୨ৎ Summary : Two people. One bar. One really, really bad night to be alone. Y/n just caught her fiancé of two years in bed with her best friend. Jungwon just found out his girlfriend of six years has been cheating for god knows how long. Neither of them planned on ending up in a hotel room with a stranger — they just both really, really didn't want to be alone that night. No names. No numbers. Just two broken people borrowing comfort from each other for one night, then going their separate ways like it never happened. Except a month later, y/n's staring at two pink lines on a bathroom floor, and there's only one person it could possibly be. She makes her choice fast, she's keeping the baby, and she's doing it alone. no ring, no husband, no one's permission required. So she books her first prenatal appointment at some random clinic near campus, ready to start this chapter solo like she planned—and her doctor walks in. It's him. Yang Jungwon.
୨ৎ Pairing : obgyn! Jungwon x college lecturer! reader
୨ৎ Wordcount : 10k
୨ৎ Warning : ANGST (i warned you) , aged-up Jungwon (he's 28 here), stranger to.... (still figuring out but there's something promising chat), one night stand, unprotected sex, cheating (not Jungwon or y/n), unprotected sex (BIG NO NO, PLEASE WRAP YOUR WILLY), pregnancy.
୨ৎ Song : Maroon 5 - MAPS
PART I
So, I'm following the map that leads to you
You’d both silently decided the bar didn’t count. It belonged to some emergency exit version of yourself, the one who shows up when everything falls apart and then sensibly disappears by morning. Two strangers, one terrible night, and then back to real life, like it never happened. That was supposed to be the whole story.
For weeks you’d told yourself he didn’t exist. No last name, no number, just a blurry memory getting less real by the day. And then there he was. Not imaginary, not gone, just three feet away in a room that smelled like antiseptic instead of whisky, looking at you like he was doing the same impossible math you were.
It still didn’t add up.
You didn’t move. You didn’t speak. The chart in his hand had gone slack, like whatever clinical purpose it once held had dissolved the second recognition hit his face. You watched him swallow. Watched his jaw work, like he was searching for some professional footing and coming up with nothing.
You weren’t doing any better. Your pulse was in your throat, your fingertips, that strange hollow drop in your stomach that had nothing to do with the pregnancy and everything to do with him. A month of telling yourself this was impossible, and here it was anyway, undoing every careful assumption you’d built your new life on.
When he finally spoke, the composure was gone from his voice. He took a slow breath, like he needed it just to stay upright.
“Is the baby mine?”
This time it was quieter. Just him, stripped back down to the same person who’d sat beside you in that bar a month ago, asking a question he already knew the answer to but needed to hear anyway, like saying it out loud might keep the ground steady under him.
You closed your eyes for a moment. “Yes,” you said. The word barely made it past your throat, smaller than you meant it to be.
He didn’t say anything right away. When you opened your eyes, he was still watching you, something delicate moving behind his expression. Not quite fear, not quite relief, but some confused tangle of both, like a man standing at the edge of a life he hadn’t planned for and couldn’t make himself walk away from.
“Okay,” he said, so quietly the hum of the lights above almost swallowed it.
You recognised that it was precisely the same word you had muttered to your bathroom mirror a month prior. You both had no idea how much that one tiny syllable was going to demand of you.
For a brief moment, his hands just hovered in the space where the chart had been, uncertain, as if every professional instinct he had spent years honing had suddenly stopped responding. He set the chart down hard enough that it slid slightly across the counter.
“I can’t examine you.” What remained sounded jagged and unsteady.
“What?”
“Conflict of interest.” He said it like the words hurt on the way out.
You went very still. You already knew. You’d known before he said it, really, but hearing it made it land differently.
He ran a hand through his hair, and for the first time, you saw his composure completely crumble. It was not the cautious, contained way it had earlier cracked, but rather clearly and painfully, as if he were witnessing the disintegration of every assurance he had relied upon throughout his adult life.
"I don't know what to do," he said in a rough voice.
You just stared at him for a second. Then something inside you quietly folded in on itself.
Sure.
Why did you expect anything else?
You’d told yourself you didn’t need to know the father. You’d cried over the impossibility of it before it was even real, before there was anything to be impossible about. You’d accepted that you’d raise this child alone, because that was just how it was going to be. Strangers didn’t become families. One extraordinary night didn’t rewrite an ordinary life
You'd come to terms with it. Or at least you thought you did. But here he stood now, and he saw the doubt in his face, and that studied acceptance began to crack. Not because he actually rejected you, but because your heart already decided what his hesitation meant.
"Right," you said, speaking in a more flattering tone than you meant to, and you were already grabbing the armour you had developed over the previous month. "There is nothing for you to figure out. I told you that I had nothing to ask of you.”
He scowled.
"What?"
"I said there's nothing for you to figure out."
You could no longer bring yourself to look at him. Rather, you occupied yourself with smoothing out imperceptible wrinkles on the paper that was spread out on your lap.
"I wasn't looking for you." You took a swallow. "I wasn't trying to find you."
The words had a false flavour. Everything was different. Saying it out loud hurt more than you expected. You hated that some part of you had already filed Jungwon under the same heading, hated how quickly and completely your body had braced for the same ending, as though you had never once been given a reason to expect anything else from anyone.
Jungwon was watching you. He'd seen patients recoil before. The woman who had stopped crying because she had made up her mind it was no good. The overly polite husband after receiving a terminal diagnosis. The parents who resorted to talking about parking validation because to face reality would destroy them. Some people didn't fall apart loudly. Sometimes they were unbearably controlled. That's what you were doing.
“You think I’m trying to go?"
The sentence slipped out before he'd fully decided to say it. Your fingers paused. For the first time since you'd looked away, you met his eyes.
The words hit home visibly. You saw something flicker behind his eyes, not defensiveness, something more like recognition, as though he knew precisely which wound he'd just stepped on without meaning to. You didn't expect that from him. This wasn't something he had asked for. Even if he wanted nothing to do with you or the baby, you told yourself that made sense.
The bar surfaced again, whether you wanted it to or not. That ring around your glass. The way you’d kept twisting it on your finger instead of just taking it off, because taking it off would have made it final in a way you weren’t ready for. You remembered what you’d said that night, loose enough with drink to be honest, past caring who might overhear.
"I think he stopped choosing me long before he ever said it out loud.”
You looked away first this time, blinking hard at the poster on the wall, the one you'd deliberately avoided studying earlier. Your throat had gone tight enough that breathing normally took actual effort. You pressed your lips together, willing yourself to hold it.
That did not work.
One single tear escaped before you could stop it. Hot and humiliating, sliding down your cheek at the worst possible moment, in front of the worst possible person. You wiped it away quickly, angry at your body for betraying you in this way.
“I have to go,” you said, your voice cracking halfway through the sentence. You slid off the exam table too quickly, the paper crinkling loudly in the small room, and reached for the door before you could change your mind, before you could let yourself fall apart any further in front of him.
You didn’t get far. His fingers wrapped loosely around your wrist, warm, hesitant, like he wasn’t sure he had any right to hold on but couldn’t quite make himself let go either. Just enough to stop you. You went cold.
“Don’t,” he said quietly. “Please. Don’t walk out like this.”
“I—” Your voice gave out completely, and the tears came without permission.
His hand hovered between the chart, the exam table, and finally settled against his own chest.
"You don't have to say anything," you continued, quieter now, the bitterness folding into something more tired than sharp. "I wasn't going to ask you for anything. I didn't come here looking for you."
He opened his mouth, then closed it. Whatever he'd been about to say didn't survive that.
"I'll get someone else to take my file," you said, before he could. "You don't have to be involved in any of it. Really. It'll be easier that way. For both of us."
"That's not what I want," he said quietly.
"You don't know what you want yet," you said, not unkindly, just certain. "That's okay. You don't have to. I stopped expecting anyone to figure that out on my timeline a long time ago."
You picked up your bag from the chair, not looking at him now, because looking at him made it harder to keep the walls up, and the walls were the only thing keeping you standing.
"I can manage this myself," you said, quieter. "I've been managing everything myself. This isn't any different."
He didn't say anything as you walked past him, though you felt his eyes on you the whole way to the door, uncertain and unresolved in a way that you told yourself, firmly, was not your problem to fix.
The hallway outside the exam room felt longer than it had on the way in.
You kept your eyes forward, one foot in front of the other, the way you'd taught yourself to walk out of rooms that had just quietly ended something. It would've been easier if he'd been cruel about it. If he'd looked at you the way you'd braced yourself for.
But he hadn't been cruel. He'd looked lost. Standing there in his white coat with a stethoscope around his neck and no idea what to do with his own hands. And somehow that was worse. Because lost meant he hadn't decided yet. Lost meant there was still a version of this where he tried, and failed, and you had to watch it happen up close instead of guessing at it from a distance.
You couldn't do that again. You didn't have it in you to hope for something and then watch it quietly dissolve a second time in the same year. So you'd decided for him before he could make it for himself. It felt almost merciful, in a strange, aching way. If you didn't let yourself need him, there was nothing left for him to take away.
You didn't need him. You'd meant that.
But walking away from a room where someone had, for one brief second, looked like he might actually want to stay. That took more out of you than you let yourself admit. Because some small, foolish part of you, had wanted to be wrong about him. Just once, for someone to prove your worst assumptions weren't the safest bet.
You got in your car, hands steady on the wheel the way they'd been steady the night everything else fell apart, and you didn't cry until you were three streets away, safely out of sight of anyone who might feel obligated to ask if you were alright.
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.
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Jungwon didn't move for a long moment after the door clicked shut.
The room felt too quiet without you in it. He was still holding a pen he didn't remember picking up, and when he looked down at his own hand, it took a second longer than it should have for the object to register as familiar.
A baby.
The word sat in his chest like something he'd swallowed wrong, lodged and unmoving. He'd delivered dozens of them. He knew what the next nine months would look like on a chart. He did not know what it meant that one of them might have his name attached to it.
He sat down heavily on the stool you'd left empty, the vinyl still faintly warm, and stared at the door like it might open again and make the last ten minutes make sense. It didn't.
He realised, that he didn't even know your first name. Not really, he'd seen it on the chart, glanced at it in that first frozen second before recognition hit, but it hadn't stuck, buried under everything else crashing through him at once. He didn't know where you lived. What you did for a living, though, something about you had felt like you spent your days around people who needed patience. He remembered that much from the bar, vaguely, the way you remember the shape of a feeling more than the words that caused it. He didn't know if you had family nearby. Friends. Anyone who'd sit with you through this the way he clearly wasn't being let anywhere near it.
He didn't know a single real thing about the woman who had just told him, flatly, that she was carrying his child and didn't expect anything from him because of it. That last part kept snagging on something in his chest, sharp and unpleasant, like a wire he kept running his thumb over without meaning to.
He didn't know what that meant, not exactly, but he knew enough to recognize the shape of it. The practiced ease of someone who'd said some version of that sentence before, to someone else, about something else. You hadn't sounded angry when you said it. That was the part that unsettled him most. Angry, he could have argued with. Anger gave him something to push against. But you'd sounded certain, the way people sound when they've simply stopped being surprised by disappointment, when they've built their whole footing around expecting less so the ground never has anywhere lower left to drop.
A knock at the door pulled him upright before he could sit with it any longer. Nurse Park leaned her head in, brow raised at the empty room, the abandoned chart, him sitting there like he'd forgotten how exam rooms worked.
"Dr. Yang? Your two o'clock is—"
"I need you to reassign a patient," he said, before she could finish. His voice came out steadier than he felt, which surprised him almost as much as everything else today had. "Transfer her file to Dr. Kim. Today, if you can."
Nurse Park's brow rose further, curiosity plain on her face, but she didn't ask. That was one mercy, at least. "Sure. Everything okay?"
"Fine," he said, too quickly. "Just a conflict of interest."
She left it at that, ducking back out, and he was alone again with the abandoned chart and the too quiet room and the sound of his own pulse suddenly very loud in his ears.
He didn't go find you. He told himself it was because you'd asked him not to, because chasing you down the hallway would have looked exactly like the kind of scene neither of you needed in a hospital full of patients. He told himself a lot of things in the next several minutes, none of which made the unease in his chest sit any easier.
He didn't know you. You'd made that painfully, deliberately clear, like it was a wall you needed built between the two of you before either of you said something you couldn't walk back. But you were going to have his child. And he was going to spend the rest of the day, and probably several after it, turning over the unbearable fact that a woman whose last name he'd only just learned had already decided, quietly and completely, that he wasn't someone worth hoping for.
He picked the pen back up. Set it back down.
Somewhere down the hall, his next patient was waiting, and he had absolutely no idea how he was supposed to walk in there and be anyone's calm, steady doctor when his own life had just come apart at a seam he hadn't known was there.
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Three days.
That was all it had been since you walked out of that exam room, and already your body seemed determined to make you regret every ounce of composure you'd held onto in front of him. It was as if some cruel switch had been flipped the moment you'd said the word yes out loud, made it real to someone other than yourself. Like your body had been waiting for a witness.
You woke Wednesday morning already nauseous, the ceiling swimming faintly overhead before you'd even tried to sit up. You'd read that morning sickness typically started later, that this was early even by the worst case scenario timelines, but apparently your pregnancy hadn't read the same pamphlets you had.
By the time you managed to get upright, the room tilted sharply enough that you had to grip the headboard and breathe through it, slow and deliberate, before attempting the short, treacherous walk to the bathroom.
You didn't make it in time to feel dignified about it. Afterward, you sat on the bathroom floor with your back against the cold tub, forehead damp, waiting for your stomach to stop staging its rebellion. This was becoming routine faster than you wanted to admit. Not once, but twice already this week you'd called your department to push back your morning lecture, voice pitched carefully steady, blaming a stomach bug going around campus. You'd never missed lectures before. Not once. It unsettled you more than you let yourself dwell on.
The apartment was silent except for the tap still running in the sink. No one to hand you water. No one to notice you'd barely eaten since yesterday, that the crackers on your nightstand had gone untouched because even the smell of them turned your stomach some hours. You'd gotten good at being invisible to everyone, including yourself.
You didn't know if this was normal. You didn't know if you should be worried, if this level of sick warranted a call to whoever your new doctor was going to be, or if this was simply what your body intended to do to you for the better part of the coming months. You had no one to ask. No one who'd sit on the edge of your bed and tell you this part was supposed to be hard, that it would pass, that you weren't failing at this before it had even really begun.
You pulled yourself back onto your feet using the edge of the sink, rinsed your mouth, and studied your reflection for a moment. Pale, hollow around the eyes, nothing like the woman who used to stand in front of a lecture hall like she had her whole life figured out.
"You're fine," you told her, quietly, the way you'd told yourself countless small lies over the past month that had somehow, collectively, kept you upright. "You've done harder than this alone."
You believed it most days. Today, curled back into bed twenty minutes later with a bucket close enough to reach without standing, the blanket pulled up to your chin against a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room, you weren't entirely sure you believed it at all.
But there was no one there to notice the difference. So you closed your eyes, and let the silence hold you instead, and waited, the way you always did, for the worst of it to pass on its own.
You should have called in sick. You knew that the moment you stepped out of the car, the parking lot tilting faintly at the edges in a way that had nothing to do with the morning sun.
But you'd already missed two lectures this week, and a third would mean questions you didn't have answers for, sympathetic looks from your department head that you didn't think you could survive without your composure cracking down the middle. So you'd taken two crackers and a sip of ginger tea you couldn't taste, told yourself you'd manage, and gone in anyway.
You almost did.
The lecture hall was half full, forty some students scattered across the tiered seats, laptops open, the low hum of a Thursday morning. You'd made it through the attendance. Through the first ten minutes on developmental milestones in early childhood, your voice steady even as your stomach had begun its slow, familiar climb somewhere around slide four.
You kept going.
"—and by eighteen months, most children can typically identify two to three body parts when asked, which becomes important later when we discuss—"
The room tilted.
The front row of desks sliding sideways in your vision like the whole hall had been picked up and set back down at a slight angle. You gripped the edge of the podium, hard, waiting for it to right itself the way it usually did if you just breathed through it, counted to ten, kept your face neutral.
It didn't right itself. Cold sweat prickled along your hairline. Your vision narrowed at the edges, the way it did right before things went dark, a sensation you recognized now with a distant, clinical horror even as your body refused to respond to anything you told it to do. You heard your own voice trail off mid sentence. You saw, as if from very far away, several students look up from their laptops.
"Professor?"
You tried to say I'm fine. Give me a second. The words didn't make it out. The podium seemed to tilt away from your hand, or your hand slid off it, you couldn't tell which, and the last clear thought you had was a strange, absurd flicker of worry that you were about to fall in front of forty students and there'd be no graceful way to explain any of this afterward.
Then the floor came up to meet you, and everything went white, then gray, then nothing at all.
You came back to fluorescent light and unfamiliar voices, the particular antiseptic smell that your body had apparently decided to associate with catastrophe now. Someone's hand was wrapped around your wrist, fingers pressed lightly, counting.
"Ma'am? Can you hear me?"
You blinked, the ceiling swimming into slow focus, a stranger's face hovering above you, kind and unfamiliar. Not him. You didn't know why some small, useless part of you had braced for it to be him.
"You fainted," the nurse said gently, once she saw your eyes track her properly. "You're in the ER. One of your students called it in. You went down pretty hard in the middle of a lecture."
Fainted. In front of your entire class. You closed your eyes again, mortification arriving even before you'd fully processed the rest of it, a hot wave of embarrassment layering itself over the nausea that hadn't actually gone anywhere.
"I'm fine," you said, or tried to. Your voice came out cracked, thinner than you meant it to. "I just need to go home. I have another class at—"
"You're not teaching anything today," the nurse said, not unkindly, but with the particular firmness of someone who dealt with stubborn patients for a living. "You're pregnant and dehydrated and you haven't been keeping food down. We're keeping you a few hours at least, getting fluids into you."
There was someone whose opinion mattered now, whether you liked it or not, and he worked three floors up in this exact building.
A resident you didn't recognize came by twenty minutes later to check your IV line, young, unfamiliar, entirely uninterested in anything beyond your vitals and your chart. You almost laughed at the relief that gave you.
By the time they discharged you late that afternoon, an IV bruise blooming faintly on the inside of your elbow, a stack of printed pamphlets about hyperemesis gravidarum tucked under your arm. You called a cab instead of your own car, since you didn't trust your hands on a wheel yet, and sat in the back seat with your forehead against the cool window, watching the hospital shrink behind you.
You told yourself that was fine. You told yourself that a lot, lately. It didn't make the ride home feel any less quiet.
The cab dropped you off just as the sky was starting to dim, and by the time you'd climbed the two flights of stairs to your apartment. The elevator was broken again, of course it was. Your legs were shaking badly enough that you had to stop twice, palm flat against the wall, waiting for the stairwell to stop tilting.
You made it inside. You didn't make it much further than that. The pamphlets slid out of your grip and scattered across the entryway floor as your knees gave out, not dramatically, just a slow, graceless folding, your back sliding down the front door until you were sitting on the cold tile with your knees drawn up and your whole body trembling like something had come loose inside it.
The nausea came back within the hour, worse than it had been that morning, worse than it had been at all this week. It didn't announce itself gently. It arrived in one violent lurch that had you crawling toward the bathroom, not trusting your legs to carry you upright.
You didn't make it to the toilet in time. You barely made it to the bathroom at all, retching over the edge of the tub instead, your whole body seizing with the force of it long after there was anything left to bring up, dry, wrenching heaves that left your ribs aching and your throat raw and scraped, tears streaming down your face less from sadness than from the sheer physical violence of it.
You stayed like that for a long time, forehead pressed against the cool porcelain, saliva and bile stringing from your lips, your hands braced shaking against the tub's edge. Your stomach cramped hard, a deep muscular ache that radiated up into your ribs and down into your pelvis, and for one sharp, terrified second you pressed a hand low against your abdomen, holding your breath, waiting to feel something wrong.
Nothing. No blood. No new pain beyond the exhaustion of your body trying to turn itself inside out. You allowed yourself a single shuddering breath of relief before the next wave hit and you were retching again, nothing left to give it, just your body insisting anyway.
By the time it finally, mercifully passed, you were slumped sideways against the bathtub, cheek against cold tile, drenched in a cold sweat that had soaked through your shirt. Your pulse fluttered too fast and too thin at your wrist when you pressed two fingers there, checking, the way you'd learned to over the past week. Your mouth tasted of bile and copper. Your lips had gone dry and cracked at the corners.
You should call someone. The thought arrived distantly, muted, the way thoughts did when your body had spent everything it had. You'd just been hospitalized for exactly this, hours ago, and here you were on your bathroom floor doing it again, alone, with no one so much as aware it was happening.
Your hand found your phone in your pocket, more out of habit than intention. The screen lit the dim bathroom, too bright, and you had to squint against it. You didn't call anyone. You didn't have the strength to hold the phone to your ear, let alone explain, let alone hear the worry in someone's voice and have to manage that too, on top of everything else.
You set the phone down on the tile beside you instead, and simply lay there, curled loosely on your side, waiting for enough strength to return to your limbs that you could drag yourself the six feet to your own bed.
It took nearly twenty minutes. You slept in your clothes that night, on top of the covers instead of under them, too exhausted to manage even that small effort, a glass of water you couldn't bring yourself to drink from sitting untouched on the nightstand, condensation sliding slowly down its side in the dark, and no one in the world aware that you'd spent your evening on a bathroom floor, alone, quietly and privately falling apart.
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Karina almost didn't come by that morning.
She'd meant to call first, the way she usually did, but you hadn't answered your last two texts, and something about the silence. Three days of it now, uncharacteristic even for you at your most withdrawn, had sat wrong in her chest all week. She'd told herself she was being paranoid. She came anyway.
She still had the spare key, back when you'd both lived two buildings apart and traded keys the way close friends did. She let herself in calling your name, expecting to find you buried in lesson planning, embarrassed to have worried.
She found you on the bedroom floor instead, half collapsed beside the bed like you'd tried to stand and simply hadn't made it, your skin gray pale, lips cracked, one hand still curled weakly against the carpet like you'd been reaching for something.
"Oh my god— hey. Hey!" Karina dropped to her knees beside you, hands shaking as she checked for breath, for pulse, for anything. You stirred faintly at her voice, eyes fluttering half open, unfocused. "Stay with me, okay? I'm calling an ambulance."
"I'm fine," you managed, barely a whisper, the words slurring together. "Just need—"
"You are not fine." Her voice cracked, fear bleeding through the command in it as she fumbled her phone out of her pocket, thumb shaking too hard to hit the numbers cleanly the first time. "You look like you're about to die on your bedroom floor, so don't you dare tell me you're fine."
She got the address out between breaths she didn't remember taking, one hand still gripping yours the entire time, too tight, like letting go might mean losing you to whatever this was.
She rode in the ambulance with you, refusing to be left behind when a paramedic suggested she follow in her own car. She sat in the hospital waiting room for forty five minutes that felt like four hours, knee bouncing, phone clutched uselessly in her lap because she didn't know who else to call, didn't know if there was anyone else to call, and that realization alone made something in her chest ache almost as much as the fear did.
When a nurse finally came to update her, Karina was on her feet before the woman had finished her sentence.
"Family?" the nurse asked, glancing at her chart.
"Might as well be," Karina said, voice tight. "She doesn't have anyone else listed, does she."
The nurse's hesitation was answer enough.
"She's stable," the nurse said instead, gently. "Severe dehydration, malnutrition. She's been dealing with hyperemesis, it looks like, and it seems like she's been managing it alone for weeks. We're keeping her a few days to get her properly stabilized."
Karina pressed a hand over her mouth, equal parts relief and fury rising in her chest. Relief that you were breathing, steady, alive, and fury that you'd let it get this bad without telling a single soul, without telling her, after everything the two of you had been through together.
She sat by your bed for the rest of that afternoon, watching the slow rise and fall of your chest, IV fluid dripping steadily into the back of your hand, and made a silent, furious promise that the moment you were lucid enough to argue with her, she was going to give you an earful about doing this alone.
You stirred sometime near evening, eyes fluttering open slowly, disoriented, focusing first on the ceiling and then, gradually, on her.
"Karina?" Your voice came out cracked, confused.
"Yeah." She leaned forward, gripping your hand, blinking back tears she refused to let fall in front of you. "Yeah, it's me. You scared the absolute hell out of me."
You blinked at her, at the IV in your hand, at the hospital room slowly coming into focus around you, and something in your face crumpled, the exhausted collapse of someone who'd been holding a wall up for too long and had finally, involuntarily, let it fall.
"I didn't want to bother anyone," you whispered.
"You're pregnant and you were dying on your bedroom floor," Karina said, voice thick, somewhere between a sob and a laugh. "I don't care how much you didn't want to bother me. You're stuck with me now. No more doing this by yourself."
You didn't have the strength to argue. For once, some small, exhausted part of you was almost grateful you didn't have to.
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Jungwon told himself it would fade. That was the whole premise he'd been operating on for two and a half weeks now. That time would do what time was supposed to do, sand the edges off something sharp until it became just another fact of his life instead of the thing that occupied every quiet moment he wasn't actively filling with something else.
It hadn't worked. He caught himself doing it again during a lull between patients, staring at a blank spot on the wall of the break room, coffee going cold in his hand, his mind somewhere else entirely.
He'd requested her file be transferred to Dr. Kim, exactly as he'd promised. He hadn't looked at it since. He told himself that was the responsible thing to do. He told himself that every time his hand hovered a half second too long over the patient database before he made himself close it, unopened.
He didn't know if she'd made it to her next appointment, if the nausea she'd looked faintly gray with even standing in that exam room had gotten better or worse, if she was eating, sleeping, managing any of it the way she'd insisted, with such brittle certainty, that she would.
He hated that he thought about it as much as he did. Hated it, and couldn't stop.
“You've been doing it for weeks." Sunoo took a sip, watching him over the rim of the cup. "Still thinking about the peach dream? Told you it meant something."
"It's nothing," Jungwon said, too quickly, and made himself take a sip of his own coffee just to have something to do with his mouth besides say anything further. "Just tired. Long week."
"It's been a long week for three weeks running, then." Sunoo didn't look convinced, but he let it sit for a moment, watching him with the kind of patience that usually meant he was waiting for a crack to widen on its own rather than trying to force one. "You'd tell me if something was actually going on, right?"
"There's nothing going on." The lie came easier than Jungwon expected it to, flat and practiced, though it sat wrong in his chest the second it left his mouth. "I'm fine."
Sunoo studied him a beat longer, clearly unconvinced, but he shrugged eventually and let it go, the way he usually did when Jungwon's tone made it clear a door had been shut. "Alright. Suit yourself."
The conversation moved on to something else and he was grateful for it, grateful that Sunoo hadn't pushed harder, because he didn't know what he would have said if he had. There wasn't a version of the truth he could hand over that didn't sound absurd out loud.
He didn't know how to explain that he'd meant to let it go, and instead had spent nearly three weeks failing to stop thinking about a woman whose last name he'd had to read off a chart to remember, whose entire life outside of that one night and that one appointment remained a complete blank to him.
He didn't know how to explain, least of all to himself, why some part of him refused to accept that blank as permanent. He finished his coffee in silence, and when his pager went off a few minutes later, he was almost relieved for the excuse to leave the thought behind, if only for the length of his next shift.
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The consult request landed in his queue a little after four. It was one of a dozen routine notifications that came through on any given shift. He almost skimmed past it. He didn't work in obstetrics anymore, not since he'd handed his own patient list over to Dr. Kim weeks ago. He'd made an effort to stop looking at those cases.
But this one came through internal medicine, not OB. It was flagged as severe dehydration and malnutrition, possible hyperemesis. They wanted a second opinion on fluid management before admitting the patient properly.
He opened the summary out of habit more than curiosity.
Female, thirty two years old. About eleven weeks pregnant. She'd been found unconscious by a friend. Severe dehydration. She'd lost eight percent of her body weight in two weeks. Her heart rate had been dangerously high on admission. There was no record of any follow-up appointment since her first OB visit three weeks earlier.
He frowned at that last part. Three weeks was a long time to go without monitoring, especially with symptoms this severe. Someone had fallen through the cracks. It bothered him, the same way it always did when a patient's file showed the system failing someone who should have been caught sooner.
He looked for the name of the doctor overseeing her care. He found only Dr. Kim listed, with no other notes attached besides an old transfer memo from a few weeks back. He didn't think twice about that memo. He'd written it himself, but his mind was somewhere else, moving through the facts the way he always did, quickly and clinically.
The patient's name was cut off in the quick view screen, an old glitch in the hospital's software that had annoyed him for years. He never thought to be grateful for it before.
He typed up his recommendation. Slow rehydration. Anti nausea medication. Closer monitoring, given the gap in her care. He added a note asking social work to check in, since it looked like she didn't have much support. It was clinical and short, the way he wrote every consult note, and he sent it back through the system without a second thought.
Something caught at the back of his mind for a moment. Eleven weeks. The number surfaced, then sank again before he could think about why it mattered. There was another patient waiting.
He didn't open her full chart. There was no reason to. It wasn't his case anymore, and nothing in the short summary gave him any reason to connect this exhausted, malnourished woman to the one who still, somehow, took up more space in his thoughts than she had any right to.
He moved on to the next consult. But the uneasy feeling stayed with him for the rest of his shift, quiet and shapeless, like a name he almost remembered but couldn't quite reach.
.
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Jungwon didn't remember falling asleep. He remembered lying in the dark for a long time, staring at his ceiling, exhaustion finally pulling him under sometime past midnight.
And then he was dreaming.
The garden came back to him, the same one from weeks ago, though he knew almost immediately that something about it was wrong.
The trees were still there, heavy branched, familiar in shape. But the leaves had gone brittle at the edges, curling inward like paper too close to a flame. Some had already fallen, scattered thin and brown across ground that should have been soft with grass and instead felt dry and cracked underfoot, like it hadn't seen rain in a long time.
He walked through it the way he had before, searching without knowing exactly what he was searching for. The fruit trees that had once bent low with ripeness now held branches that looked stripped and empty, a few withered pieces of fruit still clinging on that looked more rotten than ripe.
The woman was there again. He still couldn't see her face clearly, the way dreams sometimes blurred the details that should have mattered most, but he recognized her outline, the same as before, standing beneath the same tree where she'd once handed him a peach warm with sunlight.
This time she wasn't holding anything out to him. She was kneeling at the base of the tree instead, one hand pressed against the trunk like she needed it to stay upright. Her shoulders looked thin. Her head was bowed low enough that he couldn't see any of her expression, only the slow, careful way she was breathing, like even that took effort.
"Wait," he said, or tried to. His voice didn't seem to carry the way it should have.
He moved toward her, and the ground beneath his feet seemed to stretch further with every step, the way distances do in dreams, refusing to close no matter how fast he moved. The leaves kept falling around them, one after another, drifting down slow and silent, until the branches above her were bare.
He reached her at last, or thought he did, and knelt down in front of her, and reached out to touch her shoulder. She looked up at him then. He still couldn't make out her face. But he could feel, somehow, in the strange logic dreams operated by, that she was exhausted. Depleted. Something in her had been quietly draining away, day after day, and no one had noticed in time to stop it.
She simply closed her eyes again, her hand still pressed to the trunk of the dying tree, and the last of the leaves let go overhead, falling around both of them like something quietly ending.
He woke with a start, heart pounding, sheets damp beneath him, the ceiling of his own bedroom swimming slowly into focus in the dark.
It took him a long moment to remember where he was. Longer still to shake the feeling that had settled deep in his chest, heavy and wrong, like his body understood something his mind hadn't caught up to yet.
He sat up, pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, and told himself it was only a dream. Stress, probably, or guilt finding a strange shape to wear while he slept. But he didn't fall back asleep for a long time after that. He lay in the dark instead, staring at the ceiling, turning the image over and over, the garden gone bare, her kneeling beneath it, exhausted in a way that had felt far too real to belong only to a dream.
He was distracted the whole next day, in a way that didn't sit well with him at all.
