summary : y/n and chan are friends with benefits and through a prank she tries to learn his true intentions for her.
pairing : bang chan x reader (lee know as Y/N’s best friend)
genre : friends with benefits to lovers
word count : 4080
warnings : minor dni, 18+, smut, jealousy, possessiveness,explicit language, dirty talk, unprotected sex, angry sex, fingering, edging, begging, face fucking, doggy style, mention of spanking,mention of female receiving oral, breast play,hair pulling, biting/marking, creampie, empty threats (jokingly), angry and dom chan, menace lee know.
a/n : English isn’t my first language and I was a little tired when I wrote this, so please excuse any mistakes.
The relationship between Y/N and Chan was a masterclass in walking a tightrope. For nearly six months, they had perfected the "friends with benefits" dynamic. It was practical—she was a backup dancer, always in his orbit, and the company rules combined with their grueling schedules made a real relationship seem like an impossible dream.
He’d been the one to approach her, a kind smile softening his intense gaze, after a particularly grueling take. “You killed that” he’d said, his voice a warm rumble against the studio’s cool air. “Seriously, your timing is impeccable.” Y/N, flustered but pleased, had laughed. “Thanks. You guys are the ones doing the real heavy lifting.”
That initial spark had quickly ignited into a comfortable friendship, then, inevitably, something more. They were both workaholics, driven by their respective creative passions, and found solace in each other’s company. Chan was intense, thoughtful, and unbelievably kind, while Y/N was fiery, independent, and always up for an adventure. Their chemistry was undeniable, a silent hum that vibrated between them whenever they were in the same room.
Then came the "friends with benefits" conversation, initiated by Chan himself. It made sense on paper: two busy adults, both craving intimacy without the messy complications of a full-blown relationship that neither had the time or mental capacity for. It was convenient, passionate and for a time, perfectly suited their needs.
Except, Y/N knew it was growing beyond that for her. She saw the way his jaw would subtly tighten when another male dancer complimented her, or the almost imperceptible pause before he’d agree to her going out with other friends. And then there was Minho.
Minho was her rock, her confidante, her absolute best friend in the entire Stray Kids entourage. They’d clicked instantly, their shared love for sarcasm, dance, and all things chaotic forming an unbreakable bond. Minho, with his sharp wit and even sharper observations, saw everything. He saw the way Chan looked at Y/N when he thought no one was watching, and he saw the suppressed longing in Chan’s eyes. He also saw Y/N’s burgeoning feelings and Chan’s stubborn refusal to address them.
Chan, despite being the one who proposed the friends with benefits arrangement, found himself battling a growing, unwelcome feeling of possessiveness. He’d tried to rationalize it – a natural reaction to someone he was physically intimate with – but the truth gnawed at him. Especially when Minho was involved. Minho, the menace, who loved to tease him, who knew exactly how to push Chan’s buttons. Minho, who was always draped over Y/N, or whispering jokes in her ear, making her laugh that bright, uninhibited laugh that Chan secretly cherished. He wouldn’t admit the jealousy, not even to himself, because it would unravel the careful, detached facade he’d constructed around their arrangement.
Y/N, however, was tired of the game. She wanted more. She wanted a confession, an admission from Chan that he felt the same way she did, that their casual arrangement was anything but. And she knew just the person to help her smoke him out.
On a Wednesday afternoon, Y/N received a message from a criminally bored Minho. Apparently, he had discovered a brand-new anime and had decided — with zero hesitation — that they had to watch it together.
Since Chan was going to be stuck at the studio until late that night, Y/N figured this was the universe handing her a free pass to hang out with her favorite human menace.
“I’m bringing the snacks,” she replied.
Thirty minutes later, she was already at his door.
They were sprawled on his and Jisung’s dorm room floor, surrounded by empty takeaway containers and a half-watched anime series flickering on the large TV screen.Minho noticed something was off. Y/N wasn’t screaming at the screen or judging the characters’ life choices — which was suspicious.
“What’s going on in that chaotic head of yours?” he asked, pausing the anime dramatically.
“Min…What if he sees me just as a fuck buddy?” she blurted out. “What if he doesn’t care at all?”
Minho stared at her.
“Ugh.Are you stupid or something?”
“I’m serious, Minho! It was his idea.This whole… thing.”
“And you agreed” he shot back. “Then his little dick made you fall in love with him, and now you want more. And you’re seriously dumb enough to think his clingy ass doesn’t feel the same?”
At this point, he was basically reciting her own emotional breakdowns from memory.She sighed.
“There’s only one way to find out” she said,eyes lighting up. “And my little grumpy cat is going to help me.”
“No.”
“You’ll be the protagonist.”
“No.”
“You’ll make him suffer.”
Minho paused.
She could see the exact moment the idea clicked.
“Now we’re talking.”
Without wasting another second, Y/N explained her brilliant — and slightly risky — plan. Technically, Minho would be doing all the work. She just wanted one thing: Chan’s reaction.
If he lost control?
Well.
That would be all the answer she needed.
“He’s going to kill me” Minho said, a wide, predatory grin spreading across his face as he took another bite of his pizza.
“He’s going to kill us” Y/N corrected, giggling. “But it’s for a good cause. He needs a push, Minho. He thinks he’s so slick, hiding behind ‘casual.’ I need him to break.”
Minho hummed, considering. “So, the plan is: I get him to think I’m… deeply involved with you. Sexually. In this very room.”
“Precisely,” Y/N said, adjusting the oversized hoodie she’d borrowed from Minho.
She was comfortable, safe, and utterly thrilled at the prospect of the chaos they were about to unleash.
“He’ll be at the studio with Jisung and Changbin. Perfect, because Jisung will be too engrossed in music and Changbin will be too busy being Changbin to notice Chan’s meltdown immediately.”
“Excellent psychology,Y/N.You know our leader well.” Minho’s eyes glinted with mischief. “Alright. Consider it done. But you owe me big time for this.”
“Consider your revenge on Chan for that time he stole your last pineapple juice already enacted,” Y/N countered with a smirk.
It was nearing midnight, and the studio was buzzing with the low hum of machinery and the focused energy of creation. Chan, Jisung, and Changbin were in their individual zones, fine-tuning beats, lyrics, and melodies. Chan was particularly engrossed in a new track, his headphones clamped over his ears, fingers dancing across the mixing board.
His phone buzzed on the desk beside him. He glanced at it, a faint smile touching his lips when he saw Y/N’s name. He’d texted her earlier, just a casual check-in, and was expecting a quick reply. He tapped open the message… and saw no new reply from her. Weird. She was usually quick.
He sent another text. “Hey, still at Minho’s? Anime marathon still going strong?”
Minutes ticked by. Ten minutes. Fifteen. Still nothing. His smile faltered. He knew she was at Minho’s; they’d talked about it on her way to his dorm.But Minho was also Minho. And Minho had a habit of being… handsy. Not with Y/N, not in a romantic way, but physically close. He’d drape an arm around her, playfully push her head, steal her snacks. Nothing overtly flirtatious, but enough to trigger a tiny, irrational spike of annoyance in Chan.
He typed another message, a little less casual this time. “Everything okay? Haven’t heard from you.”
Another fifteen minutes passed. The studio was quiet now, Jisung having stepped out for a coffee run and Changbin deep in thought on a couch, headphones on. The lack of a reply from Y/N began to prickle at Chan. It wasn't like her to just vanish.
A slow, unsettling feeling began to creep into his gut. What were they doing? Just watching anime? Or was Minho being particularly… Minho tonight? He tried to shake off the irrational thought, but it clung to him like a damp blanket. He was the one who set the terms. Friends with benefits. No strings. So why did his stomach twist into a knot?
He scrolled through his contacts and found her name again. He hesitated for a moment, then dialed. It rang once, twice… then connected. But it wasn't Y/N’s voice he heard.
“Hello?” A muffled voice, slightly breathless, answered. It was Minho.Chan’s jaw tightened.
“Minho? Where’s Y/N? Why isn’t she answering my texts? Why do you have her phone?” His tone was sharper than he intended.
There was a slight pause on the other end, a rustling sound, like someone shifting their weight. “Oh, Chan-ah. Yeah, she’s… a little busy right now. She can’t really get to the phone.” Minho’s voice was low, laced with a casualness that grated on Chan’s nerves.
“Busy with what?” Chan asked, his voice now flat, devoid of its usual warmth. He gripped his phone tighter.
“You know,” Minho said, and Chan could almost hear the smirk in his voice. “Important things. Like… catching up on some quality time.”
Chan’s mind raced, filling in the blanks with the worst possible scenarios.
“What are you talking about, Minho?” he demanded, his irritation mounting. He knew what Minho was implying. He knew what Minho was capable of implying.
“She’s right here. On her knees, actually. To be honest, she’s doing such a good job I don’t think I want her to stop.” Minho purred, and then a noise that sent an icy jolt down Chan’s spine. It was a soft, drawn-out moan. Not a loud, exaggerated one, but a sensual, intimate sound that implied deep pleasure. “Y/N, baby, don’t stop—Chan’s on the phone, say hi.” Chan felt a sudden surge of heat, quickly followed by a cold wave of rage.
“Minho, if you’re fucking lying to me—” Chan started, his voice cracking with a mix of rage and disbelief. His knuckles whitened around his phone.
“I wouldn’t lie about something this good,” Minho interrupted, his voice dripping with mock satisfaction. “She’s so good at this, Chan, running her tongue… mmph… just there…”
A strangled sound escaped Chan’s throat. He could feel his face flushing, a primal heat coursing through his veins. He imagined Y/N, with her soft lips and nimble fingers, doing… that… to Minho. The thought was like a physical blow. His best friend. The woman he was intimately involved with.
“I’ll have her call you when we’re finished. Might be a while, though. She’s real thirsty today.” Minho practically whispered, making another soft, guttural moan, a little louder this time, perfectly timed, perfectly agonizing.
Chan slammed his hand on the desk, the loud thud echoing in the otherwise silent studio. Changbin, startled, looked up, pulling off his headphones. Chan ignored him, his eyes wide with fury and a sudden, sickening jealousy.
“Tell her to get on the phone NOW, Minho!” Chan roared, his voice cracking with rage. “I swear to god, if you don’t put her on the phone, I’m coming over there right now and I’m going to break both your legs!”
Minho’s next sound was not a moan, but a burst of unadulterated laughter. A loud, ringing peal of mirth that was quickly joined by another, equally joyous laugh. Y/N’s laugh.Chan froze. The anger, the jealousy, the stomach-lurching fear… all of it evaporated like mist in the sun, replaced by a profound, burning humiliation.
“You absolute idiots!” he bellowed into the phone, his face burning hot. His fury had not dissipated, but shifted, now directed at their sheer audacity.
Y/N’s voice, bubbly and breathless, finally broke through.
“Good job Min..We got him”
Chan was fuming, but beneath the anger, a flicker of something else began to stir. Relief. And a possessive warmth. She hadn’t been with Minho. She’d been playing him. And he’d fallen for it, hook, line, and sinker.
“I’m going to kill both of you,” Chan said, but the threat lacked its earlier venom. He hung up the phone with a decisive click, his mind already racing.
Changbin, who had been watching the entire exchange with wide-eyed amusement, finally spoke up.
“Everything alright there, hyung? Sounded like… an intense call.” Chan merely grunted, running a hand through his hair.
“Everything is just fine, Changbin. I just need to… go take care of something.” He grabbed his jacket, his keys, and stalked out of the studio, ignoring Changbin’s confused expression.
His car ride to Y/N’s apartment was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Humiliation, yes, but also a growing resolve. She wanted to test him? Fine. He’d passed. He’d reacted exactly as she’d hoped, proving his feelings, even if he hadn’t admitted them aloud. But now, she was going to pay. He was going to make it abundantly clear that this ‘casual’ arrangement was anything but, and that she, Y/N, was his.
Y/N had barely been in her apartment for twenty minutes when the sound of her keypad being punched in echoed through the hallway.She was sitting on her sofa, a mischievous grin still playing on her lips, but a hint of nervousness flickered in her eyes as Chan stormed in, slamming the door shut behind him.
His eyes, dark with a mix of anger and something far more primal, locked onto hers. He didn’t say a word, just stared, demanding an answer.
“So,” she began, her voice a little shaky, “you’re not actually going to break Minho’s legs, are you?”
Chan stalked towards her, his movements slow, deliberate, like a predator circling its prey.
“Minho is going to get his. But right now, you’re the one who needs to be taught a lesson, baby.”
His voice was low, rough, sending shivers down her spine.Y/N swallowed, suddenly aware of the potent shift in the atmosphere.
The playfulness was gone, replaced by an intense, almost terrifying edge. Part of her was scared, but a deeper, more primal part of her thrilled at the raw possessiveness emanating from him. This was exactly what she wanted, wasn't it? The breaking of his composure, the shedding of the fwb facade.
He loomed over her, hands braced on either side of her on the sofa, trapping her. His scent, a mix of studio sweat, his familiar cologne, and something distinctly masculine, filled her senses. She could feel the heat radiating off him, the tension in his muscles.
“You played a dangerous game tonight, baby girl” he murmured, his eyes burning into hers. “Making me think… that he was touching you.” His thumb traced the curve of her jaw, a possessive gesture that made her gasp.
“Making me think… that someone else was taking what’s mine.”
Her breath hitched. Mine. He’d said it. The word hung in the air, heavy with unspoken weight, with a possessiveness she’d craved.
“I… I just wanted to know,” she whispered, her gaze dropping to his lips.
“Know what?” he demanded, his voice a low growl.
“If you cared,” she confessed, her voice barely audible. “If I meant more than just… convenience.”
A flicker of something akin to hurt crossed his face, quickly replaced by a fierce intensity.
“Convenience?” he scoffed, leaning in closer, his lips brushing hers. “Did that sound like convenience to you when I was ready to drive across the city and rip Minho’s throat out for daring to lay a finger on you?”
He kissed her then, a hard, demanding kiss that left no room for doubt. It was rough, punishing, and utterly thrilling. He bit her lip, then plunged his tongue into her mouth, a claiming gesture that stole her breath. Y/N met his intensity with her own, her hands rising to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, desperate for more. He broke the kiss, pulling back just enough to look into her heavy-lidded eyes.
“You’re mine, Y/N,” he reiterated, his voice a raw whisper against her lips. “Casual or not you’re mine.You don’t belong on your knees for anyone but me.Do you understand?”
“Prove it” She dared him, her eyes shining with unshed tears, a mix of relief and overwhelming desire.
He lifted her from the sofa effortlessly, carrying her into the bedroom. He set her down gently on the bed, but the gentleness ended there. He stripped off his jacket, then his t-shirt, his lean, muscled body a testament to his dedication. His eyes never left hers, communicating a silent promise of what was to come.
He knelt on the bed above her, his hands going to the hem of her borrowed hoodie. With a decisive tug, he pulled it over her head, then discarded it, revealing the delicate lace of her bralette.He pulled down the straps freeing her breasts.His mouth latching onto her neck with sucking bites that would leave marks—his marks.His hand palming her breast roughly, thumb flicking her nipple until it peaked.She squirmed beneath him, heat pooling between her legs as his free hand popped the button of her jeans.
She helped him, her fingers clumsy with anticipation.He shoved them down along with her panties in one swift motion.
The air in the room was thick with unspoken words, with raw, unbridled desire.
She was finally naked beneath him and his eyes tracing every curve of her body, a slow, possessive gaze that made her shiver.
“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” he asked, his voice husky. “To see me lose control?”
“Yes,” she breathed, arching into his touch as his fingers traced a path from her hip to her inner thigh.
“Good.” he growled, pushing her legs apart.
Cool air hit her bare skin, but his palm was there immediately, cupping her pussy possessively, fingers sliding through her growing wetness.
"Already soaked? Thinking about Minho’s filthy words get you this wet, or is it knowing I'm gonna fuck you senseless?" He plunged two fingers inside her without warning, curling them deep, pumping hard and fast. She cried out, hips bucking up to meet his hand, walls clenching around the intrusion. His thumb circled her clit, rough circles that made her vision blur.
“Answer me Y/N.”
“You Chan.Only you can make me this wet.”
The words spilled out on a moan as he added a third finger, stretching her, his mouth trailing down to suck a nipple into his mouth, teeth grazing the sensitive bud. He worked her relentlessly, fingers scissoring inside, tongue lashing her breast until she was writhing, chasing the edge.
But he stopped abruptly, pulling his hand free, leaving her empty and aching. She whimpered in protest, but he was already standing next to the bed, jeans kicked away to free his cock, thick and veined, standing rigid against his abs. Pre-cum beaded at the tip, and he stroked himself once, eyes locked on hers, his expression raw and possessive.
“Minho said you were on your knees for him. Let’s make that a reality for me, shall we?”
He ordered her to kneel before him with her tongue out and she obeyed him without hesitation.He groaned at the sight, one hand fisting her hair, the other guiding his cock to her mouth. He teased the head along your tongue, coating himself in her saliva.She worked her tongue along the length of his cock and massaged his balls with one hand.
“Open wider” He groaned and she followed his instruction,opening wider her mouth for him to put his cock in.
He started thrusting in her mouth, so deep that he was hitting the back of her throat and she gagged. Tears started to form in her eyes as he fucked her face. His head was thrown back, his lips were parted and his moans filled the room.
“You think it was funny to have him tell me what you were doing to him? Do you want me to take a video and send him to see what this beautiful mouth is capable of?” He said through gritted teeth as he pulled her head back by the hair abruptly leaving her out of breath in front of him.
“Chan please..”
“On your knees. Ass up. Show me how much you want this dick, how much you want me."
She did as he told her, heart racing, as she climbed onto the bed on all fours, arching her back.He grabbed the cheeks of her butt, opened them and leaned between them, his tongue licking the inside of her folds.
“Fuck, Channie please..I need you” she pleaded.
The vulnerability of the position made Y/N shiver, but the way Chan’s hands gripped her hips, anchoring her to him, made her ache.
He didn't use a condom—this was beyond their usual careful routine.He fisted her hair to pull her head back slightly, the other guiding his cock to her entrance. He entered her in one swift, heavy thrust, a low growl escaping his throat as he filled her. Y/N cried out, her fingers digging into the sheets as the friction sparked through her.
“Is this what he said you were doing?” Chan hissed, his pace turning relentless. He wasn't being gentle. Each snap of his hips against hers was a punishment and a prayer.
"Minho’s got nothing on this. He can't fuck you like I do, can't make this pussy cream all over his cock."
She moaned his name, the dirty words fueling the fire, her body surrendering completely. He released her hair to slap her ass, repeatedly, the sting blooming into heat that made her push back harder, fucking herself on him.
He reached around, fingers finding her clit again, rubbing in time with his thrusts, each one deeper, harder, claiming every inch. Sweat dripped down his chest, muscles flexing as he pounded into her, possessive grunts filling the room.
"Cum for me. Show me you know who you belong to—gonna fill you up, mark you inside so you think of me every time you see him."
The pressure built unbearably, his cock dragging against her walls, hitting that spot that made her legs shake. She shattered around him, pussy spasming, gushing wetness down his length as waves of pleasure ripped through her. He didn't stop, fucking her through it, prolonging the bliss until tears pricked her eyes.
She couldn't breathe, couldn't think, could only feel the way he was marking her, his teeth sinking into her shoulder as he neared his limit.
“Tell me,” Chan demanded, “Whose are you?”
“Yours,” Y/N sobbed, her head hanging low, her hair shielding her face. “Chan, please... I’m yours.”
“Louder.”
“I’m yours! Only yours!”
That was all it took. With a final, deep thrust, he buried himself and came, hot spurts flooding her core, his groan raw and animalistic. He collapsed over her, still inside, lips pressing to her shoulder.
"Mine," he whispered, softer now, hand stroking her side. "Don't forget it."
The prank had unleashed something raw and untamed in him, a protective fury that had been simmering beneath the surface of their casual arrangement. He wanted her to feel it all, to understand the depth of his feelings, to never doubt again where she stood with him.
The silence that followed was heavy, filled only with the sound of their labored breathing. After a long moment, Chan shifted, rolling them over so she was tucked into his side. He kissed the top of her head, his grip still firm, as if afraid she might vanish.
“Don’t ever do that again,” he whispered, his voice returning to the gentle tone she knew, though the edge of possessiveness remained.
“I think I got the message, Channie.” Y/N leaned into him, her body sore but her heart strangely full.
“Good,” he murmured, pulling the covers over them. “Now call Minho and tell him if he ever touches your phone again, I’m kicking him out of the group.” Y/N laughed softly.
“He’s really lucky he is my friend,” he mumbled, his voice hoarse, “Because I almost drove over there.” He propped himself up on an elbow to look at her.
She chuckled, a contented sound. “I know,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “I wanted you to.”
He sighed, running a hand through her still-damp hair, his arm tightening around her waist.
“And just to be clear,” he murmured, his lips brushing the sensitive skin below her ear, “we’re not just friends with benefits anymore, Y/N.”
She smiled, a wide, triumphant smile as she nestled deeper into his embrace catching his lips in a soft kiss.
The prank had worked. And the lesson had been taught, in the most primal, unforgettable way possible. She was his, and he was hers, and no convenient arrangement could ever hide the undeniable truth of their hearts.
SUℳMARY ╋━ You hated the fact you were invisible. Until you weren’t. He’s everywhere around you : on campus, online, in your head. You try to ignore him, try to be normal, try to pretend that the past doesn’t still sting. But he knows the effect he has on you. This is about watching, wanting and losing control. About a boy who doesn’t play fair, and you, who can’t help yourself.
PAIℛING ˖˙ ᰋ ── Campus BadBoy/Streamer ! Jungkook x F ! Reader
JJK MASTER LIST | W.C 3.2K | 𓊈 PART THRℰE𓊉 As more secrets unfold you start to question if change was what brought it all to fruition. Or maybe it was all just how your life is supposed to go, maybe this limbo between want and hate is destiny to you.
TAGS / WARNINGS ╋━ COLLEGE AU, mentions of bullying, drinking, some angst, toxic relationships, suggestive content, sexual tension, slow burn, enemies to lovers ( ? ), jungkook is a jerk again, themes of obsession, humiliation, reader is mentally unstable pretty much, mentions of masturbation. ( let me know if i missed anything )
BEG𝕴NNING ❤︎ 𝕹OTE : hello hello everynyan and welcome to the second last part of this mini series !! yaaay !! its was short, but a roller coaster and i am excited but also kind of bummed that its almost over. all of that being said, i hope you enjoy this part and again, sorry for any mistakes !! part 4 is coming soon and until then my REQUEST ARE OPEN !! Oh the other parts of this series you can find in the jjk masterlist. And if u guys asked me to tag u pls pls dont change your user name and everything right after please, its really hard for me to fund you otherwise. okay thats all ly buhbye ✨️✨️✨️✨️
A wave of heat rises through you. Anger, jealousy, and maybe something else, something that's worse. You step into a changing booth, letting the door close behind you. Your hands are shaking before you even get the dress off the hanger.
You’re running late, bag slung too low, skirt riding up just enough to make you aware of every eye on you.
"Careful, bug." a voice says behind you. Of course it’s Jungkook. The corner of his mouth quirks, amused.
"What do you want?" you snap, hating the way your tummy flutters just by the sound of his voice.
"Nothing." he says easily. "Just enjoying the view." He points to your clearly too short skirt.
You glare. "Funny."
He smirks "Mhm. Very funny."
You keep walking and he falls into step beside you. "You headed to class?"
"Maybe." you mutter, vague.
"Right."
You grip your bag strap tighter, trying your best to cover how enormously affected you are by his presence.
At the lecture hall, he wait for you to take a seat then immediately takes the one behind you. He didn't even say anything else after that, not a word, which made it all the more strange, because, if he didn't sit this close to belittle you some more why did he do it.
Your friend nudges you. "Looks like we found your secret admirer."
"Fuck no." you hiss, clutching your pen.
"Sure." she whispers. "Hoping you'll wake up soon."
After class, you sit with your friend on the steps outside the arts building because there’s nowhere else to go between classes that have only 20 minutes between them. The concrete is cold through your skirt, and you keep tugging it down, remembering the way Jungkook looked at your legs earlier.
Your friend eyes you over the rim of her iced coffee. "Why're wearing that again?"
"It’s just a skirt."
"Yeah, but— It’s tight."
You shrug as if you don’t care. "So?"
She hums noncommittal. "Just saying. People notice when you change stuff all of a sudden, babe."
You know what she means.
You see Jungkook cut through the crowd with his headphones on, jaw set, and he's walking with that annoying sway you so totally hate.
"There he is." She sing-songs.
"Don’t.." you say quietly.
"What? I didn’t say anything." She asks, smiling.
Jungkook passes close enough that you catch his cologne, but he doesn’t look at you, not even accidentally, like you’re part of the scenery.
You tell yourself that’s good, that’s what you want. Right?
When he’s a few steps past, he stops, turns his head slightly, like something irritated him. His eyes flick to you, then away again. He pulls one headphone off. "You staring, bug?"
Your heart jumps so hard it’s embarrassing. "As if." you say too quickly.
He looks at you up and down. "Uh-huh."
Your friend snorts beside you. "She just started dressing like a person. Give her a break."
You whine. "What does that mean?"
Jungkook’s mouth twitches into a smile. "That explains it."
"Explains what?" you snap.
"Why you look so fucking uncomfortable." he laughs easily. "Like you’re wearing someone else’s skin."
Your face burns. "Why do you even care?"
He shrugs, slipping the headphone back on. "I don’t."
Then he walks off like he didn’t just gut you on the steps. You stare after him with your throat tight.
Your friend laughs softly. "See? Told you he noticed."
You don’t answer.
The worst part isn’t what he said. It’s that when his eyes dragged over you, you felt as if he saw what you wanted, saw right through you. And you hate yourself for wanting it again.
──────────────
You didn’t want to go shopping, but your friend had insisted. "You need something cute for the party!"
So here you are, dragging your feet through the mall, arms crossed, trying not to think about how stupidly out of place you feel. Every mirror you pass reflects someone else’s confidence.
You round the corner to the women’s clothing section and freeze when you see Jungkook next to a display, laughing with his arm wrapped around some girl. She’s looking at him like he's the only person in the world. Her hand brushes his, and he doesn’t even notice but he’s smiling, his attention all hers.
You try to convince yourself it doesn’t matter, that he doesn’t see you, that he couldn’t possibly care about anything. But your legs feel weak and your hands cold. You step behind a rack of dresses, taking one out and peeking through the gap it left. You watch them laugh at something and you feel like you could vomit your heart out.
──────────────
You sit on the small bench, clutching the fabric against your chest.
Tears prick your eyes and you feel pathetic. You whisper his name under your breath, and it comes out in broken cries. Your hand drifts under your skirt, brushing over your already wet underwear. You press harder, your body reacting before your brain can stop it. You cry quietly into the fabric of the dress, imagining him, imagining it’s him in the mall with you, imagining that he’s yours, even though he isn’t and he will never be.
"Oh, please—"
Your chest heaves, your fingers move faster, and the shame twists through you like a knife. You’re crying and shaking, and yet the heat in your belly refuses to go away. You’re a mess, a stupid, desperate mess, and you can’t stop.
When you finally come down, your hands are sticky, your clothes slightly rumpled, mascara streaked. You breathe through it, trying to calm down, smooth your dress against your legs, and force yourself to stand.
You step out of the booth slowly, forcing a calm you don’t feel.
And then the lightning flashes blinding, and the thunder follows immediately. You curse under your breath and quicken your pace, only to realize the awning you were aiming for is blocked. The wind throws rain into your face, drenching you instantly.
The rain hits like a drum against the pavement, cold and hard. You grip your jacket tighter, the hood doing nothing against the sideways gusts. Your hair sticks to your face, and your boots slip slightly in puddles.
You look back and see Jungkook as he lags a step behind you, hands shoved deep into his pockets, hoodie drenched and sticking to his back. His usual smirk is gone, now replaced by him scowling, just looking annoyed, like you’re annoying him personally, which, well, maybe you are.
"Are you seriously just gonna stand there?" you snap over the rain.
"Yeah, and what? You’re walking like a stormtrooper." he mutters, voice low and sharp. "Relax."
You roll your eyes, pulling the straps of your bag tighter. You hate him. Hate that he’s here. Hate that he’s so calm. Hate that you can’t stop thinking about him.
Of course he’d look at you like you’re crazy. Why would he, basically a star, want you, a weirdo who watches him constantly, who has only disgusting thoughts about him?
Jungkook finally catches up, grabbing your arm before you slip again. "Hey. Watch it!"
You yank your arm free. "I don’t need your help."
He tilts his head amused, but there’s a flash of irritation in his eyes. The storm drowns out the sound of his voice when he says. "Yeah? You sure about that, bug?"
You don’t answer. Instead, you spot a narrow doorway between two closed shops. You dash for it, hoping it’s covered and Jungkook follows silently. By the time you’re inside, the rain has become a curtain of white noise behind the glass. You’re soaked, your hair sticks to your cheeks and your chest heaves.
"Great." you mutter, tugging at your jacket. "Just great. Stuck with you in a storm."
He doesn’t respond. He leans against the wall with his arms crossed, eyes trained on. You can feel the tension like static between you, much like the storm outside.
"Don’t. Look. At me." you snap finally.
"Or what?" he asks quietly, taking a step closer. His voice is lower than usual, like the storm made everything within him meaner.
Your heart hammers in your chest and you want to run, you want to tell him to go, but something about the rain, the closeness, the way his hoodie is soaked and clings to his body, it’s suffocating.
"Stop being a pain." you breathe out.
He tilts his head, a smirk tugging at his lips despite the clear shiver running through him. "I could say the same to you."
You groan, dragging your hands down your face. "You’re impossible."
"Yeah." His voice is quiet. But then he gets closer and steps into your space. You can feel his breath now, see his wet hair sticking to his forehead better, eyes darker than usual. "You’re weird today."
"Thanks?" You can’t stop your hands from shaking. Your face is hot.
Before you can brace yourself he leans in close. Zo close that your pulse spikes and his lips are nearly on yours.
"I know the burner account is you." you blurt out.
The effect is immediate. He freezes, pulling back slightly, eyes wide, confused. "What? What the fuck are you talking about?" He laughs.
"You don’t think I’ve noticed?" you whisper, voice shaking. "All those times you watched, all that.. attention. It’s you. You’ve been watching. You’ve been— messing with me." You swallow hard.
"No. I— What? Bug, I swear it’s not me." he says, voice harsh now, defensive.
You stumble back a step, rain dripping from your hair. "Don’t lie! I know it’s you."
He throws his hands up, frustrated. "I didn’t— look, I don’t even know what to say. It’s not me, alright? I wouldn’t—"
"You wouldn't?"
The storm rages outside, drowning out the world. You’re soaked, trembling with your heart pounding out on a platter, chest tight with humiliation, lust, anger, everything.
You want to believe him and you want to push him away, and you want to collapse against him all at the same time.
"Then who is it?" you hiss, barely able to keep your voice steady.
He stares at you, jaw tight, trying to process the venom and the vulnerability in your eyes. "I.. I don’t know."
You glare at him, furious, wet, desperate. "You better hope I never find out."
The storm didn't stop, the rain still drumming against the glass, knowing nothing is as simple, and nothing will be ever again.
You don’t wait for him to say anything else. You push past him, shoulder clipping his arm and step straight back into the rain.
It’s colder than before. The storm feels personal now, the rain soaking through your clothes instantly, wind slapping wet hair against your face, thunder cracking like it’s laughing at how stupid you are. You walk fast, almost reckless, shoes splashing through deep puddles.
"Bug!"
You don’t stop.
"Bug, get the fuck back in here!"
His voice cuts through the rain, and he sounds angry, almost desperate. You keep walking. Faster. Faster.
Whatever.
If he can’t just say it, if he has to hide behind a burner account, watching you, poking at you, feeding you attention in secret and then pretending none of it exists then he can fuck right off.
By the time you reach your place, you’re far drenched, shaking, fingers numb as you fumble with your keys. You slam the door behind you harder than necessary and lean back against it.
Silence.
You peel off your jacket, drop your bag on the floor, kick your shoes off. Water drips onto the tile, little dark spots spreading like evidence. You run a hand through your hair and just laugh, breathless and bitter.
Of course he’d deny it.
You sink onto the edge of your bed, water staining the sheets.
He almost kissed you. Oh.
The thought hits harder than the accusation. You press your palms into your face, groaning softly.
You’re so tired of wanting someone who won’t claim you out loud, tired of feeling watched but never chosen, tired of pretending you don’t care when it’s obvious you do, when your whole body reacts to him like a bruise being pressed.
You curl up on the bed, still in damp clothes, staring at the ceiling as thunder rolls outside.
If he likes you, he should say it. If it’s him, he should own up to it. If it’s not then why does it feel like he’s everywhere?
──────────────
The party is a mess of red and pink. Streamers hang crookedly from the ceiling, the bass of the music obscuring the actual melody, the smell of overly sweet perfume, alcohol, and fried food.
You duck through a cluster of people, your heels clicking against the hardwood floor, and slide into a seat in the corner, near the snack table. Alone. Safe.
You sip your drink, trying not to think about the storm yesterday, trying not to think about him.
"Wow."
You glance up. Jungkook. He looks perfect. His gaze lands on you, assessing. "Second party in a month," he says amused. "Crazy. It’s like you’re actually trying to be a normal college student."
You bite your lip and don’t answer. He smirks, steps closer. The smell of him makes your stomach knot. You try to look elsewhere, fix your hair, anything to avoid making eye contact.
"You okay?" he asks voice softer now, almost genuine.
You shrug, sip your drink. The silence stretches.
He leans a little closer, lowering his voice so only you can hear. "I mean you don’t speak to anyone. And somehow, you show up again."
"Yeah." you mutter. "I like parties."
He laughs softly. "Right." he says. "Parties."
For a moment, it feels like he’s different. Not teasing or challenging. Just present. Maybe last night really did change something.
Then the beautiful girl from the mall appears, the one he was with that day. She slides her arms around him, laughing, pressing her cheek to his.
"Hey, handsome!"
He smiles at her, relaxed, easy, like he's forgotten you even exist.
You stand abruptly, drink forgotten, half full.
The air feels harder to breathe in so you step outside. Rain hits your face almost immediately, but it doesn’t matter. You can feel the heat rising in your chest, the bitterness of humiliation.
You wander toward the quieter side of the building, letting the night air hit your soaked hair, pressing the jacket tighter around yourself.
A few minutes pass before your friend finds you.
"Oh my god." She slips an arm around your shoulders, pulling you toward the restroom. "You look like a drowned rat." she says, half laughing. "Come on."
Inside, she fusses with the hand towels, muttering something about asking the host for more. She leaves the door slightly ajar, her phone left on the counter.
It buzzes once, twice. Three more times. Curiosity pricks at you. You know you shouldn’t, but your hands reach for it anyway.
What is this? Messages. Messages upon messages
Between your friend and Sidney.
Plans. Mentions of posts she'll tell you to make, stories to like, reactions. Everything. All for that one account : @heart_still_yours.
The flood hits all at once. Every moment, every view, every nudge of attention you’d thought came from him, it was them. They’d been watching. They’d been planning.
Made you build this insane fantasy only to make it all hurt more when they tear you down piece by piece.
You sink to the floor, knees pulled to your chest, phone clutched tight. The truth tastes bitter in your mouth.
And in that moment, you realize he never watched you at all— never wanted you. Was he in on it too?
You stare at the messages on the phone, frozen.
Your stomach twists and you want to vomit. Everything you thought, everything you felt, every glance, every moment where you convinced yourself he was watching.
The alcohol fades a little. Betrayal, anger, shame. You feel almost sober, and painfully clear.
Your friend’s footsteps echo in the hallway. She comes back, smiling. "Hey, you okay?" she asks, voice friendly.
You glance up. Nothing. Nothing but fury and disbelief. "Fuck off." you mutter. You push past her, storming out of the restroom, sloshing through the crowd, ignoring the music, ignoring the people.
She stops at the door for a second, notices the phone on the floor and her eyes widen. "Fuck."
You don’t wait. You barrel through the hallway, hoping the noise will shield you from her.
"Wait up!" she calls out, as she tries her best to grab you.
You yank your arm free and keep pushing through people, shoulders bumping, music blaring loudly, your ears are ringing and your head is empty.
"Oh my— Seriously, stop!" she snaps, louder now. You spin around.
The crowd seems to hear too and people are already watching. A couple of girls near the couch go silent, aomeone pretend not to stare and fail miserably. Eventually the music dies down.
"What?" you say. Your voice doesn’t shake like you expect it to. "You done yet?"
Her face hardens. The nice girl mask slips, just a little. "God, you’re so fucking dramatic." she scoffs. "You really thought someone like Jungkook would like you?"
Your chest aches. She keeps going, getting louder, crueler, like she wants witnesses, like this was her grand finale. "It didn’t work last year, remember? You think some lip gloss and a dress was gonna fix your fuckass weirdo personality? Be serious."
Someone behind her mutters "Jesus."
You feel heat crawl up your neck. Your eyes burn, but you don’t cry. "Why?" You look straight at her and ask. "Just why?"
She laughs. "Because I was tired of people thinking I was a loser just because you are one. Standing next to you made me look pathetic."
That one lands hard.
"Face it, bug. You’re strange. You always have been. You don’t fit anywhere, people don’t just ignore you for no reason."
Your hands curl into fists and you take a breath.
"I’m strange?"
She rolls her eyes. "Don’t do this."
"No." you say, louder now. "I’m strange?"
The room feels too small. You laugh and it's short, broken, almost hysterical. "That’s crazy, coming from you."
Her smile falters a bit. "You wanna talk about strange?" you continue. "You mean like trying to fuck your mom’s boyfriend, asking him to get you pregnant?"
A sharp inhale ripples through the crowd. Someone gasps, someone else says "Oh my god."
Her face drains of color. "Or his brother?" you add. "Because that’s what got you kicked out, right? Or are we pretending that never happened?"
"Shut the fuck up." she hisses, eyes wild.
"No." you say. "You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to humiliate me for fun and then pretend I’m the fucked up one."
People are staring openly now, phones raised, filming, whispers everywhere.
"You made a fake account." you say, voice breaking at last. "You watched me spiral— You let me think someone cared! You let me think he saw me."
Her mouth opens then closes.
"I just wanted to feel normal!" she snaps desperately. "I wanted people to stop looking at me like I was trash."
"And you thought ruining me would fix that?" you yell back. Tears finally spill, hot and humiliating, but you don’t wipe them away. "Fuck you." you say, barely audible.
You turn and push through the crowd before she can say another word, before she can explain, before she can hurt you more.
“everybody knows i’m a good girl, officer,” - lana del rey, playing dangerous
ʚɞ summary - back in your hometown for christmas, the last thing you wanted was to be pulled over for speeding. you’re freezing and desperate to get out of a ticket—but the cop in front of you is park sunghoon, the nerdy boy you used to tease in high school. and you’ll do whatever it takes to make him let you go, even if it means letting him handcuff and bend you over in his cruiser like he wanted to all those years ago.
ʚɞ tags - 18+ MDNI, f!reader, hard dom!sunghoon, police officer!sunghoon, authority/officer kink, car sex, handcuffs, gunplay, power imbalance, penetrative sex (p in v), unprotected sex, rough sex, creampie
ʚɞ w.c - 3.9k
“License and registration, please.”
The voice was flat and professional in the sub-zero December air, and it came from a figure silhouetted against the blinding red and blue strobes of the patrol car’s light bar, casting long, accusing shadows across the frosted asphalt of the old county road. You fumbled with the glove compartment, your fingers numb from more than just the cold.
“I’m sorry, Officer, I was just—”
“The limit is forty-five. Radar clocked you at sixty-eight.” The voice cut through your excuse like a knife. It was familiar, in a way that scraped against a memory you’d buried years ago. “Step out of the vehicle, please.”
A gust of wind whipped through the open door as you complied, the cold biting through your thin holiday sweater. You squinted against the flashlight beam he pointed at the ground, finally getting a look at his face as he stepped closer.
The sharp line of his jaw, the severe set of his mouth, the dark, intent eyes under the brim of his patrol cap—
Holy shit. It was all Park Sunghoon.
But… it wasn’t the Sunghoon you remembered. The lanky, awkward boy with glasses and wonky teeth who’d trailed after you in high school calculus, whose notes you’d borrowed and never returned? That boy was gone. In his place was a muscular man carved from duty, his broad shoulders straining against the dark blue of his uniform shirt, his posture rigid with authority.
“Sunghoon?” The name left your lips before you could stop it, a disbelieving whisper.
His eyes, which had been clinically examining your out-of-state plates, snapped to yours. A flicker of something—recognition, then immediate, intense suppression—passed through them so fast you might have imagined it. His expression hardened further.
“Ma’am. This is a traffic stop. Your license and registration.”
The formality was a slap, but you handed them over nonetheless, your mind racing. A speeding ticket. A court date. A mark on your clean record, all while you were supposed to be home for a peaceful, boring Christmas. Your parents would love that. The humiliation of it, especially in front of him, of all people, boiled into a reckless, desperate ache in your chest.
He took the documents, his gloved fingers brushing yours. A static shock jolted up your arm. He didn’t react, turning to walk back to his cruiser to run your information.
“Wait.”
He paused, half-turning, an eyebrow arched.
You took a step forward, closing the distance. The flashing lights painted his face in alternating waves of blue and red, highlighting the harsh beauty of it. It was almost funny how once upon a time, you’d wielded all the power over him. But now—he held it all. And the only currency you had left was the one you’d always had over him, even if you’d never deigned to spend it.
“It’s really you,” you said, your voice dropping, losing its panicked edge and gaining a low warmth you didn’t have to fake. The cold made you shiver, and you hugged yourself, not entirely for effect. “Park Sunghoon. I—I can’t believe it. You look…”
You let your gaze travel over him, slow and appreciative. Over the badge pinned to his chest, the heavy utility belt laden with tools of control, the way his uniform pants fit his lean hips and strong thighs. You looked your fill, and you made sure he saw you doing it.
His jaw tightened. “Please return to your vehicle.”
“Do you remember? Senior year, in Mr. Henderson’s class?” You took another small step. “You always let me copy your notes before the tests. You saved my GPA.”
“That was a long time ago.” His voice was gruff, but it lacked the robotic certainty from before. He was looking at you now, really looking, and you could see the conflict in his dark eyes.
“It was,” you agreed softly. You were close enough now to see the rapid pulse in his throat. “You’ve changed so much.”
“So have you.” The retort was automatic, but his eyes betrayed him, tracing the lines of your face, the curve of your mouth, the way your chest rose and fell with each quickening breath.
“Have I?” You smiled, a little sadly. “Still getting into trouble, apparently. And you’re still… helping me out of it?”
“I’m not helping,” he ground out, but he hadn’t moved back. He was rooted to the spot, a statue of conflicted authority. “This is the law. You were speeding, and there are consequences.”
“Are there?” you murmured. You reached out, not touching him, but letting your fingertips hover just above the hard plane of his chest, over his badge. “What if I appealed to the officer’s… discretion?”
His breath hitched. A visible tremor ran through him. “Don’t.” It was meant to be a command, but it sounded like a plea.
“Don’t what, Sunghoon?” you whispered, leaning in. Your lips were inches from his ear. You could feel the heat radiating from his skin. “Don’t remind you that you used to dream about this? That you’d stare at the back of my head in class and wonder what I smelled like?”
“This is wrong.” He hissed the words, a mantra for himself. His hands, which had been hanging at his sides, clenched into white-knuckled fists. But his eyes were locked on your mouth.
“Then give me the ticket,” you challenged, your voice a low, daring thrum. “Write me up. Send me to court. Do your duty, Officer Park.”
You saw the battle rage in him, but at the end of the day: he was just a man. A man who now had the object of every teenage fantasy shivering before him, offering herself up on a silver platter of transgression.
With a sound that was almost a growl, he snapped. One hand shot out, curling around the back of your neck with a firm grip. It was the answer you’d been gambling on.
“Get in the car,” he ordered, his voice a rough, dark thing that sent a lightning bolt of pure, liquid heat straight to your core.
“Which one?” you breathed, your heart hammering against your ribs.
His eyes blazed. “Mine. Now.”
He didn’t wait for you to obey. He guided you, his hand on your neck at a steady, uncompromising pressure, to the passenger side of his patrol car, then opened the door. You slid inside. He followed you in, slamming the door shut, plunging you into a weirdy intimate silence, broken only by the idle rumble of the engine and the muted flash of lights through the windows. The barrier between the seats was down. He was right there.
For a long moment, he just stared at you, his chest rising and falling heavily. The control was slipping, cracking, and what was emerging from beneath was terrifying and thrilling. “You think you can just walk back into town and play your little games?” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “You think I’m still that pathetic kid you could twist around your finger?”
“I don’t know,” you said, meeting his gaze without flinching, “You tell me.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. Then, with a swift, decisive motion, he leaned over you. You thought he might kiss you, but he didn’t. He reached past you, his body pressing yours into the seat, and popped the glove compartment. When he pulled back, he was holding a single item: a pair of standard-issue metal handcuffs.
He held it up between you, his eyes never leaving yours. “You want to get out of this ticket?” The question was a gravelly challenge.
You nodded, your mouth dry.
“Then you’re going to be very, very quiet,” he instructed, his tone leaving no room for argument. It was the voice of a man used to giving orders and having them followed. “And you’re going to do exactly as I say. This is my jurisdiction now. Understood?”
“Yes,” you whispered.
“Yes, what?”
The correction was immediate and sharp. You felt a fresh rush of wetness between your thighs. “Yes, Officer.”
A low, ragged breath escaped his lips. “Hands together. On the dash.”
You obeyed, shifting in the seat to press your palms flat against the cool, textured plastic of the dashboard. The posture arched your back, thrusting your chest forward against the thin fabric of your sweater. You heard the metallic click-clack of the cuffs being readied, then the cold, unforgiving circle of steel closed around your left wrist. He was efficient. He pulled your right hand down to meet it, the second cuff snapping shut with a definitive snick that echoed in the quiet cruiser.
He sat back in the driver’s seat, his eyes raking over you, before he finally reached over, his movements slow and deliberate, and turned off the engine. Now, you could only hear the frantic drumbeat of you heart.
“This is so wrong,” he murmured again, but this time it wasn’t a refusal. His hand came up, and he removed his patrol cap, tossing it onto the console between you. His hair was darker, shorter than you remembered, slightly mussed. It made him look younger, and somehow even more dangerous.
He tugged off his leather gloves, one finger at a time, the action slow and deliberate, his eyes never leaving yours, and dropped them onto the floor. Then his hands, now bare, found the hem of your sweater. He didn’t ask. He just tugged it up, the wool scraping softly over your skin. You lifted your arms as much as the cuffs allowed, and he pulled the sweater over your head, leaving you in just your simple lace bra. The cold air in the car kissed your exposed skin, raising goosebumps, your nipples pebbling instantly into hard points against the delicate fabric.
Sunghoon’s eyes darkened, his pupils swallowing the brown of his irises. He stared at your chest, his breath coming quicker. One hand rose, and he traced the lace edge with a single, blunt fingertip. The touch was electric, smooth and cool against your feverish skin. “You used to wear those tight little tank tops to school,” he said, his voice a rough scrape. “Drove me fucking insane. I’d get headaches from trying not to stare.”
“You never said anything.”
“What was I supposed to say?” His finger dipped under the lace, brushing the soft underside of your breast. A jolt shot straight to your core, and you gasped. “‘Please, Y/N, could you cover up? I’m trying to learn about trigonometry but all I can think about is how your tits would feel in my hands’?”
It didn’t matter how crude the words were—spoken in his low, controlled cop-voice, they made you throb. You arched into his touch, and he answered you, unhooking the front clasp of your bra with a flick of his fingers. Your tits spilled free, full in the intermittent light.
A choked sound escaped him. He shed his gloves, tossing them onto the floor. His bare hands were warm, slightly calloused. He palmed your tits, his thumbs sweeping over your nipples in slow, agonizing circles. The sensation was maddening, the contrast of his work-roughened skin against your sensitive peaks making you whimper. He leaned in, his hot breath fogging in the cold air, and took one bud into his mouth.
Fuck.
His mouth was searing hot, his tongue flat and firm as he laved the tight bud. He suckled, gently at first, then with increasing pressure, pulling a deep, needy ache from somewhere inside of you. You cried out, your cuffed hands curling into fists against the dash. He switched to the other breast, giving it the same thorough attention, his free hand massaging and kneading the flesh he’d just abandoned. You were panting, little white puffs in the cold air, your head falling back against the headrest. The world narrowed to the wet heat of his mouth, the demanding pull of his lips, the rough caress of his hands.
He pulled back, his lips glistening, his own breathing harsh. “Still so fucking perfect,” he growled, more to himself than to you. His hands left your breasts and went to his utility belt. Your eyes widened as you watched.
This was it. The point of no return.
He unbuckled it, the heavy leather sighing as he pulled it free, then laid it carefully on the passenger seat beside your hip, the weight of it making the cushion dip.
