b1tterestbeachh

she/her, 18 semi-silent reader nsfw content

[cherryw0n]

Sex with Jake while being high pleaseeeeee?? The nastiest one at that...🤩

nasty dog | sim jake

pairing: neighbor!jake x younger!reader (afab)

synopsis: one visit to your friendly neighbor's house with the intention of giving him freshly baked pastries that your mom made took quite a heated turn.

genre: smut

contains: profanity, weed usage, high sex, age gap (jake is 24, reader is 18), unprotected sex, corruption, unethical behavior, morally grey characters, power imbalance

smut warnings: dom!jake x sub!reader, spit play, masturbation (f.), voyeurism, exhibitionism, inexperienced!reader, virginity loss, dirty talk, corruption kink, clitoral stimulation, pussy rubbing, teasing, fingering, mutual masturbation, daddy kink, manhandling, oral (f. & m. receiving), 69, pet names (little girl, sweetie, doll...), reader has a bush (bush girlies rise!), breeding kink, roleplay elements, praise kink, command play, jake loooves tits, both are just needy and vocal

NOT PROOFREAD! (english is not my first language)

MDNI!

Jake was the kind of neighboor everyone loved.

The kind who remembers birthdays without being reminded. The kind who waves first, who carries grocery bags inside without being asked, who laughs easily and listens like whatever you're saying actually matters. The older women on the block adore him. The kids follow him around when he's outside fixing his car. Even your mom softened toward him within weeks of him moving in.

He moved here a few months ago, quiet at first, boxes stacked neatly by the door, sleeves rolled up as he assembled furniture by himself. Twenty-four, living alone, polite to a fault. He smiles with his whole face — a boxy grin, puppy eyes, the kind of expression that makes people feel chosen.

You and Jake have talked before. A plenty of times actually. Over the fence while you were hanging laundry. On the sidewalk when he caught you struggling with grocery bags and insisted on carrying them. Once on his porch when you returned the screwdriver he lent your dad. Easy conversations. Comfortable ones. You laugh at his jokes and he teases you gently about how formal you sound when you speak to him.

"You don't have to call me sir." He said once, grinning. You turned bright red at his words, nodding as you avoided his eyes. He'd liked that.

So when your mom hands you a plate of freshly baked pastries and tells you to take some over to Jake, it doesn't feel unusual. It feels neighborly. Familiar. You straightened your back as you pressed the doorbell, afternoon breeze making your skin prickle with goosebumps.

He answers the door in a loose gray hoodie and sweatpants that hang low on his hips, hair slightly messy like he just woke up from a nap. He blinks at you once, then breaks into that soft, unfair smile. "Hey." He says, smiling like he was expecting you. You grinned sweetly, the cuteness making Jake's smile last longer as his eyes stopped on the plate in your hands—offered and tempting.

"Hi! Sorry to disturb you but mom made some and asked me to bring them over to you." You explain, holding out the plate with both hands. Always both hands. Always careful. Your lively and fresh voice lured a chuckle out of him and the way you grinned made his heart light with joy.

"You're too good to me." He says lightly. His fingers brush yours — not accidental, not entirely deliberate either. Just enough to make your breath hitch. "You're always bringing things over. At this point I owe you."

"You don't owe me anything." You reply quickly, sweet as ever. His smile shifts at that, subtly and slower. "Come in for a minute, for a coffe or something. The cookies I'm baking are almost done too." He offers. "At least let me say thank you properly."

You hesitate — but only for a moment. You've been inside before, just briefly. To drop something off. To borrow something.

It's harmless.

Jake is harmless.

He steps aside, letting you walk in first. You slip off your crocs by the door out of habit, lining them neatly against the wall. The click of the door shutting behind you feels louder than it should. The hallways smelled differently, a mix of cocoa and sugar flowed around the space. "It already smells delicious." You comment, straightening up as you glanced at him. He smiled sweetly. "Just wait till you try them."

His house smells different than yours — less floral, more masculine, now with a hint of tasty cookies. There's low music playing from somewhere deeper inside, something mellow and rhythmic. The living room is tidy but lived-in. A couch that looks too comfortable. A coffee table with a few magazines stacked neatly. The balcony door is slightly cracked open, cool air drifting in, stirring the curtains lazily. You hover near the edge of the room, hands clasped in front of you like you're not sure where to put them.

Jake walks past you toward the kitchen, setting the plate down carefully. His movements are relaxed — like he's completely at ease having you here.

"You can sit, you know." He says gently, glancing at you over his shoulder. "Relax." He moved over to the oven, putting on his glove before opening it and taking the hot pan out. The room filled with the smell of cinnamon and tempting sweetness.

"Okay." You murmured to yourself and moved toward the couch. It sinks slightly under your weight when you sit. Too soft. Too intimate somehow. "What would like to drink?!" Jake's voice boomed off from the kitchen paired with the sound of plates bumping. "Just water please!" You answered back, voice high as your eyes moved over the walls filled with decorations and pictures of his family you would presume.

Jake returns with two glasses of water and a plate of freshly baked cookies, he gave one glass over to you as he set down the plate on the table. His fingers brush yours again — slower this time. He doesn't pull away immediately.

"Thanks for always bringing stuff over." He says, quieter now as he took a seat. "You're… really thoughtful." He flashed you a smile. You shrug, eyes dropping. "It's nothing. My mom just loves sharing."

"Yeah." He hums, studying you and letting out a breathy laugh. "Say thank you to your parents too, they are really amazing." You nod with a sweet and generous smile and take a small sip of water just to do something to avoid the any kind of awkwardness.

Your gaze drifts to the coffee table — and that's when you notice it.

A small tin. A lighter beside it.

Your eyes flick up to him instinctively.

He notices, eyes going wide for a second before he calmly reached for it, like he just remembered it was there. "Oh, sorry..." His fingers reached around the tin. "Should've put that away." He doesn't though. Jake smiled, the tin and the lighter in both of his hands as he held them, his elbows on his thighs rolling the tin as he observed it. You smiled tightly, remotely confused but not wanting to ask any questions as he cutely looked at you, a tight lipped adorable smile on his face.

"Ever tried it?" He asks, like he's asking about coffee, just another casual interaction. You blink. "Tried what?"

His mouth curves faintly.

"Weed."

The word lands heavier than you expect. Oh. You shake your head immediately. "No. I m, mean— I've never." The answer is immediate and honest. You shift a little on the couch. "I mean, I've never… been around it." He nods slowly, watching your face carefully.

"You don't look scandalized." He observes, eyebrow knitting together as he chuckled. "I'm not." You say quickly, then falter. "I just didn't know that's what you meant." A small smile tugs at his mouth.

"Thought I was talking about the cookies?* He teases softly, head nudging toward the plate on the table as he lightly laughed. Your cheeks warmed at that, eyes back on the glass in your lap that you were gripping steady. "Maybe". Noticing the way you retracted and the demeanor seemed to slowly turn awkward he added simply.

"It's not a big deal though." He says, slightly shaking his head. "Just makes things feel lighter. Warmer." His eyes meet yours deliberately as you looked back up. "Sometimes a little more intense." Your stomach tightens at the way he says that.

You glance at the balcony door, slightly cracked open, letting fresh air in. The music hums softly in the background. The room feels warm, safe. You glance toward the hallway. Toward the very real front door behind you.

You should probably go home soon. But you don't stand up.

"Does it make you uncomfortable?" He asks after a moment. You think about it. "No." You admit quietly. "I just don't know anything about it." That shifts something in his expression — interest, maybe. "Never been curious?" He asks, eyes narrowing in a questioning manner. You hesitate this time. "…Maybe a little." The honesty surprises even you. Jake's gaze softens, but there's something darker flickering underneath. Not cruel, just aware. "Curiosity's not a bad thing." He says.

You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, trying to calm your nerves. You wet your lips nervously, eyes flicking to the tin in his hands. "What does it feel like?" You ask, barely above a whisper. His eyes darken just a fraction. "Well." He says slowly, setting the tin down on the table but leaning back onto the armrest of the couch right by his side. "That depends."

"On what?" You ask, trying to sound steadier than you feel. "On the person." His gaze drifts over your face, unhurried. "Some people get giggly. Some get sleepy. Some…" He pauses, thumb brushing over the edge of the tin absentmindedly. "Feel everything more." Your fingers tighten around your glass. "More?" You echo back, waiting for the elaboration. The curiosity now eating you alive. "Touch. Sound. Breathing." His eyes lift to yours again. "It's like the volume's turned up." The music in the background suddenly feels louder. You swallow eyes flicking back to your glass. He notices every little reaction. The way your shoulders pull in. The way your thighs press together when he says touch. Jake but his lip to stop a grin from showing on his face. eyes going over the neat small table. "But…" You start, curiosity tugging at you despite yourself. "Is it bad?"

Jake lets out a quiet laugh. "It's not some scary gateway drug, sweetheart." The nickname slips out so naturally you almost miss it. Almost. "It's just a little high." He says it so easily. Your eyes drift to the balcony door again, the curtain shifting with the breeze. The world outside looks the same as it always does — quiet street, trimmed hedges, nothing scandalous about it.

Inside feels different.

"Have you done it a lot?" You ask, Jake nods once, settling back against the couch, legs spread comfortably, completely at ease. "A few times." Jake could not stop his gaze from drifting to your lap, the way you were clenching the glass, the way your shorts was riding up your thighs, exposing more than necessary without you noticing. Your shallow breathing still somehow steady even if he could see the nerves were pooling in you. His gaze lingers — not subtle now. Watching you. Studying the way your chest rises, the way your lips part slightly when you think too hard.

Silence stretches.

You glance at the tin again then back at him. "So you just… smoke it?" You ask, almost shy. Jake's brows lift slightly. "You're asking a lot of questions for someone who's not interested." He adds, tone light. Your cheeks warm. "I didn't say I wasn't interested."

That makes him pause. He wasn't expecting that. "Oh?" A small smile pulls at his mouth. "So you are?" Your pulse jumps. You hesitate just for a second.

Maybe it's the way he's looking at you. Maybe it's the way the room feels heavier. Maybe it's the fact that you're eighteen and tired of always being the careful one.

"…Maybe." You say, softer. He leans back slightly, studying you in a way that makes your stomach flip. "You wanna try?" He asks, more direct now. Your fingers curl into your shorts for a second before you force them to relax.

"I mean—" You start, nerves tangling your words. "I just… I want to know what it feels like." There's something almost shy about it, not rebellious or reckless, just honest. Jake's expression shifts — not darker, not predatory. Just surprised. Heat rises to your cheeks as you set the glass down carefully on the table, mostly because your hands are starting to betray you.

Silence settles between you again, humming but almost loud. He reaches for the tin again, but doesn't open it yet, just rests his fingers on top of it. "You sure?" He asks, voice lowering and teasing now. "Didn't think you were the rebellious type." You straighten a little at that. "I'm not." You defend quickly.

He hums, unconvinced. "Then what are you?"

You falter. "I just… want to know what it's like." The same words were repeated from earlier, eyes up to meet his. His gaze flickers to your lips, then back to your eyes.

"Curious girls get into trouble." He says lightly. Your breath hitches at his words, a heat crawling up your spine that made you stiffen. "But..." He adds after a beat, softer now. "Only if they want to." Your heart is pounding so loud you're sure he can hear it.

"I want to." You say — quieter than you meant to, but steady. Jake studies you carefully, t there's no rush in him. No impatience. Just control. "You don't have to impress me." He murmurs. "And you don't have to say yes just because you're curious."

"I'm not saying yes because of that." You reply, lifting your chin slightly. "I'm saying yes because I want to try." A slow smile spreads across his face — this time he doesn't hide it. "Alright." He says and opens the tin. The faint earthy scent drifts into the air, mixing with the sweetness of cookies and the cool breeze from the balcony. He doesn't rush. He moves with practiced ease, but there's something deliberate about how unhurried he is. Like he knows you're watching.

Jake prepares it slowly, not looking nervous. Completely composed. He glances up at you while he works, rolling the paper between his fingers, spreading the herbs evenly. "Last chance." He teases gently, bringing up the small soon to be blunt to his smirking lips, letting his tongue wet the end. "Still sure, sweetie?" You watched with attentiveness what he is doing and the way he looked at you as he licked the paper, eyes mischief and teasing, lips curved — it made your breath hitch.

"Yes." You say, eyes flicking to his own. This time, there's no hesitation. Jake leans over to grab the lighter. "Okay." He murmurs and holds your gaze a second longer before bringing the freshly rolled blunt to his lips. The teasing curve of his mouth lingers as he lights it, the small flame briefly illuminating his features.

He inhales slowly, deliberately — not breaking eye contact.

You watch the way his chest rises. The way his shoulders relax as he pulls the smoke in. The way he tilts his head slightly, holding it for a moment before exhaling toward the open balcony door. The smoke drifts lazily into the air, curling in the warm light.

He looks… completely at ease.

"Okay. " He murmurs, voice just a touch lower now. "Come here." You hesitate only a second before shifting closer on the couch. Not enough to touch him fully — but close enough that your knees almost brush. He notices that too. "You ever smoked anything before?" He asks lightly.

You shake your head. "Alright." His tone softens, more instructive now, less teasing. "Don't overthink it. Just breathe in slow. Not too hard." He brings it toward you but doesn't let go yet. "Here." H says quietly. "Hold it like this."

His fingers guide yours — warm, steady — adjusting how you grip it. The contact is brief but deliberate enough to make your pulse skip. "Relax your shoulders." He adds. You didn't realize they were tense. He lifts it slightly toward your lips. "Slow breath. Just a little." Your heart is pounding. You lean forward carefully, inhaling like he told you to.

It's harsher than you expected. You cough almost immediately. Jake laughs softly, not mocking, just amused and sets the blunt aside for a second. "Easy." He murmurs, his hand coming to rest lightly between your shoulder blades. "Told you not to pull too hard." Your eyes water slightly as you try to recover, embarrassed.

"I did exactly what you said." You mumble. "I know." He smiles, thumb brushing once, absentmindedly, against your back before pulling his hand away. "First time's always like that." You glance at him, trying to gauge whether he's teasing again. He isn't. Not fully.

"Try again." He says gently. "Smaller this time." You nod, still a little flustered. He hands it back to you, watching closely. This time you inhale more carefully — slower, controlled. It's still unfamiliar, but you don't cough. "Good. " He says quietly. The praise lands somewhere warm in your chest. You hand it back to him without realizing how close you've leaned in. He takes another slow pull, then passes it back.

The exchange becomes easier the second time. Less awkward as the high started creeping in, light and still not fully there. You shift slightly on the couch. Jake studies you. "How do you feel?" He asks. You blink, trying to focus on the question. "Warm." You admit after a moment. "Kind of… floaty?" A small, satisfied smile curves his lips. "Yeah..." he says. "That's normal."

Your limbs feel heavier, but not unpleasant. The room seems softer somehow. The air thicker. Your gaze drifts to his face — and stays there longer than it usually would. He notices. "You're staring," he says lightly. You don't look away this time. "Everything does feel louder." You murmur, almost to yourself. His eyes darken slightly at that. "Yeah?" He asks, bringing the blunt up to his lips, still not high. He inhaled, eyes stuck to your lidded eyes, the way they moved over the room as you leaned back against the couch.

"If you don't feel well you need to tell me." He spoke as the herbal smoke escaped his parted lips, the high getting to his head gradually. His head felt slightly lighter, back meeting the couch rest bringing the ashtray between your two. Your attention moved back to him, vision fuzzy at the edges as your gaze moved to his hand on his thigh. The blunt burning between his long slender fingers and smoke curling in the air.

Before you knew it, you reached for it — fingers eagerly and clumsily taking the burning rolled paper. "Woah, easy." He smiled at that, a lighthearted laugh escaping him, fingers trying to steadily transfer the burning blunt to you. Jake felt like he was floating, eyes slowly turning red and eyelids dropping. His face felt relaxed, the smile on his face heavy.

He watched you inhale it, slow and steady, eager for the lightness that was flooding your senses. And just like that the room was already full of thick, swirling smoke, the air hazy around the soft glow of the lamp. Your head buzzed almost immediately.

Not dizzy — just… warmer.

Soft.

The edges of everything felt slightly blurred, like the world had been turned down a notch and wrapped in velvet. When you exhaled, the smoke drifted slowly between the two of you, curling lazily toward the ceiling. Jake leaned back into the couch, watching you with a slow grin. "Careful." He murmured. "You went in pretty confident for someone who said they've barely done this."

You coughed once still getting used to the feeling, waving a hand through the smoke, laughing a little breathlessly. "Okay, maybe I underestimated it."

"Just a little?" He teased.

You handed the blunt back, your fingers brushing his for a second longer than necessary. The contact felt strangely noticeable, like your skin had suddenly become aware of everything. Jake took another drag, shoulders sinking into the couch as he exhaled slowly. His eyes were half-lidded now, a faint redness spreading through them. He looked relaxed in a way that made everything about him seem slower, easier.

The music hummed quietly in the background.

Time started slipping. At some point you both stopped keeping track of how long you’d been sitting there.

The blunt had burned down to nothing in the ashtray, and the room smelled faintly sweet and smoky. The high had settled in completely now — heavy, warm, almost weightless.

You had shifted positions without even realizing it.

Now you were sitting sideways on the couch, your legs pulled up comfortably beneath you, one knee tucked under the other as you leaned into the cushions. Your hair had fallen loosely around your face, and every now and then you pushed it back while laughing. Jake sat beside you, one arm draped along the back of the couch, his posture relaxed and easy.

The two of you had drifted into the kind of random conversation that only happened when you were high. "…No way." You said through a laugh, shaking your head. "You're telling me you actually tried to microwave ramen in a coffee maker?"

"It worked." Jake insisted lazily. You laughed again, the sound light and loose. "It absolutely did not work."

"It worked enough." He said, grinning. "You would be surprised what you can do when you're desperate and it's two in the morning." The laughter faded into a comfortable quiet. Jake huffed out a breath, a hand coming up to his hoodie collar, tugging at it. The air felt too suffocating and warm, the breeze from the open door not doing much. "It's hot in here..." He murmured to himself, hands already taking the grey thick fabric off him. He run a hand through his hair, taming it just a tab bit before he straightened the white shirt that he is left in.

Jake placed the hoodie neatly on the arm rest, feeling the sudden relief. You on the other hand were stuck in place, gaze following his every movement. Too lost. Too high. So fixed on his figure that the way his shirt went up exposing his lower abdomen as he took the hoodie off is left engraved. The way his hand ran through the messy hair, trying to subdue the disheveled strands made you almost evidently gulp.

Jake was attractive. That was no secret. From the way the older ladies in the neighborhood treated him, from the way younger kids always stop and stare at him a second too long before getting shy. Even older men never missed a chance to start a conversation with him, always trying to make sure he knew they had daughters who are single by the end of their conversations.

But he was always sweet, a little too kind and cute. Laughing everything off, nodding shyly and just simply being respectful. And that's what people liked about him. That's what made everyone adore him.

You on the other hand, did think so too. He was just every girls dream. Hot, handsome, living alone at just twenty-four, hardworking. Could you ask for something more, really? But the age. The age was something that really made you step back into your lane. The reality crushing down everytime you were stuck staring at him over your fence, images flashing through your mind.

Your family did tease you, all the way to your younger brother. Making jokes about you and him being together, how he is a great a catch. And it was annoying. It was agonizingly annoying hearing the overused plethoras of these words. You would only roll your eyes and just simply say he was too old for you. He could almost be your uncle. Really.

But still there was no denying. He was awfully, excruciatingly sexy.

Jake leaned forward, reaching toward the coffee table where a plate of cookies sat forgotten. His hand came into the warm light of the lamp as he grabbed one. You watched his fingers without realizing it.

Long fingers.

Veins running along the back of his hand and wrist. The movement was slow and unhurried as he brought the cookie up and took a bite. You blinked, gaze stuck to the way the silver bracelet hugged his wrist, dangling from his arm. Your brain felt like it lagged half a second behind what your eyes were seeing.

Jake chewed casually, completely unaware of the small spiral of thoughts that had suddenly started in your head. The low music flowed in the background, his head light and face smiley as he grabbed his phone from the table after it buzzed. A group chat spammed with random messages a she opened the chat eyes skimming over the unrelevant chats. He took another bite of the cookie, chewing lazily, his jaw feeling a little too heavy with each bite. Your eyes were still stuck to his face, his side profile as the bright phone screen illuminated his sharp but still soft features. He looked perfect.

But suddenly, he glanced at you, lidded eyes meeting yours just for a second before they were back on the phone. You almost evidently jolted at the sudden eye contact, the way he catches you staring but said nothing. You cleared your throat. "So... Is it hard to work from home?" A random question about his graphic designing. Just to ease the sudden tenseness you felt even if your body surrendered to the relaxation a long time ago.

He smiled, not looking up at you, fingers working over his keyboard as he typed a response to his friends. "Well actually no..." He answered, eyes still on the phone. "I get to manage my time on my own, clients are the only thing the company assigns me but yeah..." He glanced at you, taking the last bite of the cookie as he still typed away on the phone. Your eyes drifted all over him again — not just his hands this time, but the relaxed way he was leaning on his thighs, veiny forearms supporting him, the lazy curve of his smile, the faint redness in his eyes.

Everything about him looked softer. Slower.

Your curiosity bubbled up again, the same one that had been creeping around your thoughts for the past hour. Before you could overthink it, the question slipped out. "Jake?"

"Yeah?" He said, brushing crumbs from his fingers. You hesitated for a moment, suddenly aware of how random it might sound. "Are you… seeing someone?" He looked at you, not surprised just curious. The corner of his mouth lifted slightly. His eyes lingered on your face a little longer than usual, flicking down your figure before he answered.

"Why?" He asked lightly. "You doing a background check on me?" You laughed nervously and shook your head. "No. I was just… wondering." Wondering because you never saw him bring any women over. Because the only people that ever visited him were his parents now and then and his group of friends.

His eyes locked onto yours, something dark and tempting behind them before he answered. "No. Not right now." His phone buzzed, eyes glued themselves to the screen again. "I broke up with my ex right before I moved here. Had some flings here and there but nothing serious." His voice was flat, too immersed into the small bright box in his hands. You nodded, more to yourself as you glanced onto the small table. You rubbed your calve up and down, the sudden quiet that took place was awkward. Before...

"What about you?"

His voice made you snap your head toward him. Jake finally locked his phone and set it down on the table. The small screen went dark as he leaned back into the couch, stretching one arm along the backrest. His attention shifted completely to you now, heavy-lidded eyes studying your face with a calm, curious focus. The sudden attention made your stomach tighten.

"Me?" You repeated quietly. "Yeah." He shrugged a little, relaxed. "You asked first." You looked down at your hands, suddenly very aware of them resting awkwardly on your knee. The high was still humming through your body, soft and warm, but now it made you feel strangely exposed under his gaze. "I'm… not seeing anyone either." You said.

Jake hummed softly, watching you. "No boyfriend?" You shook your head. "Not really." His eyebrow lifted slightly. "Not really?" You hesitated, feeling heat creep up your neck. "There was...someone I liked." You admitted, feeling like a little kid at the simple talk of childish crushes to a grown man. "In school. We still have some classes together." Jake tilted his head, watching you carefully now.

"But it wasn't anything serious." You added quickly. "We just talked a lot. Sat together sometimes. I thought maybe he liked me too but…" You gave a small embarrassed shrug. "Nothing ever actually happened."

Jake's eyes stayed on you. "That's it?" He asked slowly. You nodded. "Yeah."

He leaned back further into the couch, hands resting on his thighs while he slammed down the leather. His gaze drifted down for a moment — over the way you were curled on the couch, your legs tucked beneath you, the nervous motion of your fingers rubbing along your calf. "You're eighteen, right?" He asked.

"Yeah." A quiet breath left him. "Huh."

You glanced up, scanning his side profile as his head was leaned back onto the couch, tired and red eyes staring at the ceiling.

"What?" Your voice was quiet and unsure. Embarrased. He shook his head slightly, a faint, almost amused smile tugging at his mouth.

"Nothing." He said. "Just… surprising."

"Why?" You gulped, eyes unconsciously running over his hand in his lap, his spread thighs and the way the sweatpants hugged his pelvis. The bulge that was right there making you gulp, you thighs pressing slightly. Jake's eyes returned to yours, darker now in the dim light making your eyes flick up to his.

"I don't know." He said slowly. "Most people your age have a little more… going on."

Your cheeks warmed instantly.

"I guess I'm just… slow with that stuff." You murmured. He didn't answer right away. His gaze drifted over you again, slower this time — the high making his focus heavier, more lingering than he probably meant it to be. The way you were sitting curled up on the couch, your shorts shifting slightly over your thighs as you adjusted your legs. The nervous movement of your hands. The faint pink in your cheeks. You shifted under the attention without meaning to. Your knee moved slightly, your foot sliding against the cushion as if you were trying to get comfortable, but it only made you more aware of how closely he was watching.

Jake noticed. His jaw tightened just slightly before he looked back at your face. There was something very unguarded about you.

He cleared his throat lightly. "Well." He said, voice casual again. "You're eighteen. That's the perfect age to enjoy it."

"Enjoy what?" You asked, confused.

"Life." He said simply. "Meeting people. Dating. Figuring out what you like." His eyes flicked back to your face, then down briefly again before returning. "You should enjoy that stage." You shifted slightly on the couch, suddenly very aware of how you were sitting and the way his eyes went over your body. And you hated the way the unfamiliar warmth started burning in the low of your stomach.

"I guess." You said quietly. Unsure. Eyes

Jake watched you for another moment, something thoughtful settling in his expression. He raised his head from the cozy couch. "Can I ask you something?" He said. Your shoulders tensed slightly, eyes flicking to his intimidating gaze. You nodded, not finding the courage to use your words since the high was at its peak, hitting your head with a force so invisible but still present. Your head felt heavy, eyes were burning red and lidded. Your limbs felt heavy, everything seemed to turn up a notch. His presence seemed to overwhelm you more, the masculine aura making you trace his figure shamelessly.

His voice stayed casual, but his eyes stayed fixed on you. "Have you ever… done anything with someone?" The question hung in the air.Your brain understood what he meant almost instantly, rimmed red eyes moving up to his own as you licked your lips.

"No." You said quickly. Jake blinked. "No?"

You shook your head as you let it fall on the couch, eyes still stuck to his.

"No."

He leaned back slightly, studying you more carefully now and still trying to process everything. "You mean… like nothing?" He asked. You shifted again, embarrassment evaporating the more the weed in your system flowed. "I mean… no." You said quietly. "Not really."

For a moment he just stared at you. His eyes flicked over you again — slower this time. Not in an obvious way, but enough that the high made him notice things he hadn't earlier. The way your neck streched as you gazed at him, the way you kept carresing your calf, eyes a little too lost on him.

He never failed to noticed your eyes flicking down to his sweats, where the bulge of his soft cock portruded. It made him shift his hips against the couch, the sudden rush of blood to his pelvis alarming him. He teared his gaze from you, quickly dancing around the small table. "That's okay. You are still young, there's time for everything even if you take it slow."

He added, trying to ease the tension that seemed to suffocate the air. He tried to erase the image of you, in ways he should never think of. Not when you are that younger than him, still in high school. Not when you are the daughter of the neighbors right next door.

But fuck, did actually exactly those things get him going.

He could still feel your eyes on him as he reached forward, grabbing the glass of water before he took a sip. He needed to cool off. Immediately. His cock threatening to evidently form a tent inside his briefs. The cold water did almost nothing.

The room still felt thick — smoke hanging lazily in the warm air, music humming quietly from somewhere behind you both. His pulse hadn't slowed either. Jake set the glass down again and rubbed the back of his neck, trying to shake the thoughts out of his head.

You were still watching him.

Curled into the couch with your legs tucked under you, head tilted slightly, eyes heavy and red-rimmed from the high. The way you looked at him now wasn't the same as earlier. There was curiosity there, yes — but something else too. Something softer. Bolder.

It made his stomach tighten.