It started small. He mixed up the order of two consults, something he never did, and had to double back and apologize to a nurse who'd been waiting on him. He found himself staring too long at a patient's chart during rounds, words on the page not quite registering, his mind circling back again and again to a garden that didn't exist and a woman whose face he couldn't see.
He told himself it was just a dream. He'd told himself that all morning, on repeat, like saying it enough times might finally make it true. It didn't help. The image kept surfacing anyway, uninvited, in the quiet spaces between tasks. The leaves falling. Her shoulders, thin and bowed. The way she hadn't answered him.
And underneath the dream, tangled up with it so tightly he couldn't separate the two anymore, was her. The real her. The woman from the exam room, weeks ago now, sitting there in a paper gown telling him flatly that she didn't need anything from him.
He hadn't seen her since. He didn't know if she was alright. That fact, which he'd been quietly carrying around for weeks, suddenly felt heavier today, pressing somewhere behind his ribs in a way he couldn't explain and didn't like.
He caught himself, twice, opening the hospital directory with every intention of searching her name, only to close it again before he could type more than a letter or two. He had no reason to look. No professional reason, and telling himself there might be a personal one felt like admitting to something he wasn't ready to say out loud, not even to himself.
His chest felt tight in a way that had nothing to do with his own health. It was an uncomfortable, restless feeling, like something was wrong and he didn't have enough information to know what, or where, or how to fix it. He hated not knowing. He'd built his whole career around being someone who found answers, who didn't let uncertainty sit for long before chasing it down. And here he was, useless, sitting with a feeling he couldn't name and no way to act on it.
By the time his shift ended, he'd barely eaten, his coffee long since gone cold and forgotten on his desk. He sat in his car in the hospital parking lot for a while before starting the engine, hands resting on the wheel, staring out at nothing in particular.
"It's just a dream," he said out loud, to the empty car, like hearing it might finally settle something.
It didn't. If anything, saying it out loud only made the discomfort in his chest more obvious, more real, refusing to be reasoned away just because he didn't have a name to put to it, or a face, or any real claim to worrying about her at all.
He drove home in silence, the radio off, the same restless unease sitting with him the whole way, quiet and persistent, like it had no intention of leaving until he did something about it.
He got as far as his apartment door before he stopped fighting it.
He stood there for a moment, keys still in hand, and then, almost against his own better judgment, pulled out his phone instead of going inside. He told himself it was just to check. Just to see that she was fine, that the dream had been nothing, that the tight feeling behind his ribs was simply exhaustion wearing a strange shape. Just this once, and then he'd stop.
He let himself back into his own hallway, sat down heavily on the bottom step of the stairwell instead of climbing them, and opened the hospital's internal system on his phone. His thumb hovered over the search bar longer than it should have. He typed her name.
The system took a second to load, longer than he wanted, his knee bouncing while he waited, and then a list of results filled the screen. Not many. It was an uncommon enough name that there was really only one match that mattered.
He tapped it before he could talk himself out of it. The file loaded slowly, and for a moment his eyes just skimmed without absorbing anything, too much information arriving too fast. Then it started to land, piece by piece, and his stomach dropped further with each line.
Admitted three weeks ago. Severe dehydration and malnutrition. Discharged same day, no documented follow up. Readmitted two days ago. Hyperemesis gravidarum, ketones present, found unconscious by a third party.
Found unconscious. He read it twice, like the words might rearrange themselves into something less alarming the second time. They didn't. He scrolled further, hands not quite steady now, and found the consult note attached to the more recent admission. His own name was on it. His own handwriting, in a sense, typed out clinically weeks ago, recommending fluid management for a patient he hadn't realized was her, flagging her case for social work because something in the chart had told him, even then, that no one was checking in on her.
He'd been right there. He'd read her chart and not known it was her. He'd written notes about her condition and closed the file without a second thought, because the software had cut off her name and he hadn't looked hard enough to notice.
Eleven weeks. The number that had been surfacing in his mind for days finally made sense, horribly, completely, and he felt something in his chest cave in around it.
She'd been sick. Really sick. Alone in an apartment somewhere, collapsing, hospitalized twice, and he hadn't known. He'd been having dreams about dying gardens while she was on a bathroom floor somewhere, or worse, and he'd told himself it was nothing, told himself it wasn't his place to look.
He was on his feet before he'd fully decided to move, keys still in his other hand, phone still lit with her chart, his pulse loud enough in his ears that it drowned out every reasonable argument his own mind tried to raise about boundaries, about what she'd asked for, about whether he had any right at all to show up.
None of it mattered right now. He needed to see her. He needed to know, with his own eyes, that she was alright. He was already moving toward the door before he'd let himself think through what he'd even say when he got there.
.
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The room had gone dim sometime after the nurses' evening rounds, the overhead lights dimmed low, the machines beside your bed humming their steady, indifferent rhythm into the quiet. Karina had left an hour ago, only after you'd insisted, only after you'd promised you'd call if you needed anything, a promise you both knew you probably wouldn't keep.
You lay there now, IV taped to the back of your hand, the thin blanket pulled up to your chest, and let yourself, finally, stop pretending you were fine.
It came slowly at first. A tightness in your throat you tried to swallow down out of habit. Then your eyes stinging, then blurring, until the ceiling above you dissolved into a soft, watery smear of white. You pressed the back of your free hand against your mouth, an old reflex, quiet, don't let anyone hear.
There was no one to hear. That was the whole problem, wasn't it.
You thought about the last two weeks. About crawling to the bathroom in the dark. About lying on your own bedroom floor, alone, until your body simply gave out and someone else had to find you before it was too late. You thought about how close that had actually been, closer than you'd let yourself admit even to Karina, who'd cried in the waiting room while you were unconscious and hadn't fully stopped being afraid since.
You thought about the tiny, stubborn thing growing inside you that you hadn't even properly begun to plan for, that you were supposed to be strong enough to carry through all of this alone, and some exhausted, honest part of you finally admitted, in the dark, in the quiet, that you didn't know if you could.
"I don't know if I can do this," you whispered, to no one, to the empty room, your voice cracking apart on the last word.
The admission scared you more than anything else had in weeks. You'd built your whole life, especially these last two months, around the belief that you could handle anything alone if you just gritted your teeth hard enough. You'd told Jungwon that, practically to his face. You'd told yourself that every single day since. And here you were, hooked to fluids in a hospital bed for the second time in a month, and the belief was cracking right down the center, and you didn't know how to hold it together anymore.
The tears came harder after that, silent at first, then not silent at all, your shoulders shaking with the effort of trying to keep it quiet even though there was no one there to disturb. You curled onto your side as much as the IV line would allow, one hand drifting to rest low against your stomach, the way it always did now without your permission.
"I'm sorry," you whispered, to the tiny life you couldn't see or feel yet, only imagine. "I'm trying. I promise I'm trying."
It didn't answer, of course. There was only the quiet hum of the machines, and the faint hallway light bleeding in under the door, and the terrible, hollow ache of being so completely alone with something this big.
You cried until you didn't have much left to cry with, until your eyes burned and your chest ached and exhaustion finally started pulling you down toward sleep despite everything. You didn't wipe your face before you let your eyes close. There was no one there to see it anyway.
That was what you told yourself, right up until the moment sleep finally took you under, and you never heard the soft, hesitant knock that came at your door several minutes later, too tentative to wake you, from someone who'd been standing in the hallway for a long moment before he found the nerve to lift his hand at all.
Somewhere between the crying and the exhaustion pulling you under, one thought kept circling back, quiet and unanswerable.
Is it supposed to be this hard?
You didn't know. That was the worst part of it, in a strange way. You'd spent years around children, around the after of pregnancy, the finished product of it, toddlers with sticky hands and easy laughter, and never once had you stopped to ask their mothers what the nine months before had actually cost them. You'd assumed, vaguely, the way people assume things they've never had to live through, that it was hard but survivable, uncomfortable but manageable, something women simply got through with the right amount of patience and ginger tea.
You hadn't expected this. The bathroom floors. The fainting. Two hospital admissions in less than a month, your body seeming to fight the thing growing inside you rather than simply carry it. You wondered, in the dim, half formed way exhaustion allowed for, whether other women went through this too, quietly, alone, and never talked about it because talking about it felt like admitting they weren't handling something that was supposed to come naturally.
You thought of your own mother, briefly, the offhand thing she used to say. Hardest thing I ever did alone. You'd always assumed that meant the raising, the late nights, the years after. You were starting to wonder if she'd meant this part too, the very beginning, the part nobody warned you about because by the time you were far enough along to tell anyone, you were already too deep in it to turn back.
You didn't know if this was normal. You didn't know if other women lay awake at night wondering if their body had simply chosen the wrong person to do this to, someone without the reserves for it, someone already worn thin from everything that came before. You didn't have anyone to ask. Not really. Karina had been wonderful, had sat by your bed for hours, but Karina didn't know what this felt like from the inside, the particular loneliness of a body doing something enormous while the rest of your life went on expecting you to be fine.
You pressed a hand lightly against your stomach again, feeling nothing yet, no movement, no proof beyond the exhaustion and the IV and the doctor's clipped, worried tone from earlier that day. Just an idea of a person, still. A hope, and a fear, tangled together so tightly you couldn't separate them anymore.
Is it supposed to be this hard?
You didn't have an answer. You only had the ache in your chest, and the too-quiet room, and the slow pull of sleep finally dragging your thoughts apart before you could find one.
.
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.
Jungwon didn't remember most of the walk from the parking garage. He remembered running at some point, badge bouncing against his chest, breath tearing ragged in his throat by the time he hit the stairwell instead of waiting for the elevator, two steps at a time, his pulse louder in his ears than anything else around him.
He found your room number on the floor directory and moved toward it without slowing, weaving past a cart, muttering an apology to a nurse he nearly collided with. He didn't bother knocking. He pushed the door open, chest still heaving, and froze.
You were still awake.
You'd curled onto your side, one hand pressed against your mouth, shoulders shaking with the effort of crying quietly in a room that had no reason to expect anyone would walk in on it. Your eyes were red, your cheeks wet, the IV line taped awkwardly to the back of your free hand. You looked up at the sound of the door, startled, and every part of you went rigid.
Disbelief bleeding through the exhaustion. You pushed yourself up slightly against the pillows, swiping a hand roughly across your face, some old reflex to hide what he'd just walked in on, even though it was far too late for that. "What are you— how did you—"
He didn't answer right away. He was too busy staring at you, chest still rising and falling too fast, his own shock plain on his face. He hadn't let himself picture this, not really, not the reality of it. How small you looked. How hollowed out. How clearly you'd been crying alone for a while before he arrived.
"I read your chart," he admitted, voice rough, still catching his breath. "I didn't know it was you until an hour ago."
"You shouldn't be here," you said, though it came out weaker than you meant it to, your voice still thick with tears.
"I know." He didn't move toward you yet, like he was afraid of doing the wrong thing, afraid of taking up space you hadn't offered him. "I know I shouldn't. You told me you didn't need me. I heard you. I've been trying to respect that for weeks, and I have no right to walk in here and undo it just because I'm scared."
"Then why did you come?" Your voice broke on the question, quieter than you meant it, more honest than you meant it too.
He took a step closer, slow, like he was asking permission with every inch. "Because I've been dreaming about you for weeks and I didn't even understand what I was dreaming about," he said, voice unsteady now, none of his usual composure left in it. "Because I read a chart today and didn't know it was yours until it was almost too late to know at all. Because the thought of you lying somewhere alone, going through this by yourself, is unbearable to me. I can't explain why. I've tried to talk myself out of caring this much about someone I barely know, and I can't do it. I've tried for weeks."
You stared at him, tears still slipping down your face, unable to find any words to answer that with.
"I'm not asking you to let me fix this," he went on, quieter now, closer, close enough that you could see how badly his hands were shaking at his sides. "I'm not asking you to trust me, or to need me, or to believe I'll be different from whoever taught you to expect nothing. I know I haven't earned any of that yet." His voice cracked, raw and unguarded in a way you'd never heard from him. "I'm just asking you to let me sit here. Just for tonight. Please. I don't want you to be alone in this room anymore."
You pressed the back of your hand against your mouth, a fresh wave of tears rising, not entirely sure anymore if they were from exhaustion or grief or something dangerously close to relief.
"I don't know… I… ," you admitted, voice cracking apart.
"One night. That's all I'm asking for right now. Just let me stay."
He reached out, slow and hesitant, and rested his hand near yours on the blanket, not quite touching, close enough that you could close the distance if you wanted to. You did. Your fingers curled weakly around his, and for the first time in weeks, neither of you were entirely, completely alone.
you keep dreaming of the same man, someone you swore you have never actually met. he appears in your dreams regularly, always covered in blood. when you're tasked to sketch the face of a serial killer who has been wrecking havoc in your town, you realise exactly why he looks so familiar.
GENRE — smut, dark content, serial killer au, supernatural au
WARNINGS — mostly dubcon but some noncon too, stalking, murder, lots of supernatural elements, character deaths, reader is kinda fucked in the head, internal crisis, hickeys, making out, fingering, slight spanking, backshots, riding, creampie, lmk if more!
WORD COUNT — 14.2k
NOTE — if you notice the writing style change in the middle, no you didn't.
“third time in a row. our culprit can officially be declared a serial killer.”
you looked up from the body, turning your attention towards chief kang. he was already looking at you. “wouldn’t you agree?”
you glanced back towards the body. same relaxed posture, one hand over his eyes, legs carelessly posed—it almost looked like he was still alive, just peacefully sleeping. but his skin was turning ashy, limbs rigid. and the rose.
god, the rose.
you had no idea what could possibly be it’s significance—if it at all had one. the victims always seemed to ‘hold’ a rose with one hand on their chest. the roses always had no thorns, the petals always fresh when the body was first found. perhaps, it was just the killer’s way of showing that it was indeed his work, but you begged to differ. it had to be more than just a claim, there is always more to the story than such simple explanations.
snapping back to reality, you realized that you hadn’t answered your superior yet. “yes sir, i do.”
the chief let out a hum, looking back at the body. the town was small enough for everyone to know everyone, so it wouldn’t be hard to dig up every piece of information on the victims. at the end of the day, every serial killer had a pattern. this rose lover should also have one.
“detective lee,” the chief suddenly said, turning his attention towards your co-worker and friend. “did you investigate florist kim?”
heeseung was quick to respond. “yes sir, we completed the investigation yesterday itself. please accept my apologies for not informing you earlier.”
the chief waved his hand dismissively. “not a big deal. now tell me what you figured out.”
heeseung pulled out a bunch of pictures from the file in his hands. he pointed to the first picture. “this,” he said. “is a picture of the rose on the victim’s body. they always have the exact same type of rose.” he flipped the pictures to show the roses on the other victims too.
“and this,” he said, flipping the pictures to show fresh roses inside a greenhouse. “is a picture of the roses florist kim sells. he said he only sold red roses, since black ones cannot grow around our area. i asked around to confirm, and he was indeed telling the truth.”
he chief let out a dissatisfied hum. “yet another dead end. the killer could be right among us and we wouldn’t know because we don’t have a single clue.”
you let out a small sigh. there weren’t too many people who could possibly classify as suspects in this town, yet catching the killer or even getting a lead on him seemed practically impossible. “i can deploy some people to ask around, try to find any kind of a common link for me sketch a face. detective sim can use his computer skills to dig up information on all victims and possible suspects. detective lee can stay around the crime sites to find out any fingerprints or tiny pieces of evidence the rest of us might have missed.”
the chief nodded. “sounds good.” he patted your shoulder, as he started making his way back to the car. “this is exactly why you’re one of my favorites. you know when to lead, and exactly how to lead, along with how to correctly deploy resources.”
you only lowered your head at his words. you were well aware that his favoritism was unprofessional. but you, jake, and heeseung were truly the best detectives in the entire town. everyone in town relied on the three of you whenever any major crime happened, the chief being no exception.
he looked around at all three of you. “if you three can successfully find our killer, i will personally fund a vacation for each of you.”
the three of you glanced at each other. a vacation? now that was thrilling. “of course sir. we will give our best regardless.”
the chief gave one last proud smile, before climbing into his car. being the chief’s only direct subordinates meant most of the work load was on you three. especially since the three of you had extra talents.
you for example, had your love for art, which caused you to become the forensic artist of your town, despite there not being an official post for such a job. jake was exceptionally good with electronic devices, especially computers. heeseung had a keen eye for details, which caused him to easily find things which others may have missed. tiny details, which would turn out to actually be crucial details.
you nodded to jake and heeseung, before going into your own car. your subordinates followed quickly, getting in with you. you sighed, massaging your head. your assistant buckled his seatbelt, getting ready to drive. “where should we go, ma’am?”
you didn’t respond, lifting your head up and looking at the files in front of you. you picked them up, flipping through them. each murder was so cleverly conducted, not a single scratch on any of their bodies. the cause of death was unknown, the autopsy on the first body still being conducted. apparently the result would be known by tomorrow. but until then, there was absolutely no clue.
“take us to the first victim’s neighborhood. maybe we will find some answers there.”
vines surrounded you everywhere, the thorns prickling you continually. black roses adorned the vines beautifully, the scene equivalent to an ancient graveyard, the calmness of the place unsettlingly serene.
you forced your feet to forge ahead, despite the prickles. it was only then that you realized a terrifying fact—there was blood everywhere, drenching everything. the smell suddenly changed, from the sweet subtle smell of roses to the metallic smell of blood and rot.
your feet trudged ahead, almost on autopilot. the smell made you nauseous and lightheaded, but it was as if someone was maneuvering you like a puppet, forcing you to walk ahead despite yourself.
eventually, a gazebo came into view. it was white as snow, the rose vines wrapping around it. the blood dripped down from the vines, the droplets flowing down the pillars of the gazebo. but the most peculiar thing about the whole ordeal was the man standing in the middle of the gazebo.
you walked faster, desperate for answers. once you reached the gazebo, you hesitated. you looked at the unfamiliar man in front of you, really looked at him. his clothes were soaked in blood too. his back was turned to you, leaning on a pillar with his shoulder. he was looking down judging by the way his head was tilted downwards.
swallowing down your nervousness, you took a step forward. immediately, you slipped. before you could fall or even scream, a hand was around your waist, steadying you. a shocked gasp left you, followed by your labored breathing.
the unknown man was looking down at you, his lips curling up into a smirk that screamed menace. he helped you stand properly, before removing his hand from your waist. the loss of contact left a strange feeling in you, as if missing his warmth.
he looked you up and down, the look in his eyes becoming more and more unsettling by the minute. when he locked his gaze with yours again, it felt like you were hypnotized, with how he was pulling you in.
he raised one hand, brushing a stray strand of hair from in front of your eyes, tucking it behind your ear. you suddenly snapped back into reality, taking a step back. “don’t touch me–”
you gasped, waking up with a start. you blinked several times, eyes slowly becoming accustomed to the darkness. what was that?
you remembered your dream vividly, not a single detail amiss. how was that even possible? moreover, who was that man?
you shook your head. it was just a dream, why were you letting it bother you? besides, it was probably the stress of the case that was causing you to lose sleep, resulting in such weird dreams. that was it.
right?
“so," the chief took a sip of his tea. “did any of you find anything?"
you sighed, looking down at your files. heeseung was massaging his temples. jake was the first to speak up.
“there isn't any common pattern as such, but all three victims had some kind of dirt on them." jake passed a bunch of files to the chief. “the first victim, yoon victoria, daughter of the chaebol yoon haneul, has a reputation for using money to get away with anything and everything."
the chief raised a brow. “anything and everything, you say?" he flipped through the files jake had placed in front of him. “please, do elaborate."
“maids and servants in general were always dismissed unfairly from her estate according to many, some even claiming that she had bribed many to keep their mouths shut about what went on inside there.”
by now, heeseung had stopped massaging his temples, and you stopped glaring at your files as if they might magically provide you with a clue. both of you were intently staring at jake as he spoke.
"but some people had still anonymously placed reports of the woman's bad temperament, which had allegedly resulted in the murder of a maid servant in her service. records say that the maid servant had apparently let her kid play with victoria’s, something the chaebol’s daughter was not too happy about. she had apparently flipped out, and when the maid defended herself, victoria had thrown a knife lying near her. safe to say, the knife hit its target, killing the maid instantly.”
he paused to take a breath. “the maid’s child was apparently thrown out and sent somewhere unknown, while her own kid was traumatized while seeing the scene. apparently the kid was watching from the top of the stairs, and fainted upon seeing what her mother did, causing her to and fall from the top of the stairs, dying shortly after.”
a sharp pain pierced through your temples, right as heeseung spoke. “that’s… darker than expected.”
jake let out a hum. “it was really hard to find this out. there were all in old files in the locker room, and very old and unpopular articles on the internet. found out through the—oh, i almost forgot. she used to live in a city where all this happened, but after this incident she had shifted here. apparently she never really got over the loss of her child, causing her to grow mad over the years.”
massaging your temple, you let out a hum in agreement. victoria was well known for being insane, people always mostly avoiding her. once you bumped into her in the market by mistake, and before you could even apologize, she had grabbed your arms tightly. the look in her eyes were wild, as she called a name you didn’t remember now. it took like three people to come and make her finally part from you.
the chief leaned back on his chair. “interesting… what about the other two?”
jake rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. “didn’t get to find out anything about them yet, victoria alone took up a lot of time.”
the chief nodded. “no worries, this alone was a lot of help. thank you for your service, detective sim.”
jake bowed in politeness. chief kang now turned to you and heeseung. “what about you two? any updates on your sides?”
you shook your head. “not a single person in the entire neighborhood noticed anything amiss. not even a hooded figure, or someone at a place they are not supposed to be, nothing out of the ordinary.”
heeseung spoke next. “i searched up the entire site, and even more. i even had my team dig up a lot of areas, but nothing. not a single thing amiss, or anything out of place. its as if any kind of admissible evidence was taken by the killer, or we are missing something very obviously hidden.”
the chief nodded. “i believe you’re right. the autopsy on victoria must be over by now, so we will know the cause of death pretty soon.”
right on que, one of your subordinates burst into the room, files in hand. “chief!” he quickly placed the files down in front of him. “these are the autopsy results.”
the chief nodded to him. “thank you, officer park. you may take your leave now. and in future, please make sure to knock first.”
officer park bowed, embarrassed, before quickly leaving. the chief flipped through the pages, his brows furrowing.
unable to contain your curiosity, you asked, “what is it chief?”
the chief looked puzzled, as he continued to read the same page over and over again. “it says the victim died of undiagnosed diabetes? there were no signs of any kind of external or internal injuries otherwise.”
the three of you looked at each other, dumbfounded. that was… unexpected to say the very least. “but—that can’t be right.” heeseung spoke up. “it’s obviously a murder, the position of their bodies, and the black rose in their hands… it just doesn’t make sense.”
the chief hummed, putting the files back on his desk. “nothing really makes sense. no forced entry, no signs of struggle, no signs that indicate actual murder. all except the weird position of their bodies and the rose.”
the chief sighed, before looking back at the three of you. “continue with the case. something is very amiss, and we need to get to the bottom of this. keep going with the investigation. all three of you have done a brilliant job till now, so don’t stop yet.”
you and heeseung looked at each other. both of you had done absolutely nothing, jake was the one that did anything at all. but praise was praise, and who were you both to not accept it?
you got up from your seat. “i’ll continue asking around in the second victim’s neighborhood then. see if i get any clues.”
heeseung got up as well. “i’ll go there as well. maybe there’s some kind of evidence we missed out in there.”
jake gave a two finger salute. “i’ll go dig up stuff about the other two victims.”
the chief nodded in appreciation. “very good. please do carry on.”
that same garden. the same prickly vines. same black roses. all of course, drenched in blood. and in the middle of it all, the gazebo. hauntingly beautiful, drenched in crimson. same man standing in the middle of it, staring at you with a look that caused goosebumps to rise all over you.
he offered you his hand. you looked at him in the eyes. should you really trust him? nevertheless, you placed your own hand in his outstretched one, letting him pull you inside the gazebo.
as you stood face to face with him, your curiosity and anxiety, both grew in equal measure. “who are you?”
raising a brow, he smirked. he raised his hand, caressing your cheek. you flinched, but still let him do it. his touch felt strangely comforting, yet your guard remained up. after all, you still had no idea who the hell this guy was.
the look in his eyes had taken over a more melancholic edge, which left you confused. what even were you supposed to make of it? not only was this strange man covered in blood, he wasn’t speaking. and he kept finding ways to touch you. normally that would have rang alarm bells in your head, but as the saying goes, curiosity killed the cat. and you were curious as hell.
“why won’t you speak?” your brows furrowed, as you looked at him. his smirk only widened. he tilted his head, leaning close to your ear. you thought he was going to whisper something, but you were proved wrong quickly, as he bit your ear.
you gasped, trying to move away, but he held onto your waist tightly. soothing the bite with his tongue, he kissed the area. he trailed his kisses down to the bottom of your neck, making your breath hitch. he sucked on that spot, rubbing his tongue over the spot so deliciously, that it had you tilting your head from the pleasure.
a moan accidentally slipped out of you. encouraged, he sucked harder and harder, until he was satisfied. when he pulled his head back, your neck sported a bright red spot, blooming rapidly. satisfied with his work, he finally pulled away.
you snapped back to your senses, stepping away from him. his hands were in his pockets, as he stared at you with his signature smirk. you took another step backward, your hand covering the fast forming hickey on your neck. your head hit the pillar in the process, causing you to gasp.
you gasped, your eyes snapping open. your breathing was labored, as you stared at the ceiling. another dream? of the same man? what was going on? worst of all, you still remembered the dream vividly. the events had your face burning. what the hell was wrong with you?
having a weird feeling, you shot up from the bed, quickly going to your vanity table. you switched on the small light beside it. to your utter horror, there was a hickey forming on your neck. you hadn’t been with anyone recently, hell you hadn’t been with anyone in quite a long time. so how–?
surely, the dream was simply a dream? you couldn’t possibly have gotten the hickey because of… that dream, right? after all, it wasn’t real.
right?
“any news?” the chief asked, as soon as he sat down.
heeseung looked at you. you shrugged, catching his gaze. he too shook his head. once again, the two of you had nothing.
jake spoke up. “well… i did find something unexpected about our second victim.”
chief kang sat up straight. “unexpected, you say?”
jake let out a hum. “yeah. kim seil, the con artist. he used to be victoria’s secret lover back in the day.”
“holy shit…” heeseung’s voice rang out, before he quickly slapped his own palm over his mouth, immediately apologizing for the profanity. but the information was almost incredulous—not that you didn’t trust jake, his ability to dig up information was amazing—so his reaction was completely valid.
jake continued. “before victoria allegedly committed the murder, she used to have an affair with our second victim.”
“huh,” you scoffed. “so the victims do have a pattern.”
he went on. “when victoria gave birth, her husband was suspicious of whether the kid was really his or not. he had been suspicious for the entire duration of her pregnancy, since apparently the timing of her getting pregnant and the two of them sleeping together, did not match up. after the kid was born, he did a paternity test, the result showing that he was in fact, not the father.”
heeseung leaned on his palms. “the tea just keeps getting better and better.”
jake gave him a side eye, before continuing. “upon learning the news, the husband divorced victoria. the actual father, was seil. once victoria got divorced, she actively sought his company, although their affair remained an affair, never growing into something more serious.”
taking a deep breath, he continued. “he visited their kid often, and was quite a present father. when the alleged murder happened, he helped victoria, but ultimately left her, since his kid died under her protection. even so, he shifted to the same town as her, since he felt bad about her mental state.”
you leaned back on your chair. “and then he died. right after her.”
the chief looked at the three of you. “i suppose the three of you have deduced who our main suspect is? if, of course, all the alleged information is in fact true.”
you let out a hum. “the maid’s kid. but–” you looked at jake. “how come all the information is alleged?”
jake shrugged. “it’s all recorded as servant gossip. and all the complaints were by servants too. nothing is proven. so yes, it is all alleged.”
the chief opened a file placed in front of him. “the autopsy report is here. the cause of death is the exact same. undiagnosed diabetes.”
you rubbed your temples, sighing. you suddenly felt very aware of the hickey on your neck, which you spent almost twenty minutes in the morning trying to conceal. not only was there a mystery to solve out there in reality, but also in your dreams. curse your terrible living quarters for your terrible sleep which induced such mind boggling dreams. ones that left marks physically outside of the dream.
once again, you were back in the garden. the gazebo was right in front of you as well. this time, the strange man was looking straight at you.