His focus dropped to your jeans. He popped the button, dragged the zipper down with a slow, torturous rasp. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your jeans and your panties and peeled them both down your thighs in one strong, relentless motion. You had to lift your hips, helping him, the denim and cotton catching on your shoes before he tugged them free and discarded them into the footwell. You were completely exposed now from the waist down, the coldness of the seat biting against the backs of your thighs, the warm, wet center of you utterly vulnerable.
Sunghoon’s eyes drank in the sight, but, much to your frustration, he didn’t touch you there yet. Instead, he unbuttoned his own uniform trousers and freed his erection. Your breath hitched. He was thick, long, veined, and already leaking at the tip. Your mouth pooled with drool.
“Spread your legs,” he ordered, his voice guttural.
You did, the cuffs clinking softly as you widened your knees, offering yourself to him. He moved between them, his body crowding yours in the confined space. One hand braced on the seat back by your head, the other finally, finally touched you. His fingers slid through your slick folds, and he groaned, a deep, shuddering sound. “Fuck. You’re completely soaked. For me?”
“All for you, Officer,” you moaned, pushing your hips up against his searching fingers.
He circled your clit, once, twice, in a teasing way that made you sob with frustration. Then he plunged two fingers inside you, curling them expertly, taking almost no time in finding the spot that made you see stars. He pumped them, in and out, his eyes locked on your face, watching every twitch, every gasp, every helpless contraction of your inner muscles around his digits. “You used to laugh,” he said, his voice thick with a dark, vengeful pleasure as he fucked you with his hand. “Laugh at me in the hallways, whisper with your friends about how pathetic I was, chasing after you like some lovesick puppy. Remember that? How you'd flirt just enough to string me along, then turn away with a giggle.”
“I’m sorry,” you gasped, the apology ripped from you, half-sincere, half just a plea for more. “I was stupid.”
“Don’t be sorry.” He withdrew his fingers, shining with your arousal. He brought them to his mouth, sucked them clean, his eyes never leaving yours. “Be fucking quiet.”
He positioned himself at your entrance, the head of his cock nudging against you. He didn’t push in. He just held himself there, letting you feel the insistent pressure, the promise of fullness. “You want me to fuck you right here, in my cruiser?” he breathed against your lips.
“Yeah,” you nodded eagerly. “Yes, please.”
He didn’t ease into you. He drove in with one hard, deep, conquering thrust, sheathing himself to the hilt in your tight, welcoming heat.
You screamed, the sound muffled as you buried your face against the stiff fabric of his uniform shirt. The stretch was immense—he filled you completely, it felt like he was carving out a space for his cock inside of you.
“Fuck,” he snarled, his forehead dropping to yours. “You’re so—hah—fucking tight, Y/N.”
Then he began to move.
The leather creaked. The handcuffs bit into your wrists. The world outside the windows—the empty road, the falling temperature, the reason you were both here—ceased to exist. There was only the slap of skin on skin, the raggedness of your breaths, and the deep, wet sounds of you taking him inside.
His thrusts were powerful, each one driving a gasp or a moan from your throat. He was in control, and it made your mind drift pleasantly.
One of his hands gripped your hip, his fingers digging in, surely leaving bruises. The other hand came up to tangle in your hair, holding your head still, forcing you to look at him. His face was painted with fierce concentration.
“Look at you,” he grunted, his hips pistoning. “Handcuffed in my car. Taking my cock like you were made for it. You think your little high school friends would believe this?”
But you were lost, utterly gone. “Hngh—ngh—Sunghoon” you whimpered, his name spilling from your lips like a broken prayer, over and over as his cock plunged deeper, stretching you out. “Sunghoon—oh, hngh—please—hn...” Your body arched, helpless.
He fucked you harder, faster, the car rocking slightly with the force of his movements. You were climbing, a tight, coiling tension gathering at the base of your spine, spreading through your belly. You were so close, teetering on the edge, the friction of him dragging over your most sensitive spots with every deep stroke.
But then, suddenly—
He stopped. He pulled out of you completely, leaving you empty, aching, and bereft. A whine of protest escaped your lips.
“Not yet,” he panted, his own body trembling with the effort of stopping. His eyes were wild, burning. He looked away, to his utility belt lying on the seat, and your heart stuttered as his hand reached over.
He bypassed the key of the handcuffs. For a second, you thought he was going for something else—his baton, his radio, you didn’t know. You couldn’t guess. But his fingers closed around the textured grip of his service weapon. He didn’t draw it from the holster. He simply unfastened the strap and lifted the entire belt, holster and all, placing it on your stomach. The weight was heavy, and the coldness of the holster’s hardware pressed into your skin.
Then, his eyes holding a dark, challenging gleam, he slowly drew the pistol from its leather cradle.
It was black and matte. He held it by the barrel, offering the polymer grip to you. “Touch it,” he said, his voice dangerously soft.
Tentatively, with your cuffed hands, you wrapped your fingers around the grip. It was cool, the texture rough.
“Now,” he instructed, taking the gun back from you. With his other hand, he guided his cock back to your entrance. He pushed in, just the head, a shallow, teasing penetration. Then, holding your gaze with hypnotic intensity, he brought the cold, blunt tip of the pistol’s barrel to your lower lips, just beside where his flesh disappeared into yours.
You flinched at the touch.
“Hold still,” he commanded. He began a slow, shallow rhythm with his hips, rocking into you just an inch or two as he simultaneously used the gun’s barrel to trace your outer folds, to circle your clit, to press gently against your sensitive skin.
It was taboo. It was terrifying. It was, quite possibly, the most erotic thing you had ever experienced.
“Oh my god,” you sobbed, your hips bucking helplessly, trying to get more of him, more of this impossible sensation.
“You like that?” he breathed, his own control fraying. He increased the pressure of the barrel, rubbing it in firm circles over your clit while he continued his shallow, fucking motions. “You like having a cop’s gun on your pussy while he fucks you? While the cop you used to think nothing of fucks you good?”
“Yeah—hngh—oh, fuck—Sunghoon—”
The combination tipped you over. The coil broke. Your orgasm crashed through you like a filthy wave of raw ecstasy, your pussy clenching and spasming wildly around his thick, bare cock buried deep inside you. Juices gushed out in hot, messy squirts, your walls milking him greedily, sucking at his shaft, begging for his seed, every pulse a dirty, desperate throb that made your thighs quake and your toes curl. A fleeting thought flashed through your mind—he was fucking you raw, no condom, he could knock you up right here with his hot cum flooding your womb—but you didn't care, not one fucking bit. The pleasure was too overwhelming, his cock stretching you so perfectly, hitting every sensitive spot, making you feel alive and used in the best way. Your cuffed hands strained against the steel, the bite of the cuffs digging into your wrists as you yanked futilely, desperate to touch him, to claw at his back. It was so intense that it flirted with the line between pain and pleasure, the sharp twinges from your bound limbs and the cold metal still pressed against your throbbing clit amplifying everything a thousand times. The wrongness of it only made the release dirtier, hotter, your cries turning into whimpers and moans as wave after wave ripped through you, leaving you a trembling, soaked mess impaled on his unrelenting cock.
Sunghoon watched you come apart, but the sight of your ecstasy, the feel of your inner muscles pulsing around his cock, must have been too much, because a second later, with a ragged shout, he came inside you.
You felt the hot, wet release of him inside you, spurt after spurt, filling you, marking you. He slumped forward, his body shuddering, his forehead resting on your shoulder, his breath scalding hot against your neck. The pistol, forgotten, clattered onto the seat beside you.
There was only the sound of your labored breathing mingling in the cold air, and the occasional soft click of the handcuffs as you tried to shift your numb wrists.
Slowly, he pushed himself up. He looked dazed, wrecked, his uniform shirt crumpled, his hair a mess. He looked down at where your bodies were still joined, at the evidence of what you’d done smeared on your skin and his. His expression was unreadable, and it made you feel strangely insecure.
Without a word, he pulled out of you. The loss was physical, a sudden hollow coldness, and you shut your legs together quickly. Sunghoon tucked himself back into his trousers, fumbling with the buttons. Then he reached for the small silver handcuff key on his belt loop. He leaned over you, his scent enveloping you once more, and unlocked the cuffs. The metal fell away, and you brought your aching wrists to your chest, rubbing the red marks left behind.
He gathered your clothes: your sweater, your bra, your jeans and panties from the floor. He handed them to you, his movements stiff, his eyes avoiding yours now. “Get dressed,” he said, his voice hoarse but already edging back toward the flatness from before.
You dressed in silence, your limbs feeling like lead. The sweater felt scratchy now. Your jeans chafed your sensitive skin. You were shivering again, but this time it was from the aftershocks, the adrenaline crash.
He had already straightened his own uniform, re-buckled his utility belt, holstered his gun. He picked up his patrol cap from the console but didn’t put it on. He just held it, staring at it.
Eventually, he looked at you. “Your license and registration are on the dash.” He nodded toward them. “The citation has been voided. Consider it a warning.”
You just nodded, unable to speak.
“Drive the speed limit the rest of the way home.”
“I will.”
He opened the passenger door. The freezing night air rushed in, a brutal shock to your overheated skin.
“everybody knows i’m a good girl, officer,” - lana del rey, playing dangerous
ʚɞ summary - back in your hometown for christmas, the last thing you wanted was to be pulled over for speeding. you’re freezing and desperate to get out of a ticket—but the cop in front of you is park sunghoon, the nerdy boy you used to tease in high school. and you’ll do whatever it takes to make him let you go, even if it means letting him handcuff and bend you over in his cruiser like he wanted to all those years ago.
ʚɞ tags - 18+ MDNI, f!reader, hard dom!sunghoon, police officer!sunghoon, authority/officer kink, car sex, handcuffs, gunplay, power imbalance, penetrative sex (p in v), unprotected sex, rough sex, creampie
ʚɞ w.c - 3.9k
“License and registration, please.”
The voice was flat and professional in the sub-zero December air, and it came from a figure silhouetted against the blinding red and blue strobes of the patrol car’s light bar, casting long, accusing shadows across the frosted asphalt of the old county road. You fumbled with the glove compartment, your fingers numb from more than just the cold.
“I’m sorry, Officer, I was just—”
“The limit is forty-five. Radar clocked you at sixty-eight.” The voice cut through your excuse like a knife. It was familiar, in a way that scraped against a memory you’d buried years ago. “Step out of the vehicle, please.”
A gust of wind whipped through the open door as you complied, the cold biting through your thin holiday sweater. You squinted against the flashlight beam he pointed at the ground, finally getting a look at his face as he stepped closer.
The sharp line of his jaw, the severe set of his mouth, the dark, intent eyes under the brim of his patrol cap—
Holy shit. It was all Park Sunghoon.
But… it wasn’t the Sunghoon you remembered. The lanky, awkward boy with glasses and wonky teeth who’d trailed after you in high school calculus, whose notes you’d borrowed and never returned? That boy was gone. In his place was a muscular man carved from duty, his broad shoulders straining against the dark blue of his uniform shirt, his posture rigid with authority.
“Sunghoon?” The name left your lips before you could stop it, a disbelieving whisper.
His eyes, which had been clinically examining your out-of-state plates, snapped to yours. A flicker of something—recognition, then immediate, intense suppression—passed through them so fast you might have imagined it. His expression hardened further.
“Ma’am. This is a traffic stop. Your license and registration.”
The formality was a slap, but you handed them over nonetheless, your mind racing. A speeding ticket. A court date. A mark on your clean record, all while you were supposed to be home for a peaceful, boring Christmas. Your parents would love that. The humiliation of it, especially in front of him, of all people, boiled into a reckless, desperate ache in your chest.
He took the documents, his gloved fingers brushing yours. A static shock jolted up your arm. He didn’t react, turning to walk back to his cruiser to run your information.
“Wait.”
He paused, half-turning, an eyebrow arched.
You took a step forward, closing the distance. The flashing lights painted his face in alternating waves of blue and red, highlighting the harsh beauty of it. It was almost funny how once upon a time, you’d wielded all the power over him. But now—he held it all. And the only currency you had left was the one you’d always had over him, even if you’d never deigned to spend it.
“It’s really you,” you said, your voice dropping, losing its panicked edge and gaining a low warmth you didn’t have to fake. The cold made you shiver, and you hugged yourself, not entirely for effect. “Park Sunghoon. I—I can’t believe it. You look…”
You let your gaze travel over him, slow and appreciative. Over the badge pinned to his chest, the heavy utility belt laden with tools of control, the way his uniform pants fit his lean hips and strong thighs. You looked your fill, and you made sure he saw you doing it.
His jaw tightened. “Please return to your vehicle.”
“Do you remember? Senior year, in Mr. Henderson’s class?” You took another small step. “You always let me copy your notes before the tests. You saved my GPA.”
“That was a long time ago.” His voice was gruff, but it lacked the robotic certainty from before. He was looking at you now, really looking, and you could see the conflict in his dark eyes.
“It was,” you agreed softly. You were close enough now to see the rapid pulse in his throat. “You’ve changed so much.”
“So have you.” The retort was automatic, but his eyes betrayed him, tracing the lines of your face, the curve of your mouth, the way your chest rose and fell with each quickening breath.
“Have I?” You smiled, a little sadly. “Still getting into trouble, apparently. And you’re still… helping me out of it?”
“I’m not helping,” he ground out, but he hadn’t moved back. He was rooted to the spot, a statue of conflicted authority. “This is the law. You were speeding, and there are consequences.”
“Are there?” you murmured. You reached out, not touching him, but letting your fingertips hover just above the hard plane of his chest, over his badge. “What if I appealed to the officer’s… discretion?”
His breath hitched. A visible tremor ran through him. “Don’t.” It was meant to be a command, but it sounded like a plea.
“Don’t what, Sunghoon?” you whispered, leaning in. Your lips were inches from his ear. You could feel the heat radiating from his skin. “Don’t remind you that you used to dream about this? That you’d stare at the back of my head in class and wonder what I smelled like?”
“This is wrong.” He hissed the words, a mantra for himself. His hands, which had been hanging at his sides, clenched into white-knuckled fists. But his eyes were locked on your mouth.
“Then give me the ticket,” you challenged, your voice a low, daring thrum. “Write me up. Send me to court. Do your duty, Officer Park.”
You saw the battle rage in him, but at the end of the day: he was just a man. A man who now had the object of every teenage fantasy shivering before him, offering herself up on a silver platter of transgression.
With a sound that was almost a growl, he snapped. One hand shot out, curling around the back of your neck with a firm grip. It was the answer you’d been gambling on.
“Get in the car,” he ordered, his voice a rough, dark thing that sent a lightning bolt of pure, liquid heat straight to your core.
“Which one?” you breathed, your heart hammering against your ribs.
His eyes blazed. “Mine. Now.”
He didn’t wait for you to obey. He guided you, his hand on your neck at a steady, uncompromising pressure, to the passenger side of his patrol car, then opened the door. You slid inside. He followed you in, slamming the door shut, plunging you into a weirdy intimate silence, broken only by the idle rumble of the engine and the muted flash of lights through the windows. The barrier between the seats was down. He was right there.
For a long moment, he just stared at you, his chest rising and falling heavily. The control was slipping, cracking, and what was emerging from beneath was terrifying and thrilling. “You think you can just walk back into town and play your little games?” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “You think I’m still that pathetic kid you could twist around your finger?”
“I don’t know,” you said, meeting his gaze without flinching, “You tell me.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. Then, with a swift, decisive motion, he leaned over you. You thought he might kiss you, but he didn’t. He reached past you, his body pressing yours into the seat, and popped the glove compartment. When he pulled back, he was holding a single item: a pair of standard-issue metal handcuffs.
He held it up between you, his eyes never leaving yours. “You want to get out of this ticket?” The question was a gravelly challenge.
You nodded, your mouth dry.
“Then you’re going to be very, very quiet,” he instructed, his tone leaving no room for argument. It was the voice of a man used to giving orders and having them followed. “And you’re going to do exactly as I say. This is my jurisdiction now. Understood?”
“Yes,” you whispered.
“Yes, what?”
The correction was immediate and sharp. You felt a fresh rush of wetness between your thighs. “Yes, Officer.”
A low, ragged breath escaped his lips. “Hands together. On the dash.”
You obeyed, shifting in the seat to press your palms flat against the cool, textured plastic of the dashboard. The posture arched your back, thrusting your chest forward against the thin fabric of your sweater. You heard the metallic click-clack of the cuffs being readied, then the cold, unforgiving circle of steel closed around your left wrist. He was efficient. He pulled your right hand down to meet it, the second cuff snapping shut with a definitive snick that echoed in the quiet cruiser.
He sat back in the driver’s seat, his eyes raking over you, before he finally reached over, his movements slow and deliberate, and turned off the engine. Now, you could only hear the frantic drumbeat of you heart.
“This is so wrong,” he murmured again, but this time it wasn’t a refusal. His hand came up, and he removed his patrol cap, tossing it onto the console between you. His hair was darker, shorter than you remembered, slightly mussed. It made him look younger, and somehow even more dangerous.
He tugged off his leather gloves, one finger at a time, the action slow and deliberate, his eyes never leaving yours, and dropped them onto the floor. Then his hands, now bare, found the hem of your sweater. He didn’t ask. He just tugged it up, the wool scraping softly over your skin. You lifted your arms as much as the cuffs allowed, and he pulled the sweater over your head, leaving you in just your simple lace bra. The cold air in the car kissed your exposed skin, raising goosebumps, your nipples pebbling instantly into hard points against the delicate fabric.
Sunghoon’s eyes darkened, his pupils swallowing the brown of his irises. He stared at your chest, his breath coming quicker. One hand rose, and he traced the lace edge with a single, blunt fingertip. The touch was electric, smooth and cool against your feverish skin. “You used to wear those tight little tank tops to school,” he said, his voice a rough scrape. “Drove me fucking insane. I’d get headaches from trying not to stare.”
“You never said anything.”
“What was I supposed to say?” His finger dipped under the lace, brushing the soft underside of your breast. A jolt shot straight to your core, and you gasped. “‘Please, Y/N, could you cover up? I’m trying to learn about trigonometry but all I can think about is how your tits would feel in my hands’?”
It didn’t matter how crude the words were—spoken in his low, controlled cop-voice, they made you throb. You arched into his touch, and he answered you, unhooking the front clasp of your bra with a flick of his fingers. Your tits spilled free, full in the intermittent light.
A choked sound escaped him. He shed his gloves, tossing them onto the floor. His bare hands were warm, slightly calloused. He palmed your tits, his thumbs sweeping over your nipples in slow, agonizing circles. The sensation was maddening, the contrast of his work-roughened skin against your sensitive peaks making you whimper. He leaned in, his hot breath fogging in the cold air, and took one bud into his mouth.
Fuck.
His mouth was searing hot, his tongue flat and firm as he laved the tight bud. He suckled, gently at first, then with increasing pressure, pulling a deep, needy ache from somewhere inside of you. You cried out, your cuffed hands curling into fists against the dash. He switched to the other breast, giving it the same thorough attention, his free hand massaging and kneading the flesh he’d just abandoned. You were panting, little white puffs in the cold air, your head falling back against the headrest. The world narrowed to the wet heat of his mouth, the demanding pull of his lips, the rough caress of his hands.
He pulled back, his lips glistening, his own breathing harsh. “Still so fucking perfect,” he growled, more to himself than to you. His hands left your breasts and went to his utility belt. Your eyes widened as you watched.
This was it. The point of no return.
He unbuckled it, the heavy leather sighing as he pulled it free, then laid it carefully on the passenger seat beside your hip, the weight of it making the cushion dip.
His focus dropped to your jeans. He popped the button, dragged the zipper down with a slow, torturous rasp. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your jeans and your panties and peeled them both down your thighs in one strong, relentless motion. You had to lift your hips, helping him, the denim and cotton catching on your shoes before he tugged them free and discarded them into the footwell. You were completely exposed now from the waist down, the coldness of the seat biting against the backs of your thighs, the warm, wet center of you utterly vulnerable.
Sunghoon’s eyes drank in the sight, but, much to your frustration, he didn’t touch you there yet. Instead, he unbuttoned his own uniform trousers and freed his erection. Your breath hitched. He was thick, long, veined, and already leaking at the tip. Your mouth pooled with drool.
“Spread your legs,” he ordered, his voice guttural.
You did, the cuffs clinking softly as you widened your knees, offering yourself to him. He moved between them, his body crowding yours in the confined space. One hand braced on the seat back by your head, the other finally, finally touched you. His fingers slid through your slick folds, and he groaned, a deep, shuddering sound. “Fuck. You’re completely soaked. For me?”
“All for you, Officer,” you moaned, pushing your hips up against his searching fingers.
He circled your clit, once, twice, in a teasing way that made you sob with frustration. Then he plunged two fingers inside you, curling them expertly, taking almost no time in finding the spot that made you see stars. He pumped them, in and out, his eyes locked on your face, watching every twitch, every gasp, every helpless contraction of your inner muscles around his digits. “You used to laugh,” he said, his voice thick with a dark, vengeful pleasure as he fucked you with his hand. “Laugh at me in the hallways, whisper with your friends about how pathetic I was, chasing after you like some lovesick puppy. Remember that? How you'd flirt just enough to string me along, then turn away with a giggle.”
“I’m sorry,” you gasped, the apology ripped from you, half-sincere, half just a plea for more. “I was stupid.”
“Don’t be sorry.” He withdrew his fingers, shining with your arousal. He brought them to his mouth, sucked them clean, his eyes never leaving yours. “Be fucking quiet.”
He positioned himself at your entrance, the head of his cock nudging against you. He didn’t push in. He just held himself there, letting you feel the insistent pressure, the promise of fullness. “You want me to fuck you right here, in my cruiser?” he breathed against your lips.
“Yeah,” you nodded eagerly. “Yes, please.”
He didn’t ease into you. He drove in with one hard, deep, conquering thrust, sheathing himself to the hilt in your tight, welcoming heat.
You screamed, the sound muffled as you buried your face against the stiff fabric of his uniform shirt. The stretch was immense—he filled you completely, it felt like he was carving out a space for his cock inside of you.
“Fuck,” he snarled, his forehead dropping to yours. “You’re so—hah—fucking tight, Y/N.”
Then he began to move.
The leather creaked. The handcuffs bit into your wrists. The world outside the windows—the empty road, the falling temperature, the reason you were both here—ceased to exist. There was only the slap of skin on skin, the raggedness of your breaths, and the deep, wet sounds of you taking him inside.
His thrusts were powerful, each one driving a gasp or a moan from your throat. He was in control, and it made your mind drift pleasantly.
One of his hands gripped your hip, his fingers digging in, surely leaving bruises. The other hand came up to tangle in your hair, holding your head still, forcing you to look at him. His face was painted with fierce concentration.
“Look at you,” he grunted, his hips pistoning. “Handcuffed in my car. Taking my cock like you were made for it. You think your little high school friends would believe this?”
But you were lost, utterly gone. “Hngh—ngh—Sunghoon” you whimpered, his name spilling from your lips like a broken prayer, over and over as his cock plunged deeper, stretching you out. “Sunghoon—oh, hngh—please—hn...” Your body arched, helpless.
He fucked you harder, faster, the car rocking slightly with the force of his movements. You were climbing, a tight, coiling tension gathering at the base of your spine, spreading through your belly. You were so close, teetering on the edge, the friction of him dragging over your most sensitive spots with every deep stroke.
But then, suddenly—
He stopped. He pulled out of you completely, leaving you empty, aching, and bereft. A whine of protest escaped your lips.
“Not yet,” he panted, his own body trembling with the effort of stopping. His eyes were wild, burning. He looked away, to his utility belt lying on the seat, and your heart stuttered as his hand reached over.
He bypassed the key of the handcuffs. For a second, you thought he was going for something else—his baton, his radio, you didn’t know. You couldn’t guess. But his fingers closed around the textured grip of his service weapon. He didn’t draw it from the holster. He simply unfastened the strap and lifted the entire belt, holster and all, placing it on your stomach. The weight was heavy, and the coldness of the holster’s hardware pressed into your skin.
Then, his eyes holding a dark, challenging gleam, he slowly drew the pistol from its leather cradle.
It was black and matte. He held it by the barrel, offering the polymer grip to you. “Touch it,” he said, his voice dangerously soft.
Tentatively, with your cuffed hands, you wrapped your fingers around the grip. It was cool, the texture rough.
“Now,” he instructed, taking the gun back from you. With his other hand, he guided his cock back to your entrance. He pushed in, just the head, a shallow, teasing penetration. Then, holding your gaze with hypnotic intensity, he brought the cold, blunt tip of the pistol’s barrel to your lower lips, just beside where his flesh disappeared into yours.
You flinched at the touch.
“Hold still,” he commanded. He began a slow, shallow rhythm with his hips, rocking into you just an inch or two as he simultaneously used the gun’s barrel to trace your outer folds, to circle your clit, to press gently against your sensitive skin.
It was taboo. It was terrifying. It was, quite possibly, the most erotic thing you had ever experienced.
“Oh my god,” you sobbed, your hips bucking helplessly, trying to get more of him, more of this impossible sensation.
“You like that?” he breathed, his own control fraying. He increased the pressure of the barrel, rubbing it in firm circles over your clit while he continued his shallow, fucking motions. “You like having a cop’s gun on your pussy while he fucks you? While the cop you used to think nothing of fucks you good?”
“Yeah—hngh—oh, fuck—Sunghoon—”
The combination tipped you over. The coil broke. Your orgasm crashed through you like a filthy wave of raw ecstasy, your pussy clenching and spasming wildly around his thick, bare cock buried deep inside you. Juices gushed out in hot, messy squirts, your walls milking him greedily, sucking at his shaft, begging for his seed, every pulse a dirty, desperate throb that made your thighs quake and your toes curl. A fleeting thought flashed through your mind—he was fucking you raw, no condom, he could knock you up right here with his hot cum flooding your womb—but you didn't care, not one fucking bit. The pleasure was too overwhelming, his cock stretching you so perfectly, hitting every sensitive spot, making you feel alive and used in the best way. Your cuffed hands strained against the steel, the bite of the cuffs digging into your wrists as you yanked futilely, desperate to touch him, to claw at his back. It was so intense that it flirted with the line between pain and pleasure, the sharp twinges from your bound limbs and the cold metal still pressed against your throbbing clit amplifying everything a thousand times. The wrongness of it only made the release dirtier, hotter, your cries turning into whimpers and moans as wave after wave ripped through you, leaving you a trembling, soaked mess impaled on his unrelenting cock.
Sunghoon watched you come apart, but the sight of your ecstasy, the feel of your inner muscles pulsing around his cock, must have been too much, because a second later, with a ragged shout, he came inside you.
You felt the hot, wet release of him inside you, spurt after spurt, filling you, marking you. He slumped forward, his body shuddering, his forehead resting on your shoulder, his breath scalding hot against your neck. The pistol, forgotten, clattered onto the seat beside you.
There was only the sound of your labored breathing mingling in the cold air, and the occasional soft click of the handcuffs as you tried to shift your numb wrists.
Slowly, he pushed himself up. He looked dazed, wrecked, his uniform shirt crumpled, his hair a mess. He looked down at where your bodies were still joined, at the evidence of what you’d done smeared on your skin and his. His expression was unreadable, and it made you feel strangely insecure.
Without a word, he pulled out of you. The loss was physical, a sudden hollow coldness, and you shut your legs together quickly. Sunghoon tucked himself back into his trousers, fumbling with the buttons. Then he reached for the small silver handcuff key on his belt loop. He leaned over you, his scent enveloping you once more, and unlocked the cuffs. The metal fell away, and you brought your aching wrists to your chest, rubbing the red marks left behind.
He gathered your clothes: your sweater, your bra, your jeans and panties from the floor. He handed them to you, his movements stiff, his eyes avoiding yours now. “Get dressed,” he said, his voice hoarse but already edging back toward the flatness from before.
You dressed in silence, your limbs feeling like lead. The sweater felt scratchy now. Your jeans chafed your sensitive skin. You were shivering again, but this time it was from the aftershocks, the adrenaline crash.
He had already straightened his own uniform, re-buckled his utility belt, holstered his gun. He picked up his patrol cap from the console but didn’t put it on. He just held it, staring at it.
Eventually, he looked at you. “Your license and registration are on the dash.” He nodded toward them. “The citation has been voided. Consider it a warning.”
You just nodded, unable to speak.
“Drive the speed limit the rest of the way home.”
“I will.”
He opened the passenger door. The freezing night air rushed in, a brutal shock to your overheated skin.
> warnings — rom-com, humor, fluff and smut, reader is in a constant state of stress, descriptions of a small panic attack, heeseung is referred to as woody (it makes sense i swear), ariana grande is mentioned a handful of times, slight angst (for the plot yk), lots of refrences to marriage and getting married (this one might be obvious) // p in v, oral f! receiving, soft sex, missionary, fingering, unprotected sex, praise kink
> notes — my first published fic on this blog… gulp. kinda nervous. but please enjoy me spreading the blonde heeseung agenda. also i think you can tell that i like ariana grande after you read this.. still. i really hope you guys enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing it. reblogs are so so appreciated and i love to hear from you guys!
What do you do when your ex-boyfriend and ex-best friend invite you to their wedding?
You ignore it. You don’t go, because, really, why would you? You don’t owe them some false sense of forgiveness simply because they assume enough time has passed for there to be no hard feelings. Any rational person knows that.
But…you are a people pleaser to the highest degree. It’s a trait that your mom used to say made you so good while your dad mumbled how it would get you in trouble one day. Seems one of them was right.
So now you’re sitting at the farthest corner table of the massive venue, a glass of wine swirling in your hand as the best-man gives his speech. He says something about the obstacles the couple overcame, how they managed to make something beautiful out of a bad situation.
The bad situation, of course, being you.
You aren’t sure how someone is able to make cheating on their girlfriend of six years with her childhood best friend seem like some kind of detour to getting a happy ending, but they do. And now people are cooing at it like their story is something out of a shitty rom-com on the Hallmark channel. You don’t miss the way people glance back at you either, like they’re waiting for you to either scream or cry. Maybe both. You just shoot them tight smiles, fingers tightening around your glass like it’ll ground you. (Newsflash, it doesn't.)
The night continues like that. You, sitting in the back corner wondering why you even came while people shoot you sympathetic looks. It’s kind of pathetic honestly. You should probably leave.
You can see Luke up there with Mandy, her shoulders shaking when she laughs at something he says. He looks at her differently than how he looked at you. He looks at her like she’s the gravity holding him onto earth–like he’d move the moon and stars if she simply asked. It’s sickening and…a little hurtful. Not that you’d ever admit that out loud.
Sometimes you wonder how you didn’t see it. Looking back, it was obvious. All the lingering looks. The way Luke always made an excuse as to why he couldn’t come over when Mandy was in town. They barely even tried to hide it and you still hadn’t seen it.
You sigh, sinking further into your chair. You wish this wine was stronger. You wish you hadn’t come. You wish–
“If you scoot down any more you’re going to fall off your chair.”
You blink, the sudden voice catching you off guard. You weren’t aware anyone was even behind you considering the majority of the attendees were either interacting with family-friends or dancing in the center of the room. The thought of a stranger seeing you like this should make you straighten up. It should make you mumble out a soft apology and then try not to die from mortification.
But, instead, all you can manage is a soft, “True.”
You don’t try to sit up. You don’t turn to look at him. You just stay frozen, your eyebrows knitted and lips twisted in a painful grimace, watching as Luke feeds Mandy a piece of cake. Strawberry, of course. Your mutual favorite, The one you’d bonded with him over when you’d first met.
The stranger doesn’t say anything else. Just quietly slips into the open seat next to you. The one covered in crumbs left by one of Luke’s younger cousins. You’d met the kid back when you and Luke were still together. He was one of those obnoxious kids always covered in a mysterious sticky substance with constant red rimmed lips. You couldn’t stand him back then, and you still can’t now. So it seems only fitting that you’d end up in the seat next to him.
Silence stretches again, not uncomfortable, but definitely not comfortable either. Just there. Just kind of awkward. Like you’re two middle schoolers at a school dance together waiting to see who makes the first move.
“So,” The stranger starts again, his voice casual and low, like you’re two best friends catching up. “Which one is it?”
Your gaze flicks over to him lazily, eyes catching on the side of his face. His hair falls over his eyes effortlessly, blonde strands framing him in that casually messy kind of way only a few men can pull off. He’s not looking at you, which your partially grateful for, and instead his eyes are trained where yours once were. On them.
But he isn’t looking at them like they’re the cutest thing he’d ever seen like everyone else is. In fact, you think he might be glaring at them. It nearly tugs a smile at your lips. At least you aren’t the only one here with a grudge.
You cross your arms over your chest, ignoring the way your lower spine has begun to slightly ache from your position. “Both,” You mumble, pulling your eyes away from him again. “You?”
He takes a moment to respond, like he’s deciding if he wants to answer. You think it’s only fair he does considering you did, but maybe he was trying to continue this mysterious cool guy act he had going on. You don’t really care either way.
He huffs out a breath, lips quirking slightly at the corners. “Neither.”
That catches your attention, because he says it like it’s a joke. Like he knows something you don’t. You straighten up finally, trying to pretend it’s because you wanted to and not because your back was starting to ache something mean.
He looks at you then, brown eyes glowing even under the dim lights. He looks…dangerous, as cringe inducing as that is. Like he’s playing a prank and you’re a part of it. Whether it’s as an accomplice or the punchline, you aren’t sure. You don’t think he is, either.
You squint your eyes at him, crossing your legs in an attempt to look serious. “What’d you say your name was again?”
He shrugs, fixing his tie like he’s attempting to be casual, but you know it’s because it’s hanging loosely across his neck in a way that screams i’m a grown man who can’t tie a tie. “What do you want it to be?”
You blink, your back hitting the seat when you lean back. It’s not like you’ve never had any weird interactions with people before. You were an awkward kid in high school and college, so bad interactions were kind of your thing. But this is different. This isn’t an uncomfortable game of spin-the-bottle that ends with your lip bleeding and a mutual agreement to avoid each other for the rest of your lives, this is something you aren’t sure how to navigate. You really aren’t even sure how you would go about attempting to.
You hum, blinking lazily. “I want you to just tell me,” You mumble, heeled foot tapping against the floor. “But I also know professional wedding crashers don’t usually share that information.”
He lets out a breathy laugh, his hand covering his eyes for a moment before falling back at his side. He smiles at you, lips revealing his teeth in a way that makes your stomach turn, even though it really shouldn’t. “You’re observant.” He mumbles, like he was expecting you to catch him. Like he wanted you to.
“Yeah, well,” you shrug, taking another sip of your wine, “I know everyone here except for you.”
“What if I’m the brides super extended twice removed uncle?”
You don’t even spare him a glance. “You’re not.”
A beat passes, like he’s trying to decide where he wants to take the conversation. You think he wants to ask you why you’re so miserable back here, what you’d meant when you said both earlier. But he doesn’t. Instead he just stands and offers a hand to you without a word.
You look up at him, tie hanging at an angle against his neck despite his attempt at fixing it earlier, lips curved into a smooth smirk like he knows what you’ll do next, brown eyes sparkling with something you can’t quite place.
You shouldn't take his hand. You should leave and pretend none of this ever happened and go back to living your life.
But instead, for reasons you’ll claim as a strange lapse in judgment later on, your hand finds his. You let him pull you onto your feet, don’t protest when he maneuvers so he’s holding your waist. Don’t make a noise when he saunters onto the dance floor with you, making sure you’re right in Luke and Mandy’s view.
“What’re you doing?” You ask, albeit a little breathless. The stranger just hums, his hands finding your waist again, more firm this time–confident. You can see Luke watching you from the corner of your eye, his nose scrunched in that way it always does when something confuses him. Mandy’s too busy talking to one of your old mutual friends, one of the many who had chosen her in the breakup and not you.
The sight of it makes you frown slightly. You focus back on the blonde man in front of you again, trying to ignore the pit in your stomach that never seems to leave. His lips are twisted upwards, staring at you like he can see right through you. Like maybe this was the entire reason he’d come tonight.
“Do you trust me?” He asks, loud enough that only you can hear it. His eyes flicker from your eyes, to your nose, to your lips, and then up again. Like he’s studying your reactions.
You frown, letting your arms wrap around his neck. “Absolutley not.”
He hums, low and deep, leaning into you in a way that has your head spinning. “Good.”
And then his lips are on yours, kissing you slow and deep. It’s the kind of kiss that screams desperation, one that should mean nothing–but means everything. And it’s strange, because you should pull away. Should slap him for doing this before he even tells you his name. But you don’t do any of that. Instead, you melt into it and kiss him back just as hungrily.
His lips are slightly chapped from the cold weather, but your own lipgloss does good to mask it. One of his hands trails from your waist to your cheek, tilting your face and forcing you impossibly closer. His tongue slips out for a brief moment, smoothing against your lip, and you swear you die right there.
It’s messy and too much but somehow not enough. He kisses you like a man-starved, and it nearly makes your head spin.
You aren’t sure who pulls away first, all you know is that when you do your chest is heaving and Luke and Mandy are speedwalking away towards something you can’t see.
You blink after a moment, the post-kiss fog clearing in your brain and reminding you that you do not know this man.
And yet he just kissed you like he’d been wanting to do it for years.
You want to be angry, you want to scream and ask him what the fuck is wrong with him. But instead, you laugh. A real, chest laugh that comes from somewhere deep in your stomach. He’s smiling too, the tips of his ears a fiery red. The first sign that he’s at least somewhat capable of embarrassment and not completely immune to every human emotion aside from spontaneity.
“You’re insane.” It comes out teasing, like something you’d say in passing to a friend, but you mean it.
He just shrugs, the hand still attached to your waist tightening just slightly. You can feel his fingers digging into your skin, but it isn’t painful. Just a reminder that he was there. That he’d just kissed you breathless after meeting you barely ten minutes ago.
“It’s charming, though, right?” He asks, eyes flickering behind you when some kid, you’re assuming Luke’s sticky cousin, starts crying.
You snort, rolling your eyes. “Charmings one word for it.”
“Come on,” He insists, “If I hadn’t shown up you would’ve still been sinking to the floor in the corner like some kind of sad clay statue.”
You raise a brow, “Okay, weird comparison.” You mumble, doing your best to ignore the smile threatening to break through again. “But…you still haven’t told me your name.”
He nods, looking at you like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Like the fact he was keeping his identity a secret from you was something he always did. It was weird, but, also kind of exciting?
God, you’ve got serious issues.
“Would it make you feel better if I just came up with one?”
You raise a brow, “Is it your real one?”
“That’s for me to know and you to find out.”
Your eyes narrow suspiciously, tongue pushing against your cheek in frustration. You don’t understand why he’s being so stingy about it. What kind of person sees kissing as less intimate then telling you his name? “If I tell you my name will you tell me yours?” You ask.
He lets out a breathy laugh, that cheeky smile he’s been sporting since you kissed never wavering. “No promises.”
You weigh your options in your mind. On one hand, you tell him your name and he keeps up this weird game of his and he gets the upper hand. On the other, you don’t tell him your name and you gain nothing and spend the rest of the night wondering what would’ve happened if you just told him. Plus, what if he’s feeling extra nice and decides to just tell you?
Either way, you were getting pretty sick of referring to him as the sexy stranger.
“Y/N,” You murmur, tone loud enough so he can hear over the sickeningly romantic music blasting through the venue speakers. Some sixties song you’d never heard before. “My name.”
He pauses, like the fact that you’d actually told him shocks him, and for the first time that smile of his falters. For some reason, it feels like a mini victory. But, he picks himself back up just as quickly, and suddenly it feels like you imagined all of it.
“Y/N,” he mumbles like he’s testing the name on his tongue. “Suits you.”
You shift on your feet, handle clasping together behind his neck. “What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask, searching his face like you’ll find something in it. An answer, maybe. An explanation as to who he was when he wasn’t doing whatever the hell this was.
“It means it’s pretty,” He says easily, eyes never leaving yours, “And it suits you.”
You swallow, suddenly feeling uncomfortable under his gaze. He says it so easily, like it’s an undeniable fact that he doesn’t even need to think twice about. Like saying the sky is blue. You hate that it makes your cheeks flush and butterflies light up in your stomach.
You let out a breath, trying to calm your buzzing nerves. “Whatever,” You mumble, “I told you mine. Your turn.”
He stares at you silently, like he’s studying you. Trying to piece together what the best course of action would be. To you, it’s obvious. Tell you his name, and then…yeah. You’d figure it out from there. But the only way things could progress was if you knew the most basic piece of information about him.
He just smiles, hands sliding up your arms looped around his neck and grabbing your wrists gently. He pulls them down, letting one fall down to your side and intertwining his own with the other.
“How would you feel about eating processed food that’ll probably kill us before we turn forty?” He asks, completely avoiding the topic. You part your lips to argue with him on it, ask him why you should go with him when he won’t even tell you his name, but nothing comes out. When he tugs you gently behind him, you don’t pull away. You let him lead you out of the building and into the empty parking lot.
The suns just barely began to set, casting the sky in different shades of pink and yellow. The moon fades slightly into the sky, not fully showing, but making its presence known. The air’s got a sharp chill to it, one that makes goosebumps rise across your skin, but isn’t completely unbearable.
“Where are we going?” You ask, heels clicking frantically against the pavement as he drags you away from your past. Away from worlds of hurt and towards something new. Something that feels too real for what it is.
You should be scared. You don’t really know—him, and yet you’re letting him lead you away from civilization. Even if that civilization is the families of the worst people you know.
He glances back at you, shrugging his shoulders casually. “You’re hungry, right?”
“I guess—”
He hums, finally stopping in front of a sleek black car. “Then let’s go eat.”
You blink, watching as he opens the passenger door for you and waits for you to step in.
Your lips twist uncomfortably, gaze switching between the suspiciously nice car and him. “This is yours?” You ask. You don’t mean for it to come out so accusatory, but what else were you supposed to think? The man crashes weddings for fun. Not exactly rich-and-has-his-life-together behavior.
He tilts his head slightly, leaning against the door. “What? I don’t look I could own a car like this?” He asks playfully. You know he’s teasing you, but it still makes your skin bristle.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” You say sharply, glaring at him through your lashes.
He just chuckles, gesturing towards the open door once again. “Come on,” He mumbles, eyes glinting playfully. “Or don’t. I can’t make you do anything.”
Part of you knows the sensible thing to do would be to go back into that building and pretend the last half an hour never happened. Go back to watching Luke and fucking Mandy be happy and in love as if they hadn’t stomped all over you to get there.
You get into the car without any more hesitance.
He smirks, shutting the door behind you and walking around the front to get to the driver's seat.
You let yourself look around as he does. A yellow tree air freshener hangs off of the rearview mirror—typical of a man really—and there’s a small collection of CD’s next to your feet.
You pick them up mindlessly when he finally slides in next to you, flipping through them like they might have his name engraved into them. (They don’t.)
There’s some stuff you kind of expected, like Queen and Metallica. Some Indie 2000’s band that people only listened to so they could feel different. But only one catches your eye.
“Ariana Grande? Really?” You snort, holding up the disc. Ariana Grande’s ‘My Everything’ sits between your fingers, her iconic stool photo shining back at you. You remember you’d tried to recreate it in middle school and sprained your ankle. Safe to say, lessons were learned that day.
He doesn’t even flinch, just plucks it out of your hands and pushes it into the car’s built in cd player. You think it’s kind of cute that he still uses it despite the fact his car is new enough to have an apple carplay screen.
“Love Me Harder is one of the best songs ever made,” He says, tongue swiping over his lips as he shoots you a look from the corner of his eye. You don’t argue, because, yeah, it is. You’re just a little shocked that he would think so.
He puts the car in reverse and pulls out of the parking space with ease, glancing behind him with a practiced confidence. You watch him do it, studying him without shame.
He’s different from anyone you’ve ever met. Mysterious, really, even if it makes you want to roll your eyes until thy get stuck in the back of your head. But there’s something else to him, something that feels nearly familiar. You wrack your brain to try to remember, but nothing comes up.
His eyes catch yours, that same, cunning grin curling into his lips. The one that made your stomach turn and nerves fry when he’d first sat down with you at the beginning of the night. The same one he’d given you when he’d kissed you breathless like you were two lovers and not two strangers.
And it’s then that you realize that you are irrevocably and extremely royally screwed.
When you’d gotten up this morning you expected the night to end the way they usually do nowadays. You, lying in your bed, doomscrolling until questionable hours of the night, hating yourself for it but still continuing to do so. Although this time you imagined there’d probably be some tears involved, because you are nothing if not overly sensitive. And they wouldn't be pretty tears either, no, they'd be ugly, fat boulders rolling down your cheeks like they were claiming a permanent space over your heart.
But that doesn't happen. Instead, you’re sitting on a suspiciously damp curb outside of some run-down Taco Bell infested with teenagers, eating a soft taco while what you’re really hoping is just mud seeps into your dress.
Blondie, what you’ve chosen to call him until you can come up with something better, sits beside you. His legs are stretched out into the street, face illuminated by the glowing neon Open sign as he takes a sip of his Baja Blast.
He's pretty in a way that should be illegal. Features fitting together like a finished puzzle, the kind of boy with a smile women pray their children have.
The drive here hadn't been uncomfortable, mostly because he seemed to be good at making small talk into some kind of casual conversation. Where you would've been awkward, he seems smooth. It's kind of impressive, but you also envy the talent.
He glances at you, placing his cup beside him and leaning back on his hands. “So, what happened?”
You blink. You know he’s asking about Luke and Mandy–about why you were there if you clearly had some kind of bitter history with them. But the truth is…you aren’t even sure yourself. Maybe deep down you were just some kind of masochist who enjoyed the ache seeing them brought to your heart. Or maybe you just wanted to feel like you finally had the upper hand when you all know you don’t. Either way, every outcome ended with you losing.
You lean your elbows onto your knees, hair falling over your shoulder as you turn your face towards him. “What do you mean?”
He doesn’t respond. Just stares at you knowingly, head tilting until his ear nearly brushes his shoulder. He raises his eyebrows at you, as if to say, Really? Playing dumb?
You hate that you break so easily.
You sigh, curling further into yourself, like that’ll make the story any less painful. Your lips tighten together, eyes falling to the floor. You don’t even know where to start. Do you tell him about meeting Mandy in middle school? How the two of you became an extension of eachother, two souls intertwined into one?
Or do you tell him about how you met Luke your freshman year of college? How he was the first boy to really sweep you off your feet and show you what it felt like to really love someone?
Or do you start at that day last year when you walked in on them going at it like rabbits in your bed?
All options were equally as painful.
You grip the fabric of your dress uncomfortably, like maybe it'll ground you. “Mandy was my best friend,” You start, eyes glazing over just like they always do when you say this story aloud. “Luke was my boyfriend. One day I came home and…yeah. And now they’re getting married and I'm…still alone.” You mean to say it like a joke, like your loneliness doesn't actually bother you, but your voice cracks and sounds way too small to be convincing.
Blondie just listens. Doesn’t push, doesn’t ask any questions. Just a stable presence listening to you without suffocating you.
Your hands shake slightly, eyes beginning to blur with unshed tears that you force back. Your throat gets that awful aching feeling it always does when you’re about to cry. You suck in a sharp breath in an attempt to get your feelings in check, and if Blondie notices, he doesn’t say anything about it.
Instead, his gaze flicks up to the sky. There aren’t many stars out, mostly because you're still relatively close to the city and normally Taco Bell’s don't have the northern lights above them, but he still studies it like it’s the most interesting thing in the world.
The silence stretches languidly, a tension in the air that you can’t help but feel like you caused. You probably made him uncomfortable, and he was deciding the best way to tell you he’s leaving you here and to find your own way home. Which is fine, but you should probably go ahead and call Sunoo and ask him to pick you up.
You’re reaching for your phone when he responds. His tone is the softest you’d heard it all night, hair blowing slightly across his forehead when the breeze picks up. “You’re here with me, right?” He murmurs, eyes anywhere but you.
You watch the side of his face, trying to decide what kind of point he’s hoping to make. Yeah, you’re here with him, but you didn’t mean alone in such a direct way. More in a I-lost-my-bestfriend-and-boyfriend-and-can’t-get-over-it kind of way. Still, you go along with him. “I guess,” You hum, sniffling softly. The tears forming in your eyes have finally begun to subside.
He smiles softly, letting his gaze meet yours. His eyes are warm, staring into your own like melted pools of honey. “Then you’re not alone.” He murmurs, knocking your shoulder with his. He's got this proud look in his eyes--like he just gave some big speech on accepting your life and whatnot.
You laugh, shaking your head. You sit up straighter, letting your hands replace your elbows on your knees. “Is that your way of comforting me?” You ask.
He just shrugs, gesturing to you softly. “You’re not crying anymore, are you?”
Your lips part, because, no, you aren’t crying anymore. In fact, the tight feeling in your chest has been replaced by something lighter. Something more warm and less all-consuming.
You lean back on your hands, letting your gaze fall up to the sky. “No,” You mumble, “I guess I’m not.”
The air shifts after that, tension slipping into something softer. Something comfortable. Something that nearly makes you forget you just met him and haven’t known him for years.
You crumble your wrapper (it'd been sitting discarded next to you and nearly flew away multiple times), into a ball and stuff it into the paper bag. With it out of the way, you allow yourself to scoot closer to him. Not close enough that you’re touching, but close enough that you can feel the heat emitting from his body. Can feel his gaze on you as you shift, eyes filled with curiosity and something else you can’t quite name.
