spreading through his body was making it difficult. You looked so pretty tied with that red, tick rope. He finished with a few knots, making sure the rope wasnât going to fade.Â
Despite your hand being free the restriction was notorious, only able to pull your arms a bit up and down, but that was all. You couldnât reach him nor touch him.Â
Jungwon gently pushed you until you were lying on your back. It would be a lie if he say he didnât wanted to toss you around, put your body on your knees and fuck the shit out of you. But he had to contain himself since it was the first time for both of you. He didn't want to scare you and even though it was his biggest kink, he thought about you too, your comfortness and wellness.Â
ââSpread these pretty legs for me, would you?ââ he asked, almost a whisper.
You complain with no problem, spreading your legs widely for him to look directly at your clothed core. There was a damp patch on the center of your panties, exposing how you silently were enjoying it.Â
ââOh? Someone is already enjoying it too much.ââ He teased.
You tossed your head to one side, ashamed. Jungwon chucked, shaking his head.
ââIâm gonna take these off, alright?ââ With your approval, he slides your panties through your legs and drops them to the floor, letting them be forgotten.
His mouth drops open. The sight in front of him was magicâlike. You spread, bare pussy exposed for him to use, arms restricted with the red ropes, and that pretty blush covering your face. Fuck, that was must be a dream. A big good dream. Your chest rose and fell with anticipation, your eyes following every move he made.
ââShit, you look so pretty like this.ââ He muttered, his fingerpad slightly brushing your glistened pussy lips. You jolted, arching your back a bit off the bed. And tried to grab something, him or the sheets âbut you just couldnât. Jungwon noticed it and made him harder.
He got rid of his own boxers, kneeling between your legs. His tip gently pressed your entrance. Slowly he started pushing it inside, inch by inch, feeling how your gummy walls were stretched for him, warm and wet. You bite back a moan the moment he bottomed you out.
The scene was too much for him to handle, shutting his eyes to not cum undone inside you.
ââShâShit, you feel so good.ââ
His hips rolled into your, unhurried but deep, trying to reach spots inside you he never hit before. And fuck, how good did that feel. You didnât know what to do with your useless arms, which rested on top of your chest. Jungwon leaned over you, one hand pressing the mattress beside your head and the other gripping the knots on the rope, tightly, like he was calming him down. He started to pick up his pace, wet skin slapping against yours. The room was filled with lewd sounds, and heat.
The moment his tip started to reach that sweet spot inside you, which had you moaning his name like prayer, you walls started to clamp his cock.
ââGod, look at you. How good are you taking it.ââ He said with a hoarse voice. ââSo pretty⊠unable to move at all, huh?ââ Jungwon slammed hard, making you arch your back.
Soft whines left his lips while his dick was hitting all those spots of you, and your walls clamping him hard was driving him crazy. He felt every texture inside you.
ââJâJungwonâŠââ You gasped, moving your hands.
He took them, pressing it against you. He was lost in pleasure.
ââFeeling close, arenât you?ââ You nodded eagerly. Even though you tried to suppress some moans it was nearly impossible. He was making you feel so good, so full.
ââLet go, sweetheart. I got you.ââ He encouraged you.
And that was all it took. Your limbs tensed, feeling your orgasm building up fast and snapping inside you. Your eyes rolled back your head as the pleasure was feeling unbearable. Jungwon continued fucking his dick into you, so close to his release and helping you though yours.
ââBabyâŠââ He panted. ââCanâ Can I finish inside?ââ
You nodded, a bit dizzy and sensitive due the overstimulation. Jungwon gripped hard the ropes, busting inside you. Highâpitched moans left his throat as his cock emptied itself inside, coating your walls with his sticky cum.
Both of you panted, trying to catch your breaths again.Â
He took his time untying your arms free, kissing every red mark the rope caused. And then he gave you the weakest, gentle smile ever. You heart melted. He pushed out slowly, gasping when you felt empty and some of his release dripped into the bedsheets.
ââYou did so good, hun. Letâs get ourselves clean, okay?ââ