“i was waiting for you,” he said, pushing himself off the pillar. his voice was beautiful. it had this raspy edge to it that made your knees weak.
you raised a brow. “you finally spoke,”
he only smirked, offering you his hand. “well… you kept me waiting, so i grew impatient. which is why i broke my pattern.”
you tilted your head. warily, you took his hand, letting him pull your inside the gazebo. he was yet again too close to you. but this time, before he could touch you, you stopped him. “don’t.”
his hand froze midway. he raised a brow. “what’s the matter?”
you shook your head. “just… don’t. don’t touch me.”
he clenched his jaw, but stepped back. although reluctantly so. you spoke again. “will you please tell me who you are? it is frustrating to experience these… weird dreams over and over again, whenever i sleep, without knowing anything at all as to what is going on. or even who i keep encountering.”
the man chuckled. “is that so?”
you frowned at his rhetorical question, while he only continued to stare at you with amusement. after a few beats of silence, he spoke, “jungwon.”
you blinked. “jungwon?”
he nodded. “that’s my name.”
furrowing your brows, you tilted your head in confusion. “do you live in our town?”
he shrugged. “something like that.”
your frown became bigger. “what is that supposed to mean?”
he only smirked in response. “find that out yourself, detective.”
his words unintentionally caused your cheeks to flush. ignoring your bodily reactions, you instead focused on his clothes. “why are you always soaked in blood? and in this weird garden?”
his smirk grew wider. “curiosity killed the cat, detective. we should leave some of the mystery for our next meetings.”
you were quick to respond. “but satisfaction brought it back. please, everything is so frustrating and blurry and just out of reach—please answer some of my questions.”
jungwon only shook his head. “i’m afraid this is the best i can do for now. till our next meeting, ___”
you woke up with a gasp, panting as you stared at the ceiling. “jungwon…” you whispered into the night, the name tasting familiar. it rolled off on your tongue perfectly, which made you wonder if you knew him. was he someone from your town? how come you couldn’t remember him?
but right now, you had more important matters to focus on. the rose loving killer’s case, for example.
jake dropped a bunch of files in front of him. “third victim, chae unjeong. a.k.a victoria’s ex husband.”
you looked at heeseung. at this point, neither of you were surprised. the murders were obviously connected, so it made sense that the ex husband was also a victim.
jake continued. “after the divorce, victoria had pleaded her case to unjeong a lot, but with no result. but one of the things victoria told unjeong to guilt trip him into staying was ‘stay for the sake of the child’. even though it ultimately didn’t work, he still probably felt guilty, since the poor child had nothing to do with the whole thing, and was only the product of the affair. so it wouldn’t be fair for it to suffer the consequences. thus, he often sent money in the form of child support for it. obviously, victoria didn’t use the money for those purposes, but that wasn’t in unjeong’s knowledge.”
the chief muttered under his breath, “what a kind hearted man…”
jake nodded, before continuing. “there wasn’t much else in the reports, other than the fact that when the alleged murder happened, he helped victoria as well. but the death of the kid had taken a toll on him too, which is why he shifted to this town.”
the chief hummed, flipping through the file in front of him. “his death was apparently caused by the same thing. undiagnosed diabetes. this killer has to be the most impressive killer across history, except for the fact that he deliberately made it obvious that he murdered his victims. despite the autopsy reports showing otherwise.”
heeseung let out a hum. “i think i will go to each crime site again, and search for evidence in a wider radius. it feels simply impossible that all sorts of evidence is erased from every single crime site.”
you shrugged. “suit yourself. i spent six hours or more each time i went to question entire neighborhoods. i’m more than certain i left out no one, so there is nothing more i can do from my side.”
heeseung got up from his chair. “in that case, i’ll leave alone.” he looked at chief kang. “i hope it’s okay that i’m not taking my team with me either.”
the chief shrugged. “you’re a grown man, with years of experience as a detective. it’s your decision. do what you feel is best.”
heeseung bowed, before stepping out. in the silence that followed, a nagging question that filled your mind ever since the first time you had those weird dreams, surfaced again. usually, you always pushed the question to the back of your mind because of how ridiculous it sounded, but then again, the cause of death for each victim was also pretty ridiculous. so you allowed yourself to ask the question.
was jungwon the killer?
it was already starting to get dark when heeseung arrived at victoria’s house. weeds had already started growing, and a certain smell had started settling down on the entire property. nevertheless, he still trudged ahead.
he had already checked her entire house—twice at that—which wasn’t too hard because of how tiny it was. it wasn’t even a house, more so a cottage. surprising choice, given that she was a chaebol’s daughter. but perhaps losing her own child had driven her to this state.
he went around the property again. the cottage was almost fully empty. there wasn’t much of a point to search it all over again, since even if there really was any kind of evidence left, the killer would definitely have visited again to remove it. they always do.
still, he looked around. there was a pungent smell coming from her bedroom. it had been a week since victoria’s death, so the smell was pretty justified. covering his mouth with a handkerchief, he looked through her dresser, and closet. it was all emptied out, the police having taken everything the day they came to first find her dead in her own bedroom. it was to find any kind of clue as to the cause of her death. unfortunately, as is already known, they were unsuccessful.
but heeseung was obviously not one to give up. not this quickly. he was persistent, and persistence was key when it came to solving such cases. so he overturned the mattress, before ultimately lifting the whole thing up and throwing it on the ground. thankfully he was wearing gloves, because the mattress had holes in it, which were obviously a result of rats chewing through the fabric.
it was a box bed, a fact that he already knew of, given, you know, the fact that he already searched the entire property multiple times. he opened the cover, the inside that was previously filled with sheets and other random objects, was now empty. the police had already confiscated everything.
still, he shone the flashlight inside the box. and thank god he did, because he saw this weird discolored part at the bottom, which was obviously not something he had noticed before. frowning, he pushed down on it, causing it to immediately give away. surprised, he stared at the now square shaped hole in the box.
realizing it was a false bottom, heeseung put his hand inside. his hand immediately came in contact with some sort of paper. groping around, he pulled out a stack of papers. shining the flashlight on them, he realized with a start that they were letters. dozens of them, all stacked at the bottom of the bed.
lifting one off the stack, he quickly realized that the letters were all unsent ones, written by victoria to her child. the first letter he picked up, was just victoria expressing her longing for her child, yearning to see her baby again.
reading through the letters, they all had the same content, victoria’s desperation to see her child again. it was quite sad, really, but she had killed some innocent child’s mother, so he couldn’t bring himself to feel quite sorry for her.
stuffing the letters in his pocket, he explored the rest of the house again. but unlike the bed, nothing else in the house seemed to hide any more secrets. disappointed, he headed out to the backyard. it was already dark now, but he wanted to go home without any regrets.
shining the flashlight on the fence, he explored the entire area. until a part of the fence seemed slightly lose. curious, he held the flashlight with his teeth, before pushing on the fence. he had noticed the hinge long back, but it had seemed locked each time he came to inspect it before. but this time it was different. with a bit more effort, he finally managed to pry it apart.
the fence opened to the woods. looking at the isolated house, there was a big chance that the murderer had come in through the fence. or well, it was just a possibility. he decided to explore a bit, just in case.
he walked quite a distance, before stepping on something uncomfortable. bending down, he shone his flashlight. it was a bunch of dead leaves, but he was certain it felt like something else. digging through the leaves, he came across a used syringe.
he slowly stood up, inspecting the syringe. there seemed to be some kind of residual liquid inside it. but before he could inspect it fully, a sharp pain exploded in the back of his head, making him drop the syringe. clutching his head, he dropped to his knees, groaning from the pain, before eventually blacking out.
when you entered your house, it was completely silent. just like it usually was. except this time, the silence felt… wrong. you were a detective, and years of doing your job had made you more wary of approaching danger. and this time, it was no different.
you looked around cautiously. nothing seemed amiss. still, you walked around with extra caution, hand on your gun, just in case. but even after searching your entire home, there was nothing out of the ordinary. yet, the weird feeling did not go away.
the reason for it soon became apparent, when you reached your bedroom. opening the door, you froze in place. sitting on your bed like he belonged there, was none other than the man from your dreams. jungwon.
your throat dried up. all instincts screamed at you to take your gun out and aim at him, but an unknown fear was gripping you so tightly that moving at all felt impossible.
jungwon on the other hand, was having the time of his life watching you. he tilted his head back with a smirk, enjoying the way an experienced police officer like you was so terrified at the mere sight of him, despite him never having done anything to you.
he patted the space beside him. “won’t you come sit?”
forcing yourself to breathe, you managed to ask, “what the hell are you doing inside my house?”
jungwon chuckled, getting up. “that’s not a very nice way to talk to your guest, is it?”
your hand instinctively reached for your gun, but jungwon was faster. within seconds your hands were pinned to the door, jungwon’s face hovering dangerously close to your own.
“i wouldn’t try that if i were you.” he muttered, eyes unabashedly dropping to your lips. with how fast your heart was beating from the proximity, you almost caved in, before remembering your profession. and the fact that this was an intruder, a complete stranger—what he was trying to do was wrong and unlawful on so many levels.
but jungwon seemed to be able to predict your every move. he suddenly twisted your body, pushing your face towards the door. your back was flush to his chest, as he pinned both your hands over your head with one hand, taking your gun out using the other. lifting the side of your perfectly ironed shirt with the gun, he teased your bare skin with it, running the gun back and forth on your waist.
“don’t even try, sweetheart. if i wanted to kill you, i wouldn’t need a gun. and trust me when i say you’re no match for me.”
you were scared, terrified even. this wasn’t a predicament you ever thought you would find yourself in. i mean, come on, you’re trained for these situations. you know self defence. so why is it so hard to do anything to defend yourself against a guy you know only from your dreams? more so, why was he so goddamn strong?
jungwon put his face into the crook of you neck, taking in a deep inhale. god, you smelled just the way he remembered. he couldn’t help but lick a stripe up your neck, ignoring your gasp of horror. he lightly bit and sucked all over the area, trying to leave marks.
you sighed, the pleasure starting to overwhelm your rational brain. which was pretty dumb on your part, but after being touch starved for so long, you were… really sensitive. so you tilted your head, giving him more access. right on que, he sucked harder, pressing himself further into you. he threw the gun to the side, instead pushing his hand inside your shirt, opting to grope you without any obstacles.
he pushed his hand up, inside your bra, squeezing the soft flesh of your boobs. pulling his hand out, he unhooked your bra, before going right back to groping your tits. this time, without resistance. he pinched your perked up nipples, drawing whines out of you. you bit down on your bottom lip, trying to muffle any further sounds.
jungwon rolled your nipples in between his fingers, before flicking them. the way he was playing with them made them even more sensitive than before, your whines growing louder, gradually more unrestrained. slick started seeping out of your pussy, dampening your panties. you rubbed your legs trying to relieve the tension.
jungwon noticed. of course he did, he noticed everything about you. he knew everything about you. every. single. goddamn. thing. what put you off, what got you going, everything. so, when your whines started turning shaky, he smirked. he stopped groping your chest, opting to fiddle with your pants instead.
he popped the button open, pulling down your zipper along with it. pushing his hand inside your soaked panties, he was immediately met with your slick coated folds. he lightly ran one finger lightly across your folds, collecting your slick. you let out a muffled whimper at the feeling, clenching around nothing.
jungwon casually rubbed light circles around your clit, stimulating you further, trying to make your whines louder. he flicked your clit upwards, pinching it. he opted to rubbing it harshly, your broken gasps and whines for him to stop not deterring him in the slightest. in fact, it only encouraged him to continue abusing your clit further.
besides, he knew you didn’t actually want him to stop. he had spied on enough of your solo sessions to know what you liked, what you did not, and what actually made you cum. so he continued to rub your clit harshly with his thumb, inserting two fingers inside your drooling hole.
your whines grew louder, as you squeezed down on his fingers, hard. jungwon paid no heed, instead focusing on thrusting shallowly on your upper wall, listening to your broken moans in satisfaction. the added stimulation was making your head spin, your knees growing weaker by the minute.
you could feel jungwon’s rock hard boner pressing insistently against your ass, while he continued to abuse your pussy. it was all starting to become too much, too good, your brain growing hazy from the intense pleasure, when suddenly that nagging question came back to your mind–
is jungwon the killer you’re looking for?
the thought successfully brought you back to reality. with all your strength, you threw a kick at jungwon, as best as you could while being pushed face first into a door with your hands held captive, and your pussy being abused incessantly. you aimed the kick towards his balls, but missed—obviously—hitting his shin instead.
jungwon hissed at the pain. instead of flinching and letting you go like you had hoped, he dragged you towards your bed, taking his hand—now coated with your fluids—out of your dripping cunt. he pushed you head first into the pillow, practically sneering, “such an ungrateful brat.”
he opened your nightstand, taking your spare handcuffs out—how the fuck did he know they were there?—and used them to cuff your hands together. you didn’t know why you weren’t able to fight back at all, it was as if some unknown force was dulling your senses. it was frustrating, highly so. what was the point in being one of the best officers on the force if you couldn’t stop some random guy from forcing himself onto you?
jungwon pushed your ass up, forcing you to bend your knees. he was done being nice, since you were so insistent on being uncooperative. he forced your pants down, purposely letting them fall only to your knees instead of pulling them down all the way. restricting your movements even further this way.
he pushed your shirt and bra up to pool near your neck, uncaring if it affected your already dulled senses. it was what he wanted anyways. he slapped your bare ass cheek, squeezing the flesh in his palm. you bit your lip, muffling a sob, your face burning hot from the humiliation and self loathing. how could you possibly be wet in such a scenario? why was your body such a traitor?
his eyes were dark, as he stared at your fluttering hole. your slick kept dripping out, wetting the sheets, because of how worked up you were. dipping his thumb into your soaked folds, he lightly massaged your lips, adding to your humiliation. you whined, squirming. jungwon slapped your ass in warning again, to make you lie still.
getting impatient, he fiddled with his zipper, pulling his pants down just enough to pull his throbbing cock out. feeling his bare tip rub against your sensitive folds had you flinching, a fresh batch of tears gathering in your waterline. you felt useless, so fucking useless. were you really that weak? was it really that hard to fight back?
jungwon didn’t know about the self loathing thoughts he was causing you to have, nor would he have cared if he got to know about them. all he cared about was how good it felt just to rub against you, skin to skin, your slick making it too easy for him.
it wasn’t even your fault that you couldn’t do anything to protest, really. jungwon just knew all your weaknesses already. there wasn’t anything you could do to stop him. except for enjoying what he was giving you, of course.
the way he kept grinding on your bare cunt sent shockwaves of pain and pleasure up your spine, the overstimulation getting to you. your brain was going into overdrive, somehow starting to register only the pleasure. more slick poured out of you, coating his dick in a sheen of your arousal, much to his delight.
but jungwon had waited too long for this. he couldn’t wait any longer. he slowly pushed his bulbous tip inside you, his cock dragging across your walls so very deliciously. you couldn’t help but moan at the intrusion, your body completely at his mercy.
when he finally bottomed out in you, it felt like heaven to him. and unfortunately for you, you felt the same way. being touch starved for so long, it felt a bit too good to be so filled up. jungwon knew just how you felt, and fortunately for you, he intended to make it feel good. so that you never ever thought of any other cock filling you up ever again.
pulling out almost all the way, he pushed right back in, making you splutter, somehow feeling more full than you were before. his grip on your hip was tight, tight enough to bruise. pulling out slightly again, he set an almost brutal pace, one that left you dizzy from how good it felt.
he was hitting all the right spots, something your previous hookups had never managed to do. it felt good, almost too good to be true. you didn’t even realize you were moaning, until jungwon squeezed on your neck, lightly choking you. his other hand was gripping your waist tightly, which was the only thing holding you up. your legs were shaking from his intensity, shaking under his unrelenting thrusts.
suddenly, he stopped. he let go of your neck, pulling you up by your waist, making you sit up on your knees. the new angle allowed him to go even deeper, hitting your g-spot continuously. the feeling had you blabbering nonsense, half sobbing, half moaning. he used his other hand to rub circles on your clit, stimulating you even further.
sparks of pleasure shot up your spine, making you cry out from the intense pleasure. the knot in your stomach was growing tighter and tighter, making you wish you weren’t handcuffed, desperately needing to hold on to something. jungwon continued to rub and pinch your bundle of nerves, making you feel like you were on fire.
the coil in your stomach finally snapped. your pussy clamped around his length like a vice, almost pushing him out. your orgasm hit you hard, washing over you like a tsunami, making your eyes roll from the feeling. jungwon’s own orgasm got triggered, as he snapped his hips up into yours one last time, balls slapping against your clit.
he shot ropes and ropes of warm cum inside you, holding your spasming body against his. your walls kept squeezing around him, milking him for every last drop. once he was done, he slowly pulled out his flaccid cock, watching the mixture of his and your cum drip down onto the bed.
carefully laying you down, he took out the tissues from the drawer in the nightstand,—again, how did he know they were there?—using them to wipe both of you clean. he unlocked the handcuffs, lightly massaging your sore wrists. your eyes were closed, as you were on the verge of unconsciousness. right as you were about to fully pass out, he said one last thing.
“don’t worry princess, i’ll be back soon.”
“i’m glad you guys are here, despite it being so early.” the chief spoke, as he walked ahead of you. you glanced at jake, who looked just as confused as you were.
“has another body been found?” you asked, already knowing the answer. what other possible reason could there be to get called upon so early, if not for the appearance of more dead bodies?
“i’m afraid so. apparently someone was taking a walk in the woods and discovered the body. he immediately called us, and upon a little questioning, it was found that the description of the body matched the rest of the victims.”
you nodded, even though the chief couldn’t see you. jake spoke up. “where is heeseung? isn’t he coming.”
chief shrugged. “i called him, but it went straight to voice mail. shot him a text but i was left on delivered. perhaps he is still asleep.”
you frowned. that was very unlikely of heeseung. he was a very light sleeper, even someone’s slightly loud breathing could wake him up. you knew because early in your careers the two of you had hooked up a couple of times, and you woke him up quite often in the night, every time you shifted to your side. it was part of why you both didn’t make it into an arrangement, along with the fact that he started dating someone.
“we are almost there.” the chief announced, as you neared a house. you raised a brow. that was victoria’s house.
the chief pushed through the gates, going inside the property. he walked around the house, the two of you, and your subordinates closely following. behind the house, a part of the fence was agape, the fence gate being wide open.
all of you went through it one by one, going into the woods. after walking for a good ten minutes, the chief stopped dead in his tracks. confused, you peaked from behind him. the sight that greeted you had your blood freezing.
there, lying on the ground, skin starting to turn ashy, legs straightened, hands carefully posed, while holding a black rose to his chest, lay heeseung.
you stared at him for what felt like several minutes, before realizing your hands were shaking. suddenly becoming hyper aware of your surroundings, you looked at jake. he didn’t seem to be taking the news too well either, his eyes way wider than you have ever seen.
as you looked back at heeseung’s corpse, you felt bile rising to your throat. all the times you guys laughed together, called each other lame, drank together—every single memory that you had of him, rushed through your mind like a movie fast forwarded.
unable to control yourself any longer, you moved to the side, running towards some random tree, before retching. you felt someone hold your hair up, but you couldn’t care less. you puked pure bile, your throat stinging. once you were done, you choked on your sobs.
getting up, you turned around to see jake, his own eyes filled with tears. he offered you a bottle of water, ignoring which, you hugged him tightly, sobbing into his jacket. he hugged you back just as tightly, his own tears wetting your shirt.
the chief cleared his throat. his voice cracked, as he spoke. “please escort him with dignity.”
the people who brought the stretcher carefully lifted heeseung’s body, taking him inside the ambulance. you watched the ambulance leave with teary eyes, before you started crying again.
outside the autopsy room, you and jake paced impatiently, waiting for news. the two of you had insisted on the autopsy to be done sooner than normal, determined more than ever to crack down the case. the killer had crossed a line by killing of a dear friend, he had to pay.
the doors to the room creaked open, both of you snapping your necks towards the source of the noise simultaneously. the guy wordlessly handled a file to you, shaking his head.
your shoulders sagged, but you weren’t ready to give up. opening the file, you scanned the pages, jake peering past your shoulder. the same ‘undiagnosed diabetes’ stared up at the two of you, along with something that stirred hope within the two of you.
mild concussion of the back of the head.
bingo. a small clue. minuscule, really, but a clue nonetheless. but then the hope quickly diminished. “heeseung went to victoria’s house to find any clues he missed out. the killer probably got to him there.” you spoke in a hollow voice.
jake hummed. “but… isn’t it odd?”
you frowned, looking at him. “what is?”
jake shook his head. “i mean, every murder happened while the victim was asleep. heeseung was killed out in the open, near one of the crime sites. doesn’t that seem weird to you?”
you blinked, looking back at the file. “it does… it certainly does.”
jake continued. “what if… what if he isn’t part of any pattern? what if he was killed because he found something? some sort of clue that would link the killer’s identity to the murders?”
the realization dawned on you. “sim jaeyun, you’re a fucking genius.”
he blushed. “i only meant it as a possibility. a mere speculation.” he said humbly.
you shook your head. “nope. you’re right. you’re absolutely correct. there isn’t another possible explanation to this, which makes it the truth, not just a speculation.”
jake scratched the back of his head. “well… what do we do then?”
you raised a brow. “isn’t it obvious? we do what we do best. i sketch and you dig up information.”
“look ma’am, i need you to think harder. this person is a serial killer, it is important we catch him quickly. so please try to remember.”
the woman looked genuinely sorry. “i’m really sorry dear, but i can’t remember anyone or anything out of the ordinary that i can remember from the past few days. i’m sorry i couldn’t be of much help.”
you sighed in disappointment. “that’s alright ma’am, i’m sorry to have taken up so much of your time.”
you and your team left the house, going to the car. your assistant spoke. “ma’am, we have already covered all the houses. would you like to get going?”
you sighed, wanting to cry. you didn’t want to give up so soon, but there really didn’t seem to be much of a choice. “i suppose so…”
just then, a voice shouted from somewhere in the distance. “miss, wait!”
you looked towards the source. a boy in his teens was running towards you. almost tripping on his feet, he finally stood in front of you, panting heavily. you looked at him with concern. “are you alright?”
he nodded quickly, before taking in a deep breath. “i saw a stranger last night near… that lamppost. i know everyone in town, so i’m quite positive this person is not from here.”
your eyes widened, as you quickly spoke to double check. “you sure?”
he boy nodded. “i’m positive.”
your adrenaline had spiked. “can you describe him?”
the boy squinted his eyes. “uh… i can try?”
“good.” you said, immediately signaling your assistant to grab your sketchbook and pencil. “start describing.”
“well… the light was flickering, so i only saw him for like two seconds, before he was gone, but uh… he had pale skin? and black hair. his face was soft, i guess. not too rugged or anything. his eyes were kind of big, almost almond shaped? and he had a straight nose, full lips, and a pretty sharp jawline. oh, and he was handsome. like, i’m not gay or anything, but damn that man was attractive.”
as he spoke, your hand moved, quickly. as you drew, you added your own details, something which made you quickly realize that you knew this person. with increasing dread, you continued drawing, a full face quickly forming.
once you were done, you showed the drawing to the teen. “is this the guy?”
you gave him a dry smile, before looking back at your sketch book. the hauntingly real face of jungwon stared right back at you.
chief was quiet, as he stared down at his cup of coffee, absent mindedly stirring it. your throat felt restricted, as you stared at heeseung’s empty seat. disgust rose to your throat in the form of bile, upon realizing that jungwon must have visited you after killing heeseung.
jake cleared his throat. “uhm… I looked through all of heeseung's records. it's completely clean. nothing in there outside of the information we already know. orphaned at a young age, studied hard, got a scholarship—then ditched it to join the police academy.”
chief sighed softly. “thank you jake."
jake didn't reply, sitting down. noticing how tense you were, he reached out, putting his hand on your knee. rubbing gentle circles on it.
you looked at him, giving him a half smile to thank him. you had to look away quickly, not wanting him to see your tears.
“we must be close to figuring out who the killer is. must have been why he chose to kill off one of our best officers." the chief spoke, his voice quieter than usual.
you sniffled, muffling a small sob. wordlessly, you took out your sketch book, sliding it over to him. he looked up at you, before flipping through it, stopping at jungwon’s face. he frowned, before his eyes widened. "is this–?”
you didn't trust yourself to speak, so you nodded. the chief gave you a look that showed he was genuinely impressed. “good job, officer ___, good job.”
you only bowed your head lightly. you didn't know if the picture of jungwon at all made things better, or if it only complicated things more.
the chief took one last look at the sketch book, before passing it back to you. “i assume you will send me and everyone else on the force a picture of this?"
you nodded.
the chief let out a hum. “in that case, you both can leave now. today's work is done. go home and take some rest. you both need it. and–” he looked at the two of you. "don't let today's loss deter you both from our goal. this killer is trying to discourage us from finding him. don't let him succeed.”
you felt a fresh batch of tears forming in your eyes at his words. so you kept silent. jake nodded. "i’ll try to find more information about all of our victims."
the chief nodded. he looked at you. “you needn't do anything else, officer ___. finding the face of our killer is good enough. please go home and rest.
you swallowed the lump in your throat, nodding. standing up, you bowed. "i’ll take my leave now.”
the chief nodded again. "off with you two then.”
jake’s apartment was messy, fitting in with the computer science nerd stereotype. his desk was cluttered, everything astray. yet for him, nothing was out of place. in fact, he knew exactly where everything was, despite the mess.
carefully navigating through his organized mess, jake picked up some files he had brought home. they contained all the information he had gathered about the first three victims, and some more. he began flipping through the pages, wanting to find out anything else that might be relevant. anything important that he might have missed.
thing is, there were at least a dozen files in total. he hadn’t even gone through all of them yet, but still found quite a lot of useful information. although it was clearly not enough, since now they had in their hands the face of the killer, someone none of them recognized. which meant that this person didn’t belong to their town.
which made the questions arise: if according to previous clues, the killer is the child of a dead maid looking to avenge his mother, how come he is a face no one recognizes? how come he is in town, but hasn’t been spotted even once? other than when one eye witness accidentally spotted him?
questions, so many of them. yet their answers remained unknown. flipping through one of the files at the bottom of the stack, a hand recorded conversation caught his attention.
“i’m telling you right now officer, these new people in town are monsters, monsters i say!”
“that’s a serious accusation, sir. are you sure you’re not simply mistaken? news of your alzheimer’s has spread throughout the entire town, you know.”
“officer, you have to believe me! they killed a child! and hid away another! i heard them talking about it the other day! you must arrest them at once—who knows what else they are capable of?”
“mr. choi, i’m sure you’re mistaken. please go home and rest. make sure to take your medicine on time—i’ve heard you’re being quite stubborn while taking it?”
“fine, don’t believe me. but when these monsters do something worse, don’t tell me i didn’t warn you!”
given the date and time in the file, it wasn’t hard to estimate that the so-called ‘monsters’ mentioned in the file were the first three victims. especially since the fate of the two children mentioned there matched perfectly with the information he already found out.
he sighed, putting the files away. opening up his computer, he went back to the old articles about victoria. said articles were written by very small and unknown journalists, which was why they weren’t too popular—and consequently, very hard to find. scrolling through them, he quickly started becoming bored. they were all the same, nothing that he hadn’t already found out.
right as he was about to give up, a link to another article was provided in one of the comments under an article he had already read three times. clicking on the link, he was taken to a different tab, a different article on display.
this one apparently contained highly classified information, based on a conversation a reporter had with a servant of victoria, one who requested anonymity. skimming through it, a particular part caught his attention.
“—according to our source, victoria’s own child hadn’t actually died, and was in fact alive in the hospital. as the saying goes, walls have ears, our source having eavesdropped on victoria’s phone calls, figuring out exactly what happened to the kid. apparently her child fell into a coma, and was likely to forget everything upon waking up, as a trauma response. following which, victoria had secretly sent away her child to some other place to protect it from any future possible threats. meanwhile, the child of the maid she murdered, was sent away to an abusive foster home, presumably to die, since she didn’t want to get her hands dirty a second time. our source also mentioned that victoria had indeed succeeded in doing so, since she had delightedly shared the news of the child’s passing to her lover. our source also mentioned that–”
jake blanked out. the maid’s child was… dead? victoria’s own child was alive? what. the. fuck? that just made the case a shit ton more complicated than it already was.
looking back at his screen, he was about to scroll further, when suddenly a sharp pain struck the back of his head, accompanied with the dull sound of heavy metal colliding with something hard—in this case, his head.
he clutched the back of his head, his vision swimming. with difficulty, he tried turning around, only to be hit again. this time, he successfully passed out.
you had been staring at the ceiling for at least a couple of hours now. upon reaching home, you had immediately collapsed on the couch, staring up at the ceiling numbly. to think that heeseung was just… gone? it was too much to process, even after the autopsy had already been conducted.
your eyes burned, but you didn’t even have the energy to cry. to think that jungwon had probably killed heeseung before coming to your house and defiling you—and for you to have enjoyed it to a certain extent—it made you want to crawl out of your own skin.
speaking of which, your entire body felt itchy, dirty, disgusting—despite you having already showered in the morning. but maybe another shower was just what you needed, to get rid of his disgusting touch from your skin.
getting up, you headed to the bathroom. your clothes were drenched in sweat from the entire day’s activities, stripping them away and welcoming the cold air on your skin felt like heaven already.
turning up the water temperature, you let the tub fill half way, before stepping in. you instantly felt relieved, the tension leaving your muscles. picking up a bath bomb you had gotten earlier during the year on your birthday, you dropped it in the water, causing it to immediately explode, flooding the water. the smell was exceptionally relaxing, making you sigh and close your eyes, relaxing yourself further.
but you couldn’t relax for too long, since the sound of the door to the bathroom opening interrupted your calm. you sat up in horror, drawing your knees up to your chest.
it was jungwon.
he strolled in like he was taking a walk at the park, looking down at you with a smirk. “why do you look so surprised, pretty? i told you i was gonna come back.”
your hands shook from where they were shielding your chest. you stared up at him with terrified eyes. “why are you…?”
he raised a brow. “why am i here? i already told you, i was going to come back.”
you couldn’t breathe. now that you knew that he had killed heeseung, you felt a lot more terrified of him than before. “are you going to kill me as well?”
jungwon looked at you like you had grown a pair of horns atop your head. “kill you? god, no. of course not. why would i kill you?”
that reassured you. a little bit. “then…?”
he smirked, starting to pop open the buttons on his dress shirt one-by-one. “isn’t it obvious, beautiful?”
your eyes widened, as you quickly looked at your pants, which had your gun attached to the belt. if you were quick, you could reach it. but of course, jungwon wouldn’t let you do that.
“that wouldn’t be a very smart thing to do, princess.” he said, making you snap your gaze back to him. his smirk never left, as he turned to look at the gun.
to your astonishment, and utter horror, it began floating, before flying across the bathroom, to the furthest corner. if you tried getting it now, jungwon would easily stop you. but the question remained: how the fuck did he make the gun levitate?
“wha—how?!”
jungwon chuckled. “there’s so many things you don’t know, ___”
he had already taken off all his clothes, going and sitting inside the bathtub with you. he leaned back casually, staring at you with a look that told you precisely all you needed to know—he had the upper hand over you, and there was nothing you could do about it.
he gestured to you with his hand. "come here princess."
you shook your head, not trusting yourself to speak. you drew your knees in closer, locking them in place with your hands around them.
his expression changed. "don't test my patience ___. come here while i'm still being nice."
you gulped, shaking your head again.
his expression hardened further. "i won't repeat myself again. come. here."
swallowing the lump in your throat, you shook your head again.
he sighed, giving you an almost disappointed look. "i didn't want to do this, really. but you leave me no choice."
you frowned, wondering what he was referring to. but he didn't let you wonder too much, as he flicked his wrist. with a gasp, you suddenly landed on his lap, your hands clumsily landing on his shoulders, aware of how your very bare lower halves were rubbing against each other.
you tried getting up, getting away from him, but his grip on your waist was tight. too tight. how the fuck was he so strong?
"don't bother trying princess. save your energy for later."
you let out a shuddering breath, helpless tears slipping down your face. "why are you doing this to me? what have i done to you?"
jungwon didn't answer. leaning forward, he licked a stripe up your cheek, the salty, yet invigorating taste of your defeat invading his taste buds. sometimes he felt sorry for you. truly, he did. you, as naive as you were, you had no idea about the truth. the truth which so very often threatened to rear its ugly head, threatening to ruin everything in a single slip up—the truth that everyone worked so hard to bury beneath the surface, with layers of nothing but blankets woven with lies. so yes, he felt sorry for you at times. but then he reminded himself why he started all of this in the first place.
but deep down, a part of him questioned it all: was it still revenge, or had it bent into something completely different?
you see, he hates you. hates you for something you were never actually a part of. any of… what had happened—but he still blamed you. how come you get to escape the aftermath of everything, but he doesn't? why was he the only one that had to suffer the consequences of something he never did? whereas you, another witness of the same goddamn crime gets to escape it all? why the discrimination?
was it simply because you were not as old as he was? was it because you couldn't comprehend what had actually happened? he tried, really did, to find reasons to excuse you. to let you off the hook. but perhaps there was more to it than he allowed himself to admit. more to the faux 'hate' he claimed to have in his heart for you. afterall, the strongest emotions to exist are often confused for one another.
but this was no time to contemplate such trivial things. right now, watching you fight your own body to try (and fail) to not fall apart in his hands was a lot more important. especially by making you initiate it yourself.
he pulled you closer to him, hugging your body to his, as he sucked at the spot under your jaw. one hand remained on your waist, the other further up your back. the position was intimate—it almost felt like the two of you were simply lovers getting carried away while bathing together—if it wasn't for your weak attempts at trying to push him away.
jungwon wanted to scoff at you. you weren't fooling anybody, if your pathetic attempts at muffling your moans were anything to go by. god, you were so easy. perhaps this was another reason he did what he was doing.
he pushed you further into him, letting go of your neck to kiss you instead. he wasn't being aggressive like you initially thought he would be. no, he was taking his time with you, kissing you slowly, sensually. almost like it was all consensual.
but god, with the way he made you feel, you might as well lean into it.
you didn't know when the water in the tub drained, but suddenly the pressure was off your lower halves. as you broke the kiss to breathe, you noticed the bottom unplugged. which meant the slipperiness where your cunt rubbed against his cock was because you were wet.
you wanted to blame it on jungwon. on your body for betraying you. for making you feel instead of grieving for your friend that was murdered. for making you enjoy being violated by the same guy that killed heeseung. anything to feel less guilty for doing what you were.
you didn't want to grind on him, you just… couldn't help yourself. he was making you feel like your entire body was on fire, electric shocks running up your spine every time he touched you. it was exhilarating. even if the voice in the back of your head screamed at you for betraying every one by letting yourself go.
but that was the thing, wasn't it? why shouldn't you be selfish for once? the entire circumstances were strange—the way you knew him, the things you knew he was capable of doing—all of it was strange. but none of it changed how real he made you feel.
so you allowed yourself to tilt your head back. to moan, to feel—because it might just be the last time you ever did.
jungwon grinded up into you, both feeling and seeing your initial hesitance melt away in real time, giving space for your real feelings to shine through. he had you right where he wanted, and he couldn't be more smug about it all.
holding your hips with both hands, he guided your movements, the sounds of your slick and your moans gradually taking over the entire space. if anything, it made his cock harder, twitching against your slick folds. god he wished he could just shove himself into you right fucking now—but that would ruin the fun, wouldn't it? he needed you to do it yourself. given how desperate you were getting, he was pretty sure you were getting way to close to doing so yourself.
true to his prediction, you let out the most pathetic whine he had ever had the pleasure of hearing from you, as you rocked your hips even more desperately over his. "please…"
jesus fucking christ. you really were desperate. "please what, angel?"
you let out another whine. "please—h-hah—fuck me?"
god, you knew exactly what you were doing to him, weren't you? "should i?"
you whimpered, your cunt practically throbbing from the lack of attention. you needed him to be inside you, or you were sure you would combust right there. so you lifted yourself up slightly, reaching one of your hands down to grab his twitching cock, clumsily lining him up to your folds, before sitting down, shoving him deep inside you. the 'splat' sound of your thighs slapping together echoing through the room.
the two of you let out collective moans, both of you a throbbing mess. you clenched, and unclenched around him, the wonderful feeling of finally being able to feel something so real while ignoring your conscience was… an experience to say the least. pressing your lips to his again, your hands found purchase on his shoulders. lifting yourself up, you dropped down again, his cock dragging across your gummy walls at the best possible angle.
jungwon gripped your waist—not hard enough to bruise, but just enough to guide your movements. he silently encouraged you to go faster, by bouncing you harder on top of him. your arousal dripped, and dripped, past his balls, wetting his thighs. the constant sound of your ass slapping against his balls filled the space, along with your your muffled moans.
you broke the kiss when your lungs started burning. jungwon focused on your neck instead, determined to fill the entire expanse with his marks. he trailed kisses across your jaw, sucking hickeys there too. his hickeys spread down to your collarbones, as his hands came up to grope your tits. sometimes his actions got a little too intense, causing you to clench down hard on him, which in turn caused him to twitch, small spurts of cum spilling into you. he wasn't embarrassed in the slightest, especially since it seemed to turn you on impossibly more.
your bouncing would slow down at times, but never coming to a full stop. sometimes you grinded onto him instead if it really became too much. but fuck, it was all too good to stop.
but all good things eventually come to an end. you were starting to feel overstimulated, your legs becoming sore as well, despite not being nearly close. fortunately for you, jungwon seemed to notice.
using one hand to support your waist, he used to other to rub light circles around your clit. when your moans started turning into whines, he pinched your engorged nub, before flicking on the sensitive bud. your nerve ending were already on fire, but he then started rubbing on it harshly, causing your moans to practically into screams.
you could feel your orgasm approaching steadily, the knot in your stomach growing tighter and tighter. when you felt it right on the tip of your tongue, jungwon started to shallowly thrust up into you. your orgasm crashed down on you like never before, your eyes rolling back till only the whites were visible. the gush of liquid pushed his cock out, but he pushed right back in, his own orgasm approaching quickly.
holding you in place, he pistoned his hips into you at an almost brutal pace, before making you sit flush on top of his cock, as he shot out ropes of warm cum straight into your cunt. your walls fluttered around him, your body slumping on his. you felt tired, so, so tired.
jungwon patted your head. it was ironic, how soft he was being with you, despite telling himself that this was all to punish you. since when had punishments felt almost like an act of love?