“How’s it fair that I keep telling you about myself while you get to keep all your secrets?” You ask, eyebrows knit together. You aren’t angry about it, not anymore at least. Now it’s just confusing. Like he’s hiding things from you for a reason and not just because he managed to sneak into a wedding.
He’s silent, like he’s thinking about what his next play should be. You’ve noticed he does that a lot. Plans what he's going to say before he does, like he’s trying to decide what’s acceptable and what’s not.
“I like Toy Story,” He mumbles, turning lazily towards you. “Does that help?"
You pretend to think it over for a moment, leaning your chin into your palm. “Depends,” You shrug, dragging the word out. “Which movies your favorite?”
He doesn’t even blink when he responds. “The third one, of course," He scoffs, like he's offended you even asked. "That plot twist with Latso’s insane. And the monkey scene? Terrifying.”
You shrug, lips twisting thoughtfully. “True, but the scene of Jessie being thrown out in the second movie is the most iconic moment in all of the films. That song never fails to make me cry.”
He has a physical reaction at the mention of the scene, squeezing his eyes shut and grasping at his heart like he’s in pain. “Don’t mention that song around me again or I swear I’ll throw up.”
You laugh, throwing your head back and pushing his shoulder. He grins at the contact, teeth flashing and upper lip curling slightly.
“Okay, but can we both agree the ending of the fourth one was awful?” You scoff, hands gesturing wildly, “In what world would Woody leave behind his friends and his kid?”
He nods wildly in agreement, snapping his fingers like you've just said something Nobel Peace Prize worthy. “Oh, absolutely. I just pretend that movie doesn’t exist. I can’t watch them ruin Woody’s character like that.”
You kiss your teeth, definitely too worked up over a kids movie, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. Not when the man next to you starts to go into a deep dive into Latso’s character and how he was just a really misunderstood bear with abandonment issues.
You listen intently, genuinely interested. You’ve never met someone with such strong opinions on an animated bear, but he manages to make it sound so intellectual you almost forget you’re talking about Toy Story.
“You’re really passionate about this, huh?” You tease. He flushes like you’ve just reached out and kissed him, a hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck.
“Is that a bad thing?” He questions softly.
You shake your head, “No,” You draw out, tone low in that playful kind of way. “Just not what I expected.”
He hums, letting his gaze wander over your face and across the space behind you. He tucks his knees closer to his chest, tie hanging helplessly against his neck. “I’m full of surprises.” He says, clearly trying to be cheeky, but his tone is too soft to properly convey it.
You don’t respond, instead copying him and tucking in your knees. Your ankles rest against the curve, arms hugging your legs closer to your body.
The silence fills the space comfortably. You don’t feel any reason to fill it with mindless conversation, not like you normally would. Instead, for the first time in a long time, you feel like you can just be. No expectations, no nothing. Just two people existing in the same space.
“Shit,” He huffs under his breath suddenly. You turn to look at him staring down at his phone, eyebrows furrowed in frustration and thumbs moving frantically over his phone.
You raise a brow, “Something wrong?”
He swallows, taking in a breath and letting his phone fall to his lap. He shoots you a sheepish smile, “Something came up at work,” He tells you bashfully, slapping his hands on his knees as he stands. You follow, the hem of your dress blowing in the wind.
He nods towards his car, “Let me take you home?” He asks, holding out a hand for you.
You glance down at it and resist the urge to tell him that you don’t exactly have many other options right now—not unless you feel like dealing with Sunoo’s attitude for waking him up or paying a ridiculous amount of money for an uber. (Both of which you really don’t feel like doing). But the gesture in itself is sweet as long as you don’t think too hard about giving your address to a man who won’t even tell you his name.
So, after zero to no contemplation, you take his hand and allow him to lead you back to his car. He does the whole gentleman act again, opening your door and all that. Sweet, really.
By the time you tell him your address and he pulls out of the parking lot your eyes are heavy with sleep. Ariana Grande plays gently through the speakers, her voice unfortunately lulling you to sleep. He doesn’t say anything when your head slowly tilts towards the window, nor when your eyes start to drift closed. He just glances at you knowingly, fingers gripping the wheel tightly, overly aware of the road in front of him. He’d always been a bit of a reckless driver, speeding on empty country roads, forgetting to turn on his signal when he changed lanes. But tonight he drives careful. Smooth. Like he's moving something precious.
You don’t even register the car stopping. It’s not until he shakes your shoulder lightly do you stir, your head shooting up and a hand coming to wipe down your face. “I’m up, I’m up,” You mumble, voice slightly coarse.
He grins, one hand resting on the wheel and the other tapping against the center console. “Nice place,” He says, jutting his chin towards the window.
You shrug, too tired to care if he’s teasing or if he means it genuinely. Not like you’d ever be seeing him again anyway. You hum, stretching out your arms.
You look over to him, giving him one last look over, memorizing the small bump on his nose and the prominent curve of his cupid's bow.
This guy, whoever he is, is by far one of the most interesting people you’ve ever met in your life. Maybe that’s why you let him kiss you--why you let him take you for shitty fast food despite the risks. Your chest feels hollow at the thought of leaving him—especially because you know the chances of ever seeing him again are slim to none. You can’t even look him up online either, which really sucks and is going to piss Sunoo off when you tell him about all this.
He raises a brow, leaning back in his seat as he watches you. “What is it?” He asks, a small, embarrassed laugh escaping him.
You part your lips to answer, but nothing comes out. How do you say, Oh, you kind of changed my life so now I'm trying to memorize your face so that when I'm old I can tell my kids about the man that should’ve been their father—without sounding like a total creep?
The answer is simple: You can't.
So, instead you just shake your head, letting your gaze fall to the door. “Nothing.”
He doesn’t say anything, just watches as you pull the handle and slip out of the car. The air is chillier now, sending goosebumps up your arms, but you don’t rush inside. Instead, you let your gaze fall back onto him, lingering there like you're hoping for him to do something.
He blinks, shooting you a small smile. One that says more than he’s willing to say out loud. “I’ll see you around?”
You hum, disspointment curling in your chest even though you know it shouldn't. “Yeah,” You murmur, “I’ll see you around, Woody.”
And then you're closing the door and walking away, not even glancing back at him once. It’s not until you're inside and he’s been sitting outside long enough for it to be considered creepy does he realize what you called him.
Woody. Like fucking Toy Story.
And for some reason, he really hopes he’ll be able to hear you say it again.
“Okay, wait, let me get this straight,” Sunoo snorts, head hanging off of the edge of your bed. You can see him watching you through your vanity mirror. “You met some rando guy at the wedding from hell, let him kiss you, take you to eat, and drive you home–all without knowing his name?”
You roll your eyes, smacking your lips together as you apply your last bit of lipgloss. You had an interview for a promotion at work today, one that you’ve been both dreading and unreasonably excited for.
“Yes, that is what I said.” You grumble. It’s only been two days since your encounter with Woody, a fitting nickname in your opinion given his expert analysis on Toy Story, but you haven’t been able to stop thinking about him.
Which shouldn't be all that surprising, considering everything that happened, but it was a serious inconvenience for you at the moment. You had more important things to worry about that didn't include a beautiful blonde man with a sweet smile.
Sunoo rolls onto his tummy, shooting you a glare. “Well, excuse me for trying to wrap my head around all of…that.”
You don't even blink. “You’re excused.”
He rolls his eyes, pushing himself up onto his knees and then maneuvering his position so he’s sitting criss-crossed on your bed. You fluff up your hair again, turning your head from side to side and assessing your makeup. It’s casual, something that says I-tried-but-not-too-hard. Something you've deemed safe for an interview.
“I’m just saying,” Sunoo continues, beginning to scroll mindlessly on his phone, “It’s just not like you. I mean, it took you months before you even let Luke hold your hand.”
You sigh, whipping around and grabbing your computer from your desk. You shove it into your bag roughly, wincing when it catches on a stray paper and rips it slightly. “I know that,” You huff, annoyed and slightly overstimulated, “It’s-I don't know- it just happened!”
Sunoo’s nose scrunches slightly. You can tell he wants to argue, but he’s been your friend since your freshman year of college, so he knows when to push back and when not to. You're grateful for his kind of sixth sense, because if he would’ve said anything else you're not sure your friendship would survive the aftermath.
The office is busy, just like it always is, but today it makes you anxious. Someone walks too closely behind you, making you self-conscious about your pace. Should you speed up? If you did, would it be obvious that you did because of them?
Sunoo walks calmly beside you, Iced Coffee in one hand and phone in the other. He smiles at some reel on his screen, nudging your shoulder to show you. You barely glance at it, letting out a short hum of acknowledgment and going back to gnawing anxiously on your lower lip.
It’s not like you’re super worried. You’ve been working here for five years, head journalist in the sports department for two. The promotion should go to you–but just because it should doesn’t mean it will.
Your stomach knots up again.
By the time you reach the elevators you’re so pale you could be Dracula’s daughter. Sweat collects on your hands, and, wow is it getting hot in here?
“Sunoo,” You manage to grit out, eyes wide with panic. “I think I’m dying.”
He looks up from his phone then, and when his eyes land on you his expression immediately turns serious.
“Y/N,” He says, not harsh—just to the point. “You are not going to die because of an interview. You are going to go answer some bullshit questions about things you know you excel at, and then we’re going to celebrate at that coffee shop off of 5th Street, okay?”
You nod shakily, breathing still a little uneven. “Okay, okay, okay,” You mumble. “I got this.”
He nods, placing a hand on your arm, “You got this.”
God, you really hope you do.
The interview is over as quickly as it started. You were shaking the whole time admittedly, giving practiced answers and praying your voice doesn’t crack. (It did—but only once. So kind of a win but also not?)
Sunoo, as promised, takes you to coffee after. The cafe’s barely a block away from your work, and you hate to admit that you’ve definitely spent more money here the necessary.
The scent of coffee beans and steamed milk hits your nose when you push the door open. Most people are still at work or school, so it’s relatively empty aside from a few stragglers.
“We’ll sit over there,” Sunoo says, lazily pointing towards a table by the back. It’s the same one you always sit at—one you’d joked had been specifically made for late night work sessions and early morning complaints.
You take your seats across from each other, your legs crossed and his outstretched until they nearly touch your feet.
“So,” He says, drawing out the world playfully. “How do you feel?”
You shrug, bottom lip finding it's place in between your teeth once more. You answered everything how you think they wanted you to, but was that enough? What if they wanted you to go beyond and give answers that were more intellectual than what you did? What if they gave it to that guy who spent 30 minutes perfecting the amount of sugar in his coffee instead of you?
You sigh, shoulders drooping slightly. “I don’t know. Good, I guess? But… also not.”
He raises a brow, arms crossing over his chest as he leans back in his chair. “What's that mean?”
“I’m just anxious, I think. Like, I know I probably did good, but there’s that little part of me that feels like I didn’t.”
Sunoo hums, a puff of air escaping him as he does. “You need to stop being so hard on yourself,” He mutters, eyes locking onto yours. “You and I both know no one in that office deserves it more than you do.”
“I know.”
He fixes you with a look, chin tilting slightly. “Do you?”
You don’t respond to that. Not because you don’t want to, but because you can’t. You’ve always had a knack for overthinking things, even when there was no reason to. That’s why your actions with Woody had been so surprising. Any other time you would’ve burst into flames at the mere thought of letting him kiss you like that, but for some reason you had–and you hadn’t even thought twice about it.
Your leg shakes uncomfortably, toes bouncing against the marble floor. Sunoo seems to sense your discomfort, and despite not wanting to, easily switches the topic.
“Anyway. Let’s talk about something other than your inability to give yourself credit–” He says cheekily, ignoring the glare you shoot at him, “What’re you wearing to Jay's wedding next month?”
You groan, throwing your head back before whipping it right back. “I completely forgot about that!” You cry. With the stress of your interview and whatever had happened last week with Woody your mutual friend’s wedding had completely slipped your mind.
Jay was one of the only friends who had chosen your side after everything blew up with Luke. He, along with Sunoo and one of your other friends Lizzie (Who Jay was now engaged to), had spent months making sure anyone who asked knew exactly what had really happened. They took any chance they could to drag Luke and Mandy through the mud, which you were secretly thankful for. Of course you told them to stop simply because it was the right thing to do, but inside you were cheering them on. Not that you’d ever tell them that.
“Wow,” Sunoo laughs, reaching a hand up to cover his mouth. “You really have been distracted then.”
You resist the urge to bury your head in your hands. “What am I even supposed to wear? I know Lizzie said she has a specific aesthetic in mind but I doubt I own anything with the exact same shade of pink as her fucking baby blanket.”
Sunoo shrugs, head tilting slightly. “Don’t think so hard about it.” He says, “I’m sure they’ll have something at the mall.”
Your nose scrunches, a hand coming up to pinch the bridge. “Whatever,” You huff, “I’ll probably just borrow something from someone.”
The conversation continues like normal after that, just like two friends having a casual meet together. But admittedly, your mind keeps drifting elsewhere–to a certain nameless blonde with honey brown eyes.
Maybe–just maybe–he’ll be at Jay and Lizzie’s wedding. And even though you know you shouldn’t, you secretly hope he is.
Jay and Lizzie’s wedding is much more comfortable for you than the last one had been. The reception was beautiful--filled with baby pink accents and subtle peonies. Notably, it didn’t make you want to claw your eyes out--and you’re actually able to converse with people instead of sitting in the back like some antisocial outcast.
You laugh at something Sunoo says, head tilting back and wine splashing out of your glass. Lizzie and Jay are somewhere on the dance floor, looking at each other like how people do when they’ve met their person. It’s sweet, really. There isn’t anybody who deserves their happy ending more than them.
You lean into Sunoo, raising your voice as you stumble slightly on your feet. You weren't exactly tipsy, just bordering between the laand of clear minded and not. “I’m gonna go get another drink,” You tell him.
He nods, waving you off and continuing his conversation with an old friend from College–Soobin. You liked Soobin. He was funny and pretty in that boy-next-door kind of way, but he's always felt too elusive for you. The kind of man who seeped through your fingers like sand.
You weave through the countless bodies, mumbling apologies when you bump someone's shoulder. The open bar is located near the back corner, lined with multiple men trying to flirt with uninterested women. The sights more amusing than anything, really.
You squeeze through a couple, ignoring the man's glare and shooting the girl a subtle wink. She whispers a quiet thank you, grabbing her fruity cocktail and making her escape back to her friends.
It takes a moment for the bartender to notice you, but he shoots you a practiced grin when he does, notepad already in hand. “And what can I get for you, pretty lady?”
You laugh louder than intended, face flushing with heat. “A Strawberry Daquiri, maybe? Something light.”
He laughs, and you can tell it’s meant to be smooth, but it comes off wrong. Doesn’t make warmth bloom in your chest, doesn’t make you want to hear it again and again. Just lands far, far away from you.
“Usually something like that takes me awhile" He says slowly, leaning over the counter slightly. "But for you? I'll be faster then lightning." He winks once, then swirls around on his foot and attends to the man across the bar. You watch him go, chin resting in your hand, debating if you felt flattered or not.
“A Strawberry Daquiri? Really?”
It takes a moment for you to even register someone’s talking to you, and even longer for you to register who it is. You blink, whipping your head to the side. Woody’s standing there staring at the menu, strands of blonde hair falling over his forehead. He looks the same as he did the night you met him–loose tie, cheeky smile. The very same man you’d been thinking about before bed every night.
You stand up straighter, resting an arm against the counter and facing your body towards him. “What are you doing here?” You mean for it to come off serious and demanding, but your underlying relief slips through like waves in an open current.
He looks towards you lazily, like you were the weird one for asking. “Could ask you the same thing.”
You squint your eyes at him, “The bride and groom are my friends.”
He just grins, eyes shining at you in that way that you know means trouble. “Maybe I know them too.”
“You don’t.”
He shoots back quickly. “How are you so sure?”
Your lips part, but nothing comes out. Something about him is so infuriating it literally puts your brain on pause. You huff, rolling your eyes slightly. “You’re annoying.”
He lets out a low hum, resting his hip on the counter and crossing his arms over his chest. “And yet you’re still talking to me.”
You want to deny him-- say it was because you were waiting for your drink and he was there, but you know that’s a weak lie. You know it’s because you’d been secretly hoping he’d show up, and now that he had, leaving his side was the last thing on your mind.
You don’t respond, instead just shrugging and turning away from him. You focus your eyes to the front, watching as the bartender moves swiftly between taking orders and making drinks. You feel Woody take a step closer to you, the scent of his cologne making your senses go blind. He smells like cedar and linen, subtle enough to go unnoticed by anyone not paying close attention. But that’s exactly the problem–you can’t stop paying attention to him.
The bartender returns with your drink, shooting you a wink when he hands it over, one you barely notice. Instead, you're trying to ignore the way Woody’s mere presence makes your nerves light on fire and goosebumps rise against your skin.
“He was flirting with you.” He smirks, nudging your shoulder with his own.
You roll your eyes, stirring your drink with your straw before taking a slow sip. “He definitely wasn’t.”
You push off the counter and begin to walk away, trying to seem nonchalant despite the fire growing beneath your skin. Woody follows you seamlessly, lips curled in a toothy grin, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek. “He winked at you.”
You turn to him over your shoulder, raising a brow. “So?”
He doesn’t reply to that, just keeps following you closely like he’s afraid of losing you in the crowd.
“Where are you sitting?” You ask, gesturing lamely towards the array of tables. He nods towards one in the back, clearly meant for decoration and not guests. You glance at him from the corner of your eye, trying to hide the way your lips quirk up in a near smile. “Seriously?”
He shakes his head in mock confusion, shoving his hands in his pockets. “What?” He asks, completely serious. “It’s nice and secluded. Away from any prying eyes, if you know what I mean.”
You can’t help but laugh at his ridiculousness, shoulders shaking slightly as you do. “You’re seriously ridiculous.” You mumble, taking his hand and dragging him back towards your own table near the front. He doesn’t argue, but his eyes go wide and the tips of his ears flush a dangerous shade of pink.
Sunoo notices you approaching first, his lips parted over his glass and his eyebrows raised. Soobin is too consumed with something on his phone to even register what's happening around him.
“Guys,” You announce, dropping Woody’s hand and instead using it to present him like your modeling your cat for a cat show. “This is…um…”
You remember then that you don't know his name. The same man that you'd been thinking about every day was the same man who'd rather kiss you then properly introduce himself to you.
“Woody.” He finishes for you, locking his gaze onto yours. “That’s what all my friends call me, at least.”
You blink, nodding softly. “Yeah,” You force yourself not to get lost in his eyes. Try to remind yourself that even though he's looking at you like that--it doesn't mean anything. “Woody.”
“Like Toy Story?” Soobin asks, finally looking away from his phone.
You just ignore him, instead pulling out the chair next to you for him to sit at. He does so easily, slipping into it like he belongs there.
Sunoo gives you a look, one that subtly says, who the fuck is this and why have I never seen him before?
You return it with a look of your own. I’ll tell you later.
The tables tense at first, Soobin and Sunoo clearly trying to adjust to the new setting, but any tension is easily dispelled by Soobin. “But, seriously, did your parents name you after Toy Story?”
Woody laughs, eyes crinkling slightly at the corners as he does. “Uh, I guess so.” He shrugs, glancing towards you. “They have a pretty weird sense of humor.”
Soobin just hums his agreement, mumbling something about wishing his own parents named him after a disney character.
“So, how do you two know each other?" Sunoo asks, taking a casual sip of his wine. You have to admit, he’s good at getting what he wants without making it seem like that’s what he’s doing. He’s got the whole innocent, curious bystander act down to a T. But you know he’s just nosy and doesn’t know how to mind his own business.
“Uh,” Woody clears his throat, “Work?”
“Righttt,” Sunoo drawls, clearly not believing the lie. “And what exactly is it that you do Woody?”
You swallow uncomfortably, “He’s the…janitor.”
Woody coughs, kicking your shin lightly under the table. “The head janitor,” You continue, “Just got a promotion recently.”
Sunoo nods, still eyeing you both suspiciously, but either he’s too drunk to question you further or he just stopped caring. Either way, you’re thankful.
Conversation flows smoothly after that. The four of you (Well, everybody except Woody, who kept any personal questions as vague as possible), share stories from college and highschool, laughing until your cheeks hurt and the hours blend together like smudges of paint on an old pallet. Speeches are given, drinks are shared, and the music shifts from classy to downright dirty.
There’s a few stragglers on the dance floor, mostly drunk old ladies and their husbands–slow dancing to songs that didn’t call for it. You’re sitting in comfortable silence, pretending to keep up with whatever it is Sunoo and Soobin are deep in conversation about. Something about which disney princess had it the hardest. You think the obvious answer is Belle, but you’d rather not get chewed alive for even thinking about sharing your irrelevant opinion.
Woody sits beside you quietly, eyes glancing at you every so often like he wants to say something. You want to ask him what it is, but your eyes keep drooping slightly and the thought of talking makes your head hurt. Drinking always makes you tired, so you aren’t sure why you keep doing it–especially at public events.
Ariana Grande’s Love Me Harder begins to trickle through the speakers, the beginning notes familiar in your ears. Woody practically shoots up at the sound of it, lips parted slightly, staring you down like you’ll move if he looks at you hard enough.
You peak over at him, lips pursued slightly. “What?” You mumble.
He points to the ceiling, knee bouncing in excitement. “The song.” He states.
You stretch out your arms in front of you, confusion written all over your face. “What about it?”
He doesn’t say anything else, instead just grabbing your hand and pulling you towards the dance floor before you can even think about protesting.
Your eyes are wide when you get there, a breathless laugh escaping your lips. “What are you doing?” You ask in disbelief. Your body is stiff, glancing around at the people next to you. There's a young girl in her twenties singing along to the song with her friend, the both clearly drunk. And on the other side is a man way too old to still be seeking dates at weddings, but he does so anyway, eyes glued to every woman that walks past him.
Woody shrugs, beginning to nod his head to the beat. “Dancing.”
You snort, a hand coming up to cover your mouth when he starts moving the rest of his body. He’s a good dancer, but you feel awkward standing here watching him like this. He lips the song dramatically, holding an invisible microphone in front of him.
“Oh my God,” You mumble, “You’re so weird.”
He just shrugs, clearly unbothered. “It’s fun,” He says matter-of-factly. “Try it.”
You immediately shake your head, looking towards Sunoo for rescue, but he’s too busy arguing with Soobin to notice your dire calls for help.
When it becomes clear that you'll have to get out of this yourself, you take a deep breath and try to explain without sounding like a total weirdo. “I...can’t,” You state uncomfortably, taking a step back to build much needed space between you. “I’m not much of a dancer.”
Woody doesn’t even flinch when you say that. Instead, he grabs your hand and pulls you closer again. You stumble forward, chest touching his, but he stabilizes you with a hand at your waist. “So?” He says softly, eyes shining. “It’s just me and you.”
He’s right. No one’s paying attention to the two of you, too focused on themselves and what they're doing. But it still doesn’t do much to curve the nerves growing deep in your chest.
You shake your head, “I don’t know–”
He doesn’t let you finish, instead using his free hand to poke your forehead gently. “Stop thinking so much,” He says, beginning to sway around gently, “And just feel the music.”
Your breath catches in your throat, heat crawling up your neck. His words shouldn’t make you feel like this, but for reasons you’d rather push down and ignore forever, they do. And so, you listen.
Your movements are stiff at first, arms mechanical like you’re thinking about everything before you do it. Woody watches with a grin, his tie swaying back and forth with every swing of his hips. You’re surprised it hasn’t given up completely and crumbled onto the floor.
His hands find your waist again, guiding your movements until they're smoother, less like a robot and more like you’re gliding through butter. “There you go,” He chuckles, voice coming out a little breathless.
Your lips quirk up faintly as you get the hang of it, your nerves dissolving until you feel like you’re floating. Woody watches you shamelessly, continuing to mouth the words. He gets on his knees dramatically when the ending chorus comes on, singing into his invisible microphone during The Weeknds lines. When Ariana’s turn comes on again he tilts it towards you with a grin.
You laugh, singing her part and then pulling him back onto his feet. He pretends to stumble dramatically, grabbing onto his shoulder like you’ve hurt him. You just roll your eyes and keep dancing.
You continue like that well into the night. People walk by, shooting you sideways glances, all of which you hardly notice. For the second time, this nameless man has managed to coax you out of your shell, and all without even trying.
Soon enough, the couple does their sendoff, leaving you and all the others outside. Sunoo’s busy getting the uber while you sit on the curb, a hint of a smile on your face that you can’t quite wipe away.
You don’t turn when someone sits besides you, already too aware of who it is.
“So,” He breathes out, whistling low. “Tonight was fun.”
“Yeah,” You agree softly, hugging your knees to your chest. “It was.”
Theres a pause, and then, “You’re a horrible dancer, by the way.”
You elbow him so hard he nearly topples over.
“I'm kidding, I’m kidding! Truce!” He laughs, throwing his hands up in surrender.
You glare at him, though there isn’t any resentment behind it. “You’re an asshole.”
He blinks, expression going soft. “An asshole you’d like to give your phone number to?”
That stuns you. Your head shoots up, gaze locking onto his. He looks almost sheepish, eyebrows knit together and hands tapping against his lap.
You chew on the inside of your cheek, giving him a once-over. “I still don’t even know your name.”
He nods, like he’d been expecting rejection. “I know,” He murmurs, “I just…I want it to keep being like this for a while, yeah? Just me and you.”
Just me and you. He says it like it's a fact of nature. Like the two of you would be together well into the future. It's a thought that makes your throat constrict, though you don't know why.
You turn your gaze towards the road. “I don’t see how your name is going to change that.”
He shrugs, copying your actions and staring off into the dark. “Maybe it won’t,” He swallows, adams apple bobbing. “Or maybe it will.”
You cross your arms onto your knees and lean down on them, successfully hiding your face. You should say no. Should stand up, remember what it means to have self-respect, and walk away from him for good. What use is there in getting involved with a man you don’t even really know?
But then your eyes find the side of his face, eyes trailing down until you can see the rise and fall of his chest. In truth, he looks straight out of some cheesy romance novel you’ll read once and then compare every real-life romantic encounter to.
But it isn’t just his looks. It’s him. The way he gets you to open up so easily, pulling you out of your comfort zone without even blinking.
Meeting once was a coincidence. But twice? Maybe…there was something pulling you towards each other that you couldn’t quite see. Something that wants you to memorize all his outlines even if it’ll inevitably end with your undoing.
You sigh, opening your phone and nonchalantly handing your phone to him.
He glances at it, eyes dragging towards you. There’s a sly grin on his face when he takes your phone from you, fingers brushing yours as he does.
“Knew you’d give in.” He teases, typing his contact information.
You scoff, nudging his shoulder with yours. “Don’t get a big head about it.”
“Too late.”
Sunoo approaches then, shoulders curled in on himself, clearly exhausted. “Are you done flirting yet? The Uber’s about to be here and if I don’t get in my bed ASAP someone is going to die.”
You flush, eyes going wide as you shoot him a warning look. “Sunoo.” You hiss.
Woody chuckles, waving you off. “Go ahead,” He nods, “Just text me when you get home, okay?”
“Uh,” You blink, standing and letting Sunoo drag you away. “Yeah, okay. Sure. I can do that.”
Sunoo complains in your ear, something about Soobin ticking him off, but you’re not listening. Instead your head is turned, watching Woody get smaller and smaller the further you get.
You don’t hear from Woody for two weeks. A fact you are painfully aware of, even though you’re trying very hard to seem like you’re not. Sunoo has commented on your apparent inability to sit still, constantly checking your phone like it holds the secret to life. You lie through your teeth every time he points it out, claiming that you’re just anxious to get the results for the promotion.
And while that is true, it’s not why your shoulders sag every time you're met with a notification from your mom instead of the person you actually want to hear from.
It’s not like you care. (You do). He clearly has better things to do than text you, and that’s okay! (You’re seriously starting to lose your mind).
Maybe it would be better if you had some kind of idea of what his day-to-day life looked like, but you don’t. And every time you remember that it’s a painful reminder that the man running circles in your mind is someone you don't actually know, no matter how much you try to act like you do.
You’ve tried to piece him together in your mind more times than you can count. Imagining him behind a desk, making deals over the phone. Or maybe he did something humbler, like volunteering for nonprofits or working at animal shelters. Anything was possible really.
It feels like you’ve begun to make up an entire life for him, one you know isn’t real yet brings a smile to your face every time you imagine him doing whatever task it is you’ve conjured up. Would he be more into movies or books? Did he like his coffee hot or cold? Why was he so obsessed with Ariana Grande?
You sigh, sinking deeper into your pillows. Your phone lays abandoned at your side, screen dimming until it eventually goes dark. Scrolling doesn’t even bring you comfort anymore, which is pretty inconvenient for you considering your mind seems to go a mile a minute without it.
You’d texted him like promised when you got home after Jay and Lizzie’s wedding, telling him that you’d made it home and had had a good time. (You wanted to say had a good time with him–but decided that was probably too forward and quickly deleted it.)
He’d responded immediately something about being glad you made it home and that he hoped to see you again soon.
And then that was that.
No more texts. No more encounters. Just the lingering memory of a man with no name who managed to seep into the cracks of your heart like sticky syrup.
It happens a couple days later. Your phone dings, but you’re so engrossed in writing another article on olympic figure skater Park Sunghoon to really register it.
It’s not until it dings again do you spare it a glance, and there sitting casually against the screen like he hasn’t consumed your life is Woody. Or, more specifically, his text bubble.
You scramble to grab it, ignoring how your computer slides off your lap and instead ripping your phone from the charger. Is it pathetic? Maybe.
Woody: Hey
Woody: Are you busy Saturday?
Your breath catches slightly, bottom lip finding purchase in between your teeth. He’s asking you a very normal, simple question. The kind of thing people ask their friends all the time. So why does it feel so different coming from him?
It takes you longer then you’d like to admit for you to respond. Everything you come up either feels too rehearsed or too casual. Should you use punctuation? He had in his second text but not the first, so that doesn’t exactly give you much to work with.
You eventually settle on something safe.
Y/N: Hi
Y/N: I’m not really sure yet. Why?
It’s a lie. In truth, your only plans on Saturday are sitting on your couch rewatching New Girl. But you don’t want him to know how much of a loser you actually are. Plus, if he can have secrets, you think it’s only fair you do too.
Woody: There’s a wedding this weekend. Friend told me about it…thought you might want to come.
Woody: Only if you’re available, of course. I’m sure you’re veryyy busy.
You scoff, lips curving into a smile. Of course he sees right through you–somehow able to read you even without seeing you.
That’s how you end up in a dress you’d gotten from Goodwill the night before, pacing in your living room while you wait for Woody to pick you up. You’d told him you’d meet him there, but he’d insisted he come get you instead. When you asked why he’d simply said: Pretty ladies shouldn’t be expected to lift a finger when invited somewhere.
And, yeah. You had squealed into your pillow like a middle school girl when he said that. But–whatever. That’s besides the point.
The point is that you’re about to go wedding crashing with a man who you feel like you know everything about when you really know nothing! Put that on a dating podcast.
You freeze when the doorbell rings, eyes going wide and pulse jumping in your ears. You force yourself to take several deep breaths, smoothing down the ends of your hair and doing your best to look casual and not like you were mid panicking.
You creak the door open slowly, and the sight that greets you is one that makes you pause. Woody’s there, same loose tie, same coy smile–but he’s holding flowers. A giant bouquet filled with a rainbow of different colored plants.
He looks almost shy, holding it out to you like he’s scared you’ll reject them. “I didn’t know which ones were your favorites,” He huffs out a laugh through his nose, “So I just got as many as possible.”
“That’s…” You clear your throat, trying to seem unaffected, when in reality your heart is spasming. “They’re beautiful. Thank you.”
He shrugs, trying to seem casual, but you can see the pink in his cheeks. “Wasn’t any problem.”
“Still,” You insist, taking the bouquet from him and setting it on your kitchen island. You open your cabinet and pull out a pink vase. “You didn’t have to do that.”
He swallows, watching as you carefully fill the vase with water and then peel the flowers out of their packaging. You do it gently, careful not to bump any of the petals and accidently damage them.
He lets out a shaky breath, like the site of you being so domestic is too much to handle. By the time you look up his gaze is focused behind you, eyes squinted like he’s hyperfocused on anything that doesn’t have to do with you.
Your eyes catch on his tie, noticing the way it dangles low on his chest, clearly strung together in a hurry. You’re used to it by now, but your body moves before your mind can catch up, and then your hands are on him, nifty fingers redoing the knot.
He watches you the whole time, chin tilted slightly and eyes filled with softness and something else. You’re careful not to focus on the fact that you can feel his breath against your nose, or the way his scent overtakes your senses until you can’t think about anything except for him, or the way he’s watching you so intently.
Your fingers loop the tie until it forms into a proper knot, tugging it up his chest until it rests just below his neck. His throat bobs when he swallows, and you faintly feel it against your knuckles.
The air in the room suddenly feels heavy, like a weighted blanket against your chest. You glance up at him, finally allowing yourself to meet his eyes. And, God, how you wish you hadn’t.
It’s one thing to feel his gaze. To know you’re being watched. But seeing it? That's an entirely different thing.
Your breath catches, lips parting just slightly. All you would have to do is push forward the tiniest bit and your lips would meet his. You watch his gaze fall to your lips and linger there for a moment before he forces them back up.
There’s a moment where you’re sure gravity ceases to exist. All that’s left is the undeniable pull between you, the space feeling like water in your lungs and the only relief would be to close it.
“[Y/N],” He mumbles, voice shaking and breathless. He sounds…almost needy. Like this is something he’s thought about a thousand times before and he can’t believe he’s finally living it.
Your own voice isn’t much better when you respond with a quiet, “Mhm?”
“I should tell you–”
You jump when his phone begins to ring in his pocket, cracking through the moment like a bolt of lightning. You pull away from him swiftly, eyes wide and chest nearly heaving. Your entire body burns, from the tips of your ears to the soles of your feet.
He curses as he reaches for it, eyes glancing over the screen wearily before he silences it and shoves it back in his pocket.
You do your best to steady your breathing, clearing your throat and smoothing down your dress. “Who was that?” You ask.
His lips curl downwards, eyes flashing with annoyance. "Doesn't matter,” He sighs, extending a hand to you. “You ready to go?”
And because you have limited self-control around him and an inability to say no, you accept it and follow him to his car.
The wedding is big. Like, the kind of wedding that you come to and realize, wow, these people really are in a different tax-bracket than I am. There’s at least a hundred tables, all arranged around a large swan ice sculpture. The walls are covered in glass, showing off the expansive lake outside and the white wooden gazebo. It almost feels like something out of a movie.
You swallow uncomfortably, mouth going dry. You knew what you were signing up for when you’d agreed to come with him, but now that it’s actually happening you’re having some regrets. What if somebody realizes you don’t fit in? Your dress is from Goodwill for God's sake! Meanwhile every other woman here is dressed head to toe in name brands that you’ve never even heard of.
“Uh,” You manage, glancing wearily around the room. You swear you can feel people looking at you. “Maybe this isn’t a good idea.”
He has the audacity to chuckle, head tilting back slightly. You shoot him a pointed glare, arms crossing over your chest. “I’m serious!” You hiss.
“I know you are,” He responds, voice smooth and light. “And that’s exactly why we’re staying.”
You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to make sense of his logic. “That doesn’t even make any sense!”
He shrugs, turning on his heel and making his way to the open bar, leaving you behind. You stand frozen for a moment, still trying to process why the hell you’re here and coming to the conclusion that you should probably call an uber and go home.
You follow him anyway.
This bar isn’t nearly as chaotic as the one at Lizzie and Jay's wedding. It’s classier in a way, full of people drinking 80-year-old wine instead of cheap drug store beer. It’s kind of intimidating, and you can feel the way you shrink in on yourself when someone glances at you for too long.
Woody orders your drinks, but you’re not paying attention. Instead you’re picking at your fingers, wincing every time you pull the skin a little too far.
You’d picked up the habit as a kid, a way to curve your evergrowing anxiousness. But after your mom noticed your hands turning into a mini crime scene she’d quickly put a stop to the habit. But, sometimes, when you felt so overwhelmed you were sure you were going to pass out and die, you’d let yourself indulge. Anything to help ground you.
You can feel your head spinning, breaths coming in shallow and eyes welling up with tears. You really shouldn’t be here. This is weird and people definitely know what you’re doing and oh my god you’re going to be sick–
A hand shoots out to grab yours, fingers pulling you back to reality. You look up to see Woody gazing at you with so much concern it’s nearly enough to bring you out of your head completely.
“Hey, hey,” He mumbles, voice hushed. “You’re okay, just breathe.”
You do as he says, sucking in deep breaths in that way your therapist taught you when you were 12. Box breathing he’d called it. You’d thought it was ridiculous until freshman year of high school when you came face to face with your first F and realized why people had to use it.
It takes a couple of moments for you to get full control of your senses again, but when you do you’re suddenly panicking for an entirely different reason. What kind of person gets so deep into their head over where their dress is from they nearly send themselves into a full fledged panic attack? You, apparently.
You slap your hands over your face, lips twisting in discomfort. “I’m sorry,” You start, voice still a bit warbly and slightly muffled, “I just get really into my head sometimes and–”
Woody grabs your wrists with a featherlight touch, thumbs hovering over your pulse points. He pulls them away gently, forcing you to come back into the world and away from the safety your hands brought.
“Why are you apologizing?” He asks.
Your lips part. Then close. Then part again. Then close again. You don’t really know how to answer him because you’ve never been asked that before. Usually you apologize and then things are awkward for the rest of the night. But he doesn't expect that from you. Instead, he was genuinely worried–not just because it was seen as the polite thing to do. He genuinely cares.
And that in itself is enough to pull you back to reality completely.
“Because…” You laugh nervously, “I probably ruined tonight, didn’t I?”
He wets his lips, eyes catching on something past your head. He doesn’t say anything, just gives you a crooked grin and wraps one hand more firmly around your wrist, the other falling to his side. “Who said anything about ruining?” He teases, tilting his head towards the entrance. “C’mon.”
He leads you outside, palm warm and heavy in your own. The sun has dipped low below the lake, casting the sky in deep shades of orange and pink. The air has the musky scent it always does when you're near fresh water, but there’s something else too. The faint smell of an approaching rain, one that you hadn’t prepared for.
Woody slows his pace when he reaches the steps to the small gazebo, wooden steps creaking under his weight. He bows dramatically, gesturing towards the open space. “After you.”
You roll your eyes, but there isn’t any mirth in it. More like…endearence? “What are you doing?" You ask, feet glued to the grass.
He looks up at you and straightens his back, “We’re enjoying the wedding? Is this some kind of trick question…?”
You frown, glancing towards the building. You can see people still talking inside, moving around each other like fish in a swirling sea of gold accents. “The weddings in there.” You point out.
He just rolls his eyes, grabbing your hand once more and pulling you up the stairs. “Stop thinking so much just this once, yeah?” He laughs, soft and airy and way too pure. “Just…dance with me.”
You can feel your skin flushing. Can feel the heat crawling up your neck in unwanted waves. You don’t even know how to respond, mouth going dry and lips tightening together.
“There isn’t any music.” You mutter lamely, avoiding his gaze. It’s a bad excuse, you know. But you're not exactly well versed in the art of…whatever this even is.
“That’s okay,” He says, snaking a hand around your waist smoothly. You hardly even register it until you're stumbling forward slightly, catching yourself with two hands against his chest. “We don’t need it.”
You aren’t exactly sure how things play out after that. It’s mostly him leading and you following blindly, but eventually you’re swaying softly together. His hands settle against your waist, holding you gently. Yours end up wrapped around his neck, fingers clasped at his upper back. The fairy lights flicker on once the sky turns from a painted canvas into something darker, highlighting the dips of his face in warm lighting. Somewhere, crickets chirp endlessly, speaking to each other in their native tongue.
In truth, you can’t quite meet his eyes. It’s absolutely embarrassing being a twenty-something-year-old and unable to look a guy in the eyes, but you really just can’t do it. And it’s not because of the fact that you’re slow dancing in a gazebo under an array of hanging lights, but it’s something else you aren’t sure you want to accept. Something that sits deep in your chest, practically begging to claw its way up and out and into the open air.
You push it down as hard as you can.
He cuts through the silence then, voice a hushed whisper, like he’s scared the moment will break if he speaks too loud. “This is better, right?”
You swallow, nodding once. “Yeah,” You breathe out. “Thank you.”
He hums, thumbs beginning to rub featherlight circles into your sides.
The entire thing is entirely too intimate. You should pull away. Should tell him that this is way too much considering he refuses to share the most basic piece of knowledge with you. But you don’t. Instead, against your will, your hands tighten around his neck, cheek resting against the hard plains of his chest.
His heartbeat picks up the slightest bit before smoothing out again. You can feel it beating against your ear, consistent and comforting in a way that nearly makes your eyes droopy.
“What are we doing?” You finally manage to ask him, voice so small you aren’t sure he’s even able to hear it. Rain begins to drop from the sky, pelting softly against the roof of the gazebo.
“Dancing.” He answers easily.
You lift your head then, eyes finding his own under the soft glow. They’re soft and beautiful and gazing at you in a way that should be considered illegal.
Your lips quirk up, but quickly fall back down. “That’s not what I meant.” You mumble.
He blinks, squeezing your waist once. “I know.”
There’s a moment of silence then, but the space between you is enough to cloud your mind with millions of thoughts.
“I’m going to tell you,” He sighs, eyes falling to the floor. He watches the way your weight shifts back and forth on your feet. “Soon. I promise.”
Your eyebrows furrow, fingers running over the baby hairs at the back of his neck. “Why?” You ask, “Why is it so hard to tell me?” You don’t mean for it to come out as harsh as it does, but he doesn’t even flinch at your tone. Just takes it without firing back.
“It’s complicated,” He insists, voice low. The rain begins to fall down harder, plopping against the roof and muffling the world around you.
Truthfully, you’re getting kind of sick of his constant refusal. The only explanation you can come up with for it is that he’s either some kind of war criminal or secret service agent. Neither are options you particularly enjoy.
You release him and take a step back. His hands linger at your waist, clearly hesitant to let go, but you shoot him a look and they drop to his sides.
“How is your name complicated?” You question, arms crossing over your chest.
He runs a hand over his face, head shaking softly. “You don’t understand–”
You throw your arms up, eyes widening visibly. “You’re right, I don’t understand!” Your breathings uneven now, a humorless laugh bubbling out of your chest. “You-You kiss me, dance with me, comfort me." Your voice becomes hushed, "Look at me like–like that.”
He takes a step forward, you take another step back. Then again. And again. Until your back is against the fence of the gazebo and you can feel the rain misting over your shoulders and hair. He doesn’t crowd you, but he’s close enough that your breath catches. “Like what?”
You swallow, resisting the urge to look away from him. Everything in you is begging you to run away. To turn around and pretend this never happened.
“Don’t.” You breathe out shakily, hands clenched at your sides. “Don’t act like you don’t know.”
He doesn’t reply right away. Instead, he lets your words hang in the air like a dre, the tension palpable. “I did all of those things,” He finally replies, voice tense. “Because I wanted to. Because you deserved it after what they did to you.”
Your eyebrows furrow, confusion written all over your face. “What–?”
“I lied to you.” He interrupts, taking the smallest step back. His hand runs through his hair, forcing the blonde strands back for a second before they fall back into place. “That first night we met. I told you I didn’t know Luke or Mandy. But…it wasn't true.”
You remember exactly what he’s talking about. But…why would he lie? What was the point? Because he wanted to? What does that even mean?
“You’re not making any sense right now.” You mumble, hands coming up to rub at your temples.
He smiles, the same one he’d had that night he met you. But it's bleaker now, filled with more emotion than you know how to handle.
“I know,” He says shakily, “Just hear me out, okay?”
Your lips tighten together, but you nod anyway.
“When I saw you at the wedding,” He sucks in a breath, “It reminded me of the first time I saw you. Back in college.”
Your breath stutters, heartbeat pulsing in your ears. You try to study his face now, going through everybody you knew back then, but nothing comes up.
He continues, “I didn’t know anyone except for Luke. We’d been the only two people from our high school to end up going to the same university. We were friends because it was convenient.” He sniffs, tugging the edge of his tie. “You and Mandy were there. At orientation. Your hair was in this crazy updo and I thought it was so cool. I wanted to go to talk to you. But Luke couldn’t stop talking about her. Mandy.”
Your chest constricts. It’d always been her then? He’d only gotten with you so he could get to fucking Mandy? You’d thought you were done getting hurt by them, but apparently not.
“You smiled at me that day.” He murmurs, voice thick. “And I thought you were the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen.”
You swallow, heart hammering against your chest.
His lips curve downwards, eyes narrowing slightly. “Me and Luke stopped talking as much after that. He’d found his friends and I found mine. But the one thing I was certain of was that I was going to finally talk to you. So I went to a party, planned out how I was going to introduce myself to you and everything. I saw you and I was walking over to you but–” He pauses, eyes squeezing shut. “You were with him. And you looked so happy and in love and I knew I’d missed my chance.”
You don’t know what to say. You don’t know how to process any of this without a bucket of ice cream and reruns of Glee.
“I stayed in the background after that. Just watching. And it sucked but I figured that was just how it had to be.” He chuckles, “And then I got the wedding invitation and I saw that he wasn’t getting married to you, but to her. And I thought to myself what’re the chances you show up? Clearly very high, because you did.”
He sucks in a breath, finally meeting your gaze. He looks wrecked. “And I lied because I got too in my head. I wanted to be someone else. Someone more like him.” He grimaces when he says it.
“I’m glad you’re not,” You finally cut in, taking the smallest step towards him. “I’m glad you’re not him.”
His lips quirk up and a breathless laugh leaves him. His face turns serious again, tone grim. "When you told me what they did...What he did," His eyes stay locked onto yours. "I wanted to fucking kill him."
You swallow, hands twisting into the fabric of your dress. He sounds so angry just talking about, like the thought of it is enough to rile him up again.
"That's why I kissed you. Why I dance with you. Why I comfort you. Why I look at you like that." He takes a cautious step towards you, "Because I'm so in love with you it hurts."
Tears well up in your eyes, a mix of disbelief and... relief. Like hearing him say those words is everything you'd been wanting to hear and yet too much at the same time.
You want to run into his arms. Want to kiss him until your breaths become his. But, for once, you're able to find your self control.
He tries to smile, but it's weak. Unsure. "Please say something." He nearly begs.
You let out a shaky breath, eyes flickering over his face. “I don't know what to say," You admit softly. You try to control your breathing, but your head is spinning and your emotions keep crashing over you in desperate waves. "I need...time. I think. I don't know. I just--" You hiccup without meaning too, "I need space."
His face drops, but he doesn't argue. Doesn't push for you to talk to him. Just puts his hands on his hips and nods. “Yeah. Okay. I can take you home–”
You shake your head, already pulling out your phone. “No,” It hurts coming out. “I’ll call someone.”
He freezes, something painful flashing in his eyes. “It’s raining.”
You swallow, unshed tears swimming behind your eyes. “I know.”
He looks like he wants to say more, but he refrains. His hands shove into his pockets, chin falling towards the floor. “Okay,” He says shakily. “I’ll go.”
You don’t respond, just watch him twist on his heel and walk into the pouring rain. He doesn’t turn around, and you don't call out to him.
It’s not until he’s no longer visible do you let the tears fall.
Sunoo doesn’t ask any questions when you climb into his car soaking wet and sobbing. Just turns up the heat and goes five over the speed limit the entire way to his apartment.
In truth, you don’t know why you’re crying. You think you’re just…overwhelmed. Does what he did count as lying? You don’t really know. You don't really know if you should be mad or hurt or what either.
You do know that you need to take some time to sort yourself out.
Sunoo leads you onto his couch silently, taking a seat next to you and crossing his arms. He hands you a tissue from the coffee table. “Alright, spill.”
It flows out of you like an open damn. The kiss (though he already knows about that), the dancing, the gazebo--all of it. It feels good to get it off your chest, but saying it out loud also makes it seem all the more real.
The way he’d looked at you when he left. The way his voice broke when he told you he loved you. That he was in love with you.
“And I still don’t know his fucking name!” You groan, hands wiping at the tears on your cheeks.
Sunoo hums, seamlessly handing you another tissue. “That’s…a lot.”
You scoff out a laugh, leaning against the cushions. Part of you hopes they’ll swallow you whole. “Tell me about it.”
Sunoo doesn’t say anything, and for a moment the only noise between you is his soft breaths and your quiet sniffles.
“Did you ever notice him?” He asks, “Back then, I mean.”
Your chest constricts, because, no, you hadn’t. You’d tried to remember his face, but all that ever comes up is Luke. You’d been so enamored with him that the thought of even looking at any other guys never even occurred to you.
Meanwhile, Luke was using you to get to the person closest to you.
Would things have been different if you would've just opened your eyes? If you would’ve looked away from him for a second and saw who was waiting for you? Would you have left?
You hate that you aren’t sure.
