pairing: Academic Rival! Jake x fem! reader
synopsis: You are always first. The one everyone expects to win. Confident, prideful, and untouchable. People admire you, envy you, resent you. But it doesn’t matter because in the end, you always prove them right. Then you go home. And first place isn’t enough. Second is unacceptable. Third is a disgrace. Anything less is failure. But then there’s Jake. Jake, who wins because he loves to. Jake, who has everything you don’t.
And the moment he looked past the perfect image you built, everything began to change.
warnings: This story contains themes of parental neglect, emotional abuse, academic pressure, and self-doubt. It covers on inadequacy, angst, and emotional breakdowns, but also slow-burn romance and comfort. Read at your own risk.
author's note: This story is deeply personal to me. It’s the first time I’ve poured so much emotion into something. If you relate to any part of this, please remember: you are enough. Always. Thank you for reading.
permanent tag list: @sol3chu @chlorinecake @13tter @jung1w0n @layzfy @firstclassjaylee @ijustwannareadstuff20
The cameras flashed. The medal's weight around your neck was heavier than it should’ve been. Gold, cold, undeserved. Applauses were loud.
You smiled. Of course you did. It was the expression expected of a champion. Graceful, composed, proud. You had practiced it enough times in the mirror, so much so that it no longer hesitated. You let the corners of your lips go upward just right, enough to appear humble but not so much that you seemed arrogant. Enough to sell the illusion that this victory was yours to enjoy.
Your parents stood at the front of the crowd. Their hands clapped the loudest, and their smiles stretched the widest. They shook hands, nodded in gratitude, and took every compliment thrown their way as if they were the ones who had spent sleepless nights preparing. As if they were the ones who had earned this. “We’re so proud,” they had said when your name was announced. “You did it.”
Did what, exactly?
You stood there as the flashes went off, the cheers rang in your ears, and your parents continued to receive congratulations on your behalf. You stood there and dared to look down.
Second place was crying.
Not just the silent kind, not the polite, quiet tears of someone accepting defeat, but the kind that came from deep inside, that cracked a person open. Their shoulders trembled as they looked down at their silver medal, fingers curling around it so tightly you thought it might shatter.
And then there were the others. The ones who had fought, who had given everything, who had wanted this much more than you ever did. Some stood stiffly, disappointment carved into their faces, blinking back the loss with forced indifference. Others stared blankly at the floor, avoiding your gaze because looking at you only deepened the wound.
It didn’t feel good.
It never did.
Taking something that wasn’t yours to take, crushing someone’s dreams just because you could. It didn’t feel good. It didn’t feel right.
And maybe it wouldn’t have felt so hollow if this had been your dream. If you had wanted this as badly as they did. If you had fought, struggled, and clawed your way to the top because it was something you couldn’t live without. But that wasn’t the case.
You had never wanted this.
But you won anyway.
And that was the worst part of it all.