"sleep." he said, in this almost echoing voice. immediately, you were knocked out. he held your body close to his, staring down at the top of your head. he should kill you. it would be the right thing to do. you couldn't even defend yourself in this state. so what was stopping him?
was it his conscience? bullshit, he didn't have one. so why was he doing the opposite of what he originally planned?
he decided he didn't want to keep cuddling you like a lover while contemplating all this. so, he did what he thought was the best thing to do as of now. clean you up, put you to bed, and leave. silently. without leaving any traces of him ever being there in the first place. after all, leaving without a trace was something he excelled at.
anxiety gripped your heart like a vice, as you glared at jake's empty seat.
"officer ___, please, take a seat."
you shook your head. "where is jake? is he running late?"
chief kang didn't say anything, opting to stare at his lap.
you grew more and more frantic by the second. "he is running late, right? right?"
chief looked at you with sad eyes. "please, sit down." his voice was gentle, barely above a whisper.
you dropped to your seat with a thud, vision growing blurry. "no…"
chief sighed softly. "his landlord called us upon finding his limp body on his desk. the killer didn't bother with his usual theatrics this time, leaving the rose beside his head instead of laying him down like the other victims. there are visible injuries on his head as well. the autopsy has almost been finished by now."
your hands were shaky. "why wasn't i informed earlier?"
chief kang gave you an apologetic gaze. "you are already under a lot of pressure, i didn't want to add to it."
you looked at him with indignation, despite the tears running down your face. "i'm part of the force too! jake and heeseung were more than just my coworkers, they were my friends! i should have been the first person to be informed of this!"
chief nodded. "i understand dear, but please trust me when i say i did this out of good will. you have already done a lot, and i didn't want to work you up further."
you shook your head. "you don't understand, i–" a sudden thought struck you. you knew the killer. you have met him. despite the circumstances being strange, you should let the chief know, right? because… what if the next target is you? even if he said he wouldn't kill you? after all, why should you trust a killer, who also liked to play with you? both physically and psychologically?
so you did what you thought was best. "i… i know the killer. i have met him."
the chief's eyes widened in disbelief. "what?"
you shrank into your seat. "you don't believe me…"
the chief shook his head. "no no, of course i believe you. i was just surprised."
you took in a deep breath. "well—what i'm about to say now, that is something you may not believe. but i need you to understand that everything i will say is the truth and the truth only. i swear i will not lie or leave out any details whatsoever."
the chief nodded, giving you the green light to continue. swallowing the lump in your throat, you started speaking. you told him everything—every single dream, the full details of what happened, how the hickey manifested onto your neck outside of the dream, how he came to your house twice and forced himself onto you, how he literally levitated a gun and even you—every single detail.
when you finally finished, the chief was… shocked, to say the very least. "so statistically speaking… there is a chance that you're next."
you nodded. chief kang massaged his temples. "there is something we can do…" he looked at you with a very serious look in his eyes. "but you must be very discreet about it, understand?"
it was a lot later than usual when you finally reached your house. the silence in your house was nothing out of the ordinary, yet you felt a chill up your spine.
reaching your bedroom, you hesitated. your gut told you to run, run as far away as possible. but you ignored it, opening the door anyways.
as expected, jungwon was sitting on the bed. he was staring intently at a page in your sketchbook—presumably his own picture. he looked up at you, signature smirk back on his face. "you're late."
you swallowed the lump in your throat. "work." was all you said, your voice hollow.
he tilted his head. "are you unhappy about something?"
you stared at him, unblinking. "you killed two of my dear friends."
his smirk widened, but he didn't answer. looking back down at your sketchbook, he commented. "you're awfully talented. it's like staring at a mirror."
you clenched your fist, but forced yourself to remain calm. "what exactly is it that you want?"
jungwon looked up at you in surprise. "what do i want? why, i thought i had made it quite obvious from the very beginning?"
you frowned. sensing your confusion, jungwon offered. "you. it is you that i want. was it not obvious?"
you scoffed in surprise. "what?"
he let out a hum, getting up. he came and stood in front of you, hands behind his back. "why is it so hard to believe, princess?"
you shook your head, finding him ridiculous. "tormenting me through weird dreams, killing my friends, forcing yourself onto me multiple times—you did it all because you want me? what kind of a fucked up logic is that?"
he smirked again. "believe it or not, that's your choice. you asked me a question, and i merely answered it."
you glared at him. "in that case, i suppose you won't mind answering some more questions?"
he raised a brow. "shoot and find out."
so you began. "the first three victims—did you kill them because of revenge?"
"mhm."
"why? are you the son of the maid who victoria killed?"
jungwon scoffed. "my mother was no maid. she and victoria were childhood friends, and she went to visit her the day she died."
you frowned. so that meant some of the information you had was inaccurate. "how exactly did she die?"
he tilted his head. "i thought you already knew that victoria killed her. stabbed her with a knife."
you slowly nodded. "and you were there to witness it."
he nodded, so you continued. "why exactly did she kill her?"
his smirk returned. "you have noticed me doing things that seem… unusual, yes?"
you raised a brow. "you mean appearing in my dreams and levitating objects? then yes, i have."
his smirk widened. "my mother, in simple terms, was a witch. her abilities were something i inherited. victoria fought with my mother, because she was the only person who knew of her abilities. she threatened to reveal it to the public, if my mother didn't teach her how she did what she did."
"obviously she couldn't do so, since those powers could only be inherited. victoria, being a temperamental bitch, stabbed my mother over it. because victoria was a dear friend of hers, she couldn't defend herself, and the knife had struck a vital area, so she quickly stopped breathing. the servants had an inaccurate version of the whole ordeal since my mother created an illusion for them. she couldn't risk everyone finding out about her powers. but obviously the illusion didn't work on me, since that time my mind was pure. pure souls cannot be fooled by illusions."
you frowned. "what happened to you after all of it?"
he scoffed lightly. "they put me in an abusive foster house and paid them to kill me. but i killed them first, and mimicked their voices over the phone and told them that i was the one that died. fuckin' dumbasses believed it."
you blinked slowly, trying to wrap your head around it all. "how did you kill them? was it also using your… powers?"
he smirked. "only to an extent. i used a syringe to pump a few doses of insulin under their tongues. that's why they seemed to die of undiagnosed diabetes."
"what about the roses? what did they signify?"
he tilted his head, leaning down slightly. staring dead into your eyes, he spoke. "why, they symbolized you of course."
you blinked several times, staring at him in shock. "me?"
he raised a brow. "of course, rosie. they symbolize you."
you shook your head. "rosie?"
he stared at you, the look in his eyes causing your heart to practically thump out of your chest. "that's your name. don't you remember?"
you shook your head, stepping back. "what the fuck are you talking about right now?"
he took a step forward, towards you. "don't you remember? you were there when my mother was killed."
your eyes widened. "what?"
he took another step towards you. "she was killed by your mother, after all."
it was as if the entire world stopped. the air was knocked out of you, a dull ringing began in your ears. long back, when you bumped into victoria in the market, she had grabbed you and called you rosie.
rosie! oh my darling rose, i missed you…
an image flashed in front of your eyes. a colorful bedroom, a beautiful woman—your mom—sitting in front of you, gazing at you with the fondest smile, as she fed you neatly sliced and peeled apples. "say aaaah…"
the scene changed. your mother—victoria—arguing with a man. "look at her, she is just a baby! she doesn't deserve this! won't you come back for her sake?"
the scene changed. a different man, your father—seil—teaching you how to make paper airplanes. "and then you throw it into the wind, like that—good job!"
the scene changed again. your mother arguing with another woman. a boy few years older than you stood beside you, watching the scene beside you from the top of the stairs. suddenly, victoria charged at the unfamiliar woman with a knife, stabbing her.
blood splattered onto the floor. the shocked faces of both your mother and the woman imprinted into your brain, as your vision swam. as you fell, the boy looked at you in panic, trying to catch you, but failed. your head hit the ground, and you rolled down the stairs.
you snapped back to reality. jungwon was looming over you with a smirk. he glanced down at your necklace. "is that enough information for your backup, or do they need more?"
the chief looked at the rest of the officers sitting in the car, listening to everything from the tiny mic they had installed in your necklace. "now!"
the entire force burst out of the cars which were parked right outside your house, bursting into your house. the chief screamed into his loud speaker. "you have been surrounded from all sides! do not try to run, or harm ms. ___, as it will only earn you a graver sentence."
there was silence from the microphone on your necklace. having a bad feeling about it, the chief hastily burst into your room, the rest of the force following him.
it was empty. not a single trace of anyone being there. no open windows either. ordering the force to search the entire house, he went towards the bed. your sketchbook lay there, pages flipping due to the wind from the fan.
picking it up, he flipped through them himself. he expected the last sketch to be of jungwon, but he was wrong. squinting, he stared at the last sketch. it was of you, a terrified expression on your face. a small rose was drawn next to your face. on the bottom, a small message was inscribed.
'the beauty of some roses never fade, even after death.'
.ᐟ.ᐟGenre: Friends with Benefits to Lovers, Smut, Angst, Fluff
.ᐟ.ᐟWord Count: ~27.4k
.ᐟ.ᐟSummary: After a drunken bet leads to the best sex of your life, you and Jungwon agree to keep things casual. But when feelings get involved and a new guy enters the picture, everything gets complicated.
.ᐟ.ᐟContent warnings: explicit sexual content (MDNI), oral sex both giving and receiving, fingering, multiple orgasms, use of a vibrator, 69 position, penetrative sex, multiple positions, dirty talk, praise kink, light possessiveness and jealousy kink, dominance and control play, overstimulation, semi-public sex, car sex, shower sex, hickeys, alcohol consumption, cigarette smoking, weed use, mutual jealousy, emotional avoidance, brief emotional breakdown, using someone as a rebound, kissing someone while emotionally involved with another, sneaking around, strong language, possessive language, mild angst, happy ending
.ᐟ.ᐟSong: I Wanna Be Yours by Arctic Monkeys
.ᐟ.ᐟAuthors note: hey loves!!, this fic has been living in my head rent free for way too long so i finally just said we’re doing this. please check the content warnings before reading because there is a LOT going on here. two idiots with walls up, terrible at feelings, great at everything else — that’s the whole story honestly. the smut is meant to show emotional progression so if you read closely you’ll notice how they change with each other as feelings develop. daniel was never a villain, just bad timing, please be nice to him 😭 if you made it to the end thank you from the bottom of my heart 💓. comments, likes, feedback and reblogs keep me writing so don’t be a silent reader i am begging, ps. yes the title is intentional. enjoy lovelies 🥰 my masterlist
The apartment reeks of weed, cheap beer, and too many people crammed into too small a space. It’s Jake’s place tonight, which means Maya’s been here since noon helping him “clean” (read: shove everything into closets).
You’re sprawled on the couch between Liv and Reina, a half-empty White Claw sweating in your hand, already feeling the pleasant buzz of your third drink settling into your bones. “I’m just saying,” you announce, louder than necessary, “men are fucking useless.”
“No, I’m serious!” You gesture wildly, nearly sloshing your drink. “Like, is it really that fucking hard to find the clit? Is basic anatomy that complicated?”
“Here we go,” Jay groans again from the floor, leaning back against Sunghoon’s legs. They’re playing some racing game on mute while everyone else talks over them. Reina cackles. “Who are we talking about?”
“That guy from Delta Sig I went home with last weekend.” You take a long drink. “Forty-five minutes of the most mediocre dick of my life and he had the audacity to ask if I came.”
“Did you fake it?” Liv asks, already knowing the answer.
“Fuck no. I told him the truth and he got all butthurt about it.” You roll your eyes. “Like sorry bro, maybe develop some skills.”
“Brutal,” Sunoo says, grinning as he passes the joint to Niki.
“Honest,” you correct. “I don’t have time to protect egos. If you can’t make me cum, I’m not gonna lie about it.”
Across the room, Jungwon is watching you with this amused smirk, one eyebrow raised. He’s been quiet most of the night, nursing the same beer, legs spread wide in that infuriatingly confident way guys sit when they know they look good. And he does look good—black t-shirt, gray sweatpants, hair falling into his eyes just right. “What?” you challenge, catching his stare.
“Nothing.” But his smirk deepens. “Just sounds like you’ve been picking the wrong guys.”
“Oh please.” You lean forward. “Like you’d be any different.”
Something shifts in his expression. His eyes darken, and he tilts his head slightly, studying you. “Want me to prove it?”
The room doesn’t exactly go quiet, but you feel like it does. Your stomach does this weird flip. “Prove what?” You keep your voice steady even though your heart is suddenly racing.
“That you’ve been fucking the wrong guys.” He says it so casually, like he’s commenting on the weather. But there’s nothing casual about the way he’s looking at you.
Reina makes a choking sound beside you. Someone—maybe Heeseung—mutters “oh shit” under their breath. You should laugh it off. Make a joke. Change the subject. But you’re drunk enough to be bold and curious enough to wonder if he’s all talk. “You’re that confident?” You raise an eyebrow.
“Yeah.” No hesitation. “I am.”
The challenge hangs in the air between you. You’re aware of everyone watching, waiting to see what you’ll do. Maya’s eyes are wide. Jay looks like he’s trying to figure out if he should intervene. “Okay.” You stand up, and Jungwon’s smirk falters for just a second—like he didn’t expect you to actually take him up on it. “Prove it.”
You start walking toward the hallway that leads to Jake’s bedroom, and after a beat, you hear Jungwon follow.
“Are they really—” someone starts.
“Yup,” Reina says, and she sounds absolutely delighted.
Jake’s bedroom is dark and quiet, muffled music and laughter filtering through the door. You flip on the lamp, suddenly aware that you’re alone with Jungwon and you just agreed to let him— “You don’t have to,” he says, and when you turn, he’s standing close but not crowding you. “If you were just calling my bluff.”
“Were you bluffing?”
“No.”
The word sends heat straight through you. You step closer, tilting your chin up to meet his eyes. “Then stop talking and do it.”
For a second he just looks at you, and then his hand comes up to cup your jaw, thumb brushing your cheekbone. “You sure?”
“Jungwon.” You grab his shirt. “I swear to god, if you’re going to do it, then—” He kisses you. Not rough, not tentative—just sure. Like he knows exactly what he’s doing, and honestly? The confidence is already working for you. His lips are soft and he tastes like beer and something minty, and when his tongue slides against yours, you make a sound you’ll probably be embarrassed about later.
But he groans in response, walking you backward until your legs hit the bed. You fall onto it and he follows, hovering over you, one hand planted by your head while the other slides under your shirt. “This okay?” he murmurs against your mouth.
“Yes, fuck—yes.”
His hand skims up your ribs, thumb brushing the underside of your breast through your bralette, and you arch into the touch. He’s taking his time, kissing along your jaw, down your neck, finding that spot behind your ear that makes you gasp. “Sensitive here?” he asks, sounding pleased.
“Shut up.”
He laughs, low and warm against your skin. “You’re mouthy.”
“You have no idea.”
“Guess I’ll find out.” He sits back and pulls his shirt off in one smooth motion, and—okay. Okay. You knew he was lean but you didn’t know he looked like that without clothes. He catches you staring and smirks. “See something you like?”
“Don’t get cocky.”
“Too late.” But his hands are gentle as he reaches for the hem of your shirt, waiting for you to nod before pulling it off. Your bralette follows, and then his mouth is on your breast and coherent thought gets significantly harder.
He’s good at this. The guy knows what he’s doing with his tongue, circling your nipple before sucking it into his mouth, teeth grazing just enough to make you squirm. His hand works your other breast, thumb and forefinger rolling and pinching until you’re panting. “Jungwon—”
“Hmm?” He switches sides, giving your other breast the same attention, and you thread your fingers through his hair and tug.
“Stop teasing.”
“I’m not teasing.” He looks up at you through his lashes, and the sight of him between your breasts does something to you. “I’m being thorough.” His hand trails down your stomach, fingers playing with the button of your jeans. “Can I?”
“Yes, god, yes.”
He unbuttons them slowly—too slowly—and slides them down your legs along with your underwear. You’re completely naked and he’s still half-dressed, and something about that makes you feel exposed in a way that’s not entirely uncomfortable. Jungwon sits back on his heels, just looking at you, and you fight the urge to cover yourself. “Stop staring.”
“Can’t help it.” His hands slide up your thighs, pushing them apart. “You’re so fucking pretty.” The praise makes your face heat. You’re not used to guys taking their time like this, looking at you like you’re something worth savoring.
“Let me know if anything doesn’t feel good,” he says, and then his mouth is on your inner thigh, kissing and biting a path upward until his breath is ghosting over where you need him most.
The first touch of his tongue is light—experimental. He licks a broad stripe up your center and you gasp, hips jerking. His hands grip your thighs, holding you steady as he does it again, more pressure this time. “Fuck,” you breathe.
He hums against you, and the vibration makes your toes curl. Then he finds your clit with the tip of his tongue, circling it slowly, and—oh. Oh.
You’ve had guys go down on you before. Most of them acted like it was a chore, something to rush through to get to the “main event.” But Jungwon is eating you out like he has all the time in the world, like he’s enjoying it as much as you are.
He alternates between broad strokes and focused attention on your clit, reading your body’s reactions—when you moan, when your hips buck, when your thighs start to tremble. And when he slides one finger inside you, crooking it just right while his tongue works your clit, you actually see stars. “Holy shit,” you gasp, one hand fisted in his hair, the other gripping the sheets.
He adds a second finger, stretching you, and the combination of his mouth and his fingers pumping into you is almost too much. You’re making sounds you’ve never made before, completely uninhibited, and he’s groaning against you like getting you off is getting him off. “Jungwon, I’m—fuck, I’m close—”
He doesn’t change what he’s doing. Doesn’t speed up or switch techniques like so many guys do right when you’re on the edge. He just keeps that same perfect rhythm, fingers curling inside you, tongue circling your clit, and you come harder than you ever have with another person. Your whole body goes taut, thighs clamping around his head as waves of pleasure crash over you. He works you through it, only lightening his touch when you start to squirm from sensitivity.
When you can finally breathe again, you look down to find him watching you with the most self-satisfied expression you’ve ever seen. “You were saying?” he asks, and you want to be annoyed but you’re too blissed out to care.
“Okay,” you admit. “Point proven.”
He crawls up your body, kissing you deep, and you can taste yourself on his tongue. His erection presses against your thigh through his sweatpants, and you reach down to palm him through the fabric. He groans into your mouth. “You don’t have to—”
“I want to.” You push at his shoulders until he rolls onto his back, and then you’re straddling him, grinding down against his clothed cock. “Unless you’re done proving yourself?”
His hands grip your hips, helping you rock against him. “Fuck no.” You lean down to kiss him while your hand slips into his sweatpants, wrapping around him. He’s hard and thick, and when you stroke him, his hips jerk up into your hand.
“Condom?” you murmur against his lips.
“Wallet. Back pocket.” You climb off long enough for him to shove his sweatpants and boxers down, and—yeah, okay, the confidence makes sense. You grab his wallet from his discarded pants, finding the condom and tearing it open while he strokes himself lazily, watching you with heavy-lidded eyes.
“Let me,” he says, taking it from you and rolling it on. Then his hands are on your waist, lifting you, positioning you over him. “Go slow. Take what you need.”
You sink down onto him inch by inch, and the stretch is perfect. He fills you completely, and when you’re fully seated, you both groan. “Fuck, you feel good,” he breathes, hands flexing on your hips.
You start to move, rolling your hips, finding a rhythm. His hands guide you but he lets you control the pace, watching where you’re joined with an expression that’s almost reverent. “Touch yourself,” he says, voice rough. “Want to feel you come on my cock.”
The words send a fresh wave of arousal through you. You brace one hand on his chest and bring the other between your legs, fingers finding your clit. You’re still sensitive from before, and it doesn’t take much—just a few circles while he thrusts up into you, hitting that perfect spot inside. “That’s it,” he encourages, sitting up to mouth at your neck, one hand gripping your ass to help you move. “You’re so fucking hot like this. Taking what you need.”
You’re close again, impossibly, and when he bites down on your shoulder at the same moment his cock hits deep, you shatter. Your orgasm rips through you and you feel him follow seconds later, groaning your name against your skin as he pulses inside you. You collapse against his chest, both of you breathing hard. His hand comes up to stroke your back, gentle and grounding.
“So,” he says after a minute, and you can hear the smirk in his voice. “Still think I’m no different?”
You lift your head to glare at him, but there’s no heat in it. “Okay, fine. You were right.”
“Say it louder, I don’t think they heard you outside.”
You smack his chest and he laughs, catching your wrist and pressing a kiss to your palm. The gesture is surprisingly tender for what just happened. “Holy shit,” you say, the reality of the situation finally catching up. “We just fucked in Jake’s bed.”
“Yeah, we should probably…” He gestures vaguely. You climb off him carefully, and he deals with the condom while you hunt for your clothes in the dim light. There’s something surreal about getting dressed in comfortable silence after what just happened. Like you’ve done this before, even though you haven’t.
When you’re both decent, you catch sight of yourself in Jake’s mirror. Your hair is a mess, lips swollen, and there’s a hickey blooming on your collarbone. “Shit.” You touch it gingerly.
Jungwon comes up behind you, meeting your eyes in the mirror. “Sorry. Got carried away.”
“It’s fine.” You try to fluff your hair into something less “I just got thoroughly fucked.” “Everyone’s gonna know, though.”
“They already know.” He grins. “We weren’t exactly quiet.”
Your face heats. He’s right—you definitely weren’t quiet. “Oh god.”
“Hey.” He turns you around, hands on your shoulders. “You good? This isn’t… weird?”
You consider it. By all accounts, it should be weird. You just fucked one of your friends on a drunken bet. But looking at him now, his hair messy from your hands, expression open and a little concerned, it doesn’t feel weird. “I’m good,” you say honestly. “You?”
“I’m great.” His smile is genuine. “That was—”
“Really good,” you finish.
“Yeah.” You stand there for a beat too long, and then you clear your throat. “We should probably get back before they send a search party.”
“Right. Yeah.” He opens the door and you walk out first, down the hallway back to the living room where the entire group is absolutely not pretending they weren’t waiting for you. The silence when you walk in is deafening.
“So,” Reina says, grinning like the Cheshire cat. “Scale of one to ten?”
“Reina!” Maya looks mortified.
You just laugh and drop back onto the couch. “Solid eleven.” The room erupts. Jay throws a pillow at you. Sunghoon looks like he wishes he could disappear. Heeseung and Jake are cackling. Liv just gives you a knowing look and passes you a fresh drink. Jungwon sits down across from you, and when your eyes meet, he smirks. You roll your eyes but can’t help smiling back.
Yeah, you think, taking a long drink. This is either the best or worst decision you’ve ever made.
It’s after three AM when the party finally winds down. People are crashed on various surfaces—Niki and Sunoo sharing the big armchair, Heeseung sprawled on the floor, Jay and Sunghoon having claimed the other couch. Maya and Jake disappeared into his room about an hour ago. You’re pretty sober now, sitting on the balcony with Liv and Reina, sharing a cigarette and watching the campus lights below.
“So,” Liv says, passing you the cigarette. “You gonna talk about it?”
“What’s there to talk about?”
“You fucked Jungwon.” Reina isn’t one for subtlety. You nod.
“And?”
You take a drag, letting the smoke fill your lungs before exhaling slowly. “And it was really good.”
“We gathered that from the sounds,” Reina says, grinning when you flip her off. “But like… are you gonna do it again?”
“I don’t know. Probably not?” Even as you say it, you’re not sure you believe it. “It was just a drunk thing.”
“A drunk thing where you came so hard we heard you through the door,” Liv points out. Your face heats. “Oh my god.”
“I’m just saying.” She shrugs. “That kind of chemistry doesn’t come around often. And you’re both single. Why not?”
“Because he’s part of the group,” you say, voicing the concern that’s been nagging at you since you got dressed. “If things got messy…”
“Things don’t have to get messy,” Reina says. “People have casual sex all the time.”
“Not with their friends.”
“Sure they do.” Liv stubs out the cigarette. “Look, I’m not saying marry the guy. But if you both enjoyed it and you’re both adults… I don’t see the problem.”
You don’t have a good argument for that, mainly because you’re still thinking about his hands on your body, his mouth between your legs, the way he looked at you like you were the only person in the world. “I’ll think about it,” you say finally.
Your phone buzzes at 4:17 AM. You’re in your own bed now, having gotten an Uber home with Liv and Reina. You should be asleep but you keep replaying the night in your head.
jungwon: you up? i can’t sleep
You stare at the message for a long moment before typing back. you: same
jungwon: kept thinking about earlier
Your heart rate picks up. you: yeah?
jungwon: that okay?
you: yeah. me too
There’s a long pause where you watch the three dots appear and disappear several times.
jungwon: look, if tonight was just a one time thing, that’s cool. but if you ever wanted to do it again with no strings. you said it yourself. good sex is hard to find
You bite your lip, thumb hovering over the keyboard. This is probably a bad idea. You should say thanks but no thanks, keep things simple.
you: no strings?
jungwon: none. just two friends helping each other out
you: friends who fuck
jungwon: exactly
you: you’re sure this won’t make things weird with the group?
jungwon: only if we let it
You think about what Liv said. About chemistry and being adults and not overthinking things. you: okay
jungwon: yeah?
you: yeah. but we need rules
jungwon: rules work
you: we can talk about it tomorrow. when we’re sober
jungwon: sounds good. for the record though
you: ?
jungwon: you taste amazing
Your face goes hot and you let out an embarrassing sound even though you’re alone in your room. you: go to SLEEP jungwon
jungwon: sweet dreams 😏
You toss your phone aside and press your face into your pillow, smiling like an idiot. This is definitely a bad idea. But god, you kind of can’t wait to make it worse.
You meet Jungwon at a coffee shop off campus, neutral territory where you’re less likely to run into anyone from the group. It’s Tuesday afternoon, and you both have a gap between classes. He’s already there when you arrive, sitting in a corner booth with two iced americanos, and when he sees you, he slides one across the table. “Wasn’t sure how you take it,” he says.
“Black’s fine.” You sit down across from him, suddenly feeling weirdly nervous. Which is stupid—you’ve literally had his dick inside you. A coffee meetup shouldn’t be the awkward part. But he seems to sense it because he grins. “This is weird, right?”
“So weird,” you admit, and you both laugh, and just like that the tension breaks.
“Okay.” He leans back, fingers drumming on his cup. “Rules.”
“Rules,” you agree. “First one: no one can know.”
“Agreed. Jay and Sunghoon would lose their minds.”
“Jay would literally try to fight you.” You take a sip of coffee. “And Maya would never let me hear the end of it.”
“So we’re careful. No disappearing together at group things unless we have a good excuse.”
“And we stagger leaving,” you add. “Like, if you leave a party, I wait at least twenty minutes before I go.”
“Smart.” He nods. “What about texting?”
“Keep it normal in the group chat. If we’re gonna hook up, we text privately.”
“Works for me.” He studies you for a moment. “What about other people?”
You raise an eyebrow. “Other people?”
“Like, are we exclusive? Or can we still hook up with other people?”
It’s a fair question, even if something in your chest tightens at the thought of him with someone else. Which is stupid. This is purely physical. “We can do whatever we want,” you say carefully. “But if either of us starts hooking up with someone else regularly, we should probably end this. Easier that way.”
“Makes sense.” He seems to hesitate. “And if one of us catches feelings?”
“Then we stop immediately.” You meet his eyes. “That’s the most important rule. This only works if we’re both on the same page.”
“Agreed.” He holds out his hand across the table. “So we have a deal?”
You shake his hand, trying to ignore how warm his palm is against yours. “Deal.”
“Cool.” He doesn’t let go right away. “So… your place or mine?”
Heat pools in your stomach. “Eager?”
“You’re the one who wore that skirt.”
You glance down at your denim mini skirt, then back up at him with a smirk. “I have class in two hours.”
“That’s plenty of time.”
His apartment is closer, a small one-bedroom he shares with Heeseung who’s conveniently at class until five. The second the door closes behind you, his mouth is on yours, backing you against the wall. “Been thinking about this since Saturday,” he murmurs against your lips, hands sliding under your skirt to grip your ass.
“It’s only been three days.”
“Three days too long.” He picks you up and you wrap your legs around his waist as he carries you to his room. It’s surprisingly clean—bed made, clothes put away, posters of various bands on the walls.
He lays you on the bed and steps back, pulling his shirt over his head. You prop yourself up on your elbows to watch, admiring the view. “Like what you see?” he asks, echoing your words from the other night.
“You already know I do.”
He grins and climbs over you, settling between your legs. “Want to try something?”
“Like what?”
“You’ll see.” His hands slide up your thighs, pushing your skirt up around your waist. “Trust me?”
“Yeah,” you breathe, and you mean it.
He hooks his fingers in your underwear and drags them down slowly, and you’re already wet just from the anticipation. He spreads your legs wider, thumb brushing over your clit almost teasingly before he slides two fingers inside you. “Fuck,” you gasp, hips rolling against his hand.
“Still sensitive from last time?” He pumps his fingers slowly, curling them just right.
“A little.”
He leans down to kiss you, swallowing your moan as he works you open. When he adds a third finger, the stretch makes your toes curl. He finger-fucks you until you’re panting, right on the edge, and then he stops. You make a sound of protest and he laughs. “Patience.” He reaches into his nightstand and pulls out a small vibrator.
Your eyes widen. “You just have that?”