“No,” You answer truthfully, breath catching in your throat. “I was so focused on Luke I never even…” You trail off, swallowing uncomfortably.
Sunoo nods, bringing a hand out to rub comfortingly on your bicep. “I can see you thinking.” He condemns, “Stop it. You didn’t know.”
“That’s the problem!” You insist, tears brimming behind your eyes again. “How could I not notice what was right under my nose. Woody and-and the cheating. I was so blind and for what? Because he was the first guy to give me attention?”
Sunoo gives you a sympathetic look, eyebrows knitting together. “He was your first love, [Y/N]. She was your best friend. No one suspects something like that without seeing it with their own two eyes.” He says gently.
You frown. He’s right, you know he is–but still. It doesn’t make you feel any less dumb.
“And I keep thinking about what might’ve happened if I’d just opened my eyes for two seconds. If what Woody said is true then…how much did I miss out on with him?” You murmur, eyes downcast.
Sunoo sighs, standing from the couch and grabbing water from the kitchen. You thank him as he hands it to you, taking a swift sip. It’s smooth going down, but it does nothing to soothe the ache in your chest.
“I won’t lie to you and say it’s not a valid question,” He tucks his feet under himself, propping his elbow against the cushion and leaning his head on it. “But you can’t spend the rest of your life wondering. Especially not when he’s here now. Still waiting for you, might I add.”
You snort, but there’s no humor behind it. “I know,” You mumble, “I just think I need time to try and process everything.”
He smiles, “There’s nothing wrong with that.”
You spend the rest of the night talking about work and whatnot. Anything that doesn’t have to do with college or boys. And it does help for the most part, but Woody's words still linger in your mind like honey in the cracks of your brain.
It happens a couple days later. Your boss calls you to congratulate you on receiving the promotion, voice loud and bubbling in your ear, but you can’t even find it in yourself to share in the enthusiasm. You want to, you really do, but your heart it too heavy.
You keep checking your phone to see if he’s sent anything to you, but he never does. You had asked him for space though, so you can’t exactly be mad at him for giving you exactly what you’d asked for.
But still…part of you had hoped he’d at least say something. Maybe even just a: Hey, How are you? I know I sort of lied to you but isn't it also romantic when you really think about it?
But, now that you’ve had some time to process everything…you want to see him. You want to speak to him and tell him exactly how you’ve been feeling.
So, when Sunoo off handedly mentions a wedding his jobs hosting you can’t help the idea that sparks in your mind.
You remember Woody’s words from that night; “What're the chances you show up?” He’d said, referring to you going to Luke and Mandy's wedding. So is it so crazy for you to ask the same?
If he does show up you aren’t exactly sure what you’re going to say. You don’t know how you’re going to look him in the eye, really. But you’d rather try and make a fool of yourself then not and never know what could’ve happened.
The first thing you notice when you arrive is how different this wedding is compared to all the others. It’s more soft, in a way. With twinkling lights and green hanging vines, the whole thing looks straight out of a fairytale.
You’d ditched the Goodwill dress and actually went to the mall and found a floor-length baby pink gown. The heart-shaped neckline is covered in white lace, accenting the pink silk in a way that looks almost doll-like. You’d pulled your hair up as well, letting a few strands loose to frame your face. Even you had to admit you felt good.
Your eyes scan the area, watching as the bride and groom dance to some classical version of a Taylor Swift song. People watch them, sipping on their wines and swaying back and forth with their own spouses. You look through the crowd, trying to find that familiar head of blonde hair, but you come up empty.
Your chest squeezes, thoughts of uncertainty beginning to float around your head. What if this all really had been a mistake? Maybe he truthfully didn’t want to see you again after everything. What if he’d finally decided to move on?
That’s when you hear it. The soft sounds of a piano from another room. Your head snaps towards it, legs carrying you towards the tune like you’re under the pied pipers spell. And maybe you are.
You push the massive doors open slightly, slipping through and letting it click shut softly behind you. The room is big, with highrise ceilings and massive windows. And there in the center, is a piano. Black and sleek and occupied by a boy with blonde hair and a loose tie.
He doesn’t notice you enter which you’re partially grateful for. He’s too focused gliding his fingers over the keys, playing that damn song.
“Love me harder?” You laugh, soft and warm. “Really?”
His fingers pause their movements, eyes flickering up towards you. He looks shocked for a moment, but it quickly dissipates into something that looks eerily similar to relief.
He chuckles, a small smile working its way onto his lips. “Only the best song ever made.”
You wet your lips, taking small cautious steps towards him. He watches you the entire time, eyes trailing from your face all the way to your feet. He scoots down the bench swiftly, leaving space for you to take a seat next to him.
You do so hesitantly, your hands falling into your lap and your shoulder brushing his.
“Hi,” You breathe out, holding out a hand. “I’m [Y/N].”
He stares at you for a moment, at the hand stretched out in front of him, a silent offering. Something flashes behind his eyes--recognition, maybe. Relief at the thought of starting over.
“Hi,” He croaks, eyes glued onto yours. He takes your hand firmly, fingers fitting over your own like they were made just for you. “I’m Heeseung.”
Heeseung. You let the name bounce around in your mind, going over each syllable and committing them to your memory.
“Heeseung,” You murmur, letting it roll on your tongue. “It’s pretty.”
He grins, letting out a breath that’s bordering on a laugh. “You think so?”
You nod, squeezing his fingers once. “Yeah,” You murmur. “I really do.”
Heeseungs silent for a moment, his eyes glued to where your hands are connected. He clears his throat before bringing your hands down to the keyboard. “Do you know how to play?” He asks.
You shake your head, letting the pads of your fingers run over each key. “Never had the chance to learn.”
He hums, placing his hands over yours. “I could show you,” He offers softly, “If you wanted.”
Your eyes flicker over to him for a moment before they fall back to your joined hands. His thumbs rub into your knuckles, silent encouragement.
“Yeah,” You manage, even though your heart feels like it’s about to tear out of your chest from how hard it’s beating. “I’d like that.”
He smiles, but it’s not the cheeky one you’re used to. It’s sincere and filled with so much love it nearly makes you melt.
He guides your hands over the piano, pressing down keys and chuckling every time your fingers slip. His cologne floods your senses, clouding every thought in your mind until all you can think about is him.
The way his fingers feel against yours, the way his shoulder stays pressed against you, the way he keeps glancing at you like he can’t believe you’re real.
He guides you through the song, murmuring praises every time you play a chord correctly–Really it's just him playing and pretending you’re doing it on your own.
For a moment, the entire world disappears. It’s just you and the boy you’ve absolutely and impossibly fallen in love with, playing piano at the wedding of people you don’t even know.
Your breath shudders as the song comes to a stop. He doesn't lift his hands from yours, doesn’t back away. It's not until you turn to look at him does he even attempt to shift, and even then all he does lean away from you so he can see your face better.
“I’m sorry,” You start, “For everything. For making you leave like that. I should’ve–”
He cuts you off gently, foot nudging yours. “Don’t,” He breathes, “Don’t do that. You don’t need to apologize for needing space.”
God, can he get any more perfect?
You sniffle, nodding once. “Right. I just…” You sigh, eyes diverting from him. “I didn’t know what to do when you told me everything. It was a lot to process.”
He nods, encouraging you to continue.
“But I don’t think it’s everything you told me that scared me. I was scared because I-I was starting to fall for you and I didn’t know how to let you in after everything happened with you-know-who. And not to mention the fact that I didn’t even know your name.” You laugh, shoulders shaking slightly. You finally look at him then, eyes brimming with tears. “But after you left I knew. I knew that I loved you. That I do love you. And if you’ll still have me, I don’t want to run from it anymore.”
Heeseung’s silent, eyes searching yours like he’s looking for any bit of hesitance. When he doesn’t find it, he lets out a soft groan, head tilting back slightly. He squeezes his eyes shut like he's in actual pain. “Do you know how long I’ve dreamed of hearing you say that?” He mumbles, leaning into your space. You can feel his breath against your lips, his heartbeat against your own. “Being yours is the only thing I’ve ever wanted.”
You suck in a shaky breath, your eyes darting down to his lips. “Heeseung,” You breathe.
He doesn’t hesitate then, surging forward and capturing your lips in a kiss.
This one is different from the first one all those months ago. It’s sweeter, slower. He takes his time memorizing the taste of you, a hand trailing up your arm and cupping your cheek.
You pull away for a second, attempting to get a word out, but he doesn’t let you. Instead his lips capture yours again, deeper this time. Your lungs beg for air, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. For this–to keep having him kiss you like you’re the only girl he’s ever seen–you’d learn how to live without air.
“Hee–” You gasp against his lips, a smile breaking through. “Hold on–”
You push against his chest lightly, and he whines–actually fucking whines–and his lips chase yours like it hurts him to be away from you.
“Heeseung,” You giggle, “We’re in public.”
“So?” He questions, breathless and absolutely flushed. “Can you blame me for wanting to kiss the girl I love?”
Heat rises up your neck, lip tugging between your teeth as you try to hold back your smile.
He takes your hand again, pulling you to your feet. “Let’s get out of here then, yeah?”
You barely register the door to his apartment slamming behind you until he’s pushing you against it. His hands find your hips, thumbs digging into the bone but never moving. Never straying beyond respectful.
“You’re so beautiful,” He mumbles, lips crashing against yours, “Nearly fell to my knees when I saw you in this dress.”
You smirk, hands clasping around his neck to pull him impossibly closer. “Yeah?”
He chuckles, parting from your lips to rest his forehead against yours. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “You look like a fucking dream.”
Your lips part, a wave of want splashing over you so fast you barely register it. “Heeseung,” You manage, dragging your hands down his chest. “Touch me.”
He immediately shifts, lips pressing against yours and hands dragging up and down your body. He traces your collarbones, lips trailing open mouthed kisses down your jaw and neck. Your eyes flutter closed, hands tangling in his soft hair.
His breath gives when you tug slightly, a groan spilling through his lips. “Fuck,” He sighs, lips leaving deep red marks everywhere they touch. Like he's claiming you.
You can feel yourself getting needier, hands grasping onto whatever you can find, hips rolling against nothing.
“Hee,” You whine, the nickname slipping out easily. “Please.”
He hums, digging his hands into the flesh of your hips. “Yeah, Baby?” He pecks the side of your jaw, breath fanning against your ear and shooting a shiver down your spine. “I’ll give you whatever you want. Just need you to say it.”
You tug on your bottom lip, cheeks flushing. It's not that you were embarrassed, but the way he says it makes you want to scream.
Your chest heaves against his when you bury your hands into the fabric of his shirt, tugging against his already loosening tie. “Please,” You beg, embarrassment lingering in the tremble in your voice, “I want you to touch me.”
He groans, already leading you into his bedroom. He kicks the door shut behind him swiftly, gently pushing you towards the bed until your knees hit the edge. He guides you down, and your back lands against the sheets with a soft huff, your hair fanning out around you like a halo.
“Gonna give you everything you want,” He murmurs above you, kissing your lips sweetly. His hands linger everywhere, from the dip of your shoulder to the curve of your breast, fingertips featherlight. “You gonna let me, Sweetheart?” He asks.
You nod swiftly, already feeling your underwear grow damp with want. “Yes,” You gasp, “Fuck, Please.”
He chuckles, sliding the straps of your dress down your shoulders and revealing your bra and tummy. He sucks in a breath at the sight, and then swiftly lowers his lips down to the swell of your chest, leaving open mouthed kisses atop the skin.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, “So perfect.”
You arch your back and allow him to unclip your bra, tossing it onto the floor somewhere. His lips are on you then, kissing and sucking your nipples into his mouth like a man starved. Drool dribbles down his chin and down the curve of your breast, shining against your skin.
He makes his way down your sternum, kissing over your ribs, down the soft skin of your stomach, all the way down until his knees hit the floor and he's in between your legs.
He swallows, running his fingers over the silk of your dress covering your legs.
He looks up at you, silently asking for your permission. You give a weak nod of confirmation.
His fingers hook into the top half of your dress pooled around your waist and tugs it down softly. It drags down your legs and plops onto the floor, leaving you in just your underwear.
The air is thick with tension when he comes face to face with the lace covering your folds, eyes zeroed in on the growing damp patch between your legs.
“Fuck,” He groans, breathless. His cheeks are flushed, pupils blown so wide his eyes are nearly black. “You’re perfect.”
His lips find your inner thigh, leaving soft, open-mouthed kisses over the skin, all the way down your calf, and over the hard bone of your ankle. He does the same on the other side, taking his time worshipping you like you’re his personal deity.
“Hee,” You whine, hips rolling against nothing, “Don’t tease me.”
He chuckles, his hands running up your thighs before finding purchase against your hips. He doesn’t hold you roughly, but there’s enough intention behind it to keep you in place.
“Just wanna worship you, baby.” He hums, nudging his nose against the crease of your pelvis, “You’re so fucking perfect.”
You roll your eyes, but heat crawls up your neck anyway. “So you’ve said.”
He taps a finger against your hip bone teasingly, lips widening into a cunning grin, like he knows exactly what he does to you. And, honestly, he probably does. “Dreamed about how you’d taste, the sounds you’d make. ” He murmurs, tongue jutting out slightly to wet his kiss-swollen lips. “You gonna let me make you feel good, baby?” He asks.
“Yes,” You gasp out, “God, yes.”
It doesn’t take much after that.
He starts slowly, giving small kitten licks over your panties. You let out a sigh, hands tangling in the sheets and teeth tugging on your bottom lip.
It’s not messy. It’s not rough. It’s sweet and slow, like he’s taking the time to figure out what makes you keen and buck your hips into his mouth.
He finds a soft rhythm, licking into you until the thin border covering your folds gleams with a mix of his saliva and your slick. His nose bumps against your clit, earning a whine from you every time it happens.
He curls his fingers into the waistline of your panties, dragging them down your hips and tossing them onto the floor. The cool air brushes against your slick folds, making you shiver.
Heeseung pauses for a moment, gazing at your sex like he’s committing it to memory. Embarrassment clouds your mind at being stared at like this, like you’re a piece of art he’d pay millions to have.
He sucks in a shaky breath, lips glistening with your slick. “I know I’ve already said it,” He mumbles, dragging a hand down your tummy and letting his thumb brush over your clit. “But you’re beautiful. Prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen.”
He emphasizes your words with a long lick up your folds, tongue flat against your hole. Your back arches off the bed, a whimper sliding out of you without your permission.
Your hands fly to his hair as he eats you out like a man starved, his tongue swirling around your clit.
“Fuck!” You whine, “Fuck–yes! Don’t stop!” You sob out, tugging at his roots. He groans at the feeling, the vibration buzzing against your clit in a way that actually makes your thighs shake.
His lips wrap around your clit then, sucking it into his mouth and lapping his tongue against it. You let out a broken moan, back bowing off the bed. But he presses a hand firmly on your stomach to keep you in place.
He continues, soft then fast, pace fluctuating like he can’t decide whether he wants to take his time. Your thighs shake as you get closer, chest heaving and moans slipping from your mouth like prayers.
You jolt when he prods a finger at your entrance, teasing you slowly before pushing inside. The stretch is good–and when he curls it just right you swear you see stars. Your eyes fill with tears the closer you get, the coil in your stomach tightening to unbearable levels.
“F-fuck–Close–” You manage to gasp.
He hums against you, then adds another finger. You let out a high-pitched whine as he does, hips rolling against his mouth and hand, body completely lost to the pleasure.
He fucks his fingers in and out of you gently, constantly curling right against your g-spot in a way that should be illegal.
“Can’t believe you ever let him taste you,” He says, voice slightly muffled against your pussy. “Bet he couldn’t even make you cum, huh?”
You’re too far gone to form a reply. All you can think about is Heeseung and how close you are to release.
But he doesn’t seem to want a reply from you. Instead, he licks a broad stripe up your clit, and it’s enough to finally break you.
You cum with a sob, fingers tightening in his hair and thighs tightening around his head. Your vision goes white for a moment as he laps up your release like a dog receiving a treat from its owner.
He fucks you through it, mumbling soft praises the entire time. It’s not until you’re crying from overstimulation and pushing his head away does he come up for air. And when he does, you swear you nearly cum all over again.
His hair is a disaster, sticking up in places and curling against his forehead. His eyes are lidded and his pupils are blown out, while slick mixed with saliva glistens across his nose, lips, and jaw. He looks like pure sex and every secret fantasy you’ve ever dared to have.
You dig your teeth into your bottom lip, pulling him up gently until he’s situated atop you again. You kiss him hard and messy, tasting yourself on his tongue. He nips at your bottom lip, requesting access, and you grant it easily.
He swirls his tongue in your mouth, hands gripping your hips and rolling them against the growing bulge in your pants. You gasp when you feel him–thick and hard and already drooling with pre-cum.
He groans when you roll your hips experimentally, his lips parting in a pant and forehead resting against yours. “Fuck, if you keep doing that…” He trails off, eyebrows knitting together.
You grin, wrapping your hands around the tie hanging off of his neck and tugging it off. He seems to get the idea and quickly rids himself of his shirt and pants, leaving him in just his boxers.
You swallow at the obvious bulge, a wet patch of pre-cum practically dripping against the fabric. He gasps when you hand experimentally brushes over it, his eyes falling shut.
You carefully palm him, watching how his face contorts in pleasure. “Fuck–wait–you’re gonna make me cum like this.” He mutters, reaching down and pulling your wrist away and over your head.
He uses his freehand to push his boxers off, revealing his flushed cock to you. Your mouth practically waters at the sight of it–thick and flushed and oh, so pretty.
He sucks in a shaky breath before lining himself up with your entrance, his lips brushing yours as he does. He kisses you as he enters, swallowing every broken whine and whimper that escapes from your mouth.
He’s big–bigger than anything you’ve ever taken, at least. The head of his cock stretches you deliciously, nudging against your walls and carving a place for himself.
“You feel so fucking good,” He whimpers against your lips, the hand holding your wrist shifting so he can intertwine his fingers with yours. He squeezes your hand three times as he bottoms out, and your eyebrows furrow at how deep he is.
He’s resting right against your g-spot, putting continuous pressure onto it until you’re certain you see stars. He doesn't move inside you, letting you adjust to the feeling, but you can tell he’s holding back.
“Hee-Heeseung,” You attempt, using your free hand to paw at his chest. “Please move.”
His breath hitches, burying his face into the crook of your neck. And then he’s rutting into you slowly, broken gasps leaving his kiss-stricken lips.
You squeeze his hand, lips forming into an ‘O’ as he rocks into you with a perfect rhythm. It’s not too rough, not too fast–just enough to drive you fucking crazy. Enough to ensure you feel every vein and every ridge of his cock inside you.
“I love you,” He whines into your skin, leaving dark marks around the curve of your neck, the line of your jaw, the swell of your breasts. Anywhere he can reach. “Love that you’re letting me touch you like this. Love you so much it’s fucking painful.”
A groan rumbles deep in his chest when you roll your hips to meet his. “You like that?” He asks, “Like knowing how crazy you drive me?”
You try to reply, but all that comes out is a broken sob. He picks up the pace now, slamming into you with a rhythm that rivals anything you’ve had before.
“Yeah, you do,” He teases softly, “Don’t worry. Gonna remind you every fucking day.”
You tighten around him instinctively, walls attempting to milk him for everything he’s worth. His hips falter at the feeling, sweat beginning to stick to his forehead.
He fucks you like a man starved, like he’s angry at you for keeping this from him. Tears of pleasure streak your cheeks, each one he kisses away without a word.
The entire thing is too much, too good, and before you know it you’re tightening around him and cumming harder than you ever have in your life.
“There you go, baby,” He gasps, reaching his freehand down to rub light circles against your clit. “Such a good girl for me.”
He fucks you through the orgasm, enjoying every keen and whine you give him, until he’s releasing inside you himself. His cum fills you in hot spurts, painting your hole a creamy white.
He collapses atop you, chest heaving against yours. It takes a moment for the both of you to collect yourselves, but once you do he’s pulling out gently, whispering apologies when you twitch from overstimulation.
He leans over to grab a cloth from the bedside table, kneeling between your thighs and cleaning you softly. He leaves lingering kisses on the inside of your thighs as he does, like he’s thanking you for letting him touch you.
When he’s finished he crawls into bed beside you, staring at your face with a dopey smile.
You raise a brow and let out a confused giggle. “What?”
He shrugs, shaking his head softly. “Just can’t believe I’m so lucky.” He mumbles, leaning in and kissing you softly. You kiss him back easily, hand coming up to cup his cheek.
And it’s then that you think that maybe, just maybe, things were always meant to play out this way.
Maybe, just maybe, that wedding invitation was the best thing that ever happened to you.
And maybe, just maybe, one day you'd be able to send out your own.
wowwowo she’s done!!
this was my first time writing smut so if it’s bad pls forgive me 😓
reblogs are really appreciated and i love to hear from you guys!
I hope no one reads books like Fourth Wing after their 26th year because those characters are in their early 20s so how dare you.
And if you watched the original Gossip Girl when it aired, you are too dusty to rewatch it now. How dare you like the romance and stories of younger people you CRONE.
And if you’re in your late twenties or God forbid your thirties or heaven forfend your forties or dead cause there is nothing beyond that then just enjoying kpop or groups like Enhypen or TXT or BTS is actually enough to have the baby angels show up at your door and arrest you. The pearl-clutch police just carted away all the little old ladies who watched 20 year-old Daphne fall in love with Simon in Bridgerton…along with the many, MANY adults watching Euphoria… Don’t even get me started. I could go on and on.
When I started stanning BTS years ago, I made friends with an author who was 39. She was literally excellent and extremely popular. She never revealed her age because she was much older than the boys. She was cool and fun and she loved BTS and we are still friends. But another author was discovered to be 32 and a bunch of 18 year olds (IF that was actually their age) dragged her so hard and harassed her. It was terrible. BTS were their muses and they were inspired by them, but these little creeps had the AUDACITY to try and gatekeep?!
It is horrifying to see fandom spaces policed like this.
I’m thirty. I love Enhypen music. I love Enhypen fics. I reblog and I support the community and I comment all the time. I still read BTS. I read TXT. I love stories and romance and that will probably not change EVER. I’ve been reading fan fiction (sfw as a minor!!!) about everything from Star Wars to Supernatural (and a bunch of others) since I was literally 11. Some pathetic child in need of a hefty grass-touch session and enjoying a life easy enough that they have time to waste being the mosquitoes of fandom is not about to take that from me. Please.
I’m not afraid of aging. I never looked down on older BTS fans— I was (am) the same age as the tannies and older women in the fandom could write stories that would change your life and smut that would curl every hair on your body. I know for a fact that a LOT of tumblr/wattpad/AO3 writers from NCT, BTS, SKZ, ENHA, ATEEZ, and TXT are anything from a couple of years to nearly a decade (or more) older than some of the guys they write for. More fic for me. More fic and readers for everyone.
If that grosses you out, ask yourself why. Are you truly ok with that misogyny (internalized or otherwise)? Are you ok with attempting to enforce that misogyny and/force it on others when you showed up uninvited to this author’s inbox?
I notice you all EAT UP some age difference/best friend’s dad/older professor/way older business man smut about Jungkook, and Bangchan, and the Enha boys (and so on)... 3K notes on fics where the age difference is like 22(f) and 40(m) but no whiny anons harassing the authors when the guy is older? (No hate to those fics. This is merely an observation.)
Maybe you should ask yourself why you hate women.
(And maybe you should go shopping for some real problems while you’re at it. There are so many injustices in this world it is EMBARRASSING that you are in this writer’s inbox acting like her being born before Heeseung is an issue. Like do you not have THE NEWS, pookie?)
(Not you, Queen. I love you. You write with the soul and finesse of a true artist. I’m obviously talking to your likely 15 year old anon who I hope either ages like milk or grows the hell UP and stops treating women like we have an expiration date.)
oh my god 🥹🥹🥹🥹 this message genuinely made me emotional i’m not even kidding even teared up a little HAHAHHA like you put into words exactly how i feel and so much of what you said is stuff i’ve lived too!! my first ever fanfic experience was reading naruto and sasuke on some shady forbidden forum on a social network that literally doesn’t even exist anymore 😭 and then i was DEEP into mcfly fics which half these girls today probably don’t even know is a band lol one direction came AFTER that for me!! i grew up on this stuff like reading fics writing fics being obsessed with stories, it’s always been my thing!
and when i was younger like 18 to 21/22 i kinda pretended that side of me never existed. like writing fanfic as a teen was cringe and i had to be serious now. meanwhile those years of writing for fun are literally part of why i became a journalist as an adult!! writing has always been my hobby even if my job is writing about way more boring things than idols falling in love or anime characters having emotional breakdowns LMAO and when i actually grew up for real i realized…. it’s just a hobby!! and there is NO age limit on having hobbies, none. i do this because it’s fun! because i love stories because it makes my brain happy after a long day of real life responsibilities
and you’re so right about the misogyny. men can be 35 with a shrine to their football team crying over matches and that’s “passion” but a woman over 25 enjoying kpop and romance and fanfiction? woow suddenly it’s weird and embarrassing and inappropriate? please i pay my bills i have a job i handle my life and i also like writing little stories on tumblr bro those things can exist together!!
what gets me is that the same people who try to shame older women in fandom are the ones consuming the content we make reading the fics we write screaming over the plots but suddenly we’re “too old” to be here? just because we’re not 18 anymore? make it make sense please and like you said one day they’re gonna be our age and i genuinely hope when they get here, they still love kpop, still love stories still have silly little hobbies that make life softer. because life is already hard enough and this stuff is joy and it’s community it’s creativity it’s not hurting anyone apparently
so thank you really!! you were such a sweetheart for sending that. i felt so seen reading your message especially the part about growing up in fandom and never looking down on older fans. that meant a lot truly 🤍 NEVER BACK DOWN QUEEN!!!!!!!!
summary. the world thinks that you're a beta. you and your best friend, nishimura riki, think same thing too—until you're proven wrong. until instincts and scents take over and everything changes overnight.
warnings. MDNI, reader is a late-presenting omega, mutual pining, oblivious pairing, jealous and possessive riki, marking, knotting, p in v, dirty talk, dom!riki, idk it’s my first time writing smut, alpha!jay, alpha!jungwon, alpha!heeseung, fingering, oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms, reader is suuuper horny, poor jay, i tag as i go, not beta read we die like injang, i don’t think this abo is as accurate as the norm but we ball, angst if you squint
word count. 14,896 words
note. stepping out of my comfort zone with this one, my first time writing a oneshot. i hope you love it (hiding in a cave as we speak). mostly inspired by abo fics i read on ao3. don’t forget to stream the sin: vanish! 🩷
You have been to the gym more times than the library.
Not because you’re particularly athletic. No, God knows you’d rather nap. But it’s rather because of a certain six-foot Japanese guy named Nishimura Riki, who’s obsessed with having you watch him stretch before his basketball practice. Says it helps him focus better. Says you bring him luck to his games. Whatever it is, you are happy to indulge with his requests, if it means you get to have your free Baskin Robbins after his gym sessions.
And now, as the two of you walk down the pavement, hands brushing with each step, you’re brought back to three years ago—when Riki was still a head shorter, when his voice still had the childlike lilt to it, when he hadn’t gained all the mass and muscles he has now. The only thing that remains constant is this: his routine of dragging you to his stretching and practice sessions.
It still brings a smile to your face whenever you recall that moment, and Riki never fails to notice every time.
“You have that motherly sentimental smile on your face again,” he points out, eyeing you down like you were dirt on the ground, and you might as well be for how tall he is. “Whatchu thinking ‘bout?”
You roll your eyes. “Good old times, Ki. When you were less annoying and less tall.”
Riki snorts. “I’m always annoying. And taller than you.”
“Fuckass alpha genetics,” you grumble under your breath, the sharp end of your elbow meeting his ribs in a playful nudge. Riki lets out a loud hiss, draping his arm around your shoulders in a harsh tug.
“What’s got your panties twisted, my favourite girl?”
“I don’t know, maybe the fact that I could’ve slept in instead of going to your alpha gym.”
“You love me too much to refuse me.”
You feel the air leave your lungs. That statement shouldn’t make your stomach twist like this, like you’re caught doing something you’re forbidden to. But if liking your childhood friend—your annoying, tall, and too-hot-for-his-own-good friend—is considered illegal, then by all means you’d rather serve your time in jail than admit it to him.
So you scoff, feigning annoyance as you shove his limbs off your body. Swinging your legs faster, you mutter something enough for his ears to hear, hiding the redness that blooms across your cheeks. “You know I only love your mom.”
“Yeah, but only for her sushi, though!” Riki retorts, chasing after your steps and catching up with you after a maximum of three long strides. Curse his long legs. “I know you’d marry into my family for her sushi.”
“I don’t plan on being a homewrecker. Konon is taken, and Misora is like my little sister.”
“Well, there is me.” There he goes again, making your heart stutter in your ribs, taking your breath away with words that might be simple to him but bring an entirely different meaning to you and your poor feelings. You bite your lip, refusing to answer. Riki takes it as a challenge.
“I’m the real deal, y’know?” Riki wiggles his eyebrows, hogging up your space like a fly, gauging your reaction with that smirk you know all too well. And fuck him for saying the truth. You really wish you could slap that shit-eating grin off his handsome face.
“What, for being an alpha?”
“Especially for being an alpha,” he replies, a cocky smirk adorning his plump lips, to which you just roll your eyes.
He isn’t wrong, and that’s what you hate the most. Alphas are sought after; as a leader, as an heir, as a symbol of dominance and power. They’re at an advantage with everything, including their physique. You have never seen a short alpha; at least none is shorter than you are. Alphas dominate sports, finance and business, politics, education, and even medicines.
It’s hard to argue with Riki’s point of him being the real deal, when the very system you live in is the truth and proof to his claim.
People always want an alpha, and that fact will stay forever so long this system still exists. And it’s a bitter pill to swallow because you also belong to that category—not exactly because you need an alpha, but because a certain first love of yours is, unfortunately, an alpha.
Unfortunate, because alphas only want omegas as their mates.
Not betas. Not you.
And Nishimura Riki is not an exception to that equation.
You are so lost in your own thoughts that you almost missed the entrance to the gym, if not for Riki tugging your sleeve to bring you back to earth. You blink, look at the sign, and sigh.
“Tell me why I’m here again.”
Riki’s face lights up with a grin, dragging you to the entrance. “Because you’re my emotional support,” he jokes again, earning a glare from you.
His voice rumbles in a deep timbre when he chuckles, his other hand pushing the door open and instantly, the familiar chime of the bell greets you with a cold breeze from the built-in air-conditioners.
Riki turns to you again, ruffling your hair affectionately, the same way he did when the both of you were eighteen; the same way he did when he was thirteen, begging you to wish him luck on his basketball match; the same way he did when you were eight, after you scraped your knees in the playground from a foul play.
“And because you’re a beta, you’re not affected by our pheromones.”
It’s a harmless reminder of your subgender, but it stings nonetheless. You give the receptionist a tight smile, hoping it doesn’t show the resentment you feel towards the flawed system, hoping the cracks from your own heart didn’t make its way into the lines of your mouth.
At first, you thought you were an anomaly to the system.
The doubt was inevitable when Riki presented at the ripe age of eighteen, and pretty much so did everybody else. You remember how lonely the classes were when Riki had to take two weeks off, and then the girl who sat in front of you did the same, and then the class president did so too, until there were only seven of you remaining in the class.
The appropriate age range to present is from sixteen to nineteen years old, but the most common one is definitely eighteen. So you told yourself to be patient and wait for your turn; that it might be you next day.
Then you hoped it’d be you next month.
Then you prayed it’d be you next year.
Then you wished the system never existed at all .
Because after three years, with you now turning twenty-one, the presentation never came. You told yourself it’s fine, it doesn’t exclude you from society because it just simply means that you’re a beta, right? Beta belongs to the subgenders too. But it’s hard to ignore the nagging voice of insecurity somewhere in your mind that keeps telling you how wrong everything is. It’s hard to ignore the changes when the changes happened so fast and so blatantly obvious—like the way Riki’s voice turned deeper, the way he grew into everything that an alpha is meant to be.
While you remained the same.
The poison seals its roots when you’re reminded of your family genetics—where every female of your bloodline was born an omega, someone who’s meant to be with an alpha, someone with a sweet and supposedly-alluring scent that you never get a whiff of. You feel like a tossed-aside rug, a forgotten scene from a movie. Hell, you even feel like an unknown city that keeps getting skipped in every world tour of your favourite boyband.
Excluded, out of place, and awkward. Like a piece of puzzle that doesn’t belong. Like a wrong digit in an equation, where the existence of you brings a decimal-answer when people are looking for a whole number.
So with a reluctant resignation, one that you wished would never come, you accept your fate that you’re not an anomaly—you’re just normal. You’re just a beta.
You’re just…not meant to be with Riki.
Perhaps you can try finding a beta that could fill the spot that Riki has. Jake Sim from chemical engineering is also a beta, and he is every bit a gorgeous man. But every time you attempt to look for someone else, someone who’s not over six feet tall, someone who’s not Japanese with features you memorise by heart—you feel your stomach sink with the urge to cry and throw up.
You want Riki. You only yearn for Riki, and it tears you apart that he is everything you want but can’t have.
It’s only morning, and you are already tormenting yourself with the thoughts of your unrequited love, your secret crush, your Nishimura Riki, Riki, Riki. You slump on the desk with a sigh, the lecturer’s high-pitched voice now a faraway island in your mind, earning a low chuckle from Jungwon, another alpha that you befriended on your first day here.
“You okay, Y/N?”
You muffle a small ‘yeah’ and lift your head to face him, the action making you dizzy. You frown. “Just…a bit hungry. I skipped breakfast.”
Jungwon leans closer, lunch invitation heavy on his tongue, but stops mid-way. His nose scrunches, sniffing the air around you like a bunny.
“Uh, did you wear a new perfume?”
“What?” Sitting straight, you mimic his action and start smelling your clothes. “I don’t?”
Jungwon shifts in his seat, taking another whiff from the space around your neck before leaning back, a glint of amusement and curiosity dancing in his eyes.
“Well, you smell different. In a good way.”
“That’s because I wear Chanel number 5, duh,” you say matter-of-factly, rolling your eyes to emphasise. Jungwon shakes his head.
“It’s not Chanel,” he moves closer again, and this time you actually retreat back from the sudden proximity. “You smell faintly like caramel. Like freshly baked cookies.”
“Okay, now you’re being creepy. I don’t smell like a bakery.”
Jungwon looks skeptical, watching you with that cat eyes of his, appearing contemplative and deep in thought before he shrugs and finally gives you some space. You breathe out in relief.
“Mhm. It’s about time you had a scent. Though yours is way too sweet for a beta.”
Your body seizes before your mind can catch up, every bone locking in place as you register his words. When you speak, your voice sounds foreign, even to you.
“I’m supposed to…have a scent?”
Jungwon tilts his head, not expecting that question from you. “Yeah? Everyone with a subgender should have one and can smell one. Can’t you smell me?”
No. The word is trapped behind your teeths, afraid to go out in fear of solidifying the truth that you were what you initially thought: an anomaly. Gulping down your nerves, you pretend to focus back on the lessons, though your lecturer’s voice is already drowned out by the loud thumping behind your ribs.
Jungwon doesn’t buy it, though. That alpha is eyeing you, trying to catch even a tiny telltale of your true emotions.
You settle for a lie. “‘Course I can. You smell disgusting.”
That gets him to react. “Hey! I smell second best to Riki’s pheromones, for your information.” Jungwon gasps, scandalised, and kicks your legs under the table. You suck in a breath, your mind zeroing on the small fragment of his statement: Riki’s pheromones.
You leave the hall an hour later with your brain a whirlwind of panic and unanswered questions, of how much you regret not paying attention to any of your omegaverse classes, of how different you are—again—from the rest of the world, but now with a painful addition that you are also different from a normal beta, and of how Nishimura Riki is allegedly the best-smelling alpha of the century.
The last thought is the loudest, if it’s not already obvious. But your insecurity seems relentless this time, because every time your brain wanders to how good Riki might smell like, it brings you back to the cold, harsh reality of your dysfunctioning senses. And that’s enough to push you off the edge.
The one-hour lecture was spent with you letting the weight of Jungwon’s words pressing into your mind. The concept of scent and subgenders aren’t foreign; not to everybody else but you. You know that alphas and omegas have a certain smell that tells each other apart. But you never knew that betas have one too.
Or they actually do. And it’s you who have none.
Fuck, why did you only sleep in those omegaverse classes in high school?
The distant voice of your omegaverse teacher nags at the back of your mind as you round the corner towards the library, forcing yourself to commit to another group discussion before you can retire and hide in your room after, but are blessed—or cursed—to see Riki instead. Your breath hitches, your steps halt.
The tall man is leaning against the wall with a laidback posture, one hand in the pocket of his sweats, scrolling his phone with a neutral boredom. Then, as if sensing your presence, he lifts his gaze, and lights up.
Fuck him, honestly, in every literal and figurative way possible.
He always lights up every time he sees you, and you hate how much meaning it gives you. Like you’re the only sun in his dark universe; like you’re the only water in the middle of the desert when it probably means nothing to him.
“Y/N, c’mere!”
You force a relaxed posture and a small smile as you walk towards him. And then, without warning, Jungwon’s earlier words invade your mind again, and now your whole focus narrows down to the thoughts of the pheromones of the alpha standing in front of you, and the cruelty of your anatomy to decide that you don’t deserve to smell him.
Riki frowns when you get closer, noticing your slightly pale complexion. One of his arms hover, ready to pull you closer like usual. “You good? Did you see a ghost?”
And this time, you let him tug you, pulling you in like a strong whirlpool in the ocean and you are nothing more than a helpless boat, and you almost swore that you heard Riki sniff you. At the chance of standing in such close proximity with him, you dare yourself to nose the collar of his hoodie, inhaling his scent, dreading the nothingness that might come from it.
You hum, surprising even yourself when you can actually smell him. Clean musk, cedar, and sandalwood. He smells homey. But why couldn’t you smell this before?
“You smell good. Is this your perfume?”
Riki laughs, though there is an edge to it .”What are you doing?”
Ignoring his question, you take a step closer, nosing at the fabric with newfound determination, unaware of the now-rigid posture of your best friend. Riki pushes your shoulders when you shift closer, holding you an arm’s length away from him in a swift motion. You blink, taken aback from the sudden shove, and scrunches your nose when you sense a spike in his scent.
You frown—your senses were never this sensitive.
Riki lets out a small chuckle after a moment of silence—and you can’t help but hear the faint tremble in it—then ruffles your hair.
“That’s my pheromones, idiot, you know I don’t like wearing cologne. Did you just notice it now?”
Ah. His pheromones.
So you can finally smell him.
You pause for a heartbeat before smiling. So I’m a normal beta, you think, feeling the relief washes over you, I can smell other people’s scents too. It might be a bit too late to notice these changes, but you’ll take anything that doesn’t label you as the exception to the system. Anything to fit in, anything that doesn’t point you towards the other end of society alone.
“With all that sweat you reek of? Yeah, I just noticed it now.” You retort, throwing him a teasing smile, stepping closer again to nudge his ribs like you always do.
This time, the sharp inhale that Riki takes is unmistakable. He takes a hold of your wrist and brings it to his nose, sniffing at it like another bunny that reminds you so much of Jungwon just an hour ago.
“You smell…different,” Riki takes another whiff, “did you get too close to an omega?”
Your eyebrows knit. “No, that’s my scent.”
Riki’s expression mirrors yours. “But you never had a scent before.”
“I know, Jungwon also said it’s about time that I had a scent.”
“Jungwon?” Riki echoes, his voice clipped. “You let Jungwon scent you?”
You blink, mouth opening and closing at the sound of his sudden grim voice. “I—No? He didn’t scent me,” you don’t know where this feeling comes from, but the thought of Riki thinking that you were with another man, of upsetting him, makes your stomach drop. “He just sat too close just now. And he smelled me.”
You wince at how wrong it sounded.
Nothing else is spoken between the two of you, save for the distant chatter of passersby and the occasional sound of the library door opening and closing, letting people in and sending them out. You crane your neck to your silent best friend, his clenched jaw catching the hallway lights as he gathers his thoughts.
You’re about to say something to break the silence, but another deep voice calls out to Riki. You peek at his shoulders and see two of his basketball teammates—Heeseung and Jay—calling at him from behind. They wave when they notice your presence, and you wave back once before Riki moves to block your sight.
“I have practice until late. Don’t wait for me,” he mutters, voice barely above a whisper. His eyes are heavy with something unsaid, giving you a gaze that sends shivers down your spine, slightly concealed by the fringes of his dark hair. You nod wordlessly, squeeze his arms goodbye, and watch him jog up to his friends, your mind a mess of everything that has just unfolded.
The day follows you home and into the evening shower, and the thoughts of your newly-discovered developed senses, of Riki, only stops when you put on your pajamas. Your favourite Kuromi set of wool pajamas, the one Riki bought from his last visit to Japan, suddenly sits wrongly on your skin.
It’s itchy and very uncomfortable, which is not what you felt when you wore it last week.
“What the fuck,” you curse, discarding the clothes in an instant. Standing half naked in your own bedroom, you inspect the fabric like a microscope to a cell sample. The fabric feels strange to your touch; it prickles like tiny needles that poke at your skin in an unsettling way. You drop the pajamas on your bed and start looking for another set to wear.
To your frustration, every piece of clothing that you touch doesn’t feel right. Too rough. Too itchy. Too irritating. It only stops when you find your long-forgotten satin nightwear—the one you shoved to the darkest corner of your wardrobe because of how tight it had become. You exhale, the exhaustion from the day pressing on your bones like a wet blanket, slipping on the only fabric that doesn’t feel like sandpaper on skin despite how tight it hugs your body despite yourself.
That night, you drift off to sleep and dream of a certain alpha with the most alluring pheromones, whispering secrets and oaths in messy sheets and slicked, tangled limbs.
The next morning, you wake up with a pulsing pain in your hips and lower abdomen. A groan escapes your lips as you search for your phone, checking the menstrual tracker with your eyes half-open. You are still two weeks away from the next cycle, but the pain is, if not more, merciless and unforgiving as ever.
But deadlines and tests chase you even in your sleep, so you brave up and force yourself to campus, all pained limbs and sweaty forehead. The painkillers work nothing to numb the pain, and you don’t want to risk going into the ER to swallow another one. So you endure. Or at least, you try to.
“Good morning, Y/N,” comes Jungwon, sharing yet another class with you. But his voice is loud, too loud for the morning to be good, so you snap at him before you can stop it.
“Can you lower your voice? You’re too loud.”
Jungwon stuns into a silence, gaping at you with his mouth hanging open before a flash of annoyances crosses his face. “Dude, I talk normally? What’s so loud about me?”
“You’re being loud now.”
Jungwon throws his hands in the air and plops down with a huff, pursing his lips in protest and refusing to speak to you for the rest of the lecture in an act of tantrum. You don’t say anything either, too occupied with your own thoughts, too irritated by the sounds of pens gliding across papers, too itched by the blouse you’re wearing, to care. At the first sign of the class ending, you bolt out of the class, leaving behind Jungwon and his unheard complaints about how sensitive and snappy you have been.
Sensitive. You’re sensitive all over your body, your senses suddenly reaching a new level of concentration that makes everything feel unbearable and irritating. You ditch the next class and go home, grab a new set of pads on your way, send a ‘sorry’ text to Riki’s lunch invitation, and sleep the day away in silk and satin. You dream of Riki again, of how safe you feel in his arms, of how much you like it whenever he towers over you with his height. You toss and turn all night, then wake up more tired than before when the first sunlight hits.
Weary and exhausted than ever, you groan as the aching in your body returns, and, perhaps amplifies, like something inside you is shifting. Like someone is renovating your organs and rearranging everything into a new layout, into a new system you’re too afraid to find out.
“Fuck,” you peel off every layer of your clothing and make home in your bath tub, basking in the warmth of the running water. Your muscles finally relax, and for the past two days of your pre-menstrual symptoms, soaking in hot water seems to be the only thing that helps. Only a soak and an odorless soap, though—because recently, your favourite sakura blossom-scented body wash has smelled too acidic for you.
When you’re done, you walk out to your roommate, Wonyoung, sitting on your bed with a stack of clothes neatly placed by her thighs. She looks at you with a scrunched nose, wearing an expression akin to concern. You greet her with a small, tired smile.
“Hey, Y/N. I brought my cotton clothes for you, but are you sure you’re okay?” She stands up and walks closer to you, touching your arms gently. “You don’t look good. And your scent…you’re distressed, Y/N. You need a familiar scent to feel better.”
You give her another dry smile. “I’m okay. Just PMS-ing.”
Wonyoung looks at you like she wants to say something but holds back. She rubs a circle into your arms, and for the first time ever, you can smell her—a soft, gentle scent of jasmine and warm milk, like a milk tea you get from a Chinese store. You sigh and unknowingly lean into the omega’s touch.
“Go to the doctor if it gets worse, Y/N,” Wonyoung urges you with a worry-laced voice. You hum and nod absentmindedly, not registering her words fully until she adds, “I think this is something more than PMS.”
Your stomach churns at her words, feeling the uneasiness crawl its way back into your spine. You wave a dismissive hand at her, attempting to look fine when you’re everything but. “I’ll get better after a nap, I promise.”
Wonyoung purses her lips, then nods. With a few words of comfort, she leaves your room, throwing one last look of worry before the door shuts with a click. You grab one of her cotton pajamas, feeling the smooth fabric with a content sigh and slip it on.
The buzz from your phone cuts your train of thoughts. Your heart leaps at the sight of Riki’s name blaring on the screen, hands scrambling to pick it up on the third ring.
“Y/N?” Riki’s deep timbre greets your ears, and you feel the hair rise in your skin. “Hey, where have you been? Jungwon told me you skipped classes today.”
Gosh, how you missed his voice. Overlapping schedules, his tournament preparations, and your aching body have become the reason for your lack of Nishimura Riki for the past three days. Hearing his voice now tugs something at your heart, like you need to see him now. Like you need to hold him now.
“Y/N?”
“Hey, Ki. I’m fine. Just a bit sore here and there, but it’s all good now,” you lie, because the last thing you want is for Riki to get worried about you and distracted from his practice. He can be a worrywart when he wants to be.
“You sure? Then do you wanna watch my practice now?” he suggests, letting a heartbeat of silence settle between the both of you before he says again, this time with a quieter, almost-shy voice. “I kinda miss your nosy ass.”
That gets a laugh out of you. You, in fact, miss him a lot too. “Glad to know it’s mutual. But what do I get? It’s too cold for me outside.” It’s not even winter yet, but your current condition has been acting like it. You shiver just thinking about stepping out of the comfort of your warm apartment.
“I’ll treat you to some steak after, your highness. And don’t be silly, I have my hoodie with me now.”
Something unknown stirs inside of you at the mention of his hoodie. It’s like something asleep is finally waking up, and your head is dizzy with the thought of his hoodie, his scent, his presence, him, him, him. You hum as a reply, already reaching out to one of Wonyoung’s cotton blouses.
And that reminds you: “It better be cotton, Ki.”
The basketball court doesn’t change from the last time you stepped foot on it, which already feels like years ago with everything that went down between you and your body. Your gaze sweeps over two groups of male players stretching and warming up, looking for a certain dark-haired man. But you stop in your tracks when your nose senses something.
The court smells…weird. You can’t exactly pinpoint what produces that smell, but the source is apparent: it comes from those athletes scattered around the court. You inhale one more time and immediately feel your chest tightens, the urge to turn around and leave suddenly hits you like a truck.
Too lost in your own thoughts, you barely notice the shadow that suddenly looms over your figure until that person speaks.
“Y/N, right?”
You look up and instantly recognise him. Park Jongseong, or Jay, one of Riki’s closest friends from his ‘only-boys’ friend group. You give him a polite nod, noting his still-dry jersey and slightly messy hair.
“Yes, that’s me.”
Jay’s lips curve into a boyish smile at that, and if it’s not for your huge, pathetic crush on Riki, you’d certainly let yourself fall for the handsome boy in front of you. “Riki’s gone to the locker room for a moment to grab something. Why don’t you sit at the bench first? We are about to start the friendly match soon.”
You agree without thinking, drifting further into the court like it’s routine. You’re a familiar face to them—the beta friend of Riki who always sits in the bleachers to watch him stretch and practice. You settle down on the bench at the furthest corner of the court, away from the buzz of alpha players and the smell that is getting pungent by the second, and closer to one of the goal hoops. Jay has gone to leave for a moment, but returns seconds later with a bottle of mineral water, condensed and wet.
“Have a drink first. He should be back soon.”
You receive it with a grateful smile. Riki always mentions how gentleman Jay is, especially towards the ladies. “Thank—”
“Yo, I already got her water.”
Riki strides in your direction, his voice playful but his expression hardens. He shoves Jay to the side, snatches the bottle given by him from your hand, and replaces it with another one. This time, the water bottle is still cold and wet from condensation, but is now wrapped by a few layers of tissues, just the way you like it. “Drink this instead.”
You beam at him. “Thanks, Riki.”
Beside him, Jay scoffs exaggeratedly. “I can’t believe you. Did it look like I was poisoning her?”