Your fingers traced slowly along your calf again, absentminded, and the movement pulled his eyes down before he could stop himself. You noticed that too. A quiet little spark lit in your chest. The weed had melted most of your nervousness away, leaving behind something warm and daring that you normally wouldn't let yourself feel.

"You said I should enjoy being eighteen." You said softly. Jake glanced up at you again.

"Yeah..." He said cautiously and your head tilted slightly. "What if I want to start doing that now?"

The question made him pause. His eyes searched your face like he was trying to figure out if you even realized what you were implying. His elbows dug harder into his knees, eyes stuck on you. You shifted closer on the couch without really thinking about it.

The cushion dipped slightly between you.Your gaze dropped for a moment, then slowly lifted again, tracing his face. His jaw, his mouth, the faint tension in his shoulders. "You look different when you're high." You said quietly. "Oh yeah?" Jake asked, eyebrow raising. You hummed in response, the sound a little too low and sensual. "Your eyes get heavier."

He smirked faintly. "That's the weed."

"And you look at me more." You added. That made him go still. The silence stretched between you again. Then, almost without thinking, you leaned forward slightly, just enough to close some of the space between you.

Jake's breath slowed.

"You shouldn't be doing this." He said quietly, still leaned onto his knees, eyes flicking to your mouth and knees that were on the edge of the couch. But he didn't move away. Your heart was beating so loudly you were sure he could hear it. But the warmth of the high and the pull of his gaze made it impossible to back down now. "Doing what?" Ypu whispered. Jake looked at you like he already knew exactly where this was going. Your eyes flicked to his mouth, then back to his eyes. The moment stretched.

One second. Two.

Your courage wavered for just a moment — but then you leaned forward the rest of the way and pressed your lips softly against his. It was clumsy, gentle. And very, very brief.

When you pulled back, your face was flushed but your eyes were still on him. For a second Jake didn't move at all. Then he exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down his face. "Y/N..." He muttered under his breath. His eyes returned to yours again, darker now.

"You just said you've never done anything with anyone..." He said. Your shoulders lifted slightly in a shy little shrug. "I haven't." A small smile tugged at the corner of your mouth. "Until now."

Jake stared at you. Something about the way you said it, innocent but bold at the same time, made the tension in the room snap tighter instead of breaking. You leaned a little closer again, your knee brushing his thigh this time, placing a hand on his shoulder. Jake's eyes glanced down your bare legs, shorts lost under the shirt.

Fuck it.

He pressed his lips against yours,head tilting as he let out a low moan. You were taken aback, the sudden harshness of his lips making you panic for a second.

You didn't know how to kiss.

"Relax, let me take the lead and just copy me." He pulled back just enough to speak before his lips were again onto yours. His hand found your waist, slowing down his lips and letting your get used to the feel. "Just like that." He pulled back again, breath brushing your wet lips before you pressed them again. Jakes back met the cushion of the couchrest, adjusting his hips against the sofa. You were on your knees kissing him eagerly as you got your pace on. The smacks and smooches of your hungry mouth were fueling. You moaned against his mouth, the ache between your legs becoming unbearable.

Jake still had you by his side, one hand around your waist as he angled his head up, chin tipping to meet your mouth that hovered over his. Your kisses were clumsy but eager now, lips soft and warm against his. Each time you leaned down, trying to follow the rhythm he had shown you moments ago, Jake answered with a slower, deeper kiss that made your stomach tighten. The quiet sounds of it — soft breaths, the brush of lips, the faint smacks as you tried to keep up filled the small space between you.

You pulled back just enough to breathe, chest rising quickly, your lips slightly swollen and damp. Jake's hand tightened a little at your waist as he looked up at you. His eyes lingered on your face first — the flush spreading across your cheeks, the way your lips stayed parted as you caught your breath — before they drifted lower for a second, taking in the way you were kneeling beside him on the couch, your legs tucked beneath you. "Easy…" He murmured, voice low and rough, though he didn't push you away.

His thumb brushed slowly along your side through the thin fabric of your shirt, and the simple touch made you shiver. Jake noticed the reaction immediately. His gaze sharpened slightly, a darker curiosity settling in as he leaned his head back against the couch cushion, still looking up at you. "You're really new to this, aren't you?" He said quietly, his hot breath brushing your face. You hesitated for a moment, fingers still curled loosely into the fabric of his shirt, then nodded. The admission made your cheeks warm again, but the haze of the high softened the embarrassment, leaving only a nervous flutter in your chest.

Jake let out a slow breath through his nose. His eyes dropped briefly, following the line of your legs, the way the oversized shirt you wore had shifted while you moved, barely hiding the shorts underneath. When his gaze lifted again, it settled back on your face.

"Have you ever touched yourself?" He asked quietly, voice dark and sharp. The question sent a sudden wave of heat through you. Your eyes dropped almost instantly, landing somewhere near the collar of his shirt. You shook your head slowly, the movement small and shy.

"No." You murmured. Jake went very still beneath you. For a moment he simply stared, his expression caught somewhere between surprise and disbelief. Then he leaned his head back against the couch and dragged a hand slowly down his face.

"Fuck…" He muttered under his breath, his cock throbbing violently with each passing second. When his hand fell away, he looked at you again — longer this time, his gaze lingering over your flushed face, the way you were still kneeling beside him, your hand resting uncertainly on his shoulder as he held your waist.

"You're serious." He said quietly, voice strained as if he is afraid what your honest answer would do him. Because he was certain you weren't lying.

You nodded again, glancing down at your hands as they fidgeted lightly with the fabric of his shirt. And his body experienced a sudden rush of adrenaline, his shoulders almost evidently shuddered under your hand as he closed his eyes. "I just… never really thought about it." You admitted softly.

Jake opened his heavy red eyes staring at you for a moment, jaw tightening just slightly. Something about the way you said it, so honest and unaware, made him exhale slowly. He looked divine. Pretty even. His dark slightly longer hair falling over his eyes. His red cheeks and plump swollen lips. It made you bite your lip. And your eyes flicked down. Down to his tent that hardened with every passing minute he spent by your side.

"God…" He murmured again, almost to himself when he captured everything. And he crashed your lips again, pulling you so hard you feel onto his side, one hand clutching his shoulder and the other fisting the shirt at his chest. He moaned against you, your lips a drug that he couldnt get enough off. And the way you were struggling to catch up with him made his hips raise, thrusting into the air from the desperation.

"Take your shorts and panties off. Now." He sternly spoke against your lips. "And sit back and spread your legs for me." You nodded, trying to collect yourself from his savage kisses just a second ago. Quickly you straightened yourself, hands hastily unzipping your shorts before pulling it down your legs together with your underwear. Jake watched every move, the way the short glided down your legs and you threw it down, the way you moved back, pushing yourself away before you slowly but certainly spread your legs.

And Jake's throat constricted, a sharp inhale as he took in your form.

You were leaned back, supporting yourself by your arms against the couch, legs bent at your knees as you shyly pulled them apart. Jake's eyes sucked everything in but saw the little hesitation. "Don't be shy..." He said softly, eyes flicking up to yours giving you a nod, a connection you needed in this moment.

The mere look of his puppy eyes, giving you reassurance was enough. And you spread them further, knees closer to you, feet planting onto the cushion. He was stunned, another sharp inhale followed. His eyes danced over your thighs before it reached the center. His gaze went over your pubic hair, over your drooling lips that spilled the sticky essence onto the hairy lips.

His dick twitched.

"Shit." He muttered to himself, lips slightly parting as he let his head back onto the couch. You stood there, spread open for his eyes, observing the way he ate you with his stare. The way his chest moved deeper, Adam's apple bobbing as he gulped. Jake's hand moved down, resting onto his bulge, palm feeling the heaviness and the sensitivity over the fabric. But he just let it rest there, eyes glued to your drooling pussy and the sticky bush.

Already this wet, just from kissing. Of course you are.

Fucking virgin.

"Jake..." You called out to him, eyes searching for his. His eyes flicked up to yours. The worried expression on your face had him inhaling. "Touch yourself." He spoke firmly.

"I—I don't kno—"

"Bring your fingers over to your lips." He cut you off, hungry and rough. His chest heavied, following your unsure moves. You hesitantly brought your hand down, fingers hovering uncertainly in the air for a moment before you slowly followed his instruction. "Find your clit." His voice vibrated in the tight air, your eyes moved down to your mound, the hair rough against your fingertips as you slid them between your folds. Arousal coated them right away, the warmth of your folds swallowing the fingertips too much. You hissed at the new feeling.

"Higher..." You moved them back, higher, and when you found the small bud you — pressed it. A moan escaped you, eyes going tight shut at the new overwhelming sensation. Jake didn't look away.

His eyes followed every small movement you made, heavy and fixed on you as if he didn't want to miss a single second of it. The earlier teasing had faded from his face, replaced with something more focused — something darker and intent. The hand resting over the front of his sweats stayed there, fingers flexing slightly against the fabric as he watched. "That's it... Rub it in circles. Slow." He breathes out, his senses narrowing down to just feeling and the image of you spread by his side.

Your breathing had already grown shallow, chest rising and falling quicker than before as the warmth between your legs pulsed in quiet waves. Your fingers moved cautiously, almost timidly at first, a pant left your parted lips. You glanced up at him again, searching his face for reassurance. His gaze, immediately lifted to meet yours, and the intensity of it made your stomach twist.

"That's it." He said softly, nodding once. "Just… like that."

The simple encouragement steadied you. Your shoulders relaxed a fraction, though your cheeks were still flushed and your breathing uneven. You dragged your finger over the pulsing bud with steady rhythm, the arousal burning tight. You watched the way your arousal spread the more you rubbed, coating your hair, feeling it ooze out of your entrance sliding down your asscheeks and right onto the Jake's couch. You were so wet.

The feeling was strange. Strange but taunting, pulling your fingers to move on their own as you slightly sped up. A moan escaped you, the ticklish pleasure shooting up your spine as you teased yourself.

The moment felt strangely suspended — the low music somewhere behind you, the lingering haze in the room, and Jake watching you like nothing else existed.

He leaned his head back slightly against the couch again, eyes never leaving you. A quiet curse slipped under his breath when you shifted your legs a little wider without thinking, trying to follow the feeling growing in your body. He couldn’t contain himself anymore, his hand dipped into the waistbands, entering the confiments of his boxers. His raging cock already painfully hard. Throbbing and begging for a touch, for the fist of his hand.

His fingers wrapped around himself, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. "You see?" He murmured. "You're already figuring it out, doll."

The nickname rolled of his tongue so easily and so usual for him. But for you — it sent you shuddering. Body reacting on its own as your hole clenched around nothing. His gaze catches that, his hand already moving up and down his pulsing length, coating it with his warm precum. "Am I doing it right?" You asked quietly, voice breathy and needy as your fingers kept their pace, rubbing your clit desperately.

Jake let out a slow breath through his nose, his jaw tightening for a moment before he answered, hand sqeezing his tip for a brief moment. So hungry for praise aren't you. "So so right sweetie. Fuck—" His voice broke off into a strained breath as he watched you. The sight by him had something dark flashing through his eyes, his chest rising deeper as watched the way your folds engulfed your fingertips, the way your arousal stuck to your hair.

Your fingers kept moving, the strange but growing warmth between your legs making you shift on the couch, hips chasing your own fingers. Another small sound escaped you, half surprise, half something deeper you didn't quite understand yet. The feeling was different now — sharper, more insistent.

Jake watched the change in your expression immediately. You are pushing yourself close to the orgasm.His hand stilled for a moment before moving again, slower now, gliding deliberately against his cock, eyes locked on your face as if he were reading every reaction.

"You feel that?" He asked quietly, hand sticky and slimy as it moved under his briefs.

You nodded quickly, breath hitching and eyes moving over to his sweats. The evident move of his hand against his length made you grind your hips again.

"It's… weird." You admitted softly, barely uttering it out as your fingers slowed down again. "But… good."

He huffed out a faint laugh under his breath, shaking his head slightly. "Yeah..." His lidded eyes flicked down to the mess you made. Your hand faltered for a moment, your brows knitting together as you tried to understand the new sensations building. Jake noticed instantly. "Stop."

You didn't, you closed your eyes, a moan slipping. "I-I can't! Ah..." You cried out, fingers putting more pressure with each tight circle. "I said stop." He repeated, and this time you did. With a whine you made your fingers stop. Your felt the arousal all over your hand, sticky and messy as it covered your fingers. New fluid and texture making you slightly spread them, feeling the arousal stretch and snap.

You panted, a thin layer of sweat covering your skin. Jake's hand moved slowly up and down his cock prolonging the pleasure. Here and now delivering a squeeze to his tip that made him hiss and gasp. "Put a finger inside." He commanded sternly. And you did. Your middle finger dug into your puffy folds, making you gasp as you moved it down. Lower. Until you felt the dip of your entrance under the fingertip. You gulped, head dizzy and already light from all the smoke in the room. Your heat burned with desire, and when hesitation rose in you, fear, you still pushed the finger.

You groaned at the sudden stretch, pushing until the first knuckle. Just first. It glided with ease. But all of a sudden it felt like your walls did not want to let you move deeper. You moaned, shallowly thrusting nonstop. At an attempt to relax, to push through. But you just couldn't. Was it the tense walls, or perhaps the unconscious that was anxious about registering the new experience.

"Jake—" You tried again to push further. It hurt. "Jake I can't..." You were a moaning mess, thrusting barely the tip of your finger inside your pulsing heat. Your hips raised, tried to swallow your finger but still nothing. Jake was too busy fucking his fist slowly and sensually, moans escaping his parted lips as he was in his own world, eyes stuck to the way you tried to fuck your hand.

"You can't what?" He spoke low and strained. Voice whiny as he felt his mess spread and spread under the fabric as he was tugging at his length. "I—I need you!" You whined out, the tip of your finger teasing your clenched hole with shallow thrusts. Your thighs quievered, head tipping back as you couldn't take it — the overwhelming want to feel something against your walls, everything but your own fingers.

For a moment Jake just stared at you. Then he cursed quietly under his breath, dragging his free hand over his face before leaning his head against the couch, facing the ceiling. "Jesus…" His gaze swept over you again, slower this time, heavier, stopping a second longer on your attempts to push the finger inside. "You're going to drive me insane." He muttered, hand stopping all the movement on his cock but is resting at the base. Knowing he would need it again.

You shifted uncertainly under his stare, clearly not sure what he wanted from you, lips parted as the shallow thrusts slowed down. Jake watched you struggle for another second before he finally gestured sharply with his hand.

"Come here."

The command made your head snap up. You moved without thinking, sliding across the couch toward him until you were within reach again, your breathing still uneven. You let your arms support you, leaning back against them as your legs hesitated to spread, not knowing what to do. His free hand grazed your calf. "Spread them, princess."

You almost moaned out at the nickname, your jaw going slack as you spread your legs again eyes scanning him hungrily. One ended up on his knee, as the other was tucked right by his side and the couch. "Shirt off." Your hands automatically grabbed the hem of your baggy old shirt, pulling it over your head as you threw it on the floor, leaving you in your bra.

Jake's eyes scanned your naked upper body. Eyes nestling onto your breasts. Breasts covered by your bra. He bit his lip, eyes traveling all over you decollete as his hand went over your pulsing pussy and up your stomach. Fingers grazing the hot skin before he cupped one of your breasts. You stared at his expressions, noting down every slight change. His brows furrowed, palm sqeezing it harshly and roughly making you gasp. Your chest pushing out, arching into the touch. He kneaded it, eyes stuck to the flesh that threatened to spill from the firm cup. "Yes, fuck..." He moaned under his breath, hand in his underwear sqeezing the base of his cock, imaging the way it would feel if he fucked your tits. The warm, squishy flesh engulfing his leaking dick, letting it glide all over your chest.

He let out a hiss after one more squeeze around his girth. You let out a whine, hips raising from the couch, in search of something. Jake's eyes were still fixed on your chest as he kneaded until his fingers hooked into the bra cup — pulling it down and letting your tit spill out.

You moaned, eyes moving down to look at your naked exposed breast. Nipple stood hard and erect, sensitive to the air itself. Jake's hand was quick to flick it with his thumb, balancing it over the peak as he teased it. "Ah—yes please!" You moaned out, eyes never leaving the way he rolled your sensitive bud.

Jake finally let go of your nipple, hand moving over to his lips eyes stuck to yours. And he let his mouth engulfed two of his long digits. He sucked them delightfully, tongue going over them as he hollowed his cheeks, thrusting them in and out. Your breath hitched, muscles already trembling and aching. He coated them expertly with his spit, pulling them out and letting them glide out from his plump lips. They glistened under the lights. He spat on them, making sure they are wet and warm before he finally lowered them between your legs. To your most sensitive skin.

You felt the back of his middle finger caress your puffy slit, going up and down collecting the arousal that never seemed to stop coming. You bucked into his hand, a sharp inhale followed. Jake's eyes danced over your pulsing and hairy heat, and it made him hiss. Especially when he grazed your rough hairs, the sudden contrast to your soft and sensitive folds that drooled all over his finger.

"You are so pretty, sweetheart." He murmured, peering down at your gaping entrance before his digit prodded at it. You held your breath, stomach tightening as you felt his bigger finger enter you slowly. "Relax..." He said softly again, eyes searching for yours before he continued to push further against your walls. He felt you clamp down on him, sucking him in but still quite tensed. He pulled back slightly before thrusting repeatedly into your sopping hole, trying to relax you — to get you used to the feeling.

And you gasped. When you felt him thrust into you, wetness still sipping out of you like a fucking faucet, you tipped your head back. Jake pushed in further, feeling you pull him in with each move of his. The way he filled you up made you buck into his hand, urging him to push it all the way in. And he did. He pushed his finger all the way and you gasped. The sudden feeling new and extraordinary. But so good. He started by steadily stretching you with just one digit, eyes stuck to the way you ruined his hand with your juices.

"So tight..."

Your breath came out in short bursts now, your body reacting faster than your mind could keep up. Jake watched every little reaction like it was the most fascinating thing he had ever seen. His jaw tightened slightly, eyes dark as they moved over your face — flushed cheeks, parted lips, the way you struggled to steady your breathing.

His hand moved again, gliding against his heavy cock in rhythm with the thrusts of his digit into you. Imagining. Imagining the way you would later clamp around his thick cock, take it like a good little girl, bent over this couch right here. He let out a whimper, followed by a moan as he slowly sped up both of his hands.

Your fingers tightened against the couch cushion beside you as you tried to catch your breath. The warmth in your body kept building, spreading through your chest and down your spine in slow waves. A string of gradually louder moans left you, hips bucking into his hand. "J—Jake" You stuttered out, head heavy and body burning up. Everything seemed to narrow down to him and him only.

"You feel that, don't you?" He asked breathing heavy. Your lidded eyes found his heavy ones nodding quickly, not being able to form a proper sentence as you pressed your lips shut tight. Jake's eyes were fast back on the way you took him. You squeezed his finger, eyes moving to the way he was stroking himself under the material and you whined, the foot that was on his knee slightly nudging him.

A chuckle left him, almost too whiny before he muttered. "Yeah... I can tell." His gaze lifted back to your face, studying the way your eyes fluttered shut for a second before opening again. Then he pressed another finger against you entrance, stretching you wider as it glided in with ease. You moaned, arms at the back trembling as he fucked you with his fingers.

"Ah— fuck! "

His thumb pressed against your puffy clit and it seemed like you were in heaven. Your eyes dropped down to the way he split you with his fingers, the way his thumb pressed against your throbbing clit. Your pubic hair was already drenched, a mess that collected all the filthy fluid as he started rubbing your clit, smearing the wetness. All of a sudden a weird feeling started forming in the far pit of your pelvis. The strange pressure twisted deeper in your stomach, coiling tighter and tighter with every movement of his hand.

Your breathing broke into short, uneven pulls as the feeling built too fast, too intense. Your head shook weakly.

"Jake— wait—" Your voice cracked, breath catching in your throat. Panic flickered across your face as the pressure surged again, stronger this time, almost unbearable. "I— I think I'm— I'm gonna—" Jake felt your walls tense, your musles on fire. His slanted eyes suddenly sharpened, his fist abandoned his cock as his attention was fully on you.

You foot against his knee cramped, the other tight by his side sent small tremors that could be felt. Your knees pulled in slightly, threatening to pull your legs together. "I think I'm gonna pee." You blurted out breathlessly, embarrassment rushing into your face as your hips tried to retreat from his merciless hand. "Stop— Jake, stop—"

He didn't. If anything, he sat up straight, back detached form the couch as his eyes stuck to your sensitive core. The painful bulge forgotten for now as his other hand grabbed your ankle of the foot that was on his knee , holding you. His fingers sped up furiously, pistoning into you. One of your hands grabbed his wrist pushing at it, desperation creeping into your voice as the pressure wound even tighter.

"Jake— I'm serious— I can't—" Jake's eyes lifted from between your legs to your face, dark and sharp, breathing rough through parted lips. A low, almost disbelieving laugh slipped out of him. "You are not gonna pee." He said firmly. You shook your head quickly, eyes wide and pleading.

"I am— I swear I am—"

"No." His tone sharpened, cutting through your panic. Your hips tried to pull away again, but his other hand hooked under your thigh, holding you in place.

"You're not." He repeated, slower this time, breath heavy. "You're about to cum."

Your breath stuttered, vision blurring, eyes stinging as his fingers curled inside of you making them roll to the back of your head. Sound that your cunt and his fingers made filled the suffocating room. You panted and moaned, Jake holding you closer than ever as his hand played with your walls, stretching and ruining your insides.

The feeling surged again — overwhelming now, too big to contain — and you gasped, grabbing his forearm, nails digging hard.

"Jake please—"

But he didn't stop. His pace didn't slow. If anything, it grew more deliberate, more certain, like he knew exactly what he was doing to you. His eyes were focused, dark as they stuck to the way your pussy ate his fingers up, sucked them in as if inviting him. His dark hair fell over his eyes, jaw tight as he kept his pace. He collected a glob of spit, heavy against his tongue before he spat down, filthy and gross, right onto your cunt.

Your body betrayed you completely. Your back arched, thighs trembling violently as the pressure climbed higher and higher, your mind scrambling to understand what was happening. Everything seemed to blur, the only thing you could comprehend was the way Jake fingered you, the earthy scent that clung into the air and his own cologne that's seemed to be everywhere around you, on him, on his furniture. Everywhere.

"I can't— I can't—" You whimpered, voice breaking, eyes going tight shut tears pricking at the corners.

Jake leaned closer, his voice low and rough and right in you face, breath brushing your lips. "Yes you can." Your whole body tensed.

"Just let it happen."

You shook your head weakly, panic and pleasure tangling together until you couldn't separate them anymore. "Jake—!"

The pressure snapped. Your voice dissolved into a broken cry as the wave finally crashed through you, your entire body jerking as the sensation ripped through your stomach and down your spine. Your hand clutched at his arm while your hips trembled uncontrollably, the intensity stealing the breath straight from your lungs.

Jake swore under his breath, watching you unravel in front of him, his grip tightening slightly as he guided you through it, forearm flexing as he slip your walls repeatedly. "That's it." He murmured, voice rough with satisfaction. "There you go." Your body kept shaking long after the first rush passed, smaller tremors still rolling through you while your head fell back, breath coming in soft, stunned gasps.

For a moment you couldn't even speak.

Jake finally slowed his digits, watching the way your chest rose and fell, the way your fingers still clung weakly to his arm. He slowly pulled out. His digits were drenched. He watched the way your arousal streched, a string of it snapping, like not wanting him to pull away. You hissed at the emptiness that followed. Your slit throbbing with aftershocks and waves of fire as you catches your breath.

Jake let go of your thigh, setting your leg over his lap, enchanted by the way your wetness clung to his fingers, spreading them and watching it stretch. He moaned, voice needy and whiny as he brought them to his lips and sucked it off. He closed his eyes in delight, savoring the taste of you on his tongue. The sight of his moaning around his fingers, made your nervous system wake up again. The pulse speeding up again as the ache between your spread legs grew heavier.

You shifted, legs tucked beneath you and hand on his chest pushing him back against the couch. You were breathing hard, eyes going over his leaned figure as you scanned his rock hard bulge. Jake was too busy sucking off your juices, enjoying it a little too much before he pulled them out of his mouth the second your shaky hands were on his waistband, pulling it down and over his cock. Jake turned his head to look at you, the way you tucked your hair behind your ears, ready to bend down, knees brushing his side as they tremored from the orgasm.

He let his hand down on his thigh, rating it there as he adjusted himself on the cozy couch, thighs spreading and hips lowering.

You were stunned. The wet stain on the from of his underwear was massive, the heavy boner imprinting onto the ruined material. Before he could utter a word you pulled his boxers too, letting his hard cock free. He moaned at the sudden air that hit his pulsing head, eyes closing in brief pleasure.

He stood tall, veiny and painfully hard. His tip raging with blood, red and oozing precum. The veins run down its length, right down to the base and you gulped. "Do you know what to do with it?" His low and needy voice made your eyes flick to his, your hands already collecting your hair and pushing it to the side, so he could have a good view. You shook your head but still was lowering down. Jake couldn't look away. The moment your lips brushed the side of his head, leaving a light kiss onto it he took a sharp breath. You let the tip of your tongue out, poking him experimentally and he shuddered. His hand shot down, grabbing his base as he held it for you. "Lick the tip." He let out as his voice trailed off into a breathy moan. "Ah shit... Just like that."

You kitty locked his tip, the wet and warm muscle feeling his heated and tense head. The fluid was salty, tangy. You moaned at the taste tongue moving from the middle of his veiny cock up to the sensitive tip. Jake’s breath hitched when you looked up at him like that.

For a second he just watched you — chest rising and falling slowly, eyes dark and half-lidded, the tension in his jaw tightening as if he was trying to hold himself together. The room felt warmer than before, the air thick with that quiet, buzzing tension that had been building between you all night.

Your lips brushed him again in a soft, testing motion.

Jake swore under his breath.

His hand slid into your hair, not rough, but firm enough to make you look back up at him. His thumb brushed along your cheek, eyes roaming over your flushed face, the parted lips, the nervous determination in your gaze. You glanced up at him, lips slick, eyes wide and pupils blown. It made him curse under his breath, the simple brush of your breath against his sensitive flesh made his muscles tense. "I have to taste you, fuck —"

His fingers flexed around your strands, pulling you harshly with the strength so unexpected. Your lips collided in a messy kiss, noses bumping as he savored you. The saltines on your lips from him, the swollen, warm flesh moving against his experienced mouth trying to catch up and seem confident.

But fuck, did he actually enjoy the exact inexperience you tried so hard to conceal.

It made him groan against your clumsy lips, your hand fisting the front of his shirt as his other hand carresed the back of your thighs, fingers digging into the skin as he dragged the leg over his lap. Finally, his neck untensed, kissing you mercilessly as you settled on his lap, each knee on the side of his thighs. Your hands found their place on his shoulders, feeling the cotton material of his shirt under your fingertips. His grip in your hair faltered, both hands moving down to your thighs, carresinh the burning skin and feeling the goosebumps pricking his hyperaware touch.

Jake kissed you messily, tongue prodding at your parted and tired lips, carresing your slow warm muscle as you struggled to get into a rhythm with his expert moves. You moaned in annoyance and neediness, thighs quivering under his palms, the innerside trickling with your wetness, the air hitting your pulsing core.

Jake pulled back slightly, eyes opening just merrily. You chased his lips, a smirk on his own as he pulled back teasingly making you whine. He squeezed your bare hips, eyes going down your chest.

And it stayed stuck there.

He kneaded your hips, his teeth already catching his bottom lip. His gaze was stuck to the way your nipple still stood erect, the bra cup pushing your flesh up as it dug under it. He dug his head lower, eyes flicking up to you before his mouth engulfed your breast. You gasped at the unfamiliar warmth around your areola, your chest jutting out at instinct.

Jake's hard lenght rested low on his abdomen, hard and pulsing against his shirt, right between you two. Jake's tongue circled your nipple, flicking it rapidly with his tongue before sucking on it again.