“Ex left it here.” He turns it on, and the low buzz fills the room. “Never thought I’d use it, but…”
He presses it against your clit and you nearly jackknife off the bed. The sensation is intense, overwhelming, especially when he slides his fingers back inside you at the same time. “Oh fuck—Jungwon—”
“That good?” He sounds smug, but you can’t even be annoyed because he’s right. It’s so good you can barely breathe.
He works you with the vibrator and his fingers, watching your face intently, adjusting based on your reactions. When you’re close, thighs shaking, he leans down and sucks one of your nipples into his mouth through your shirt.
You come with a cry, back arching, and he doesn’t stop until you’re pushing his hand away from oversensitivity. “Holy shit,” you pant.
He turns off the vibrator and sets it aside, looking incredibly pleased with himself. “Good?”
“You know it was.”
“Want to keep going?” Instead of answering, you sit up and push him onto his back, straddling him. You can feel how hard he is through his jeans, and you grind down against him, making him groan.
“Your turn,” you say, working his belt open. You take your time getting him naked, kissing down his chest and stomach, enjoying the way his muscles jump under your lips. When you finally get his jeans and boxers off, his cock springs free, already leaking. You wrap your hand around him, stroking slowly, and he hisses through his teeth.
“You don’t have to—”
“I want to,” you cut him off, and then you take him in your mouth.
“Fuck,” he groans, hand flying to your hair. Not pushing, just holding on as you work him with your tongue. You take him as deep as you can, hollowing your cheeks, and the sounds he makes are incredibly satisfying.
You pull off with a wet pop. “You gonna tell me what you like?”
“That,” he says breathlessly. “I like that.”
“Be specific.” You lick up the underside of his cock. “I want to make you feel good.”
“Fuck—okay, um, tighter grip, and—yeah, just like that.” His hips buck when you comply. “And twist your hand a little when you—oh god—“
You find a rhythm that has him falling apart, alternating between your mouth and your hand, and when you cup his balls gently, he swears. “I’m close,” he warns, tugging your hair. “If you don’t want to—”
You double down, taking him deeper, and he comes with a groan, spilling down your throat. You swallow and work him through it until he’s shaking. When you pull off and wipe your mouth, he’s staring at you like you’re some kind of miracle. “You’re really good at that,” he says, voice wrecked.
“Right back at you.” You climb up to lie beside him. “This is gonna be fun.”
“Yeah,” he agrees, pulling you closer. “It really is.”
The first group hangout after your arrangement starts is at someone’s house party on Thursday. One of the senior volleyball guys is throwing it, and the place is packed by the time you arrive with Liv and Reina.
You spot the guys in the backyard—Jay and Sunghoon playing beer pong against Jake and Heeseung, Sunoo and Niki smoking by the fence. And Jungwon leaning against the porch railing, red cup in hand, talking to some girl you vaguely recognize from Psychology. Something ugly twists in your chest before you can stop it.
“Don’t,” Liv says quietly.
“Don’t what?”
“You know what.” She steers you toward the drinks table. “Remember the rules.” Right. The rules. You can both do whatever you want. It doesn’t matter that the girl is touching his arm, laughing at something he said. It doesn’t matter at all. You pour yourself a strong drink and down half of it.
“There you are!” Maya appears, already tipsy, Jake trailing behind her. “We’ve been here for like an hour, where were you?”
“Reina took forever getting ready,” Liv says, throwing her under the bus.
“Excuse me, this face is a work of art.” Reina gestures at her makeup. “It takes time.”
You tune them out, eyes drifting back to Jungwon. The girl is still there, but now he’s looking at you. When your eyes meet, he says something to her and starts walking over. “Hey,” he says when he reaches your group, giving everyone a casual nod before his eyes land on you. “You just get here?”
“Yeah.”
“Cool.” His cup is empty. “I’m gonna grab another drink. Want to come?”
It’s a normal question. The kind of thing he might have asked before. But Maya and Reina exchange a look, and you want to die. “Sure.”
You follow him to the drinks table, hyperaware of the space between you. “That girl,” you say as he pours vodka into his cup. “From Psychology?”
“Mina. Yeah.” He adds red bull, not looking at you. “She was asking about the midterm.”
“Right.”
“You jealous?” He’s smirking now, voice low enough that only you can hear.
“No.”
“Liar.” He leans in slightly. “You look really good, by the way.”
You’re wearing low-waisted jeans and a cropped black tank top, simple but effective. “Thanks.”
“Having fun yet?”
“I just got here.”
“Want to have more fun later?” The suggestion in his voice is clear.
“Maybe.” You take a sip of your drink. “If you play your cards right.”
“Challenge accepted.”
Two hours later, you’re drunk and high and dancing in the crowded living room with Reina and some people from your Communications class. The music is too loud, bodies pressed too close, and you’re sweaty and happy and not thinking about anything.
Until hands settle on your waist from behind. You know it’s Jungwon before you even turn around—you’re getting familiar with his touch. He’s behind you, moving with you, and it takes everything in you not to lean back against him. “Thought you were playing beer pong,” you say over your shoulder.
“Got boring.” His breath is warm against your ear. “This is better.”
You shouldn’t be doing this. People will notice. But the room is dark and crowded, and everyone’s drunk, and his body feels so good against yours. You let yourself grind back against him, just a little, and his grip on your waist tightens.
“You’re trouble,” he murmurs.
“You started it.”
One of his hands slides lower, fingers playing with the belt loop of your jeans, not quite dipping under but close enough to make you ache. “Your place or mine?” he asks.
“Mine. Liv’s staying at her girlfriend’s.”
“Meet you there in twenty?”
“Make it fifteen.”
He shows up in twelve minutes. The second you open your apartment door, he’s on you, walking you backward until you hit the wall. His mouth is hot and demanding, tasting like weed and whatever he was drinking, and you can’t get enough. “Fuck, I’ve been wanting to do this all night,” he groans, hands everywhere at once.
“You were talking to that girl for like twenty minutes.”
He pulls back to look at you, grinning. “You were jealous.”
“Shut up.”
“You were.” He kisses down your neck. “That’s cute.”
“I wasn’t—” You lose your train of thought when he bites down on your pulse point.
“Whatever you say.” His hands slide under your shirt, pushing it up. “Can I take this off?”
“Yes.”
Your shirt and bra hit the floor, and then his mouth is on your breast and you stop caring about anything else. He takes his time, sucking marks into your skin that you’ll have to cover tomorrow, and when he drops to his knees in front of you, your brain short-circuits. “These too?” He’s already unbuttoning your jeans.
“Please.” He gets you naked efficiently, and then he’s lifting one of your legs over his shoulder, face level with your pussy.
“Hold on to something,” he advises, and then his tongue is on you. You grip his hair with one hand, the other braced against the wall, as he devours you. He’s not gentle about it—licking and sucking and fucking you with his tongue until your leg is shaking and you’re barely staying upright.
“Jungwon—fuck—I’m gonna fall—”
He stands up, and before you can process it, he’s lifting you. You wrap your legs around his waist and he carries you to your bedroom, laying you out on the bed.
“Better?” he asks.
“Much.”
He strips quickly and you admire the view—he’s fully hard, cock jutting up against his stomach. When he settles between your legs again, you expect him to reach for a condom, but instead he slides down your body. “Want to try something else,” he says, kissing your inner thigh.
“Yeah?”
“Can I go down on you while you suck me?”
Heat floods through you. “Like 69?”
“Yeah.” He looks almost nervous. “If you want.”
“Okay.” He repositions so he’s on his back, and you straddle his face, leaning forward to take his cock in your hand. The angle is different like this, and when his tongue finds your clit, you gasp.
“Fuck—sorry—” You’re distracted, and you force yourself to focus, wrapping your lips around him.
It’s intense, trying to concentrate on getting him off while he’s making you feel so good. Every time you take him deeper, he groans against your pussy, and the vibration makes you moan around him.
You’re dripping on his face, riding his tongue, and his hands grip your ass, pulling you down harder. The obscene wet sounds fill the room, and you’re so turned on you can barely see straight.
When he slides two fingers inside you while sucking your clit, you come with his cock still in your mouth, and he follows seconds later, groaning your name. You collapse beside him, both of you breathing hard. “Holy shit,” you say eventually.
“Good?”
“So good.” You turn your head to look at him. “You’re full of ideas.”
“I like making you come.” He says it so casually, like it’s a fact. “Want to see how many times I can do it.”
“Is that a challenge?”
“If you want it to be.”
You glance at the clock—it’s barely midnight. “How many orgasms are we talking?”
“How many can you handle?”
“More than you’d think.”
His smile is wicked. “Let’s find out.”
Forty minutes and two more orgasms later (one from his fingers, one from actually fucking), you’re a boneless mess in your sheets and Jungwon looks unreasonably smug. “I think I won,” he says.
“You didn’t—I made you come too—”
“Twice. You came four times.”
“It’s not a competition.”
“Everything’s a competition.” But he’s smiling, tracing lazy patterns on your hip. “You okay? Not too much?”
“I’m great.” And you are—exhausted and satisfied and floating. “You’re really good at this.”
“So are you.” He kisses your shoulder. “We work well together.”
“Yeah,” you agree. “We do.” Your phone buzzes on the nightstand. You reach for it and find a string of messages in the group chat. maya: where did everyone gooooo
reina: i saw y/n leave and jungwon left like right after 👀
jay: oh god not this again
sunghoon: can we NOT
heeseung: let them live lmao
reina: i’m just SAYING
liv: leave them alone
You show Jungwon the messages and he laughs. “We’re not subtle,” he says.
“Not even a little bit.”
“Does it bother you?”
You think about it. The teasing is annoying, but it’s not like you’re ashamed. “No. Does it bother you?”
“Nah.” He stretches, all long limbs and satisfied energy. “Let them speculate. As long as we don’t confirm anything, we’re good.”
“Agreed.” You type out a response. you: i left because i was tired. stop being weird
reina: SURE
you: i hate you
reina: love you too babe 😘
You toss your phone aside and curl into Jungwon’s side. He wraps an arm around you automatically, and it feels dangerously comfortable. “Should you go?” you ask. “It’s late.”
“Do you want me to?”
You should say yes. Letting him stay feels too intimate, too couple-y. But you’re tired and warm and he’s already half-asleep. “You can stay if you want.”
“Okay.” He’s already drifting off.
You lie awake a little longer, listening to his breathing even out, trying not to think about how right this feels. It’s just sex, you remind yourself. Really good sex with someone you trust. That’s all. You almost believe it.
Friday afternoon you have Intro to Film Studies, and you’re running late because you definitely overslept after Jungwon didn’t leave until 6 AM. You slide into your usual seat next to this guy Marcus from your dorm building just as the professor starts. “Rough night?” Marcus whispers, grinning.
“Something like that.” You’re trying to focus on the lecture about French New Wave cinema when your phone buzzes.
jungwon: you left your underwear in my car
You freeze. you: WHAT
jungwon: black lace ones. very nice btw
you: how did they end up in your car???
jungwon: you really don’t remember?
And then you do remember. Wednesday night, he picked you up after your late class, you made out in his car in the parking garage, things escalated, and apparently you forgot to put all your clothes back on.
you: oh my god
jungwon: don’t worry, heeseung didn’t see them
jungwon: i hid them before he got in
you: this is a nightmare
jungwon: or it’s funny
you: WHERE ARE THEY NOW
jungwon: my pocket
you: JUNGWON
jungwon: what? they’re safe
you: you’re insane
jungwon: you like it
You bite your lip to keep from smiling, hyperaware that you’re in the middle of class. you: i’m in class
jungwon: so am i. keeps things interesting
you: i hate you
jungwon: you definitely don’t. not after the sounds you were making wednesday night
Your face goes hot. you: STOP
jungwon: come over after class?
you: can’t. studying with maya
jungwon: tomorrow?
you: there’s that party at the phi delt house
jungwon: sunday then
you: sunday works
jungwon: it’s a date
you: it’s not a date
jungwon: right. forgot. just two friends fucking
you: exactly
jungwon: can’t wait 😉
You shove your phone in your bag and try to concentrate on the lecture, but it’s useless. You’re too busy thinking about Sunday, about his hands and his mouth and the way he says your name when he comes. This is getting dangerous. But you can’t seem to stop.
The party Saturday night is massive—Phi Delt always goes hard. You show up with your girls, already tipsy from pregaming, and immediately lose track of everyone in the crowd. You’re in the kitchen mixing a drink when someone bumps into you, sloshing vodka on your hand. “Shit, sorry—oh hey!”
You turn to find Mina, the girl from Jungwon’s Psych class. Up close she’s even prettier—long dark hair, perfect skin, bright smile. “No worries,” you say, wiping your hand on your jeans.
“You’re friends with Jungwon, right?” she asks. “I’ve seen you guys together.”
Something in your chest tightens. “Yeah, we’re friends.”
“He’s so sweet.” She’s making herself a drink, completely oblivious to your internal crisis. “We’ve been studying together for Psych. He’s really smart.”
“Yeah, he is.”
“Are you guys like… together? I don’t want to step on any toes.”
The question catches you off guard. “Oh—no, we’re just friends.”
“Cool!” She seems genuinely relieved. “I was thinking about asking him out. Do you think he’d be into that?”
You should say yes. Or say you don’t know. You should definitely not feel like you want to throw your drink in her face, because you have no claim on Jungwon. That’s the whole point. “You should ask him,” you say, forcing a smile.
“I think I will!” She bounces off, and you’re left standing there feeling weird and hollow.
You down your drink and make another one, stronger this time. “Easy there,” a voice says, and you turn to find Jay watching you with concern. “You okay?”
“Fine.”
“You’re drinking like you’re not fine.”
“I’m just trying to have fun, Jay. Is that allowed?”
He holds up his hands. “Okay, okay. Just checking.”
You feel bad immediately. “Sorry. I’m just… it’s been a week.”
“Want to talk about it?” You shake your head no. “Does this have anything to do with Jungwon?”
Your head snaps up. “Why would it?”
“Come on.” Jay gives you a look. “I’m not stupid. Neither is Sunghoon. We know something’s going on.”
“Nothing’s going on.”
“Right. And you guys just happened to leave that party within five minutes of each other for completely unrelated reasons.”You don’t say anything. “Look,” Jay says, his voice gentler. “I don’t care what you guys do. You’re both adults. I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”
“I’m not going to get hurt. It’s just casual.”
“Is it?”
Before you can answer, Jungwon appears in the doorway, Mina trailing behind him. When he sees you, something flickers across his face. “Hey,” he says.
“Hey.”
Mina touches his arm. “I’m gonna go find my friends, but text me about that study session?”
“Sure,” he says, and she leaves.
You feel Jay watching both of you. “I’m gonna go find Sunghoon,” he says pointedly. “You two… talk. Or whatever.”
When he’s gone, Jungwon moves closer. “You okay?”
“Fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You seem tense.”
“I’m not tense.”
“Okay.” He doesn’t look convinced. “You want to get out of here?”
“I just got here.”
“So?”
“So people will notice.”
“Let them notice.” His hand brushes yours, brief but deliberate. “Come on. Please?”
You shouldn’t. You should stay at the party, hang out with your friends, stop making everything about him. “Fine,” you say. “But you leave first.”
You end up at his place again. Heeseung is gone for the weekend, so you have the apartment to yourselves. The second the door closes, he’s kissing you, and it feels different somehow. More desperate. Like he’s trying to prove something. “What was that about?” you ask when you break for air.
“What was what about?”
“With Mina.”
“Nothing. She wants to study together.”
“She wants to do more than study.”
He pulls back slightly, looking at you. “Are you jealous?”
“No.”
“You are.” He sounds pleased.
“I’m not—we have rules, Jungwon. You can do whatever you want.”
“So can you.” His jaw tightens. “Didn’t stop me from wanting to punch Marcus when I saw him sitting next to you in the library yesterday.”
“You saw that?”
“Yeah.”
“We’re just study partners.”
“I know.” He kisses you again, softer this time. “This is stupid, right? We shouldn’t be jealous.”
“Right.”
“Because it’s just casual.”
“Exactly.” You’re both quiet for a moment.
“For the record,” he says finally, “I’m not interested in Mina. Or anyone else.”
“You’re not?”
“No.” He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “This—what we have—it works. I don’t want to fuck it up by bringing other people into it.”
Relief washes over you. “Yeah. Same.”
“So… exclusive, then? Just while this is happening?”
“Just while this is happening,” you agree.
“Good.” He kisses you again, and this time when you end up in his bed, it feels different. Slower. More intentional.
He takes his time undressing you, kissing every inch of skin he exposes. When he finally settles between your legs, he looks up at you. “Tell me what you want,” he says.
“You.”
“Be specific.”
“I want—” You’re breathless already and he hasn’t even touched you yet. “I want your mouth.”
“Where?”
“You know where.”
“Say it.” His breath ghosts over your inner thigh.
“My pussy,” you say, face heating. “I want your mouth on my pussy.”
“Good girl.” The praise makes you clench around nothing, and then his tongue is on you and you forget how to think. He’s devastatingly thorough, alternating between broad strokes and focused attention on your clit, sliding his fingers inside you when you start to squirm. You’re panting, desperate, right on the edge when he stops.
“Jungwon—”
“Want you to come on my cock,” he says, reaching for a condom. He rolls it on and slides into you in one smooth thrust, and you both groan. The angle is perfect, hitting deep, and when he starts to move, you wrap your legs around his waist to pull him closer. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he breathes against your neck. “So wet for me.”
“Don’t stop—”
“Not stopping.” His hand slides between your bodies to rub your clit. “Want to feel you come.”
It doesn’t take long. The combination of his cock and his fingers pushes you over the edge, and you come with a cry, clenching around him. He follows right after, burying his face in your neck as he pulses inside you. You stay like that for a while, catching your breath, his weight comfortable on top of you.
“You’re staying tonight, right?” he asks eventually.
“Yeah,” you say, and you don’t even pretend to think about it. “I’m staying.”
He rolls off you to deal with the condom, and when he comes back, he pulls you against his chest. You let yourself relax into him, listening to his heartbeat slow. This is definitely more than just casual. But neither of you says it out loud.
Three months in, and you’ve gotten good at this. Really good. You and Jungwon have the routine down to an art form. You don’t leave parties together anymore—one of you leaves, the other waits at least half an hour. You vary whose place you go to. You keep your hands to yourselves during group hangouts, no lingering touches or loaded looks. In the group chat, you bicker and joke like you always have.
To everyone else, the initial excitement has worn off. Whatever was happening between you two seems to have fizzled out. Even Reina has stopped making comments. Which is perfect, because it means no one notices that you’re fucking almost every other day.
It’s a Wednesday afternoon in mid-October, and you’re sprawled across various surfaces in Jay and Sunghoon’s apartment. Maya and Jake are tangled together on the loveseat, Liv is rolling a joint at the coffee table, Reina is painting her nails on the floor. The guys are scattered around—Jay and Sunghoon playing FIFA, Heeseung scrolling his phone, Sunoo showing Niki something on his laptop. And Jungwon is sitting across from you in the armchair, looking completely relaxed, like he wasn’t buried inside you this morning before your 9 AM class.
“I’m so fucking hungry,” Reina announces. “Can we order food?”
“It’s three in the afternoon,” Sunghoon says, not looking away from the TV.
“Your point?”
Everyone starts debating what to order, and you catch Jungwon’s eye across the room. He raises an eyebrow slightly, and you know exactly what he’s thinking about. This morning, you pinned against his shower wall, water streaming over both of you, his hand over your mouth to keep you quiet even though Heeseung wasn’t home. You bite your lip and look away before you start smiling like an idiot.
“Earth to Y/N,” Niki says, waving a hand in front of your face. “You alive in there?”
“What? Yeah, sorry.”
“I was asking about that guy you were telling me about.” He grins. “The one from a few weeks ago?”
Your brain stalls. “What guy?”
“You know, when we went to get coffee last week. You were telling me about hooking up with someone and how he was like, insanely good?”
Oh shit. You do vaguely remember that conversation—you and Niki had gotten coffee between classes, and he’d been asking about your dating life, and you’d maybe been too honest about how good the sex had been lately. You’d kept it vague, hadn’t mentioned names, but still. The room has gotten quiet, everyone paying attention now. “Oh,” you say, very aware of Jungwon’s eyes on you. “That was… nothing. Just some guy.”
“Some guy who’s apparently the best fuck you’ve ever had,” Niki says, looking way too entertained. “Those were your exact words.”
“Niki—”
“What? I’m just saying, that’s high praise coming from you.”
Reina sits up straighter. “Wait, hold on. You’ve been holding out on us? Who is this mystery man?”
“It’s not a big deal—”
“Best fuck of your life sounds like a big deal,” Liv points out, though she’s trying not to smile. She’s the only one who knows the truth, and she’s clearly enjoying watching you squirm.
“Are you still seeing him?” Maya asks.
“It’s casual.”
“Is it that guy from your Econ class?” Reina guesses. “The tall one with the man bun?”
“No.”
“The bartender from that club we went to?”
“No.”
“Give us something,” Sunoo pleads dramatically. “We need details.”
You absolutely cannot look at Jungwon. “There are no details. It’s just… casual hookups. Nothing serious.”
“But the sex is good?” Reina presses.
“Yeah,” you admit, because denying it now would be weird. “The sex is really good.”
“How good are we talking?” Heeseung asks. “Like, good good, or like, mind-blowing life-changing good?”
Your face is burning. “Can we please talk about literally anything else?”
“Oh my god, it’s mind-blowing life-changing good,” Reina says gleefully. “Look at her face!”
“I hate all of you.”
“What makes it so good?” Maya asks, genuinely curious. “Like, what’s he doing that’s so different?”
“Maya!”
“What? I’m trying to learn here!”
You risk a glance at Jungwon. He’s very still, expression carefully neutral, but there’s something in his eyes. You can’t tell if he’s annoyed or amused or something else entirely. “He just—” You struggle for words that won’t give anything away. “He pays attention, I guess? Like, he actually cares about getting me off. And he’s… confident. Knows what he’s doing.”
“Size?” Reina asks bluntly.
“Oh my god, Reina!”
“What? It’s a relevant question!”
“I’m not answering that.”
“So it’s good,” she concludes. “Noted.”
“Can we please order food now?” you beg.
Jay takes pity on you. “Yeah, let’s vote. Pizza or Thai?”
The conversation mercifully moves on, and you finally let yourself breathe. But when you glance at Jungwon again, he’s looking at his phone, jaw tight. Shit.
The group ends up ordering pizza, and by the time it arrives, you’ve almost forgotten about the awkward conversation. Almost. You’re halfway through your second slice when your phone buzzes: jungwon: can you come help me with something in the car?
You frown at the message. You all walked here, no one drove. you: what?
jungwon: just come outside for a sec
You make an excuse about needing air and head downstairs. Jungwon is waiting by the building entrance, hands in his pockets. “What’s wrong?” you ask.
“Really?” He looks at you. “Best fuck of your life?”
Oh. “You’re mad about that?”
“I’m not mad.”
“You sound mad.”
“I’m not—” He runs a hand through his hair. “I just don’t love the idea of you telling Niki about us.”
“I didn’t tell him about us. I kept it vague. He doesn’t know it’s you.”
“But you were talking about me. About our sex life.”
“Is that not allowed?” You cross your arms. “We’re not together, Jungwon. I can talk to my friends.”
“I know that.” His jaw ticks. “I just—forget it.”
“No, what? Say what you’re thinking.”
He’s quiet for a long moment. “Did you mean it? What you said up there?”
“About what?”
“About it being the best you’ve had.”
Your stomach flips. “I… yeah. I meant it.”
His expression softens slightly. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” You step closer. “Why, did you doubt it?”
“No, I just…” He trails off, looking almost embarrassed. “I liked hearing it, I guess. Even if I wasn’t supposed to be the one hearing it.”
“You’re so weird.”
“You like it,” he says, echoing your texts from months ago.
“Maybe.” You glance back at the building. “We should go back up before someone notices.”
“Wait.” He catches your wrist. “Come over tonight?”
“Jungwon, we just saw each other this morning.”
“So?”
“So we’re supposed to be keeping this low-key.”
“I am keeping it low-key. No one suspects anything anymore.” He tugs you closer. “Please? I want to try something.”
“You always want to try something.”
“And you always like it.” He’s smirking now. “Come on. I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”
You shouldn’t. You’re supposed to be at the library studying for your midterm tomorrow. But the way he’s looking at you makes your resolve crumble. “Fine. But I can’t stay over. I really do need to study.”
“I’ll take what I can get.”
You show up at his apartment at eleven, after spending three hours actually studying with Maya. Heeseung is home this time, playing video games in the living room. “Hey,” he says when you walk in. “Jungwon’s in his room.”
“Cool, thanks.” You’ve been here enough times now that it’s not weird anymore. Heeseung barely looks up when you head down the hall and knock on Jungwon’s door.
“Come in.” He’s at his desk, laptop open, but he closes it when he sees you. “Hey.”
“Hey.” You drop your bag by the door. “What did you want to try?”
“Impatient.”
“I have a midterm at 8 AM. Get to the point.”
He stands and crosses to you, and there’s something different about his energy tonight. More intense. “I want you to tell me exactly what you want.”
“I always tell you what you want.”
“No,” he says. “You tell me when I ask. I want you to take control. Tell me exactly what to do.”
Heat pools in your stomach. “You want me to… boss you around?”
“Yeah.” His hands settle on your hips. “Think you can do that?”
“I—” You’re flustered now. You’re used to him being in charge, confident and directing everything. The idea of flipping that dynamic is…
“You don’t have to,” he says quickly. “If you’re not into it—”
“I’m into it,” you cut him off. “Just… give me a second.” He waits, patient, and you take a breath. You can do this. You’ve been sleeping together for three months. You know what he likes, what makes him fall apart.
“Okay,” you say, and your voice comes out steadier than you feel. “Take off your shirt.” He complies immediately, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside.
“Jeans too.” He unbuttons them, pushes them down with his boxers, and kicks them away. He’s already half-hard, and the sight makes your mouth water.
“Lie down on the bed.” He does, and you take a moment to just look at him. He’s gorgeous like this—all lean muscle and smooth skin, cock thickening against his stomach, watching you with dark eyes.
“Touch yourself,” you say. His hand wraps around his cock, stroking slowly, and you watch, mesmerized.
“What are you thinking about?” you ask.
“You.” His voice is rough. “Always you.”
“What about me?”
“The way you taste. The sounds you make when you come. How good you feel wrapped around my cock.”
You’re definitely wet now. You start stripping, taking your time, and his eyes track every movement. “You’re so fucking hot,” he breathes.
When you’re naked, you climb onto the bed and straddle his thighs, just out of reach. “Stop touching yourself.” He does, hand falling to his side, and you lean down to kiss him. It’s slow and deep, and when you pull back, his pupils are blown. “I want your mouth,” you say.
“Where?”
“You know where.”
“Say it.” His breath ghosts over your inner thigh.
“My pussy,” you say, face heating. “I want your mouth on my pussy.”
“Good girl.” The praise makes you clench around nothing, and then his tongue is on you and you forget how to think.
You’re straddling his face, thighs bracketing his head. The position makes you feel powerful and vulnerable at the same time. “Eat me out,” you order. “Don’t stop until I come.”
He doesn’t need to be told twice. His tongue finds your clit immediately, and you gasp, gripping his hair for balance. He’s good at this—you’ve known that since the very first time—but something about being in control makes it even better. “Just like that,” you pant, rolling your hips against his face. “Fuck, your tongue feels so good.”
He groans against you, hands gripping your ass, pulling you down harder. You ride his face shamelessly, chasing your pleasure, and when he slides two fingers inside you, crooking them just right while his tongue works your clit, you actually see stars. “Holy shit,” you gasp, one hand fisted in his hair, the other gripping the sheets.
He adds a second finger, stretching you, and the combination of his mouth and his fingers pumping into you is almost too much. You’re making sounds you’ve never made before, completely uninhibited, and he’s groaning against you like getting you off is getting him off. “Jungwon, I’m—fuck, I’m close—”
He doesn’t change what he’s doing. Doesn’t speed up or switch techniques like so many guys do right when you’re on the edge. He just keeps that same perfect rhythm, fingers curling inside you, tongue circling your clit, and you come harder than you ever have with another person. Your whole body goes taut, thighs clamping around his head as waves of pleasure crash over you. He works you through it, only lightening his touch when you start to squirm from sensitivity.
You’re still trembling when you climb off him, and his face is wet, lips swollen. He looks incredibly pleased with himself. “Good?” he asks.
“So good.” You kiss him, tasting yourself. “But I’m not done with you yet.”
“No?”
“No.” You wrap your hand around his cock, and he hisses. “I want to ride you. But you don’t get to touch me.”
“What?”
“Hands behind your head.” He complies, lacing his fingers behind his head, biceps flexing. You grab a condom from his nightstand and roll it on, and then you’re sinking down onto him, both of you groaning at the sensation.
“Fuck,” he breathes. “You feel amazing.”
“No touching,” you remind him when his hands twitch.
“This is torture.”
“This is fun.” You start to move, rolling your hips, finding the angle that makes you both moan. “Watch me.”
He does, eyes glued to where you’re joined, then traveling up to your bouncing breasts, your face. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”
“Tell me what you want,” you say.
“Want to touch you. Want to flip you over and fuck you into the mattress.”
“Not yet.” You lean back, bracing your hands on his thighs, changing the angle. “Oh fuck—right there—”
“Yeah?” His voice is strained. “That feel good?”
“So good—” You’re close again, which should be impossible but apparently Jungwon has ruined you for anyone else. “I’m gonna come again—”
“Let me see.” His hands are fisted in his hair, knuckles white from the effort of not touching you. “Want to see you fall apart on my cock.” The words push you over the edge. You come with a cry, clenching around him, and he groans.
“Can I touch you now?” he begs. “Please—”
“Yes—”
His hands are on you immediately, gripping your hips, and he thrusts up into you hard. You’re oversensitive and it’s almost too much, but then he’s sitting up, wrapping his arms around you, and kissing you desperately. “You’re incredible,” he pants against your mouth. “Fucking incredible—”
He comes with his face buried in your neck, and you hold him through it, both of you slick with sweat. When you both catch your breath, he flops back onto the bed, bringing you with him. “That was—” he starts.
“Yeah.”
“We should do that again.”
“Definitely.” You glance at the clock and groan. “Shit, I really need to go study.”
“Stay,” he says. “Just for a little bit.”
“Jungwon—”
“Please? We can study together. I have a midterm tomorrow too.”
You should say no. Should go back to your apartment and study alone like you planned. But his arms are around you and you’re comfortable and warm, and maybe staying for an hour won’t hurt. “Fine,” you say. “One hour.” You stay for three.
A week later, you’re at another party—this one at someone’s house off campus. It’s someone’s birthday, you’re not sure whose, but the music is good and the drinks are strong and you’re having fun. You’re in the kitchen with Liv and some people from your Communications class when you see Jungwon walk in with Heeseung and Jake. He spots you immediately, and you quickly look away. You’ve been good about not staring at each other at parties. Good about acting normal.
But then some girl approaches him—blonde, pretty, wearing a crop top that shows off her abs—and you watch as she touches his arm, leans in close to say something in his ear. Your stomach twists.
“You okay?” Liv asks quietly.
“Fine.”
“You’re glaring.”
“I’m not glaring.”
“You’re definitely glaring.” She follows your gaze. “It’s just some random girl. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“I know that.”
But when the girl laughs at something Jungwon says, her hand still on his arm, you feel something ugly rise in your chest. This is stupid. You have no claim on him. You’re not together. He can talk to whoever he wants. You turn away and pour yourself another drink.
“Want to go dance?” Liv suggests.
“Yeah. Let’s go.” You spend the next hour on the makeshift dance floor, deliberately not looking for Jungwon, deliberately not caring where he is or who he’s talking to.
It’s fine. Everything’s fine.
You’re getting another drink when you feel someone behind you. “Having fun?” Jungwon’s voice in your ear makes you shiver.
“Yeah. You?”
“It’s alright.” He’s close enough that you can feel his body heat. “Want to get out of here?”