Riki doesn’t cast him a glance, his hands fast to untwist the bottle cap for you before you do, and miss the way heat makes its way on your cheeks. “You grabbed the wrong bottle.”
“Dude, they’re literally the same!”
“But did yours have tissues around it?” Riki shoots a brow up, and that makes Jay close his mouth. “Exactly. Now get lost, hyung.”
“Kids these days,” Jay mutters under his breath. He throws you another small smile before walking away with his rejected—or rather, discarded by Riki—mineral water. There is a triumphant smile on the younger’s face before he looks back at you already staring up at him.
Fuck, you probably look lovestruck. But you don’t find it in yourself to care in that moment.
Riki returns your gaze, his eyes trailing across your face before he ruffles your hair playfully. A giggle escapes your lips, trying to smack his hands away but Riki is always stronger than you. And that realisation makes something warm pool inside your belly.
“Is it still cold for you?” he asks, voice lowered and sounding almost intimate. You nod, willing yourself not to grin too wide when he drops his hoodie in your lap. It’s grey, bigger than your frame, and every inch of it smells like him. Like your Riki. “Wear this.”
The tension rolls off your body when you put it on, breathing in a lungful of his clean musk and sandalwood scent discreetly as Riki takes a seat beside you, his thigh brushing yours. For the first time in three days, the unknown force that’s been keeping you on edge quiets down, your chest lightens and your heart hums in contentment.
Safe. You feel safe. Riki has always been your safe space. But this time, you feel like you belong. Protected. You feel like you’ve been carrying the missing piece your whole life, and now it’s finally here.
“Better?” Riki muses from your side, watching you with an unreadable gaze, taking in the sight of your figure practically drowned in his way bigger hoodie. His jaw clenches, fingers twitching slightly before he forces his eyes back on you.
“Yes. Thank God it’s cotton, Ki,” you joke. Riki rolls his eyes.
“You know I only wear cotton.”
“Nishimura Riki!”
From the center of the court, Lee Heeseung, the senior you know to be the team captain, calls for your best friend. He groans, shouting back a ‘coming!’ before glancing back at you.
“Just a few rounds of friendly match then I’m all yours, okay?”
Your heart stutters at that. Then, subtle like it’s meant to be a secret, you notice the way Riki freezes, his nose scrunching slightly at something he senses. When his eyes snap back to you, they’re darker now, heated and heavy with something he won’t say. The short exchange renders you breathless, your voice barely audible when you finally speak.
“Yes. Okay.”
Riki lets his eyes linger on you for a moment before he nods. The warmth of his presence is instantly replaced with silence and coldness when he leaves to begin the match, and your heart deflates at his retreating figure. You grip the bench until knuckle-white, taking a deep breath to soothe your wailing heart, chest suddenly yearning for him to sit back on the bench with you.
“Get a fucking grip, Y/N,” you grit, head dizzy from Riki’s pheromones but your stomach is churning for no apparent reasons. “What the fuck is wrong with you lately?”
You decide to hyperfocus on the match commencing on the court to distract yourself from the confusing yet so consuming feelings that your mind and body have been going through lately. And it works for a while. You almost forgot how attractive Riki looks like when he’s on the court.
As if the universe had chosen him as the new gravity, every fibre of your being is drawn to him and him only. Your eyes follow his figure like a north-end of the magnet to the south, practically documenting his movement like a rolling camera. Riki moves like he dances; smooth and fluid, his reflexes against his opponent are faster than a venus flytrap. His boxy smile graces his features with every goal into the hoops, and you can’t help but let your heart flutter every time his eyes find yours with every point he scores.
You’re in love with Nishimura Riki. Your body knows it, your heart is no old news bearer to this. Heck, you think even your mom and Wonyoung know about this. Everyone does, except the person you love. Except Riki himself.
Loving him is so easy that it scares you sometimes. The hoodie presses on your skin like a symbol of his caring nature and a reminder of his platonic affection altogether.
You let yourself enjoy the match, the squeaking of sneakers against the floor becoming background noises. It’s a steady and peaceful match, or so you thought—until they start shouting.
It’s a friendly match, but an alpha's nature of competitiveness knows no boundaries. Your eyes flick to the scoreboard, the gap between the teams decreasing with each goal.
“Get your shit together, Taesan!” Heeseung barks at someone near the hoop, posture stiff, his booming voice makes your stomach twist. Soon, the air is condensed with adrenaline and rivalry, and before you know it, the palpable tension has already made its way into your head.
Your instincts kick-start at the heavy atmosphere, your nose twitching at the overwhelming pheromones that you sense. You gasp, the pain in your hips and abdomen resurfacing again, and this time you actually feel something shift inside. Your eyes widen in horror.
“Oh my God,” you clutch at the bench in desperation when you feel yourself falling. The floor catches you in a soft thud.
Somewhere in the distance, Heeseung shouts at a mistake the second time, leaving your nerves more restless than before. Your vision blurs, ears ringing with a pitch that is nearly splitting your head open.
The pain, the cramps—they stab deeper, they pulse harder, they scream at you that nothing about this is related to your menstruation. You groan in pain. The pheromones spiking in the air are pressing into your lungs, making every exhale of oxygen a struggle, your head spinning like a planet losing its orbit. Somewhere at the centre of the court, everybody freezes, the ball bouncing away with no one to claim.
Heeseung halts mid-shout. “What the fuck,” he physically recoils at the scent wafting in the air, his nose wrinkling violently, “there’s an omega here?!”
The room holds its breath with him, with you, before heads snap in your direction.
There, on the floor, you’re crouched down, noises of pain leaving your lips in breathless whispers. Your body is dotted with sweat, your temperature rising with each passing second, eyes wide and glassy. Oh God. Oh God. You clutch your stomach with a pained groan. What is happening to me?
It takes an alpha staggering towards you and a growl for all hells to break loose. Shouts come from every direction, Jay having to physically restrain one of their players from jumping on you. And among the chaos, there is one figure who stands still, a statue of anxiety and a pounding heart as his eyes locked on the outline of your body in his hoodie.
Another wail of pain leaves your lips and Riki finally snaps out of his trance. Without thinking, he’s already running towards you, snarling at another player who’s stepping in your direction and shoving him away with no care to the aftermath.
He drops to his knees, angling his body to shield you from the raging alphas behind him. His hands hover, not knowing where to touch or if he should touch you at all.
“Y/N? Y/N, oh my God—what—” Riki chokes on the intense scent oozing from your neck, forcing restrain into his mind and body. His jaw clenches when he sees how pale you are, panic mixing with a strange desire to mark you. To claim you. He shakes his head.
“Riki,” you breathe out, rasp and breathless, shivering from the cold despite your warm body. “It hurts. It hurts…”
Riki’s breath stutters at his name on your lips. It does something violent to his chest, like his ribs are caving in around his heart.
“I know,” he says, voice hoarse, forcing it low despite the way his throat wants to tear itself open. He wraps the hoodie tighter around you, hands finally finding purchase at your arms, your waist—grounding, anchoring. “I’ve got you. You’re okay. You’re okay.”
You’re not. He knows that. He smells it—sharp, sweet, wrong. Too much for this place. Too much for you.
“Everyone back the fuck up,” Riki snarls over his shoulder, teeth clenched as another alpha so much as shifts closer. The sound doesn’t even feel like it comes from him; it’s deeper, rougher, edged with something feral that makes the surrounding players freeze mid-step.
Heeseung recovers first. “Clear the court. Now,” he barks, authority snapping through the haze. “Jay—help me.”
Jay’s already there, shoving bodies away, creating space with his broad frame. “Move. All of you. Unless you wanna get decked.”
Riki barely registers them. His world has narrowed to you—the way you’re trembling, the way your fingers fist weakly into his shirt like you’re afraid he’ll disappear if you let go.
“It hurts,” you whimper again, forehead dropping against his chest. “Riki, it—”
“I know,” he repeats, softer now, forehead pressing briefly to your hair. His hands shake despite himself. “Don’t talk. Just—just breathe with me, okay? Look at me.”
Your unfocused eyes struggle to lift, but when they do and land on him, something in his chest breaks.
That’s it.
Decision made, instincts roaring.
“I’m taking her,” Riki says, already scooping you up carefully, one arm under your knees, the other braced tight around your back. “Someone call an ambulance. Now.”
No one argues.
As he carries you out of the court, ignoring the burning stares and the lingering pheromones that scrape at his skin, one thought pounds through his head, loud and unrelenting:
I should’ve known.
I should’ve protected you.
Riki likes to think that he knows you best.
You have been a constant in his life. Someone less than a companion, more like a feature infused in his system. The vital foundation. Someone that brings out the sides of him that he refuses to show others.
Fifteen years ago, when his family first moved to South Korea, Riki had already expected a dull, boring life. A six-year-old with every knowledge of Japanese but none of Korean, Riki initially thought that his parents were set on making him a loner.
But then came you. Knocking on his door with that small, soft fist of yours, hiding behind your mom’s legs the way he hid behind his mom’s. The both of you shyly looked at each other, listening to your mothers promising friendship and comfort in language that Riki was yet to understand.
Ever since that day, Riki found his life in a foreign country becoming bearable. Bearable, because his next-door neighbour is also his seatmate at school. You have always been the smarter one between the two of you, diligently teaching him how to read, to write, to speak in Korean, with a childlike patience that only someone like you could have.
Bearable, because his next-door neighbour was also a fierce kid, telling other kids off when they made fun of Riki’s accent. You were small, smaller than him, even, but the fire in your eyes when someone spoke badly of him made you seem bigger than the whole sky.
Bearable, because somewhere along the way; between nights of sneaking out and going home scolded, between every basketball match where your voice always sounded the loudest, between every petty fight and shared laughter during study sessions; Riki finally realised the way you have made home in his heart.
The way his eyes find your smile first in every joke. The way he looks for your presence before every game, and every time he scores. The way his heart aches with you when you fall sick, wanting the pain to consume himself instead of you.
Nishimura Riki is in love with you. The world seems to know it—except you.
Riki indulged in it, acknowledged it with his heart and arms open, until the day of his alpha presentation came. It was the first time in his life being away from you, separated from your warmth and presence. He spent restless nights dreaming of you, his instincts flaring at him to run and barge into the house next door.
The same way it does to him now.
Riki likes to think he knows you best, and that includes knowing that you’re a beta—a medical statement that broke his heart when he first found out about it because his mom is so adamant that he mates with an omega.
But now, as he stares at the text sent by your sister, Riki feels like everything he used to know about you dissipates, becoming the very air he inhales that makes his chest feel tighter and limbs heavier. It takes everything in him not to knock on your parents’ house, to force his way in, and cradle you in his arms the way his wolf tells him to.
future sister-in-law
y/n’s presenting as an omega
Two weeks went by in a blur. You drifted in and out of consciousness, your mom and your sister being the only thing you could remember from your fragmented memory. One time you were in the hospital. The next time you opened your eyes, you were back in your childhood room. Your body ached all over; it felt like your bones were shifting into a new spine.
When the daze of anesthetics finally wears off, a new day has already begun.
And you discover the earth-shattering truth with a shudder. It’s not only the day that’s new.
You’re also, apparently, new.
An omega. You’re now an omega.
“A late presentation, though rare, can happen, and your daughter is one of the chosen ones.”
You don’t know how to make of it. You just nod along, thoughts scattered everywhere, nose catching up scents that weren’t there before—or they’ve always been, but your senses only allow you to detect them now. The blooming rose, fresh rain scent of your mom. The citrusy pheromone of the alpha-doctor sitting in front of you. You have come for another check-up, a detailed medical explanation that your doctor has insisted you to listen to when you’re finally stable.
Your chest tightens as the scents sharpen—and you suddenly understand why your family always looked at you like you were missing something.
It settles wrongly on your chest, like a frame hung in a crooked angle. You’ve been wanting this your whole life—to be able to detect scents, to not feel excluded from the women of your family, to have a chance at love with Riki.
It’s not that you hate it. You just don’t know what to do with it yet.
“But that also means that you’re quite fragile for now until your first heat cycle comes,” the doctor speaks again, snapping you out of your thoughts. He gives you a reassuring smile, as if noticing your unfocused self. “And from the test results, it should come in very near time. Perhaps a week or two from now.”
“So soon?” Your mom sits straighter in her seat, leaning closer to peek at whatever medical result on the paper he’s holding. The doctor nods.
“This can only happen to late-presenting omegas. And since her body had developed way past its due age, it can be very dangerous if she spent it alone. She needs an alpha for her first heat cycle.”
That, finally, grabs your attention. Your body stills, the words hanging in the air like guillotine waiting to fall.
“An alpha?” you repeat, sounding disbelieving. The doctor confirms with a hum.
“Yes, a familiar alpha. Based on the examination, it seems that your presentation was triggered by overwhelming and heavy pheromones of agitated alphas. I was informed that you were watching a basketball match before you fainted, correct?” You nod, failing to find your voice to answer. “Omegas are very responsive towards alphas pheromones, especially when those alphas are running on adrenaline and being very competitive.”
Oh. You recall the way Heeseung’s loud voice shook you to your core, finally finding an explanation to the way your body reacted. You shift in your seat, suddenly too aware of your surroundings.
“And to tie it back to your heat cycle, Y/N, are you close with any of those alphas?”
The guillotine finally falls, cutting your oxygen like a cruel punishment meant to kill. You visibly stiffen, a certain face flashing in your mind like a broken record.
It’s your mom who speaks first. “Yes, she is close with Nishimura Riki. He was at the court with her.”
A small smile grazes the doctor’s lips. “Then that may be the safest option. Perhaps he can help with your daughter’s heat, seeing as she has no exclusive partner now.”
The doctor’s words keep looping in your head like a tape stuck on repeat—an alpha…a familiar alpha…
And somehow, you end up outside the locker room, waiting.
Waiting for the one person who has always been your anchor, whether you deserved him or not.
Nishimura Riki.
He steps out of the locker room with his usual lazy confidence, but there is a tension in his shoulders now. His hair is damp from a post-game shower, curly and messy, framing his eyes like velvet curtains. As if he was a radar specialised to sense you, his nose twitches, and then his head snaps in your direction.
There is a brieft silence between the two of you. You raise your hand and wave, and that’s all it takes for Riki to stride towards you with long steps. He drops his bag on the floor, not caring where it lands, and pulls you into his arms.
“Riki—” Your greetings die in your throats, muffled by the soft fabric of his hoodie as he tightens his hold. His palm, big and warm, cradles the back of your head in a firm yet gentle grip. You relax into his embrace, clutching at his hoodie, feeling grounded in his scent. He smells like soap and his own pheromones, and in the quiet, familiar warmth of being engulfed by Riki, you silently admit that your best friend does smell the best.
“God, Y/N,” he whispers, breath fanning the shell of your ears, making your skin tingles, “do you want me to die from worry? No replies, no call back. God.”
Your lips curve into a small smile before you break the embrace, putting a distance between the two of you to look at his face. His handsome, pretty face that you’ve missed so much.
“I’m sorry, Ki. Things were pretty rough.”
Riki doesn’t say anything. His eyes, heavy with care and unspoken desire, rake over your features before he slowly nods.
“I know. I’ve been through it too. How are you now?”
You bite your bottom lip, letting yourself indulge in his caring nature. “I’m good now. A whole lot different, but good.”
Riki’s face relaxes into a relief before he slings an arm around your neck again, his habit that you’re used to now. “Great. Now let me treat you to that steak place, you can’t say no—”
“No, Riki.” You cut him off, and that stops him in his tracks. Riki looks at you in confusion when you detach yourself from him, putting his arm back to his side. You throw the locker room a nervous glance, before looking back at him.
“There’s something…I must tell you.”
Riki’s scent spikes. You feel it like a soft punch in your chest.
“What is it?” he asks, voice too low, like he’s scared of what’s to come.
“I…you know I’m a late-presenting omega, right? The doctor says that I’m quite unstable now,” you swallow, fiddling with the edge of your sweater. The words are heavy on your tongue, like lead pressing on a mattress.
“My heat will come in a week, and…and I must spend it with an alpha to regulate myself back.”
Riki doesn’t move, and so do you. And in that moment, you feel it. The impending consequences that come from telling him the truth. But between losing a friendship with Riki, being denied from his company that’s caused by your unrequited love, and letting yourself into another person’s life, forever yearning for Riki but still remains his friend; you’ll always choose the latter.
Because you’ll have him, as whoever he is; as your friend, your unrequited love, your crush—than a stranger.
“Y/N—”
“I need Jay to be that alpha.”
His eyes darken. “What?” Riki tries to keep it calm, but his voice is low and tight. “What do you mean, Jay?”
You take a deep breath, suddenly feeling the walls too close to your skin. Across from you, Riki is staring with a sharp, heavy gaze, his eyes pleading for an explanation.
He takes a step closer. “Why Jay?”
“I—I mean, you always told me that Jay is a gentleman. And if you trust him so much, then I think…” your voice trails off when Riki takes another step, but you’re determined to stay rooted in your place.
“You think you can trust him just because I do?” He continues for you, his voice now an octave lower. You swallow.
“Not just because you trust him,” you say, voice shaky. “Because… because he’s the only one I know who won’t take advantage of me.”
Riki’s jaw tightens. His eyes narrow as if he’s trying to bite the words out of you.
“You think I would?” he snaps, then immediately regrets the sharpness in his tone.
His expression changes. Softer now, but still intense.
“I would never—”
You shake your head, too quickly. “No, Riki. That’s not what I mean. It’s just—” Your breath hitches, and your voice breaks. “You’re my best friend. I—We can’t. Best friends don’t do that.”
The words hit him like a strong wave, and it might as well be true from the way he falters in his stance slightly. You feel his distress before you smell it; burnt sandalwood and bitter musk, a telltale sign of his emotions. Your heart lurches in your throat, begging you to embrace and comfort the alpha in front of you.
But before you can do anything, Riki takes a step back first. He nods curtly, schooling his expression despite his scent.
Then he speaks, voice low and clipped, like he’s swallowing a scream.
“Yeah. Best friends don’t.”
“Riki—”
“I’ll ask Jay about it,” he says, his voice sounding distant. Your heart breaks. “He’s a gentleman. He’ll be willing to help you.”
Without waiting for your reply, Riki turns around. He snatches his bag off the floor, posture rigid and tense as he walks away, leaving you behind with guilt clawing at your throat. Your legs weaken, and before you know it, you are back on the bench, clutching at your heart and feeling like you have broken something you shouldn’t.
riki ducky
jay agreed
You stare at the text, the last and only text you received from Riki since that fateful day at the locker room. He’s been avoiding you like a plague, keeping distance, and ignoring your texts and calls like you’re a desperate ex. You sigh.
“I just—I don’t want to ruin our friendship! He’s the only alpha I want, but—” you run a hand through your hair. Wonyoung is slouching on the other end of the couch, listening to you like an unpaid therapist. “But does he want me?”
Wonyoung licks her popsicle and throws you a knowing look. “In my opinion, Y/N—you just need to go to his apartment. Trust me on this.”
You groan. “I just asked you that question! We don’t even know if he wants me!”
“Oh my God,” Wonyoung rolls her eyes, kicking at your thigh from where she’s sitting. “You guys are so insufferable and dramatic. Just go before I deliver you to him myself.”
“I’m not a parcel!”
“Just go!”
So, with reluctance and doubt scratching at your skin, you drag your feet to Riki’s apartment. It has been five days since he talked to you, and with your heat approaching fast, with your pre-heat symptoms wearing at your bones like a curse, you’re not sure if it’s the right idea to do so. He might kick you out. He might not even answer. Either way, it’ll be less embarrassing with no witnesses because Riki lives alone.
Stupid rich Japanese kid.
To your surprise, the door opens after the first ring, revealing a disheveled, messy Riki. His hair is tousled, like it’s been run by his fingers way too many times. His tank top sits snugly on his body, slightly crumpled and damp from sweat. His eyes, usually bright and lively, are now sharp and dark. You blink at him, taking in his unkempt figure swallowing the doorway with his height, before you finally ask:
“Can I come in?”
Riki opens the door wider like an invitation, letting you pass the threshold before closing it shut with a click. He lets you toe off your shoes, lets you lead him into the living room, lets you admire his furniture arrangement—though right now the space is untidy with unfolded clothes and discarded socks—but says nothing.
The hush between the two of you stretches, until Riki decides to break it, his voice low and grim.
“Why are you here? You should be with Jay.”
There is a hint of bitterness in his tone, and the spike in his scent just proves it further. You take a step towards him, careful and slow, waiting for his permission. When Riki doesn’t move, when he doesn’t stop you; you take another step.
“Riki,” you start, hands raising to touch his arms but dropping them back. Riki only stares. “What’s wrong, Riki? You’ve been avoiding me.”
Riki doesn’t answer right away, a storm behind his eyes as he only stares at you with a blank face. But the twitch in his jaw doesn’t go unnoticed. “I’m not avoiding you,” he mutters, a barely restrained voice that tugs at your heart. “Just busy.”
“You’re not even replying to me,” you speak again, hearing the crack in your voice. Riki stiffens, his hands clenching into fists. “It—It hurts, Riki. I don’t know why you can’t just talk to me.”
Riki says nothing. His mouth is a prison, staring at you like he’s figuring how to breathe again. His scent reaches you—clean musk and sandalwood—only now it feels heavier, like the fragrance has been pulled down by the weight of his emotions. The sandalwood smells faintly burnt, and the musk has a dull edge, like he’s been holding his breath for too long.
And you hate it. You hate it so much that he’s been keeping things to himself. In another desperate attempt to get him talking, you tug at his wrist, the skin warm under your touch, but you flinch when Riki snatches his hand away. Wide-eyed and caught off guard, you stare at him with your heart in your throat.
Riki takes a step back, his mouth curling into a tight line. “Don’t touch me. I—I can’t deal with this right now.”
There is a jab of pain in your heart at his words, but you’re not backing down. Not now when the only person that you’re scared to lose is showing signs of slipping away. Not now when the wolf inside you is whimpering, agitated from Riki’s actions.
You have an idea where this is all coming from. Truly, you aren’t that stupid to not notice his distance right after you requested to spend your heat with Jay. If you have to point in one direction, you’d say that Riki has been acting like a jealous boyfriend. Surprisingly, that speculation doesn’t bother you.
It’s the why that’s drilling into your mind, pulling you away from a good night’s sleep everyday. It’s the why that’s invading your thoughts, fraying every nerve in your system, keeping you hostage to your own overthinking.
Because admitting them will give you hope—and hope is a dangerous thing when you’re in love. Especially when it’s one-sided. Especially when it’s just you on the boat, drowning like a locked chest into the abyss when your lifeline, your Riki is walking away from the shore.
So you try to brave up. “Please, Riki. Don’t shut me out,” you exhale shakily, the words lodging in your throat, “if this is about me and Jay, you should just tell me.”
That seems to hit a spot. Riki scoffs, weaving his fingers through his already-messy hair, sounding disbelieving. “What, you think I’m jealous?”
Your eyes narrow, pulse racing in your ears. “It does seem like it.”
Riki returns your gaze, clicking his tongue, the one habit he does when he’s annoyed. “Don’t push it, Y/N,” he doesn’t hesitate his next words, eyes locked onto yours like he wants you to digest and understand them. “You can fuck Jay if you want. I couldn’t fucking care less about you.”
The words land like a slap, but it’s Riki who flinches. He stares at you, eyes widening, realisation dawning upon his features. But it’s too late.
Your scent takes a sharp turn, burnt caramel filling the air. You stagger one step backwards, and Riki’s heart lurches when he sees your glassy eyes.
You swallow. “I see.”
“No,” Riki whispers, his wolf wailing in regret at the sight of your anguished, crumbled face, “fuck, Y/N. I—I didn’t mean that.”
You shake your head, a small, humourless laugh slipping past your lips like something is breaking. And it’s probably your heart. It’s definitely your heart. “It’s okay,” you say, too calmly. Too gently. “You don’t have to explain yourself.”
Riki’s chest tightens at that. At how quiet you suddenly are.
You turn away from him, movements stiff, deliberate, like if you move too fast, you’ll shatter. Each step you take feels heavy, your body screaming for you to get out before you embarrass yourself further. Before he sees you cry.
“Y/N, wait!” Riki reaches out instinctively, fingers grazing nothing but air as you slip past him.
You don’t look back. You can’t. Your throat burns, your vision blurring as you make your way toward the door. The apartment feels suffocating now, walls closing in, every trace of his scent pressing down on your lungs.
“I shouldn’t have come,” you murmur, more to yourself than to him. “I’m sorry.”
Sorry for hoping.
Sorry for loving him.
Sorry for thinking you meant more.
The click of the door unlocking sounds painfully loud in the silence.
“Y/N.”
His voice cracks this time. Not sharp. Not defensive. It’s bare.
You pause, hand resting on the handle, shoulders trembling despite your efforts to stay composed. Your scent curls tighter, darker—burnt sugar and salt, grief bleeding into the air.
“I can’t stay here,” you say softly. “Not if that’s how you feel.”
The door opens a fraction before Riki’s hand slams against it, stopping it from opening any further.
You gasp, startled, heart leaping into your throat as his palm presses flat against the wood beside yours. He’s breathing hard now, chest rising and falling like he’s been running after something he’s terrified to lose.
“I said I didn’t mean it,” he forces out, voice rough, desperate. “Don’t—don’t leave. Please.”
Slowly, you turn back to look at him.
Riki’s eyes are red-rimmed, frantic, his scent spiraling wildly—clean musk fractured, sandalwood raw and aching, like it’s been split open. He looks nothing like the composed alpha who pushed you away moments ago.
“I can’t let you walk out like this,” he says, quieter now, like a confession he’s been holding back for years. “Not because of something I said just to hurt you.”
His fingers curl against the door, knuckles white.
Your lips tremble as the dam breaks. “Then why,” you sob, pushing at his chest weakly, “why would you say those things? Why would you push me away?”
Your hands feel useless against his broad body, like you’re trying to hold back a storm with nothing but your fingertips. Your breath comes out in ragged bursts, and you can’t stop the hot tears spilling down your cheeks. The air around you feels heavy, thick with the scent of him — sandalwood and something sharper, like his anger clinging to him even now.
“I know, I’m sorry, baby,” his voice is quiet, not at all budging from your soft hitting. It’s strange how calm he sounds when you feel like you’re breaking apart. He grabs your wrists, bringing them to his lips. His mouth is wet, trembling.
You pause.
His lips brush your skin again, a gentle pressure that feels almost reverent. It makes your heart twist, because you don’t know whether to feel comforted or crushed. You’re still shaking, still sobbing, still trying to understand how he could make you feel so safe and so hurt in the same breath.
“I care about you too much. So much that it drives me crazy.”
Riki finally looks up, his glassy eyes mirroring yours. The sandalwood now hangs bare in the air, stripped of any traces of pride. He looks smaller, like the weight of what he’s feeling is pressing him down.
“I’m so fucking jealous, Y/N. I—I can’t,” Riki swallows, closes his eyes in desperation, and then he drops.
He drops to his knees, and the sudden movement makes your breath hitch. His neck cranes to see you, like he needs to make sure you’re still there. His arms, pliant and strong, wrap themselves around your waist, pulling you in like you’re the only thing that keeps him from falling apart.
You can feel his heartbeat through his chest, fast and wild, matching your own. For a moment the world is just the two of you—his scent, his trembling breath, your tears—everything else fading until all that exists is the raw, aching truth between you.
Riki buries his nose into your stomach, the fabric dampens with his tears. “I’m sorry, so sorry, Y/N. Please, and this time I mean it, please don’t go to Jay.”
Your hands hover at your sides, not knowing where to place them. When you feel the muffled sob against your stomach, you finally let them drop into his hair, caressing the strands like you do a puppy. And right now, in this position and situation, Riki doesn’t seem less than one.
“Riki…” you whisper, soft and gentle.
“Please don’t go to Jay,” he pleads, looking up to you again, tears clinging to his lashes. Your heart clenches at the sight. “Please let me be your alpha. Please,” he confesses, gripping at your shirt like a lifeline.
“I only ever know to love you, Y/N,” he trembles like a dead leaf, his breath shaky, “And it kills me to even imagine you with someone that’s not me.”
Your lips part, your hands in his hair stilling.
I only ever know to love you, Y/N.
You don’t move at first. You think you don’t even breathe. You replay his words, re-reading the sentence in your mind as if scared the alphabets might rearrange themselves into something else—something that would call you out of your delusion.
But Riki, staring up at you earnestly, handing his heart over to you in his trembling palms, is not a delusion. He’s real. And he’s here, with you, saying words you only ever heard in your deepest fantasies.
You feel your shoulders sag a fraction, like something heavy just settled into place.
“Riki, come here.” You tap slowly at his arms, willing yourself to hide your shaky voice. “You’ll hurt your knees, baby. Come here.”
“Come back to me.”
Riki obeys without thinking twice. His height towers over you, and when it used to feel like he’s as far to reach as he is physically from you; now it feels safe. It feels firm, grounded; a protection only he can give you.
You cup his cheek, gazing into his eyes with a fondness you reserve only for him. The tears come back, but it’s not from pain anymore. There is a tinge of hurt still, from the words he carelessly threw to protect his pride. But his confession, your revelation, take priority now. It presses heavy on your tongue, begging to be let out, to escape from the misery of your unspoken feelings.
“Riki,” you start, almost breathless. “I love you, too.”
Riki almost stops breathing, but you keep caressing his cheeks to remind him to. To remind him that it’s true.
“I’ve always been. Even before I knew what it meant.”
Riki takes in a sharp breath before he lets himself lean into your touch. Pulling you into his arms, he buries his nose into your hair, inhaling lungfuls of your scent like a stray cat finally finding a home. You melt into his embrace, feeling every hard line of his body pressing into yours.
“I’m so sorry for feeling scared,” Riki whispers, still wet from tears, “I don’t want to ruin our friendship. You’re too precious to me, Y/N. I can’t risk that.”
You hum into his shoulders, taking in the way his scent becomes warmer, the sandalwood now is rid of its burnt edge. “I’m still hurt, but I get it. I was scared too, Ki. It’s the only reason why I asked for Jay.”
Apparently, Jay’s name serves as a trigger now. Riki breaks the hug and looks into your eyes, now dark with a desire waiting to be unleashed. He cups your jaw in a gentle manner, but the grip is firm.
“Will you let me take care of you?”
You nod, and when his face leans closer to yours, you let yourself get pulled in by the force of his affection; of the desire now curling and swirling in his eyes.
“Will you let me be your man?” he whispers, lips just a breath away from each other now. Riki noses your cheek with a tenderness akin to handling a glass. “Hm? Answer me, Y/N.”
Your breath hitches. “Yes, Riki. Please take care of me.”
Riki’s eyes soften as he stares into your eyes before he finally lets his lips engulf yours. The kiss starts slow at first, careful and tender and wet, tethering on the new boundaries made after a line has been crossed, before it gets heated and needy.
Riki kisses like a starved man, like your mouth is a well of water to quench his thirst. His hands now wander; gripping at your waist, squeezing at your hip, feeling your body with his rough, calloused hands like he’s trying to memorise you by touch.
“Fuck,” he groans into your mouth, his body pressing into yours. He breaks the kiss, breath now ragged, and stares at you with a new level of depth that makes something inside you flutter. Your eyes are glassy and dazed, and Riki curses at himself for letting himself get carried away.
“I’m so sorry. Is your heat near?”
When you nod, Riki moves slightly, but your hands are faster, clamping around his arms like a pair of cuffs. “Where are you going?” there is a pout in your voice, and Riki near damn coos. “You said you’ll take care of me.”
Riki’s jaw clenches, his hands flexing at his sides, a barely contained desire that he tries so hard to control. “I—I want to, Y/N, trust me. But this—” he gestures at the both of you, trying to create words from air, “this will change everything about us. We can’t stay as just friends after this. And that’s a big thing, Y/N.”
Riki licks his lips, eyes flicking to yours in a brief glance before he looks to the floor again.
“I don’t want you to make hasty decisions or regret anything.”
Your chest swells at that, and you couldn’t help the grin that splits across your face. Rubbing into his arms in soothing circles, you can’t keep the love and affection from bleeding into your voice when you speak.
“I won’t regret anything with you, Riki.” You pause, watching the man before you earnestly. God, he’s so handsome. You smile. “I want to do this with you, Ki. I choose you. And I’ll have you so long you want to have me, too.”
Riki doesn’t move. His eyes search yours, looking for the faintest hint of discomfort and lies. But when all he can see is your eyes reflecting his love, he finally lets the tension off his shoulders.
“Okay,” Riki nods, wetting his lips once more. “Okay. I—thank you for that, Y/N, truly. I was about to kidnap you if you said no.”
You laugh at that, eyes wrinkling in joy, the tension easing up a bit. Riki touches your cheek, thumb brushing your tears slowly before letting go.
“Can you wait in my bedroom? I need to call your mom first. She needs to know that I’m about to eat her daughter alive.”
A rosy heat blooms across your face before you hit his shoulders playfully. Riki throws you a smirk, shrugging with nonchalance.
“What? Aren’t I a good future son-in-law?”
“Oh, shut up.” You roll your eyes, but the wide grin you have betrays you completely. “Be quick, Ki. Don’t leave me for too long.”
“Oh, I will, baby. I’m a greedy man after all.”
Riki winks, and you groan. To save yourself from further embarrassment, you make a small run for his bedroom, feeling his eyes boring holes into your skull as you leave.
The living room seems to expand in your absence. Riki lets out a low, dark chuckle. He pockets his phone out of his sweatpants and makes a quick dial to your mother.
It’s just a brief call, with him letting your mother know what’s going to go down in less than forty-eight hours, listening to the relief in her voice when she realises it’s going to be him. After giving her his words of promises, Riki finally heads to his room.
The door creaks open and in an instant, a heavy, thick wave of vanilla scent washes over him. Riki staggers, gripping his phone in an attempt to recover from the smell of arousal practically dripping in the air.
His eyes find you on the bed, and the sight nearly takes his breath away.
There, perched on the bed, body slicked with sweat and completely naked, is you. You’re hugging his blanket to your nose, inhaling his pheromones, dizzy from his masculine, earthy sandalwood.
Your eyes meet his, glassy and dazed, drunk on hormones and heat.
“It’s hot, Riki,” there are wet noises coming from you, and only then does he realise that you have been fucking yourself on your fingers, using your own slick as lube. Riki feels his cock throb, eyes tranced on the way your hips move. “Smell so good, alpha, need you to fuck me.”
Your heat is here, and the trigger has been his own pheromones, which smells the strongest in his room. Riki curses under his breath, mentally slapping himself for overlooking the effects his pheromones over omega nearing their heat. He pushes the door close with his foot, not breaking eye contact with you as you moan, fingers moving faster.
Riki’s hold on his phone is knuckle-white, feeling the restraint leaving his body with every inhale of your intoxicating scent.
“Alpha,” you pant, fisting at his blanket closer, and Riki swears he’s leaking precum. “Need you s’bad. Please.”
Riki wills himself to not jump on you, hands clenching and unclenching as he tries to steady his own breathing.
It’s probably the hardest he’s ever tried.
Closing his eyes, he forces control into his system, chanting like a mantra that he’s here to help you with your heat, to make it less painful for you. That now it’s about you and not him, and Riki will pull the trigger himself if he ever touches you in any way that you don’t consent to.
Taking one last breath, Riki opens his eyes again. This time, there is a primal need lurking in his gaze, but it feels grounded and controlled. He circles the bed slowly, letting your noises greet his senses like music of sins. He puts his phone on the bedside and turns to face you, still not saying anything.
You scramble to kneel on the bed and pull him close by his waistband, fingers soaked and shaking. Your big, misty eyes peer at him through your lashes, practically begging him to take you.
“Riki, please.”
His rough palm cups your cheeks, breath getting shallow and short.
“Please what, baby?” he finally speaks, low and sensual. You pout.
“Please fuck me, alpha.”
Riki groans and finally, finally, leans down and captures your mouth in a rough kiss. You sigh, tugging his hair as you deepen the kiss. Your teeth clash against his, his tongue licking into your mouth, pushing back your moans into your throat.
“Such a needy baby,” he rasps, grabbing your hips as he moves you to the center of the bed, manhandling you with ease. You bite your lips at the show of his strength. “Can’t even wait for me, hm? Should I just leave you with your fingers?”
You shake your head frantically, choking out a moan when Riki slides up his clothed knee against your folds. “No, please. Need your fingers. Need your cock, Riki.”
“Yeah?” Riki taunts, his eyes darkening as you hump your cunt on his knees, desperate for friction and release. He leans down, silver chain dangling cold against your hot skin, catching the shell of your ear with his teeth.
“Tell me how much you need it, baby,” he purrs, leaving hot trails down the side of your throat. You tilt your head back, offering your neck like a meal. And what a fucking meal you are to him. “Tell me how badly you need my thick cock in your pussy right now.”
He sucks on the tender skin to leave a mark before moving to litter more of it on your skin. You mewl, gripping his shirt desperately.
“Need you to—ah—need your cock to fill me up,” you whimper, arching your back when Riki descends, closing his mouth around one of your nipples. He sucks on it like he does a lollipop, flicking his tongue at the perky nipple, his other hand kneading your other boob. “Need you to fuck me until I can’t think—ah! Riki!”
His finger finds your clit and flicks the nub, pressing and rolling it with a precision that has you choke on lust. “I’ll fuck you good baby,” he rasps, watching you with his sharp, dark eyes, capturing your expressions into his memory. His sweatpants tighten painfully. “But I need to prepare you first, hm?”
“No,” you sob, hips bucking into his touch. Riki’s eyes never leave yours, his arm still holding himself strong over your body. “I’m ready. Just fuck me, please.”
Riki coos and kisses your tear-stricken face. “I know, baby. You’re fucking soaked down there.” He groans, feeling another slick ooze out of your hole as if proving his point. Riki bites his lip. “But I don’t wanna hurt you—fuck, you’re grinding on my palm, baby.” Riki lets out a dark chuckle, letting you use his palm to get off. “So fucking greedy.”
You whine when he removes his hand, your hole clenching at nothing. Riki pulls your ankle to the edge of the bed, hooking your legs over his shoulders as he slowly kneels for the second time that night, his hot breath fanning on your weeping cunt.
He draws a lungful of your arousal and groans, the scent wrapping around him like a warm blanket.
Caramel and vanilla fill his lungs, and for a moment his whole body stills—like he’s been struck by how perfectly you’re made for him. Riki holds your gaze, refusing to look away when he licks a fat stripe on your folds.
“Oh!” Your hand flies to tug at his hair, a sob escaping your lips. Riki laps at your cunt again, humming at the sweet taste on his tongue, flicking that muscle between your slits before pressing onto your clit. You choke, squishing his head between your thighs.
“So good, alpha, feels so good,” you cry out, grinding on his tongue as he plays with your clit. “‘M close, gonna come, ah, ah—”
The orgasm jerks your entire body, your vision going white for a few seconds. But Riki doesn’t stop. His eyes are hooded as he drinks in your juice, lapping at your folds without wasting a single drop before he slips in his index finger.
Your body arches off the mattress. “Riki!” You scream, the stretch burns but it burns so fucking good. He slides in another digit, finger-fucking you through another orgasm, caressing and pressing the spongy walls with all the fervor of a hungry man. His tongue continues flicking your clit, the numb bundle of nerves sending a tingling sensation across your body.
Tears brim along your lashline, too drunk on lust and heat pheromones and overstimulation. “‘M close, Riki, ah,” you pull his hair, eliciting a groan that vibrates in your pussy. “Riki!”
Your second climax hits you in shockwaves. The man between your legs kitty-licks your pussy, letting you ride out your orgasm before he climbs onto your figure. His mouth and chin are wet from your slick, lips shining with sin and spit.
“You taste divine, my love,” he pops his fingers into his mouth and makes a show of his tongue swirling around his cum-coated digits, sucking on the remnants of your juice. You mewl. “I can eat you out forever.”
You watch him grin, still breathless from your previous orgasm. But the heat crawls back into your nerves and before you know it, you’re wet again, needy again. Riki knows it, of course he does. He settles himself between your legs, peeling off his drenched tank top.
Your mouth waters at his well-defined body. You’ve always known how hot your best friend is, especially after his alpha-presentation. He’s all muscles and sinful lines, sculpted by the Greek gods themselves. Riki knows he’s hot, and he never fails to show you that he knows; if his smirk is anything to go by.
“My baby’s been waiting for my cock, aren’t you?” His thumb grazes your bottom lip with a gentleness that clashes with the hunger in his eyes. You hum, feeling his eyes soften on you.
Riki leans down and gives you a soft, slow kiss. He pecks the tip of your nose before caressing your cheek with his. Inside, your omega purrs in satisfaction at the display of affection.
“Tell me if it’s too much, yeah?”
You nod. Riki nudges your nose with his, his mouth curving into a small smile. “Use your mouth, baby.”
“Yes.” You breathe out, and your legs hook around his waist without thinking, pulling him closer. You grind your bare cunt against his clothed length, slow at first, then faster, as if you need to prove something to yourself. The fabric presses into you, and the friction sends a shock through your nerves. Riki groans, a disbelieving chuckle leaving his lips before he straightens up.
His eyes never leave you. “So impatient,” he sighs, his voice low and amused.
He yanks his sweatpants and boxer off in one go, hissing when his cock springs free, rock-hard and rigid. You almost drool at the sight.
He’s big. Fuck, he’s too damn big.
“Cat got your tongue, baby?” Riki grunts, stroking his cock in languid motions, slicked with his precum, watching your face like a predator stalking its prey.
Your eyes stay glued to him, glazing over in a trance. You can’t stop staring, like you’re afraid to blink and lose the image.
“So big,” you murmur, your voice shaking.
Riki can’t help the triumphant smirk on his face, his alpha howling in pride.
“Too big, alpha, fuck.”
“I know,” he rasps, lining his cock against your entrance,“I don’t even know if it will fit.”
Then, with a single thrust, he slides in. You gasp, the sting blooming sharp and hot before melting into something dizzying, your stomach tightening as if it’s being pulled inward around him.
“But you will make it fucking fit.”
Riki pushes in inch by inch, noting every micro-expression of discomfort in your pretty face, your breath stuttering, hands gripping at him as the pressure curls low in your belly.
“Tell me if it hurts, love.”
“It hurts,” you croak, the words breaking apart on your tongue, wrapping your arms around his neck, mouth moving against mouth. “But it hurts so good, Riki.”
Riki kisses you through the pain, whispering comfort and praises into your ears, easing you into it. When he finally bottoms out, you almost sob again, the fullness stretching deep, heavy and overwhelming, heat pooling in your stomach until it feels like you can’t think past it.
“Still good?” Riki asks, jaw clenching at the feeling of your walls hugging his length. You nod, feeling the tension in your muscle unclench.
“Y-You can move now, Riki.”
Something dark glints in his eyes. “I can’t fucking move, baby,” he chuckles lowly, the sound torn and breathless, vibrating straight into you, “your pussy’s sucking me in.”
You moan at his crude words, your walls clenching around his dick. Riki lets out a curse before sliding out and thrusting back in with a snap of his hip. You scream, the sound sharp and unplanned, nails scratching his arms as your stomach clenches tight.
“S’tight, love,” he gives you another sharp thrust, hitting that sweet spot easily, breath mingling with yours. “Pussy so tiny, baby, fuck,” he growls into your ears. You nod, mind turning mushy from heat and pleasure. “Can you feel me deep inside your—fuck—tight cunt,” he pants, each word making your belly flutter helplessly, shoving his cock with a powerful thrust that has you seeing stars, “filling you up with my fat cock?”
“Yes!” you sob, voice cracking, breath hitching between syllables, wetting your face with another round of tears. The air smells of pheromones and sex, slicked bodies tangled in sheets. “More, more, more, please.”
“So fucking good to me,” Riki stares you down, eyes clouded with lust, drinking in the way your breasts jingle every time his hips meet yours. He moans. “You’re so beautiful, my pretty baby. Were you gonna let Jay see you like this?”
Your walls instinctively clench at the image, your stomach dropping hot and heavy, and Riki lets out a dark, wicked laugh at that. His gaze sharpens, his pace getting rougher and sharper as he looks at you with newly-lit fire in his eyes.
“You’re so fucking shameless,” he spits.
You whine from his harsh words, but your body only responds more, slick pooling hotter between your legs. The shame digs into your ribs, but the need overrides it.
Riki’s jaw twitches.
“Were you gonna beg for his cock, huh? You think he can fuck you good like this?”
“No—Riki, no—only you—ah, oh God.”
His thrusts don’t slow. They become relentless, each one harder than the last, his hips snapping in a steady rhythm that leaves you breathless. Your moans bounce off the walls, high and broken, tangled with the wet sound of skin meeting skin, as you shake your head, shame and lust clawing at your throat.
Riki lifts your hips and grabs your ass, the new angle making you roll your eyes in pleasure. You bite down on your lip, trying to hold back the sound, but the sensation is too much.
“Yes, yes—there! Fuck, Riki, more, please,” you moan, high-pitched and broken, feeling the familiar rush inside your belly.
His breath comes out ragged, his body leaning forward like he’s trying to bury himself into you. The heat between you tightens, and you can feel the way his length presses deeper with each thrust.
“I’m never letting go, baby,” Riki pants, damp fringes framing his eyes, his thrust growing faster and sloppy. “This pussy is fucking mine.”
“‘M yours,” you slur, mind turning fuzzy from the feeling of his cock splitting you open. “I’m only—ah—yours!”
“That’s right, baby,” Riki growls, pressing into your hips with a bruising grip. His breath is frantic, his voice pitching into a higher tone. “You’re fucking mine, shit—I’m close.”
“Please give me your knot—ah!” You scream, begging for his knot and cum incoherently, drool trailing down your chin. A stuttered moan leaves your chest when Riki thumbs at your clit, bringing you closer to the edge. His bulge is growing inside you, and you shudder in anticipation for his knot.
“Take my fucking knot,” he grunts, and you nod, mind going hazy from being fucked dumb.
“Knot—give me your knot—alpha—I’m—close! Oh God, Riki!” His name tears off your throat in a shrill scream, drowning out Riki’s low, guttural growl as he comes with you. His cock inflates inside your belly, pumping into you full and stretched, riding out the waves before he collapses on top of you, careful not to let his weight crash over you.
“Hey,” Riki whispers after a pause, brushing your hair from your forehead, his heart clenching at the sight of your tears. “Baby, is it too much? You good?”
You let out a low hum, closing your eyes as Riki peppers your face with kisses. Your body feels heavy, pleasantly spent, limbs loose like you might melt straight into the mattress if he lets go.
“M’good,” you murmur, voice thick and sleepy. “Just… a lot.”
Riki exhales, something like relief softening his features. He shifts carefully, cautious of the knot still swelling inside your belly, adjusting the sheets around you both, one hand resting warm and steady on your waist like an anchor. “Yeah,” he whispers, brushing his thumb under your eye. “I figured.”
He stays like that—no rush, no urgency—just tracing slow, absent patterns against your skin, grounding you back into yourself. Every now and then, he presses a kiss to your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth, like he’s checking that you’re still here with him.
“You did so good,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “So brave.”
Your chest tightens at that, but this time it’s not overwhelming. It’s gentle. Safe. You shift closer, instinctively tucking yourself against him, and Riki immediately wraps his arms around you, pulling you in without hesitation.
“I love you,” Riki whispers into your hair. The thrill and adrenaline finally die down, leaving behind small tingles of love and affection that makes your chest feel too small. You tighten your hold.
“I love you too, Riki,” you sigh, feeling another wave of heat coursing through your veins. Shit. You almost forgot that you’re in heat. Riki only laughs when he feels your hole pushing out more slick.
“My baby’s so horny, yeah?”
“It’s the heat!” You hide your face in his chest, cheeks burning, then peek one eye open at him. Riki’s starry eyes hold yours, unhurried, like he has nowhere else to be but in your arms. You shy away. “Can we do another round? Please?”
He laughs, a deep, throaty laugh that warms up your chest. Planting a gentle kiss on your forehead, Riki meets your pleading eyes with a boxy grin.
“Of course we can, my love,” he murmurs, “anything for you.”
A comfortable silence falls over you like a weighted blanket. Riki rubs his nose against your scent gland, basking you in his warm sandalwood and clean musk, feeling you grow relaxed in his arms as you wait for the knot to deflate before you speak again.
“And can you actually bring me to that steak place after my heat ends?”
Riki snorts quietly. “Yeah,” he says, tightening his hold on you. “I’ll take you anywhere you want.”
٠࣪⭑ pairing: pitcher!vernon chwe x f!reader
٠࣪⭑ for: the aju league collab! hosted by @sailorsoons and @100vern
٠࣪⭑ chapter summary: you and vernon grow a little too close for comfort.
٠࣪⭑ genre: fake dating au! exes to friends to lovers. comedy, fluff, eventual smut, a little angst (sorry but it's not fake dating without it)
٠࣪⭑ chapter: 2 of 5 (complete), posting weekly
٠࣪⭑ rating: explicit. minors do not interact, i'll block you.