Your eyes never left the way he assaulted your sensitive peak, pants leaving your mouth, fingers cramping against his shoulders. His saliva coated your bare breasts, his tongue gliding against it, teasing the bud as he balanced the tip of his tongue on it. His eyes closed in delight, his other hand coming up to unclip the bra on your back. And he did it at the first try, the pressure around your ribcage and chest releasing as he pulled it off of you, mouth attached to your swollen tit as he threw it over his shoulder. He moaned, hand coming up to massage the other one, rolling your nipple between his slender fingers.

"Fuck doll..." He pulled away just merilly to take in the full picture of your tits at his mercy. Swollen. Begging to be sucked. His cock twitched, the small white pearl trickling down his lenght, drooling at the sight before him. He grasped both of your tits, pressing them together and watching the flesh collide. His tongue switching from one to the other, teasingly flicking and carresing. You could not utter a word, just silently staring in awe at the way he handled your tender body. Gasps and moan escaping you at the sinful actions you never thought about before, never knew would make your pussy throb so violently.

You shivered in his hold, hips moving helplessly against air — just searching for some minimal friction. "Could lick these tits for hours shit—" He left a slow kiss on each of your nipples, lips lingering for a second longer than necessary, as if savoring the way your body reacted to him. Your breath kept hitching in uneven pulls, chest rising and falling faster the longer he watched you unravel.

Jake leaned back just enough to take you in again.

Your bra was gone, tossed somewhere behind the couch, your chest flushed and sensitive under the warm light of the room. His hands were still wrapped around your tits, thumbs brushing slowly over your peaks like he couldn't quite stop touching you.

Your hips shifted again without meaning to, that restless desperation returning the moment he stopped paying direct attention to the heat building lower in your body. Jake noticed immediately. His eyes flicked downward, catching the movement. A quiet, amused huff escaped him. "Getting needy, huh?" He murmured.

Your cheeks flushed, but you didn't deny it this time. The high still floating through your body made it hard to hide anything — every sensation louder, every emotion closer to the surface. "Jake…" You breathed softly.

The sound of his name like that made his jaw tighten for a second. He leaned forward again, pressing another slow kiss against your chest before lifting his gaze back to yours. His eyes were glassy from the high, half-lidded and heavy, but the hunger in them hadn't faded at all.

"If I keep going like this." He muttered quietly, "I'm not gonna stop."

Your stomach flipped.

You didn't move away. Jake studied your face for a second longer, watching the way your lips parted slightly, the way you looked at him like you were waiting for whatever he decided to do next. That was all the answer he needed. A crooked smile tugged at his mouth, eyes flicking down to your hips, to the soft curls tempting him just inches away from his leaking cock. He bit his lip hard enough that his jaw flexed.

"Fuck, sweetie… I have to taste you. Now."

The words came out rough, almost desperate. The composure he'd been holding onto all night was cracking. The smoke in the room still present and still getting to the both of you. Before you could even process it, his hands were already on you.

Jake's grip slid around your hips, firm and impatient as he pulled you toward him. The sudden movement made you gasp, your hands instinctively landing on his shoulders for balance as the couch dipped beneath the two of you.

"Bout to rock your world ." He muttered, voice low and breathy, almost as a promise to himself. You gulped at his words, hands gripping onto him. There was nothing hesitant about the way he moved now. His hands guided you with a certainty that made your stomach twist, shifting you across the cushions until your bodies tangled together, you on top of his body as he layed on the couch.

You blinked, a nervous lump catching in your throat when you realized what he was doing. He pulled you in a brief deep kiss, you hands came up by his head supporting your weight. The sudden closeness made you gulp, your tits pressed against his chest, his heavy and wet cock against your stomach, your pussy drooling at just the simple feel of it. When he pulled back, his breathing was heavier now, chest rising and falling under you, hands moving form your waist to your ass, grasping and squeezing it as you moved against him from the strength. Your damp bush moved up his cock, the roughness of your hair made him hiss, eyes never leaving yours.

"Fuck… feel that? His voice dropped, rougher now, feeling your wet bush rub against him, feeling your folds drool as you went still ove him, letting him handle you." Soaked already.” He exhales through his teeth, eyes dark. "You've got no idea what you're doing to me, dont you?" Jake's grip on your hips tightened suddenly, pulling you closer against him. His eyes dragged slowly down your body before flicking back up to your face, darker now, breath heavier. His hand slid down your thigh, guiding you with a firm squeeze. "Move up a little."

You hesitated for half a second, nerves fluttering in your chest, but the way his fingers pressed insistently at your hips made you obey. You shifted on your knees and palms over him, your breath catching when his gaze followed every inch of the movement.

"Good girl." He muttered hoarsely. His hand slid to the back of your thigh, urging you higher. "C'mon… Get over me... Turn around first." He instructed quietly. You did, a little clumsily, trying not to overthink the way his eyes followed every movement. "Knees by my head, face my feet."

When you shifted again he helped position you, steady hands settling you where he wanted you. You tried to ignore the nervous flutter in your chest, awareness of his eyes over your most intimate part. Ignoring the way his hard leaking cock that you knew nothing about was right in front of your face.

"There you go." He murmured, eyes still going over your figure. Your hair slid over your shoulder as you glanced back at him nervously. Jake's gaze moved slowly over you, heat flickering through his expression as his eyes finally stopped on your heat. Your dripping and pulsing heat, damp hairs sticking to your lips due to the slimy arousal. One hand slid along your thigh, the other steady at your waist as he nudged you into place.

"Babydoll, fuuuck..." He whimpered, throwing his head back slightly against the cushion before raising it again. Your breathing had already started picking up again, chest rising and falling faster as he adjusted you more, the closeness between you suddenly overwhelming. The high still humming in your body made everything feel heavier — his hands warmer, the air thicker, your thoughts slower.

Jake exhaled sharply when you finally settled where he wanted you. "Yeah." He muttered under his breath. His fingers tightened slightly at your hips, pulling you just a little closer. "Going to eat you so good..."

You could feel the tension in him now, the way his body seemed restless with need. Even through the haze clouding his eyes, the hunger there was unmistakable.

Your stomach fluttered.

His hand slid slowly up your side, fingers brushing along your ribs before settling at your waist again. For a second he just looked at you — really looked — eyes moving over your flushed skin, your messy hair, the way your lips stayed slightly parted from your uneven breathing as you gazed at him over your bare shoulder.

"God." He muttered quietly.

Then he leaned down to your core, voice dropping low again as you could not see him anymore. "Use that pretty mouth too, would you, hm?"

And for the first time he let his tongue move all the way from your clit and up to your entrance. You shuddered at the new feeling, the tight muscle of his going right between your untouched folds, separating them so suddenly and deliberately. He hummed in delight, the feel of your slickness against his tongue and the contrast of your rough curls sent him going crazy. "Fuck..." He muttered, tongue back on you, circling your clit with the tense tip of his tongue, letting it roll and flick just right. You tried to catch your breath, tried to supress the sounds that threatened to escape you. Wanting nothing else but to please him too, your eyes darted to his hard cock, nervously thinking what to do, what would make him feel good. And when your felt Jake moan against you, his plump lips sucking at your bud you panted back, mouth agape as your hand went to wrap around him hastily. Your hand moved clumsily up and down his shaft, precum leaking with each tug you delivered. He moaned against you again, lips releasing your clit before moving up to your entrance, poking and circling it. You moaned, eyes going shut and mouth agape, your palm stroking him as you leaned all the way down to his tip.

Just as you were about to engulf his raging head, a high pitched moan erupted from your chest when his finger entered your hole, mouth moving down to your throbbing clit, sucking harshly, flicking his hungry tongue over the puffy bud that pulsed between his slick lips. "Ah—" Your hand slowed down around him, eyes going shut as your forehead dropped down briefly to his hip, searching for something to hold onto, to steady you. Your hips moved back instinctively, meeting his finger half-thrust and grinding against his suckling mouth. "You like me sucking your pussy clean, hm?" He pulled just an inch before his tongue flicked your clit, dancing around it with precision, his finger thrusting into your throbbing tight hole fast. Your hand stopped at the base of his big cock, head raising from his hip as your moaned desperately, other hand fisting his sweats.

"Fuck— Yes Daddy, yes!"

Words left your fuzzy mind without a thought, and Jake swore his heart stopped. His dick twitched. He growled against your heat in response, tongue lapping up your essence that seemed to never stop. "Yeah? You like daddy making you feel good?"

Your breath caught hard in your throat at his words, the nickname still echoing through your hazy mind like a spark to dry fuel as you hummed in response. Heat rushed through your body all at once, your fingers tightening around him where you held him at the base. For a second you almost forgot what you were doing entirely — hips trembling above him while his mouth worked against you with a hunger that made your head spin.

"C'mon princess. Don't get tired now..." He muttered against you, voice muffled and rough as his tongue dragged slowly over you again, making your thighs tense around his head. "Use that mouth too… yeah, just like that."

The command pulled you back into the moment.

Your hand began moving again, slowly at first, uncertain fingers sliding along his length while your lips finally lowered around the heated tip you'd been hovering over. The contact pulled a deep groan out of him instantly, the vibration of it sending another sharp shiver up your spine.

"Fuck…" He breathed, the word rumbling low against your skin. Your tongue moved shyly, copying what he instructed you earlier — small, curious movements, tasting the salty warmth there before your lips closed more firmly around him. Your hand followed the rhythm, sliding up and down as you tried to find a pace that felt right.

Jake's reaction was immediate. He moaned, hips bucking into your mouth and grip. His hand came down to your thigh, gripping it firmly while his finger curled inside you, thrusting a little deeper now. His mouth didn't leave you for more than a second at a time, tongue flicking and circling before sealing around your sensitive bud again with renewed focus.

"That's it…" He rasped, breath uneven now. "Look at you… learning so fast."

The praise made your stomach tighten.

You tried to keep moving for him, your mouth and hand working together clumsily but eagerly, and every small sound he made only made you want to do it better. His hips twitched beneath you, his fingers tightening slightly in your thigh while his tongue pressed harder, more deliberate now.

The rhythm between you both started to build without either of you saying it.

Your hips moved against his face helplessly, chasing the sensation each time his tongue found the exact spot that made your whole body jolt. His finger pushed in deeper, curling slightly as he felt you clench around him.

"Yeah… There you go." He murmured against you, voice low and breathless. "Feel that?"

You did.

The strange tight warmth in your stomach was back again, stronger this time — spreading through your body in waves that made it harder and harder to keep your movements steady. Your hand faltered around him for a moment, a muffled moan slipping from your throat when he pulled his finger out, vibrations around his tip sending his hips thrusting up.

Jake noticed instantly.

His arms wrapped around your thighs to keep you where he wanted you, holding you in place while his tongue moved faster, more focused now. His head moved against your pussy, eating you till he is breathless, till your essence dripped down onto his shirt, till his tongue glided against your hairy lips, sucking off the sticky mess.

Your mouth detached from him, a string of saliva snapping as you finally moaned, hand stopping all the movements over him. Your mouth went agape, eyes tight shut at the knot forming in the pit of your stomach. "I—I—Yes! Fuck!" You stuttered, crying out as you moved back against his face. He slurped you up furiously, moaning as he let your pussy drool all over his face.

Your body shuddered violently, everything seemed to shut down except him. Every nerve was alight as the heat coiled tighter and tighter in your core. Breath hitched and uneven, your chest rising and falling fast. Your hands clutched at the couch as your hips moved desperately back against him. The sensation of him beneath you, relentless and unyielding, was too much, too exquisite, and your mind could not hold back any longer.

"D—Daddy... Oh fuck!" You cried, voice breaking. Jake stiffened under you at your voice, eyes closing for a moment as he savored the sound. The nickname slipped out so naturally, so needy, it pulled a low desperate groan from his chest as he didn't let up. His tongue sucked at your clit harshly, rolling it between his plump tired lips as his two fingers found your hole again. He felt your spasming entrance pull them in, sucking greedily.

He held you there, face pressed to your most sensitive spot, tongue circling and flicking, his fingers pumping into you just enough to tease you, guiding the waves of release that kept crushing through you. Your nails dug into his sides now, pressing into his covered thighs. He hissed against you at it, his own breathing raged and desperate.

"That's it, doll... That's it." He rasped, voice low and commanding. "Feel that... Feel how good you are for me." Your high body trembled, hips jerking lightly as your climax ripped through you. Your hair stuck to your sweaty face, sticky and wild, your throat hoarse as you shivered over him. His grip on your thighs faltered, now digging into your hip as he guided you over his mouth that moved around your bud with sharp and teasing precision, keeping you riding the aftermath of your high. "So perfect, babydoll... Look at you, shaking for me." He murmured, voice rough and vibrating against your swollen pussy, his fingers pumping into you mercilessly.

Your thighs felt like jelly, shivering and trembling with each feel of his warmth against you. Your chest heavied, against his pelvis, arms shaky by his sides. Every whispered words from him sent shivers down your spine, making you arch instinctively, chasing the lingering waves of pleasure and not wanting this to end. You sobbed, vision blurry as you still grinded against his savage fingers. "Please please please— I don't want it to stop please Daddy!" You cried out, hands fisting his sweats as the pleasure started subduing, slowly being replaced by the sensitivity you never felt before.

Jake's hummed under you, feeling your weight on top of his burning body as his fingers assaulted your heat. Your gaping hole fluttered when he pulled them out, making you twitch under his eyes as he smacked your thigh. Hard. A red harsh print rising fast on your sweaty skin as the smack resonanted the room. And you jolted from it. "C'mon... Bend over the couch f'me."

You hummed in affirmation, nodding to yourself as you crawled away from him, your body tender and limp, but still the hunger kept you tethered. You grabbed the back of the couch ignoring the uncomfortable sensitivity between your slick thighs as they quivered. Your knees deeped into the cushion, your arms resting over the back rest as you positioned yourself. Slightly leaned over. Knees apart. Lower back arched.

Just the way you thought is supposed to be.

Jake was quick to eye your position, going over your side and curves. You turned your head to the side to look at him. Ruined. You were ruined. Jake hummed in delight, gaze dancing over your face as he pushed himself up. "Little girl is learning fast, hm?" His hands grabbed the hem of his shirt as he was up on his feet, moving right behind you. "Are you that eager for a cock?" He taunted, shirt on the floor by his feet as he let his knees dip into the couch bezween your apart calves. You gulped, still trying to collect yourself, to steady. The only sign of presence form him was the dipped couch right by your legs, the suffocating warmth from the proximity behind you and now his arms that came into your vision, grabbing onto the same cushion right by your own trembling hands. He moved closer, breath fanning your ear, his cock slightly brushing your ass and you froze. "Are you going to be a good girl for daddy?" His voice was low, seductive.

Jake placed a tender kiss on your shoulder, the place burning and aching. "Let me use your little virgin cunt? Hm?" He grinded his hips right on you, letting it glide between your tender asscheeks. He felt you move back against it, a whimper following. He chuckled darkly, one of his hands moving down around his cock, grasping it and leading it to your leaking folds.

"Shit baby..." His gaze was stuck to your messy heat. Tip grazing against rough hairs as they caressed his raging head. He hissed, dragging it against the slimy and sticky mess. You gasped when he dived into your slit, dragging the tip up and down your fold, separating them and watching the way they closed around his pulsing dick. He groaned when he felt your bud against his shaft, grinding and thrusting right through your mess. You shook under Jake, letting him play with you as he pleased, as he and only he wanted.

"You are going to take this dick, right sweetie?"

No answer, just a sharp inhale when his tip caught onto your clit before moving up to your entrance, tapping against your clenching hole.

"Words, pretty... I need words."

"Y—Yes..." He put a slight pressure against your gaping slit. You gasped. "Yes what?" He asked cockily, right by your ear. You closed your eyes as you inhaled sharply again, trying to form a proper sentence and ignore the way he was shallowly pressing against your pussy, trying to get the filthy words out of you.

"I-I'm going to take it..."

Jake's brows furrowed, teasingly thinking about it with a smirk tugging at his lips. He pushed the tip in with no warning and you stiffened. "Hmmm, I dont think I like that. Let's rephrase it, shall we?" He slammed in, knocking the air out of your lungs with the sudden stretch and fullness. You gripped the backrest, a sob escaping you. Too full. It was too much. Your nails dug into the cushion, bracing for more. The pain was sudden when he glided in with a sharp thrust. He stayed still, breath still fanning your cheek. "I'm going to take daddy's cock like a good little girl, say it." He bottomed out, feeling your walls relax around him before he thrusted in again. His now free hand came up to your hair, tangling into the roots as it stayed there. "I—I'm going to take daddy' s cock like a good little girl!" You sobbed out, tears threatening to drop down your hot face. He pulled back again, hips slamming against your ass hard, sending you jolting against the couch.

"Good girl...." He cooed, jutting his bottom lip out as he breathed over your ear. "See? It wasn't that hard." He started thrusting, catching the rhythm and feeling you tremble with each drag of his heavy cock against your soft velvety walls. You bit your lip, eyes tight shut as a tear rolled down your cheek. You were gripping the back rest for dear life, his hips smacking and dick dragging in and out of you made you dizzy.

When suddenly, the uncomfortable thrusting, the uncomfortable stretch started melting into something else. Your mouth opened, focusing on your breathing as you relaxed against him. Jake felt that, felt your walls relax and take him in without resistance. "That's it..." He murmured. "Take it all." His grip tightened in your hair, hips speeding up. A broken low moan escape your parted lips when he pistoned into. Your gummy walls taking him in, sucking so invitingly. Your brows furrowed, the tears drying on your warm cheeks as you let him abuse your tight cunt.

Jake delivered a kiss to your shoulder, tongue flicking your ear as he panted, chasing the friction that seemed to only dissolve with your wetness that seeped out of you. The sounds were obscene, echoing together with the forgotten low music in the background, your pants and sobs replacing it.

"So fucking tight." He groaned when he felt you squeeze him. His fingers flexed in your hair, pushing your head lower, bending your body to his will as he straightened his back, eyes moving down to the way you took him. The new slightly different angle made you moan, hips moving to meet his. Your forehead on the couch, arms dangling in front of you as he pressed harder and harder into you. The smacking sounds were filthy, your moans and his pants mixed in a spiral of frenzied hunger.

"Please please please." You uttered out, the now familiar knot forming again at the pit of your abdomen, the third orgasm on its way as the sensitivity was long forgotten. Jake's eyes moved over your back, over your hips that moved with each plunge of his into your pussy that took him so good. His cock throbbed, begging for a release. But Jake licked his lips, eyes stuck to your essence sticking to his pelvis and the base of his cock and he groaned, pulling out hastily.

"I have to fucking taste you again." He spoke through gritted teeth at your gasp of surprise at the sudden emptiness. He lowered down, his grip on the couch and your hair moving down to your hips as he was down face to face with your wetness. You raised your head, glancing over your shoulder in confusion, trying to catch your breath.

His tongue ran through your folds impatiently, moaning at your mixed arousals at it ooze out of your used hole. Fucking tainted cunt that was his to use for the first time. His to make it filthy and ruined.

You moaned, hand blindly reached behind you, finding his hair as you gripped it. "So good! Please don't stop!" You moaned out, feeling his thumbs coming to spread your lips, revealing the tender flesh that begged for his mouth. And he attached to you again, sucking and rolling your bud aggressively before moving up to your hole, thrusting his tongue repeatedly, feeling you fall apart and melt into the couch.

He pulled away, just enough to spit onto you, saliva attaching and dripping as it mixed with your slimy mess. It dripped right from your hole and moved your throbbing clit. It dipped right into your dark hair.

Jake inhaled sharply, watching it stick to the ruined, harsh hairs and before he could stop himself his tongue dived into your bush, his nose bumping at your sore bundle of nerves. He dragged his tongue around your puffy hair, moaning as he felt it scratch his hot muscle just right, feeling it graze his plump lips. "Fuck." He cursed under his breath, his hand coming down to stroke his abandoned cock furiously, tugging it fast as he raised himself again on his feet, knees back on their old position against the couch as he entered you again.

He moaned at the feel together with your desperate whine at the intrusion. Feeling him fill every space behind you. No words were exchanged as he started thrusting into you furiously, chasing his high. You squirmed under him, soft moans leaving your parted lips as he ravished you. His breath hitched as your body trembled beneath him, the warmth and closeness making his head spin. For a moment he just held you there, chest pressed against your back, his hands gripping your hips as he moved with a restless, impatient rhythm. The couch creaked faintly beneath you both, the room filled with nothing but uneven breathing and the quiet sounds of movement.

Your fingers curled into the fabric beneath you, trying to steady yourself as the sensation kept building again, softer this time but just as overwhelming. The haze from earlier still clung to your thoughts, making everything feel slower, warmer, more intense. Jake noticed immediately, a quiet groan slipped from him as he pulled you a little closer against him, his grip tightening slightly on your waist.

Jake let out a rough breath, his grip tightening on your hips as he held you exactly where he wanted you. The desperation in him was obvious now — no more restraint, no careful teasing. Just raw hunger.

"God… Listen to you." He muttered near your ear, voice hoarse and low. "All those pretty sounds and you think I'm gonna go easy on you?"

Your breath caught at the tone alone.

He leaned closer, chest pressing harder into your back, the warmth of him wrapping around you as his movements grew more impatient again. A quiet whine escaped you, and that only seemed to make him worse.

Jake let out a dark chuckle, the sound vibrating against your skin as his fingers tightened slightly at your waist, keeping you from slipping away from him. "Yeah, that's it… keep making those noises." He murmured. "You've got no idea what that does to me."

Your head tipped forward, breath uneven, fingers gripping the backrest at the feel of his cock reaching deeper than ever. "" Don’t hide from me."He said, voice suddenly sharper, more commanding. One hand slid up your side, guiding your jaw to face him over your shoulder so he could see your face again. "I want to see you when you feel it."

Your eyes flicked to his, dazed and glassy. Jake groaned quietly at the sight the other hand coming between your legs to rub your clit "Fuck… There she is." He breathed, fingers speeding up against your puffy bud. "All worked up and looking at me like that."

His thumb brushed along your jaw for a second before his hand dropped back to your hip, pulling you closer again. You whimpered, your head overwhelmed with all the stimulation that you are left just breathing harshly. "You're trouble, you know that?" He muttered, breath hot against your neck, fingers never faltering against your clit as you felt the knot grow tight, at the bring f exploding. "Walking around acting all innocent, and then look what you do to me."

You shifted helplessly against him, hips trying to run from his merciless hand but was only met with his cock that plunged into you angrily, pulsing inside of you. Your breath broke into a shaky cry as the pressure inside you tightened impossibly, every nerve screaming with the intensity of it. Jake felt it — the way your body started trembling against him, the way your hips faltered as if you didn't know whether to pull away or chase the feeling harder.

"Yeah cum on my cock, sweetie. " He rasped against your ear, voice thick and dark. His arm wrapped tighter around your waist, holding you right where you were when you tried to squirm away from the overwhelming sensation. "You feel that, huh? Been building this whole time."

You whimpered, fingers clutching blindly at his forearm, your body shaking harder with every second. He chuckled darkly against your skin, his hips fucking you into the oblivious, fingers playing with your sensitive clit. "Jake! Jake fuck!"

"Fuck…" He breathed, the sound almost a growl as he felt you come apart against him. His grip tightened on you, holding you steady while your body trembled through it, your breath coming out in broken gasps. "That's it." He murmured, voice suddenly softer but still thick with hunger. "Good girl… such a good girl."

Your nails dug into his arm as the aftershocks kept rippling through you, your body weak and shaking in his hold. Jake pressed his forehead briefly to the side of your head, his breathing just as ragged now.

"This little pussy is sucking me in so good..." He muttered hoarsely, fingers against your twitching clit stopping as he focused on the way your spasming walls took him. "Going to fucking breed you... Let everyone know you let me in your tight virgin pussy." He sped up his thrusts, the pace making you grip the couch tighter, closing your eyes as you endured. You moaned, his words sending small waves of pleasure through you. "You want that, hm?" You nodded quickly, breathing unstable and fast as spoke through gritted teeth, when the sudden tightness burst and he moaned. His cock shot ropes of white right into you, coating your walls as it pulsed. Jake's thrust slowed gradually, letting the last drops leave his throbbing lenght.

Jake's breath left him in a long, ragged exhale as the last of the tension drained from his body. For a moment he stayed exactly like that behind you, forehead resting against your shoulder, both of you breathing hard in the quiet room. The haze from earlier still clung to everything — the music faint somewhere in the background, the warmth of your bodies pressed together, the slow return of your senses after everything that had just happened. His hand slid lazily over your hip, squeezing once before he finally pulled out. His cock drained and your pussy glistening and pulsing.

You felt the movement and let out a soft, exhausted whine, your arms still braced against the couch as you tried to steady your breathing. Jake chuckled quietly behind you at the sound, the low rumble of it warm against your skin.

"Easy…" He murmured.

He shifted again, slowly pulling away and helping you sit back properly against the cushions. For a second neither of you spoke. You just sat there catching your breath, hair messy, lips parted, your body still trembling faintly from the aftershocks. The sudden uncomfortable leak of fluid from your hole made you hiss, eyes dropping between your thighs as you slightly spread them.

Jake ran a hand through his hair, letting out another breath before glancing over at you. "Hey." He said quietly, nudging your knee with his. "Look at me."

Your eyes lifted to his, still a little dazed. His expression softened slightly when he saw you like that — flushed, shy again now that the intensity had faded. "I'll grab you a Plan B later." He said, voice calmer now, almost casual despite everything that had just happened. "Just to be safe." You blinked at him, the seriousness of it cutting through the fog in your head. Then you nodded slowly, still quite not grasping the situation and everything that happened.

Jake leaned back into the couch with a tired sigh, throwing an arm across his eyes, breathing hard. "Jesus." He muttered with a crooked smile, everything coming to him in a flash. The weight falling on his shoulders he didn't expect it to. "Didn't expect tonight to go like that." Before you could answer, a sudden knock echoed from the front door.

Both of you froze.

Another knock followed, louder this time. Jake's head turned slowly toward the hallway, brows lifting slightly. "Uh…" He muttered under his breath. From outside the door, a familiar voice called out.

"Hello? Jake? Is she here?"

Your stomach dropped instantly.

Your mom.

Jake snapped his head toward you, eyes going over your naked figure before he tucked himself in his briefs, raising the sweats back over his hips. He grabbed the shirt from the floor and put it on before he spoke with a commanding and controlled voice, no sight of any panic.

"Get dressed. Quickly."

_____

! this is all work of fiction. in no way this is a representation of enhypen members nor do I believe this is how they behave in real life or condone these actions!

taglist: @teezglitter @kristynaaah @archivojjong @k1ttyjwon @lawjakesim @betagalactose @guliexe @hii01mii @cherryheejake @vamp1rhee0801 @beomgyus11 @yjwgf0-0 @renatojr @ori2ari @endukki @vicsstaa @wonscrchy @enhypen437 @rpwpthv @heehee67 @ily6968 @simpikeu @ravenslocked @cinnamonrei @joohyunrene @isa942572 @mina8885 @ily4hoonity @yinyjw @tearsforyrsins

[b1tterestbeachh]

enhypen as (my fav) pop girlies tw: opinion

Jungwon: SZA

Heeseung: Ariana Grande

Jay: Olivia Rodrigo

Jake: Sabrina Carpenter

Sunghoon: Lana Del Rey

Sunoo: PinkPantheress

Ni-ki: Rihanna

just something I thought about while I was bored and definitely not meant to be taken in any kinda way

[b1tterestbeachh]

manifested jungwons mention of sza iktr 😌🤏🏻

[dadasimjaeyun]

engenes least loyal fandom ever 🫩🫩 leaving after a fucking rebrand bro i’m ctfuuuu yall are weak

[ikeuzito]

PRACTICING FOR HIM.