“Busy tonight.”
“Busy with what?”
“Just… busy.”
“Are you mad at me?”
“Why would I be mad?”
“You tell me.”
You turn to face him. “That girl you were talking to. She was pretty.”
Understanding dawns in his eyes. “Are you jealous?”
“No.”
“Liar.” He steps closer. “For the record, she asked for directions. That’s it.”
“I don’t care.”
“You clearly do.” His hand brushes yours. “Come over. Let me prove I only want you.”
You should say no. Should make him work for it. But the look in his eyes makes your resolve crumble. “Fine,” you say. “But you’re leaving first this time.”
By the time you get to his apartment, you’re both frantic. You barely make it inside before you’re tearing at each other’s clothes, kissing desperately. “You drive me crazy,” he mutters against your lips, walking you backward toward his room. “Watching you dance with those guys—”
“I wasn’t dancing with anyone specifically—”
“Didn’t matter. Wanted to punch all of them anyway.” He gets you naked and on his bed, and then he’s between your legs, and this time there’s an edge to it. Like he’s claiming you, proving something. He eats you out until you’re crying, overstimulated and desperate, and then he flips you over.
“On your knees,” he orders, and you comply, ass in the air. He slides into you from behind and you both groan. The angle is deep, almost too much, and when he starts to move, you can barely breathe.
“You feel so good,” he pants, hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. “So fucking perfect.”
“Harder—”
He complies, fucking into you relentlessly, and you fist the sheets, moaning into the pillow. “No one else gets to have you like this,” he growls, and the possessiveness in his voice shouldn’t turn you on as much as it does. “Just me. Right?”
“Yes—fuck—yes—just you—”
One of his hands slides around to rub your clit and you come with a scream, clenching around him. He follows right after, collapsing on top of you.
When you can both move again, he pulls out carefully and you both clean up in silence. There’s something heavy in the air, something unsaid. “Stay,” he says when you start to get dressed.
“I can’t keep staying over, Jungwon. People will notice—”
“I don’t care anymore.” He catches your wrist. “Stay.”
You look at him—really look at him. His hair is a mess, lips swollen from kissing, and he’s looking at you like you’re something precious. This is getting too real. Too intense. You’re supposed to be keeping things casual, but nothing about the way you feel when you’re with him is casual anymore. “Okay,” you say quietly. “I’ll stay.”
He pulls you back into bed, and you curl into his side, listening to his heartbeat slow. “Y/N?” he says after a while.
“Yeah?”
“This thing with us…” He trails off.
Your heart pounds. “What about it?”
“Nothing. Never mind.”
But you’re both thinking the same thing. This stopped being casual a long time ago. Neither of you is ready to admit it yet.
November hits campus like a cold slap. The trees are bare, everyone’s walking around in puffer jackets and beanies, and the semester is hitting that point where everyone’s exhausted and stressed and living on coffee and spite.
You’re in Advanced Marketing on a Thursday morning, half-asleep and trying to absorb information about consumer behavior models, when Professor Chen makes an announcement. “Before we start, I want to introduce a new student joining us. This is Daniel Choi—he’s transferring from NYU. Daniel, why don’t you tell us a bit about yourself?”
You glance up and—oh. Daniel is tall, with broad shoulders, dark hair styled back, and an easy smile. He’s wearing a navy sweater that probably costs more than your textbooks, and when he speaks, his voice is warm and confident. “Hey everyone. I’m a junior, majoring in Marketing and Communications. Just moved here from New York, so still figuring out the campus. Looking forward to getting to know you all.”
“Wonderful,” Professor Chen says. “Why don’t you take that seat next to Y/N? Y/N, raise your hand?”
You do, reluctantly, and Daniel makes his way over, sliding into the seat beside you. “Hey,” he says, smile widening. “Thanks for letting me sit here.”
“It’s not really my seat to give, but sure.”
He laughs. “Fair point. I’m Daniel.”
“Y/N.”
“Nice to meet you, Y/N.” Then Professor Chen launches into the lecture, and you try to focus, but you’re aware of Daniel beside you—the way he takes notes on his laptop, occasionally glancing over at your notebook like he’s comparing, the expensive cologne that’s subtle but noticeable.
When class ends, he turns to you. “Hey, I know this is random, but do you think you could help me out? I’m completely lost on where anything is on this campus.”
“There are maps—”
“I know, but they’re confusing as hell.” He gives you a slightly sheepish look. “And Professor Chen mentioned you’re a great student. I could use someone to show me around, maybe fill me in on what I’ve missed in class so far?”
You should say no. You’re busy. You have your own classes and your friends and your… whatever Jungwon is. But Daniel seems nice, and it’s just showing someone around campus. “Sure,” you find yourself saying. “I have a break after this. I can give you a quick tour.”
“You’re a lifesaver.” His smile is genuinely grateful. “Can I at least buy you coffee?”
You spend the next hour showing Daniel around campus—the library, the student center, the various academic buildings, the good food spots versus the ones to avoid. He’s easy to talk to, asking questions about classes and professors, and he’s funny in a dry, clever way that makes you laugh.
“So NYU to here,” you say as you walk past the quad. “That’s a big change.”
“Yeah.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “My dad got relocated for work, and the family moved. Figured I’d come with them rather than stay in New York alone. Plus, cheaper tuition as an in-state student.”
“That’s fair. How are you liking it so far?”
“Campus is nice. People seem cool.” He glances at you. “Present company especially.” It’s flirty but not obnoxiously so, and you feel your face warm slightly.
“Wait until you experience your first real winter here,” you say, deflecting. “Then we’ll see if you still think it’s nice.”
“I’m from New York. I can handle cold.”
“This is different. This is Midwest cold. The kind that hurts your face.”
He laughs. “I’ll take your word for it.”
You show him a few more buildings, and by the time you’re done, your break is almost over. “This was really helpful,” Daniel says. “Seriously, thank you.”
“No problem.”
“Can I get your number? In case I have questions about class or campus stuff?” It’s innocent enough. Just a new student wanting help navigating. You give him your number. “Thanks.” He saves it in his phone. “I’ll see you next class?”
“Yeah, see you.” You watch him walk away, and you’re surprised to find yourself smiling a little.
You don’t think much about Daniel over the next few days. You’re busy with midterms and work and your friends. And Jungwon. Especially Jungwon.
You’ve been spending even more time together lately—studying at his place, grabbing food between classes, and obviously still hooking up regularly. It’s gotten to the point where you have a toothbrush at his apartment and he has spare clothes at yours. It should worry you how domestic it’s becoming. It doesn’t.
You’re at his place on Saturday night, both of you on his bed with your laptops, supposedly working on separate assignments but really just procrastinating together. “I’m so sick of this essay,” you groan, flopping backward.
“How much do you have left?”
“Like, three pages.”
“That’s not bad.”
“It’s three pages I don’t want to write.” You roll over to look at him. “Entertain me.”
“I’m busy.”
“No you’re not. You’ve been on the same paragraph for twenty minutes.”
He closes his laptop with a sigh. “Fine. What do you want to do?”
“I don’t know. Something that isn’t homework.”
He shifts closer, hand sliding up your thigh. “I can think of something.”
“We literally had sex an hour ago.”
“So?”
You laugh and push his hand away. “You’re insatiable.”
“Only with you.” He’s smiling but there’s something in his eyes that makes your chest tight.
Your phone buzzes on the nightstand. You reach for it and see a text from an unknown number.
unknown: hey! it’s daniel from marketing class. hope this isn’t weird but i had a question about the assignment due next week?
You smile and save his contact. you: not weird at all! what’s your question?
“Who’s that?” Jungwon asks, and there’s an edge to his voice.
“New guy in my marketing class. He transferred from NYU.”
“And he’s texting you?”
“He had a question about the assignment.” You glance at Jungwon. “Why?”
“No reason.” But his jaw is tight, and you recognize that look. He’s jealous.
Your phone buzzes again. daniel: professor chen mentioned something about a group project? do you know if groups are assigned or if we pick our own?
you: we pick our own! usually groups of 3-4. i can add you to mine if you want? we still need one more person
daniel: that would be amazing. thank you! also totally unrelated but are you free tomorrow? wanted to check out that coffee place you mentioned and could use the company
You hesitate. It’s just coffee. Daniel is nice, and he’s new and doesn’t know anyone. It would be rude to say no. you: sure! i’m free around 2?
daniel: perfect. i’ll meet you there
You set your phone down and find Jungwon staring at you. “What?”
“You’re getting coffee with him?”
“He’s new. He doesn’t know anyone. I’m being nice.”
“Right. Nice.” He doesn’t sound convinced.
“Jungwon, it’s just coffee.”
“Does he know that?”
“Know what?”
“That it’s ‘just coffee.’ Or does he think it’s a date?”
You sit up. “It’s not a date. We’re literally just getting coffee. Why do you care?”
“I don’t.”
“You clearly do.”
“I just—” He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. “Never mind. Do whatever you want.”
“I am doing whatever I want. That’s kind of the point of this arrangement, remember?”
The words come out harsher than you intended, and something flashes across his face—hurt, maybe, or anger, you can’t tell. “Right,” he says quietly. “The arrangement.”
The air between you feels heavy, wrong. You want to take it back, to explain that you don’t actually want to get coffee with Daniel, that you’d rather spend tomorrow with Jungwon like you spend most days. But you don’t say any of that. “I should go,” you say instead, closing your laptop. “It’s late.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I have an early class tomorrow anyway.” You gather your stuff quickly, and Jungwon doesn’t try to stop you. When you leave, he doesn’t ask you to stay like he usually does. You tell yourself it’s fine. Everything’s fine.
Coffee with Daniel is actually really nice. He’s waiting outside the café when you arrive, and he lights up when he sees you. “Hey! Thanks for coming.”
“Of course.”
Inside, the place is cozy and warm, smelling like espresso and cinnamon. You order your usual and Daniel gets some complicated drink with like five different modifiers. “High maintenance,” you tease as you find a table by the window.
“I know what I like,” he says, grinning. “Can’t fault me for that.”
You spend the next hour just talking. He tells you about growing up in New York, his family, his friends back home. He asks about your life, your major, your friends. He’s a good listener, asking follow-up questions, seeming genuinely interested. It’s easy. Comfortable. And he’s cute—you can’t deny that. The way he smiles, the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he laughs. The way he leans forward when you’re talking, giving you his full attention.
“So,” he says eventually, stirring his drink. “Do you have a boyfriend? Or girlfriend, or… partner? I don’t want to assume.”
Your stomach drops. “I—no. Not exactly.”
“Not exactly?” He raises an eyebrow, curious, not pushy.
“It’s complicated.”
“Complicated how?”
You shouldn’t tell him. It’s none of his business. But something about the way he’s looking at you, open and interested, makes you want to talk about it. “There’s this guy,” you say slowly. “We’ve been… hooking up. For a few months now. It’s supposed to be casual but lately it feels like…”
“Like it’s not casual anymore?” Daniel finishes.
“Yeah.”
“Does he know you feel that way?”
“I don’t know. We don’t really talk about it.” You take a sip of your coffee. “It’s stupid. We had rules. No feelings, no complications. And I’m the one who’s complicating it.”
“Feelings aren’t stupid,” Daniel says gently. “And if he’s worth anything, he feels the same way.”
“What if he doesn’t?”
“Then he’s an idiot.” He smiles. “For what it’s worth, any guy who has you and doesn’t want more is definitely an idiot.”
It’s sweet. Maybe a little too sweet, a little too flirty, but you find yourself smiling back. “Thanks, Daniel.”
“Anytime.” He checks his phone. “Shit, I have to go. Meeting my parents for dinner. But this was really fun. We should do it again?”
“Yeah, that’d be nice.”
“Cool.” He stands, shrugging on his jacket. “See you in class Tuesday?”
“See you then.” You watch him leave, and you’re not sure how to feel. Daniel is nice. He’s attractive and smart and funny, and he’s clearly interested in you. But he’s not Jungwon. Your phone buzzes.
jungwon: you busy tonight?
You stare at the message for a long moment before typing back. you: studying with maya. why?
It’s a lie. You don’t have plans. But you need space to think, to figure out what you’re doing.
jungwon: nothing. just wanted to see you. have fun studying
The guilt sits heavy in your chest.
You avoid Jungwon for the next few days. It’s not hard—you claim you’re busy with midterms and assignments, which is partially true. But really, you just need time to sort through your feelings.
Because the truth is, you’re falling for him. Have been falling for him for months now. And the idea of telling him and having him not feel the same way, of losing what you have, terrifies you. So you throw yourself into other things. Classes. Assignments. Your friends. And Daniel.
He texts you throughout the week—memes, questions about class, random observations about campus life. It’s friendly and light and uncomplicated. You tell yourself that’s why you respond, why you agree to study together in the library, why you sit next to him in Marketing and laugh at his whispered jokes during lectures. But you know that’s not entirely true. You know you’re using Daniel as a distraction. And it’s not fair to him.
On Thursday, you’re leaving your Marketing class with Daniel when you run into the group. Literally—you turn a corner and almost collide with Maya and Jake.
“Oh! Hey!” Maya says, then notices Daniel. “Who’s this?”
“This is Daniel. He’s new. Daniel, this is Maya and Jake.”
“Nice to meet you,” Daniel says, friendly and charming.
“You too,” Maya says, but she’s giving you a look. “We’re all getting lunch. You want to come?”
“Oh, um—”
“You should definitely come,” Jake says. “Whole group’s gonna be there.” Your stomach sinks. Whole group means Jungwon.
“I don’t want to intrude,” Daniel starts.
“You’re not intruding,” Maya insists. “The more the merrier. Right, Y/N?”
“Right,” you say weakly.
Lunch is at the student center food court, and by the time you arrive with Daniel, everyone else is already there—Maya and Jake, Liv and Reina, Jay and Sunghoon, Heeseung and Sunoo and Niki. And Jungwon. He’s sitting at the end of the table, and when he sees you walk in with Daniel, something shutters in his expression.
“Everyone, this is Daniel,” you announce. “He just transferred here.”
Everyone introduces themselves, welcoming and friendly, and Daniel fits in easily. He’s charming and funny, and within minutes, he’s got Reina laughing at some story about his first week on campus. You sit across from Jungwon, and the tension is suffocating.
“So Daniel,” Sunghoon says. “Where’d you transfer from?”
“NYU.”
“Damn, that’s a downgrade,” Heeseung jokes, and everyone laughs.
“I don’t know,” Daniel says, and his hand brushes yours on the table. “I’m liking it here so far.” The touch is casual, probably meaningless. But Jungwon’s eyes lock onto it, and his jaw clenches.
“How do you and Y/N know each other?” Niki asks.
“We have Marketing together,” you say quickly. “I’ve been helping him get caught up.”
“Y/N’s been a lifesaver,” Daniel adds. “Don’t know what I’d do without her.” It’s innocent. Friendly. But the way he’s looking at you is… not. And Jungwon sees it.
“That’s nice,” Jungwon says, voice flat. “Y/N’s good at helping people.” There’s an undercurrent there that makes you flinch.
The conversation moves on, everyone eating and talking, but you’re hyperaware of Jungwon across from you. He’s barely touched his food, just pushing it around his plate, and every time Daniel says something that makes you smile, Jungwon’s expression gets darker.
“So Y/N,” Reina says. “You still seeing that mystery guy? The one who’s so good in bed?”
You want to die. “Reina—”
“What? I’m just asking!”
“What mystery guy?” Daniel asks, curious.
“There’s no mystery guy,” you say firmly. “Reina’s making stuff up.”
“I’m literally not. You told Niki about him.”
“That was months ago.”
“So you’re not seeing anyone?” Daniel asks, and there’s hope in his voice.
Before you can answer, Jungwon stands abruptly. “I gotta go. Got class.”
“But we just sat down,” Heeseung protests.
“I forgot I have to talk to my professor about something.” He grabs his bag and leaves without looking at you. The table goes quiet for a beat.
“What’s up with him?” Jake asks.
“No idea,” Sunoo says, but he’s looking at you thoughtfully.
“Maybe he’s not feeling well,” Maya suggests.
You know that’s not it. You know exactly what’s wrong. “I should—” You start to stand. “I should check on him.”
“Why?” Reina asks.
“Because we’re friends. And he seemed upset.”
“I’ll come with you,” Daniel offers.
“No,” you say, too quickly. “I mean—you should stay. Finish eating. I’ll be right back.”
You don’t wait for a response before hurrying after Jungwon. You catch him outside the building, heading toward the parking lot. “Jungwon, wait!” He stops but doesn’t turn around. “What was that?” you ask when you reach him.
“What was what?”
“You know what. Walking out like that.”
He finally turns to face you, and the look in his eyes makes your chest hurt. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Y/N.”
“I want you to tell me what’s wrong.”
“You really don’t know?” He laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “You show up with that guy, he’s all over you, looking at you like—” He breaks off, running a hand through his hair. “And you’re just letting it happen.”
“He’s not all over me. We’re friends.”
“Does he know that? Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like he thinks you’re something more.”
“Even if he did, why do you care? We’re not together, remember? That’s the whole point.”
“Right,” he says bitterly. “The arrangement. How could I forget?”
“Jungwon—”
“Are you into him?”
The question catches you off guard. “What?”
“Daniel. Are you into him?”
“I—no. Not like that.”
“But you could be.” It’s not a question. “If things were different. If we weren’t…” He gestures between you, unable to finish the sentence.
“I don’t know,” you say honestly. “Maybe. He’s nice. And he’s—”
“Uncomplicated,” Jungwon finishes. “He’s not sneaking around. He could actually take you on dates, be seen with you, give you what you want.”
“What I want?”
“More.” He steps closer. “You want more than this, Y/N. I can see it. And I can’t—”
He stops, and your heart is pounding. “You can’t what?”
“I can’t give you that.” His voice is rough. “This—us—it’s supposed to be casual. No strings. That’s what we agreed.”
“And what if I don’t want casual anymore?” The words tumble out before you can stop them. “What if I want more?”
He stares at you, and for a moment you think he’s going to say it—that he wants more too, that this has been killing him the same way it’s been killing you. But then he looks away. “I can’t,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry.”
It feels like the ground has been pulled out from under you. “Right,” you manage. “Okay.”
“It’s fine.” You’re backing away, fighting tears. “You’re right. This was always supposed to be casual. My mistake for thinking it could be anything else.”
“That’s not—”
“I should get back. Everyone’s waiting.” You turn and walk away before he can say anything else, before you completely fall apart in front of him.
When you get back to the table, Daniel takes one look at your face and frowns. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” you lie. “Just… tired. Long week.”
“Want me to walk you home?”
You should say no. Should put some distance between you and Daniel before this gets messy. But you’re hurt and angry and you don’t want to be alone. “Yeah,” you say. “That’d be nice.”
As you leave with Daniel, you don’t see Jungwon watching from across the quad, hands shoved in his pockets, looking like his world just fell apart.
You don’t talk to Jungwon for the rest of the week. He texts a few times— casual messages asking how you are, if you want to study, if you’re okay. You respond with short, noncommittal answers.
The group notices. How could they not? You and Jungwon have been attached at the hip for months, and suddenly you can barely be in the same room. “What happened between you two?” Liv asks when you’re alone in your apartment.
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit. You’ve been miserable all week.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. You’re avoiding him. And he’s been moping around like someone kicked his puppy.” You don’t answer, just stare at your laptop screen without actually seeing it. “Did something happen with Daniel?” she presses gently.
“No. Daniel’s just a friend.”
“Does Jungwon know that?”
“It doesn’t matter what Jungwon thinks.”
Liv is quiet for a moment. “You should talk to him. Actually talk. Because this? This is worse than whatever you’re avoiding.”
You know she’s right. But you’re scared. Scared that if you talk to Jungwon, you’ll have to end things for real. That you’ll have to accept that he doesn’t want what you want, that these past few months have meant something completely different to him than they have to you.
So you do what you’ve been doing—you avoid him. And you spend more time with Daniel.
It’s Friday night, and there’s a party at some senior’s house. You show up with Liv and Reina, already a few drinks in from pregaming, and the place is packed. You lose your friends almost immediately in the crowd. You’re making your way to the kitchen when you spot Daniel. “Hey!” He brightens when he sees you. “I was hoping you’d be here.”
“Yeah, wouldn’t miss it.” You’re definitely drunker than you thought. “Having fun?”
“More fun now.” He hands you a drink. “Here. It’s strong, fair warning.” You take it and down half of it in one go. “Rough week?” he asks.
“Something like that.”
The music is loud, bass thumping through your chest, and Daniel leans in closer to be heard. “Want to go somewhere quieter? Maybe talk?”
You should say no. You know where this is going, and it’s not fair to Daniel or to yourself or to— “Sure,” you say.
He leads you upstairs, finding an empty bedroom, and closes the door behind you. It muffles the music, making it easier to hear. “Better?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
He sits on the bed and you sit next to him, suddenly very aware that you’re alone together in a bedroom. “Can I ask you something?” Daniel says.
“Sure.”
“That guy you mentioned. The complicated one. Is it… are you still involved with him?”
You take another sip of your drink. “I don’t know. Maybe. It’s complicated.”
“Does he know how you feel?”
“I told him. He made it pretty clear he doesn’t feel the same way.”
“Then he’s an idiot.” Daniel shifts closer. “Because you’re incredible, Y/N. Smart and funny and beautiful. Any guy would be lucky to be with you.”
“Daniel—”
“I like you,” he says. “I know we just met, and maybe the timing is shit, but I really like you. And if this other guy can’t see what he has, then…”
He trails off, and then he’s leaning in, and you realize he’s going to kiss you. You should stop him. You should explain that you’re not over Jungwon, that you’re not in a place to start something new.
But you’re drunk and hurt and you want to feel wanted by someone who isn’t afraid to show it. So you let him kiss you. It’s nice. He’s a good kisser— soft lips, careful hands, nothing like—
The door opens. “Y/N, Liv’s looking for—” Jungwon stops dead in the doorway.
You jerk back from Daniel, but it’s too late. Jungwon saw. And the look on his face— betrayal and hurt and anger all mixed together—makes your stomach drop. “Jungwon—”
“Sorry,” he says, voice tight. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”
He’s gone before you can say anything else, door slamming behind him. “Shit,” you breathe.
“Who was that?” Daniel asks.
“I—” You stand up, suddenly feeling very sober. “I have to go. I’m sorry.”
“Y/N, wait—” But you’re already out the door, pushing through the crowded hallway, trying to find Jungwon. You catch him on the front porch, about to leave.
“Jungwon, wait!” He stops, shoulders tense, but doesn’t turn around. “It’s not— that wasn’t—”
“You don’t owe me an explanation,” he says, finally facing you. “You can kiss whoever you want.”
“It didn’t mean anything—”
“Didn’t it?” His eyes are hard. “Looked like it meant something.”
“I was just—I was upset and drunk and he was there—”
“And I wasn’t,” Jungwon finishes. “Because you’ve been avoiding me all week.”
“You told me you couldn’t give me more! What did you expect me to do?”
“I don’t know!” He’s yelling now, and a few people on the porch are staring. “I don’t know, Y/N. But I didn’t expect you to move on in a fucking week.”
“I’m not moving on! And even if I was, why do you care? You made it clear you don’t want—”
“I never said I didn’t want—” He breaks off, jaw clenched. “Fuck.”
“What? You never said you didn’t want what?”
“You!” The word explodes out of him. “I never said I didn’t want you. I said I couldn’t give you more, and that’s different.”
You stare at him. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about the fact that I’m terrified, okay?” His voice cracks. “I’m terrified because this stopped being casual for me months ago, and I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to be what you need.”
Your heart is pounding so hard you think it might burst out of your chest. “Jungwon—”
“I see the way Daniel looks at you. Like you’re everything. And I want to be that guy— the one who can take you on dates and hold your hand in public and tell everyone you’re mine. But I’m scared I’ll fuck it up. That I’ll lose you completely.”
“So instead you’re losing me anyway,” you say quietly. He flinches like you hit him. “I’m falling for you,” you continue, and the words feel like jumping off a cliff. “I’ve been falling for you for months. And it’s been killing me because I thought you didn’t feel the same way.”
“I do,” he says desperately. “I do feel the same way. I just—”
“You just what?”
“I don’t want to ruin what we have.”
“Jungwon, we’ve already ruined it. Pretending we can keep things casual when we both feel more—that’s what’s ruining it.”
He’s quiet for a long moment, and you can see him struggling with something. “If we do this,” he says finally, “if we make this real— what if it doesn’t work? What if we end up hating each other?”
“What if we don’t?” you counter. “What if it’s amazing?”
“What about the group? If things go bad—”
“We’ll figure it out. But Jungwon, I’d rather try and fail than spend the rest of my life wondering what if.”
He looks at you like he’s trying to memorize your face, and then— “Fuck it,” he mutters, and then he’s kissing you.
It’s different from every other kiss you’ve shared. More desperate, more meaningful. Like he’s pouring everything he couldn’t say into it.
When you break apart, you’re both breathless. “So,” you manage. “Does this mean—”
“It means I want to be with you. For real. No more hiding, no more pretending.” He cups your face in his hands. “I want everyone to know you’re mine.”
“Even the group?”
“Especially the group.” He smiles, and it’s tentative but real. “They probably already know anyway.”
You laugh, and it feels like relief. “Probably.”
“What about Daniel?”
“I’ll talk to him. Explain. But Jungwon, there’s nothing there. It’s always been you.”
“Yeah?” His smile widens.
“Yeah.” He kisses you again, softer this time, and you hear whooping from inside the house. You break apart to find half your friend group watching from the window—Reina and Liv and Maya and the guys all grinning like idiots.
“FINALLY!” Reina screams, and everyone laughs. Jungwon pulls you closer, wrapping his arms around you, and for the first time in weeks, everything feels right.
“So,” he murmurs against your hair. “Want to get out of here? I think we have some things to talk about.”
“And by talk you mean—”
“Actually talk,” he says, pulling back to look at you. “We should probably figure out how to actually do this relationship thing.”
“We should,” you agree. “But maybe we can do the talking back at your place? I’m still kind of drunk and these heels are killing me.” He laughs and takes your hand— openly, for everyone to see— and leads you toward his car.
As you leave, you glance back at the house and catch Daniel watching from the doorway. He looks sad but understanding, and he raises his cup in a small salute. You mouth “sorry,” and he nods. You’ll explain everything to him later. Right now, you just want to be with Jungwon.
You wake up to sunlight streaming through Jungwon’s window and his arm draped across your waist. For a moment, you just lie there, listening to his steady breathing, trying to process that this is real now. You’re actually dating Jungwon. Your phone buzzes— multiple times. You reach for it and find the group chat exploding.
reina: SO ARE WE GONNA TALK ABOUT LAST NIGHT OR
maya: I KNEW IT
liv: you all owe me $20 btw
jay: jungwon if you hurt her i’m fighting you
you: good morning to you too
reina: GOOD MORNING??? THAT’S ALL YOU HAVE TO SAY???
you: yes we’re official
reina: EXTREMELY
you: and we’ve been hooking up since that party in august
heeseung: AUGUST?????
reina: I FUCKING KNEW IT
Jungwon stirs beside you, eyes fluttering open. When he sees you, he smiles— soft and sleepy and genuine. “Morning,” he says, voice rough.
“Morning.” You show him your phone. “We’re famous.”
He scrolls through, laughing. “They’re ridiculous.”
jungwon: i’m not going to hurt her
jay: good
reina: now that that’s settled TELL US EVERYTHING
The “mandatory celebration” ends up being at Jay and Sunghoon’s that evening. By the time you and Jungwon arrive— together, holding hands— everyone else is already there. “THERE THEY ARE!” Reina shouts. “The happy couple!”
Maya rushes over to hug you. “I’m so happy for you!”
Jake hands you both drinks. “So, real talk. How long have you actually had feelings for each other?”
“I’ve liked her since before we started hooking up,” Jungwon says. “Remember that party in July? When you wore that black dress?”
Your face is burning. “You never said anything.”
He shrugs. “I didn’t think you were interested. And then the bet happened and… well, you know the rest.”
“What about you?” Liv asks.
“Probably that first morning after,” you admit. “When we were texting about the arrangement and he was being all careful. That’s when I started thinking he might be different.”
Several drinks later, everyone’s sprawled around the living room. You’re tucked into Jungwon’s side on the couch, and it feels so natural. “Real talk,” Jay says, tone serious. “I’m happy for you guys. But—” He looks at Jungwon. “—you hurt her, and we have a problem.”
“I know. And I’m not going to hurt her. I’m—” He looks at you. “—I’m in love with her.”
The room goes silent. Your heart stops. “What?” you whisper.
“I’m in love with you. I have been for a while. I was just too scared to say it.”
“I love you too, you idiot.” You’re shaking your head. “I’ve been in love with you for months.” His smile is brilliant. He kisses you, and this time it’s softer, more tender.
“Okay, we’re leaving,” Reina announces. “Before this gets too cute.”
After everyone leaves, you and Jungwon stay on the couch. “I meant what I said,” he murmurs. “About loving you.”
“I meant it too.” You shift to straddle his lap. “I love you, Jungwon.”
He cuts you off with a kiss. “Want to go home?”
You end up at his place. The second you’re inside, he’s on you, kissing you with urgency. “Bedroom,” you gasp.
“Too far.” He lifts you, carries you to the couch. You land in a tangle of limbs, laughing, then his mouth is on your neck. “I love you,” he murmurs.
“Show me,” you challenge.
He does. He takes his time undressing you, kissing every inch of skin. When you’re both finally naked, he hovers over you. “This is different now. Better,” he says. “I get to keep you.”
“You always had me.”
“I know. But now I don’t have to pretend I don’t want forever.”
“Forever?”
“Too soon?”
“No.” You pull him down. “Not too soon.”
He makes love to you slowly, thoroughly. More intimate. More real. Every touch feels like a confession. He enters you with a groan, and you wrap your legs around him. The rhythm is unhurried, sensual. He angles his hips just right, and his hand slides between your bodies to rub your clit. “God, you feel so perfect,” he breathes. “So tight and wet for me.”
“Jungwon— fuck— don’t stop—” He doesn’t. He keeps that perfect pace until you’re trembling. When you come, clenching around him, he follows right after with a moan of your name.
When you’re both spent on his couch, you feel something settle in your chest. “We should move to the bed,” he says eventually.
“Heeseung’s going to be home soon.” You gather clothes and make it to his room. “Stay,” he says.
“Obviously.” You curl into his side. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
The next morning, you wake to Jungwon’s alarm. Your head is pounding. “Turn it off,” you groan.
“We have brunch in an hour.”
Forty-five minutes later— after a shower where Jungwon pressed you against the tile and made you come on his fingers— you’re dressed and heading to the diner. You walk in holding hands. The sight of your friend group crammed into booths makes you smile.
“There they are!” Maya calls. You slide in next to Liv, Jungwon beside you, arm over your shoulders.
“So,” Sunoo says. “Now that you guys are official, does this mean we have to watch you be gross?”
“We’re not going to be gross,” you protest.
Jungwon immediately kisses your cheek. “Can’t promise that.”
“How long did you actually know?” you ask.
“I knew from the start,” Liv says. “You’re my roommate. You think I didn’t notice when you’d come home at 3 AM with hickeys?”
The conversation shifts to other topics, and it’s easy. Normal. Like nothing’s changed except now you don’t have to hide.
Later that day, you’re back at Jungwon’s, on the couch watching a movie. “Can I ask you something?” he says.
“Always.”
“Why did you kiss Daniel?”
“Honestly? I was drunk and hurt and he was there. It was stupid.”
“Did you… were you interested in him?”
“No.” You shift to look at him. “He’s nice, but I was so hung up on you.”
“Good.” He kisses you. “Because I was losing my mind.”
“Every time I was with him, I kept thinking about you.”
“You have me now.” His arms tighten. “For as long as you want me.”
“Forever, remember?”
“Forever,” he agrees.
“Want to order food and spend the rest of the day in bed?”
“Is that code for something?”
“Food, bed, probably some making out, definitely a nap.”
“Sounds perfect.”