٠࣪⭑ chapter warnings: kissing, a therapy session, talk of divorcing parents, reader has a shopping addiction, lack of baseball/nyc knowledge from author (i tried!), and an unrealistic amount of free time for vernon as a result (oops). weird family dynamics, and overly-involved friends who love each other deeply, please forgive them! unbeta'd, because this got so fucking long and i can't ask my poor, wonderful, friends to read all that for me.
if you think i've forgotten anything please let me know so i can fix my post!
٠࣪⭑ chapter wc: 9.6k, fic total 60k+ (may change while editing)
٠࣪⭑ a/n: happy soft launch day! thank you for all the love so far! i appreciate you <3
٠࣪⭑ thank yous: enormous thank u 2 hali and jewel for hosting the collab! and double thanks to jewel for making this banner, she always makes such fun ones! go check out the rest of the aju league fics!
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
“Have you been using the exercises we discussed last time?”
“Hm. Uh– no?”
You hate this room, in its inauthentic neutrality. Off-white walls, bleh coloured carpet, decor that is so obviously mass produced and overpriced for the sad beige aesthetic. You suppose it was designed as such so it’s less distracting for people looking for joy in their lives.
Wonwoo pushes his glasses up his nose, and looks at you blankly. He does this a lot, the psychology trick manipulators use to make idiots talk. You’re no idiot.
“Okay so the thing is,” you say quickly. “I actually don’t need therapy for my shopping addiction anymore. I’m cured.”
“You’re cured?” he says, tilting his head.
“Yes,” you say. “I came here to break up with you.”
“Oh,” Wonwoo says. “You don’t actually need to do that, you could’ve sent me an email.”
“You want me to break up with you via email? Isn’t that rude?”
“Not when it’s your therapist. I’m not your partner.”
“Huh–” you say. “Well then I owe my ex an apology.”
Wonwoo almost laughs. Damn, so close.
“Last time we saw each other you were pretty anxious about your debt, and how you couldn’t stop spending. What makes you think you’re cured?”
You fiddle with the stress toy, the same one Wonwoo had pressed into your hands in your first session. Some beige (of course), silicone, squeezy, poppy thing. “Well my friends cut up my credit cards.”
“Okay?”
“And then my other friend paid off all my debt. I didn't ask. He offered.”
“Wow,” says Wonwoo, and it’s obvious he doesn’t believe you. “That’s very generous.”
“He’s mega rich. Like crazy insane rich. It was like pocket change for him, probably.”
“Would this be the new boyfriend?” Wonwoo asks. You stare at him. You’re 99.99r% sure you hadn’t mentioned Vernon in the last few minutes. “I didn’t mean to pry. My girlfriend reads gossip sites, and she tells me everything of interest.”
“Hm. Yes, okay–” you say, a little reluctantly. Wonwoo has been known to pull secrets from you that you haven’t been ready to admit. “Vernon paid off my cards.”
“I don’t quite understand how this equates to you being cured.”
You blink at him. “Uhhh. Well I don’t have access to my credit cards so–”
“But are you spending from your checking account?” He asks, and you’re at a loss for words. That’s money you already have. That’s not something you’ll have to pay back with interest. “Is that a new bag?”
You curse yourself for bringing it. A like-new secondhand Balenciaga bag is still a Balenciaga bag. “I had the money,” you say, defensive.
And ever so gently, Wonwoo reminds you– “You also had the urge to buy it.”
The silence in the room feels suffocating. Just for you, you presume, since Wonwoo looks as comfortable as ever, and you feel like you're being throttled. Because he's right. Yes, the debt is gone. Yes, you feel a little (lot) freer. And yes, you still can't walk past your favourite stores without going in. Yes, you're still scrolling on Depop for a vintage Burberry bag that'll go perfect with your fall trench coat. Yes, you're still looking for little thrills that come with the confirmation of purchase email notification.
"We've touched on the underlying reasons for your shopping addiction before," Wonwoo says. "How have things been with your parents lately?"
You swallow. Turn to stare out the window and watch the sway of the treetops outside. "We haven't talked much."
Talking about them proves difficult, still, because doing so feels a little like a betrayal. They weren't bad parents. You were fed and clothed and loved, in their way. They just have their issues, like everyone else on earth. In truth, you know your issues stem from theirs. Bearing witness to their fights meant finding solace in your bedroom, in your few toys, in the headphones your cousin gave you, that only got loud enough to drown out the noise if you pressed them really hard against your ears. Your collections started on your desk. Pokemon cards, beanie babies, special pens. Mostly bought by your favourite grandmother, a collector in her own right. Those moved underneath a loose floorboard when your parents stopped seeing it as quirk and made loaded comments about frivolity and wastefulness, and which one of them you inherited that trait from. And while you were lucky, in a way, that their anger was never directed at you, it never made you feel less responsible for it.
Talking to them proves worse. The messages remain unread, because opening them means opening other cans of worms like 'when are you coming to visit?' and 'you're coming to mine for Thanksgiving this year, right?' Because they love you, deeply, but can't stand the mention of the other, it always seems like they're in secret competitions for the favourite parent award. And though you love them too, being caught in the middle isn't a position you'll put yourself in again.
"Are they happy for you, about your new relationship?"
You pick at a loose thread on your sleeve. It's an old sweater. Needs replacing. "I'm sure they are," you say. "They always liked Vernon. More so, now that he's famous."
"They knew him before that?"
"We grew up together. And we dated in high school, too."
"Why do you think they like him more now that he's famous?"
You shrug. "They like status, I guess. Or like, achievements they can attach themselves to. Is that narcissism?"
Wonwoo pushes his slipping glasses back up his nose. "It can be a trait, sure. What other sorts of things do they do that makes you ask?"
You chew on your lip. Wonwoo's got you talking, again.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Vernon comes straight from his game on Saturday. He's freshly showered, hair a little damp and sticking up funny when he takes off his cap. He'll buzz it soon, you imagine, but he suits it this length. There's a chorus of hello's from the living area as he toes off his shoes, and you're at the counter pouring chips and salsa into bowls and this time, you're prepared. This time, he texted you while he was on his way over, and said:
nonie [21:18] so should i kiss u when i get there
You [21:20] 🤢 i guess
nonie [21:20] be more disgusted
You [21:20] 🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢
So yeah. You're mentally ready to be kissed by Vernon. It's fine. NBD flashes in neon behind your eyes. It'd look weird if you weren't the one to kiss him as he came through the door, which is exactly why you've been busying yourself in the kitchen for the last five minutes, just for an excuse to be too busy to make out with your 'boyfriend'. So when he makes his way over to you, plants a chaste kiss on the corner of your lips, you press one back against the corner of his, and it's totally fine. It's like kissing your grandmother, if grandmother were a hot baseball pl–
Whatever. The problem is Lara. "Are you fucking nuns or something?"
"I haven't fucked a nun ever," Vernon retorts, and a laugh bursts out of you.
He grins sidelong your way and winks. You can feel everyone else in the room staring at you, Joshua in particular.
"Ha ha," Lara deadpans. "What's up with the church kisses?"
"We decided earlier that instead of watching Speed, we're gonna stand in front of the TV and make out," you say, as Vernon takes his seat on the couch next to Seungcheol. With Lara sprawled on the floor, and Joshua in the armchair by the window, that leaves little room for you. Usually you'd take the couch, and whoever arrived last would share the floor cushions with Lara. But that's not what'd happen with a boyfriend and they all know it. "Y'know, since y'all wanna see it so bad."
"That's probably hotter," says Seungcheol.
"Pervert," you rebuke, setting the bowls down on the table, and Joshua presses play.
There's the briefest moment of hesitation. Vernon's looking at you expectantly, Joshua's eyes narrow, and Seungcheol glances up at you hovering there and says, "Are you gonna get out the way or–" so climbing into Vernon's lap is the only thing you can do. Okay. It's fine. It's No Big Deal that one arm wraps around your waist and the other under your thighs, so he can manoeuvre you into a more comfortable position on top of him.
Usually, with a partner, you’d already be draped over them like a decorative scarf. Limbs tangled, fingers toying with their hair, mouth too close to their neck, whispering things you don’t even mean in their ear just to elicit a reaction. You’re tactile, you’re clingy, and you’ve been called a menace one too many times, and everyone in this room knows that. So when you settle on Vernon’s lap and just… sit there, hands in your lap and ignoring the way his own rests awkwardly on your knee, it’s all wrong. Joshua’s eyes flick from the TV to you again.
And so you adjust. Sling an arm around his neck, fingers brushing the short hair at the nape. It's safe territory. Something almost familiar. You lean back into him like you should belong there, like you always do this, and Vernon stiffens for exactly half a second, but he catches on quick. His other hand slides down your middle, palm warm and firm over your ribs, thumb slipping just under the hem of your top. Less familiar. It's been a decade since this familiar. On screen, the security guard is beefing it, but Vernon's hooking his chin over your shoulder to see better, and his breath tickles your neck. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Joshua turning back to the TV.
"Good job," Vernon whispers into your ear, and the feel of it runs a shiver down your spine.
You turn to face him, offer a sweet smile, and he eyes you with suspicion. You lean in close, huff a harsh breath against the shell of his ear just to see how he likes it, and you're rewarded with a full body shudder. Makes you laugh under your breath but the noise still draws pointed looks from Seungcheol.
Time moves in slow motion, watching Speed, acutely aware of Vernon, absentmindedly drumming his fingers against the seam of your sweats. Keanu's first scene, rescuing the staff in the lift has you and Joshua exchanging waggling eyebrows.
"He's the only cop I'd ever fuck," Lara says, handing you the popcorn.
"Real," you sigh dreamily, taking the bowl and angling it toward Vernon, who pops a few pieces in his mouth. "He's so fine."
"Respect your honesty, babe," he says, dryly.
"Relax, babe, he's in 1994."
This earns his fingers prodding into your middle, and a sharp elbow to the chest for him. A sharper gasp, and a whispered "asshole" has you working to school your sardonic smile into something affectionate.
The movie gets more intense, the bus won't slow down but time in this room barely moves. Seungcheol, bless his heart, is painfully oblivious of the way you and Vernon just aren't into each other, but you keep catching Joshua and Lara looking, with scepticism written all over their faces. You're gonna have to convince them.
Tipping your head back against Vernon's shoulder gives you access to his neck, and you follow the way his eyelashes fan down, carefully watching the way you move. In his ear, you whisper "they're looking?" He nods once. "Okay. Tap me if you want me to stop."
Vernon swallows, audibly, as you press your lips to the juncture of his jaw, just below his ear. It's a controlled, barely there touch. You linger, then move again, kissing along the line of his jaw. Beneath you, he stills, fingers going slack at your waist, to move them would be overkill.
You kiss him a little lower. Slow, and deliberate. Giving him just enough time to shift away, to refuse your touch. Your lips keep finding skin, testing where he’ll let you go, waiting for the tap of his fingers but it doesn't come– instead Vernon tilts his head, just enough to allow it without fully participating.
On screen, the bus is hurtling toward the gap, Joshua gasps at the screen. Lara sits up straight. Seungcheol leans in, and Vernon doesn't move a muscle. You brush your lips against his neck again, and his fingers flex against your side. This is it, you think, he's telling you it's enough, but the way he turns his head catches you off guard. He meets your eyes, flashes down to your lips and back– asking permission? You jut out your chin, and Vernon shifts closer, catching your lips with his in a brief, closed kiss. God, it's so strange, but can't stop now. Your hand moves to his cheek– it's warm– to draw him back in for another.
"Trust me?" you murmur under your breath, the tip of your nose brushing his.
"Uh-huh," he whispers, breath fanning over your lips.
Your eyelids flutter closed as presses his mouth against yours again, his lips parting without hesitation, and you try to hide the surprise in your gut as you follow suit– sliding your other hand up his chest. His tongue drags over yours, and a pleased sigh escapes your body before you can register it, only realising when Vernon smiles wide into the kiss. Asshole.
Pulling away is exactly what he wants you to do, so fuck him. Instead, you match his energy, sliding your hand into his hair just to tug at it, and nip at his bottom lip with your teeth. Your prize comes as the briefest groan, and his mouth goes firm against you, tipping your head up just to let him in deeper, leaving you breathl–
"Ugh–" Vernon breaks off. You've been interrupted with a smack to the face with a cushion, and laughter from your friends.
"Lara!"
"You're being so gross," she complains, settling back into place. You throw the cushion at her back. "Thanks," she says, tucking it underneath her.
Vernon's suddenly tapping your back, sliding you off his lap to the side, and you're scrunched up between him and Seungcheol, who shifts over to make room. You tilt your head at Vernon, silently questioning. "Need the bathroom," he explains, quickly standing, and disappearing out of the room all while avoiding your eye.
You pick up your drink and take a long sip, eyes fixed on the screen. He's only gone a minute when Joshua asks “He good?”
“He’s fine,” you say.
“Pause it?” he offers.
"Nah, he's seen this a hundred times," you say.
After another five, Lara says, "What's he doing in there?"
"Taking a shit, probably." You yawn, glancing at the clock– it's nearly eleven.
"More like jerking off," mumbles Seungcheol, and you nudge at him with your foot, ignoring the way your face goes hot. Of course he fucking isn't.
It's ten minutes before he's back, with his hairline a little damp, and cheeks just slightly flushed. Did he wash his face? You stand to let him back in his place, then drop back down without hesitation, curling your arm around his neck. He adjusts you, hands careful but firm, shifting you from his leg to the space between them.
"Sorry," he whispers, a little hoarse, into your hair. "My leg was falling asleep earlier."
"S'okay," you whisper back, tucking your arm back to your side. You rest your cheek against his chest, sag your body against him, and his arm circles around your waist a little tighter, to keep you from slipping.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Your name is called quietly. Feels like there's water in your ears. It comes again, firmer, paired with the steady rub of a hand down your arm.
“Wake up,” Vernon says. “Say bye.”
You make a small sound and shift, cheek still pressed to his chest, before the room comes back into focus. His hand slows but doesn’t stop.
“The movie’s over,” he adds softly. “They’re heading out.”
You blink a few times, eyes heavy, brain lagging. The TV is off and Lara’s at the door, doubled over and fighting with her boots. Seungcheol’s standing nearby, jacket on, stretching out his arms after sitting for so long. Joshua’s hovering with his phone in hand.
“Oh– shit,” you mumble, sitting up too fast. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”
Seungcheol grins immediately. “Saving your energy for your man, huh.”
“God, you’re such a fucking pig,” Lara scolds, smacking him hard between the shoulders. “Shut up.”
He laughs and stumbles forward as she pushes him toward the door. They’re still bickering as they leave, voices trailing down the hall. The door shuts before either of them remembers to say goodbye.
Joshua lingers. His eyes dart between you and Vernon, who's taking a sip of his drink, then back to you. "This room has a weird energy."
"Yeah, well we're waiting for you to leave so I can get dicked down ten ways to Sunday."
Vernon chokes on his coke.
"Gross," he says, lip curling. “Are you playing at home this weekend?"
"Uh," Vernon replies, clearing his throat. "Yeah."
Eyes on you again. "Are you going?"
"Oh. Uh–"
"Yeah–" Vernon takes over. "You're coming on Sunday, right?"
You stare at him blankly, hoping he can mind read you saying what the fuck shut up Vernon no I'm fucking not shut up because you were supposed to be catching up on work from the comfort of your bed.
"Can I come?" Joshua asks.
You still haven't blinked, but Vernon ignores your would-be-death-stare-if-Joshua-weren't-looking-directly-at-you. "Yeah, man, that'll be cool."
Joshua calls your name. "Is that okay with you?"
A false smile plants itself on your face almost automatically. “Yeah. Yeah, of course. That’d be so nice.”
He smiles, a little stiff, and waves goodbye as he lets himself out, and the apartment settles into quiet.
"What the fuck, bro?"
Vernon frowns. "What?"
"I had plans on Sunday!"
"You said you were gonna bed-rot."
"Duh!" you exclaim. "Productive bed-rotting."
"I've literally never heard of that."
"This is anti-woman, Vernon, I swear to God."
Vernon lifts his hand from your waist to drag it over his face, and groans– the vibration of it making you suddenly aware you're still on him. You shift to where Seungcheol was sitting and lean back against the armrest. Vernon half turns toward you.
“So,” he says, clearing his throat. “Uh.”
You wait, but he can't seem to get his words out– can't seem to look you in the eye.
"About earlier?" you ask.
“Er– yeah,” he agrees, fixing his gaze on the blank TV screen. “The…uh. Us kissing.”
His jaw is set but not tight, mouth in a neutral, casual line. Everything about him is perfectly unbothered, apart from the way he's talking.
“Do you feel weird about it?" you ask, quietly wondering if you took it too far.
"No," he says, voice thin. He picks at his cuticles. “Do you?"
“Nah. I mean– no. It was just, like, part of the bit.”
A stagnant pause. “Yeah,” he agrees. “Yeah. Pretty convincing.”
"You crushed it," you say, nodding. And then you tack on– “Joshua definitely bought it."
Vernon snorts. “Yeah. He was watching like a hawk.”
Another pause stretches between you, thicker still.
“I should probably head out.”
You nod. “Yeah. It’s late.”
He grabs his jacket, moves toward the door, pulls on his shoes, then hesitates. Turns back.
“We’re good?” he asks.
You give him a tiny smile. “We’re so good.”
“Cool,” he says, not an ounce of relief in his tone. “Cool.”
The door closes behind him, and the apartment feels too quiet, too big, now you're all alone.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
You're laying face down on your bed, ready to yell into it, when you hear the click of the front door again. Bolting upright, heart racing, you call out– "I have a gun!"
Vernon snorts. "You don't have a gun."
You scoff. "Dude, you scared the shit out of me."
"Sorry." He comes to stand in the doorway to your bedroom, leaning against the frame. "They're all outside still, waiting for a cab or something. I didn't want them to see me leave so soon."
You frown. Joshua doesn't live far enough to waste money on a cab, and Seungcheol usually walks Lara home, stopping at a bar along the way. "Oh. That's odd."
"So can I hang out here?"
"Go wait by the elevator."
His eyebrows fly up. "Are you s–"
"No, idiot. Go put on a movie."
He laughs and shucks off his jacket once more, and when he moves out of view of your bedroom, you drag your pillow over your face and silently scream into that instead. You lie there for a full five seconds, face mashed into your pillow, before you hear the TV click on in the other room. Something tinny and familiar filters through the wall– a late-night sports recap, Vernon defaulting to muscle memory. You peel the pillow off your face and stare at the ceiling.
Get up. It was just a silly, fake kiss with your friend, and it's not like you've never kissed him before. Get up.
You roll onto your back, then your side, then finally swing your legs over the edge of the bed. When you step out into the room, Vernon’s on the couch again, legs stretched out, one arm slung over the back. He looks up when he hears you.
“Hey,” he says, casual.
“Hey,” you reply, equally measured.
You hover for a moment, then drop onto the opposite end of the couch, leaving a deliberate gap between you. The TV is loud enough to fill the space, but not loud enough to drown out the awareness of him being there.
“So,” Vernon says, testing the waters. “I lied earlier.”
“Oh God, me too,” you say far too quickly. You clear your throat. “It's so weird.”
“Yeah,” he agrees, nodding his head. “I thought I was gonna vomit.”
"Wowww," you say, laughing. "I didn't know I was that gross."
Vernon's eyes blow wide. "Oh– no, not like that. You're not– I just– you're not."
"I'm not?"
"No. You're good."
"I'm good?"
He slumps backwards. "Are you making this painful for me on purpose?"
"A little," you grin. "You're a good kisser too."
Oh, bless him, he actually flushes. On screen, the commentator gets excited about a play neither of you is watching. After a moment, Vernon holds the remote out for you. “You can put something else on if you want.”
You reach for it, your fingers brushing his by accident. If Vernon notices, he doesn't show it, so neither do you. You scroll aimlessly, land on something dumb and familiar, and let it play. A few minutes pass.
Eventually, without looking at him, you say, “Do you think we should actually practice? So we won't get carried away again."
He smiles at that, small and crooked. “You got carried away?"
You scoff. "Don't flatter yourself. I haven't made out with anyone in weeks and I love kissing. If a cactus put its lips on me I'd let it."
"Sounds spiky."
You glance at him then. He’s watching the screen, not you, fingers laced together in his lap.
“So do you think we should?"
Another pause.
"I guess. But not tonight."
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Sunday rolls around far too quickly, and Joshua is seated next to you in a jersey that was so clearly just taken from the plastic, and although you don't quite know his reasons for being here, you've missed hanging out with him by yourselves.
“You look like a plant that hasn’t been watered yet,” you tell him.
He grins. “I got it from some guy on Mercari.”
“It smells like plastic.”
“That's eau de polyester.”
You snort and lean back as Vernon winds up. The smack of the ball in the catcher’s mitt makes half the stadium groan, but your cheer as loud as you can without your lungs giving out. The sun warms your skin, you're with your oldest friend in the world, and watching your second oldest friend pitch for the Yankees, and it's just so nice. You buy the fries, Joshua buys the beer, Vernon smiles your way once or twice.
“So why are you coming to all of these? ” he asks during a lull.
“I figured since I’m dating a baseball player I might as well be supportive,” you say lightly.
“Ah. So gracious of you.”
“Isn't it,” you deadpan.
He smiles, watches the field for a beat. “Vernon’s doing well.”
“He usually does,” you say.
Joshua hums. You can feel the shift before it happens.
“So,” he says. “Can I ask you something?”
You brace. “I’m not burying a body for you, I've got a pedicure this evening.”
“When did it actually happen?” he asks. “You and Vernon.”
You glance at him. He’s still looking straight ahead, elbows on his knees, hands clasped. Casual. Too casual.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean,” he says. “You don’t just wake up and decide to start dating your ex from high school within thirty minutes. There’s usually a… lead-up.”
You let out a breath through your nose. “We ran into each other more. Hung out. He told me he liked me again. It wasn’t dramatic.”
Joshua tilts his head. “You’re being vague.”
“That’s because it’s boring.”
He finally looks at you. One eyebrow lifts. “Try me.”
You shift in your seat, eyes back on the field. Vernon’s on the mound, adjusting his cap, jaw set.
“It wasn’t some big moment,” you say. “No lightning strike. We just, like, slipped back into it.”
Joshua’s quiet for a moment. Then, gently, “You don’t do boring. You don't just slip back into something comfortable. You have a habit of starting a fire and letting it burn you.”
You roll your eyes. “Oh my god. Are you my therapist now? Do I owe you money for this session or is the first one free?”
“I’m just saying,” he shrugs. “Last time you two dated, it was messy and over the top and all your feelings are out there. This time it’s like–" He throws his hands up looking for the word. "Choreographed.”
“We're not kids anymore.”
“Sure,” he agrees. “But you?” A pause. “You're usually more in the moment than you have been around him lately.”
You open your mouth to argue, then stop. Vernon throws. The batter swings. The crowd is overwhelmingly loud in your ears.
“Why do you care?”
Joshua smiles a little. “Because you’re my friend. And because Vernon’s my friend. And because I don’t want our group getting all fucked up because you two are being weird around us. It doesn't feel real.”
You wipe your thumb over the condensation on your cup. “We are real.”
He studies you. “Okay.”
Another pitch. Another crack. "You don't believe me?"
Joshua slips his arm around your shoulder. “I don't know. I want to. I always thought you were great together.”
You glance back at the field, at Vernon rolling his shoulders, readying himself for the next batter.
“Yeah,” you say quietly. “We were. We are.”
After the game, Joshua doesn't hang around– he's visiting his mother this afternoon, so you wave him off with instructions to give her your love. The stadium clears out slowly, and after a while scrolling on your phone, the janitors come out to clear up. You're not sure here is the best place to wait for Vernon, so you shoot him a text.
You [19:13] where do i go?
nonie [19:14] u wanna come up?
You [19:14] sure
nonie [19:15] i'll send mike down
nonie [19:15] hate asking but can you kiss me in front of the guys
nonie [19:15] they think ur fake
You chew on your bottom lip, fighting your smile from your face.
You [19:15] depends. is mingyu kim there? i don't want him to think i have a boyfriend
Mike– you assume, because he doesn't actually introduce himself– is a squirrelly young intern who exudes anxiety. "Are you Mr Chwe's girlfriend?"
Mr Chwe, haha. Sounds so formal. "That's me."
"He wants me to bring you to the Clubhouse. It's this way."
"Oka– oh!" He's running off before you've finished gathering your things. "Wait, wait, I'm coming."
You stumble after him as he leads you through the stadium, punches the code into the keypad, and you're taken aback by how put together this place is.
The clubhouse smells faintly of sweat, and something citrusy. There’s music playing from a speaker in the corner, a few guys already changed, sweat soaked jerseys tossed into the bins in the centre of the room. Most of the guys in the room don't register your arrival, used to the comings and goings of colleagues and family members, but you notice the eyes of a couple of the other girlfriends. You offer your friendliest smile, and they smile back easily. Thank God.
Mike skids to a stop. “Uh– he’s in the showers. You can– um. You can wait over there.” He gestures toward the canteen area before bolting.
You take a breath. This is fine. You’ve been in locker rooms before. Just… not by yourself. Not ones full of professional athletes and an army of staff and their families. Your locker room experience is sneaking kisses after school finished, laughing into Vernon's neck at the thought of being caught where you're not supposed to be.
At the counter you grab a drink from the self-pour machines, and look for the checkout.
"It's free, don't worry," comes a soft voice behind you.
"Oh, tha–" you start, turning to be startled by Mingyu Kim. Fuck, he's so much taller up close. "Thanks."
"I'm Mingyu. You're Vernon's girlfriend?" He smiles, then tries your name like a question.
"That's me," you say, sticking your hand out to shake. His hand is heavy and warm. "It's very new."
Mingyu tilts his head. "You wouldn't think so, with the way he's talked about you."
You laugh airily. "Well we've been friends since we were little."
"That makes sense," he says, that smile of his almost blinding you.
"Uh-huh," you say. "So how long have you been with the Yankees?"
"Just a few months, got traded in the spring."
"Where from?" you ask, plucking a straw from the counter and stirring your drink.
"Atlanta," he says. "Still getting used to New York."
"Big change, huh."
"No shit. I miss my car," he says, ruefully. "Vernon said you both moved here for college?"
"Yup," you say. "But we grew up in New Jersey."
"Lakewood, right?"
"Wow," you say with a laugh. "You know so much about–"
“There you are,” comes another voice behind you. Vernon's arm circles your waist and he tugs you close to him. His hair is barely towel-dry, wetting your skin as he leans close to press a firm kiss to your cheek, his t-shirt clinging to his skin in patches. "Thought you'd got lost."
"It's okay," you say. "Mingyu here was keeping me company."
"I can see that," he says, hand sliding down your waist to thread his thumb through your belt loop, fingers resting against your hip. "Thanks, bro."
"No problem," says Mingyu with an easy expression. "It was nice meeting you."
"You too! Listen, if you ever need a guide for the city–"
Mingyu smiles wide and soft. You like the way it reaches his eyes. "Yeah– I'll, uh. I'll hit you both up."
The buzz in your stomach flattens immediately. Oh yeah. You and Vernon. As like, a unit.
As Mingyu leaves you turn into Vernon, slot both your arms around his neck, he wraps his arms around your waist, and you lean in press what would look to anyone else like a would-kiss-you-more-if-all-these-people-weren't-here type of lingering kiss to Vernon's lips. You pull back a little to whisper against his mouth– "That okay?"
"Uh– yeah. That should do it."
"Alright, so you have to set me up with Mingyu when we're done faking."
"No fuckin' way, dude," he murmurs, still a hairs breadth from your mouth, can feel the heat of his breath on your lips.
You pout. "Why not? Thought you said I'd like some of the guys. I like that guy."
"I meant like, other guys," he whispers. "Not my teammate."
"What's the difference?"
"If you hook up with any one of those, I'd never stop hearing about it and I like my sanity."
"So?"
"So I don't wanna hear about all that."
You laugh. "All that what?"
He sighs, frustrated. "Like. Locker room talk. I don't wanna hear about you like that."
You swallow, lower your voice even further. "Does Mingyu talk about that stuff?"
"Not yet," he admits. "But most do."
"Do you?"
He levels you with a look. "What do you think, considering who I last–"
"Right," you mumble. "Yeah, sorry."
Vernon pulls your arms from around him, slots a hand into yours and links fingers. “C’mon. Let’s get out of here before they start asking questions.”
He grabs his bag from his locker on the way out, and leads you back toward the exit, with choruses of goodbyes from around the room. Once the door shuts behind you and the hallway swallows the noise, he exhales hard.
“Thank you,” he says. “Seriously.”
You smile. “Anytime, Mr Chwe,” you say, mimicking Mike.
He groans. “Don’t ever call me that again.”
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Monday is when all things go to shit. Work is hell, something something merger. Something something acquisitions. It's all fucking bullshit and you won't know if your job is secure for at least the next three months. Seokmin and you hold hands under the desk in the meeting room, while the powers that be go over details you struggle to listen to through the sound of the blood pounding in your ears. Working in the same role, you wonder if they'll have room for both of you.
There's a text in the group chat at lunchtime.
lara [12:24] IM BEING FUCKING EVICTED IN 3 WEEKS
lara [12:24] FUCK MY FUCKING CHUNGUS LIFE
cheol [12:32] ??????
shua [12:34] Wtf happened?
You [12:36] omfg??
lara [12:36] MY ASSHOLE ROOMMATE DIDNT PAY THE RENT FOR FOUR!!!! FOUR MONTHS!!!!!!!!!!
lara [12:36] i can't believe ts
lara [12:36] where tf am i gonna go
cheol [12:36] You can stay at my place
You [12:36] you live in a fucking shoebox cheol 😭 don't be stoopid
You [12:37] lara stay with me!! we'll have girl nights and do facemasks and have girl dinners and watch girl movies!!!
shua [12:37] You're welcome to stay with me too, if you don't mind the pullout
nonie [12:39] u can have my place too. 3brs n i'm hardly ever there neway
lara [12:40] i fucking love u guys wtf 😭😭😭
lara [12:40] cheolie can i stay with you?
You [12:40] ????
shua [12:41] Yeah?? What she said???
cheol [12:41] 😎 I'm the favorite. Suck it losers
You [12:41] i'm literally so offended
You [12:41] this goes against the principles of feminism
nonie [12:42] bro you've gotta stop saying that about everything you don't like
lara [12:42] 🤷🏽♀️ cheol's place is closer to work
Vernon texts you separately.
nonie [12:43] 20 bucks says there fucking
You [12:43] *they're. and you're on. there's no way she'd let him see her tits
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
You get home and you're hit with a sense of unease as soon as you step onto the fifth floor. Unease and like, a really soggy carpet. Unease, and there's water dripping down the wall outside your apartment. Oh fuck. Oh fuck fuck fuck.
The air is all different– thick and damp, and your foot lands in the entryway with a slosh, the water seeping through your shoe to your skin.
You freeze.
“No,” you breathe. "There's no fucking way." Wishful thinking.
The floor is soaked. Soaked-soaked. Water has filled the room, almost an inch deep across the floorboards, darkening them. It’s achingly quiet except for a faint, steady sound of spraying water coming from farther in. Your chest tightens. You move faster, heart in your throat, following the sound toward your bedroom. The door sticks when you push it open.
Water– water everywhere. Your dresser– water streaking down the front, puddling underneath. Clothes are strewn where you must’ve tossed them this morning, looking for an outfit suitable for the morning meeting with your VP, now plastered to the floor. On the bed, sheets heavy and dark, sagging in the middle, rubble and wet dust scattered over it.
And then– the gaping ceiling. A jagged hole, ugly and raw, crumbling away at the edges into the wreckage of your room. The exposed pipe spraying into the gap between floors, must have been going long enough to ruin every little thing you can call your own.
This is too big. Too much for the day you've had. Your brain can't catch up while looking at your things– your things that are everywhere, destroyed, and the waste of it all lands in your chest like a brick. It's not just clothes, or furniture. Everything in this room are pieces of you. All the polaroids tacked on your vanity mirror. All the books with silly notes in the margins, from when you tried to start a book club with your friends. The vintage made-in-England Doc Martens that you finally managed to thrift last year. Your very first Tamagotchi. The embroidery on the walls, made with love by your grandmother. The stupid, sentimental shit you've collected all these years that could never be cast aside.
Your vision blurs as you fumble in your purse for your phone, and it takes a second to realise you’re crying. Silently, you wipe away your frustrated tears, and your hands shake as you fumble the passcode for your phone twice, and the screen is all but swimming as you try to find Lara’s name.
She answers on the second ring. “Hey– what’s up?”
“My apartment,” you choke. “There’s– there’s water everywhere. My things–” You can’t finish it. You press your hand over your mouth so hard it hurts.
“Hey, hey,” Lara says immediately, calmly snapping into place. “It's okay. Breathe. Are you safe? Is it flooding right now?”
“I– I think a pipe burst. My bedroom ceiling is gone, Lara. My bed is ruined– everything is ruined.”
“It’s not everything,” she says firmly. “Call your landlord. Take pictures. Can you start moving stuff?”
"Yeah– yes," you sniff. "Okay."
"We’ll figure it out, don't worry. I'll get Cheol and we'll come over now. You call Joshua."
You nod even though she can’t see you, wiping at your face with the back of your hand and smearing your make-up even worse. “I don’t– I don’t have anywhere to sleep.”
There’s a pause on the line. Just a beat.
“Why wouldn’t you stay at Vernon’s?” she asks, confused.
The question hits you sideways.
“I–” Your throat closes. You hadn’t even considered. “I didn’t– he has practice."
“Is he on his way?” Lara asks. "Did you call him?"
You swallow hard, a sob catching in your chest. “No.”
Another horrifically long pause. Lara doesn’t say anything, but you can hear it in the way she exhales, the mental note she's making.
“Okay,” she says instead of questioning you further. “Call him. Right now. I'll be there soon.”
"Thanks, Lara."
Your hands are still shaking when you call Vernon.
He picks up almost immediately. “Hey."
"Hi," you say, voice thin and wavering.
He must hear it. "What's wrong?"
"Are you done with practice?"
"Yeah, I'm just about to shower, why?"
“My apartment flooded," you say, your voice breaking completely. "Can y–"
“Yes,” he says, cutting you off. You can hear him rummaging for something. A locker closing. “Yeah. I'm leaving right now. Should I call the guys?"
"I already called Lara. She's calling Seungcheol."
There's a pause. "Joshua then?"
"Yeah. Yeah, thanks," you murmur, wiping the still falling tears from your cheeks.
"I'll be there soon," Vernon says, and you sigh, still only slightly reassured.
You hang up and move on autopilot. You call your landlord, who's sending emergency maintenance. Joshua texts to say he's stuck at work but he'll get there asap. You take pictures for renters insurance– thank God your lease required renters insurance.
You grab trash bags, your suitcases and a duffel from the miraculously dry closet, anything that’ll hold what isn’t already ruined. You peel wet clothes off the floor, wring out the water in the shower and toss everything into the laundry basket. The living area is mostly dry, save for what you tread in, seemingly unlevel with the rest of the apartment. It becomes a mess quickly, piles of your life stacked haphazardly, salvaged from the flood.
You're quickly soaked through yourself, with the water still spraying into your bedroom, and it takes everything in you not to start crying again– but that's when you find your photo albums inherited from your grandmother, a record of the childhood you wished you had all the time. Most of them damaged, of course, but there's a few pages in the back that are still unharmed. They're from the first summer she came to stay, your parents freshly divorced and your mom finding it hard to find the time to work as a newly single parent. There's the day she took you to Six Flags, and the day you got frozen custard on the coast, and the days when Joshua came around– his parents, too, needing help over the summer. Sometimes Vernon would tag along (anyone is welcome when Grandma is in charge) and he's in a few of these, so serious at first glance, even back then.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
The last time he found you this small, this broken, was in the midst of your parents divorce– but you were just kids then. You're on the couch, knees drawn up, and you're blinking at him in surprise– the look of embarrassment etched across your face, at being caught while sobbing into your crossed arms.
"How'd you get here so fast," you say, voice hoarse.
"I got a ride," he says. Not quite true. More like cornered Shaun, one of the clubhouse assistants, and urged him to drop everything and drive him to your building.
"I'm sorry–" you sob, wiping at your red-rimmed eyes. "This is so embarrassing. It's just stuff."
Vernon crosses the room in a moment, drops his bag on the couch and pulls you into him, tight and sure, one arm wrapped around your shoulders, the other coming up to cradle the back of your head. And you melt into him. Your face presses into the crook of his neck, your hands clutching the fabric of his T-shirt, and the heat of your tears soaks through the fabric onto his skin.
“It’s not just stuff,” he murmurs. “It'll be okay.”
You shake against him, breath hitching, muffled and unintelligible words tumbling out between sobs. He presses his lips to your temple without thinking and you cry even harder, holding him tighter, before he remembers he shouldn't be doing that at all. Vernon holds you til you settle, whispering reassurances in your ear, and you suck in a heavy, steadying breath.
There's another knock at the door, and it's Lara and Seungcheol. "Heeeeyyyy," they say in unison. They stop short when they see you wrapped around Vernon, your face buried in his neck, his arms tight around your body. Lara’s expression softens instantly. "Oh babe."
You push off him, and he finds himself almost reluctant to let you go as you wipe your eyes and offer a small, sad smile at your friends.
"Fuck– this is– Jesus," says Seungcheol, poking his head into your bedroom. He whistles. "Holy shit."
Your face cracks again as soon as Lara draws you into a hug. "I'm so sorry this happened on your bad day."
"Girl shut the fuck up," Lara admonishes you, and surprised, wet laugh bursts out between your tears.
After a minute, the group gets to work. Vernon and Seungcheol make runs downstairs to your car with everything salvageable, but as it fills, Vernon wonders if he could get Shaun to bring him a car over too. Or where he could hire a van from this late.
Maintenance arrives after the third trip downstairs. He can't do anything right now except shut off the water, and tells you to call him back once you've moved your stuff out so he can tape up the bedroom.
"I'm sure that's like a code violation or some shit," mutters Seungcheol, dragging out the heavy dresser to add to the stack of things in the living area.
Joshua arrives next, eyes bugging out and whispering "Holy shit," at the sight of the ceiling.
And between the five of you, it gets done quickly. As much as can be expected, at least. It'll be inspected for repairs tomorrow, but it'll be a while before it's liveable again, so Vernon is fully expecting you to take up Joshua's offer when he says you can stay with him, but Lara is staring daggers at him over your shoulder. Oh.
"Aren't you staying with me?" he asks quickly.
You blink at him. "Are you sure that's okay?" You say, obviously without thinking, but you catch your slip– "I mean, since you'll be in Philly this week."
"Yeah, it's cool," he says, trying to sound cooler than he feels. "I'll get you a key."
Seungcheol, from under the bed, calls your name, his tone laced with something like awe.
“What?” you ask.
“Do you–” Seungcheol pauses, until Lara kicks at his leg. “Do you have a fucking gun?”
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Vernon keeps his fingers wrapped around yours as he guides you through the lobby. You’re quiet again, wrung out, mouth down-turned. The doorman nods, discreet as always, eyes flicking once to your damp hair and red eyes before looking away. The elevator ride is silent except for the hum as it climbs.
When the doors open and he lets you step out first, you slow, turning in a small circle as you take in the apartment once more– with its floor-to-ceiling windows, the furniture that's bought brand new and hardly used, and the city far below, awash with colour.
“I forgot how big this place was,” you say, quietly.
He exhales through his nose, an almost bitter laugh. “Yeah.”
"Where's the bathroom again?" you ask.
“There's one in your room, third door on the left,” he says, gesturing toward the long hallway. “I’ll have your things brought up."
God, he sounds like a dick.
“Okay, thank you.”
Vernon waits until the door clicks shut behind you before moving again. He calls the doorman to get your car unloaded, thanks him too many times and presses large tips into the hands of the three people he brought to help. He carries your bags into your bedroom carefully, as if the placement alone could make it feel less like you've lost so much, like at least this empty, soulless place could feel a little like home for you.
You clear your throat as he's lugging the last bag in, and you’re standing in the doorway to the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, your bare skin still wet and steaming. "I– uh. Sorry, Vernon, you've already done so much but I don't have any dry clothes."
Oh. Yeah- duh.
“I’ll grab you something,” he says, feeling so stupid for not having thought of that himself.
He opens his closet and stares for a full minute. You don't like his clothes, you've teased him for it endlessly. He's got nothing you'd ever want. He swallows, thick. Shakes the feeling away. Grabs a soft, blue t-shirt. You always look nice in blue. A hoodie, oversized enough to swallow him, hopefully you find it comfortable. Sweatpants with cuffed ankles, so you don't have to roll them. Thick, white socks. He pauses, bites at the fat of his cheek, then reaches into a drawer and adds a pair of boxers to the pile, feeling faintly ridiculous and also very aware that not doing so would be worse for you.
“Thanks,” you say, relief clear in your tone, when he hands everything to you.
You close the bathroom door behind you, and Vernon leaves for the living room and scrolls on his phone aimlessly while he waits for you to join him, but he doesn’t hear you come back out.
A little later he orders Chinese food– too much of it, really, for just two people, but he wanted to get all your favourites at once. And when the food arrives, he sets it out on dining table, steam fogging the air, and finally knocks softly on your bedroom door,
“Hey,” he calls, already stepping away. “Food’s here.”
A moment passes before you pad out to join him. You look a little ridiculous now. The sleeves way too long, crotch of the sweatpants too low, face still puffy and tired. You look so much emptier than you did yesterday, the day you've had scraped something out of you and didn’t put it back.
He swallows.
“You wanna talk?” he asks, gently.
You shake your head. “Nah, I'll be okay,” you say, voice rough. Then you huff a weak laugh. “I needed new content to pay off my therapist's mortgage anyway. All that parent shit is getting reruns.”
He snorts.
You gasp as you look at the food. "You got orange chicken and beef with broccoli?"
"And crab rangoons," he adds.
"Dude," you say seriously, eyes meeting his for the first time in hours. "I literally love you."
He grins, the weight shifting off his chest. You'll be okay. You've always been good at bouncing back. "Uh huh. Tell me that again when you love me more than you love Lara."
"Tonigh–," you say, already stuff an egg roll into your mouth, and you have to mumble around it to get your words out. "I-def-luh-oo-ore-an-Lara."
Vernon curls his lip. "You're disgusting."
But it makes you laugh, and for that, Vernon is grateful.
"When do you leave for Philly?" you ask, when your plates are empty and you're folding the lids back over the boxes.
Vernon swallows, and wipes his hands on a napkin. "Tomorrow morning, pretty early. I'll leave you a fob and text you the door code."
"You sure it's okay that I'm here?"
"Why wouldn't it be?"
You hesitate, and the silence makes him look up. His shoulders sag. Vernon hates when you look so sad.
"You've never invited me here before."
"I have." He hasn't.
You level him with a look of disbelief. "You haven't. Not since you moved in."
He never wanted this. Not really. He wanted somewhere in Bushwick– like his old place while he was at NYU, with the brick walls and crooked floors, and the threat of bugs if anyone forgot to leave the drains plugged. He wanted somewhere loud with people and lived in. But his agent had frowned so hard it formed an almost permanent crease in his forehead. His manager had downright refused, and suddenly it was all security and controlled access, rooftop pools he'd never use, spare rooms he'd never need, and buildings with names instead of numbers.
Thank fuck it’s only a rental, he thinks, for maybe the hundredth time, because this place never felt like home. It's why he loves your apartment so much. Sure, it's old, and now quite literally falling apart, but it has a charm about it, and the people who live there are far more interesting to him than those who live here, with far more money than sense. He supposes he's counted as one of those people, too, now.
"It's not about you," he sighs. "Your apartment is just, like, way better."
"Are you joking?" You wave your arms at the luxury around you. "Not a single hole to speak of here."
He pauses, unsure how to phrase it. What he likes about your home is that he feels at home in it. He likes how you've filled it, with everything so uniquely you. Feels a little like a piece of him, too, given the framed posters on the walls are artists he shared with you, and the photos on the fridge, stuck to your mirrors, littered across the walls in mismatched frames feature his own face, alongside yours and your shared friends. Vernon loves how he feels unchanged there, like him being rich and famous doesn't matter to you in the slightest, because to you he is just Vernon, just some kid you've known forever and will stay in your life as long as he can.
"It's– ugh. I dunno, bro. It's just easier to feel like a real person there."
You smile. "As opposed to the robot sitting right in front of me?"
His lips twist around a smile. "Beep boop." He's rewarded with your first laugh of the night, one that reaches your eyes, and his chest swells.
You take his plate, stack it atop yours. "C'mon," you say, slipping out of your chair. "You load the dishwasher if you can find it."
"How'd you know I have a dishwasher?"
You lower your chin, stare at him under a furrowed brow. "Dude…"
Right, yeah.
"I'm picking the movie though," you say, already walking toward the kitchen. "I deserve it."
You do. You deserve it all.
Vernon trails you into the living room, switching lights off as he goes, the apartment settling into that soft, city-lit glow it always does at night. You drop onto the huge leather couch and immediately curl in on yourself, knees tucked up, hoodie swallowing your hands.
“Jesus,” you mutter. “Your TV is, like, the size of my entire wall.”
“It’s stupid big,” he agrees. “I didn’t even pick it.”
You grab the remote, switch it on and start scrolling. He sits in the middle, deliberately leaving space between you, one arm draped along the back of the couch. You don’t look at him as you select Atonement, and toss the remote in the gap between you.
“Oh, come on,” Vernon says, groaning. “You want to be more depressed tonight.”
You turn, incredulous. “Excuse you?”
“You just had the worst day of your life and you pick–” he gestures helplessly at the screen “–this shit?”
“This shit–" you mimic. "–helps me process. And you said I could choose.”
"You said you could choose," Vernon complains. "I just didn't fight it. I didn’t know you were set on emotional devastation.”
“That sounds like a you problem,” you say smugly. “Apathy is a form of acceptance anyways. No take-backs.”
He sinks further into the couch with a sigh. “You’re a masochist.”
“I wear many hats.”
For a while, it’s quiet. The movie pulls you both in, the score filling the room has his hairs standing on end, the city outside reduced to a glow beyond the glass. Vernon keeps his eyes on the screen, but he’s aware of you in that constant, low-level way he always is– your knee bouncing, the way you tug your sleeves over your hands, just to roll them up to your elbows again. You never could sit still.
It isn’t until James McAvoy’s character is being marched off to war that he notices the sound. It’s small at first. A hitch in your breath. A sniffle. A sharp, broken inhale. He glances over. You’re crying again. Silent, even though your shoulders are trembling as you swipe uselessly at your face.
“Oh my God,” you choke, trying to feign a smile, embarrassed as you catch him staring at you, his mouth slack. “It’s all so fucked up!”
He doesn’t think about it for a second longer. Vernon is beside you in one swift move, and draws you into him by your shoulder. You make a distressed sound but don’t resist, collapsing into his side as he smooths his hand over your arm, then your shoulder, slow and steady.
“I know,” he murmurs. “It's okay.”
You curl into him, your head resting on his collarbone now, and your tears slowly ease. Without thinking– without checking himself– Vernon leans down and presses a soft kiss to your temple, and the second you feel it, your body stills.
You blink up at him, eyes glassy and red, and for a brief, terrible moment you lean closer instead of away. You’re right there, so close. His heart pounds in his ears, as he realises, with a jolt up his spine, that he can feel the warmth of your featherlight breath against his lips. Before he can do anything, before he can close the gap, you jerk back.
“Oh my God,” you blurt, bringing your hand to cover your mouth. “I’m so sorry. I forgot we were alone.”
Your laugh comes so high. Vernon laughs too, immediately, a little too loud. “Yeah,” he says, too fast. “Yeah, no, same. Me too.”
You both turn back to the screen, sitting too straight now, a careful space between you again, but the swirling feeling in the pit of his stomach doesn't stop bothering him until long after he goes to bed, and is present still when he wakes the next day.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
thank you so much for reading! the taglist will be added on the next reblog.
all interaction is appreciated more than you could know, so if you liked this chapter, please consider reblogging with any thoughts to help get this fic seen outside my following!
pairing: mafiaboss!jay x mobster’s daughterfem!reader
genres: angst, almost nothing fluff, smut wc: 9.2k+
꒰ 𝅄 warnings ꒱ : swearing, mention of crimes, robberies. mention of blood, weapons. rivalry between mafias, kidnapping, bohr is yn’s last name. jay is a little bloodthirsty in this part. lmk if i missed anything.
꒰ 𝅄 synopsis ꒱ : jongseong wanted to avenge his father’s death and his disrespect for the patriarch’s bed, and the best plan he could think of was to take revenge and kidnap the daughter of his greatest rival. he just didn’t realize that his plans would take a different path, one he had never thought of.
꒰ 𝅄 notes ꒱ : happy holidays! i wanted to say that i intended to post this at christmas as a gift, but i'm organizing my end-of-year trip and decided to post something bc i missed it. this wasn't supposed to have a third part, but… here i am challenging myself again. so yes, there will be a third part, sorry :(( i promise the wait will be great. i hope you like it!
꒰ 𝅄 part 1 | part 2 | masterlist ꒱
The feeling of clarity in your eyes was still new, as was having more than two people wandering around a room that contained nothing more than an old mattress, leaks, and a rusty table.