── synopsis: everyone on campus knows Heeseung’s rules — no commitments, no second chances, and no girl stays long enough to matter. As basketball captain he collects hearts like trophies and leaves them broken behind him without a second thought. You watch him from far away, knowing you should stay away, but you don't just want to be another name on his list. You want him to choose you and see only you. The problem is you're completely inexperienced, a virgin in every sense, while the girls around him know exactly how to move, how to flirt, and how to keep him hooked. So you make a plan: practice with other guys, learn the skills you're missing, and completely reinvent yourself to finally make Heeseung notice you — and choose you over everyone else.

warnings: explicit sexual content (mdni), popping cherry, fingering, oral (f. & m. receiving), deepthroat, panty gag, nipple play, unprotected sex, creampie, multiple orgasms, riding, missionary, doggy style, against the wall, overstimulation, pussy slapping, spanking, hair pulling, choking, spitting on pussy, praise kink, light degradation, dirty talk, begging, edging, possessiveness, manhandling, public/risky sex (library + locker room), risk of getting caught, use of pet name (babe, doll, angel, baby, slut, good girl), mostly dom!members with a bit of dom!reader.

wc: 18k ┆ a/n: I know some of you are waiting for part 2 of teacher's pet, but I was just so excited to write this one that I decided to work on it first (the idea actually came to me while listening to drake's 'practice') this ended up being way longer than I expected, but anyway... I hope you guys like it. happy reading! (btw if you guys want to request any fics, my asks are open!)

Heeseung is the sun around which the entire campus orbits.

He’s the captain of the basketball team, the big star whose name echoes through the packed arena during every game. With his lean yet athletic build, dark hair that falls over his sweaty forehead after a match, and that lazy half-smile that screams trouble while charming every girl in sight, he moves like he’s always being watched — and he is. Every head turns when he walks by, the crowd in the hallways parting like the sea for him and his teammates. He loves the attention.

Everyone knows the stories about Heeseung. He doesn’t do relationships — he rotates. A new girl every week, sometimes every day if he’s in the mood. They’re often seen leaving his apartment late at night, or early in the morning if he feels like letting them stay over, hair messy and wearing his team jacket like a trophy.

He usually doesn't appear with them in public, but it doesn't take long for the chosen girl to start gossiping in the hallways about how she's being fucked by him. That doesn’t last long though, because once the thrill fades he ignores them completely, never answering their messages once the weekend is over. "Let’s just have fun," he says, and the girls always agree, secretly believing they’ll be the one to change him.

You’ve been watching him from afar for months, studying the way he laughs too loudly at parties with his arm around whatever girl he’s with at the moment, the way his hand rests on her lower back as he guides her through the crowd, and how his eyes scan the room like he’s already searching for the next target while the current one is still pressed against him. It should disgust you — the casual way he uses people, the trail of broken hearts he leaves behind without remorse. But it doesn’t disgust you. It feeds you.

Deep down, in that secret place where you allow yourself to be completely honest, you want to be one of them. Not just another weekly girl — you want to be the one who breaks the pattern, the one so unforgettable, so incredible in bed and out of it, that Heeseung, the campus player, finally chooses you for good.

The problem is you have no idea how to make that happen.

You’re a virgin, completely untouched. The closest you’ve ever gotten to intimacy was an awkward, too-long hug with your best friend Jake after a tough week of exams. Approaching Heeseung as you are now — inexperienced, nervous, and clumsy — would never work.

"He likes confident girls, experienced ones who know how to dominate and be dominated in equal measure, because he doesn’t waste time teaching the basics. He expects you to already know how to please him." That’s what you heard from one of his teammates.

So after watching him leave the court with yet another girl on his arm, you make a decision.

You’re going to practice.

You’re going to transform yourself into the perfect girl for him — experienced enough to impress him, confident enough to stand out, and irresistible enough that when he finally notices you, he won’t be able to let you go.

────────

You stand outside Jake’s dorm room long enough for your legs to start aching. Your best friend’s room has always been your safe haven — the perfect spot for late-night study sessions, movie marathons, and listening to him ramble excitedly about sci-fi. Jake is kind, a bit nerdy in the best way possible, like a golden retriever with brown hair, a sweet smile, and glasses.

With a deep breath, you knock on the door.

Jake opens it almost immediately and breaks into a wide smile the moment he sees you. "Hey, what took you so long? Come in— wait, are you okay? You look tense."

You step inside and sit on the edge of his bed, nervously playing with the hem of your shirt. Jake drops into his desk chair and pulls it closer so he’s facing you directly, his knees almost brushing against yours. "Jake… I need to talk to you about something kind of crazy, embarrassing, and probably really stupid."

He tilts his head, curiosity sparkling behind his glasses. "You know you can tell me anything. What’s going on?"

You tell him everything — how you’ve been watching Heeseung for months, how every time you see him with someone new, something deep in your chest twists, not exactly with jealousy, but with desire. You share the rumors you’ve heard about how he likes girls who know what they’re doing, girls who can match his intensity. Finally, you admit that you want to be the one he chooses — not just for a week, not for a fling, but for good.

"But I’m a virgin, Jake," you whisper, your cheeks burning. "I’ve never even… I don’t know what I’m doing. So if I tried to approach him like this, he’d probably laugh."

Jake’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t interrupt.

"So I’ve decided… I’m going to practice. I’m going to get experience so that when I finally have my chance with Heeseung, I’ll be good enough that he won’t want anyone else."

Silence stretches between you as Jake stares at you for a long moment. He pushes his glasses up, his expression soft — not mocking, not disgusted. Just… Jake. "Wow. That’s… a lot. Heeseung, huh? I mean, I get it, but you’re really willing to do all that for him?"

Biting your lip, you nod. "I know it sounds crazy, but I can’t stop thinking about it. And… I was hoping you’d help me with the first part."

Your voice drops until it’s almost inaudible. "I want you to be my first. I want to lose my virginity with you. You’re my best friend and I trust you. I know you’ll be gentle, you won’t laugh at me or tell anyone. Please, Jake?"

His cheeks flush pink and for a second it looks like he might say no. "You… you want me to what? Oh my God. I don’t even know what to say."

He lets out a nervous laugh, a mix of surprise and something he’s always kept hidden. "I’ve never thought about you like that before or… okay, maybe I have, a little. But you’re serious? This is all for Heeseung?"

"Yes, but right now it’s about learning with someone safe, someone who cares. And that someone is you."

Jake stays quiet for a moment while he thinks, then reaches out and takes your hand, his thumb gently brushing over your knuckles. "Okay… if we’re really going to do this, I want it to be right for you. Not just jumping in headfirst." His thumb keeps tracing slow, soft circles on the back of your hand. "You’ve never done any of this before, right? Not even… by yourself?"

You swallow hard, staring at your intertwined fingers, and admit softly, "No… I mean, I tried rubbing against my pillow once and it felt good, I think? But I got scared and stopped. I don’t know what I’m doing, Jake. That’s why I need you to help me learn."

Jake nods, adjusting his glasses — a nervous habit — with flushed cheeks, but his voice stays as gentle and patient as always. "That makes sense. But before anyone else touches you, you should get to know your own body first. What feels good, what you like. It’ll make everything easier later… for him and for you."

He hesitates for a second, then adds with a small reassuring smile, "Do you trust me enough to try this now? With me here?"

Your heart races with a mix of embarrassment and curiosity. "Yes, I trust you. Just… tell me what to do, please."

Jake stands up slowly and sits beside you on the bed. He leans in and presses a soft kiss to your temple, then to your cheek. "Start by getting comfortable. Lie back, and maybe take off your sweater if you want to and feel okay with it."

You do as he says, pulling off your sweater and setting it aside so you’re left in just your tank top and jeans. "Good," he murmurs. "Now touch yourself under your clothes first, over your stomach, along your thighs… feel how your body reacts."

You slide your hand beneath the thin fabric of your tank top. Your fingers graze the soft skin of your belly, then move higher, gently caressing one of your breasts. It feels strange doing this while he watches, but his gaze isn’t hungry or demanding — it’s warm and encouraging, like he’s looking at something precious. When your fingertips brush your nipple, a small sigh escapes you.

"Right there. That’s good. Circle slowly and squeeze just a little."

As he speaks, his own hand drifts down to the front of his sweatpants and then he starts touching himself gently over the fabric, not even trying to hide it. Knowing he’s getting hard just from watching you makes your breath hitch.

Following his instruction, you circle and lightly pinch your nipple, feeling a warm sensation build low in your belly. "Jake, it feels so good…"

"Tell me," he encourages, his hand moving in slow strokes that match the rhythm of your breathing. "Does it make you wet between your legs?"

"Yes," you sigh.

"Keep going, slide your other hand into your jeans and touch yourself over your panties if you’re not ready for more yet."

With your free hand you obey, unbuttoning your jeans and slipping inside. The fabric of your panties is already damp when you press your fingers against yourself and rub lightly, drawing a soft whimper from your throat.

Both of your breathing grows heavier with every second. Jake pushes his sweatpants and boxers down just enough to free himself, stroking slowly while he watches every movement of your fingers.

"Fuck, that’s beautiful," he breathes, the words slipping out like he can’t hold them back. "Rub your clit. Find the spot that feels best."

You circle your clit, experimenting with pressure and rhythm, rolling your hips when you finally discover the perfect way to touch yourself. Jake’s eyes stay locked on your hand while his own speeds up, his thumb brushing over the head of his cock with every stroke.

"Inside your panties now," his voice still gentle but strained. "Feel how wet you are. Explore your body, learn what it likes so you can show someone exactly what you need."

You push your panties aside and slide a finger along your slick folds. "Slide a finger inside, babe," he says and when you do, a moan escapes your lips — it’s tight, but not uncomfortable. Jake groans with the sight, his hand moving faster on himself.

"Add another finger and curl them a little. Yeah, just like that. You’re doing so good, babe." His praise makes you bolder, so you start pumping your fingers slowly, rubbing your clit with your thumb at the same time, while your free hand keeps playing with your breast, pinching harder as the pleasure rises.

"You’re getting close, aren’t you? I can tell by the way you’re breathing. Let it happen. Imagine how good it’ll feel when I’m inside you." His words push you over the edge.

Moaning Jake’s name, completely lost in the overwhelming sensation, your body tenses and your thighs tremble uncontrollably as the orgasm crashes through you. Waves of heat pulse around your fingers, deeper and stronger than you ever imagined.

"Fuck, don’t do this to me." His hand strokes faster until he groans and comes too, spilling over his fingers with a shaky breath.

For a moment, the room falls quiet except for your shared breathing. Jake leans in and presses a soft kiss to your shoulder, his glasses tilting slightly. "Hey… you still with me? How are you feeling after that? Overwhelmed?"

You shake your head and let out a small giggle. "I’m good. Really good, actually." Reaching up, you gently fix his glasses and whisper, "Thank you for being so patient with me, Jake. I know this is probably weird for you too."

He smiles, and it makes you smile back naturally. "It’s not weird. At least not with you. Honestly, seeing you like that… it was beautiful. You’re beautiful." He leans in and kisses your forehead, then your cheek, giving you time to calm down while his hand rests on your hip and his thumb draws slow circles on your skin. "If you want to keep going, I’m right here."

You bite your lip, the mix of nerves and curiosity warms your body all over again. This is supposed to be practice — each new sensation is another skill you’re learning — but right now, with him, it feels like something more.

"I want more," you admit, cheeks burning. "Can you… use your mouth on me? I’ve heard it feels really good, but I don’t know what to expect."

Jake’s eyes widen for half a second. "Yeah, I’d love to do that for you." He moves carefully on the bed, helping you adjust the pillows behind your head so you’re comfortable. "Just relax and tell me what feels good, okay? If anything is too much or not enough, say so. Promise?"

"Promise." You extend your pinky toward him and he does the same, linking them together to seal the promise.

He starts with soft kisses on the inside of your knee, then higher up your thigh. Every touch of his lips sends shivers across your skin. "Your legs are already shaking," he murmurs with a low chuckle against your thigh. "That’s so cute."

When his mouth finally reaches your center, it’s feather-light at first — just his lips brushing against your folds — but it’s enough to make you draw in a sharp breath and grip the sheets tightly.

Then his warm tongue drags upward in one long, torturous lick from your entrance all the way to your clit. The feeling is wet, hot, and incredibly intimate, the texture of his tongue adds a new layer of friction that makes your hips jerk involuntarily.

"My God, Jake…" The words slip out before you can stop them.

"Good?" he asks, pulling back just enough for you to see his glistening lips as he looks up at you.

"Yes… really good. Do that again, please."

With more confidence this time, he explores every inch of you — licking along your folds, circling your clit, then moving down to taste your entrance. The wet sounds of him pleasuring you only heighten the arousal building in your belly.

Jake hums in satisfaction as he finds the rhythm you like best, reading it from your moans. "You taste incredible… so hot and wet."

You reach down and thread your fingers through his soft hair. "Right there, when you suck on my clit, it feels so good."

He listens immediately, sealing his lips around the sensitive bundle of nerves and applying gentle suction while his tongue flicks against it, making the pleasure intensify, stronger than before.

The smooth glide of his tongue, the occasional careful graze of his teeth, and the way he alternates between lavishing attention on your clit and licking down to dip inside you make heat spread through your core — it radiates outward until even your fingertips feel warm. You grow even wetter, and Jake groans in appreciation, licking up every drop like he can’t get enough.

"Jake, I think I’m getting close again," you gasp, your voice breaking into a loud moan as he sucks harder on your clit. Your hips move against his face instinctively, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he doubles down with his tongue. This orgasm builds differently — deeper, more overwhelming — and when it crashes over you, it hits with a full-body shudder.

You cry out his name, fingers tightening in his hair as waves of pleasure pulse through your center. Jake keeps licking you through it all, drawing out every tremor until you’re panting and oversensitive.

He finally lifts his head, wiping his mouth and chin with the back of his hand before leaning over you again. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes shine behind his glasses, and a proud little smile plays on his lips. "You okay? That looked like it felt really good."

You laugh breathlessly. "It was incredible… I didn’t know I could feel so sensitive down there."

Jake chuckles softly. "Good. That’s kind of the point of all this practice, right? Learning what you like." His hand slides over your body again, stopping just above your mound as his fingers trace lazy patterns across your skin. "Are you sure you want me to take your virginity? Your body’s already experienced so much tonight. Maybe you need a break."

You shake your head, caressing his face. "I don’t need a break. I just want to feel your cock inside me, please."

One of his hands drifts lower until his fingers reach your wet entrance, circling it slowly. "I need to make sure you’re ready for me. I don’t want to hurt you. Relax and breathe out for me."

You do as he says, and he slowly presses two fingers inside you.

His longer fingers create a different sensation. The stretch borders on discomfort at first, making your walls clench tightly around the intrusion. "Ah— it’s tight," you whisper, gripping his shoulder. "It burns a little."

Jake freezes immediately. "Want me to stop? We can wait."

"No! Keep going. I want to get used to it."

He nods and presses a soft kiss to your temple. "You’re doing so well… so warm and snug around my fingers. What if I curl them just a little?" He demonstrates, stroking your inner walls gently until he brushes against a spongy spot that sends sparks shooting up your spine.

"Oh!" Your eyes widen. "Right there… my God, that feels so good."

"I found your g-spot," he says, clearly proud of himself. He keeps the movements shallow and slow, pumping his fingers in and out while his thumb draws gentle circles over your clit. The initial burning fades, turning into something hotter, slicker, and far more pleasurable.

"Add another one, Jake," you say after a few minutes, voice breathless. "I think I can take it."

Jake carefully slides a third finger in, the pressure increases and your walls flutter as they adjust to the stretch. Every curl of his fingers against that perfect spot sends waves of pleasure through your entire body, while his thumb on your clit keeps the arousal building higher.

"Talk to me, babe," he says, eyes fixed on your face. "How does it feel now? Too much?"

"It’s full… stretching me," you moan, your hips starting to move in time with his hand. "But it’s turning into something really good. Faster on my clit— yes, like that. God, Jake, your fingers are so deep."

He picks up the pace a little, thrusting more firmly and creating an overwhelming sensation in the best way possible. The pleasure keeps intensifying until your breathing comes in short gasps and your thighs tremble uncontrollably. "I’m getting close again. Please don’t stop."

Jake leans down to kiss your stomach, murmuring encouragement. "Come on, come on my fingers. Let go for me, babe."

You moan loudly, back arching as the orgasm hits you harder than the ones before. A deep wave crashes through you, making your inner walls clench rhythmically around his fingers. Jake keeps pumping slowly and carefully until the spasms ease, then gently pulls his fingers out and brings them to his mouth. "Your taste is addictive."

Smiling you reach up to brush a messy strand of hair from his forehead. "Jake… I want to go all the way. I want to feel you inside me, please."

Jake’s breath catches, then he sits up properly and reaches into the nightstand drawer, pulling out a condom.

"You actually have these," you say with a light teasing note in your voice.

He looks at you with a shy smile as he opens the packet and rolls the condom down his length. "Hey, Heeseung isn’t the only one on campus who has sex, you know? A guy can be prepared even if he’s not out at every party." Jake hovers over you, supporting his weight on his elbows so he doesn’t crush you. "You look so beautiful like this," he whispers, leaning closer and gazing at your lips.

"Can I?" When you nod, he captures your mouth in a slow, deep kiss filled with desire. His lips move to your cheek, your jaw, and then trail softly down the side of your neck, leaving a wet path that makes you shiver. He takes his time, giving attention to every inch of skin he can reach with his mouth and fingers. Only when both of you are breathing heavier does he settle between your legs and position himself.

"Breathe with me, okay? Slow and easy." You nod, inhaling as he begins to push inside.

The initial pressure is intense — a wide, stretching fullness that makes your breath hitch. Your walls stretch around his thickness in an overwhelming way and your body tenses as he sinks into you inch by inch, giving you time to adjust. "Oh my God…"

Jake stops immediately. "Hey, hey… look at me," he says, his voice full of concern. He kisses you softly on the lips, then your nose and forehead. "Is it too much? We can wait. I hate the idea of hurting you, even for a second."

You shake your head and take a deep breath, trying to ease the discomfort. "It’s a lot… really full and there’s some burning, but I want this."

To distract you from the stretch and help your body relax around him, he kisses you again. It works — the pain slowly turns into pressure, and then into something hotter and more intimate. "Okay, you can move a little more now."

Jake slides forward inch by inch until he’s fully inside you — every part of him is wrapped tightly in your heat, making you feel so connected, so completely filled, with a pleasant throbbing where your bodies meet.

"God… you feel incredible," he breathes, staying still for a moment while buried deep inside you. He covers you with more kisses. "So warm and tight around me. Tell me how you feel, babe."

"Full," you sigh. "So deep… it’s starting to feel really good."

Smiling against your skin, he begins rocking his hips in small, gentle movements. Each shallow thrust glides along your inner walls, brushing that sensitive spot and sending sparks of pleasure through your whole body. Jake keeps his eyes on yours, watching carefully for any sign of discomfort.

You wrap your legs around him, pulling him closer. "More kisses," you whisper softly, and he gives them freely — deep, passionate kisses that match the slow rhythm of his hips. His hand finds yours, intertwining your fingers beside your head as he sinks a little deeper and a little firmer. The pleasure builds gradually, a warm wave spreading from your center outward.

"You’re doing so well," he praises between kisses, his voice full of affection. "Look at you… my best friend, letting me do this. You feel perfect, so hot and slick around my cock." His free hand caresses your breast through your tank top, his thumb brushing your nipple in time with his movements, pulling more moans from you.

"Faster… just a little," you ask, voice breaking. "I want to feel more."

Jake obeys, finding a slow but steady rhythm that lets every thrust fill you completely, the head of his cock brushing that sweet spot over and over again. "Does this feel good for you too?" you ask between moans, wanting to make sure he’s enjoying it.

"God, yes," he groans. "You’re squeezing me so tight, but right now it’s all about you. I want you to come like this if you can."

You roll your hips to meet his thrusts, learning the rhythm and experimenting with how it feels to clench around him. Jake’s glasses are completely fogged up and slipping down his nose, he pauses just long enough to take them off and set them aside, then kisses you deeply as he resumes his movements.

"I’m getting there," you moan against his mouth. "Please don’t stop, Jake."

"I’ve got you." He shifts slightly, sliding one hand between your bodies to rub gentle circles over your clit. The extra stimulation pushes you right over the edge. Your walls flutter and clench hard around his cock as the orgasm crashes through you. You moan loudly, nails digging into his back while your body pulses around him.

Jake keeps thrusting softly through your climax, murmuring praises. "That’s it… so good. You’re incredible." Only when you start to come down does he let himself go. His hips snap a few more times before he buries himself deep and comes with a low, shaky groan, filling the condom.

For a long moment afterward, he stays inside you while both of you catch your breath. Then he pulls out carefully, discards the condom, and cleans you both with a warm cloth from the bathroom. "You okay?" he asks, his voice soft and full of concern. "No pain? I tried to be as gentle as possible."

You snuggle into the sheets, feeling a pleasant soreness between your legs and a deep sense of satisfaction. "I’m perfect. A little sore, but in a good way. You made my first time really special, Jake. You’re the best friend I could ask for."

The next morning, you wake up in his bed. The ache between your legs reminds you of everything — the careful way he touched you, the gentle thrusts, the tender kisses. It had all been perfect for your first time.

But as you slip out of bed carefully so you don’t wake him, a realization settles in your mind. It wasn’t enough. Not for what you really want.

Heeseung isn’t gentle. From the rumors, girls get pinned against walls, left breathless and marked. He likes control, intensity, rough hands. Jake would never give you that, even if you begged. He’s your best friend who worries about every little sound you make. He would never push your limits the way you suspect Heeseung would.

You also need to practice that side — the rougher kind of sex that leaves you deliciously sore, the kind that teaches you how to take and give back. You can’t show up to Heeseung soft and inexperienced if you want to stand out, if you want him to crave you for more than one night.

So you leave Jake a note on his desk. "Thank you for last night. Let’s talk soon," and head back to your dorm with a new determination.

────────

That weekend, the hockey team is throwing a big party at their off-campus house — an event that always draws a different crowd from the basketball scene. There’s no explosive feud between the teams, just a quiet rivalry and enough tension that basketball players rarely show up at hockey parties and vice versa. It’s perfect. No chance of running into Heeseung or his circle, and you need that space to level up without any complications.

You take extra time getting ready because you want to be noticed. You choose a short black dress that hugs your curves, the hem riding high on your thighs. It’s simple but dangerous — low neckline, thin straps, the kind of outfit that makes you feel powerful when you look in the mirror. You add a bit more makeup than usual, nothing too dramatic, and slip into heels that make your legs look longer.

The hockey house is already packed when you arrive. Hockey players in their varsity jackets, girls in tight dresses, and red solo cups everywhere. You grab a drink and wander through the crowd, heart racing with anticipation.

That’s when you see him.

Sunghoon, the captain of the hockey team, is standing near the kitchen island, leaning against the counter like he owns the place — and he does. He has a cold, almost untouchable aura that makes people shiver when he walks by. His teammates laugh around him, but he only offers a slight, distant smile, like he’s above it all.

Your eyes meet across the room and he doesn’t look away. Instead, his gaze slowly travels down your body, taking in the dress you chose so carefully, before returning to your face. A faint smirk tugs at the corner of his lips — not warm like Jake’s, but something sharper, more predatory. It sends a shiver down your spine.

You don’t look away either. After all, that’s exactly why you came.

He pushes off the counter and makes his way through the crowd toward you. The suffocating tension hits you the second he stops right in front of you, like all the air has been sucked out of the room. "You don’t usually come to our parties," he says, his voice low as he tilts his head, studying you like a puzzle he’s already halfway to solving. "Or are you from the basketball crowd, doll?"

You take a sip of your drink to steady yourself. "Maybe I was waiting for the right night… Plus, hockey parties have a certain reputation."

A faint smile tugs at his lips as he steps a little closer, invading your space enough to make your pulse race. "Reputation for what, exactly?" He’s so close now that you can smell his cologne — something fresh and expensive that makes your head spin.

You shrug, trying to look calm. "Good music, strong drinks… You’re Sunghoon, right? The captain of the team. I’ve heard a lot about you." The words come out bolder than you expected, but they hit something in him and his gaze darkens.

He raises a thick eyebrow and crosses his arms over his chest, making his impressively attractive biceps stand out. "I hope they’re good things."

You smile slightly. "Depends on who you ask. Some say you’re intense. Others say you’re… hard to keep up with."

Sunghoon studies you like he’s deciding something. The air between you grows heavier, and you can feel the pull — the way his eyes drop to your mouth, then lower, before sliding back up. "And what do you think? Do you think you could keep up?"

The question makes your breath hitch. "I think it depends," you reply, taking a small step closer, letting the tension build until it feels almost unbearable. "Are you offering to find out?"

He leans in even closer, his lips hovering near your ear so only you can hear him, his warm breath brushing your skin and sending shivers down your spine. "Careful. Talking like that might get you more than you bargained for."

You turn your head just enough that your cheeks nearly touch. "Maybe that’s exactly what I’m looking for."

His hand settles on your lower back, firm and guiding, pulling you subtly closer. "Come upstairs with me," he says, his voice steady as he pulls back just enough to meet your eyes again. "There’s a room up there. Quieter. We can… talk more."

This is it — the next step.

You nod, letting him guide you through the crowd toward the stairs with his hand still resting on your back as you climb the steps.

The door clicks softly shut behind you, and the room instantly feels much quieter than the chaos downstairs, lit only by the soft glow coming through the open window. Sunghoon leans back against the door without saying a word, simply watching you with a playful smile on his lips.

"So," he begins softly, pushing away from the door and walking toward you, "you showed up at a hockey party dressed like that, with your eyes on the captain. You’re either really brave or really curious. Which one is it?"

"Maybe both."

Your back hits the wall before you even realize you’ve been moving backward. "Bold. I like that, I don’t waste time with girls who don’t know what they want." He towers over you, his presence intense and dominant.

You swallow hard. "I know exactly what I want tonight. Someone who won’t hold back."

He leans in closer, one hand settling on your hip, fingers pressing firmly enough for you to feel his strength. "Careful what you wish for… You look like the type who melts easily, and I think I’d really enjoy finding out."

His gaze drops to your mouth, then returns to your eyes, dark and hungry. Without another word, his lips crash against yours in a deep, overwhelming kiss right from the first second. Sunghoon doesn’t take it slow like Jake — he claims your mouth completely, his tongue sliding against yours with raw intensity while his free hand moves up to caress the back of your neck, tilting your head exactly the way he wants.

You try to match the intensity of his kiss, but it’s overwhelming — he devours every sigh and gasp that escapes you. When he finally pulls back enough for you to breathe, his eyes are darker, his lips slightly swollen. "Not bad," he murmurs, voice rough. "But you can do better, doll."

Before you can respond, he kisses you again, slower this time, pressing his body against yours so you can feel the hard line of his cock straining through his jeans. Your stomach tightens with a mix of nerves and excitement.

"Come here." He takes your hand and guides you away from the wall toward the bed. Sitting on the edge, he pulls you close until you’re straddling his lap, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his thighs, your dress riding up as you settle against him.

He pulls you into another deep kiss while one hand slides up your body and the other grips your thigh. You rock lightly in his lap, feeling him grow even harder beneath you, and he lets out a low groan into your mouth. "You’re so fucking hot. I want to see what else that pretty mouth can do." His fingers trace your jaw, thumb brushing over your lower lip. "Get on your knees for me. Show me what that mouth is capable of."

Your heart stutters because his words hit you hard — part excitement, part panic. On your knees. Sucking him. You’ve never given a blowjob before.

You slide slowly off Sunghoon’s lap and drop to your knees, your hands shaking as you reach for the button of his jeans and try to pull down the zipper. Reality crashes over you: you’re on your knees for the hockey team captain, about to give him head with zero experience.

His eyes narrow the moment he notices the tremor in your hands and the hesitation in your movements. A low, cruel, mocking laugh escapes him. "Wait." He reaches down, gripping your chin with two fingers, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. "You’ve never done this before, have you?"

Biting your lip, you shake your head. "No… I’ve never done it."

Sunghoon’s expression doesn’t soften with pity. Instead, it sharpens with something darker — satisfaction mixed with pure control. He releases your chin and leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, looking down at you like you’re a player who needs to learn the drill.