Later that night, after Chinese food and another round of sex— with you riding him while he gripped your hips and watched you with dark eyes— you’re lying in his bed. “Thank you,” he says quietly.
“For what?”
“For being brave enough to tell me how you felt. I would have lost you if you hadn’t.”
“You wouldn’t have lost me. I was too far gone.”
“Speaking of which,” he says. “You could just keep some more stuff here. Make it official.”
“Jungwon, we’ve been officially dating for less than 24 hours.”
“So? We’ve been unofficially together for months.”
He has a point. “Fine. I’ll bring some stuff over tomorrow.” And he’s grinning from ear to ear
Three weeks later, you’re at another party— pre-Thanksgiving. This time, everything’s different. You and Jungwon arrive together, hands intertwined. When he pulls you onto the dance floor, you don’t worry about who’s watching. “Having fun?” he asks.
“So much fun.” You loop your arms around his neck. “This is better than hiding.”
“Way better.” He kisses you.
Later, in the kitchen, Daniel approaches. You haven’t really talked since that night. “Hey,” he says. “Can we talk?”
“Sure.” Jungwon gives your hand a squeeze and steps away.
“I just wanted to say I’m sorry,” Daniel starts. “For that night. I shouldn’t have kissed you.”
“No, I’m sorry. I should have been clearer. It wasn’t fair to you.”
“It’s okay. I get it now.” He glances at Jungwon. “That’s him, right?”
“Yeah. Not so complicated anymore.”
“Good. You seem happy.”
“I am. Really happy.” You hesitate. “Are we okay?”
“We’re okay. Friends?”
“Friends,” you agree.
He leaves, and Jungwon returns to your side. “That looked like it went well.”
“It did.” You lean into him. “Everything’s good.”
“Yeah,” he agrees. “Everything’s really good.”
You stay like that, watching your friends scattered around— your family. And Jungwon, solid and warm behind you. “I love you,” you say.
“I love you too.” He kisses your neck. “Want to get out of here?”
“And do what?”
“Go back to my place. Watch a movie. Make out. Order food. Fall asleep together. All the boring couple stuff.”
“That sounds perfect.” You say goodbye to your friends and head out.
“Your place or mine?” Jungwon asks.
“Yours. I already have a toothbrush there.”
He grins. “Look at us, being all domestic.”
“It’s disgusting.”
“You love it.”
“I really do.”
As he drives through the quiet streets, his hand finds yours, and you think about how different things were just months ago. When you were both pretending, both scared, both holding back. And now you’re here. Together. For real. “What are you thinking about?” Jungwon asks.
“Just… how happy I am. How glad I am that we figured this out.”
“Me too.” He brings your joined hands up to kiss your knuckles. “Best decision I ever made.”
“Proving you could make me come?”
He laughs. “No. Although that was a good decision too. I meant taking a chance on this. On us.”
“We both took a chance.”
“And it paid off.”
“Yeah,” you agree softly. “It really did.”
Back at his apartment, you fall into your routine— changing into his drawer of your clothes, brushing teeth side by side, collapsing onto his bed. “Movie?” he asks.
“Sure. Nothing too intense though.” He puts on a comedy, and you curl into his side. This is your favorite part. Not the sex— though that’s amazing— but this. The quiet moments. The casual intimacy.
“Hey Y/N?” Jungwon says softly.
“Hmm?”
“I’m really glad you’re mine.”
You lift your head. “I’m glad I’m yours too. And that you’re mine.”
“Always,” he promises, and kisses you.
Lying there in his arms, warm and safe and loved, you believe him. This is just the beginning. And you can’t wait to see where it goes.
Although I’ll probably always miss Heeseung, we also need to respect Jungwon’s wishes. Setting a boundary doesn’t make someone a bad person, and cutting up his photocards or throwing away his pickets because he expressed that boundary is actually so crazy. If you support an artist you should also respect them as a person. At the end of the day we need to respect their wishes even if we don't agree.
I’m not trying to be disrespectful in any way, but like… what the fuck. This is so childish and ridiculous. I’m lowk embarrassed. We don’t even know these people in real life, and even if we did, it’s never that serious. Respectfully go touch some grass 😭😭
Although I’ll probably always miss Heeseung, we also need to respect Jungwon’s wishes. Setting a boundary doesn’t make someone a bad person, and cutting up his photocards or throwing away his pickets because he expressed that boundary is actually so crazy. If you support an artist you should also respect them as a person. At the end of the day we need to respect their wishes even if we don't agree.
Jungwon addressing the fan chants and speaking on behalf of the members is something none of you guys should be hating on 😭 He’s setting boundaries and if you as a fan cannot continue to support enhypen, you shouldn’t be calling yourself an engene. I understand it all matters on perspective but he’s setting a very clear boundary and you guys should respect that.
warnings: smut (MDNI), one shot, cream pie, overstimulation, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex (wrap that willy). Lmk if there's anything else!
synopsis: Getting assigned to work with one coworker everyone warned me to stay away from.
word count: 3k
Authors Note: it’s like 2am and I have my frickin summer program tmr 🙂🔫 also ngl idk if ima make a part two to off limits cus I have no clue what else to add sorry 😞
I nervously fiddled with the hem of my skirt as I stood near the front counter, waiting for the mangers assistant to tell me where I’d be starting my first shift. The sounds of conversations, ringing phones, and hurried footsteps filled the building, making my nerves even worse. I glanced around at the employees moving were confidently from place to place and wondered if I’d ever look that comfortable here. I took a deep breath in to calm myself while I waited for my name to be called.
“Um, excuse me, ma’am, you can follow me,” a lady dressed in an expensive-looking suit called out to me.
I quickly smoothed out my skirt before following after her. My nerves only got worse with each step we took down the long hallway. The building was huge, and I could tell it had been recently renovated from the faint smell of fresh paint lingering in the air. The sound of our heels clicking against the polished floors echoed throughout the building, and I tried my best to keep up without looking completely lost.
As we passed rows of desks and offices, I noticed more and more people. Everyone seemed busy, typing away at their computers, answering phone calls, or hurrying from one meeting to another.
“Don’t worry,” the woman said with a small smile, noticing my anxious expression. “The first day is always the hardest.”
I let out a nervous laugh and nodded.
After a few more turns, she stopped in front of a glass door with 4 cubicles.
“This is going to be your cubicle,” she said, gesturing toward the desk.
I stepped inside and looked around. It wasn’t anything fancy—a desk, a computer, a rolling chair, and a few empty shelves—but it was mine.
“Make yourself comfortable,” the woman said. “Your team should be here shortly.”
Before I could ask any questions, she walked away.
I sank into the chair and took a deep breath, wondering what my team would be like.
A few minutes later I heard a group of footsteps and chatter.
"There’s the newbie" someone said with a bright smile on his face.
They all huddle near my desk
“Hi, I’m Minnie,” a woman with long hair said with a bright smile, pulling me into a quick hug before I could react.
“And this is Jake, and that’s Sunoo,” she added, pointing to the two standing beside her.
Both of them waved.
“Welcome to the marketing team!” Sunoo said cheerfully.
Their warm energy instantly made me feel more comfortable. The nervousness that had been twisting in my stomach since I arrived began to fade. It was hard not to smile when they all seemed so sweet.
“Thank you, guys. I’m so relieved I thought everyone here would be mean,” I said, letting out a small laugh.
“Trust me, everyone here is nice,” Jake replied with a reassuring smile.
“Well… except that guy,” Sunoo said, pointing toward a man sitting at a desk in another glass room.
I followed his gaze.
The man was focused on his computer. His dark hair fell effortlessly over his forehead, slightly covering his sharp eyes. He was tall, with broad shoulders that made him stand out even while sitting down. His expression was unreadable. Unlike everyone else in the office, he didn’t seem interested in chatting or joking around.
“Who’s that?” I asked curiously.
“That’s Riki” Minnie said. “He’s not exactly mean… just a little hard to talk to.”
“A little?” Sunoo scoffed. “Try impossible.”
Jake laughed and shook his head. “Don’t listen to them. He keeps to himself, that’s all.”
Okay enough about that let’s get you started” Minnie said clapping her hands together
They all started blabbing abt new ways to promote our newest products.
Before I could even process half of what they were saying, the conversation turned into a blur of marketing terms, campaign ideas, and deadlines. I nodded along, trying my best to keep up while secretly hoping no one would ask me a question.
Then there was a sharp knock on the door.
The room fell silent.
“Come in,” Minnie called.
The door opened, and the person who stepped inside immediately caught my attention.
It was him.
The same guy Sunoo had pointed out earlier.
His dark hair fell over his eyes as he glanced around the room. Dressed in a fitted blue button-up with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms.
“There’s a project that requires both of our teams to work together. I need one of you guys,” he said in a flat, uninterested tone, as if he’d rather be anywhere else.
“You.” He pointed directly at me. “Come with me.”
Without waiting for a response, he turned and started walking away.
I gulped.
Of all the people he could have picked, why me?
Slowly, I turned to look at my team. Instead of the encouragement I was hoping for, they all wore matching expressions of pity.
“Good luck,” Jake muttered.
“You’re gonna need it,” Minnie added with a wince.
I stared at them in disbelief.
“Seriously?”
Sunoo placed a hand over his heart dramatically. “It was nice knowing you.”
“Sunoo!” Minnie hissed.
“What? I’m trying to prepare her.”
I let out a nervous laugh and grabbed my notebook.
As I walked toward the door, Sunoo called after me.
“Just don’t look him in the eye!”
My team laughed while I shot him an unamused look.
“That’s not helping!”
Stepping out of the room, I hurried to catch up with Riki, who was already several steps ahead of me. His hands were tucked into his pockets as he walked through the office without looking back once to make sure I was following.
I practically had to speed-walk to keep up.
“You know, most people usually introduce themselves before kidnapping their coworkers,” I muttered under my breath.
To my surprise, I saw the corner of his mouth twitch.
“Most people talk too much.”
Okay.
This was going to be a very long project.
The two of us stepped into an elevator. The doors slid shut, leaving us alone in an awkward silence.
“So…” I said, trying to start a conversation.
“Do you like working here?”
“Sure.”
Wow. That was enthusiastic, I thought to myself, rolling my eyes.
A few moments later, the elevator doors opened. Ni-ki stepped out, and I quickly followed him down the hallway until we stopped in front of a room labeled Conference Room.
Inside, a large group of people were gathered around a long table. Papers, coffee mugs, and laptops were scattered everywhere, making it clear that they had already been there for a while.
The second we walked in, everyone’s eyes turned toward me.
“Who is this?” someone asked from across the room.
“Someone from Marketing,” Ni-ki replied without missing a beat.
That was it.
No name. No introduction.
I bit back a comment and took a seat in one of the empty chairs.
The meeting began almost immediately. Everyone tossed around ideas for upcoming projects, marketing strategies, product launches, and potential business deals. I tried my best to keep up, jotting down notes whenever something important was mentioned.
What felt like hours later, the meeting finally came to an end.
Chairs scraped against the floor as everyone stood up and started gathering their things. Relieved, I grabbed my notebook and headed for the door along with everyone else.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
I froze.
Slowly, I turned around.
Riki was staring at me from across the table, one eyebrow raised.
“Uh… back to my desk?” I answered.
Riki sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“The project won’t start itself.”
My stomach dropped.
This project had barely started, and I was already wishing it was over.
✧─── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧
The next couple of weeks flew by faster than I expected.
During most of my time I would go from meeting to meeting or come up with new ideas with my team. I started liking it here. Me and my team would go out for lunch often or even hang out on weekends. I stared liking it here. The only problem was I still had the project with Riki and his attitude was not helping.
But despite, what everyone had warned me about, I was slowly starting to get used to him.
Well... sort of.
He was still stubborn and terrible at holding a normal conversation.
But during the late-night brainstorming sessions and endless meetings. I'd learned that he wasn't nearly as scary as he seemed.
At least, not all the time.
"You're staring at your screen again."
I looked up from my laptop to find Riki standing beside my desk.
I rolled my eyes.
"I'm thinking."
"Looks painful."
I gasped dramatically.
"Wow. That's rude."
"Just being honest."
Two weeks ago, that comment would've annoyed me.
Now it just made me laugh.
"Why are you here?"
"Meeting starts in five minutes."
I glanced at the clock and immediately sat up straighter.
"Wait—seriously?"
Riki nodded.
"Oh my gosh."
A small smirk appeared on his face.
"You're welcome."
I hated how much I was starting to enjoy that stupid smirk.
✧─── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧
A few days later, I found myself stuck in the office long after everyone else had gone home. The project deadline was approaching faster than expected, and neither of our teams wanted to be the reason it failed. I rubbed my eyes and glanced at the clock.
10:47 PM.
Great.
The office was dead silent except for the faint hum of computers. Everyone else had left hours ago.
Everyone except me.
And Riki.
I looked over at him across the room. Same place. Same posture. Same focused expression that made it impossible to tell what he was thinking.
"Do you ever go home?" I asked, more tired than annoyed.
Without looking up, he replied, "Do you?"
I exhaled sharply.
"That's not an answer."
"It is."
"No, it's you avoiding the question." I said while yawning.
That made him stop typing.
Slowly, he looked up.
"Why are you still here then?" he asked.
I blinked.
"Because the project isn't done."
"leave."
I stared at him.
"...What?"
"You're tired, You're making mistakes."
I felt something flare in my chest.
"Oh, so now you care about if I'm tired?"
"No." His voice rose for the first time. "I just don't want to fix the mistakes you're going to make."
He stood, pushing his chair back.
I stood up too.
"Seriously?!"
"I'm serious."
"Right, because that's all you care about, isn't it? Results? Work? Everything except being an actual normal person?" My voice echoed through the empty office.
His eyes sharpened.
"I'm telling you to go home."
"No!"
His jaw tightened, and for the first time since I’d met him, the calm mask he’d worn for months slipped. Something flickered across his face—frustration, maybe hurt—but it disappeared before I could be sure. He exhaled slowly through his nose, as if he were using every ounce of self-control not to snap back.
I took another step toward him, refusing to back down.
“Say something,” I demanded. “Go ahead. Tell me I’m wrong.”
He didn't tell me I was wrong. For a long moment, neither of us moved. We just stood there, locked in each other’s gaze, daring the other to break first. Then something snapped in him.
He moved with a sudden, dangerous speed that stole the breath from my lungs. His hand shot out, fingers locking around my waist and yanking me forward with a force that slammed my hips flush against his. The sudden contact caught me off guard sending a wave of warmth radiating through my body.
"You want to know what I'm thinking?" he hissed, his voice a low, dangerous growl against my lips.
He didn't wait for an answer. He crashed his mouth onto mine, not with tenderness, but with a desperate, starving hunger that had clearly been hidden behind that composed expression for months. It was a collision—a clash of teeth and tongue and suppressed rage. I gasped into the kiss, my hands flying up to claw at his shoulders, pulling him closer, needing to erase every inch of space between us.
The taste of him was intoxicating coffee and something sharp like a flame starved of oxygen. He groaned deep in his throat, a sound of total surrender, and backed me up until my lower back hit the edge of the desk.
With one sweeping motion of his arm, he cleared the surface. My laptop slid across the table stacks of reports and folders scattered over the floor like confetti, forgotten and irrelevant. He hoisted me up, my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, locking him in.
His hands were everywhere—tearing at the buttons of my blouse, the fabric giving way with a satisfying rip. I felt the cool air of the office hit my skin for a split second before it was replaced by the searing heat of his palms , his breath ragged and hot against the sensitive skin of my neck, leaving a trail of bruising kisses that made me arch my back and cry out.
"I've wanted to shut you up like this since the day you walked in," he whispered, his voice raw.
He fumbled with his belt, the metallic click of the buckle echoing in the silence of the empty floor. When he finally freed himself, the sight of him hard and pulsing and prec already dripping sent a jolt of electricity straight to my core. I was already slick, aching for the friction, my body humming with a need that bordered on pain.
He didn't hesitate. He gripped my thighs, pulling me to the very edge of the desk, and drove into me in one deep, forceful thrust.
I let out a strangled scream, my head snapping back against the desk. He filled me completely, stretching me open, the sensation so intense it felt like an explosion. He froze for a second, his muscles locking, his face contorted in a mixture of agony and ecstasy as he adjusted to the tight heat of me.
Then, he began to move.
It wasn't a gentle rhythm; it was a battle. Each thrust was deep and rhythmic, the desk creaking under the weight of our bodies. The dimly lit fluorescent lights, the scent of printer ink, the silence of the night— clashed with the raw noises we were making. The sound of skin slapping against skin and our synchronized breathing filled the room.
He didn't slow down, his pace only becoming more frantic, more desperate. I clung to his shoulders, my nails digging into the expensive fabric of his top. Steadying myself as he hammered into me. Every impact sent a shockwave through my whole body, the hard edge of the desk pressing into my lower back, grounding me in the pure, overwhelming physicality of the moment. I could feel the friction building, a coil of tension tightening in my lower stomach, becoming tighter and tighter with every guttural moan he let out.
Suddenly, he groaned, a low, breathless sound, and pulled out with a wet, sliding pop that left me feeling empty and aching. I gasped, my legs still draped over his hips, my breathing short, jagged hitches.
He didn't let me recover. His eyes, dark filled with a hunger, locked onto mine as he reached behind me. His fingers fumbled for a moment with the clasp of my bra, the lace straining against my chest. With a sharp, decisive snap, the tension gave way. He ripped the fabric away, tossing it carelessly onto the floor, leaving my breasts bare and trembling in the cool office air.
He didn't waste a second. He leaned in, capturing one nipple between his teeth, tugging firmly while his hand squeezed the other breast, kneading the soft flesh with a possessive intensity. I cried out, my head tossing back, the sensation sending sparks of electricity dancing across my skin. He moved from one breast to the other, his tongue swirling around the peaks, tasting the salt of my skin, his breath hot and demanding.
Then, he shifted. He slid down my body, his hands gripping my thighs and pushing them wider, exposing me completely to the harsh glow of the ceiling lights. I felt a flash of vulnerability that quickly turned into raw anticipation as he knelt between my legs.
When his tongue first made contact, I nearly flew off the desk. He was precise, his tongue flicking against my clit with a rhythmic, agonizingly perfect pressure. I arched my back, my fingers pulling at his hair so hard my knuckles turned white. His breath hot against my wetness, his tongue diving deep and then swirling back to the center, teasing me, driving me to the edge.
The contrast was addicting —the silent office surrounding us, and the wet, slurping sounds of his mouth devouring me. I was shaking, my hips bucking instinctively, trying to push myself closer to his mouth. I whimpered his name, a broken plea, as the pressure built into an unbearable swell. Just as I felt the first tremors of a climax beginning to ripple through me, he pulled away.
I let out a frustrated sob, but he didn't let the pain linger. He spiked upward, his chest heaving, and grabbed my waist, hauling me back against him. He didn't slide back in slowly; he drove himself into me with a single, violent thrust that left me breathless.
"You're mine," he growled against my ear, his voice a rasp of pure hunger. "Everything about you is mine."
The friction was electric, the heat between us reaching a boiling point. He began to move again, but this time it was a relentless, driving force, his movements fast and shallow, hitting the exact spot that sent me spiraling. I wrapped my legs tightly around his waist, locking him in, pulling him deeper.
Everything was a blur except the sound of our colliding bodies and the scent of musk and ink. I felt the wave finally break—a sudden, violent explosion of pleasure that started in my core and radiated outward, turning my vision white. I moaned, the sound echoing through the empty floor, Clamping around him in tight.
The feeling triggered him. With one final, deep surge, he buried himself as far as he could go, his body locking up, a long, strangled groan escaping his throat as he filled me up with hot spurts of cum.
We stayed like that for a while, chests heaving in unison. When he finally spoke up.
“You were saying?” he teased, a smirk tugging at his lips as he tried to catch his breath.
I glared at him, still struggling to steady my breathing. “Shut up.”
୨ৎ Summary : Two people. One bar. One really, really bad night to be alone. Y/n just caught her fiancé of two years in bed with her best friend. Jungwon just found out his girlfriend of six years has been cheating for god knows how long. Neither of them planned on ending up in a hotel room with a stranger — they just both really, really didn't want to be alone that night. No names. No numbers. Just two broken people borrowing comfort from each other for one night, then going their separate ways like it never happened. Except a month later, y/n's staring at two pink lines on a bathroom floor, and there's only one person it could possibly be. She makes her choice fast, she's keeping the baby, and she's doing it alone. no ring, no husband, no one's permission required. So she books her first prenatal appointment at some random clinic near campus, ready to start this chapter solo like she planned—and her doctor walks in. It's him. Yang Jungwon.
୨ৎ Pairing : obgyn! Jungwon x college lecturer! reader
୨ৎ Wordcount : 6,5k
୨ৎ Warning : aged-up Jungwon (he's 28 here), stranger to.... (still figuring out), one night stand, unprotected sex, cheating (not Jungwon or y/n), unprotected sex (BIG NO NO, PLEASE WRAP YOUR WILLY), pregnancy.
Tuesday was supposed to be ordinary.
The kind of day that disappeared as quickly as it arrived. You finished your morning lecture, replied to a few student emails, stopped by the grocery store on your way home because you'd promised to cook dinner. Nothing remarkable. Nothing that hinted your life was quietly approaching a fault line.
The apartment was supposed to be empty.
You remembered that detail clearly later. He'd told you that morning, half asleep, mumbling something about a meeting running until six. You had the whole afternoon to yourself, or so you'd thought, planning the pasta you'd make, the wine you'd open, the ordinary comfort of a Tuesday night at home.
You unlocked the front door as quietly as always, balancing a paper bag of groceries against your hip. Then you heard laughter. A woman's laugh, low and familiar, drifting down the hallway like something out of a memory you couldn't quite place. For one suspended heartbeat, your mind simply refused to process it
Then it did. Your best friend.
You took another step down the hallway. The bedroom door wasn't completely closed. It didn't need to be. Some truths don't ask to be witnessed completely. You already understood, before your conscious mind caught up, that whatever was happening in that apartment wasn't meant for your ears.
The quiet intimacy of two people who had forgotten the rest of the world existed. Neither of them heard it. Or maybe they did. You didn't stay long enough to find out. There were no questions. No tears. No dramatic confrontation worthy of a movie scene. Because what explanation could possibly undo what you'd already seen?. You turned around before they could notice you. The front door clicked shut behind you with barely a sound.
Two years of engagement, gone.
Two years of wedding plans scattered across your dining table. Two years of apartment hunting, shared grocery lists, lazy Sunday mornings, and conversations about children you thought you'd have someday.
You don’t remember the walk to your car. You remember sitting behind the steering wheel with the keys in your hand and staring blankly at the windshield as the city morphed into streaks of bright light. It was just a blur of street lamps, head lights, and everything moving around you while your world was standing still. For a brief moment, you noticed that your hands weren’t shaking. You thought that was strange too. The way that your body had just suddenly gone still and cold and you were just as motionless as your body, like a state of shock had frozen you just outside of the situation.
You couldn’t say how long it was, but what you knew was that you suddenly found yourself standing in front of your closet. Your eyes were drawn to what was at the very back and hidden from view, your black dress. You hadn’t seen it for years.
"It's a little too much," he'd once said with an easy laugh.
"Too short."
"Too noticeable."
You remembered smiling then, folding the dress away because it hadn't seemed important enough to argue about.
You pulled it from the closet and let it fall over your body, the fabric cool and unfamiliar against your skin, hugging you in ways you'd forgotten you were allowed to be seen. It felt like putting on a stranger. Someone who wasn't trying to be agreeable anymore. Someone who had nothing left to protect and nothing left to lose. You left the engagement ring where it was.
After leaving your phone in your purse, you grabbed your keys for the second time and stepped into the dark. You had no idea where you were headed but felt a certainty in your chest about leaving the life you had. You felt like you could not spend one more moment inside the life that no longer felt like it belonged to you.
.
.
.
Tuesday hadn't given him any warning either.
Jungwon's shift had ended late. A delivery that ran longer than expected, hours stretched thin by complications that weren't anyone's fault, just the unpredictable nature of the job. By the time he clocked out, his scrubs still smelled faintly of antiseptic, his feet aching in a way that had become so routine he barely registered it anymore. All he wanted was his own bed, maybe food he didn't have to think about.
He let himself into her apartment with the key she'd given him two years ago, the metal worn smooth from years in his pocket, attached to a keychain shaped like a tiny stethoscope. A joke gift from early in their relationship, something she'd laughed about giving him, something he'd kept clipped to his keys ever since without really thinking about why.
The shower was running. Her tablet was face up on the kitchen counter, screen still lit from a notification. He hadn't meant to look. He told himself that for weeks afterward, though it stopped mattering fairly quickly whether he'd meant to or not.
A name he recognized. A string of messages that didn't need much context. Photos that answered questions he hadn't known to ask. He stood there in his work clothes, badge still clipped to his coat pocket, and read enough to understand that ‘residency's exhausting’ had been covering for something else entirely for months, maybe longer.
He didn't move at all, actually, just stood there in the kitchen with his hands loose at his sides, feeling something inside his chest go very still and cold. He didn't throw the tablet.
She stepped out of the bathroom in a towel, damp hair pushed back, and stopped short in the doorway when she saw Jungwon standing there. Badge still clipped to his coat pocket, tablet lying face up on the counter exactly where she'd left it. Something in his stillness told her immediately that the evening wasn't going to go the way she'd planned.
"Jungwon?" Her voice came out careful, testing. "You're back early."
He didn't answer right away. He just looked at her, and she followed his gaze to the tablet, and whatever color was left in her face drained out of it in an instant.
"How long," he said. Not a question. A statement in the shape of a question.
"I—" She pulled the towel tighter around herself, a reflexive gesture, like modesty mattered now, of all moments. "Jungwon, it's not—"
"Don't." His voice remained quiet and level, the same tone he used when he had to tell a patient's family something they didn't want to hear. "Don't tell me it's not what it looks like. I read enough."
Her mouth opened, then closed. For a long moment, the only sound in the apartment was water still dripping somewhere in the bathroom behind her.
"How long," he said again.
She sat down slowly on the arm of the couch, like her legs had stopped being reliable. "Since spring," she said quietly. "Maybe a little before that."
"Spring." He turned the word over like he was checking it for a fracture. "Daeun, that's eight months."
"I didn't plan for it to happen." Her voice cracked slightly, and he almost hated how convincing it sounded, how rehearsed and unrehearsed all at once. "We were just–we started as friends, and then residency got so heavy, and you were always working, and he was just there, and I don't know, it just…"
"I was working," he repeated flatly. "Right. Because I have a job that saves lives, and that's the excuse."
"That's not what I meant."
"Then what did you mean?" His voice finally rose. "Because from where I'm standing, you've had eight months to tell me. Eight months of me asking if you were okay, if something was wrong, and you telling me it was just residency. Eight months of me believing you."
She didn't answer that. There wasn't an answer that would have helped her.
"Six years," he said, quieter now, almost to himself. "Six years, and I find out like this. Off a notification on your tablet."
"I was going to tell you." Her eyes were wet now, genuinely, and some old, tired part of him almost felt sorry for her, which made him angrier at himself than at her. "I've been trying to figure out how, for weeks, I swear—"
"Don't," he said again, softer this time, because he didn't have the energy left to argue about her intentions. "It doesn't matter anymore. You could've told me in June. You could've told me in September. You didn't." He stopped, pressed the heel of his hand briefly against his eyes, then dropped it. "That's the part that matters."
"Jungwon…"
"I have to go." He was already reaching for his coat.
"Can we at least talk about this properly? Please. Don't just walk out,"
He paused at the door, hand on the frame, and looked back at her. Tear streaked, still somehow looking for a version of this conversation that ended somewhere softer than where it actually was.
"There isn't a version of this where I stay, and we talk it through.”
"So that's it?" Her voice cracked properly now. "Six years, and you're just leaving? No fighting for it?"
He almost laughed, though nothing about it felt funny. "You didn't fight for it either," he said quietly. "Not for eight months."
He didn't wait for her response. The door closed behind him just shut, quiet and final, the same way the whole relationship seemed to be ending: without the drama it probably deserved, just a soft, ordinary sound marking something enormous coming apart.
He drove without any destination in mind, the radio off, the city sliding past in a blur of red lights, he stopped out of habit rather than attention. Six years. He kept circling back to the number like it might rearrange itself into something smaller, something easier to hold.
He ended up parking outside a bar he'd never been to. Not his usual place near the hospital, where someone always seemed to know his face even without the coat. Tonight, he didn't want to be recognized. He didn't want to be Dr. Yang, careful and composed, the boy faced physician everyone had to double take before trusting. He just wanted to sit somewhere dark and stop being anyone in particular for a while.
He loosened his tie in the car before he went in. Small, useless gesture. It didn't make him feel any less, as something had just been quietly taken from him.
.
.
.
The bar was louder than you expected for a Tuesday, but you didn't care. Noise was better than silence. Silence gave you room to think, and thinking was the last thing you wanted tonight.
By the time the bartender slid your fourth glass across the counter, the sharp edges of the evening had softened. The ache in your chest hadn't disappeared; it had simply become distant, like hearing thunder several miles away. You shifted on the barstool, crossing one leg over the other. The black dress rode a little higher against your thigh, and for the first time in years, you didn't bother tugging it back down.
He would've hated that. The thought came uninvited. You emptied the rest of your drink before it could linger.
That's when he sat down beside you. Close enough that you noticed before you even looked. He was handsome. That was your first thought. Your second was that he looked far too young to be sitting alone in a place like this. His white dress shirt was neatly pressed except for the loosened tie hanging around his neck, as though he'd started the evening trying to hold himself together and abandoned the effort somewhere along the way. His sleeves were rolled to his forearms, exposing tired hands wrapped loosely around a glass he barely touched.
His gaze remained fixed on the amber liquid, unfocused, like he expected answers to settle at the bottom if he waited long enough. There was something strangely familiar about the way sadness sat on him. You almost didn't say anything. Almost.
You looked away. It wasn't your business. You weren't here to notice strangers. You were here to forget yourself. A minute passed, or maybe two. The bartender asked if either of you wanted another round. Neither of you answered. Without thinking, you let out a quiet breath.
"You look like you got dumped."
The words escaped before you could decide whether to keep them. Your voice came out flatter than you'd intended, stripped of humor, carrying more exhaustion than wit.
He turned toward you. Not offended, just surprised. For a heartbeat, neither of you spoke. His eyes searched your face, lingering there with quiet curiosity, as though he couldn't decide if you were teasing him or speaking from experience. Then his gaze drifted lower to the diamond still resting on your left hand. A ring that caught the warm bar lights just enough to betray you. One corner of his mouth lifted into something that wasn't quite a smile.
"You still have your ring on," he said softly.
You followed his gaze, staring at the diamond as though you'd forgotten it was there. For a long moment, you simply twisted it around your finger.
"I forgot to take it off."
It wasn't entirely true. You hadn't forgotten. You just hadn't found the courage. His eyes met yours again.
"You look like you got dumped too."
A laugh escaped you before you could stop it.
"I did."
He gave a slow nod.
"So did I."
The words settled between you with the quiet understanding that only strangers could sometimes share. Neither of you asked for details or explanations. For tonight, it was enough to know that the person sitting beside you understood exactly what heartbreak looked like.
He glanced at your empty glass. "Another?"
You shook your head. "I think I've had enough of pretending a drink is going to fix anything."
Something about that made him almost smile, the first real one you'd seen from him all night, small and tired but genuine. "Yeah,me too."
The bartender came by again, and this time Jungwon was the one who waved him off, reaching instead for his wallet. You didn't argue when he paid for both of you. Some nights, you didn't have the energy left to insist on independence.
Outside, the air was cooler than you expected, sharp enough to cut through the haze just slightly. Neither of you moved toward a taxi right away. You just stood there for a moment under the bar's dim sign, the city noise a distant hum around you, both of you clearly aware that the night hadn't decided yet what it wanted to become.
"I don't usually do this," you said, not quite looking at him.
"Do what?"
"Any of this. Bars. Strangers. Standing outside at midnight, not knowing what I'm doing."
"Neither do I," he said. Then, after a pause, quieter, "I don't want to go home yet, though."