Every time someone sat down at the table with you, you wondered if you had made the right choice. You replayed that night in your mind every second as if you were going to wake up at any moment and find that it had never happened.
Jongseong had gone to the dark room with someone else. It was no one you had seen before, so his name wasn't important enough to remember. He asked you several questions before proposing that you join him and the Park mafia to destroy your father together.
You noticed Jongseong's caution every time he talked about it. The battle he fought with himself between wanting revenge on the man who was doing all this, but at the same time protecting what little sanity you had left to deal with the situation, after all, he was still your father. Unfortunately, he would never cease to be so, even though –from the moment you learned everything – you wanted to stop being his daughter.
You wanted things to be simple and easy, to rip that surname from you and all the memories you shared with him.
“Miss Bohr?” the voice quickly pulled you out of your thoughts, making you blink a little faster before looking ahead. The smile that greeted you almost made you smile too, if it weren't for the melancholy that was sinking you deeper and deeper “We're going to dinner, would you like to join us?”
“Call me Y/n, please” you simply replied, seeing him nod slightly before continuing to stand there.
He was waiting for your answer, even if it was a no, so he could tell the boss that you didn't want to leave.
“I'll—” you sighed softly, shrinking a little more into the soft chair you had sat down in a while ago.
“Do you want to stay here? I can let boss know that you're not hungry,” he said for you, and your silent thanks came in the form of a slow nod.
The man turned and walked across the room until he reached the door, opened it, and disappeared from your field of vision, leaving you alone once again.
It wasn't that it had been bad, because that was how you had been staying for a long time. A few good months, to be exact. You heard Jongseong talking to some guys about completing a few months since he had kidnapped you, and you wanted to hold back the tears from counting the months since you learned the truth.
If it was fate to make you stop in a filthy room just to hear the truth about your father, so be it. But it was also making you think about a lot of things. About everything you had experienced up to that moment, the people who had passed through your life and simply disappeared… Did your father have anything to do with all that?
Once again, your thoughts were interrupted, this time by a knock on the door. You didn't bother to move a muscle, but muttered something to let them know they could come in. Unlike weeks ago, when they would enter that room without even identifying themselves, placing your meal there, and, if you were lucky, someone would just say hello.
Steady footsteps were the first thing to flood your ears as you silenced your thoughts to pay attention to what was happening around you. Your eyes quickly fixed on the figure of the man in front of you, looking a little more formal than any other time you had seen him. He was truly a sight to behold, breathtaking, but your body was empty of any energy to think about anything other than ending your father's disgusting legacy.
“Miss—”
“Y/n, please” you quickly cut him off, not wanting to hear that surname anymore. Not after everything had penetrated your brain even deeper, making you relive the past and how foolish you had been to never suspect anything.
He just shook his head, taking a few more steps until he was facing you, on the other side of the table. From that distance, you could see a little more of his details.
Black hair neatly styled with gel or whatever hair product he was using, giving a great view of his forehead. Down his face, tanned skin, and a straight nose. His lips were well-defined and thick, not fleshy, but large in a very beautiful way. You noticed a red line between his lower lip, perhaps a habit of his to bite there when he was nervous or impatient. You, for example, drummed your fingers anywhere – as you were doing on the wooden table at that moment.
“Y/n” he repeated and nodded, understanding why you wanted him to call you by your name. Noting, too, that this was the first time he had heard your name. Before, you were just Miss Bohr, without him bothering to look you up.
Your nod was almost at the same time as his, giving you more time to analyze him. If Park was saying something, you were definitely missing it. You were too focused on noticing the sharp line of his jaw, very well defined and elegant. Going down to his collarbones, which would have been almost exposed if it weren't for the black dress shirt he buttoned up to the second-to-last button.
Damn, you would have said to yourself, curious enough to try to see if he had more muscles under those clothes. If any other part of him was as defined as his jawline and lips.
“Jungwon told me you don't want to eat” was the only thing you caught after you stopped looking, trying to compose yourself for a moment as you adjusted in your chair.
“I don't—” you took a deep breath, “I'm just trying to take it all in, I just—”
“Join us” he interrupted, taking a few more steps to stand next to the table where you were sitting. If Park wanted to, he could take just one more step and stand right next to your chair. “It'll just be dinner, we won't talk about business or anything about our plan.”
His tone of voice was different this time; it seemed like he wanted to try to be a little calmer to convince you. You looked away at that moment, thinking about what you should do.
This time, most likely the meal would not be prepared by him – who proved to be a great cook making snacks for you – but by someone he trusted. More people would be at the table, so nothing could happen.
You shouldn't have that kind of thought about someone – an entire mafia – who wanted to help you and wanted your help to destroy your father. If you were going to die, it would have happened the second they put you in that filthy room.
“All right,” your gaze stopped wandering around the room, fixing on him again. For a brief moment, you saw a glimpse of a smile play on that man's cracked lips, and your heart raced. Even if it was only for a few seconds, unfortunately, it had happened.
“Come, I hope you like seafood.” he moved far enough away and raised his hand to you, waiting for you to accept the offer and get up with his help. Without thinking too much, your fingers slowly touched his, and there was a striking difference between the two of you. Your hands, even without all your moisturizers for so long, were soft and silky. His, on the other hand, were rough and firm, and yet he held you gently until you got up from the chair.
“Thank you, Mr. Park,” you also tried to smile, at least to show that you were trying to reciprocate a remnant of kindness that was still in him, despite everything that had happened.
He let go of your hand, stopping beside you to show that he would walk with you to where dinner was being served.
“My name is Jongseong” he said, “but since you let me call you Y/n, you can call me Jay.” He walked silently beside you after that, the only noise between you being your heels and the sound of his shoes against the floor.
And your head, which was still screaming for questions and answers from all sides.
You wanted to forget the feeling of your father's arms around your body when he found you. A forged message from a restricted number that the Park mafia sent, you were blindfolded and your hands gently tied by Jongseong, before he told you everything you should do while you were at home.
And that's what you did.
You let your father become more present and even more protective of you after the kidnapping, even though you were disgusted by his presence and how routine his affectionate touches – which repulsed you – had become. You also exchanged a few emails through an account Jaeyun had created, with an ID your father never dreamed was yours. Everything had been very well thought out before you wandered the corridors of the Bohr mansion.
Now that everything had been clarified, your father's true face, the real plans behind all that false talk that the Bohr mafia was a family, and that everyone loved him. You felt like throwing up.
“My peach pie” your father called you, making you look up with a calm tone of voice, but alert to your constant distractions. You looked at him and dropped your fork on your plate, not even touching the food. “Are you okay?”
“I'm fine” your rehearsed response and low tone of voice were the biggest tricks to keep you from running out of there and going anywhere else.
“You haven't even touched your food,” he said again, the cutlery clinking as he slowly savored his dinner. “It's your favorite.”
Pasta with pesto sauce really was your favorite dish in the world when you remembered that your father taught you how to cook it after your mother mysteriously disappeared. Now you questioned everything that had happened up to that point… Had it really been mysterious? What about your friends who had gone to countries you had never even heard of on study trips? They had already graduated, for God's sake!
Had you been so naive as to believe that everything your father had said was really true? And why was a man who was almost your age, who had inherited his father's mafia empire – and who had kidnapped you – someone you trusted? Since he was the only one capable of showing you the whole truth, with proof after proof of how much of a lie you had been living until now.
“I'm a little tired, sorry… Dad” you didn't want to stutter when you called him dad. Even though he had done all that shit, calling him by his name would raise too much suspicion that something was going on, since you had always been a very affectionate daughter.
“Okay. How about you get some rest? I'll save the pasta for you later,” he smiled so sweetly, and it made your stomach churn. But still, you nodded in agreement and got up.
The steps to where he was sitting were the longest in a long time; your heart was racing, and you could swear you could hear it beating in your ears. Standing in front of your father, watching him calmly get up and still smiling, he hugged you as he always did. And it was completely strange and grotesque to know that that hug was once your haven, but at the same time, it was why so many people had suffered and why he had lied to you all that time.
I never hurt anyone who didn't deserve it.
Just guns, drugs, and a little fun for my employees.
It was a terrible world, but you couldn't do anything if you grew up in the middle of it. You knew what it was about, even though you didn't think your father's illicit and illegal activities were that macabre.
“Take care, my peach pie,” he said, kissing your forehead gently. You shuddered and swallowed the lump in your throat that was almost forming. “If you need anything, Dad will be in the office. You can call me anytime.”
You really could, whenever you wanted, even if he was in an important meeting. You could just walk in at any time and make your father give you the attention you needed… That's how you saw him before you knew everything. The Park mafia could be lying to drive you crazy and turn you against your father, that was your initial thought.
But what about when Jongseong showed you, with evidence, everything he was talking about? You still remember when you left that dark room for the first time, the burning in your eyes when he turned on the computer screen and explained what you could find. You also remember how he looked at you – with a certain concern – while you cried copiously because everything had become chaos in your life and in the way you saw your father.
You felt your whole body ache with exhaustion from so many thoughts over the last few weeks after you came home, living that double life and pretending you didn't know who Stephen Bohr really was.
The walk to your old room had never been so long as it was at that moment; your feet were hurting, and you wanted to cry – even though you had no more tears left for that. You took off your shoes as soon as you locked the bedroom door, allowing yourself to sigh heavily in your own company.
There was no noise inside the room, not even footsteps to be heard in the hallway outside your bedroom. For at least once since you returned, things seemed too quiet.
You walked around the room as if you were there for the first time. Memorizing every little thing you seemed to have forgotten, even the small details of handmade things you had made with your best friends at some point. Photos, paintings, and your bed. The piece of furniture you missed more than anything else in the world.
Throwing yourself onto the soft mattress and the fluffy, silky comforters, you sighed once more.
“I missed this so much,” you muttered softly, even though you were still alone, smelling the fabric softener that was always used. But your peace was short-lived, and you shuddered when you felt your cell phone vibrate in one of your pockets.
A curse word quickly escaped your mouth when the display showed an unknown caller, but you knew who it was.
Wondering whether to answer or not, your eyes darted between the flashing name and your surroundings, searching for something. But nothing could stop you at that moment.
“Hi,” you answered after a few rings, whispering for fear that someone might have decided to walk down the hallway where your room was at that moment.
“Hi, are you okay?” It was Jongseong's voice, unmistakable as it was when he spoke to you, but over the phone, it seemed even deeper and closer. As if he were there with you, speaking close to your ear, not through a device.
“I'm fine,” you replied after a while, holding back the urge to sigh once more as you fell back onto the bed, now with the phone in your hand. You thought about asking something, anything… But what would you ask? “Are you okay, too?”
You felt like an idiot, wanting to throw your cell phone away and never answer another call from him again. But Jongseong wasn't there to see how embarrassed you had become, let alone that your face had turned red when he simply agreed with a grunt.
“I'm trying, but nothing out of the ordinary” he replied, and the sound of footsteps on the other end of the line could be heard. He seemed to be pacing back and forth, calling out here and there – talking to his dogs, which you didn't even dare to mention, but which had never hurt you – as he tried to balance the conversation. “Has your father said anything?”
“Not yet,” you said. “Nothing we can do…” Your eyes scanned the ceiling of the room as you listened to him say and review what he had thought of with each call. It was as if Jongseong had a new idea every moment, but was too anxious to put it into practice, and nothing seemed to get done.
“Hey, wait,” suddenly something clicked in his mind. You were the daughter of a mobster and had just been released from your kidnapping, so… “We can't talk now.”
“What? Why, what's going on?” he asked, euphoric. “Y/n, are you okay?”
“I'm fine, it's just—” a pause. Your eyes scanned the room, with a very different feeling than when you were there for the first time. “I don't know if it's a good idea.”
“Say anything?” he asked. You just nodded in response. “Can we meet somewhere, then?” You nodded again, afraid to say anything and end up saying too much. “Okay, I'll text you the address. Meet me there in twenty minutes.”
Jongseong hung up as quickly as he had called. You felt a chill run down your spine, hugging the phone to your chest as you waited for his message telling you where to meet him.
The coffee looked cozy, with good, inviting lighting. And the smell was so good that it made your stomach growl. You were only there to talk to Jongseong, of course, but eating something would do you good. After all, you had refused your father's food, and getting him to let you go out without worrying was a necessary sacrifice.
“Would you like to order something?” he asked without taking his eyes off you, glancing between the menu on the table and a few people passing by in front of the café.
He chose the table furthest away, almost unseen by those arriving. Discretion was essential at that moment, and neither you nor he could be seen like that.
“Please,” you replied immediately, “I couldn't eat my father's food…”
You didn't need to say much; he understood you perfectly. Perhaps even more than he should when it came to your father.
Jongseong listened carefully to what you wanted from the menu, making sure to add extra chocolate to the waffles and get the larger cup of caramel coffee you had shown interest in. You smiled in gratitude, hoping he would order the same amount or even more. But seeing him settle for a coffee and a slice of toast, questions flooded your mind, but you knew he had to ask you things, too.
Like… Why didn't you want to talk on the phone? That was the big question in his eyes, and it remained there until the coffee orders arrived.
“Thank you,” he said to the waiter before the young man walked away, waving and turning his attention back to you. He didn't take his eyes off your every move, from picking up your drink to taking a bite of your chocolate-covered waffle. It was something bordering on concern; you could see it in the way his eyes studied you. Or how he looked for any sign of discomfort you might have if you didn't like the food or drink.
Jongseong's fingers nervously held the coffee cup as he watched you eat. And you, meanwhile, savored the sweet treat until you couldn't take another bite.
“Do you want to tell me why we had to come to a place to talk?” he asked after a moment of silence. Hearing the intonation in his voice would always be a surprise to you, although you remembered the first time you had heard it, it was completely different.
Your gaze left the dessert and hovered over the coffee, shifting slightly until Jongseong noticed that he was still looking at you. Perhaps he had never stopped looking.
Your mouth opened and closed a few times, unsure whether you should be so direct or simply ramble on until you could speak. But there was the man who had exposed your father in the worst possible scenario and yet spared you from something bad because he wanted your help.
You weren't naive enough to think that once he got what he wanted, he might actually kill you. But a small part of you believed that he wouldn't, that Jongseong would spare you because all the effort would be worth it in the end, and you wanted to believe that small part.
“Because I don't trust being in that environment,” you replied quietly, with some trepidation, but you chose to be direct. “Maybe my father has tapped my phone or something, so…”
“Good thinking, you're right,” Jongseong seemed slightly surprised. “I hadn't thought of that,” he said, still looking at you, looking away for a few seconds until the coffee cup sighed slightly.
The conversation went on for a while longer, with you telling him how you felt in that environment after you had returned. The feeling of being watched after you returned was overwhelming, even though your father showed little of it and had only doubled your security. That you had to lie on some occasions – like now – when you were going to meet a friend and wanted privacy, just so you could go out alone. But there was no guarantee that he hadn't put someone on you to watch you.
“Don't worry, I have three cars on this street watching us too, and Riki is taking care of the cameras on the block.” You should feel safe knowing that he was always three steps ahead of what you thought your father would be doing.
Jonseong was the kind of man who was in it and wasn't going to lose. He had already lost a lot, and this wasn't the time he was going to let the opportunity slip away.
You just agreed, feeling more and more suffocated by it all. A lying father, whom you discovered was worse than you thought. The man sitting across from you, close to your age or just a little older, was being as sensible as you had never been in your life, even though you knew what kind of world you lived in. Or thought you knew, exposing your father because of a kidnapping.
Things didn't make much sense, yet at the same time, they fit together perfectly, and that left you confused most of the time. In the same proportion that it made you want to continue with it.
“Y/n,” Jongseong's voice reverberated in your ears once again, pulling you out of the repetitive thoughts that haunted you at the same time. You raised your head to face him, noticing a glimpse of concern as he furrowed his brow to get a better look at you. “How about we meet at my house every time we need to talk about this?”
Your eyes were still staring at him. You wanted to sigh in surprise, but you didn't want to appear even more vulnerable than you already were.
“How are we going to do this?” Your voice came out low, but nothing compared to a whisper. He heard it very well.
Jongseong settled into his chair, paused to look around for a moment, and then sighed.
“I have meetings with my men three times a week to align everything we're planning at the moment,” he said, and you just nodded. “I can set aside a day for you to go there so we can talk in more detail about everything you've found out. That will give you time to gather some information or anything your father might let slip along the way.”
“And that way he won't suspect that I'm going out too much either,” you began to understand where Jongseong was going with all this. His idea was good; you understood perfectly why he had taken over his father's business.
“You'll be able to relax more by going out on the appointed day and time, without having to worry about us talking on the phone,” he continued. “That way, I don't have to call you or worry that your father has tapped your cell phone.”
His tone of voice was playful, even though the situation wasn't really that funny. But it allowed you to laugh a little as he accompanied you and… What a different sound. His laugh was light, even though his gaze conveyed a seriousness that sent shivers down your spine.
“All right, I accept your offer,” you finally said, after letting out a quick laugh while continuing to listen to him laugh. Jongseong composed himself, finished his coffee, and looked at you again.
“Great, let's decide on the days and times. I'll give you the address, and we'll meet every week, okay?”
You just nodded in agreement before starting a slightly lighter conversation, where you told him about your routine back home. He seemed concerned and looked for the best days – and the quietest ones – when your father wasn't keeping such a close eye on you. It was difficult after “returning” from a kidnapping, but it wasn't impossible to find a loophole.
It was all or nothing, and you both seemed increasingly willing to do it.
It was exhausting at first, trying to find an excuse to go out one day a week, for a few hours, without your father suspecting anything.
Your only idea – perhaps the most sensible one ever – was to say that you were starting therapy. It was something confidential, and no one could accompany you. You would need privacy, even to go to the supposed office, so your father and his men would grant you your wish to go alone.
After all, you had to pretend to cry and say you had nightmares about that dimly lit, smelly basement, so you would have to talk to someone other than armed men and your father.
Bullshit. That was exactly what you were doing every Thursday night at the Jongseong mansion.
In the early days, it seemed very strange. You were the only woman in that room, and the boys seemed hungry for every word that came out of your mouth, accompanied by your father's name. It wasn't that they wanted to make you uncomfortable, and you even felt relieved – and a little impressed – that Jongseong seemed to want to show that he was there to smooth things over when they got too much.
Like, for example, the exaggerated stares and glaring looks in your direction. At first, it bothered you; you felt disgusted and remembered that Bohr's blood ran through your veins. But at the same time, every time Jongseong called you or asked how you were feeling, it was as if your human side, unconnected to your father, spoke louder.
“Do you like Thai food?”
Your eyes quickly met those of the boy in front of you, always smiling. Jaeyun was the one who gave the orders when Jongseong got tired of talking. You talked to him first, apart from everyone else who exchanged a few words with you.
“I—yes, I do,” you increasingly wanted to not stutter, to pretend you were used to being around those boys. But the truth was that it could be a long time before you got used to it.
“Great, Riki and I ordered several dishes, and I forgot to ask if you liked them,” he said hurriedly, quickly walking to the other side of the room.
“Okay, so what's the news about your dad this week?” Jongseong stopped talking to Heeseung and Sunghoon, looking in your direction this time. You didn't want to move too much in that leather armchair because every noise made you feel like you were the center of attention. But at that moment, it was because everyone was looking in your direction.
Your throat seemed to dry up for a few seconds, Jongseong's serious – but not frightening – gaze keeping you in place. Jaeyun, even while talking to Riki across the room, nodded his head at you as if to say something. Maybe a word of encouragement. Sunghoon seemed indifferent, looking at you the same way he looked at the other guys while they were sorting things out. As for Heeseung, he looked like he wanted to cut you into pieces.
“He— Well—” You wanted to look away, not notice how Heeseung's forehead wrinkled every time you said something. Your voice seemed to bother him anyway.
“Come on, Bohr, get all the shit your father did out.”
“Heeseung,” Jongseong called him immediately, stopping him from insulting you at that moment. “We need to have a little chat outside.”
“What?” he almost yelled as he looked away from you to Jongseong.
“Sunghoon, you can gather the information for now. We'll be right back.”
He just got up and left without giving room for further conversation. If Heeseung didn't want to kill you before, now he seemed to want to do so and parade your body around. As if shouting to everyone that he was the one who would have done that.
The door slammed shut as he left, leaving you and the other three inside.
“Don't mind Heeseung, he's… quite temperamental,” Sunghoon said, stretching out on the two-seater sofa where he had been sitting with the boy a few seconds earlier.
A slow nod came from you, not knowing how to act at that moment. Jaeyun and Riki stopped talking about whatever it was and returned to the couches where they were sitting next to you and Sunghoon.
“Let's just give him some time…” Riki said.
You just nodded, looking at them as they waited for a response.
“My dad got a call yesterday for a meeting at the pier.” Your voice didn't falter as you thought it would; it was, on the contrary. It seemed like you were talking about an interesting subject, and from the look on the three in front of you, it really was happening. “He took two men with him. Peter and Angus, and these guys are—”
For a moment, you felt a lump in your throat, a memory hit you hard, and you felt like vomiting. Your eyes began to burn, and before you heard Sunghoon ask if you were okay, Jongseong's voice had already done so in his place.
“We only heard the end… Who are Peter and Angus?” he asked.
“They're disgusting guys that my dad takes to certain places, maybe that's the kind of thing you're after.” Your voice broke, and you tried to clear your throat, but without success. A small sob escaped your throat.
“Y/n,” Jongseong called you, his voice a little softer than you had heard before. “They—”
“With me? No, they never even tried, but…”
“But?” To your surprise, it was Heeseung who was encouraging you to speak this time. His tone was still harsh, but he didn't seem to want to kill you this time. Maybe curse you for generations to come, but not with as much hatred now.
“A memory came to me, and it made me nostalgic and afraid.”
“Want to share?” he continued to ask you.
You didn't want to miss the moment of seeing Heeseung in this small, civilized interaction with you, and you also felt your throat close even more as you tried to open your mouth to start talking.
When you realized it, your cheeks were wet, and the salty taste of tears only made you fall even more into reality.
It was a memory, and it hurt you deeply.
“My best friend rejected those two guys with all her might.” You swallowed your tears to start talking, but your broken voice revealed that there was more to come. “They never said anything while I was there, but she told me that they flirted with her every time they saw her at home. Luckily, I didn't leave her alone for a second because I knew every corner of that place.”
“So they never did anything to her? Not even to you?” Sunghoon asked.
“No” you gave a sad smile through your tears, wiping your cheeks with the sleeve of your sweater to try to dry some of the tears that wouldn't stop falling. “Emma said she would cut their dicks off if anything happened.”
“Emma? What… Wait, did you say Emma?” Heeseung looked shocked. His eyes were wide like you had never seen before, and he looked not only scared but also in shock.
“Yes, I—” you paused, looking for other glances besides Heeseung's. Jongseong was just as shocked as his friend, while Jaeyun and Riki were static, the former opening and closing his mouth, wondering whether or not he should say something. “Did I say something wrong?”
Another pause, not as long as you thought it would be. Heeseung's sigh soon broke the silence.
“No, Y/n, you didn't.” his voice sounded a little weaker, but what shocked you was that, for the first time, he hadn't called you by your last name. Reminding you of the repugnance you had in carrying it. Heeseung seemed vulnerable and tried not to look at you, even though he still seemed shocked.
“We—” Jaeyun drew attention to himself, making everyone look at him. “Let's go get food. Who wants to come along?”
“I'll go,” Jongseong said. “That way I can see if my babies need anything.”
You couldn't tell the exact moment when everyone left the room, leaving only you and Heeseung. Fear began to consume you more than on the day you had been kidnapped. The guy who showed the most anger towards you was there, alone with you, inside a huge room that you didn't even know was soundproof.
“That… That woman you mentioned was—” he swallowed hard, “Your best friend? Really?”
Your sad smile was the first thing Heeseung saw when he looked up at you. Something inside him screamed pain and suffering; perhaps he had lost a best friend, too.
“Since the first day we met, actually,” you continued to smile, “Emma was my foundation in the midst of that madness. I miss her so much.”
Me too, it stuck in Heeseung's throat, ready to be said out loud. For a split second, he wanted to throw the Park family's plans out the window and tell you the whole truth about who Emma was, but at the same time, that could cause you to suffer just as much as they did. And you knowing about the shock regarding your father was punishment enough in Lee's view.
“We'll help you with that” might not have been the best choice of words, but Heeseung knew he had to say something. At least so as not to show so many unspoken feelings in front of you.
His nod silenced the rest of the conversation; nothing more needed to be said. So he also relaxed and stayed with his own thoughts and memories of Emma.
Like when Jaeyun first introduced her. At a business dinner, important mafia families were there; he would even venture to say that Bohr was there. Not with his daughter, he was too protective. But Jaeyun took Emma as company because he didn't want to feel alone and knew she would take care of him after seeing him drunk.
But she ended the night in Heeseung's car, and then listened to Jaeyun's tireless lecture on how his best friend was no good.
How wonderful that she didn't listen to him, Heeseung thought. Since that night, the two had become inseparable. United by a quiet love, even though both their lives were completely troubled. Emma brought all the calmness of a life that Heeseung wanted to have, and although it was far from reality, he saw his whole future with her. The family he wanted to build, the things he would leave behind just to live with that woman… Which were soon torn away as soon as she disappeared.
Stephen would pay for everything he had done to Emma. And as much as Heeseung wanted to feel all the anger towards the Bohr family, seeing you suffer from the disappearance of your best friend left him in pieces. You seemed as lost as they all were about her whereabouts, believing something your father had told you – a complete lie – just to make you believe that nothing had happened to her.
“Everything okay here?” Riki's voice snapped Heeseung out of his thoughts as he blinked rapidly and watched you settle down on the couch, controlling your breathing so you could calm down a little.
“The food took a while, but it still seems to be hot,” said Jaeyun.
“Hey,” the voice next to you quickly caught your attention. “I didn't know what you liked, so I took a little of everything.” Jongseong bent down in front of you, the plate between you as he looked in your direction.
“Let's eat,” Heeseung agreed, opening the bags and looking for cutlery and unwrapping the packages.
Meanwhile, you waited your turn, watching the boys as they took portions and filled their plates.
Your eyes searched for what was inside before turning to him, giving him a small, simple smile.
“Thanks, Jong—” he cleared his throat, “Jay. Thanks, Jay.”
With a satisfied smile, he slipped away to get another plate and sat down next to you in the other armchair.
The food was delicious, and the silence stretched on a little longer if it weren't for a few comments from Riki joking around with Heeseung. The two of them teased each other and made everyone more comfortable.
“What about your babies?” you asked after a while. The food was already finished, the drinks were half empty, and now Jaeyun was arguing with Riki about some method he used in the last operation for the Park family. That wasn't all that interesting.
Jongseong seemed to agree, because he looked relieved when you struck up a conversation. His eyes seemed to sparkle as he smiled and looked in your direction.
“Probably sleeping,” he shrugged. “Charlotte has been grumbling a lot these past few days, our vet is on vacation, and I can't trust people to get close to them like that.”
“It's really hard,” you agreed. “Have you tried anything?”
“Nothing yet,” he sighed. “I hope she just misses me. I'll go crazy if something happens to her.”
He was so sweet, it didn't even seem like he had threatened to feed you to his dogs a few days after you two had met. You would have laughed at the whole situation if the ringing of your phone hadn't made you freeze.
No one else would call you at that moment except your father, and unfortunately, when you picked up the phone, his name lit up on the screen like it was in a movie.
“Are you okay?” Jongseong asked, seeing that your expression had changed in a few seconds. But he quickly understood as soon as you managed to turn the phone screen around and point it at him. “Okay, quiet!” he tried to silence the others who were still arguing, even getting the attention of Heeseung, who was almost asleep on the couch.
“Answer it and put it on speaker” Riki asked, looking for something else in the room while you answered the call.
“Hi… Dad,” you felt a lump in your throat as you said that out loud, especially with pairs of eyes watching you intently. The eyes of people who knew your father well, even better than you did.
“Hi, my little princess. I decided to call you because we haven't spoken all day. Are you okay?”
Riki gave the thumbs up, and the improvised recording device on another device was already rolling. It would capture everything your father might let slip.
“Yes, I am,” you replied, a little embarrassed, not used to so many eyes staring at you while you talked on the phone. “When I left, you were in a meeting. I didn't want to disturb you.”
“Nonsense, my love, you never disturb me,” he laughed. Your stomach churned, and you saw Jongseong's face wrinkle even more. “Peter and Angus would be happy to see you. I was talking to them.”
Heeseung's fists clenched. Jongseong looked at him once.
“Business?” you asked.
“Yeah, you know how it is…” He paused briefly, fiddling with something on the other end of the line. You could tell it was pieces of paper being crumpled. “I met them yesterday, and today we made some things official, signed some papers, nothing too important.”
“All right…”
“And you, are you feeling okay going to therapy?” he asked.
“Yes—”
“Therapy?” The genuine doubt in Heeseung's voice didn't give him time to measure the sound; it just came out. And when he realized it, he quickly put his hands over his mouth. It was too late. The movement on the other end of the line and the murmurs coming from his father indicated that he had heard something.
“Are you with someone? Y/n, where are you? Tell me.” The serious tone on the other end of the line indicated frustration; he was starting to get nervous about the whole situation.
The indecision between ending the call, running away, and telling another lie to your father was tearing you apart. You looked at the boys who shared that space with you, and everyone except Riki, who was focused on recording, kept their eyes on you. Heeseung seemed the most genuinely shocked.
“Dad, I—” you bit your lip, uncertainty eating away at you internally until you started to feel like crying again. Everything would fall apart if it weren't for the guy coming towards you.
Heeseung looked concerned now, his shocked expression giving way to something more… understanding? You had never seen him like this towards you since this whole Park mafia plan began.
“Give me the phone” he hissed, without making a sound. You frowned, quickly shrinking back and pulling the device toward you. Heeseung was crazy; he would curse your father and sentence him to death that very day if he could. “Please give me the phone” he whispered a little louder now, approaching you and finally taking the device from your hand.
On the other end of the line, your father was still grumbling, sometimes shouting your name and saying all the swear words you didn't even know existed, just because of the slight anger that was beginning to consume him.
“Mr. Bohr?” Heeseung's voice changed tone completely. Jongseong held his breath and counted tirelessly to try not to lose his mind. What was that idiot doing? And the other question was: why had you allowed it? He would kill one of his best friends if the plan went wrong.
"Who am I talking to? What did you do to my daughter? I'll—”
“I'm Heeseung.” It wasn't risky to lie about his name; after all, her father didn't know him. His family had that in common with hers: keeping their children completely secret. He wanted Jongseong to have the same luck; seeing his friend take the lead in all of this sometimes tired him. It left him completely worried, but equally responsible for keeping him alive. “I'm your daughter's boyfriend.”
What the hell was that? That had been the reason Riki had taken his focus off the recording and swallowed the biggest curse of all.
Your eyes were shining with tears, but equally wide with that revelation. The guy had almost killed you and walked away humming, now he had literally lied to your father, saying he was dating you. Even your kidnapping had been less shocking than that.
“Oh” was the only thing your father said at that moment. More silent than before, he seemed to be fiddling with something. “She's not in therapy, is she?” he asked.
“Actually, she is. I came to accompany her” he tried to stay calm, looking at you the whole time. His gaze shifted to Jongseong, who had his fingers intertwined. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down, nervousness taking over while Heeseung was still standing in front of him, talking to his father on the phone.
“Bring her home when you're done, then.” Your father seemed calmer, and you were able to breathe a little easier, but not completely, since the call was still ongoing. “I'll take this opportunity to meet you, too.”
“Okay,” Heeseung said, looking at his friend beside him, before everyone could hear the end of the call.
“See you soon, Heeseung.”
As soon as the call ended, he couldn't take his eyes off you. That glint conveyed all the feelings he had. Fear, anger, frustration. You were aware that Jongseong didn't like your father, but Heeseung was much worse.
And now no one knew how this story would unfold with him pretending to be his boyfriend to the guy he hated most in the world.
“Hey, what's this?” Emma's voice was soft, even though Heeseung knew she was angry at him for taking so long to show up.
“An apology” he pouted, handing her a small bouquet of lilies that she loved so much. The first flowers he heard her say she really liked. Since that day, Heeseung had made an effort to do everything he could to remind her how much his girlfriend loved lilies.
“I don't think that helps” she continued seriously, but softly, taking the small bouquet and turning her back to enter the house. He just followed her, looking around even though he knew that place like the back of his hand.
Heeseung watched Emma look for a container until she found a vase and filled it with water, taking the lilies out of the small package and dipping the stems to accommodate them there. As soon as she finished, she barely noticed that he had walked the steps that separated them until he was right in front of her. One of his hands went to her waist, while the other went to his girlfriend's face to brush away a few strands of hair.
“Maybe this will help.” The light touch of his lips melted away any negative feelings she might have had at that moment.
Emma knew the power her boyfriend had over her, and how Heeseung could magically make all her anger and frustration go away.
The kiss was slow, even though he missed her and wanted to show her everything he felt, but at the same time, he wanted to savor every inch of her mouth as he heard her sigh during the kiss.
“I hate it when you do that” she laughed against his mouth, followed by the boy's laughter before giving another kiss and pulling away.
“I hate it too, but I had no choice” he murmured, stepping away and walking around the kitchen counter. He let his girlfriend admire the flowers while he focused on taking off his coat, which was already weighing heavily on his body.
He just didn't count on that effort being too much. The painful thud after the mission made him groan loudly in pain, while Emma took her attention away from the flowers and looked at her boyfriend.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
Damn. Now he would have to explain. She hated that her brother was involved in these things, and her boyfriend even more so. Emma didn't know what to do to warn them, so all she could do was accept it and live far away from it.
“I'm fine, I just—” He already regretted opening his mouth. Now he would have to explain.
Explain how his back was hurt, and how he had rolled on the floor with two guys to try to disarm one and not die while the other had almost stabbed him. Heeseung wanted to spare her those details.
“Did you and my brother get into trouble again?” she asked, looking at him with those bright eyes that he knew would be teary in a few seconds. Heeseung hurried, complaining even more about the pain from the urge to run to his girlfriend and hug her.
“Hey, no, it wasn't like that. We—”
“I hate these things, I hate you both for doing this.” They hated each other, too. Heeseung had had that conversation with Jaeyun so many times he had lost count.
“And I love you,” he whispered, hearing her sniffle softly. It was too late, Emma was already starting to cry, and he didn't want that. Kissing the top of his girlfriend's head, he whispered once more that he loved her. “I'm sorry for this, I love you, okay?”
He knew that saying he loved her wasn't a cure for her worry, not knowing if he would come back alive or without a scratch. Heeseung wanted to give her that kind of security; he wanted her to stay away from it, too, after all, Emma's whole life was in this environment that she hated.
But what he couldn't complain about was that his girlfriend always saw the good in everyone. Her brother, his brother, her best friend, who was the son of a mafia boss.
Heeseung just wanted Emma to never know what he really knew.
“Can I ask you something?” your voice cut through Heeseung's reverie like a knife. He quickly glanced in your direction, just nodding his head while keeping his eyes on you.
“Go ahead” he said, taking a sip of the wine your father had served him for the umpteenth time that night.
The fake relationship had gone well, and Heeseung had been visiting your house more often for the past two months. Your father really liked him. Meanwhile, the two of you were the perfect duo to get firsthand information on anything your father might let slip.
Jongseong was thrilled with all the information he was receiving, but at the same time, he seemed much more serious with Heeseung every time he came to tell him what had happened.
“Why do you always stop in front of that photo and stare at it for long minutes?” the question hit him hard. He only realized he was holding the picture frame because you had said so.
He cleared his throat, putting the picture back where he always took it. It was a photo of you with Emma and another boy, maybe a relative of yours or even a friend he didn't know very well. She was smiling so brightly, hugging you around the neck, while the boy next to you held a bottle of soda and a half-eaten sandwich in his other hand. You were laughing so happily that he didn't know how long he had been looking at it.
“I—” he began, not knowing how or what to say. Should he tell her about Emma? If she hadn't told her about him and the boys, why should he? It wasn't fair since she had a life away from bad things – you and this guy in the photo – while he and the others were her family. People who had made wrong choices, but who also did everything they could to keep her away from any harm.
“Do you know either of them?” your question made Heeseung let the air out of his lungs for a few seconds, coughing slowly before drinking all the wine in one gulp.
“I— No, I don't” he smiled without showing his teeth, placing the glass on the table in his room where you and he almost always sat to make plans and gather information. “Just… Seeing you and your friends happy,” he added.
“Yes, they mean everything to me,” you said with false enthusiasm, and he noticed it was always like that when you mentioned Emma's name or talked about your friendships. Longing prevented you from feeling completely happy, and he wouldn't blame you for that.
“My friends are everything to me, too.” Heeseung pulled out a chair to sit down, watching you walk over to your bed and sit on the edge. Your glass had no alcohol in it, and he always teased you about how, living in an environment with Stephen Bohr, it was impossible for you not to drink a drop of alcohol. “I think I would be able to give my life for them.”
“Intense” you laughed, and so did he, but your eyes rolled to the photo where Heeseung was stuck minutes before. “But I would also die for the two of them.”
He never regretted anything that had happened in his life, but at that moment, seeing you talk that way about Emma, Heeseung felt a little guilty for treating you the way he did. After all, that summed up your father, not you.
“Do you want to tell me about them?”
“About my friends?” You raised your eyebrows, but smiled anyway. That subject would bring back good memories and make you smile, taking away the urge to cry when you thought about the two of them and how much you missed them.
“Sure,” he said, smiling weakly. “I just want you to promise me that we'll go downstairs to get more wine, you'll drink with me, and you'll tell me whatever you want.”
You laughed.
“Deal, let's go” rolling your eyes, you saw Heeseung get up from his chair and walk towards you. He held out his hand to you, helping you up from the bed so you could walk with him out of that room.
The trail of blood leading from the handcuffed boy to where Jongseong stood was quite striking. He had that characteristic smile his friends nicknamed “diabolical” even those close to him were afraid when they saw him like that.
He gripped the brass knuckles between his fingers, striking the man's shattered jaw once more with his fist.
“Damn it” he muttered when he heard the boy groan in pain again, chuckling slightly as the torture device fell to the ground. Park's fingers were already throbbing from the force with which he was gripping them.
The dripping blood seemed like music to his ears, even more so after the sobs that followed. He didn't know why, but something inside him ignited each time he held the terrified gaze before him.
“Have you thought about whether you're going to open your mouth to speak or not?” He asked, glancing around and gesturing to one of the men who worked for the Park mafia. The young man quickly arrived with an old cloth for the boss to wipe his hand, staining the fabric with a reddish color as soon as he held it.
“I— I already said—” he struggled to speak, everything hurt, and he was still spitting up a good amount of blood while wondering if he was alive or if it was a mirage of fate making him open his mouth, which he could barely manage.
Jongseong moved forward again, but couldn't complete the journey, feeling Sunghoon's body collide with his in the middle of the path.
“Dude, that's enough,” he said quietly, loud enough for his friend to hear, while seeing him completely distraught. He looked at Sunghoon, not understanding the reason for the interruption, opening his mouth to protest or use the card he hated – saying he was the boss – but the other knew him well enough for that, intervening before anything happened, “You already gave him what he deserved.”
“No, he still hasn’t said anything” Jongseong tried, and once again, Sunghoon stopped him.
“I can take over from here; you go upstairs” he said.
“I won’t, and don’t make me say—”
He just rolled his eyes as his friend stepped aside and stood in the corner of the room, allowing Sunghoon to proceed with whatever he wanted to do.
Then he turned around, spinning on his heels and facing the man – or what was left of him – as he watched him writhing in a pool of blood. A few things made Sunghoon’s stomach churn, and one of them was the people Jongseong treated with such rage, leaving them alive before doing anything else.
He grabbed the chair from the nearest corner, dragging the furniture until it was a considerable distance from the other, without stepping on the blood and without getting too close.
“I think we need to talk” he said, calmer than Jongseong had been speaking to the boy who was there earlier. The shock was great, the tone different from what he was used to minutes before.
“I already said—” he spat out a little more blood, remaining motionless for a few seconds. Sunghoon raised his hand to help him at least sit up straight. “I already said I don’t know anything” he spoke slowly, a little paused, which was all he could manage. Without pain or grumbling.
Sunghoon nodded, looking to the corner of the room and seeing Jongseong run a hand through his hair and then over his chin, impatiently. He looked back at the boy in front of him.
“We’ve been monitoring you and your colleague for a few months” he began, leaning forward afterward, “And we know what you’re doing.”
For the first time, he fell silent; even the groans of pain and the spitting of blood had ceased. He stared at Sunghoon as best he could, his swollen eye still half-open and his vision slightly blurry.
“If you hand over Stephen’s scheme, nothing bad will happen to you” he continued, looking at Jongseong and then at the man again. “We promise.”
Silence settled in the room for a while. The man seemed to ponder what he was about to say while Sunghoon waited, and the other man in the corner of the room was already consumed by impatience.
Jongseong seemed to hear the ticking of the clock in his head while the man showed no sign of saying anything at all.
“That’s enough!” he shouted from the corner of the room, walking to the huge metal door and throwing it open. The noise nearly deafened the two who were there. Even though he was used to it, Sunghoon flinched at the sound as he watched his friend take action. “Bring me whoever is hungriest. Now.”
Just like that. Without much explanation.
The loud barking made the man, still frightened, shrink even further in his chair. Soon Jongseong appeared with a dog hanging on a leash, its eyes fixed on the man and barking incessantly.
“Didn’t they give you lunch today, champ?” he smiled at the dog, who seemed angry at the unfamiliar presence. “This is Hunter,” he introduced the dog as if it were human. Approaching the man and Sunghoon, the ferocious animal practically freed itself from the leash. The strength with which Park held it was unwavering, but at the same time, he loosened his grip slightly so that the dog could almost threaten to escape.
“Jay,” Sunghoon called a little louder over the sound of Hunter’s barking, rising from his chair as he looked at his friend. “Seriously, stop.”
His hands gripped the leash tightly, pulling Hunter in a silent command to stop, and so it was done. The dog stayed by his side as trained, looking at him without moving, unless Jongseong asked.
Sunghoon took a deep breath, smelling the scent of blood and urine in the air. It was embarrassing to bring someone to that point, but he knew that what the guy had done didn’t even compare to what was happening. But they needed him alive; only then could they gather information.
“So you—”
“I’ll tell you everything I know, just please…” he cried, begged, almost screamed, “Just don’t kill me.”
“Now we’re starting to understand each other” Jongseong smiled, gently patting Hunter’s head while forcing a smile at the desperate man in front of Sunghoon.
“Just… ask” he stammered, still crying from the effects of everything that was happening at that moment. “I’ll answer everything, anything.”
Sunghoon looked towards his friend, his smile seemingly serene. As if he hadn’t, minutes before, been ready to let his dog rip the man’s hand off and tear it apart. He sighed falsely, as if that information was the best thing he’d heard in years.
“Great” Park then took a step forward, looking at Hunter and then at the seated man who was looking back at him. “We’re waiting, Angus.”
Missing mari @zerocoded-deactivated20251024 so bad :( hope she's doing okay, those tsj yapping session will forever be missed. Ugh, I miss her works so much. Is she not gonna come back anymore? Does anyone know?
It's 31st, today was supposed to be Fully Tatted!Jungwon's day 😞💔
hello! to the anons who sent these asks (im not answering them one by one), i have tried contacting mari via discord but i didn’t get any response yet 🫡. i’ll assume she must be busy with school due to her major, so yea.. i’ll update if she had the time to reply and i hope she’s doing fine
Does anyone know what happened to zerocoded? They deleted their blog. They deleted their AO3 and they took with them the most incredible story I have like…ever read ever. I was obsessed with this story. It was an immersive Enhypen vampire story with the kind of dedicated lore I could easily spend 3 hours disassociating to. When I tell you I am devastated I do not use that term lightly. Please. Any information? Did she offer any explanation? Did she move her stories? I just want to read more of her work. What a TALENT… Her last published story was a literal masterpiece. It was about Sunghoon. It was supposed to be the first in a series.
I know she has an old blog she doesn’t use anymore. @greythemed
Zerocoded if you see this, you’re amazing. I would love to ask you a billion questions about the vampire universe you created. I need tattooed Jungwon to come back. Please send a desperate reader a crumb. I don’t even care if you don’t write for Enha anymore. I am dying to know more about your story!
Synopsis: you never even had a crush before but when you try to cover up for your friend, you end up trapped being seen as a crazy girl who has a crush on Heeseung, your brother’s bestfriend.
Word count: whole thing: ???
word count part1: 12k
Warnings: embarrassing situation, yn is gaslighting herself, you’ll throw up at the pet names, fluff, fake angst, kissing, mention of other idols, they drink alcohol at some point, cheesy stuff and cringe nicknames
n/a: guys idk if this is good enough but I’m fed up with this fr I’ve been writing it for MONTHS I came up with TEN DIFFERENT VERSIONS and I still doubt about things but if I don’t post it I fear I’ll start another version and I can’t afford it my sleeping schedule is messed up and I think about it in my dreams, I even messed up my exams because I was more worried about finishing the ff than my grades. Anyway I hope you’ll like it the other parts are coming quickly I swear.
part1 part2 part3
Never being in a relationship may have fucked up your perception of love. You were born a hopeless romantic, as far as you can remember you have always been waiting for that day where you would fall in love and never let go of this person.
You really wished it happened but years passed and still there was no one. You debilerately didn't date at first because no matter how much pressure your friends used to put on you during your school days there was no way you had a boyfriend at the ripe age of 8 (that and also Adam was really bad looking). Anyway at 8 you weren't interested in having a wedding during play time with some guys you were sure you would be ashamed of later.
When you hit middle school you were still reluctant of this idea, it's hard for a teenage girl to grow properly if she has to deal with a man. And guys are so annoying at 14 years old, let alone how bad looking they are, no it wasn't for you. At 14 guys were discovering sex and they would have made you like some kind of slut anyway so there was no way.
During highschool you weren't against experiencing love, at this point you had seen "to all the boys I loved before" and you were secretly wishing Peter Kavinsky would find you somehow (the Peter from the first movie not the one that wasn't waiting for Lara Jean in the hot tub duh).
You were only disapointed when you realised boys were still not to your liking, and still annoying, and Peter Kavinsky wasn't real. But also, they weren't looking at you. To be honest you were never the center of everybody's attention but you weren't left aside that much. But highschool turned things, you never realised how much more beautiful your friends were until the moment it hit you. Guys were all over them while no one looked back at you, not that you would have looked their way, but still you realised that maybe, guys found you ugly.
And this is how you ended up still lonely, unloved and virgin at 23 years old. Sure 23 isn't old, you're still so young, but every time you tell someone that no, you had never been in a relationship, no you were never in a situationship, no you never reached the "talking stage" with anybody, they always hit you with the "No way you're lying" or "You're not missing out on anything don't worry love only hurts" and even worse "You'll see, love will come when you least expect it" as if you were expecting anything anymore.
Like your bestfriend would always say, you're the ultimate virgin: no kiss, no hook ups, no relationship, not even a crush (celebrity crush doesn't count since they are out of reach anyway).
However being born a hopeless romantic you had to somehow fill the empty void in your heart, that's how you ended up watching rom-coms, romance anime, all sort of drama, your favourite songs were all about love, you began to read romance books, manhwas, romance mangas, and the devil itself: fanfictions. You were something like 13 when you discovered wattpad and fanfictions, you couldn't believe what you discovered that night. You had to put an all nighter to process everything, it was like the pandora box, there was so many love stories for free, you rushed to read as many as possible, always waiting for updates to your favourite stories. This is how you discovered what they called lemons at first, the smut, you would've never imagined that at 23 you were still reading about it and still wonder how it really is.
This made you who you are today, the quiet single girl, reading things on her phone. Everybody around you knew how single you felt inside, claiming either that you would end up alone anyway and that no man deserves you or even that you're still single because it meant that you would end up with the sexiest, prettiest, loveliest, richest most perfect man on earth (stay delulu).
And you think about your prolonged celibacy when you see two person kissing right in front of you while you're waiting in line to get cookies for you and your bestfriend, and with Juno by Sabrina Carpenter playing on the background you swear that if those two motherfuckers in front of you don't separate asap you'll start throwing hands.
"Stop hating on them I can see the daggers your eyes are throwing." Kazuha said, walking toward you.
You sighed, "I can't take it anymore, one more couple and I'll just kill myself." You mimicked beheading yourself with your thumb as if it was a knife.
"It's the campus couple's dating place, what were you expecting?" She whislted a laugh, replacing her hair behind her ears while looking at her phone. She was right, what exactly were you expecting, it's always like that, people are always eating each other's face as if they wished to swallow the other one right in front of you. No you're not jealous, you just wish they were more considerate of other people around them.
You practically ran back to your class after eating outside just to be back in the anxiety of university courses, what a delight. Kazuha followed you, amused and just plopped on the sit next to you, the auditorium wasn't full, you still had time before the beggining of the next lecture and Kazuha took advantage of it to show you all her campus crush's pictures.
He is known among every student for being one of the hotest boys on campus. There was a day when you and Kazuha were trying to find a vending machine and you randomly crossed his path, it was the day Kazuha developped sort of a crush on him after he smilled in your direction.