"Good, I like honesty. So you’re going to listen carefully. I’m not in the mood for guessing games tonight. You want to learn? I’ll teach you, and you follow my instructions. Got it, dol?"

You swallow hard and nod again.

"Words," he commands, cold and firm. "Use your words when I ask you something."

"Yes," you repeat, your voice steadier this time. "I understand."

He gives a small nod of approval. "Good girl. Now unzip me."

You obey, slowly pulling the zipper down. Sunghoon lifts his hips slightly to help you tug his jeans and boxers low enough to free his cock. It springs out, hard and heavy, the tip already glistening with precum.

His hand rests on the back of your neck, not pushing, but guiding. "Look up at me when I’m talking to you. Don’t just stare at it like you’re lost. Wrap your hand around the base and feel the weight."

Your fingers are still trembling as you obey, curling them around his thick length. He feels incredibly warm and heavy in your palm, the skin smooth over steel. You give an experimental squeeze, watching his reaction.

"Yes, just like that," he praises coolly, like he’s directing a teammate on the ice. "Now stroke up and down. Keep a firm grip. That’s it— good. Don’t be shy."

You pump your hand firmly, finding a rhythm that makes Sunghoon’s breathing grow a little deeper, but he keeps complete control, his eyes locked on you the entire time. "Spit on it, get it nice and wet. Good girls make it sloppy."

You gather saliva and let it drip onto the head, using your hand to spread it all over his length. The wet sounds that follow make your face burn even hotter, but the way his cock twitches in your grip sends a shiver through you.

His fingers twist into your hair with enough force for you to feel it, then he pulls you closer to his throbbing length. "Now use your mouth. Start with the head, wrap your lips around it, no teeth. Suck gently while you swirl your tongue."

Your heart races as you wrap your lips around the tip, tasting a man’s cock for the first time — slightly salty, but surprisingly good. Your tongue moves in slow, hesitant circles, trying to find the rhythm you think will feel best for him.

"Eyes up," he orders sharply. "Look at me while you do it. That’s good, but take me deeper now. Relax your throat, don’t force it. Move your head slowly and keep stroking the part you can’t reach."

You open wider and take him deeper. It feels strange at first — the stretch of your jaw, the way he fills your mouth, the occasional gag when you go too far, causing tears to gather at the corners of your eyes.

"Relax your jaw and breathe through your nose. Faster with your tongue on the underside. Use your hand in sync with your mouth."

You follow every instruction carefully, the clear commands making it easier despite your inexperience. The room fills with wet, obscene sounds as your mouth works on him — licking, sucking, and your hand sliding smoothly along his cock. Sunghoon’s thighs tense under your free hand, and his voice grows a little rougher, though still tightly controlled. "Hollow your cheeks more when you pull back. Take me deeper whenever you can, I want to feel the back of your throat."

Pushing yourself, you take him deeper until your nose brushes his stomach, triggering a light gag. You try to hold it, but end up sliding back up, gasping for air. A thick string of saliva connects his cock to your mouth, and his grip tightens in your hair, the slight sting only heightening the moment.

"Not bad for your first time. Now focus on the head again. Suck harder while you move faster. Yeah— just like that. You’re gonna make me come if you keep going."

You throw yourself into it completely, determined to get better so you can do this perfectly for Heeseung one day. Your hand and mouth work together, faster and sloppier now, until Sunghoon’s breathing turns heavier and his abs tighten visibly.

"Fuck— keep your eyes on me," he growls, his voice dropping lower. "I’m close. When I come, you swallow. Every drop. Understand, doll?"

You murmur something unintelligible around him, the vibration drawing a low groan from deep in his throat. His hand guides you with a little more firmness now as his hips begin to rock, meeting your mouth with each movement. His dominance is intoxicating — no endless questions, no overthinking, just clear and commanding direction that pushes you exactly where he wants you.

With one last deep thrust into your mouth and a low groan, he comes. Hot spurts hit the back of your throat as you swallow desperately, trying not to gag while you take everything he gives you, your hand still gently stroking him through it.

Sunghoon holds you there for a few more seconds before finally releasing your hair and letting you pull back. You release his cock with a wet pop, your lips swollen and glistening. He looks down at you with that same cool satisfaction, his thumb brushing a stray string of saliva from your chin. "Clean every inch with your tongue."

You nod and obey, licking him carefully with slow, deliberate strokes of your tongue until he’s completely clean.

"Good," he says, his voice satisfied. "Now come here."

He pulls you up from your knees and back onto his lap, guiding you into a deep kiss that’s slower and less aggressive than the one against the wall, yet still possessive. His tongue slips into your mouth, tasting himself on you, letting out a soft groan against your lips.

"You did well for your first time," he praises quietly as he pulls back, his thumb brushing the corner of your mouth. "A little messy, but eager. I like that. You look even better with that flushed face after sucking me off, doll."

The praise sends a warm flutter through your stomach, and before you can respond, Sunghoon moves, flipping you onto your back on the bed. He hovers over you, one hand braced beside your head while the other slides up your thigh, pushing your dress higher. "You’ve never sucked a cock before… so I’m going to ask. Are you a virgin?"

You shake your head quickly. "No, I’m not."

A flash of relief crosses his face, quickly replaced by a darker, almost predatory smile. "Good. That’s actually perfect. It means I don’t have to be gentle with you." His hand glides along your inner thigh, spreading your legs apart. "I hate holding back."

Two of his long fingers press against your entrance, finding you already soaked from everything that’s happened. He pushes your panties aside and slides them inside you in one smooth motion. His fingers are noticeably longer than Jake’s, reaching places that instantly make your breath hitch.

"Fuck, you’re so tight. You sure you’re not a virgin, doll? Because you’re squeezing me like one." He starts moving right away, no slow buildup, no endless questions about how you feel, just his fingers thrusting in a steady rhythm — faster and deeper — while his thumb rubs firm circles over your clit.

You gasp, arching your back off the bed as his long fingers reach so deep that they stroke that sensitive spot inside you with every thrust. "Sunghoon—" you moan, clutching his shoulders.

"Eyes on me." His free hand pins your wrists above your head while the other moves faster, scissoring his fingers to stretch you further. He watches every reaction on your face, adjusting the intensity until you’re writhing beneath him. "You’re already soaking my hand, doll. Come on, let me feel you come around my fingers."

He adds a third finger, pushing deeper and curling harder against that spot while his thumb presses firmer circles on your clit. The combination is overwhelming — fast, deep strokes that tighten the pleasure in your core until your thighs start trembling around his hand.

"I… oh God…" Your words dissolve into a moan as the orgasm crashes over you. Your walls clench hard around his fingers, pulsing with every wave, but Sunghoon doesn’t slow down, he keeps going until you’re shaking and gasping, hypersensitive and completely spent.

Only then does he pull his fingers out, bringing them to his lips for a quick taste while he looks down at you with dark satisfaction. "You taste so good, doll."

Without wasting another second, he shoves the rest of his pants and boxers down and climbs fully on top of you. "Arms up." You lift them without hesitation and he pulls your dress off, tossing it aside somewhere in the room. Your bra follows immediately, exposing your breasts to the cool air. In the same motion, he squeezes one firmly, his thumb brushing over your nipple until it hardens, then leans down to suck it, teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp.

"These are perfect," he murmurs against your skin before moving to the other. His free hand yanks your panties down your legs in one swift pull, leaving you completely naked beneath him. Sunghoon sits back for a moment, his eyes slowly roaming over your bare body with cool appreciation. "Perfect. You’re perfect, doll."

He positions himself between your spread thighs, one hand gripping your hip while the other guides his cock to your entrance. Only then do you realize there’s no condom. This is going to be the first time you feel someone raw. "Wait, Sunghoon…"

"I’m clean," he says dryly, reading your hesitation perfectly. "We’re good." He doesn’t say anything else, simply pushing forward and sinking the thick head of his cock into you with one precise thrust.

With no latex barrier, you feel every inch of him — hot, hard, and completely bare. The stretch is more intense than it was with Jake, deeper and fuller in a way that makes your walls flutter and clench tightly around him. A low moan escapes you as he sinks even deeper, filling you completely until his hips press flush against yours.

"Fuck, you feel so good," Sunghoon groans, closing his eyes for a brief second before locking his gaze on your face again. He doesn’t give you much time to adjust, starting to move with long, deep strokes that brush every sensitive spot inside you while he watches your every reaction, every gasp, fucking you with firm control.

You grab onto his arms, your nails digging crescent moons into his skin. "Sunghoon… it’s so deep like this." Every thrust knocks the air out of your lungs.

He kisses you hard again, swallowing your moans as his hips snap forward faster, growing more intense. The pleasure feels stronger than your first time because there’s nothing between you, but after a few minutes, Sunghoon suddenly pulls out, leaving you empty and whimpering.

"On your knees. Face down, ass up," he orders. "I need to go deeper. I want to watch this ass bounce while I fuck you stupid."

You get on all fours, feeling incredibly exposed with your ass up and back arched. The vulnerability of this new position you’ve never tried before sends a fresh wave of nerves through you. Sunghoon kneels behind you, his hands spreading your cheeks slightly as he lines himself up again.

He thrusts into you hard, burying himself to the hilt in a single stroke. The new angle lets him go incredibly deeper, the head of his cock pressing against spots you didn’t even know existed. You cry out, fingers clutching the sheets tightly. "Oh my God, it’s so much deeper like this."

Sunghoon groans in satisfaction. "That’s exactly what I wanted." His hands grip your hips firmly as he starts fucking you with more intensity. His thrusts are relentless, hips snapping forward with a force that makes your entire body shake.

One hand slides up your back and fists in your hair, pulling your head back sharply and arching you even more. "Fuck, look at you taking it so well like this."

His other hand comes down hard on your ass, a firm slap that makes the flesh jiggle and sting deliciously, drawing a loud moan from you. He spanks the other cheek, then again, alternating while he keeps pounding into you.

Without a condom, you feel every vein, every ridge, the way his cock stretches and fills you completely with every powerful thrust. "This ass looks even better when it’s moving for me," he says, landing another harder slap. Your arms tremble, barely able to hold you up as the pleasure builds hotter and tighter in your core. "You’re clenching so fucking hard. You like it rough like this, don’t you?"

"Yes," you moan, pushing your hips back to meet his thrusts. "Harder, please."

He obeys without hesitation, fucking you with punishing force that makes the bed creak beneath you and his balls slap against you with every deep stroke. "Touch yourself, rub your clit while I fuck you."

You slide a hand between your legs, circling your swollen clit. Another sharp slap lands on your ass, the sting spreading hot across your skin and making you clench hard around him. "Fuck, do that again, doll." He delivers one more firm spank, then squeezes the reddened flesh possessively. "You’re dripping all over my cock, soaking the sheets like a good girl."

His words, combined with the relentless rhythm, the sharp tugs on your hair, the stinging slaps, and the overwhelming depth of this position, push you straight over the edge. Your orgasm hits hard, your walls pulsing and contracting tightly around his bare cock as waves of pleasure crash through you. You moan loudly into the mattress, your whole body shaking.

Sunghoon doesn’t slow down at all — he keeps fucking you through your orgasm, chasing his own. "I’m gonna come," he growls. After a few more deep, powerful thrusts, he buries himself to the hilt and groans as he fills you with hot pulses of cum, spilling deep inside you for the first time. The sensation is new and overwhelming — warm, wet, and so intimately raw that it makes your mind spin.

Sunghoon collapses beside you on the bed and pulls you against his chest, lazily stroking your back. "You should come to our parties more often. Those basketball idiots don’t deserve someone like you at their parties."

────────

Not everything is about the plan. After all, you are still in college — assignments pile up and deadlines approach without caring about your personal obsessions. When the professor pairs you with Jay for the next project, you don’t think much of it, you just need to finish the work as quickly as possible so you can get back to your plan.

The second-floor library was strangely quiet that night. Most students have already left, and the few who remain are buried in their books. You and Jay sit at a secluded table in a corner, surrounded by tall bookshelves that give you a sense of privacy.

Jay sits across from you, looking effortlessly attractive in a black button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up, exposing his veiny forearms. You’ve been discussing the project for nearly an hour, but the conversation slowly drifts away from the assignment and becomes more personal.

"You always seem so put-together," you say with a small smile. "Even during finals week. How do you do it?"

Jay chuckles softly, leaning back in his chair. "Coffee. A lot of coffee… You’ve been glowing lately. There’s a new confidence in class. It looks good on you."

Your cheeks flush slightly. "Thank you. I’ve been pushing myself out of my comfort zone lately."

"I noticed and it’s honestly really attractive." The compliment is light, but it’s enough to make your breath hitch. Jay’s voice drops lower as he continues. "You know, it’s easy to talk to you… and easy to look at, too."

You laugh, quickly glancing around to make sure no one is nearby. "You’re not bad yourself. Always so polite and charming... It’s kind of dangerous."

His smile widens, and then he reaches across the table, lightly brushing his fingers against yours. The touch is gentle but sends a spark through you, making the library feel even quieter now, like the rest of the world has disappeared and only the two of you remain behind the shelves.

Before you can overthink it, Jay leans forward over the table. "Come here."

You meet him halfway, and the kiss starts soft and sweet at first — a gentle brush of lips that quickly deepens as he tilts his head. Jay kisses with care and skill, one hand gently cupping your cheek while the other rests on the table for balance. It feels good, warm, and surprisingly right.

When he finally pulls back, breathing a little faster, he whispers. "No one’s around… Come sit with me."

He gently pulls you around the table and onto his lap. Your legs part over his thighs, the skirt riding up as he settles you against him and wraps one arm securely around your waist.

"Jay," a nervous laugh escapes you as you glance at the shelves surrounding you. "We’re in the library… Someone could walk by any second."

"It’s okay," his hand traces slow circles on your lower back while the other rests on your thigh. "Look around, it’s almost empty, and the shelves block most of the view." He leans in and presses a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth, then along your jaw. "We’ll be quiet. I just want to be close to you for a little while… if you’re okay with it."

Sitting on his lap like this in a public place feels incredibly bold, but Jay’s gentle confidence makes your hesitation melt away. "It’s okay," he whispers, kissing you again, slower this time. "Just relax. It’s just us right now."

You kiss him back, and it doesn’t take long for your hips to start moving almost on their own, grinding against the growing bulge in his jeans. The friction feels good even through your clothes — a slow, delicious rhythm that builds heat between your legs. Jay lets out a low hum of approval against your mouth, his hand squeezing your thigh encouragingly.

"That’s good… really good." His hips continue moving in deliberate circles, letting you feel him hardening beneath you — the thick outline pressing right against your core.

The kiss deepens as he traces your lower lip with his tongue, seeking entrance, and you open for him. "Yeah… keep doing that." One of his hands slides up to your cheek, tenderly stroking it with his thumb, while the other guides your hips, helping you find a rhythm that feels even better. "You’re driving me crazy doing this… it feels so good."

Jay pulls back just enough to meet your eyes again, his gaze is dark with desire but still incredibly gentle. "Do you want to do this here?" he asks, thumb caressing your hip. "We don’t have to… but if you’re comfortable, I need you right now."

You quickly glance around — there’s still no one nearby. "Yes." The certainty in your voice surprises even you. "I want to."

He pulls you into another kiss, deep and reassuring, before reaching between your bodies to push his pants and underwear down just enough to free himself. His cock springs out — long and incredibly thick, the head flushed red and already glistening. It’s bigger than you expected, heavy, with prominent veins.

Your eyes widen in surprise and nervousness. "Jay… you’re really big. I don’t know if I can take all of that."

He cups your face with both hands, noticing your nerves. "Hey… look at me. We don’t have to rush anything, and if it’s too much, we stop, I promise." A soft, caring expression takes over as thumbs gently stroke your cheeks. "We’ll go really slow… I’ll make sure it feels good for you."

You nod, biting your lower lip. "Okay. I trust you."

One hand stays on your waist while the other guides his thick cock, rubbing the head against your soaked panties, teasing your entrance through the fabric. "Move your panties to the side for me."

With trembling hands, you hook your fingers under the fabric and pull it aside. The cool air hits your wet folds, making you shiver. Jay helps by tugging your skirt up until it’s bunched around your waist. Only then does he position himself at your entrance — the blunt head of his cock brushing against your slick pussy. "When you’re ready."

You take a deep breath and start sinking down, the stretch is immediate and intense — almost too much. His thickness slowly pushes your walls apart as you lower yourself, inch by inch. A soft moan escapes your lips from the burning sensation and the way he fills you so completely. It’s deeper than anything you’ve felt before, his huge size presses against every sensitive spot inside you.

Jay groans, tilting his head back for a moment. "Fuck… you’re so tight. Take it slow, angel. You’re doing so well."

You pause halfway, breathing deeply to ease the burning feeling. It’s almost uncomfortable, but the raw heat of him, bare and deep, sends sparks of pleasure through the stretch. Determined, you continue lowering yourself until you’re fully seated on his lap, his cock buried to the hilt inside you, your walls fluttering as they try to adjust to his enormous length.

For a few seconds, you stay still, adjusting to the feeling of his cock pulsing deep inside you. Jay’s arms wrap around you, holding you close as his lips brush your temple. "You’re perfect, angel. Taking me so well... Tell me when you want to move."

You start experimenting, at first moving simply — rising and sinking as you’ve seen in porn videos. The motion drags him along your walls, creating delicious friction, but it feels a little awkward. It feels good for him, his groans make that clear, but it isn’t quite hitting the right spots for you.

"This is incredible," he says honestly. "But I want you to feel good too. You don’t have to just go up and down. Grind on me… roll your hips in circles, and when you bounce, use your whole body. Let me guide you, angel."

He gently guides you with his hands on your hips, and you follow, shifting from simple up and down movements to a smooth, rolling grind. The change is instant — his thick cock now rubs perfectly against your front wall, pressing hard into that sensitive spot with every circle of your hips, making a sharp moan escape you. "Yes, just like that. Feel how deep I am when you roll your hips? Now try bouncing while you do that."

You combine the movements — lifting and dropping while rolling your hips on the way down. Each bounce takes him incredibly deep, his cockhead dragging against places that make your toes curl. The stretch remains intense because he’s almost too big, creating a delicious burn.

Jay groans louder, and one hand slides up to cradle the back of your neck as he kisses you again. "Yes… fuck, you’re riding me so well. Look at you, angel." His other hand stays on your hip, guiding you to bounce harder.

The praise makes you bolder. You brace your hands on his shoulders for balance and start bouncing faster, moving up and down while grinding. Jay is so big that you can feel his cock reaching deep into your stomach, creating a profound pressure that makes your head spin.

Your newfound confidence makes him throb inside you as Jay starts thrusting up to meet you, the added force sending waves of pleasure through your core. "Deeper… like this," you moan.

Jay’s hands roam all over your body — squeezing your ass, caressing your breasts over your shirt, pulling you down for more kisses. He doesn’t take full control, letting you lead while offering guidance and praise. "That’s it… move just like that. You’re getting so wet for me. You look so beautiful riding my cock."

The pleasure builds quickly, a deep, spreading heat that consumes your entire body. You lean forward, changing the angle, and cry out when you hit an even more sensitive spot. Jay groans, holding you tighter. "Right there? Good girl. Keep going, take what you need."

You moan loudly, burying your face in his neck as the orgasm crashes through you violently. Your walls clench uncontrollably around his cock, pulsing and milking him while you keep bouncing, pushing him over the edge right after. He groans, thrusting his hips up against you as he cums deep inside, filling you with hot, thick pulses of cum.

Once you both come down, Jay lifts your chin and kisses you again, his tongue moves lazily against yours, savoring the moment. You kiss him back, feeling his cock still twitching softly inside you.

"You were incredible, angel," he whispers between kisses, smiling against your lips. "So beautiful riding me like that."

Jay’s hands run gently down your back, his gaze dropping to your chest. "Can I see more of you?"

You nod, and he doesn’t waste a single second, pulls your blouse up just enough to free your breasts. The cool air of the library makes your nipples harden instantly. "Perfect,” you sigh softly as he takes one nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it.

He sucks harder, then grazes his teeth over the sensitive bud with a careful bite that makes you moan and clench around his cock, which is still buried deep inside you. Switching to the other breast, he gives it the same attention — kissing, licking, sucking, and biting. You roll your hips slowly in his lap, savoring the way his cock twitches inside you every time he sucks harder.

"You’re so sensitive here," he murmurs against your skin, pressing open-mouthed kisses between your breasts. "I could spend hours doing this."

You let out a soft, needy sound, holding his head closer to your chest as he continues marking you with his mouth — sucking hard enough to leave hickeys that will remind you of this moment later. He’s getting hard again inside you, growing thicker and longer, pressing against your sensitive walls.

"Fuck, you’re making me hard again. The way you squeeze around me while I suck on these… you’re driving me crazy." Suddenly, Jay’s arms tighten around you and, in one swift movement, he stands up.

"Jay—!" you gasp, clutching his shoulders.

"I’ve got you," he says carefully, sitting you on the edge of the table with his cock still buried deep inside you. "I need to move for a bit. Okay, angel? Tell me if it’s too much."

Before you can respond, he starts fucking you at his own pace — deep, powerful thrusts that make your body shake on the table. The angle is perfect, making his thick cock drags along every inch of your walls with each stroke.

You try to stay quiet, but the pleasure is overwhelming, and moans far too loud for the silent library keep escaping. "Ah— Jay!"

He quickly covers your mouth with his hand while continuing to thrust firmly. "Shh, angel." His hips snap forward a little harder, testing your silence. "You have to stay quiet… someone might hear."

Even with his palm muffling your sounds, the deep thrusts still pull muffled but audible moans from you. Jay glances around nervously, unsure what to do because stopping isn’t an option, so he makes a quick decision. He pulls his cock out, reaches for your panties, which was pulled to the side this whole time, tugs the wet fabric free and then he pushes it between your lips.

"I’m sorry," he whispers immediately as he slides back inside you with a deep thrust. "I hate doing this… but I don’t want us to get caught, okay?"

You nod slightly, eyes watering from the intensity, but the gag works — your next moan comes out completely muffled. "You’re being so good for me, so wet and tight." Jay returns to your breasts, sucking on one nipple while he continues fucking you senseless.

His pace quickens, hips snapping harder against yours as he tries to keep control. The risk of getting caught and the feeling of you around him push him closer to the edge. "Cum for me. I’m close too… let go, angel."

You scream into the gag, your body shaking in his arms as you cum hard, and the sensation of your walls pulsing around him sends Jay over the edge right after. He buries himself as deep as possible and cums inside you with hot, intense pulses.

Still buried inside you, he strokes your hair and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. "You were incredible… so responsive and beautiful."

A shy smile tugs at your lips. "You were incredible too."

He runs his thumb across your flushed cheek. "I’d love to do this again someday… if you want. Maybe somewhere more private next time, so I can take my time with you."

Biting your lower lip, you nod. "I’d like that. A lot, actually."

That night, back in your dorm, you realize something: during those hours with Jay, you didn’t think about Heeseung even once because you were completely lost in the moment — in his gentle touches, his warm voice, and the way he made you feel so good.

────────

The basketball team has just won a home game. The crowd is still roaring and the players are celebrating in the middle of the court. Sitting in the stands, you spot Ni-ki — Heeseung’s close friend and teammate. He’s younger than the others but carries himself with an easy, playful confidence.

When the court finally quiets down and the players start heading toward the locker rooms, you walk calmly through the internal hallways of the building, following the path that leads to the locker room area. To avoid being seen by Heeseung, you hide behind a pillar. From there, you have a perfect view of anyone leaving the locker room, while people passing through the hallway are unlikely to notice you.

A few minutes pass before the door opens. A group of players steps out, talking loudly, and Heeseung is right in the middle of them. You press yourself tighter against the pillar, holding your breath as he walks by, laughing at some joke.

More athletes leave after that until the hallway falls completely silent. Knowing most people have already gone and the risk of seeing Heeseung has passed, you finally step out of your hiding spot and walk to a brighter, more visible part of the corridor, right near the door.

When Ni-ki comes out, his eyes land on you almost immediately. He slows his steps, tilting his head with clear interest and a mischievous smile playing on his lips. "No way. You actually waited? Most girls chase after the captain." He stops right in front of you, looking you up and down without even trying to hide it. "Damn, you look dangerous."

You feel a flutter in your stomach but smile back at him. "I thought the guy who kept stealing the ball and grinning like he owned the court deserved some attention tonight."

Ni-ki laughs, running a hand through his damp hair. "You’re bold, huh? I like that." He steps a little closer, his eyes sparkling with playful curiosity. "So what’s your deal? Are you a basketball fan or did you just come here to make my day way more interesting?"

There’s a seductive tease in his voice — arrogant but fun. He clearly likes what he sees and isn’t shy about showing it. "Because if you’re here for me, you should probably tell me your name before I start calling you ‘mine’ in front of the whole team."

If you play this right, he might casually mention you to the team later, and Heeseung would hear your name and maybe get curious. But if you mess up and come across as too eager or awkward, Ni-ki could joke about it in the locker room and ruin everything before you even get close. Still, you trust yourself. "It’s y/n."

"y/n," he repeats, like he’s savoring the sound. "Nice. It suits you. So, y/n… do you always wait outside the locker rooms after games looking this good, or did I just get lucky today?"

"Only when the player on the court is showing off like he’s trying to impress someone."

Ni-ki moves even closer. "Ah, so you were really watching me? Careful, I might get too cocky." He tilts his head, his eyes tracing your face before dropping to your lips. "Or maybe that’s exactly what you want. To make me arrogant enough to do something about the pretty girl who showed up just for me."

His gaze continues sliding down from your lips, appreciating the way your top hugs your body. Suddenly, Ni-ki glances around, checking if anyone is nearby. The hallway is empty. Without warning, he grabs your hand with a grin. "Come with me for a second."

He pulls you into the locker room, but not near the entrance. He keeps guiding you deeper inside, past a small entryway and around the corner of the main area, where he presses your body against the wall. The tension that has been building finally snaps. Cupping your face with one hand, he kisses you with raw hunger — his lips moving against yours with confidence as his tongue teases yours, deepening the kiss almost instantly.

He pulls back just enough to breathe, a cocky little smirk on his face. "Fuck… you taste even better than I imagined."

He presses you harder against the wall and slides one thigh between your legs, creating just enough pressure to make you gasp into his mouth. "You’re so fucking addictive." His hands slip under your top, warm palms gliding over your skin and sending shivers through you.

Suddenly, Ni-ki drops to his knees in front of you, looking up with an even more mischievous smile. "I’ve been thinking about this since I saw you waiting outside." His hands move quickly, unbuttoning your jeans and tugging them down along with your panties. He lifts one of your legs, hooking it over his shoulder, opening you up to him.

Ni-ki presses his mouth against your pussy like he’s starving for it — voracious and rough. His tongue licks long, wet stripes from your entrance up to your clit before swirling around the sensitive bundle of nerves.

"Oh my God — Ni-ki…" you moan, one hand flying to his messy hair.

He moans against you, the vibration shooting pleasure straight up your spine. "You taste so good." His tongue dives inside you, licking and savoring every inch like he can’t get enough. Messy and eager, his lips suck on your folds before focusing back on your clit with small, hungry sucks and licks.

He eats you out like he wants to memorize every taste, every reaction — switching between long, slow licks that make your toes curl and faster movements that force you to bite your lip to stay quiet.

"Ni-ki… that feels so good." He looks up at you while his mouth works, eyes gleaming with satisfaction and desire, clearly loving the way you’re falling apart for him.

Ni-ki murmurs in response and doubles his efforts, sucking your clit into his mouth while his tongue moves fast. "Ni-ki… fuck, right there," you gasp, fingers tightening almost painfully in his hair as your hips start grinding against his face.

He slides two fingers inside you while his tongue keeps working your clit, curling them instantly against that perfect spot.

Your breathing turns ragged, your thighs trembling uncontrollably around his head. "I… I’m gonna—" you try to warn him, voice breaking, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he sucks harder on your clit and pumps his fingers faster.

Your whole body locks up for a second before a violent tremor runs through you. Your pussy clenches hard around his fingers as your clit pulses wildly against his tongue.