You understood exactly what he meant, because you felt the same thing sitting heavy in your chest. Home wasn't home anymore. Home was an apartment with echoes you couldn't bear to hear. Home meant seeing the engagement ring still circling your finger. Home meant admitting that tomorrow would arrive whether you wanted it to or not. For the first time that evening, you really looked at him.
He couldn't have been much younger than thirty, though his face carried an unmistakable softness that made him seem younger than he probably was. His tie still hung loose around his neck, his hair slightly disheveled, exhaustion written plainly across features that were almost unfairly handsome.
He looked as though someone had reached into his life that morning and quietly removed the future he'd expected. That may be why he looked familiar.
"There's a hotel two blocks from here," you said.
He didn't ask if you were sure. He just nodded, like he'd been waiting for someone to say it first.
Neither of you filled the silence with questions about names, jobs, or the people who had broken your hearts. Some things felt strangely unimportant. Inside the elevator, your shoulders brushed for the first time. Neither of you moved away.
The door had barely clicked shut before the tension that had been simmering between you in the elevator boiled over. There was no slow buildup, no romantic preamble; there was only a desperate, starving need to feel something other than the hollow ache in your chests.
Jungwon turned to you, his face flushed from the alcohol and the heat of the moment. He looked so young, almost innocent, but the look in his eyes was raw and hungry. He reached out, his hand cupping the back of your neck and pulling you into a kiss that tasted of whiskey and grief. It was a collision, teeth clashing, breaths hitching as you both clung to each other like survivors of a shipwreck.
You groaned into his mouth, your hands sliding up his chest to grip the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer until there wasn't a sliver of air between your bodies. He backed you up against the door, the thud of your back hitting the wood echoing in the quiet room. His tongue pushed past your lips, claiming your mouth with an urgency that made your toes curl.
"Please," you whispered against his lips, though you weren't even sure what you were asking for.
He didn't answer with words. His hands slid down to your hips, lifting you effortlessly. You wrapped your legs around his waist, your skirt riding up to your hips as he carried you toward the bed. He dropped you onto the white linens, his body following immediately, pinning you down with a weight that felt grounding and necessary.
Jungwon’s hands were frantic, stripping away the barriers of clothing. He pulled your dress over your head and tossed it aside, his eyes scanning your naked body with a mixture of awe and desperation. When he stripped off his own clothes, you saw the lean, toned muscles of a man who didn't look his age, his cock already hard and pulsing, straining against the air.
He didn't waste time. He moved between your thighs, his fingers sliding down to find your pussy. You were already soaking, the friction of the night and the emotional turmoil making you ache for him. He slid two fingers inside you, stretching you open, while his thumb worked your clit in a rhythmic, punishing pace. You arched your back, a loud moan escaping you as you neared the edge.
"Look at me," he murmured.
You opened your eyes to see him watching you, his expression a mask of longing. He positioned the head of his cock at your entrance, pausing for a heartbeat before thrusting deep inside you in one heavy, seamless motion.
You gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders as he filled you completely. The sensation was overwhelming. The stretch, the heat, the sudden fullness that silenced the noise in your head. He began to move, his thrusts deep and rhythmic, driving into you with a primal intensity. Each hit of his pelvis against your ass sounded like a wet slap in the quiet room.
"Fuck," he groaned, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin. "You feel so good… shit, so tight…"
You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down for another bruising kiss as he picked up the pace. He wasn't being gentle; he was fucking you with a desperation that mirrored your own, as if by driving himself into you, he could push out the memory of the woman who had betrayed him. You met every thrust, tilting your pelvis up to take him deeper, wanting to feel every inch of him.
The friction built, a coil of tension tightening in your lower belly. Jungwon’s movements became shorter, faster, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He shifted his grip, grabbing your thighs and pinning them back toward your chest to open you up even more. The angle allowed him to hit your cervix with every plunge, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your spine.
"I'm close—" he choked out, his muscles straining.
You felt your own climax rushing toward you, a tidal wave of release. You gripped his biceps, your voice breaking into a series of high-pitched whimpers. As you peaked, your pussy walls clamping tight around him in rhythmic spasms, Jungwon let out a low, guttural growl. He gave one final, deep thrust, burying himself to the hilt, and shuddered violently as he came.
You felt the hot, thick jets of his cum pumping deep inside you, filling your womb with a warmth that felt almost spiritual in its intensity. He stayed buried inside you for a long time, his forehead resting against yours, both of you panting, your hearts beating in a synchronized, frantic rhythm.
As the adrenaline faded, the silence returned, but it was different now. The loneliness was still there, but it had been blunted. Jungwon slowly withdrew, the wet sound of his cock leaving your body echoing in the room. He didn't pull away completely; he rolled onto his side and pulled you into his arms, tucking your head under his chin.
Neither of you spoke. There were no names exchanged, no promises of a second meeting. You just lay there in the dim light of the hotel room, two broken strangers sharing a bed, clinging to the fleeting comfort of a night that neither of you would ever forget.
.
.
.
A month passed by.
Long enough for the memory of that night to start to blur at the edges. Sometimes you thought you invented some of it.
You remembered the warmth of whiskey better than you remembered his face. His tie, loosened. How he’d just listened, without asking questions. A pair of tired eyes that had looked at you as if they knew something that nobody else knew.
All else had blurred, melting into the sort of memory that belonged to another version of you. You never came back to the bar. If he did, you wouldn't know it. And if he hadn’t, you wouldn’t have known that either. That was maybe how it was always supposed to be. Life went on, as indifferent as ever.
Life had moved on, in its own stubborn manner. You got out of the apartment. You’d gone and blocked your ex-fiancée’s number. You weren't going to speak to your ex-bestfriend, and you hadn't. It was a mercy in itself. Your students didn't know that anything was different. They looked at you like you were just their lecturer. Untroubled. Unbreakable.
You could almost pretend your life hadn’t fallen apart. For three hours at a time. That was enough. Until it wasn’t. It began on a Thursday. Not with nausea or vertigo. Only a date.
You were standing in your kitchen, waiting on the coffee machine to finish brewing, when the thought came unbidden. Your monthly. Your brow wrinkled. You counted backwards, almost absentmindedly. Then you counted again. The answer was the same. It's late.
This was not normal.
Your body was always predictable, almost stubbornly so. Even in college, when your roommates complained about irregular cycles and surprise cramps, yours came like clockwork, and you didn’t bother tracking it anymore. You put your coffee mug down, untouched.
"It's the stress," you whispered to the empty apartment. It must have been.
It made sense, didn't it? The breakup, the move, months of your nervous system running on fumes. Bodies did strange things under pressure. You'd read that somewhere, or maybe you just wanted to have read it somewhere.
You gave it a few more days. Then a week. The coffee you'd started craving black suddenly turned your stomach. Smells you'd never noticed before. The neighbor's cooking, the detergent in your own laundry, sent you running for air that didn't feel like it was choking you.
One day a co-worker came into your office with take out. The smell alone would have you running for the nearest bathroom. You said it was the flu. Food poisoning. Anything. All of it. Except for that one possibility that’s silently trailing you from room to room.
By the time you found yourself standing in the pharmacy aisle staring at a shelf of boxes you never had reason to buy before, some quiet part of you, dreading, already knew.
You stood in front of the shelf longer than you needed to. So many different brands. Different promises. Different prices. As though any of them could deliver a different answer. You bought two.
As soon as you were home, you didn't wait long to do. Sat on the side of the bathtub, phone timer ticking away before you began to look at your hands and realise they weren't even yours.
Two lines. Then two more.
You sat there for a long time after that, the tile cold beneath you, your mind doing the math it didn't want to do. The date, the timeline, the one night that had blurred into something you'd tried hard to forget. There was only one night it could have been.
Your heartbeat stumbled.
"No..."
The word escaped before you realized you'd spoken aloud.
You remained there for what felt like hours, staring at the tests resting in your hands as though they belonged to someone else.
There was only one person. One night. One stranger, with tired eyes and a loosened tie and a sadness that had looked so much like your own it hadn't frightened you. You didn't even remember his name. You didn't know his address. What was his work. If you'd ever see him again. You pressed the heels of your hands against your eyes. A man who existed in your memory as nothing more than tired eyes and a loosened tie, and you look like you got dumped, too.
You didn't know how to find him even if you'd wanted to.
A baby.
The words refused to settle. They hovered somewhere just beyond understanding, too large to fit into the quiet routine you'd been stitching back together over the last month. You were thirty two. Recently single. Still learning how to sleep in an apartment that echoed because there was no one else in it.
You'd spent years building a career you loved, teaching future educators how to nurture children with patience, consistency, and kindness. Ironically, you'd never decided whether motherhood belonged in your own future. You always assumed there would be time to figure it out.
You thought you had more time to decide that. You thought, if it ever happened, it would happen with someone you trusted, someone who'd chosen it with you, not a stranger from a bar whose last name you didn't even know.
You thought about how easy it would be to end it before anyone had to know it happened at all. No one would ask questions. No one would even know there was something to ask about. You could keep moving forward exactly the way you'd planned, pick your life back up, untangled, unremarkable, the way it was supposed to look after a breakup like this. Clean. Simple.
You sat with that thought for a while, testing its weight, waiting to feel relief.
It didn't come.
Instead, you found yourself thinking about your own mother, who used to tell you that she'd never once regretted having you. Even though your father had left before you turned three. Hardest thing I ever did alone, she'd said once, and still the only decision I never doubted. You'd never fully understood what she meant by that until this exact moment, sitting on a bathroom floor with a truth in your hands you hadn't asked for.
You thought about the years you'd spent in classrooms full of small kids who trusted easily, loved easily, hadn't yet learned that people could hollow you out from the inside without warning. You'd built a career around believing children deserved good beginnings. You wondered, cruelly, whether you were about to fail that belief the moment it became personal.
Then you thought about the alternative. The quiet, empty version of your future you'd have to live with either way. A yes, you might regret, or a no, you were fairly sure you would.
You pressed a hand flat against your stomach, feeling nothing yet, nothing you could point to, and still somehow feeling everything.
A slow breath escaped you.
"I don't need him."
The words were barely louder than a whisper. You said them again.
"I don't."
You weren't trying to convince yourself. You already knew they were true. You didn't need a husband. You didn't need a wedding. You didn't need promises made by someone else to make this decision for you. If this child entered the world, it would be because you chose them. Not because of guilt.
You knew exactly what waited beyond this bathroom door. Questions, whispers and mostly it would be judgment. Forms with blank spaces labeled Father. A future that would be more difficult than the one you'd imagined for yourself. None of that disappeared simply because you'd made a decision. But neither did your resolve.
For the first time since walking into that apartment on Tuesday afternoon, you realized your future no longer felt defined by something that had been taken from you. It was being shaped by something you had chosen. You slowly pushed yourself to your feet and looked at your reflection in the mirror. You looked exhausted. Your eyes were swollen, your hair a mess, your expression still carrying traces of the woman who'd had her heart broken.
But beneath all of that, there was something new. Resolve. You rested your hand over your stomach once more.
"Okay," you whispered to the tiny life only you knew existed.
A faint smile tugged at your lips despite everything.
"It's you and me now."
The words sounded impossibly small in the quiet apartment. Yet, somehow, they were enough.
.
.
.
The dream came to him three nights in a row. Always the same, dissolving the moment he woke, leaving only fragments behind the way real dreams rarely do.
In it, he stood in a garden he didn't recognize, thick with fruit trees heavy enough that their branches bent low toward the ground. A woman he couldn't see clearly handed him a single peach, round and impossibly ripe, still warm like it had just been pulled from sunlight rather than a branch.
He always woke up right after that. Nothing more happened. It didn't need to.
He didn't think much of it, not really. After all, dreams rarely made sense, and he'd learned a long time ago not to chase meaning where there probably wasn't any. Still, on the fourth morning, he found himself mentioning it to Sunoo over coffee in the hospital break room, mostly out of the strange, itching need to say it out loud to someone.
"I keep having this dream," he said, staring into his cup. "Same one, a few nights now. There's a garden, and someone hands me a peach. That's it. That's the whole dream."
Sunoo lowered his own cup slowly, staring at him with an expression somewhere between disbelief and barely contained excitement. "A peach?"
"Yeah."
"Ripe? Whole? Someone handed it to you directly?"
Jungwon blinked at him. "Yes? Why does that matter?"
Sunoo set his coffee down entirely now, leaning forward like Jungwon had just handed him the best gossip of the year. "Do you seriously not know what that is?"
"It's a dream about fruit?"
Honestly, Sunoo never wanted to face palmed himself, but hearing the dumb answer Jungwon gave him got him a reason to.
"It's a taemong." When Jungwon only stared blankly back at him, Sunoo let out a groan of disbelief. "A conception dream. My grandmother used to talk about these constantly. Fruit, animals, sometimes fire or water, show up in a dream right before someone in the family finds out they're having a baby. Whole ripe fruit like that, handed directly to you? That's about as classic as it gets."
Jungwon huffed, unimpressed, turning his cup slowly between his hands. "You can't be serious."
"I'm completely serious. It's not just some old wives' thing. Half the moms I know still swear by it. My cousin dreamed about catching a fish barehanded, and two weeks later, she found out she was pregnant. My aunt dreamed about a dragon curling around her arm and had twins."
"That's confirmation bias," Jungwon said flatly. "People remember the dreams that match and forget the ones that don't."
"Sure, sure, very scientific of you, Dr. Yang." Sunoo waved a hand, entirely unbothered by the skepticism. "But you're not the one who usually has these dreams, that's the funny part. It's not always the mother. Sometimes it's the father, or a grandparent, sometimes even a close friend if the dream's strong enough. But if it's the father dreaming it..." He trailed off, grinning now, clearly enjoying himself far too much. "That usually means it's already happened. The universe is just running a little behind on paperwork."
Jungwon rolled his eyes, though something in his chest had gone strangely tight at the words, an unease he couldn't quite explain rationally. "I don't believe in that stuff."
"You don't have to believe in it for it to be true," Sunoo said, entirely too pleased with himself. "That's kind of the whole point of a folktale, isn’t it?"
Jungwon didn't have a response for that. He just sat there, turning his coffee cup slowly in his hands, telling himself it was nothing. Probably just stress, exhaustion, and an overactive mind conjuring strange images after too many back to back shifts. He didn't have a girlfriend anymore. There was no one in his life the dream could reasonably be about.
He didn't let himself finish that thought all the way through.
"It's nothing," he said again, mostly to convince himself. "Just a weird dream."
Sunoo shrugged, tossing his empty cup toward the trash with practiced ease, clearly unconvinced but willing to let it go. "Sure. Just a weird dream."
Jungwon didn't think much more of it after that. Not consciously, anyway. But the image stayed with him regardless, lingering somewhere quiet at the edges of his following days. A garden, a peach, and a stranger's hands offering him something he hadn't known, yet, that he was already holding.
.
.
.
The clinic wasn't one you'd been to before.
A coworker had recommended it months ago, so excited about the obstetrics department that you'd written the name down without a second thought. It was near campus, near enough to squeeze in an appointment between lectures without sacrificing half your day to traffic.
You wish. That was it. Comfort. Distance from your former life. A doctor who didn’t know your story. Somebody who would see one more first time patient. That's all.
You sat, one leg bouncing under your chair, fingertips tracing the edge of the bracelet wrapped loosely about your wrist. You'd practiced the appointment on the drive over. If they asked about the father, you would tell them as you have been rehearsing it in your mind.
We're not together.
If they pressed further, then—
I'd rather not discuss it.
Simple.
"Y/L/N?"
A nurse called your name, and you followed her down a hallway that smelled like antiseptic and lavender hand soap, into a small exam room with a poster of a fetal development chart on the wall that you deliberately didn't look at too long.
"Dr. Yang will be with you in just a moment," the nurse said, and left you there with your paper gown and your racing thoughts.
You didn't think anything of the name. Yang wasn't uncommon. You sat on the edge of the exam table, hands folded in your lap, running through the questions you wanted to ask — due dates, next steps, whether the exhaustion you'd been feeling was normal or something to worry about.
Then the door opened.
"Good afternoon, I'm Dr. Yang Jung—"
The sentence didn't finish. It just stopped, cut clean in half, the way a record scratches when the needle's yanked away too fast.
You looked up. And your whole body went cold.
He remained frozen in the doorway, one hand still curled around the handle like he'd forgotten how to let go of it. The patient chart in his other hand slipped slightly in his grip, not enough to fall, just enough that you noticed his fingers had momentarily stopped remembering their one job. Recognition moved across his face almost instantly, undisguised, unrehearsed, nothing like the practiced composure a doctor was supposed to walk into a room with.
The overhead lights were full on him now. Clinical, unfriendly, not like the dim gold haze of that bar a month ago. No booze to take the edge off. No shadows to hide the details And you couldn’t miss him. Same face. Same eyes that witnessed you break against a hotel room door. Quiet and searching, in a way that had seemed to him that night the only honest thing left in the world. Except the face was on a man in a white coat. A stethoscope draped around his neck. His name stitched in careful navy thread over his heart.
Yang Jungwon.
Neither of you said anything. The seconds stretched, thin and unbearable, the fluorescent hum of the room suddenly deafening in the silence. As if hoping he was mistaken. He wasn't.
"...You?"
It barely qualified as a word. More breath than voice. Your mouth had gone completely dry. The sentence never got a chance to finish. Neither of you needed it to.
You weren't doing much better. Your hands had grown cold, and sat in your lap, fingers pressed together hard enough to leave imprints. The paper gown crackled a little with each too-quick breath. You’d spent a month talking yourself into believing that night belonged to some other you, reckless and grieving and gone by morning. And here he was, a white coat, a stethoscope around his neck, his name stitched over his heart, undeniably real, undeniably the same man.
Neither of you said anything.
His gaze dropped. Not to the chart. To your left hand. The engagement ring was gone. Then, almost involuntarily, his eyes moved lower. To the file tucked beneath his arm. He looked at your name. Gestational age. Estimated conception date. The room became impossibly quiet. His jaw tightened. Not because he was calculating. Because he already had. He didn't need the dates. He remembered the night. The chart simply confirmed what he already knew.
pairings: university student! nishimura riki x university student !fem!reader
warnings: smut (MDNI), first time, overstimulation & protected sex (wrap that willy). Lmk if there's anything else!
Synopsis: One day, you get a text message from your older brother Jake’s friend.
Word count: 2k
Authors note: um I lowk wasn’t sober making this so im so sorry it’s bad 😭
You were curled up in your cozy bed, scrolling through TikTok and half-paying attention to the videos when a notification popped up on your screen.
A message from an unknown number.
?
yo
you
who is this?
?
it’s jake
you
whose number is this?
?
it’s riki’s
?
my phone died
you
ok what do u want?
?
could u pls go get my package for me?
?
i’ll give u 5 bucks
you
get off my phone
?
ty
you 🖕
You rolled your eyes, kicking the warm covers off your legs, the comfort instantly gone. With a quiet sigh, you dragged yourself out of bed and made your way downstairs to go get your stupid older brother’s stuff.
✧─── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧
You were at your parents’ house, helping your mom make dinner in the kitchen.
“Honey, do you know where your brother is? I’ve been calling him, and he’s not answering.”
“He wasn’t home when I left the apartment, so I think he might be sleeping over at Riki’s. I’ll ask him,” you assured her as you reached for your phone.
you
is jake with u rn?
riki
no why?
you
he’s not answering rn
riki
he’s not here but if i see him i’ll tell him to call u
you
alright ty
riki
i got u
✧─── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧
You stomped out of the noisy house, the pounding music fading as you walked farther away. After a few minutes, you found a curb and sat down, pulling out your phone.
Your thumb hovered over Jake’s contact, but you quickly shook your head.
He’d definitely tell your parents.
You scrolled through your contacts, looking for someone even a little reliable, until you stopped at Riki’s name.
You hesitated, then sighed.
“Better than sleeping on the street,” you muttered.
The phone rang for a bit before a voice finally answered.
“Hello?”
“Hey, so I kinda have a favor to ask you.”
“What is it?” he asked. Then his tone shifted. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, but I’m kinda at a party and my ride ditched me, so could you please pick me up?”
“Why don’t you ask your brother?”
“‘Cause he’ll kill me. And also because he’s a snitch.”
“Okay, fine. Send me your location.”
“Thank you so much. I owe you big time.”
“Yeah, you do,” he said, sounding a bit irritated.
✧─── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧
You woke up the next day feeling a little better, though your head was still pounding.
Reaching across your nightstand, you grabbed your phone and squinted at the screen.
1:03 PM.
“Shit,” you whispered, realizing you had missed your first two lectures.
With a groan, you flopped back onto your pillow and rubbed your eyes. Bits and pieces of last night slowly came back to you—the party, your ride leaving without you, and the awkward drive home with Riki.
You unlocked your phone and opened your messages.
you: thanks for the ride and sorry again 😭
A few seconds later, the typing bubble appeared.
riki
no problem
you
let me make it up to u
riki
wdym
you
i feel like i should
riki
you really don’t have to tho i was just joking
you
i will dw
riki
uh ok if u say so
The pounding in your head hadn’t gone away, but somehow texting him was making the morning a little more bearable.
✧─── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧
The music blasted in your ears. The sounds of people chattering, music playing, and cheering filled the entire house.
It was another senior kick-off party, this one at one of Jake’s friend’s houses.
Red plastic cups were scattered across every available surface, and groups of people crowded the living room, kitchen, and even the hallways. Some were dancing, some were trying not to puke, and others were making out near the staircase.
You weren’t even sure why you had come.
Okay, that was a lie.
You knew exactly why.
Jake had practically dragged you out of the house, insisting that staying home on a Friday night was “embarrassing” and that “YOLO.”
Now, you were regretting every life choice that had led you here.
The music was too loud, the house was too crowded, and the mix of sweat, vape smoke, and perfume was giving you a headache.
You squeezed past a group of people blocking the hallway and headed toward the kitchen in search of something to drink.
At least if you were going to suffer through this party, you could do it with a drink.
You finally made it to the kitchen and exhaled in relief.
The counter was covered with drinks, but most of them looked unfamiliar. You picked up a can and turned it around, trying to read the label.
“What even is this?” you muttered.
“Probably something that’ll taste awful.”
The voice came from beside you.
You looked up and found Riki leaning against the counter, a drink in his hand.
“Well, that’s helpful,” you said, playfully rolling your eyes.
Riki let out a chuckle as he watched you continue digging through the drinks.
He took a sip of his drink before reaching over and taking the can from your hand.
“Definitely don’t drink this.”
“Why?”
“Because Sunoo dared Jake to mix random drinks together earlier.”
You stared at him.
“They actually did that?”
“Unfortunately.”
You immediately put the can down.
Riki laughed.
You grabbed another drink and held it up.
“What about this one?”
He looked at it for a second.
“That one’s safe.”
“You sound way too confident.”
“I watched Heeseung drink three of those.”
“That’s not exactly a reliable source.”
Riki grinned.
“Fair point.”
You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop yourself from smiling.
“Do you wanna get out of here?” he asked.
“Sure,” I said. “Anywhere but here is fine.”
The corner of his mouth twitched into a small smile.
Without another word, he hopped off the counter and started weaving through the crowd. You followed close behind as he squeezed past groups of people packed shoulder to shoulder.
The house felt even more crowded than before.
Music rattled the walls, the bass vibrating through the floor beneath your feet. Colored lights flashed across the room. People danced wherever they could find space, some jumping along to the music while others stood in circles yelling over the noise.
A cloud of smoke hung near the ceiling, mixing with the smell of perfume, sweat, and whatever snacks had been left on the kitchen counter hours ago.
Riki glanced over his shoulder to make sure you were still behind him.
The two of you pushed your way through the living room and headed upstairs. The farther you went, the less overwhelming the music became, though you could still feel the bass thumping through the walls.
The upstairs hallway was dimly lit and noticeably quieter. The sounds of the party faded into a distant rumble. After passing several doors, Riki stopped in front of one at the very end of the hall.
“What are we doing up here?” you asked.
“Escaping.”
He reached for the doorknob and pushed the door open.
The room was surprisingly clean.
A large bed sat against the far wall, the dark gray sheets slightly unmade, like whoever had made it had been rushing out the door. A few hoodies were tossed over the desk chair, and a collection of rings, necklaces, and bracelets lay scattered across the dresser. Posters covered parts of the walls, mixed with photos and different artists.
You stepped inside and immediately let out a relieved sigh.
“Oh, this is so much quieter.”
Riki laughed as he closed the door behind him.
“Better already?”
“Way better.”
You walked over to the window and looked down at the crowded backyard below. People were still scattered around, laughing and shouting loud enough that you could hear them even from upstairs.
You shook your head.
Then you started wandering around the room, examining everything.
Your eyes landed on a framed photo sitting on the dresser.
You picked it up and stared.
The picture showed a little boy with messy dark hair and a huge smile, and a couple of missing teeth.
You gasped.
“Wait… that’s you?”
Riki looked over from where he was standing.
“Yeah, it is,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck with his palm.
You looked back at the photo and then at him.
“No way.”
He laughed.
“What?”
“You look exactly the same.”
“I do not.”
“You literally do.”
Riki rolled his eyes, but the small smile on his face gave him away.
Then something else clicked.
You looked around the room again.
The photos. The clothes. Everything.
“Wait,” you said slowly. “This is your house?”
“Yeah.”
Your eyes widened.
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. Me and Heeseung’s.”
“You brought me to your room?”
“Would you rather be downstairs with a bunch of random people all night?”
You paused.
“Good point.”
“Exactly.”
Riki dropped onto the edge of the bed and leaned back on his hands.
You made your way to the bed and sat next to him. The mattress dipped slightly under the weight of the both of you.
For a moment, neither of you said anything.
Your eyes drifted toward him, and when you looked up, you realized he was already looking at you.
The breath caught in your throat.
Neither of you looked away.
The two of you sat there for another second, then another, caught in a silent stare that neither of you seemed willing to break.
Then Riki sat up and scooted a bit closer to you, closing the distance.
Your heart immediately started racing.
You could feel his body heat radiating off him now, and suddenly the room felt much smaller than before.
Still, neither of you said anything.
The silence wasn’t awkward.
If anything, it felt comforting.
Riki reached out, his fingers brushing against your jawline with a touch so light it was almost like he was he was trying to read my reaction. He read the way your breath hitched and the way you leaned instinctively into his palm. His thumb swept across your lower lip, pulling it down slightly, his gaze dropping to your mouth with hunger that made your stomach flip.
Slowly, he leaned in and his lips finally met yours. The kiss wasn’t hesitant it was something deep and demanding, a release of all the tension that had been building between you. You gasped into the kiss, your hands finding their way to his shoulders, gripping the fabric of his shirt as you pulled him closer, making every bit of distance disappear.
The kiss deepened, becoming more urgent, more desperate. Riki’s hand slid from your face to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair to tilt your head back, exposing your neck. He broke the kiss to press his lips against the sensitive skin just below your ear, making you let out a whimper as it sent a jolt of electricity straight down your spine.
"I've wanted this for so long," he murmured, his voice a low, guttural vibration against your skin.
He pressed you back onto the mattress, the sudden impact sending a jolt of electricity through your spine. The scent of his cologne and the taste of faint alcohol was the only thing that filled my mind.
His hands were hurried and frantic as he gripped the hem of your shirt, pulling it upward. You helped him, your fingers trembling as you pushed the fabric over your head and tossed it blindly into the shadows. Then it was his turn; you felt the rough texture of his button-down under your fingertips, your nails grazing his chest as you fumbled with the buttons.
When he finally stepped out of his clothes, the sight of him out of breath lean, hard-muscled, and flushed with desire—made your breath hitch. As your final layers of clothing were stripped away, the first brush of skin against skin felt euphoric. It wasn't just touch; It was heat that the both of you, yearned for.
Riki paused for a moment, bracing himself on his elbows. He hovered over you, his chest heaving, looking down with an intensity that felt like it could strip you bare. His eyes were dark, the pupils blown wide with starving desire, yet there was something else there—an aching tenderness that made your heart ache in response.
He leaned down, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was slow, possessive, and deep. While his mouth claimed yours, his hand began a slow, deliberate exploration. He traced the curve of your hip, his palm hot against your skin, before sliding upward to the swell of your breast. He groaned into the kiss, a low vibration that you felt in your own throat.
Breaking the kiss, he reached toward the nightstand, his movements sharp. As he retrieved a condom, you couldn't help but let out a small, audible gulp, your chest heaving.
Riki froze, noticing the flicker of apprehension and the way your eyes widened. He softened, his gaze searching yours. “Is this your first time?” he whispered, his voice a raw with emotion.
You nodded shyly, and a look of protectiveness crossed his features. He leaned down, pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead. “I’ve got you,” he murmured against your skin. “Just breathe. Tell me if it’s too much. I’ll go as slow as you need.”
He guided himself toward you and slowly entered, a long, shaky exhale escaped his lips, his forehead resting against yours. The initial stretch was a sharp, an uncomfortable pressure that made you slightly whine but as he settled, it quickly melted into an overwhelming sense of wholeness. He stayed still for a while, his muscles trembling trying to hold himself back, letting your body get use to his size.
“You okay?” he strained to ask, his voice tight.
“Yes,” you whimpered, arching your hips instinctively to bring him closer. “Please... Riki, please keep going.”
Then, he began to move.
It started as a slow, rhythmic grind, a steady build-up of friction and heat. He moved with deliberation, sliding out almost entirely before driving back in, making you gasp and arch your back, your fingers digging deep into the muscles of his shoulders. Every thrust was seeking a connection that was far more than physical.
The silence of the room was replaced by the visceral sounds of the act: the wet, rhythmic slap of skin hitting skin, the rhythmic creak of the bed frames, and the sound of your synchronized, ragged breathing. Almost making you forget about the commotion right below you.
“Ahh.. fuckk” You let out a moan, followed by incoherent sobs.
His pace quickened as the pleasure swelled, escalating from a quiet ember into a roaring fire. Riki’s movements became more sloppy, more urgent. He stopped being cautious, his thrusts becoming deeper and deeper. his chest rising as he gasps against the sensitive skin of your neck. You wrapped your legs tightly around his waist, locking him in, desperate to feel every single inch of him filling you. The friction grew intense, an aching pressure coiling tight in the pit of your stomach, pulling you towards your breaking point.
"Look at me," he gasped, his voice strained and commanding.
You forced your eyes open, finding him watching you. His expression was a mix of raw desire and a devotion so fierce it felt holy. In that moment, as the climax finally broke over you. You cried out his name, your voice breaking, as your body shuddered violently.
Seconds later, Riki followed. A low, guttural groan ripped from his throat, his eyes closing tight as he drove into you one last time, his body also trembling with the force of his own peak. He collapsed against you, his skin slick with sweat, His heartbeat echoed against your chest as you both sank into a trembling in an exhausted afterglow.
✧─── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧
You woke up slowly to the warm glow of sunlight spilling through the gaps in the curtains. Painting the sheets in soft light. For a moment, everything felt quiet and peaceful.
Then—
Bzzzz.
A vibration against the mattress.
You frowned, still half asleep, and shifted slightly. A warm arm was draped loosely around your waist, trapping you comfortably against a solid chest. The steady rise and fall of someone’s breathing tickled the back of your neck.
Bzzzz. Bzzzz. Bzzzz.
The phone kept vibrating relentlessly from somewhere beneath the blankets.
You groaned and reached blindly for it, squinting at the bright screen as your eyes adjusted.
Jake
Where are you?
Jake
Why aren’t you home?
Jake
ANSWER YOUR PHONE!
Your stomach dropped.
The messages kept coming.
Jake
It’s literally noon.
Jake
If you’re dead I’m using your worst photos
Jake
I’m serious.
Jake
Actually I won’t. But answer me.
Another text appeared almost instantly.
Jake
Did you seriously not come home last night?
You sat up so fast the blankets tangled around your legs.
The movement caused the person beside you to stir, letting out a sleepy groan as they buried their face deeper into the pillow.
Your eyes widened.
Right.
You definitely weren’t at home.
And judging by the 20+ missed calls from Jake, your brother was about five minutes away from launching a full-scale investigation.