By sort of a crush what you really mean is that she began to call him her husband everyday and sending you pictures of him on her secret twitter account. You don't know where she got all those thirst traps of him but there sure is a lot and you can't deny the fact that he is good looking.
What you find weird is the fangirling, she doesn't know him, has never heard him talking or do anything else than walking on campus or posing on those pictures? The only thing she knows is that his name is Lee Heeseung, he is 2 years older than you, he majors in sociology, he likes playing basketball and he is popular for his doe eyes.
But for her knowing that little about him is making all this "campus crush" thing funnier as she says. She treats it like a celebrity crush, she doesn't want to be in a relationship with him but she enjoys the view of him and the excitment whenever she sees him on the other side of the road.
Sometimes she forces you to follow her, making a detour just to cross his path and giggle when she realised that you walked right in front of him, always claiming that she sweared he looked at you or that he seemed geniunely curious about you.
No matter how awkward it was you had to cope with that crush thing, you were the only follower to that secret twitter account she had and where she posted all of her crushes, from Lee Heeseung to Zayn Malik, each time she came across a picture of one of her crushes she just had to tweet about it, and to be honest it was really funny to witness, every off putting comment about how she could die for the man on the picture or how she deserves to be their wife made you laugh, some innocent freakyness never hurt anyone.
"Oh you should take a look to the last picture Carlos Sainz posted on his instagram he looks sooo yu-"
"What the-" You suddenly heard the group of girls on the row in front of you laughing louder, cutting Kazuha's fangirling session. They all turned toward you two, eyes wide on shock and mouth covered by their hands as they where giggling and whispering to each others.
You shoot a glance at Kazuha who wasn't understanding either what was their problem. You knew those girls, two were Kazuha's roommates, they weren't close friends but they got allong well so such weird behaviour was really surprising coming from them. After a minute of incomprehension, one of Kazuha's roommate turned around with her phone in hand.
"Kazuha is that you?" She handed you the phone and you gasped in shock, a shock that was nothing compared to the terror in Kazuha's eyes. Automatically her eyes found yours, it was unthinkable but her secret account had been discovered. The tweet Yuna was showing you was one of the numerous pictures of Heeseung where Kazuha commented "looking so fine and for what?".
Everybody's eyes inside the auditorium was on you, regardless if they heard what was happening or not, if they knew what was happening or not, everybody had their eyes on you and Kazuha who probably wished to disappear right away.
"W-well I-" she stutters, searching for something to say just to make this whole thing less embarassing but it was too hard to witness. You've never seen Kazuha so embarassed before, you could only guess what was going through her head. These four girls knew who Heeseung was. You were already imagining Kazuha's distress when she would just be inside her dorm whith her roommates also there, just talking about how Kazuha was a weird fangirl.
"It's not hers it's mine." You blurted out without even thinking.
All eyes shifted to you, the shock on their faces only growing because everybody knew you as the no boyfriend girl. Even you were shocked about what you just did, you sacrificed your whole social life in order to protect Kazuha's reputation.
This whole discreet attitude, you always did your best not to attract unwanted attention, all this work was long forgotten now. Kazuha snapped her head toward you, the fear inside her eyes was now mixed with incomprehension. Why would you even do that?
You were already regretting that dumb decision your stupid mouth made by itself. Now you were just mentally preparing yourself for the worse time of your life, far ahead of the day you had your wisdom teeth removed.
"So you have a crush on him?" You saw one of the girls ask and you knew she had something in mind while asking that. The mission was clear right now, you had to limit the damage, by all cost.
The thought of it made no sense to you, no you couldn't possibly have just a slight crush for him. But for Kazuha's sake you had to put on the act of your life.
"He is good looking, is it that shocking?" the nonchalance in your tone was crazy, somebody give you an oscar right now because you're giving the act of your whole life.
But after all you didn't lie, you found the man good looking.
"No it's just that... I wasn't expecting you out of all people to have such account..."
As you were about to answer, the teacher came in and started the lecture right away switching everybody's attention to whatever he was saying, even tho you still saw the girls stealing glances in your direction. This was incomparable to the day you got your wisdom teeth removed, it was way less painful back then.
"Thank you..." Kazuha whispered, making you sigh.
"You owe me for your whole life now girl..."
By the end of the week you knew everybody knew about your secret fan girl twitter account, you were suddenly the centre of everybody's attention, people shooting glances at you every now and then. After the incident, you made sure with Kazuha that she DELETED that stupid account before even more damages were made (even if you deeply knew it was too late).
You were suddenly glad that you weren't in the same major Heeseung was in, at least you would not be running into him randomly. There was still a very thin chance that he would never hear about that fangirl account or something and this is quite litteraly what you were wishing for.
You had to wait for a week before you stopped hearing whispers whenever you walked by (it's hard to think that you're in university and not highshcool with how people reacted to this whole drama...) the storm was now behind you (or so you like to think because in reality it didn't stop at all), you just had to go ahead, and by going ahead you really meant anywhere but near the sociology major zone, out of fear that you'll run into Heeseung.
That's why when Kazuha asked you to go to a party you refused, knowing that it's always one of Heeseung's friends throwing parties, and you weren't taking that risk.
But of course you never refuse anything to Kazuha, it's just how you show your love to your friends -even though sometimes you wish your love language would've been words of affirmations and not give in to whatever your friends want- and one thing lead to another you were ready, in front of the house where the party was being held. It was the -huge- house of one of the guys in the same major as Heeseung, but Kazuha swore to you that he wasn't going to be at the party because he was busy, it was Kazuha's roomate that told her that and (it helped Kazuha getting what she wanted: you going to the party).
The sight of the house left you wordless because you weren't aware at all that someone that rich would be studying in the same university as you.
The house was so impressive it got you stuck in front of the doorway, staring at it while considering if you were dressed well enough just to step inside and the answer obviously was no. You were just wearing a cargo pant with a crop top and a leather jacket, of course you weren't wearing someting good enough for the house.
"I can't..." you said to yourself, turning around. It didn't matter that you just texted Kazuha to say that you arrived, you were ready to run back to your place and you really would've done it if it wasn't for the man you bumped into.
"Are you running away?" A soft chuckle leaving his lips as you shifted your gaze to his face, only for you to recognize Lee Heeseung.
The first thing you thought about was the LIE Kazuha had told you, the man was right in front of you in the flesh. For a "too busy to be here" man he seemed very present, relaxed and free.
It was far from your first time seeing him this close but for a second your breath was cut, your body stiffening as if you were caught red handed doing something bad.
Either it's the shame of getting caught chickening out of a party, the guilt of knowing that you -kind of- stalked him for the past year because of your best friend, or the overwhelming embarasment of the possibilty of him knowing that you were the one managing a fangirl account of him even if it isn't really you...
You quickly tried to regain composure from the built embarassement inside of you before answering him with some poorly faked nonchalance, wondering where your acting skills had gone "I just don't feel like going anymore, I think I'm sick or-"
His laugh echoing in your ears and his hand on your lower back stopped you from talking. He used his unexpected grab on you to turn you around with one hand on your shoulder, the other still well placed on your lower back. You then felt him leaning toward you and the heat of his breath dying close to your ear as he told you: "C'mon let's have fun inside."
You gasped.
The man didn't give you a single chance to escape, he was pushing you toward the doorway no matter that you gave him a desperate look or that you shook your head, he seemed determined to take you to that party.
If it was somebody else you would have taken their hands away from you an maybe you would've even scream at them, but there was something with Heeseung that stopped you from doing so, a supernatural force that just broke your ability to talk and disconnected your legs from your brain leaving them on auto-pilot, forcing you to follow Heeseung's lead.
As he pushed you inside, you realised that being impressed of the doorway was stupid, you should've guessed that the inside would be worse.
The entry was huge, so was the garden and the pool inside of it. There was people everywhere, music blasting (not that you just discovered it, you just didn't pay attention to it when you were in front of the house), even the lights were set in a cool way, there was colorful neon around the place maybe to give a more partyish vibe and it worked just fine because for an instant you thought you were at a fancy party that Jackson Wang hosted like in every single fanfiction.
After a few seconds of being impresed by the place, you realised that Heeseung's hands weren't on you anymore, taking it as your sign to finally run away from here but the man was still paying attention to you and once again stopped your from running away.
"Stop holding me hostage and let me go home please." You pleaded, both your hands joined in prayer sign with the best doe eyes you were capable of.
He lifted the hand that wasn't busy keeping you from escaping the party and moved his pointing finger from left to right, shaking his head along to say no, he wasn't letting you go home.
You sighed in defeat, maybe this was the universe's way to tell you that you had to stay here, and at least you'll have some tea to spill when you'll fid Kazuha amongst the crowd of the party.
You'll tell her how her campus crush hold you hostage and made you move around inside the house with his arm resting around your shoulders- When did he put his arm on your shoulders?- Once again your body was moving alone, following Heeseung inside the house, toward the living room where his friend group was settled. When you realised the arm on your shoulders you pushed it gently, you were uncomfortable with this and he understood it, immediately taking it down while muttering a slight "sorry", he still kept pushing his hand on your lower back to lead you toward one of the free couches.
As you pop down on the leather sofa, you realise that Heeseung dragged you far enough so that people will not give attention to the both of you and you let out a defeated sight. You tried so hard not to get involved with him.
"Why would you come to a party just to renounce last minute?" Heeseung asks you, his tone seemingly geniunely curious. You can't tell what it is but something in his demeanor is telling you he will not let you go so soon. His body is fully turned toward you, his crossed legs touching yours, the slight friction making you contract your legs' muscles each time.
"My friend asked me to come but you know... I just don't like parties..."
"Why isn't your friend with you? They chickened out as well?" He jocked. He doesn't believe you, either because he thinks you're a loser and you don't have any friends or he knows. For your own well being you'll think it's the first option.
You gave him a side eye, making him smirk. Oh he shouldn't be giving you that look, you're not really in the mood to get teased by him. "No, she must be somewhere in the crowd, I texted her that I was here a minute ago so-"
"-Let's wait for her here then."
The mood suddenly shifted into one that you couldn't quite describe, it was just the way his eyes wouldn't let go of your figure... What was his problem? Maybe you looked really bad? Or funny?
Or he knew...
"I really don't think I'll enjoy the party... let me go please." you whined once again, maybe you'll end up having what you want if you ask non stop for it.
For the nth time you looked at him as he shook his head in disaproval "There is no going home, I'll help you enjoying tonight don't worry." The same smirk sticking on his face as if it would kill him to just not look at you as if he was permanently teasing you.
"I'm your shining armor knight, here to help you have the night of your life baby love." A scoff escaped your lips because of how cheesy that line was, and you almost threw up because of the emphasis on the cringey nickname he gave you. He did it on purpose because he knew how you'd react to it, espacially to that specific pet name, he knew you too well.
"Heeseung..." you grouched, eyes fixed on his while he looked at you with a slight pout on his face, he was mocking you, giving you false pity. You knew from the beginning it was useless to try to escape from him if he caught you.
Heeseung and you knew each other since you were 10 and him 12. Your older brother had a huge group of friend -unlike you- and Heeseung was one of them.
You never paid attention to your brother's friends. Why? Because you were uninterested in them to the point it was hard for you to remember some of their names. If your brother was a social butterfly and tried to befriend every human being it wasn't your case, plus you had enough friends on your own to try to befriend his. That was until Heeseung.
The first time you saw him he seemed shy, when your brother opened the door wide and declared that you had to let them use the big tv so they could have a smash bros tournament Heeseung seemed uneasy with that idea. You remember it because when you took your stuffs to leave -while rolling your eyes and giving the biggest attitude to your brother- Heeseung excused himself for disturbing you.
That is how you ended up remembering him as the polite one. Since he was the polite one, you were cool with him. You learned his name fast as he was often going to your place to do whatever teenage boys like to do and that you're not interested in. And at some point you began to chit-chat with him learning things about each other and he ended up opening to you. And it was the moment you learned who really was Heeseung.
Of course he was well behaved, his parents taught him well and they had a beautiful son. At some point Heeseung became such a regular at yours that you weren't even surprised when he walked inside your house, you recognized him when he knocked on your door - five very recognizable firm knocks spaced by several seconds each to make it dramatic - in the end he was really nice and for once you could understand what your brother saw in him, he was fun to be around, a good friend.
But this was hidding his real true identity, there is a reason why he became friend with someone like your brother, if they clicked that well it was because they were similar in some aspects.
Heeseung was popular, you would've never guessed it based on how he behaved at home but he really enjoyed it. Back then you were kind of unaware of his and your brother's popularity, unaware that the attention your brother and Heeseung gave you would soon become the worst thing to deal with ever.
At first they treated you as some sort of mascot, each time they walked past you they would scream your name, make you name the one you liked the most -nobody was surprised when you always answered Heeseung-, they forced you to walk with them to go home, dragging you around with them each time they crashed at the town's old soccer field until late.
And the rumor got spread way too easily that Beomgyu's sister was in the building and that she always spent time with his whole friendgroup, but especially with Heeseung.
Your friends found it very cool but you didn't. Older girls began to walk to you, taking you away from your friends to talk about your brother and Heeseung, always and suddenly everything began to be about them. What was Heeseung like when not at school? What was your brother's favourite tv show? Have they ever talk to you about girls? Who?
After you explicitely told them that you didn't wanted to talk about them those same girls that treated you like a friend became hostil to you, glaring at you each time your brother or Heeseung would walk past you and tease you about something casual, some even began to create sort of a competition of who is closer to the boys even if you never agreed on participating.
You hoped it would stop after they left middle school for highschool. You had a break for two years. Nobody was triggered by your interractions with them. People had nothing to add fuel to their curiosity about your relationship with Heeseung and you finally were at peace. At least at school.
At home, Heeseung began to add to your brother's bullying. They would always tease you about everything, it was armless nothing really deep but it was unwanted attention from them and you were short tempered so they just had to annoy you for the sole fact that it was easy. The main topic of their teasing being your non existent love life, while they had a list of persons waiting just to be looked at by them as long as the Burj Khalifa.
You were suddenly the bitchless loser of the house, reading about romance all the time but never being the one living it.
Then you went to highschool. And they were there.
For a whole year they made sure to drive you crazy. Encouraged by your brother, Heeseung began to call you by every pet name known to mankind, just because they saw one when they stole one of your books. Boo, sugarplum, cutie pie, darling, honey bear... you had no break. His favourite one was baby love, you almost threw up every time he called you that but it made him so happy to see your constipated face whenever he called you that in public.
On the bright side since your first middle school year you were more brave and even tho people knew something was up between you and those two, no one really went to you to ask about it, the glares remained but at least they were silent.
When they graduated and eventually went to college it stopped. Heeseung wasn't around that much anymore and he seemed to be busy. Maybe it was college that kept him from visiting or whatever but it made your life way calmer and god how much you liked that.
The few times you saw him it was brief but he never missed a chance to tease you with the pet name you couldn't escape from, baby love. It was just so stupid but it sticked. Even your own parents began to call you that and you almost became crazy.
Every time they called you that, you thought about Heeseung, cursed at him for being the reason your whole family refered to you as baby love, and more because if someone should be calling you that it should be only him. After all he was the one who made that pet name up, not the others.
When you moved to uni you knew Heeseung was majoring in sociology and that your own university was providing a sociology major, you just didn't know where he was studying but the chances for him being in the exact same university as the one you wanted was so low that you went there easy minded. When you realised that you should have asked your brother where his bestfriend studied it was already too late, he was on campus, on the first day of class, his eyes as wide as his smile.
You don't have no superpower but you knew what he was thinking, he wanted to jump on you and celebrate your reunion. But before he embarassed you in front of the whole campus you ran from him. You decided that instead of asking him to leave you, you would ignore him. But of course you can never escape forever, reality always punched you in the end, you couldn't stay away from him forever.
"Why are you even doing that?" you asked, in reality you knew he just missed teasing you and a part of you missed him too because, if he was mainly annoying he wasn't always a nuisance and sometimes you had really good conversations with him. But you were stressed out regarding a certain twitter account, but he hadn't say about it yet so you were starting to assume that maybe -just maybe- he didn't know.
"Because I caught you running away."He giggled.
You rolled your eyes, before looking back at him deadpan. "I didn't try to run away."
"Yes you did."
"Ok I did."
He laughed, easing the tension or whatever was making this situation feel somewhat heavy. You were glad because you couldn't bare the creeping hotness on your body that -you were absolutely sure- made you flush. Hopefully the dim light had your back hiding your red face from him.
You also hope the faded lights were hidding your secret glances at him. You didn't know where to look at, because looking at him seemed too much for you but there also was the fact that your eyes were just attracted to him.
You wanted to detail him, look every detail of his face, understand how he parted his hair or witness for yourself his famous bambi eyes that you avoided for so long but that you really liked in reality. It had been so long since you've seen him this close, you felt like getting back you favourite old teddy bear.
But you couldn't, the only thing you allowed yourself to look at without too much shame were his clothes, you were surprised to see that you somehow matched tonight, he was dressed in the same colors as you, that made you smile.
"Now that I caught you Y/N I had a question..."
You humed a quiet "hm" while nodding, if he wanted to kow why you escaped from him you knew that you will have no shame telling him that he was as embarassing as an intrusive parent and that if he wanted you to behave otherwise than you've been, then he had to stop the pet names and everything else, just drop the teasing.
"Do you really think that I'm breedable? And agonizingly good looking?" He finally asked, on a teasing tone pressing his lips together on a line to prevent himself from laughing at you
If he had the decence to keep his calm, you didn't. You blurted out a laugh before even thinking of restraining yourself, regaining your composure and seriousness. Kazuha...
Why would she say some mad things like that? Your eyes met his, he had let go of his stiff composure to chuckle along with you, dang, it has been a while since you last heard him laugh like that.
You ignored the weird feeling inside your chest that made you shake your leg out of anxiety and tried to get back in character. You had to make him believe it was all a joke. "I mean, it's not like you're the only man that got praised on that account."
The simplest way to survive this discussion was to just let him think that it was banal, something really not that deep and that he should be laughing about. But you were internally screaming, it had to be him, the only man you really know on campus. After that you were sure of one thing, you would never talk to him or talk about him ever anymore because of how awkward the situation was.
"Yeah but I doubt that you'll ever cross Charles Leclerc's path." His hand reaching for your knee to stop it from constantly shaking, but you had to express your stress because you weren't expecting that the man knew more than you thought about the tweets.
"Well destiny is a curious thing you see..."
"And destiny made us meet tonight, isn't that crazy?"
You chukled, destiny made you meet him at 10 and what did you get out of it? The more embarassing moment of your life? You're litteraly melting on the couch, not feeling any air coming inside your lungs. Maybe you'll die soon.
"Listen." He put his hand on your head, gently touching your hair. "We both know this is really out of character of you to do this. And I find it extremely hard to believe this is actually you behind that account..." You felt the weight of his gaze on you, he was analysing you while you were pondering what would be the best option between telling him the truth, that no it wasn't you saying all that about him, or if it would be better just to let him think that it was you because you felt bad for Kazuha.
"You're not really the one behind all this right?" His smirk was nowhere to be found. That casual demeanour of his was long forgotten, remained only the ghost of his touch on your head when he stared at you, almost worried about your answer. "This can't be the reason why you've been avoiding me, right?"
The ease you usually felt beside him disappeared instantly, adding to the feeling of embarassment, you were sure you had to tell him the truth but there was still Kazuha in your mind. She would die of embarassment if you told him the truth.
But the way Heeseung's body stiffened after he asked, as if he wanted to get reassured, to know that no, you don't have feelings for him, it made you suffocate. He wasn't being the one you knew, his usual self, so warm and teasing, no. His hand patting on your hand was so obviously meant to put you back in place, to remember who you are, his bestfriend's sister. Suddenly you realised he turned into a cold and distant person and you hated it.
You were rejected even before you had feelings, and it hurted. Your face showing an obvious frown, you swayed internally in your mind between loyalty and your ego.
You would never be able to look at your reflection in the mirror or at Kazuha if you told him the truth but you would never be able to face him ever again if he thought you had feelings for him.
"Finally I found you!" Says a just appeared out of nowhere Kazuha. Her eyes switching from you to Heeseung, probably trying to read the room.
Heeseung's eyes detached from yours, letting you breathe again as if you had been drown under water until now.
"Kazuha right?" Heeseung said while getting up. Her confused face couldn't process the fact that Heeseung knew her name, and so were you because you never told him about her. "Y/N told me a lot about you, I'm glad she has a friend like you." He smiled at her while tapping her shoulder while you couldn't refrain your eyes from rolling. "Well I'll leave you girls. Have fun?" He said with a smile before walking away to a couch full of people who must be his friends.
You felt so relieved to see him go away that your eyes began to get wet, it was too much to handle for you and your nerves were giving up, the tension was too much to handle.
"Care to give me context?"
You sighed, voice trembling "I'll tell you everything, let's just move away from here I'm suffocating."
You two traveled inside the house, searching for drinks in the kitchen before finding a cool spot by the pool. There you had to share everything with Kazuha starting from the first thing you never told her: you actually knew Heeseung personaly.
The shock on her face being evident as she slapped you when you told her that while she was fangirling over the man, you were spending afternoons with your brother and him. All that behind her back.
You had to justificate yourself for a good 5minutes for it, if you hadn't told her in the first place it was because you never expected her to end up being your bestfriend and after because you just brushed it off, yeah she was fangirling over him but it would've made her uncomfortable to know that you knew him so you just kept it to yourself.
And even tho it was hard to convince her it was for the better she ended up forgiving you for the sake of the rest of the tea. She was mad at you for not telling her but she was more curious about how you ended up trapped with him than anything else.
And by the time you told her everything about the bad school memories, the idea of ignoring him, the moment you decided to endorse the responsibility of the twitter account for her and Heeseung's sake and the whole kidnapping thing, her jaw was on the ground.
"Girl I'm jealous I want that kind of story in my life."
You chuckled "No you don't I feel terrible now! You clearly haven't seen the fear inside his eyes. If I really liked him I would've been crying ugly on the ground by now!"
She gauged you before tilting her head "Whatever, no more hiding things please I feel mortified now, I said crazy things about him."
"Yeah talking about that, when did you call him breedable?"
She smacked her hand on her mouth before laughing hysterically.
Tonight ended up being way funnier than you thought. After the confession session, you and your friend ended up dancing with some of her friends that enjoyed your company, even Yunjin (your colleague) joined you she was the one hypping you up the most.
You even forgot ever drama that happened before you tried at least), you just enjoyed your time for once and by the time you got home you realised that you did well by going to the party. For once you went out and -even tho you wouldn't go partying every night- you thought that you could do it more often.
After all the drinks were good, the house was crazy, people had some good vibes and dancing messily with people you appreciated was stress relieving. You then settled the idea that as long as Heeseung wasn't going to the party you'll seriously think about going there.
Working during the weekend isn't something you enjoy, but it's something you need. As much as your parents help you with your financial situation they can't pay the rent instead of you, you were lucky enough that they were friend with the landlord that agreed to lower the rent just for you.
You began to work to save up a year before you moved in, on your first year at uni, you found a cozy little café not so far from your place or the campus, the place is nice, the boss is very kind to you and you met two friends by working there, Yunjin and Sunoo. The first is two years older than you, she majors in psychology and the second is the same age as you, he majors in comms.
They are different but you really like them both. They are always smiling and lighting up the mood, so much that working with them doesn't feel like working at all.
"Oh my god girls you'll never guess who just ordered a mango smoothie." Whispered Sunoo walking toward youn his hand covering his mouth in shock. Your eyes met Yunjin's, trying to guess which of your unofficial celebrities just walked inside the place.
It's something that got developed without you realising it, one day you were gossiping about some clients the next they were celebrities in your eyes just because they were the subject to every small talk between you in the café.
"Is it Karl?" Said Yunjin, as the souvenir of the unkown man came back to you. You named him Karl because Sunoo sweared it suited him, he said it was because of his orange suit or something like that. And since Karl is a regular in the café and he always wears clothes with colours that are armfull to the human's eye it sticked out.
Sunoo shook his head as he moved toward the blender with the mango slices. "Better!"
You had to think hard about it, the celebrities were numerous but the ones that are better than Karl aren't that numerous since he is the main attraction of your days (you alway bet on the colour he'll wear). "Oh my god is it sponge bob?" you said, remembering the man with the big gap between his front teeth that got dumped two weeks ago because he cheated on her -now ex- wife.
The boy frantically nodded, both you and Yunjin gasped. Making sponge bob's order while discussing. All three of you agreeded that if you were dumped publicly like he was that day, you'd never show up to the cafe again.
But there he was and as Sunoo walked back to the counter to give him his drink, you and Yunjin peeked at him curious about the new girl he was bringing today that Sunoo told you about. She seemed way younger than him -you all assumed that bob was about 50 years old- and the girl couldn't speak english at all.
Sunoo small talked with sponge bob, trying to look friendly when in reality he was trying to know what was their relationship, while in the back you and Yunjin were speculating about them.
Sunoo greeted them one last time before both clients left the café with their orders, leaving the place empty with just you three inside. Sunoo turned back toward you before he exploded in laughter.
"What? What is it?" asks Yunjin, eager to know what was so funny and so were you.
Sunoo barely could stop his laughter. "I asked him if she was his daughter because well..."
"Yeah she seemed about our age..." You said, cleaning what Sunoo used to make bob's order, waiting for him to answer.
"Well in fact she is his wife apparenty."
The loud gasps you and Yujin let out after this shaking revealation made Sunoo's laughs resumed with renewed vigour. It's not without being interrupted by giggles and disgusted faces that you learned that sponge bob and his new girl got married after they met at work which was weird because he was married to a white women two weeks ago.
And you discussed the matter for a long time, examinating the matter for long minutes and turn by turn making up stories before you came with a conclusion.
"Met at work and got married? That's exactly what I would've said if I bought someone!" You blurted out, causing another erruption of laughter inside the café, all three of you folding because of the intensity of your hysterical laughter, leaning on whatever was near not to fall.
"Who bought someone?"
You all turned in shock that you didn't even heard the person standing behind the counter entering (before Yunjin exploded once again, not controling herself for a bit).
Heeseung.
Sunoo squeezed his lips together, trying to appear normal in front of the client while you felt like you were melting just like a Mii in tomodachi life after you gave it something it hated to eat.
You had been avoiding Heeseung like a madman since the party incident. You never gave him an answer and you were persuaded he believed that you were the one behind this accout and the idea of it was unbearable.
What was even worse than him thinking you were his fangirl was the souvenir of his tensed cold figure beside you that night, you swore that nobody would ever see you in that position again no matter what it cost.
Only a few days went by but the change was there, wherever you went you were extra careful about who was there and if by misfortune Heeseung happened to be there you ran away before anyone could lay an eye on you.
But there he was, in front of you, in the café you worked at. You shoot a quick glance at your laughing friends whose demeanure was crumbling, Yunjin lauging on the ground with tears droping from her eyes and Sunoo visibly shaking because of his giggles, hidding behind his hands.
You were the only one able to take an order and you hated sponge bob for it, if he never bought that woman you wouldn't have to talk to him.
"I'm sorry you heard that..." You calmly excused yourself, setting behind the register in full work mode.
Heeseung smiled at you, it had you wonder if the cold man from the party was really him because how could someone act so unbothered after being so distant. Still there was something uncomfortable in the air. "No it's funny don't worry. Just remind me to never walk here accompanied by a foreign woman."
You snorted, your muscles loosening a bit. "What can I get for you?" you gave him your best commercial smile, looking up at him only to meet his warm gaze on you.
"Do you only do take outs?"
"What would be these tables for if we did?" you couldn't help being sarcastic, showing him the whole room where chairs and tables had been carefully disposed and settled for customers.
Heeseung snorted at his own question, understanding how stupid he sounded. Somehow these few words exchanged eased off the odd energy between you. Sunoo and Yunjin weren't laughing anymore, or you couldn't hear them, seeing that Heeseung was looking at the menu you turned around just to be sure your colleages weren't dead because of how funny you were but thankfully they were still there, regaining their composure by drinking water and drying the joy tears on their cheeks.
When you turned back toward Heeseung he wasn't alone anymore, three more boys were there, probably his friends, the only one you seemed to recognize was Jake, he was Sunoo's senior and according to your friend he was the personification of the golden retriever man. You assumed the other two were in the same major as Heeseung since you could recall one time or two when you had caught a sight of them when stalking Heeseung with Kazuha.
You were ready to work and take their orders when you saw the face of one of the two you couldn't name change in surprised before he pointed a finger at you -very polite thanks- his mouth taking an O shape.
"Hey isn't that the girl from that Twitter account?" The man asked as if you weren't just in front of him.
"Oh my god no way! Heeseung you finally meet your fan!" Jake exclaimed, giggling as if it was the funniest thing on earth when it really wasn't. You had to fight your innerself not to jump at him and force him to take back what he said. Fortunately for your job's sake you didn't, keeping a straight posture while your eyes drifted slowly to Heeseung's uneasy face.
This is so humiliating.
"Been knowing her for a while actually." he let out between fake giggles.
"Wait seriously?" His friends turned toward him with wide eyes, as if they made the discovery of the year.
And there you remained, unmoving behind the counter, ready to just do your job with a constipated smile plastered on your face while they talked about you like you weren't just there in front of them.
"Yeah we've been friends since forever basically, right Y/N?"
Was he trying to clear your relationship by saying this? You had no idea, what you were sure however is that it was the last time you had to endure that, next time -if there is a next time- you'll just cuss them out, all of them, including Heeseung, and then you'll just move out of the country just to be sure you'll never have to deal with them again.
"Yup." Agreeing is the only thing you can do right now because you somehow feel trapped by all thoses eyes on you, even worse when one of these googly pairs are Heeseung's.
His lips curled up a bit more but you barely noticed it, you're mad at the man right now.
Thankfully for you, god felt your pain and soon after they ordered and went to sit at one of the tables far from the counter. It seemed they were about to spend a fair amount of time in the café because as soon as they sat down you saw them take out books computers and pens. They were having a studying session at your work place and you just hated it.
"You good?" asked Sunoo in a low tone while you were cleaning.
You side eyed him, displaying all the anger bottled up inside of you because you were incapable of lying to him about your mood. It made him snort a laugh before he peeked at the four men sitting across the room by the window. "It's not like he is the only man you praised..." mumbled Sunoo.
"Right?! Why are they even mentioning it?" added Yunjin visibly as pissed as you about the interaction you had with the men. You were glad they were on your side and not judging (at least not in front of you).
You like how after that they changed the topic, not asking further questions about your relation with Heeseung or the Twitter account. They never did. When it was announced that you were the crazy fangirl they straight comforted you, asked if you were okay and basically helped you not to die of embarrassment.
When the boys left they all waved at you good bye claiming the place was really good and that they would be coming back soon but you hoped they were lying because if it meant having to deal with their insufferable giggles and glances then you'll just jump from you window tonight.
Only Heeseung gave you a tight smile to which you didn't answer, you were too pissed anyway, you know you are responsible for the situation and he doesn't like the idea of you liking him -you don't like it yourself- but it doesn't mean he can let his friends just embarass yourself like they did.
You'll always be thankfull to your friends for their help to just make you forget your worries because this night, after work Sunoo offered ice cream for the three of you, you had another great laughing session about sponge bob between times where they tried to poison you with their attrocious mint choco ice creams.
They even walked you home and it was the sweetest thing ever, but once you were alone in your appartment you couldn't refrain your rage anymore, you took your phone and just spammed Kazuha with bad words about Heeseung, telling her that she shouldn't have a crush on an asshole like him.
The following days were strange, you usually don't see Heeseung so often on campus but it seemed that things move fast. From seeing him whenever Kazuha asked you to take a detour just to catch a glance of him, you began to see him everywhere, at the library, near your favourite restaurant or even at the park near your place, he was everywhere.
Making eye contact with him was always brief and awkward, you aknowledged each other's presence but never did anything further than that, probably to create more space between you, to deepen the gap between you. You would've never imagined things turning that way with Heeseung but here you were.
People still stared at you when you walked down the hallways of university, their loud whispers coming to your ears was unbearable and if it wasn't for Kazuha's AirPods you would've probably ripped your ears from your head several times.
You spent so much time planning your peaceful uni-life and it got snatched from you with just a little lie to protect your friend's reputation. You talked about the issue a lot with Kazuha and Sunoo, because yes you ended up telling Sunoo all about it, Kazuha did. You told her that the fewest people knowing about the truth was the better for her but she insisted in telling him because according to her, getting an outsider's point of view was the best.
When he learned the truth Sunoo immediately called you stupid for ruining your own peace like that (which wasn't really helpful but true), soon after you began talking about ways to make people shutting their mouths about you and the twitter account, disappearing was apparently not an option even tho it was the best one in your opinion.
You debated about it for a long long night at yours when they came with their brightest stupidest idea: you had to start dating someone so people will understand that you moved on from Heeseung.
Easier said than done. You loved the idea of love, so finding a partner like that in a hurry and hang out with just some guy whom wasn't making you act stupid because of the attraction was just a no to you.
You deserved the whole meet cute thing, you wanted the magic feelings those that send butterflies inside your stomach, make your legs weak and your tongue dumb.
But you had no choice, Kazuha and Sunoo did the most disgusting thing you could ever think about, they signed you up on a dating app. You hated it, really, so much that they were the ones doing the swapping, finding the perfect bachelor for you and once they did they spent the rest of the pajama party texting him, trying to get you a date. And they succeeded.
That's how you ended up at a fancy Italian restaurant even tho you craved Mexican food, you've been asking to fill your stomach with enchiladas for two weeks but still they choose to send you eat pastas. No offences, you love Italian food, every Italian dish is a masterpiece, but you were hoping to eat something else than an overpriced bruschetta.
The man in front of you wasn't bad looking, if you were 100% honest he had good facial features, he seemed nice, tried to engage the conversation as much as he could and everything, but you couldn't get into it. No matter how hard you tried you couldn't help but feel drained by this date, your first date ever.
You hated it, because this wasn't what you planned inside your head. Your first date was supposed to be with someone you felt connected to, not just some random guy your friends forced you to hang out with for the sake of your tranquillity, claiming that you would click well with him. It was impossible for you to see him as a partner, you felt nothing, as usual.
The coversation was flowing but mainly because he was the one making the talking, not you. You were kind of just there, wondering why you ended up here, paying attention to what he said just enough so it feels like you're involved, that was until he told you he had other options but decided to hang out with you.
Were you supposed to thank him for his generosity? At this point you figured out that tonight would be terrible and you prefered being laughed at until the end of your time in uni than live something like that ever again.
This must be why people always say to never lower your standards, because if you did you'll be disappointed as hell and end up wishing to spend the rest of your life with cats and not men just like you were while leaving the restaurant.
In front of the place your date stopped before you, showing you every single teeth inside his mouth with how wide his mouth was open. Maybe he wasn't showing that much of what was inside your mouth, maybe you just over analized everything he did, maybe because he wasn't giving you thrills all over your body just by looking at you, you were growing less and less into him, maybe yes, but anyway everything he did was giving you the ick.
By the end of dinner you thought you could escape from the man but you couldn't, Kazuha and Sunoo planned carefully the date and right after you left the restaurant your date drove you both to a party because you apparently said you wanted to dance with him, you cursed at Kazuha and Sunoo for that line, a hundred, no a thousand times because you really hate the idea of dancing with that guy.
When you arrived at the party you fell trapped, you knew nobody, absolutely no one. He was studying in the same uni as you but he was from the other side of the campus, the side you were avoiding. He dabbed up a lot of person, you following him like a lost puppy -or more like a sad stuffed toy dragged around by its owner- while he introduced you to his friends as his date and gosh you hated that, couldn't he say your name instead of deshumanizing you the way he did?
After he greeted the entirety of the people in the small appartment, he let you plop down beside him on a couch, his arm casually landing on your shoulders making you gasp.
This isn't a trap, this is a kidnapping, this is torture, you needed to puke, or to breath, or to get drunk, maybe everything at once? No that'll be too embarassing, there is too many people around and the last thing you want is another label on your name along with the "crazy twitter fangirl".
"Can you get me something to drink?" You asked instead of embarassing yourself.
He smiled at you, something snarky behind his smirk that you decided to brush off because if you dig deeper you're scared you'll be labeled as a hysterical girl as well. He agreed, leaving you alone on the couch and you were so glad he did.
While he was gone you felt the fresh air filling your lungs, you saw the charm of the appartment and even appreciated the music. People were dancing and laughing. Maybe you would find Yunjin here, she loves thoses parties it wouldn't be out of character for her to be here.
Your eyes landed on a small group of people dancing, searching for your friend amongst them, when you felt the couch sinking beside you. You looked over your shoulder, ready to see your date but to your biggest surprise you didn't see him but Jake, Heeseung's friend, giving you a bright smile as if he was the happiest person on earth just because he saw you.
He dabbed you up, and you didn't move, letting him do so without figuring what was happening at all, you're not close with him so there is no reason for him to act that way. "Didn't know you would be here!" He happily said loud enough for you to hear him.
"Yeah it kind of happened..." you nodded mechanically, not really sure if you should talk to him as a friend or as the jerk that humiliated you a few days before at your work place.
His lips never went down, he kept staring at you with that same weird smile of his but it was actually better than having your date beside you so you just decided not to make him leave, maybe he will left by his own initiative...
"Hey Heeseung told us about the Twitter thing, sorry for last time, I was rude." He ended up saying, a bit embarassed.
You sighed, of course he brought that up. At least he excused himself and...
"He did what?" You asked, genuinely curious about it because Heeseung does not know anything about the truth behind your supposed Twitter account.
Still acting shy, Jake rubbed the back of his neck with one hand as if to get the awkwardness away. "Well he told us how you just made those posts to tease him but it leaked..."
This isn't what happened at all. It was sooo far from the truth that you even snorted out a laugh, Heeseung wanted to chase away the idea of you just crushing on him so bad that he lied. Is it so shamefull to have you having a crush on him? Like what is so wrong with you that he has to tell his friends a lie that would make you not crushing on him? "Did he tell a lot of person?"
The boy beside you pursed his lips, thinking about it. "Just us and people who run their mouth about it..."
You nodded absent-mindedly, at least he found you an excuse for people to stop thinking you were his fan. It hurted to know that he found you so not deserving to be on the list of girls that once had a crush on him that he lied, but you had to see it on the bright side, you now have an excuse, and this is actually way better than going on a date with someone you're not even a bit interested in.
"You know I'm actually disappointed." The aussie accent took you away from your thoughts before you could sink in them, you gave him an unsure look, tilting your head in confusion. Why would he be disappointed? Seeing how you absolutely didn't understood why he said that, the look on his face changed to a more amused one. "I ship you both."
"You what now?" You blurted out, almost offended by what he just said. Heeseung may be a beautifull man that can be nice from time to time, it doesn't erase the fact that he is one of the biggest opps in your life.
Jake had to hide his smile behind his hand because of how hard he began to laugh, soon you joined him, laughing as well.
"Don't laugh!" He said, pushing your shoulder.
"Sorry but it sounds so ridiculous!" You giggled, brushing off the idea of being in a relationship with Heeseung by waving your hand.
"It's not tho!" Jake retorted, seemingly comitted to the idea. "Like it could be like one of those cheesy romcom you know!"
But you knew the romcom better than he could, there was no way something like this would make a good plot.
Like come on, the brother's bestfriend is such a basic plot seen again and again, and this one would lead nowhere, like none of you is attracted to the other, your chemistry is crumbling due to the Twitter situation and you already know that next time you'll see Heeseung face to face you'll probably die of embarassment. "You should go see him! How come you never talked to each other on campus despite being chilhood friends?"
You snorted, looking at the ceiling, yeah Heeseung told him that you knew each other really well, you almost forgot it. Then your eyes landed back on the man beside you, waiting for anything that would come out of your mouth. "When people know I know him they harass me to help them getting closer to him. I wanted to be free for once."
Jake's mouth took an O shape as he nodded, he was understanding your point. "So you were jealous that other girls wanted him?"
He did not understood your point. You shook your head, taken aback by his remark as you breathed out a chuckle. You were about to say something back to this weird australian by your side when your date came back, he basically chased Jake away to take back his spot next to you before giving you one of the cups he had in hands.
Jake's eyebrows went strangely high when he realized you weren't exactly alone, you had a man by your side tonight, realizing your situation he didn't argue and left right away, excusing himself after dabbing you up as a goodbye.
After Jake left, your date didn't ask about him, he just went back to your date and came back along with him the stifling air of his presence beside you, Jake wasn't a welcomed guest but he ended up being fun at least. Your date on the other hand just seemed to slowly make you lose your temper, leading you to crazyness.
Your disappointed eyes followed Jake's motion as he walked away from you to get to a small group of boys, that's when you realised amongst this group was Heeseung, sat on a high chair on his own. He was already looking at you with the pout he always had on his face when he didn't like something.
His eyes drifted away from you when Jake told him something, making Heeseung frown and turning his back to you. Wrinkles slowly drawing on your face because why the hell would he act like that after seeing you? He could at least wave at you?
Blinking once, your eyes drifted on Jake who, with a boyish smile, gestured to show you Heeseung, as if to remember you what he said.
He ships you with Heeseung.
You shook your head, hiding your growing smile with your hand to him and your date.
What a stupid nonsense night.
You expected your social batteries to run low before your date decided it was time to leave, but your tried your best to be nice with him, dancing with him even if it was the last thing you wanted, feeling his touch on your hips was too much to handle but you still said nothing. You were so brave but couldn't grow the balls to tell him you wanted to go home so at some point you decided to just sat down on a couch, telling him that you were tired, and hoping for nobody to look your way.
If only things were that simple, your date followed you, he stayed by your side and talked again. You were so tired of everything that you couldn't pretend anymore, you were silent, way more than before, only answering him by smiling or nodding to keep things polite because if you listened to the voice inside your head, you would've yelled at him to leave you alone.
At some point you decided to ask him to get you something to drink just so you could chill out and relax. As soon as he left, you massaged your temples, the music made your growing headache unbearable and you hated you for agreeing to that stupid date thing.
"Come on Y/N let's go home."
You turned around, eyebrows frowned when you saw Heeseung standing near you, offering you his hand.
"I can't I'm with someone." You brushed off the idea, your hand still. You might be desperate to leave you're still well educated.
Heeseung rolled his eyes, looking around, his hand stil standing between you. You didn't understand that it wasn't an offer you could turn down until you felt his hand grabbing your wrist pulling you closer to him. "Let's say goodbye and leave then."
If you weren't so drained maybe you would've fought back to stay but you weren't in a state to fight, all you wanted was to find back the peace of your quiet home. Heeseung dragged you around to the kitchen where you met your date, he looked surprised when he saw you with Heeseung and even more when he noticed the hold of his hand on your wrist.
"She's tired, I'll get her home." Heeseung said before leaving right away, your date couldn't even say anything back, he just stared as Heeseung dragged you out of the party.
The fresh night air brushed your cheeks and suddenly you could breath again. The music wasn't destroying your brain anymore and you already felt the goods of leaving the party. Heeseung opened his car for you to get inside and you did without a word, the car's seat was comfortable, so much that you knew you could've slept on the spot.
"Ready?" Heeeung asked, his face relaxed compared to when he was inside the party but still holding on an incomfortable frown on his eyebrow. He handed you his phone for you to enter your adress and when everything was ready, you left, the engine's sound lulling you.
"Who was the guy?" he asked casually.
"My date..." You answered, closing your eyes with how sleepy you were slowly getting.
Heeseung snorted, something between annoyance and amusement. "Yeah I figured out with the way you smiled at him..." you smiled? You barely could endure the man's presence how could you smile? You opened an eye, lazily looking at the man in the driver seat with his eyes fixed on the road.
The darkness gave him a mysterious look, he looked cool, as if you were in a movie, the street lights hitting his face in angles that made his face even more ethereal. "Not like you can't date or anything but...." He stopped talking for a second, shooting a glance in your direction, almost catching you admiring him.
"Like..." His eyes drifted away, too bad you closed your eyes, if not maybe you would've seen the nervousness on his face or the blush slowly covering his ears. "Weren't you supposed to have a crush on me? And knowing how you're never interested in nobody I'm just surprised that you know... you're interested by him as well."
You sighed a laugh, he addressed the elephant in the room and only with the sound of his voice, the uncertainty in it, you could feel the awkwardness of the man.
He hated that situation even more than you.
But right now, with how he brought it up just because of your date, if you didn't know he was giving everything to get you out of your supposed crush for him you could think that he is jealous. "He is good looking..."
"Right..." He sounded off, but everything sounds off ever since he learned about the twitter account. You hope that he'll stop thinking that you crush on him even tho he isn't stupid and probably know it's a desperate attempt to close mouths around.
The car stands in an awkward silence for a bit, with your eyes squinted you steal glances at him, he looks uneasy and you hate it.
Then you think about it, the lie he told his friends, the same lie that Jake told you about during the party.
"By the way Jake told me something, did you lie to your friends?" You had to ask because you couldn't not think about it, you were offended that he had to lie to take the idea of you cruhing on him far from him, but in some ways Heeseung was helping you getting away from the weird treatment people were giving you.
You had to hear him confirm it, confirm that he did that to help you and maybe ease his mind too. He deserved it at least.
"Yeah I saw how embarassed you were last time. And that way people can shut their mouths about it..." The explanations made sense but most of all they comforted you. He wasn't doing it only to get rid of you but also to help you.
"I figured people knowing we are friend was better than them bullying you because of your crush on me."
Maybe you overdid it when you decided to completely ignore him after you learned that you were in the same university.
You should've treated him as a friend at least because that's what you were, maybe it changed, maybe not because in the end, even with these unspoken words about the mess you're trapped into, you were still feeling at ease with him beside you.
You should be avoiding the subject of the Twitter account around him, you should be embarassed but you still feel the need to clean the air, make things less awkward for good.
"Thank you." You said, meeting his gaze in the rearview mirror.
The corners of his lips faintly lifted in satisfaction."You're welcome."
Silence settled back, still not easy or comfortable. His fingers were brushing the wheel nervously, his pointing fingers tapping on it to the rythm of the song playing inside the car. The weeknd had been one of his favourite artists for a while but he didn't seem to enjoy it right now, like he had too many things on his mind.
"What was your first thought when you saw that account?"
He turned his face toward you for a second, probably thinking wether he should lie or not, but you really hope he won't. The only thing you have in mind after asking it is to get things back to normal, or at least to a more casual status where both of you can live without dying of embarassment.
"I won't lie I was..." He started, his lips pressed in a thin line as he was searching for his words. "I was surprised, it's not everyday that I get called agonyzingly handsome." You feel the hint of a joke in his tone, and you really hope youre not misinterpreting things.
"Then I was shocked to know it was you, I never figured you out of all people would have that kind of account..." he sighs, probably hoping that the memory of you being the owner of the account would die with it. "But at least it wasn't someone I didn't know taking pictures of me while hiding in the campus bushes."
You're watching at you hands, you don't know hat you should be the more uncomfortable about, you were openly lying to him pretending you were the owner but just like you thought, the fact that it was you made it a little more acceptable for him. "I never wanted you to feel embarassed."
He shoots a glance at you, a reassuring smile on his lips. "I know, but to be frank my spot isn't the worst, I kind of feel bad for you now. I know you hate unwanted attention."
"Yeah..." You sighed while remembering how the past weeks have been for you, full of weirdness, awkward walks around campus and stares.
Silence lingers in the air a bit longer, both of you unable to say that talking about the issue is really making it easier for you. You've always heard "communication is key" but it's only now that you realise how rigth it is.
Now the air feels lighter in the car, you could even swear that Heeseung's frown had disappeared completly. It just needs a little something to be perfect. And that little thing you got it immediately, snapping your head toward him with a determined face.
"But just so you know, I don't think about you before I get in bed."
He bursts out a laugh, probably surprised that you just said it like that, but it's exactlt what you wanted, breaking the ice for good, having him laughing about it with you, realising that it's not very deep and things finally going back to normal.
"You don't?" He said back, his teasing smile was finally back, the one he whore while he made fun of you. You would've never guessed that you'd miss it that much, but it felt like your whole body was happy when you spotted it.
"You're good looking but you'll never have that spot Lee I'm sorry."
He shakes his head in fake disappointment "But out of all the men you posted about I'm the only one you know in real life."
"Yeah but I think we're good as friend."
This is it, the moment when you're back as the Y/N he knows. You see his innerpeace being back for good after you rejected the idea of a "you plus him" happenning right in front of him, you renounced the idea for good and maybe it had always been that simple.
He rejected you without you being in love with him and you rejected him without him having feelings for you.
"Yeah?" His eyes drifted toward yours, as if to seek for your sincere disaproval of whatever he thought you wanted.
"Absolutely."
"So..." Heeseung's sweet voice took you from your thoughts. "We cool now?"
There wasn't anything to hold grudges about after all, yeah he despises the idea of you having a crush on him but you don't have one, and you did enough by ghosting him from your life during the past years, you have to be cool with him, you owe him that at least for causing him so much trouble. "Why wouldn't we be?"
where you've been basically part of the furniture in lee haechan's house for years now // but you’ve never really had much of a reason to interact until now
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