Ni-ki groans proudly against you, licking you through every wave, addicted to the way you fall apart. He keeps going until you’re whimpering, oversensitive and shaking. Only then does he finally pull back, lips glossy and swollen. "Shit, you come so beautifully."

He rises to his feet with a satisfied smirk and pulls you into another kiss so you can taste yourself on his tongue, his hands grip your waist, pressing your body against his. "You’re so sweet. I could eat you every day, all day long."

You open your mouth to respond, but the metallic click of the main door handle cuts through the air.

You both freeze and footsteps echo on the tiled floor, accompanied by a familiar voice humming something.

It’s Jungwon — another teammate, the point guard.

"Shit." Ni-ki quickly grabs your hand and pulls you toward the shower area with its open stalls and curtains. Yanking one curtain aside, he guides you inside, and presses your back against the cold tiled wall.

The footsteps grow louder, closer. "Hey, is anyone still in here?" Jungwon’s voice sounds casual, like he heard something and decided to check.

Ni-ki presses a finger to your lips, leaning in so close that his warm breath brushes your ear. "Don’t make a sound," he whispers, almost inaudible.

Your heart pounds hard against your ribs, but Ni-ki doesn’t seem bothered at all. In fact, the risk seems to excite him even more. Jungwon’s footsteps get closer, and right at that exact moment, Ni-ki pushes two fingers inside you without any warning. Your eyes widen and a sharp gasp almost escapes before you bite down hard on your lip.

He curls his fingers instantly, stroking that sensitive spot deep inside you with ease, a small mischievous smirk on his face as he watches your reaction. He pumps them slowly at first, then faster, while his thumb presses firmly against your swollen clit.

Trembling violently, you bury your face in his neck, desperately trying to muffle the moans threatening to spill out. "Shhh," Ni-ki whispers right against your ear, but his fingers don’t stop — deep, curling thrusts that make your knees buckle. "You’re squeezing me so tight. Does almost getting caught turn you on?"

You nod frantically and bite down on his shoulder through his shirt to stay quiet as Jungwon moves just a few meters away. Ni-ki’s thumb presses harder on your clit while his fingers thrust faster, making your thighs shake and your walls flutter uncontrollably around him as you fight to stay silent. Tears gather in the corners of your eyes from the effort.

Jungwon’s voice echoes again, closer this time. "I heard noises coming from here. Who the hell is in here?"

Noticing Jungwon getting closer, Ni-ki curls his fingers harder, rubbing your sweet spot relentlessly while his thumb works your clit in fast, precise circles. You dig your nails into his back, letting out a silent scream against his neck as pleasure peaks. Your pussy clenches violently around his fingers, dripping as waves of spasms run through you.

Finally, Jungwon’s footsteps retreat. The door opens and closes again. The second it does, Ni-ki pulls his fingers out and kisses you hard, swallowing the broken moan that finally escapes you.

Without breaking the kiss, he tugs down his basketball shorts and boxers in one quick motion, freeing his hard, thick, flushed cock. It’s already leaking at the tip from how turned on he is after eating you out and fingering you.

You reach for him without thinking — and without really knowing what you’re doing — wrapping your hand around his length and stroking slowly at first. You feel the heat and the way he pulses hot against your palm as your thumb brushes over the head, spreading the precum. "You’re so hard… I can feel how much you want this."

"Yeah? Then let me have you." He quickly helps you pull your jeans and panties all the way down your legs, kicking them aside before pressing you against the cold tiled wall of the shower stall. One hand grips your thigh as he lines himself up and with one smooth thrust, he pushes inside, burying his cock deep into your still-sensitive pussy. The stretch makes you gasp at the sudden, overwhelming fullness after everything that’s already happened.

He fucks you against the wall with firm, deep thrusts, his hips snapping forward while he holds you in place. "Fuck, you feel so good. So fucking good," he groans, burying his face in your neck as he drives into you harder, each movement pressing you against the tiles. "So wet and tight."

"Ni-ki… you’re so deep," your voice trembles with pleasure as he hits that perfect spot inside you with every thrust. "Don’t stop… it feels so good."

He keeps going like that for a while, fucking you firmly against the wall with his hands gripping your ass. But soon the position isn’t enough for him, with a low grunt, he suddenly lifts you as if you weigh nothing, your legs wrapping tightly around his waist. The new angle lets him sink even deeper, and you let out a muffled cry as he starts bouncing you on his cock, thrusting up with hungry movements that make your breasts bounce inside your top.

"Yes, like that… it feels so good," you moan while he fucks you in the air, your back pressed against the wall for leverage as he holds you like you’re weightless. The sensation is intense, every thrust hits so deep it makes your head spin and your toes curl.

"Open your mouth." He brings two fingers to your lips. "Suck them for me. I want to feel that pretty mouth while I fuck you."

You part your lips obediently and take his fingers into your mouth, sucking them eagerly while he keeps thrusting into you. His cock twitches at the feeling of your warm mouth around his fingers, the taste of you still lingers on them from earlier, making you moan around them.

"That’s it," he says, eyes locked on your face as he watches you suck his fingers while bouncing you on his cock. "You look so fucking hot like this. Keep sucking just like that."

You do exactly that, swirling your tongue and sucking harder as he drives deep inside you, clearly losing himself in how good it feels.

You pull off his fingers with a wet pop and gasp, "Ni-ki… I’m so close again. I’m gonna come."

With a mischievous smirk, he pushes his fingers back into your mouth, moving them in time with his cock as he fucks you harder against the wall. "Then come for me again. I want to feel you squeezing my cock while you suck my fingers."

The dirty words combined with his relentless pace finally push you over the edge. You moan loudly around his fingers as your legs tighten around his waist. Wave after wave of intense pleasure crashes through you, making your entire body shake in his arms.

Ni-ki groans at the feeling of you coming and his thrusts turn erratic. He buries himself as deep as possible and comes hard inside you, pulsing with hot spurts while holding you firmly against the wall.

After a moment, he finally lowers you gently until your feet touch the floor again, but he doesn’t pull out immediately, he stays nestled inside your heat, kissing you slowly and almost lazily, like he isn’t ready to end the moment yet. "Fuck… that was incredible. And honestly? That was the best post-game sex I’ve ever had. No joke. I’m gonna be thinking about this pussy for days."

You let out a soft giggle, cheeks burning. "Really? I don’t think I’ll be able to walk properly after this."

Surprisingly gentle, he laughs and presses a kiss to your cheek before finally pulling out slowly. Both of you hiss at the loss. "That’s actually great. Means you’ll be thinking about me too. When can we do this again? After the next game, or maybe after every practice?"

────────

​The basketball team had crushed their biggest rival that night, and the victory party at the massive off-campus house is going to be loud, chaotic, and packed with people. This is the moment you’ve been carefully preparing for with every practice session and every new experience. Tonight is the night.

You choose a bold black dress that clings to your body like a second skin, short enough to show off your legs and thighs, with a neckline that reveals just enough to be daring. Your hair is styled exactly the way you like it, and your makeup is flawless, enhancing your features in a way that makes you feel powerful. When you look in the mirror, you look like someone who belongs in Heeseung’s world.

When you arrive at the party, the music is already pulsing through the walls, bodies are moving everywhere, and the air smells like alcohol and sweat. Your eyes scan the room until they find him.

Heeseung is sitting on the large couch in the main room like he owns the place — which he basically does. Two girls are practically draped over him. One is half in his lap, her hand resting possessively on his chest, while he has one arm casually around the other girl, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on her shoulder as he talks to his teammates.

Spotting Ni-ki nearby, chatting with some of the other players, you walk toward him with confident steps because you aren’t going straight to Heeseung. No — you’re going to make him come to you. Ni-ki’s eyes light up with immediate recognition and interest.

"I can’t believe you’re here," he says with a grin as he pulls you into a side hug that lasts a second longer than necessary. "You look dangerous tonight. Come here, I want you to meet some of the guys."

You laugh softly and stay close to him, letting him introduce you to some of his teammates, including Jungwon. Your cheeks heat up as you remember that moment in the locker room, and when you glance to the side, Heeseung is watching — the girls are still around him, but his eyes are locked on you, following every move you make.

Ni-ki leans in and whispers in your ear, "You know, I still can’t stop thinking about that day in the locker room. Jungwon almost catching us… My fingers buried so deep inside you while you tried so hard not to moan. I’ve been replaying that shit all week."

Your face flushes instantly and the memory makes your thighs press together in a rush of heat. "Ni-ki…" you whisper back, half embarrassed and half turned on, "you can’t just say that here."

You’re too focused on Ni-ki to notice Heeseung pushing the girl off his lap, standing up, and walking over with his usual confidence. He stops right in front of you, his gaze shifting between you and Ni-ki, who is still grinning widely.

"What’s so funny over here?" Heeseung asks, a hint of curiosity in his voice. "You two look like you’re sharing secrets."

You freeze for a second before answering quickly, a little too fast. "Nothing."

"Nothing? Come on. Nothing stays hidden from the captain, especially when my teammate is standing here grinning like an idiot and you’re looking all flustered." He steps closer, his full attention now on you. "Gonna tell me what got you so worked up, pretty?"

Ni-ki’s playful smile fades, replaced by something closer to jealousy as he watches the captain focus entirely on you. "We're just messing around. It's fun talking to y/n, that's all."

Heeseung looks you up and down slowly, taking in the way the dress hugs every curve of your body. "Want a drink? I can’t have you standing here empty-handed."

"Yeah… I’d like that."

Ni-ki’s jaw tightens as he glances between the two of you, clearly not happy about being sidelined, but he knows better than to push it with Heeseung. "Catch you later, y/n," he says, giving you one last look filled with a mix of jealousy and desire before disappearing into the crowd.

Now it’s just you and Heeseung.

He guides you toward the kitchen, his hand lightly brushing your lower back. “So… y/n,” he says, savoring your name like he’s testing how it feels on his tongue. "You show up at my party looking like sin, talking to my boy while wearing this little dress that makes everyone wonder what you’re hiding underneath." A mischievous smile curves his lips as his eyes flick to your mouth for a moment. "You gonna let me find out, or are you just here to tease?"

You feel yourself getting wet just from the way he’s looking at you — that hungry stare and confident tone making your panties stick to you. "Talking about what I’m hiding under this dress already? We just got to the kitchen… but yeah, I might let you discover it." Your voice comes out bold because you refuse to sound nervous now, after waiting so long for this moment.

Deep down, all you can think about is how badly you want him to stop talking and just fuck you senseless.

Heeseung’s smile deepens, a flash of satisfaction crossing his face. He glances around to make sure no one is paying too much attention, then leans in even closer, his lips brushing your ear as he speaks. "There’s an empty room upstairs. Third door on the left, go up in a few minutes. I’ll follow right after so no one notices."

He pulls back, sliding his hand slowly along your waist before disappearing into the crowd. You wait a few minutes, taking a sip of your drink to calm your nerves, but it barely helps — the ache between your legs only grows with every passing second. After exactly five minutes, you head up the stairs and find the third door already slightly ajar. You step inside with shaky, anticipatory breaths.

Moments later, Heeseung appears. He closes the door firmly behind him and locks it.

The second the lock clicks, he’s on you.

There’s nothing gentle about the way his mouth crashes against yours in a hungry, intense kiss. He bites your lower lip, tugging it between his teeth before sucking it into his mouth, then does it again harder just to hear you whimper.

His hands slide down to grip your ass firmly under the dress, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he pulls you flush against him, letting you feel the hard outline of his cock through his pants.

"Fuck, this ass feels even better than it looks in that dress," he growls against your mouth, squeezing harder and spreading your cheeks. The kiss deepens, his tongue dominating yours while he continues kneading and groping your ass like he can’t get enough.

Heeseung’s mischievous smirk returns when he hears you moan into the kiss. He doesn’t break it as he walks you backward toward the bed. When the back of your knees hit the mattress, he pushes you down and climbs on top of you.

A string of saliva connects his lips to yours when he pulls back to strip your dress off in one quick motion, leaving you in just your bra and panties, his eyes darkening with lust as he takes in every inch of your body.

"Look at you… such a pretty little slut, all dressed up for who? For me?" His hands make quick work of unclasping your bra and tossing it aside before he drags your panties down your legs and throws them away too, leaving you completely naked and exposed for him.

With a firm hand, Heeseung spreads your legs wide, getting a perfect view of your glistening, dripping pussy. "Already so wet for me, but it’s not enough." Suddenly he leans down and spits directly on your pussy, the warm string of saliva hitting your clit and dripping down your folds. The sight makes his rock-hard cock twitch inside his pants so he does it again, spitting a second time, then spreads it with two fingers, rubbing the wetness all over. "Gonna get this pussy nice and sloppy for me."

You moan loudly at the filthy feeling of his saliva sliding through your folds — hips jerk while your pussy clenches around nothing.

Heeseung drags his tongue slowly up your pussy, licking from your entrance to your clit in one long, deliberate stroke that makes you gasp. When you do, he laughs against you — the vibration sending shivers through your entire body.

"You taste so fucking good," he says before diving back in. He eats you out messily, his tongue swirling around your clit before dipping down to push inside you, savoring every drop of your arousal mixed with his spit.

Your hands fly to his hair, gripping it tightly as the overwhelming sensation hits you. "Heeseung, that feels incredible…"

He keeps going, licking deeper inside you while his nose brushes against your clit, but suddenly he pulls back, looking up at you with a devilish smirk. Without warning, he brings his hand down in a sharp, wet slap against your soaked pussy, the sting mixed with pleasure makes you cry out loudly. "Holy fuck, Heeseung."

"You like that too?" He slaps your pussy again, harder this time, hitting your folds and swollen clit. "Such a dirty girl, getting even wetter when I slap this pretty pussy."

"Yes— God, yes," you moan, thighs trembling. "It burns, but it feels so good at the same time."

That encourages him to give you another slap and right after, he buries his face between your legs again, sucking hard on your clit while two thick fingers push inside you. He fingers you mercilessly, curling them to hit that sweet spot over and over as his tongue works your clit. "Fuck, you’re so tight. Taking my fingers like a good little slut for me."

He spits on your clit again, spreading the saliva with his tongue before adding a third finger, stretching you deliciously while pumping them faster and harder. All you can do is moan, your thighs shaking violently around his head. "Heeseung, I’m getting close… please don’t stop."

He obeys, alternating between long licks, hard sucks on your clit, deep thrusts of his fingers, and firm slaps that make your pussy burn and throb. "I’m gonna come," you moan, arching your back off the bed.

"Then come for me." Your entire body tenses, your walls clenching hard around his fingers as spasms rip through you. You come hard with a loud cry, thighs trembling violently around his head. But Heeseung doesn’t stop, he keeps licking and fingering you through every pulse, drawing out your pleasure until you’re oversensitive and whimpering.

When he finally pulls back with glossy lips and chin, he kisses you again so you can taste yourself on his tongue. "Get on your knees for me," he commands against your lips. "I want that pretty mouth around my cock."

It’s time to put into practice what Sunghoon taught you about sucking dick.

With a confident little smile, you gently push him so he lies on his back. Once he does, you position yourself between his legs and reach for his belt, slowly unbuckling it. He lifts his hips to help as you pull his pants and boxers down, freeing his cock. It springs up thick, hard, and leaking precum, making your mouth water at the sight.

You wrap one hand around the base of his cock, lean in, and press a soft kiss to the tip before dragging your tongue slowly along the underside, drawing a shaky breath from Heeseung. "That’s it… suck me like a good girl."

Feeling confident, you take him into your mouth and slowly suck on the head, swirling your tongue around it while savoring the precum there. Then you take him deeper, bobbing your head as your hand strokes what doesn’t fit, your movements growing smoother as you find the right rhythm. "Fuck… your mouth feels so good."

His praise encourages you to take him even deeper until the head brushes the back of your throat, making you gag. A wet choking sound escapes as your eyes water, but you don’t pull away. Instead, you stay there for a moment, breathing through your nose the way Sunghoon taught you, before sliding back up and sinking down again.

Heeseung grabs your hair and tightens his grip as a needy groan escapes his throat. "Shit, that’s… ahh—"

You keep going, moving your head faster and sucking harder while your hand twists around the base, making his thighs tense and another desperate moan slip out.

It’s hard to believe that Heeseung, the guy everyone on campus talks about, the one with a reputation for being experienced and dominant, is moaning and whimpering under your mouth. It’s unexpected, but not in a bad way, especially because your pussy clenches around nothing every time he makes those sounds.

You pull back a little, sucking on the head while stroking him faster with your hand, which draws another broken moan from him. "Yes— fuck, yes, baby."

Wanting to pull even more reactions from him, you take him deep into your mouth again, gagging softly around his length as your head moves faster. Saliva drips down his entire shaft and onto your hand, making everything slick and messy.

Heeseung’s moans grow louder, breathier, and more frequent. "Fuck, I… I’m gonna come. Please don’t stop… I’m so close, baby."

You moan around him and suck harder until his thighs start to tremble. "Fuck… fuck—!" His voice cracks as the orgasm finally hits him.

His cock pulses hot and hard on your tongue, releasing thick jets of cum into your mouth. You try to swallow as much as you can, continuing to suck him through every last spasm and moan.

When you finally pull off his cock with a wet pop, Heeseung moves fast. He flips you onto your back and hovers over you — the whimpering guy from moments ago is gone. Now his eyes are filled with raw hunger.

"I’m not done with you yet." With a firm hand, he spreads your thighs, exposing your dripping pussy, begging to be fucked. "Now I’m going to fuck you properly."

You blink at him, confused and surprised by the sudden shift because seconds ago he was moaning and almost begging under your mouth, and now he’s trying to act like the dominant guy everyone talks about.

He lines up the head of his cock at your entrance, rubbing it up and down your wet folds, coating himself with your arousal. Without warning, he thrusts into you hard in one brutal stroke, stretching you around his thick length.

The sudden fullness makes you cry out loudly, your back arching off the bed. "Oh my God — Heeseung!" The stretch feels so good, especially while you’re still sensitive from coming earlier.

He fucks you hard and deep from the very first thrust, his hips slamming against yours with relentless strokes that make the bed creak beneath you. "Fuck, this pussy is so wet and greedy," he groans, leaning down to capture your lips in a messy kiss while one of his hands wraps around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your breath hitch. He holds it for a few seconds before loosening his grip, letting you gasp for air. "Look at you, sucking my cock like a good little slut. You love being used like this, don’t you?"

"Yes, fuck, yes," you moan, your voice breaking under the pressure of his hand. "You’re so deep inside me. It feels so good, Heeseung."

He chokes you again, a little harder this time, and the mix of pleasure and lack of air makes your head spin deliciously.

Heeseung pushes your legs back toward your chest, folding you in half so he can fuck you even deeper. The new angle makes his cock hit that perfect spot inside you with every thrust, causing your eyes to roll back.

When he finally releases your throat, you gasp desperately for air, moaning loudly as he keeps hitting that sweet spot over and over. "Please… harder. I can take it."

Heeseung lets out a needy groan at your words, his hips stuttering for half a second before he gives you exactly what you asked for. He fucks you harder, rougher, driving his cock into you with punishing depth. The sound of skin slapping against skin grows louder and wetter as he pounds into you, pressing your body into the mattress.

Just as your next orgasm starts to build, he suddenly slows down, keeping his cock buried deep inside you but barely moving. "Not yet. You don’t get to come until I say so, slut."

You whine desperately, trying to lift your hips for more friction. "Please, Heeseung… I need to come. I’m so close already. Don’t stop— I’ve been so good."

He smirks wickedly, shaking his head as he starts thrusting with slow, teasing rolls of his hips. "Beg better than that, baby. I want to hear how badly you need it."

You’re a complete mess underneath him, tears of frustration and pleasure gathering in your eyes. "Please… I’ll be so good for you. Just let me come on your cock, please. I need it so bad— I can’t take this teasing anymore."

Heeseung groans, but the sound turns into a needy moan as your walls clench around him. He starts fucking you harder again, his hand returning to your throat. But he isn’t done teasing you yet, so he edges you two more times — bringing you right to the brink with deep, brutal thrusts only to slow down and leave you whimpering and empty.

On the third time, you’re crying and babbling nonstop. "Heeseung… please, I can’t take it anymore. It hurts so good… I need to come. I’ll do anything you want. Just let me come on your cock."

"Fuck… you look so pretty when you beg," he groans, his voice rough with his own need to come. He thrusts into you with brutal force, tightening his hand around your throat again while his hips move relentlessly. "Come then. Come all over my cock like the desperate slut you are. Let me feel you."

Your entire body seizes underneath him. Your walls clamp down hard around his thick cock, your thighs shaking uncontrollably as you soak his cock and the sheets beneath you, screaming his name.

Heeseung fucks you through your orgasm, groaning as your pussy milks him. "Fuck, that’s it. Good girl… you’re squeezing me so tight." A few more brutal, deep thrusts and he buries himself as deep as possible, coming hard inside you with thick, hot pulses.

Lying under him with your heart racing and breath coming in short, heavy bursts, his cock still buried deep inside you, your mind keeps returning to the sounds he made minutes ago — those desperate, broken moans and whimpers when you had him in your mouth.

Something about hearing him lose control like that makes heat pool low in your belly. After a few seconds of hesitation, you gather your courage, place a hand on his chest, and push him gently but firmly. "My turn to break you now. I want to hear you moaning under me." You say as you swing your leg over his waist, straddling him.

Heeseung’s breath hitches as his cock, already hardening again beneath you, shows just how much he likes the shift in power. "Baby… fuck," he gasps, his hands reaching for your hips.

"Don’t touch unless I say so." You slap his hands away, then wrap your fingers around his thick cock, stroking him slowly and teasingly while rubbing the head up and down your cum-soaked pussy. "Look at you. The captain of the basketball team. Everyone on campus thinks you’re this untouchable stud who ruins girls and never gets ruined."

You sink down onto him in one slow motion, taking every inch until your ass meets his thighs — the stretch making both of you moan. You stay completely still, clenching around him just to watch him squirm, a mischievous smile spreading across your face. Then you start moving your hips slowly, rubbing your clit against his pelvis. "Ahh— fuck… please don’t tease me."

You begin riding his cock properly, using everything you learned — deep movements, tight squeezes, and powerful bounces that make your ass slap against his thighs and your clit grind deliciously against his pelvis.

"Fuck, baby," he hisses, his hands flying to your hips, but you grab his wrists and push them away. You lean down so your breasts brush against his chest and his cock hits even deeper. "Don’t touch. Just take this pussy like a good boy. Got it, captain?"

Heeseung’s cock twitches hard inside you at your words, and a low, surprised moan escapes his throat. "Shit… yes," he groans, clearly turned on by the way you dominate him. "Use me, baby. Fuck me."

So this was the real Heeseung? A whimpering mess when someone takes control. All that arrogance on the court, all those girls throwing themselves at him, and here he is — moaning and shaking underneath you like he can’t handle how good your pussy feels around him.

You watch every reaction closely, mesmerized by the way his lips part, his breath coming in short, needy gasps every time you bounce and grind on him, and the broken moans slipping from his throat when you clench hard around his cock.

'God, he really is a whimperer,' you think, amazed by the sight as you bite your lip and ride him harder. "All that reputation and you’re crying because a girl is riding you. That’s kind of pathetic… but so fucking hot."

Heeseung lets out another broken moan, his hands desperately gripping the sheets since you won’t let him touch you. "Fuck— you’re killing me. Your pussy feels too good, I can’t… ah— slow down a little, please."

You laugh softly and keep riding him mercilessly, clenching around his cock rhythmically, rolling your hips in tight, dirty circles while bouncing faster and faster, making sure he feels every movement. "You’re going to take this like a good boy, captain."

Heeseung moans louder, letting his head fall back against the pillow as his body trembles beneath you. "Shit, you’re so mean. Please don’t stop. Your pussy is squeezing me so tight— fuck, I’m losing my mind."

You lean back, bracing your hands on his thighs so he has the perfect view of his cock disappearing into your dripping pussy. "Look how deep you are," you moan, rolling your ass on him in small, obscene movements. "You like watching me use your cock like this, don’t you? Such a big, strong captain… and now you’re moaning under me."

The pleasure and the delicious sight of the untouchable Heeseung moaning and whimpering push you toward your own orgasm. "I’m gonna come," you gasp, leaning down to kiss him messily while still bouncing on his cock. "And you’re going to come with me, crybaby."

Heeseung moans loudly, the nickname making his cock twitch hard inside you. "Fuck… I’m coming!" His hips buck up to meet your bounces as thick jets of cum spill deep inside you once again.

You follow right behind him, your orgasm crashing over you as you keep riding him through both of your peaks, milking every last drop from his cock.

"Don’t tell anyone about this," he begs breathlessly, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "That I’m… like this. Please. This is our secret, okay? Just between us."

────────

Jake’s hands grip your hips tightly, you clench around his cock and roll your hips in those filthy, perfected movements. His broken moans fill the room as you bounce faster, grinding harder against him. Suddenly, your phone starts ringing on the nightstand, Ni-ki’s name lighting up the screen.

You slow your movements, reaching over to answer the call while still sitting on Jake’s cock. "Hey," you sigh, slightly breathless.

Jake groans, his hips twitching desperately. "Babe… please don’t stop," his voice is full of need. "I was so close… keep going, please."

You cover his mouth with your hand to silence him to continue the call. Ni-ki sounds frustrated on the other end. "You free right now? We lost tonight and I’m pissed. Come to my dorm… I need that pretty pussy to help me forget this shit game."

"I can come over soon," you say, trying to keep your voice steady while rolling your hips on Jake. "Give me a bit."

"Good. Don’t take too long. I really need to fuck you," Ni-ki says before hanging up.

You drop the phone and start riding Jake again. "Sorry about that. Now be a good boy and come for me.

Later that night, you’re on all fours in Ni-ki’s dorm as he fucks you hard from behind. His hips slam against your ass with deep, aggressive thrusts.

In the middle of a particularly rough stroke, he suddenly asks, "I saw you leaving the hockey rink the other day. What the hell were you doing there?"

You moan and push back to meet his thrusts. "None of your business."

Ni-ki’s hand comes down hard on your ass with a loud smack. The sharp sting makes you clench around his cock and moan louder. He slaps you again, even harder. "Wrong answer."

"Again," you moan, arching your back. "I like it."

Ni-ki laughs darkly and keeps spanking you repeatedly while fucking you harder, his palm leaving red marks on your ass as he pounds into you until both of you come hard.

The next afternoon, you’re on your knees in Jay’s dorm with his huge cock stretching your mouth as you suck him. Jay has one hand gently stroking your hair, looking down at you with proud eyes.

"You’re doing so well. Taking me so deep like this… you look so beautiful with my cock in your mouth, angel."

You relax your throat, taking him as deep as you can, sucking harder, using every technique you’ve learned. Jay groans, his fingers sliding gently through your hair.

"Fuck… you’re incredible. Such a good girl for me. Keep going, you’re making me feel so good."

He keeps praising you the whole time, soft and sincere, until he finally comes down your throat with a soft, shaky groan, lovingly stroking your cheek as you swallow everything.

When you leave Jay’s room, still a little flushed and disheveled, you run straight into Sunghoon in the hallway. He looks at you, then at Jay’s door behind you, and his expression darkens instantly.

"What the fuck were you doing in there?"

You don’t answer, trying to walk past him, but he doesn’t let you. Sunghoon grabs your wrist and pulls you into his own dorm, slamming the door behind you. He fucks you hard and jealous, bending you over the desk, taking you from behind with brutal, possessive thrusts.

"You’ve been fucking everyone lately, haven’t you?" he growls, driving deep and angry. "Greedy little slut."

You moan loudly, loving the jealous tone in his voice.

During the rough thrusts, your phone starts vibrating on the desk — it’s Heeseung sending message after message.

Heeseung:

I can’t stop thinking about that night with you.

Come over.

Baby, answer me.

I know you’re getting these.

Don’t play games with me.

Stop fucking ignoring me.

Sunghoon notices the constant buzzing, picks up the phone, uses your face to unlock it, and opens the chat. With a dark, possessive smile, he takes a photo of your flushed, teary-eyed, moaning face while he fucks you hard from behind and sends it to Heeseung with the caption: "She’s busy."

He tosses the phone aside and fucks you even harder after that.

────────

You finally understand why Heeseung never wants to be tied to just one person. Having options is liberating. Jake, Sunghoon, Jay, Ni-ki, and Heeseung — each one offers something different: different rhythms, different kinds of pleasure, different versions of yourself. You don’t have to choose just one because you can have them all. Now you understand Heeseung’s lifestyle — it’s freeing.

And you realize you want that freedom too.

Thank you for reading! and a special thanks to everyone who asked to be tagged <3

@nithxhoon @megamatt43 @ameliaxantanova @mychemicalrawrmance @pradacava @2dolcee @wonwisps @aeri-xo @leavinglifecrazy @honeymoonave777 @cherrywOn @ruby-0021 @sosocide

[b1tterestbeachh]

wait cs why she living the dream... 🥹

[heepill]

i do not play about this man. if you have anything bad to say about him you WILL be sent to 1009 years in jail. he is my babygirl. i will defend him with all my heart. (╥﹏╥)

also i love love love his hair color he’s so pretty i love you l.hs

[hyukascampfire]

GIFT WRAPPING 𖧷、 (csb.)

𝓘N WHICH it’s a shame that soobin has to work on christmas eve, but coming home to a fire-toasted home and his little family is enough to make up for it.

⸉⋆❪🎁❫ ･ 3.4k

husband 최수빈 & f reader ･ (OTHER). breeding kink, soobin rlly wants to get reader pregnant, lactation kink, general smut, traditional roles, tradwife reader, whiny soobin, breast fondling, mentions of balls cause i know how some people feel abt that, they’re both whiny for each other, soobin’s big, and lmk if i missed anything!

ash: this one’s at the request of my lovely @biteyoubiteme! i love you baby, and could not thank u more for giving me this gift. this was the best gift i could’ve gotten for christmas >.<‘ but yes, since we are always giggling over dad!txt, this one i dedicate to u!!!

The best thing you’ve heard today is the jingling of keys at the front door.  

Soobin comes through the door with heavy, tired eyes. When the kids come tumbling down the hallway for him, they soften into something warm. Lifting one to pepper kisses over her face, and listening to the other tattle about something that’d happened earlier, his mouth tugs into a gentle smile. 

Dusting powdered sugar off your hands, you wait your turn. The scene falls over you like a dryer-warmed blanket. All you three had done today was wait for him to come home. When finally it’s you that he turns to, your heart flickers. 

The Christmas tree is up and in a stand, but it’s bare. You didn’t want to decorate it without him, as much as he told you he wouldn’t mind if you and the kids did. It’s not every Christmas eve that he works, but he’d been scheduled this year. You’d spent the whole day rolling out dough and slipping the kids some, even though you knew the sugar would wind them up, just to make the house feel less empty. 

And, wind them up it did. You took them outside, bundled up in thick cashmeres and puffy jackets, at one point, hoping they might work some of it out in the fluffy snow that’d fallen fresh on yesterday. It hadn’t worked, but watching them with pink cheeks and giggling was worth the while. Then, the three of you drug snow-wetted feet indoors to defrost, tugging off layers to accept the tingle of warm air against your numb skin. 

You wish he was there, too, though. 

Soobin reaches up to pull his tie loose from his neck as he comes to give you your greetings. He just manages to get it loose before taking your lips against his. 

With his hands steadying you by the hips and the counter at your back, you sigh out a soft breath. Your lips speak of your longing—the both of you. Slow and intimate tugging of lips and soothing, your lashes dust against your cheeks. He tastes like some peppermint candy he’d probably picked up on the way out of the office. Fingers still a bit cold from outside, he brings one hand up and cups your cheek, brushing a thumb up and down the flushed skin there.  

He smiles against your mouth and parts from you only to sprinkle sugary kisses over your face. They fall everywhere: a few over your cheeks, one just beside your mouth, and the last to your forehead. He cups your cheeks through each. When he pulls back and you think he’s done, he steals a quick peck for good measure. His hot-chocolate eyes catch yours once he’s done for real, nose crinkling. 

“Hi, baby,” he says. Your heart sings listening to his smooth timbre. It resonates through you and brushes down every last frayed nerve. “How did home treat you?” 

You reach behind yourself to tug your apron off. It’s a mess of flour and stray buttercream icing. “It’s Christmas eve,” you tell him. That’s answer enough. “How was work? Did you have a good day?” you say, smoothing your hands over the knitted sweater you’d swiped from his drawer. “We missed you.” 

His chest is like home against your back as he wraps you up in his frame. “Doesn’t matter; I’m home now. It’s a good day.” He murmurs his words into your hair. “Mmm. You smell good. Are all these cookies for me?” 

“You know who they’re for,” you say. The smile on your mouth is light and fluffy, like whipped cream. Sweet. You’d waited all day for this—for him. 

His arms encompass you, wrapped across your front like ribbons over a present. You can hear the lazy smile in his words.  “Were you baking all day waiting for me, beautiful?” 

With the weight and warmth of him against you, you let your head fall back on his chest. You hum. “I missed you so bad,” you say. 

“I know,” he says. Pressing a toasty kiss right into your neck where it’s bared to him, he adds, “I missed you too. Wish I was able to spend the whole day with you guys, not paperwork. But, it’s okay. I had my pretty wife here waiting for me.” Toward the tail-end, he hangs sweet suggestion over his words. 

Your cheeks go pink. Maybe you’ve got the heater up too high. It’s not usually this hard waiting for him to get home from work. You’ll usually be busy with your own stuff, so that time passes you by fast enough. And then, he’ll come home all tired, and you’ll finally get the kids to sleep and he’ll make slow, sweet love to you, and then the whole household goes quiet as you all knock out. But today... you found yourself missing him more. On Christmas eve, you’re all supposed to be together; spending the day sprawled over the couch with intertwined limbs and running through Christmas classics with bellies full of hot chocolate and candy canes.  

But, he’s here now. That’s all you can ask for. A full, content home. 

“The kids want to do the tree,” you say, curling your fingers over the warm skin of his forearm where he’s bunched the cuffs of his button-up to his elbows. “They waited very patiently all day.” You drag the word all out, because really... it’d felt just as long to you. Usually, you’d have had your tree up and laced with twinkling lights and ornaments two weeks ago, but you really wanted to wait until you could do it all together. 

“Well,” he says, leaving you with one last nip to the column of your neck before dragging himself off you. You miss the security of his arms almost pathetically quick. “Let’s get it decorated, then. Wouldn’t want to make you guys wait any longer.” 

Soobin departs to find the tubs of Christmas stuff, and you go to pull the kids from their playing. 

You can hardly help the excited little smile that finds its way to your mouth as you do. 

❅

The lights on the tree wink at you, a cozy warm white like ice crystals among green pine needles. Its branches dip under the weight of heavier bulbs. Starry silver and Santa red, and even those assorted ornaments that you’d let the kids pick out, shimmer in the low light. It’s serene and familiar, like the Christmases that you can only relive through orange, flickering memories of better times. Your chest aches in the good way, looking at it. 

All of you had put your touch to it, but mostly, you’d sat back and watched them all work, committing it to memory so that it might never go spotty—so that you can remember it years down the road, and use it like a dose of soothing balm when you no longer have this.

Now, you and Soobin just sit and admire it. In true Christmas fashion, you two had to wrangle the kids to bed. You raised your brows at them and warned them with the same old things you’d heard on Christmas night: Santa doesn’t stop by the houses of kids who don’t sleep, and he especially doesn’t stop for kids that don’t listen to their parents. That got them, warm in their jammies, dragging their feet to bed. Reluctantly, yes. But it did the job, and now it’s just you two.  

Your stomach does an excited flip as, in between his mindless smoothing over your skin, Soobin toys with the waistband of your plaid pajamas. Lifting your head from his chest, you look up at him. 

“Baby,” he says, taking that hand up and under your shirt. Running the warm, calloused tips of his fingers up the plane of your belly and then just under your breast, he says, “I missed you...” 

Sweet and slow, a familiar hunger kindles between your thighs just at the way he says it. You know when your doting husband needs you. Your heart tugs toward him—you need him just the same. Surrounded by the home you’ve made together, made lovely by the scent of Christmas, and in his safe arms, all you want is him. 

You tug yourself up from him and the cushions, sliding yourself over his lap so that your two thighs part around his waist and your heat meets his bulge. He’s hardened there already, strained against the fabric and hard against your clothed cunt even through the layers. Sucking in a breath, he supports the small of your back with two sturdy arms. 

“Missed you too, Binnie,” you mumble into his neck. You’d said it a few times already, but you think it still isn’t enough to convey what you feel. His hands come down to cup your ass, digging divots into it and pressing you into soft grinds down onto him a few times. Your skin prickles wherever he goes. 

When his hands find their way back to the elastic band of your bottoms, you lift your hips and let him tug them off you. It’s an awkward position, and you have to lend him a little help with those and your panties with a snort. He presses his forehead into your shoulder, laughing too. 

At a brush of your bare cunt against his cock as he frees it, stood proud between the space of you and against your belly, your smile gives way to soft gasp. The tip of him weeps with pearly beads from the slit. He takes it into his hand taps it against your bud a few times, his free hand at your back, and relishes in the twitching of your hips above him.  

With the warmth of his cock lined up with you, he pushes some of your hair out of your face and says, “Hate having to wait all day to see my pretty girl...” His chocolate eyes dart up and down between the sight of you just about to join bodies and your face. 

Sinking down on him, letting yourself feel every inch of him anew, you hum agreement. You nestle him all the way down until the tip of him brushes just before the end of your depth, and then you give your hips a few rolls to let your insides adjust to his cock. Soobin’s big—no matter how many times you take him, it’s still a stretch. He doesn’t mind the wait; he sits patiently for you to adjust each time, running his hands up and down your hips just to touch you. 

You dig your knees into the cushions and lift yourself off his cock. You let him slip all the way up until the flared tip of him threatens to pop out, letting the moment linger there for a moment before dropping back down on him. His shoulders take the blunt of your weight as you fuck yourself up and down him. “I...wish you didn’t have to work that stupid job...” Your voice permeates the air, above the crackle of the fireplace and the soft smacks of your skin against his.  

His fingers dig into the soft curve of your waist where your shirt bunches. Each time you push yourself up, he helps, the corded muscles of his forearms twisting. It’s an intimate dance that the two of you have practiced and mastered, knowing when to give and to take without even the need for words. “I know,” he says, his voice taut. “But... I’m here now, baby. I’m here now. I’ll give you anything you want.” 

Your chest feels full at that. You know he means it; he works so hard for you all. The couch cushions are abrasive against your knees, and your thighs burn with a terrible ache, but all that matters in this moment is how he sucks his lips into his mouth and lets his head fall back into the cushion at his back. He rocks his hips up to try and meet you. Each time you bring yourself down on him in a way that has his brow twitching or eyes screwing shut, you aim to find it again—in all of it, you hope he feels you thanking him. 

Lifting his head, he tugs your shirt up to watch your tits bounce along with you. Taking his palm over one, he says, “Fuck—miss when these were all full of milk. All heavy for me...” His thumb rolls a pert nipple. Shuddering around a chill, your chest jumps against his hand.  

Rather than controlled drags up and down his cock, you devolve into frantic rutting hips and whines. Each roll—back, forth, and in messy circles—nudges his twitching cock right up against that weak spot. Flame rolls in your belly and your thighs.  

When you’d been pregnant, your tits had swollen up to produce milk, and they’d never gone back down. Maybe a bit, but never back to what they’d been before pregnancy. Soobin loved it. Not that he hadn’t been content with your breasts before, but you think it was more that he was fascinated that it was him who did that to you. That he had filled you with his cum, and got you round and pregnant. When you’d first started leaking, it wasn’t even you who’d realized. You had been stood in the kitchen with a flimsy grey shirt tugged over your body. When you looked up to see what your husband was up to, his eyes were all glazed over and heavy on your chest, where your shirt had gone dark and wet around your nipples. Before you could hurry off with reddened cheeks to change, he’d pinned you against the counter by the hips to suckle the mess up himself. 

“Baby,” he says, voice coming from his throat a hoarse plead, “Beautiful, please, can you give me something for Christmas? Just one thing?” 

Hair on your neck damp, you nod frantically. Around his waist, your thighs twitch with exertion and each blazing brush of his cockhead against your gummy walls. You’d give him anything; you’d already grown two children for him. 

“You—gonna let me put another in you? Can I please get you all pregnant again?” he grits out, his hair falling out from its styling and over his rose-dusted cheeks. He looks at you heavy-lidded.  

Your cunt squeezes him, an answer before you can even form the words. It does a number on you, the way he says it. Because really, you do think that to Soobin, the greatest gift you could give him is to carry his children and to just continue to love him. It’s no different for you; you want nothing more. “Yes, please... I’ll give you as many as...you want, please, just...” 

The entirety of your pleading is not even out of your mouth before he’s pressing a strong arm across your back and laying you under him. The cushions accept your back lovingly. 

Soobin takes a moment to situate you two. He drags you down by the hips, closer to him, tugs your shirt fully off to let it flutter to the floor elsewhere, tugging his own off in the same fashion, and he pushes your mess of hair out of your face so that he can better see you. And then, melding the bare, warmed skin of your soft chest to his own hard one, he rolls his cock up into you. 

It’s slow and tender, like promises of love baked into each grind. He makes love to you in the form of open-mouthed kisses and puffs of breath fanning out over your skin when a deeper thrust has both of you shaken-limbed. In your ears, hot, he whispers filthy nothings. 

“Gonna knock my pretty girl up again,” he pants. “Want—you to go around wearing me, big and round. My wife. You look so pretty pregnant... Fuck..” The skin of his chest brushes up against your hardened nipple each time he fucks himself up to you, his hands everywhere as he can’t find where he wants to hold you most. Eventually, he settles on linking his fingers with yours above your head with one hand, and the other splayed over your belly. Right where your belly might be swollen, were you pregnant once more. “Right here... can’t wait—h-oh, shit. Do you want that, baby? Want to give me another?” 

Chest and belly tight, you can only manage a squeak and a nod. Through bleary eyes, you take in his face. The soft and masculine angles of his cheeks and jaw, his sweet brown eyes, his pinched brows... and all you feel is safe. Safe in his arms, safe in his love. His body cages you against the cushion, slung over you and delivering languid strokes, but you don’t feel trapped. Not one bit. In his arms, you feel untouchable. Secure beyond a doubt. 

Nowhere else, with nobody else, would you rather build a family. 

“Soobin, please,” you whine, welcome tears prickling at the corners of your eyes like snowmelt. “Want it so bad... I want it so bad....” Wrapping your legs around his waist, digging your heels into his lower spine, you urge him deeper.  

“Okay,” he says. The smacking of your skin punctures the serene air as he picks up the pace. He lets his head fall into your shoulder, stunted breaths falling out as his belly tenses. “Okay, love. Gonna fuck you full of my cum, n’ keep it in there so I know it takes... shit, gonna give you my cum now, okay?” 

Face screwed up, you try and roll yourself to meet him, to chase the tightness in your own belly, but he’s got you. With a few more hot stripes of his tongue over your tits and over your neck, and a few frantic nudges right into that spot he’s so familiar with, you go still and then break into full-body shakes. You press your mouth into his shoulder to obscure the sharp, sweet cry that comes rushing out along with your orgasm, worried about waking your sleeping kids. Your thighs twitch and shudder around him, some deep and innate part of your brain taking over through the fog to make sure he cums well and right into you. Fingers and toes curling and splaying through it, you allow yourself to fully feel the sweetness his cock gifts you with.  

You don’t doubt that he’ll get you pregnant, cumming in you. Soobin’s seed is heavy and potent. He could knock you up whenever he pleased; the last two times he’d done it, you were surprised how easily it took. Your insides twist up around him harder. 

“Fuck,” he half growls, half whines. “Fuck, fuck... Love you, baby... Love you so much...” 

He holds you to the couch, fucking you into it as his heavy balls smack against your bottom. And then, spewing murmured expletives and taking your face into a big hand of his to press frantic kisses to your cheek, his hips stutter. 

As promised, he spills his cum right into you, right where he knows it’ll reach your womb and give you just what you want. It’s hot and thick against your gummy walls. He holds you through it, taking your hips in kneading hands to hold you still. When you think he’s done rolling his hips up into you to shoot more ribbons, he grinds harder.  

Soobin slumps over you, finally stilling. He does not pull out, nor unplug you, though. He wants to make sure his cum stays right where he wants it. His heart thunders a lovely song against your chest, and yours his. He runs long fingers through your hair mindlessly, the both of you basking in the slow fire as it burns through your veins and leaves you lazy. 

“Merry Christmas, baby,” he mumbles. 

Heart fuller, you hold him closer. “We have so much wrapping to do...” you mumble, trying to blink away your content sleepiness.  

He pushes himself off you just to say, “Don’t remind me.” His weight cradles you once more, running appreciative fingertips over your thighs as he says, “Just a little more.” 

Who are you to deny him that? You cherish the lines of his face, all soft in the yellowish glow of the tree’s light. Here, in his arms, you let yourself forget about that and anything else but the simple love buzzing in the air. 

“Just a little more,” you agree.  

ash: ZOOWEE MAMA!! soobin come over here, let’s recreate this for christmas! pls!

﹙🎁﹚ @hmusunoo , @izzyy-stuff , @beomiracles , @joycelyjjj , @sunoolver , @lvrs-street2mmorrow , @apeachty , @fandomtrashsblog , @bewitchless , @yezzns2 , @hhoneyhan , @ethystclove , @darkdayelixer , @calumcxke , @biteyoubiteme , @bamgeutsz , @soobabby , @little-shiny-starr , @bambammtori , @bunniebun-posted , @heeambi , @bunnisoobin , @hwanghyunjinismybae , @bakugosbottombitch , if your tag isn't working, check the mentions part of your settings!

[b1tterestbeachh]

never knew how much I wanted or needed to be soobins wife

[hoonstrology]

 SWEETER THAN REVENGE.  ✩  KSN.

childhood friend!sunoo × fem!reader.⠀⠀⠀ ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆⠀⠀⠀the plan: get back at your scum-of-the-earth cheating ex-boyfriend.⠀ the solution: get sunoo to help you make a steaming hot instagram story so your ex realizes what he lost.⠀ the goal was so simple — so how the hell did you end up fucking your best friend instead?

CONTAINS ➤ 11.1k words.   best friends to lovers. fluff. romance. yearner!sunoo & whipped!sunoo. slight angst. jealousy. profanity. mentions of drinking. implied bisexuality / queerness. (sunoo & reader.) pet names. (doll, babe, baby, and more.) three smau panels. ✮ mentions of enhypen's jungwon and jake, aespa's winter, and triple s' sohyun + oc seojun as reader's ex.

SMUT WARNING ➤ condescending–dom!sunoo & sub!reader. sunoo switches between soft!dom and mean!dom (trust me on this.) HUNG!SUNOO. p-in-v. unprotected sex (don't.) mild dubcon. heavy dirty talking. heavy marking. kissing & making out. sunoo's a munch and a pervert. praise kink + degradation kink. dacryphilia. orgasm control. subspace. heavy humiliation kink. dumbification. heavy tit play. heavy nipple play. angry sex, kind of. multiple orgasms. slight brat x brat tamer dynamics. possessive language and behavior. recording during sex. dry humping. pussy job. fingering & oral. (f–rec.)

NOW PLAYING ➤ all to myself – future, metro boomin ▸ dark red – steve lacy ▸ do i wanna know – arctic monkeys ▸ all mine – brent faiyaz ▸ sweat – zayn

   𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧  ⊹ ࣪ ˖ 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 ♡

the sadness from the break up had burnt out days ago. in it's wake, all that's left is pettiness and the pure, unadulterated hell fire of a woman scorned.

is that a bit dramatic considering you and your ex, seojun, had only been dating for three months? perhaps.

but the sick feeling you have deep in your gut from when you read those incriminating texts and watched those disgusting amateur sex tapes they filmed still kept you up at night.

you weren't mad because you wished to get back together with him—god, no. you were mad because who does he think he is to be cheating on you of all people?

you're hot. that's the reputation you've unintentionally created for yourself.

you're popular, easy on the eyes, and so charming that you're universally wanted but still unattainable to most people who tried.

your looks or level of sex appeal couldn't shield you from the fucked up way a person can decide to betray you out of nowhere. you knew that. but you'd least expected it to come from your ex because... he was seojun.

and it's an open secret within the student body that he's the guy who pursued you with the stubbornness of a crack addict hammering at the doorstep of his plug just for a single gram.

he kept pushing his luck—waiting for you outside classes, getting you treats you never asked for, and pathetically following on your tail no matter where you went.

you turned him down every single time.

you have a reputation to uphold: the popular girl who wouldn't be caught dead getting tied down to one person's bed, man or woman.

you're too young, too hot, and the confines of a committed relationship was something you couldn't ever see yourself being put into.

still, he convinced you that your time and energy wouldn't be wasted if you just gave him one chance. just a single one.

so when you gave him your sweet yes, seojun was nothing less than elated.

because who wouldn't be?what mentally sane person wouldn't be over the moon if they were be able strut into university grounds with you in their arms like a shiny, lip-gloss wearing badge of honor?

and you don't mean to be transactional. in your most vulnerable, a large part of you can admit that you felt genuine adoration for the guy — but if he was staining your reputation and boosting his own for being able to bag someone as untameable as you, then he should be somehow capable of keeping you satiated, right?

wrong.

night after night, you sat with the misery of your previously thrilling and colorful sex life turning more bland by the second.

little to no foreplay, unending doggy positions, and the act of pulling out your ol' reliable rose toy to fulfill your own needs once seojun finished became an unwanted habit.

as if that wasn't enough consequence to your stupid choices, you also had to deal with your inner circle of friends trying to placate you with the cursed phrase: "as long as he makes you happy."

but that was the issue, wasn't it? you weren't happy. not with his lackluster efforts in the romance department, and certainly not in his subpar performance in bed.

him having the audaciousness to fuck another woman was just the cherry on top.

that's why you decided to call for back up in the form of kim sunoo.

sunoo has been a constant in your life. though your friendship was forged by coincidence, it was strengthened by the passage of time.

growing up with his house beside yours, you figured the only reason he stuck around was because he didn't really have a choice but to associate himself with the chaotic ball of evil next-door.

you clearly remember him hiding behind his father's legs when your parents greeted each other the day you moved in to the house beside theirs. he was elusive during shared dinners and neighborhood barbecues, too. but your eagerness and consistency was able to slowly melt him down until he eventually stopped dodging your attempts to be closer.

he's been by your side since then.

he was there with you through the horrendous bowl cut you had at 6, the awkward growing-into-your-body puberty phase at 13, the college acceptance letters at 18, and several of your post-break up bitch fits like the one you had just a day ago.

he's helpful, always gave solid advice that sometimes feels a little too pointed, but you know it's all said out of love. the kind of friend who'd question you, but ride along anyway.

sunoo's perched on your bed, back rested against the headboard. tiktok audios blast from his phone, serving as a backdrop while you spend the next fifteen minutes scrolling through pinterest.

you needed inspiration for the hottest, steamiest picture to post — something so saliva-inducing that it would have your ex knocking frantically at your door and falling down on his knees and earnestly begging for you to take him back. and seojun, none the wiser, would be rejected with a few less-than-savory insults and a door slammed to his face.

oh, you could already taste how sweet that revenge would be.

"babe… you're seriously creeping me out. i know you're mad at your ex, but don't tell me he's driven you that crazy." sunoo mumbled with eyes still glued to his phone.

he doesn't need to see you pacing around your room. he just knows you are. and if his intuition served him right, he'd also guess that you also had your freshly-done nail between your teeth, biting on it to keep your temper at bay.

between the cringe-inducing motivational quotes and the ever inescapable clickbaity ads scattered across the pins, you were beginning to lose patience and had half a mind to reply something snarky back at him when you come across the photo.

a below the neck shot of a woman with splotches of hickeys scattered all over her neck and chest, fingers pulling down the fabric of her shirt until it revealed more marks that disappear behind her hands.

it's everything you envisioned and more.

it's perfect. it's sexy. it's tastefully raunchy. it existed in the gray space of being suggestive, but not quite reaching the line of desperate. (because god forbid your ex gets that impression.)

all of a sudden, your morale is charged back up to a hundred.

sunoo's doomscrolling is interrupted once again when you slip your phone in between his face and his own phone, smile so bright and jolly it's almost unbelievable that just got broken up with.

"sunoo! is this the photo or what?"

he takes a glance at the photo, gives your covered decolletage a quick scan, and returns his eyes to the next video his algorithm serves him.

"looks good, babe." he mutters, disinterested. "i'm soooo sure he'll come running back if he sees you pull your shirt down when he's already fucked another girl behind your back for a month."

the sarcasm in his voice goes straight over your head. "right? he'll be soooooo pissed!"

you run to the full body mirror in the corner of your room, tugging at the neckline of your shirt. "so about the hickeys. i'm gonna need you to make one here, a few by my jaw and neck, and then… hmmm, maybe a couple of dark ones on my left tit? like right about here—"

sunoo pauses his scrolling again, one of his well-groomed eyebrows rising. he was convinced he misheard you. weren't you only after the pose in that darned photo?

"a couple of what?"

"hickeys! i just knooooow he's going to be pissed if he sees i fucked around this quick after i broke up with his sorry ass. he doesn't have to know it's you, though. or maybe he can—remember he was so pressed about us being friends? yeah, that'll piss him off even more. but about the hickeys, i was thinking you could—"

"i'm not going to do that." he says flatly.

you slowly turn your head, eyes already throwing daggers his way. "well i can't fucking reach my own neck, can i? so you're going to have to do it."

"actually, i don't have to do anything."

"but sunoo!" you whine, moving on the spot beside him with pouted lips. "you said you'd help me."

"i said i'd help because i thought all i had to do was take a few photos of you in a sexy pose, not because i wanted to cosplay a vampire. i mean—sucking hickeys on your neck? that's ridiculous!"

"babe, come onnnnn," you plead, tugging on his hand. "it doesn't have to be weird! it'll be just like that one night during freshman year."

sunoo immediately cringes, expression contorting at the fresh wave of memories that your words bring.

that night was certainly... something.

two years ago, back before you moved to your fancy, off-campus flat, you snuck sunoo over to your dorm room after hours with a bottle of bottom shelf vodka in hand. you threw back one full shot glass after the other until you both end up tipsy and snuggled on your twin bed.

you stared at the bottle that was still halfway full sitting in the corner of your dorm room, the alcohol running through your veins pushing you to confess that you've never had the opportunity to give (or get) a hickey.

sunoo, careless and giggly from intoxication, admitted he had no experience in the matter either.

all of a sudden, you moved from being in his arms to being on top of him, straddling his lying body with eyes burning in determination as you convinced him that you could do it to one another.

you marketed it as something to aid your inexperience — it would boost your sexual knowledge so you wouldn't look like losers going into hook-ups and situationships and whatever messy relationships the first year of college offered.

he choked out a flustered "okay," not knowing the same experiment would be used against him years after by the same girl.

he pinches the bridge of his nose, letting out a quiet sigh. "do i really have to do it?"

you pause, shoulders slumped down at his defeated tone. dread washes over sunoo when you poke your tongue to your cheek because he knew what this meant.

a brand new wave of your bitch fit is rolling in.

"you know what? i'm not going to force you if you don't want to help a friend in need." you grab your phone, grumbling more complaints under your breath.

"doll, you know i didn't mean it that way.."

your nails make loud clicking noises as you aggressively tap on the screen, scoffing through your nose while you scroll through the familiar names on your roster. "guess i'll just call jungwon, then. or jake. or winter, or sohyun—fuck!—whoever fucking answers first! 'm sure they'd be more of a willing participant anyway."

sunoo's jaw tightens at your fuck buddies' names. something difficult and unnameable clawed at his throat, begging to be vocalized but he swallows all of it down and reaches for your wrist instead.

"don't do that, doll."

"so are you going to do it instead?"

his hold tightens as the scowl on your face curl into a giddy smile.

"i knew you'd give in."

"hurry up and change into a different shirt before i change my mind."

you slip out of your bathroom wearing a velvet top just like the photo you found: classy crimson red color, off the shoulder neckline, form fitting at the waist, but loose enough around your chest for you to tug it down and expose the marks.

you walk over to sunoo with an extra pep to your step, giving him a single twirl. "how does this one look?"

sunoo's eyes travel to your face, to the clean, unmarred skin of your neck, and then lower down to where his eyes usually end up getting stuck on: your tits.

the shirt did wonders for your figure, and it's not his fault that the fabric had a special way of catching the light and emphasizing your breasts' perkiness so well — it's all normal and involuntary, really.

but the heat rising up to his cheeks and the guilt slamming at his conscience are proof that he couldn't convince himself it normal.

he knows he shouldn't be getting half-hard just from your pretty pair's silhouette and he knows he shouldn't be ogling at them so carelessly, but at the end of the day, sunoo was only a man—the kind who would fail the gentleman's challenge of looking away from temptation.

thankfully, you're too focused on yourself to catch him in the act.

"it looks good on you." sunoo swings his legs over the edge of the bed, sitting in his usual manspread before patting his thigh. "c'mere, babe."

you'd been in this position more times than you can count, so you sit down atop of him without hesitation, knees sinking into the soft mattress as you make yourself comfortable on his lap.

one of your hands rest on his shoulder and the other pushes your hair to one side. "you ready?"

"only if you are."

"alright. let's see how much you've improved since freshman year." you jab, grinning with that familiar glint of evil in your eyes.

confidence pours out of him as he leans in until the tip of his nose brushes along the column of your neck. "you don't know what you're asking for, doll."

the sudden closeness makes you shiver, goosebumps rising on your skin when you grow aware of how warm he is pressed against you. has he always been this broad? this firm?

you swear you didn't mean to gulp so loudly, but you did. and you knew he heard it because you could feel his shit-eating grin against your neck.

his lips brush against your pulse as he spoke. "nervous? don't tell me you're backing out now."

"what're you trying to imply? shut up and get to work." you bite back, further bratty remarks silenced by the press of his soft lips against your skin.

sunoo takes his time trying to find a spot that would deliver equal pleasure to you and insult to your ex. he presses open mouthed kisses along the side of your neck, and once he found a spot he liked, he didn't hold back.

he licks and nips into a patch of skin, muffling a groan against you as the whisper of soap and vanilla from your body mist hits his tongue. it's so sweet, familiar, and undeniably you.

you let out soft sighs, one of your hands scraping upwards until his jet black strands were tangled in your fingers.

he leans back on occasion to assess whether it was colored deeply enough for his liking. if it was, he'd move on to the next spot and if it wasn't, he'd go back in harder, hungrier.

"a–ah… sunoo," you whimper after an especially harsh bite. "can't you be more gentle?"

"do you want me to do my job properly or not?" he huffs and lets his teeth scrape against your jugular, almost as if to teach you a lesson.

you don't understand why he's suddenly so eager to be a participant in your vengeful side-quest, but sunoo knew damn well that the silence was doing. it was giving him the perfect opportunity to settle with the annoyance he's been trying to set aside for so long.

a deep-seated irritation, both from the fact that you were willing to go this far to prove your worth to your ex—who had already left you broken hearted and done it with another woman—and the fact that you essentially fooled him into being a tool to achieve that goal.

he quietly redirected that anger through increased roughness of his bites, disregarding if it brought you discomfort. you wanted to get your revenge on your ex, so in his own little way, he was getting his revenge on you too.

but the more marks he left, the more irate he got.

he pulls back, gracefully wiping the shine off of his plump lips. "you want me to put a few on your tits too, right?"

despite the ugly emotions brewing inside him, sunoo looked like composure incarnate.

you, in stark comparison, were a mess: lower lip caught between your teeth, face all flushed and reddish, eyes unable to meet his.

"y–yeah.. just a couple on the left one."

"well i'm not gonna be able to do that with your shirt in the way."

"shirt… ha, right," you force out a chuckle. "can you, like, look away for a quick second?"

he's confused but he follows your strange request anyway. you take that chance to pull your shirt over your head, and the belated regret of not wearing a bra hits you.

you fight through it, slipping your hands back up until you're cupping your bare chest, swallowing down a whimper when your palm presses flat against your pebbled nipples.

"you can look now..." you mutter, feeling blood rush to your cheeks.

it's odd to suddenly feel shy when sunoo has seen you in more awful situations.

he's once picked you up from a bar, wasted and sniffling like a madwoman with mascara-stained undereyes after one margarita too many. he was a witness to your swollen eyes and tissue-stuffed nostrils when you got sick.

hell, he even hung out with you when you were clad in just panties and a flimsy sports bra, nipples poking through the thin fabric, all sweaty and lethargic because your landlord took too long to fix your broken ac in the middle of an intense heatwave.

you've been more naked with sunoo.

and yet you've never felt more exposed until now.

it's not a matter of the amount of clothing. it's likely the way he's behaving—the dark tinge of hunger in his eyes triggering your prey tendencies to hide, to run, even when he isn't actually doing anything yet.

he doesn't speak, doesn't move. he just looks at the flesh spilling behind your hands and the pretty crimson marks blooming above it like his personal artwork.

"stop squirming." he commands in that low, raspy voice. the way your body quickly follows his orders is an embarrassment in itself.

he anchors you on top of him again and presses his lips on the spot just above the dip of your cleavage. slow and gentle, almost reverential in the way he lets his lips sink into the softness of your chest.

compared to your neck, the softness of his mouth feels even more devastating here. senses heightened by the pressure of his mouth sucking into the upper curve of your tits, warm and wet tongue licking the bruises he made like an apology.

each graze of his teeth sends warmth pooling between your spread thighs where your sorry excuse of cotton panties are most likely drenched and ruined already.

he shifts a little beneath you, spending a few seconds kissing around the mark he just made before he grunts in dissatisfaction at his inability to find the next suitable spot.

"take your hands off and let me hold them."

your heart drops. "w–what?"

"you heard me." he says, slowly lifts your fingers off to reveal more skin. there's almost a nonchalance in his tone, like he was only suggesting it to be more efficient. "i can hold 'em up, doll. i'd make better hickeys without your hands in the way."

you stare at sunoo, and he stares back at you.

you don't know what the simple act of revealing yourself topless to your best friend could entail. he has seen you almost naked, but this... it could completely change the way he viewed you. it could possibly ruin your friendship in it's entirety.

in hindsight, these were possibilities you should've considered before you persuaded him to help recreate that photo. but with several marks already tainting your skin, you deem it useless to fight his suggestion.

you begrudgingly let go and look to the side in shame.

you feel the hands on your hips slowly travel upwards, tracing the curve of your hips, up to the dip of your waist before he fully cups your tits. the warmth of his palms pressed against your ribs is too hard to ignore.

even with your eyes glued to the swaying curtains of your room, you could feel the intensity of sunoo's dark gaze piercing through your fully exposed torso. you could feel his breathing turn heavy as he inhales slow like he's dragging out the moment.

your tits are... perfect. they're smooth, perky, and feels the right amount of heavy in his hands—just as beautiful as sunoo imagined.

"didn't know how pretty these are, baby." he leans back in to brush his lips along your jaw, voice having that signature teasing lilt. "are they as sensitive as i think?"

the question is followed with a gentle squeeze, to which you respond with a high pitched whimper.

"huh.. guess they are. didn't realize there were still new things i can discover about you, baby." he gives you a cocksure grin, unable to resist jiggling them in his hold.

the bravery in your tone as you snap at him is fueled by a mix of impatience and humiliation. "j–just shut your trap, sunoo. are you going to mark me or are you going to keep yapping my ear off?"

"now, now, sweet girl. that's no way to talk to someone when they're cupping your tits—not when you're this reactive to it." he clicks his tongue, hands closing in around your breasts in a rough grope.

he runs his thumbs over your stiff nipples and the friction of his fingers going back and forth against the peaks has you stammering and squeaking at the same time.

"shit, sunoo..o—oh my god, wait, don't!"

your protest falls on deaf ears. in usual sunoo fashion, he does simply as he pleases. he stares at your chest, almost hypnotized, while he tweaks and pulls and pinches, uncaring for the pathetic little noises you made.

then, seemingly remembering the task at hand, he resumes his full hold, pushing your pretty pair up and together. he lets his lips brush against the drip between your breast, the lack of obstruction giving him the freedom to carelessly press kisses all over the smooth skin.

"so pretty... and so fucking soft. god, they're perfect."

his warm breath fans over your pebbled nipples and you have to purse your lips to hold back the mewls threatening to rush out. he's shamelessly kneading and squeezing, obsessed with how tender they feel in his hands while his mouth persists on leaving more marks, making the obscene sounds of slurping and lip smacking bounce against the walls.

you try to endure but you're too flustered to keep being this close to him when your body feels like it's wrecked and burning a thousand degrees.

"sun, that's more than enough for the photo—nngh… stop!"

sunoo leans away with an unamused expression. he stares at the purple and red splotches littered from your neck down to your soft mounds with his jaw clenched tight.

were they not proof that you allowed him to touch you? taste you? were your moans not evidence that he made you feel good? so why do you keep telling him to stop?

and above all else, why do keep insisting that this is still for that stupid fucking photo?

"stop? are you really telling me to stop?"

"y–yes!"

the chuckle he lets out sounds hollow. just as you believed he was granting you mercy by pulling away, he only did it put your desperation on display.

his hand leaves one of your tits unattended in pursuit of holding on the back of your head, slender fingers finding enough grip against your hair to guide you to look down.

there, on the very big and very obvious bulge he sported, was a dark patch of wetness that stained his grey sweats. a mark that you've left behind.

"shouldn't i be the one telling you that?"

oh, god.

you've been humping him.

you've been humping your best friend and you weren't even aware you were doing it.

your eyes widen. "i— i wasn't… i didn't—"

"didn't what? didn't mean to say stop, or didn't mean to slut yourself out on top of me like a needy whore?" he laughs meanly, tightening his hold on your hair.

the mean insults make you choke on your words and the pain on scalp is adding to it, spiraling you further into a humiliation-fueled arousal.

"n–no! i swear i—"

"what is it, doll? you were basically showing how much you wanted my cock, and you only want us to stop now?" he throws one rhetorical question after another, emphasizing his last word with a thumb cruelly pressed down on your stiff, aching nipple.

you let out a shattered sob, body instinctively arching towards him and causing even more pressure on where you were already feeling the most sensitive.

"f–fuck—nnh—sun, please. p–please!"

"please what, doll?"

please let go. please squeeze me harder. please fuck me. please stop. please keep touching me.

you don't know what you're begging for anymore.

the low timbre of sunoo's voice and the unbearable stickiness between your thighs and the sensation of his groomed fingernail scraping against the tip of your nipple was driving you into a lustful craze and further fogging up your mind.

"tell me, pretty. c'mon. use your big girl words and tell me what you want."

his thumb rests on your lower lip and presses on the dampness of it. not pushing in, just resting while he admired how ruined you look—skin glistening in sweat, cheeks deeply tinted, teary waterline making glitters as they reflect the dull warm light of your bedside lamp.

you look beautiful.

if he knew this was all it took to get a view of you like this, he would have probably risked your friendship a long long time ago.

"oh, my pretty doll. you can't even talk, can you? so desperate for cock you'd resort to humping me while i make your poor nipples swell up..." he's relentless with his taunts, knowing it was riling you up even more.

you could physically feel the gush of wetness leak from your hole simultaneous to sunoo pushing his thumb inside your mouth. it presses on the dip of your tongue and he's mesmerized at the sight of you accepting it wholly with eyes fluttered shut.

you suck on it with hollowed cheeks, tongue rubbing on the pad of his finger and it gets his painfully hard cock twitching inside his sweats. he wants nothing more than to push your head down and get your warm mouth sucking on something better.

"you're lucky i know you so well, baby. it's all you've been thinking about, right? me filling up that pretty little pussy of yours."

"mmmm–mhm..." you nod desperately with his finger still in your mouth and your pretty tits bounce along, almost putting sunoo in a trance again.

he pulls out his thumb with a wet pop, the same saliva-slick finger rolling around your nipple. the cool air of the room to bites on the sensitive buds but sunoo replaces it with his own mouth, desperate to give himself a proper taste.

he pulls gratification from how full your tits feel, from the noticeable tenseness in your muscle each time he purposefully pinches your stiff bud between his teeth, and how easily his tongue disappears into their softness.

most of all, he's proud of the sounds you make as he plays with your plush tits as much as he desired. the sighs of relief, your hitched breaths and moans, no matter how hard you tried to bite them back, were all laid out in the open and they made it impossible for sunoo to keep holding onto his patience.

"fuck, can't keep blue balling myself like this," he effortlessly flips you on your back until you're trapped between him and the bed, growling. "i need everything off. now."

you don't need to be told more. you make quick work of your shorts and panties, kicking it down your legs until your warm, sticky center is fully exposed while sunoo rids himself of his shirt.

you're eager to help him too. guided by the warning look in his eyes, you hook your fingers and tug down, not knowing you'd get a jaw-dropping surprise.

you already suspected sunoo had the cock to match his big-dick-energy.

the softness of his features made him an easy target for less than playful jabs—the size of his cock being the punchline of a joke more often than not. yet sunoo would just shrug and agree with that self-reassured smirk that told you he was more than pleased with the amount he was blessed with.

and it was a given that he knew how to put it to good use because he's narrated several horror stories of hook-ups desperately running back to him, begging to get another taste of the seemingly endless pleasure he could offer.

and maybe you've also let your mind trail off, wondering just how big your best friend's cock really is on nights when you were especially deprived of an orgasm. but you'd smack yourself out of that dangerous train of thought before ever reaching a conclusion.

yet no amount of speculation could have prepared you for what you're seeing.

sunoo is… big. hell, maybe big isn't even the correct term.

hung. your best friend is fucking hung.

not only was it long, but now that it's free from the confines of his pants, it's clearly visible how thick and girthy he was, too. it's neatly shaven, smooth, had bulging veins that lead your eyes down to his tip that was flushed a deep pink color and glistening with pre-cum.

and his cock's so pretty—probably the prettiest one you've encountered amongst the ones you've seen online and the ones you've personally handled in real life.

your mouth waters and your pussy gushes both in worry and excitement.

"eyes up here, sweets." he teases, tipping your chin up so you'd look at his face. "you're staring so hard. if your jaw drops a little more, i'd assume you're inviting me to stick it inside that pretty mouth."

"n–no… you're too…" you trail off, unable to continue your sentence. "it's not going to fit..."

"don't worry your pretty little head about that, doll. we'll find a way. with how wet you are—" he slips his hand between your thighs, a corner of his lip tugging up at the dampness pressing against his palm. "—i don't think it's going to be much of a problem.. but i'd gladly prep my girl."

you're putty in his hands as he positions you to lay down in the middle of the bed, legs spread wide enough for him to settle in between.

he's back to being gentle, plump lips pressing frustrating featherlight kisses along your inner thighs when you're already there, already bare, and ready to be taken.

"you said that you wouldn't blue ball yourself... so why are you fucking teasing?" you grunt breathlessly in frustration, tugging on his hair.

sunoo looks at you through his lashes and his fox-like eyes look even more hypnotizing from this angle. the way he maintains eye contact as he drags his tongue to lick along the sides of your puffy lips is downright nasty.

he lets out a sigh that sounded more like it was made out of pity for you. "because you're sopping wet, baby. so messy and eager. i wanted to savor the moment a little more, but if you're so eager…"

a menacing smirk graces his lips as he braces his arms underneath your thighs. and without any more words, he buries his face right in.

the hunger he's been staving off crashes down all at once, leaving what little doubt you had for sunoo's sexual prowess to dissolve into thin air.

his mouth lays flat against your folds, lapping stripes up and down your pussy with deathly coordination. he alternates between prodding his tongue into your hole, and stroking it upwards to rub the tip against your swollen clit, eagerly flicking at the pudgy bundle of nerves.

he muffles moans against your cunt and the subtle vibrations of his mouth feel like shockwaves with how pent up and sex-deprived you are, making you whimper even louder.

"oh, fuckfuckfuck—nnngh, sunoo!"

he tightens his grip to keep you from squirming, your unashamed noises encouraging him to continue exploring the cunt he'd spent a mortifying amount of time fantasizing about. (again, you may be his best friend, but he was also just a man.)

his warm tongue pushes in and out of your hole, wanting more of the nectar only you could offer. and once his greed was satisfied half-way, he pushes two fingers inside to keep it occupied.

"shit, you're so tight… 'nd so fucking sweet. could get fucking addicted to how you taste, doll." he whispers, voice fraying at the ends.

he could spend hours between your legs just devouring you, that's how far gone he is.

his plump lips find your clit again and his fingers pump in such quick rhythm that your juices splatter, staining his chin and knuckles.

you already felt like you were on cloud nine, body floating in the air, and the obscene, slurping noises that bounced off the walls from everything that he was doing only added to that delirium.

"sunoo… fuck, your mouth's so good!" you hiccup with eyes fluttered shut from bliss, the overwhelming sensation making your back bow high while your hips roll against his mouth.

his cock jumps at the soft noises you make. you're so hot, so desperate that it was making him rut against the mattress for a semblance of friction.

"pretty fucking girl. can't believe you've been hiding this sweet little thing from me. and you're being so noisy, too.. can you hear that? hear how desperate you are, just sucking my fingers right in?"

sunoo wasn't really asking to get an answer. he was so intoxicated from the way you taste that he was just slurring compliments against your sopping pussy.

he pulls away with the lower half of his face covered and glistening with your arousal, hooded eyes zoned in on your fucked out expression. his thumb rubs your clit in tight circles before adding another finger inside, curling them inwards until each push and pull rubs on your sweet spot.

"fuck, sunoo... i—hnnnghh—sunoo!"

you're so dizzy that you couldn't muster announcing your incoming orgasm. you're just bucking your hips against his hands to meet his fingers halfway, profanities and his name leaving your swollen lips again and again.

sunoo brushes his arousal-covered lips against your inner thigh, humming proudly at the way your walls pulse and tighten around his fingers because he already knows.

"it's okay, doll. cum for me. show me how good you feel fucking yourself on my fingers."

"fuck... s–sun!"

you're gasping for air, throwing your head back against the silken pillows—then your jaw goes slack while the rest of your muscles grow taut as the euphoric feeling takes over your entire body.

sunoo continues to whisper soft reassurances against your skin as he slows down his speed and presses gentle kisses on your pulsing clit to slowly guide you down from the height of your mind-blowing orgasm.

then, he braces an arm beside your head, one hand on your jaw to get you to look at him through the hazy filter of your blissful tears.

he kisses the corner of your mouth, an act that feels far too intimate despite his mouth being glued to your pussy just mere moments ago.

"shhhh, you did so well, baby. 'm so proud of my girl. did that feel good, mm?"

you can't reply anything comprehensible. just soft sounds that resemble a vague agreement which was somehow an even better answer.

he starts kissing lower and lower down your skin, following the purple-colored trail marks he left until his lips encase your nipple again. his tongue swirls around, flicking against the sensitive and swollen buds while cum stained fingers roll the other in between them, pulling more breathy noises of protest out of you.

"sunoo, wait—i.. i just came. i can't go again—nngh, s–stop."

sunoo reaches to get a hold of his cock, running the thick head of it up and down your slit until the mix of your arousals are leaking down to the bedsheet before presses his shaft down with a thumb until the underside of it is flat against your core.

"you say you want me to stop," a mixture between a sigh and a laugh escapes his lips at the filthy sight of your pussy lips struggling to wrap around his thickness. "yet here you are... staying still and leaking all over my cock while i use you to give myself a pussy job."

he's purely relying on your bare cunt for friction. sharp jolts of overstimulation shoots through your spine each time the long, veiny shaft drags on your swollen bud as sunoo continues thrusting into the air.

you don't spit it out verbally, but desperation is oozing out of you. you're gazing at him with pleading eyes, lower lip trembling with any coherent thought slipping from your mind the harder he presses his tip to your sensitive clit.

sunoo coos, reveling at the overwhelmed tears pooling at your waterline. "my poor little girl's such a cry baby. there's nothing to be shy about. i know you want it, so just say it. say yes and i'll give you your fill."

"yes. y–yes!"

he doesn't wait for you to question yourself why you answered him so quickly nor does he allow you to process what its consequences would be. he just whispers a satisfied "good girl," before angling his hips lower to push into you.

even after spreading you open with his fingers, your walls were still clamping down, unfamiliar to the feeling of wrapping around something this big.

"you're so fucking tight, shit." he hisses, expression crumpling.

"mmh.. b–big.. 's so big," the words come out as both a compliment and a complaint.

you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer, face grimaced in discomfort while tears roll from your eyes as sunoo pushes even more of himself inside you.

he pauses after seeing your sewn brows, kissing in between it. then his lips move to your cheeks, your ear, the side of your head.

he isn't really aiming, isn't really thinking.

he's just focused on distracting himself from the tight grip of your walls because he knows if he lets his body take over, it would want to take more and that would definitely hurt you.

"mmm, i know it is, baby. take deep breaths for me, okay? you're being such a good girl, taking my cock so so well.. just a few more and you'll feel so much better, baby. i'll make sure of it. can you let me make you feel good, hmm?"

you nod fervently at his promise and sunoo kisses the corner of your mouth as a reply. barely a brush of actual lip-to-lip contact.

in your daze, your eyes end up getting drawn to his lips. how plump and dewy they look.

sunoo's face is so close to yours now. barely an inch away. it would be so easy to kiss him. just a tilt of your head would close that short distance. you feel your lips already jutting out at the thought.

but a kiss—despite everything else you're doing, and have done so far—would be the most sacrilegious thing to want right now. like an act that would cross the line.

the conflict in your mind is interrupted, unable to be dwelled upon because he's pushing himself inside again and the sting shooting throughout your lower half grounds you back to the situation at hand.

"sunoo… you're—hnn, i don't.. i c–can't take more.." you drawl out, shaking your head.

"sshhh. you can, baby. i know you can. we're already so close, just.. ah—" his own brows furrowed as he looks down at where your bodies are almost connected. "—just hold on for a bit, mmkay?"

he offsets the pain by giving your tits gentle squeezes and showering you with sincere praises. "you're being so good f'me. my prettiest. 'm so proud of my favorite fucking girl.. taking so much of me already."

the amount of self-control it's taking him to be gentle with you is reflected in the tightness of his jaw as he slowly pushes the rest of his length inside, now fully nested within your snug walls.

"doll, f–fuck—you feel so good around me.. shit, you're suffocating my cock."

sunoo is damn near about to lose his mind.

you're so warm and so incredibly tight and you look so beautiful with tears in yours eyes.

he has prided himself, not only on his huge cock, but also on his impressive stamina—but right now he's spiraling, trying to think of his roommate's dirty socks, report deadlines, a sad k-drama, things that would keep him from cumming on the spot and they're barely doing the job.

"too much... 's too much, too full—!!" you cry out, walls spasming around him because they're unused to being stretched to this extent.

the reasonable part in your head is screaming "too much! too much!" and yet the deeply insatiable part of it is whispering poison in your ear, telling you want more—need more.

"shhh, 'ts okay. stay with me, baby." he whispers, tip of his nose nudging your cheek to pull you out of your short reverie. you make a broken sound to acknowledge him to which he smiles, kissing the corner of your lips again like a newly-developed habit.

the hand on your chest moves down to rub your clit in circles, lips travelling upwards to your ear to nibble at the shell of it until your soft sobs are replaced with needy mewls.

"that's right. let me take control, baby. i'll fuck all that pain away, make you feel good until you cream around my cock. you'd love that, wouldn't you?"

"y–yes, sun... wanna feel good, wan' more, please." you move your hips as best you can in blind search of more friction, cheeks flaring up when you hear the faint sound of his chuckle.

sunoo began thrusting shallowly, only pulling out a couple inches at most and gently pushing in again, considerate enough to ease you into it. when you're truly lax enough, whispering breathy pleads for more he finds a steady rhythm and starts to rock his hips.

"you're so tight, baby. s–so warm. don't go quiet on me now, mm? let me know how good i'm making you feel."

"yes, sunoo—hnnn!—it's so so good. please don't stop, baby," you give his arms encouraging squeezes and sunoo pretends his hips didn't stutter from the sudden pet name.

"i know, needy thing.. it's okay. i won't stop," his mouth trails lower once more because he seemingly can't stop himself from gravitating towards your chest.

he groans from deep within his throat and you could feel him start to move more recklessly the more he let himself slip further into his tit-drunken honest ramblings.

"mmh, i couldn't stop fucking you even if i wanted to. you're so beautiful. especially these tits—god, i love your tits s'much, baby. you don't know how insane they drive me. been wanting to see 'em so bad, you know that? you wore that top i bought you to the function last week and—ah, f–fuck—you know what i did the moment i got home?"

"mmm.. what—?"

"i fucking jerked off to the picture we took. your tits just looked so pretty," he confesses. the bluntness of his words, the way he bares out his desire and neediness for you, combined with the speed at which he's driving his throbbing cock inside is making your body tremble.

"you make me fucking pathetic, doll. got me cumming on my phone screen within minutes like a fucking teenager. shit, you piss me the fuck off."

like a switch, the anger sunoo has been holding onto comes back the moment he remembers why he's even fucking you. it's evident in the way he bites down on your nipple and in the cruel way his cock presses in so deep you swear you feel the head of it is prodding your cervix.

sunoo fixes his posture, tightens his grips on your hips until his knuckles turn white from the way he digs down your skin. now with leverage, he vents out all harbored irritation he has for you and your ex in quick, harsh thrusts.

"putting your body on display for my eyes like that and asking me of all people to help you in your evil little scheme few days after—but now... look at you. moaning like a slut under me, getting dumb for my cock. you're just as pathetic as i am."

it's supposed to be punishment, but it doesn't really feel like one when all it does is push you closer to the brink of another orgasm, your mind so hazy that your words come out slurred and almost incoherent.

"no—hnngh—n–no, 'm not!"

"really?" he's cocky now, a dangerous glint in his eyes when he pulls hips back far enough and slams it inside in one smooth push.

your eyelids screw shut, brows sewn together, mouth forming into a small o as his cock literally knocks air out of you. "oh my god—!!"

"all that effort for revenge just to end up like this... you are pathetic, baby," he chuckles, driving into your harder. "and all your facade of being the girl on top? the girl in power? down the fucking drain, because you do like being used—you love getting used by me. no toys, no ex, no lame fuck buddy could compare to your best friend's cock."

he threw that title to shame you for wanting him so obviously. from getting wet from his words, his mouth, his touch, his cock. not your ex's or your lame fuck buddies'—his.

and it's working.

he knows the shame is eating at you, turning you needier and hungrier. and he knows you're drunk on his cock so uses this newfound weapon against you—abruptly stopping with it still deeply inside.

"go ahead… admit it, doll." he gives you a condescending nod. a movement that says he isn't going to move until you could swallow down your pride.

you couldn't hold back a frustrated cry. your nails dig at his back in frustration, acrylic clawing into his smooth and fair skin as you pull him down until his face is barely meeting yours.

"don't you dare do this now, sunoo. stop teasing me and just fucking put it back in!"

the seriousness in your glared eyes causes a humorless chuckle to leave his lips.

"ah, you were so good for me just a while ago. what happened to my sweet girl? you know being a demanding brat doesn't work on me—it may have worked on the little fucktoys you have on your roster, but not on me."

a slow and filthy shlick sound echoes from between your bodies as he deliberately pulls himself out.

he watches with predatory hunger as you squirm and hopelessly grind your hips against the air, unused to the absence of his thick cock spreading you open.

"you either say it properly, or you don't get it at all."

"w–wait, no.." you squeeze his shoulders, looking up at him with pleading eyes. heat and shame and need flares up all over your body while he looks at you with a cruel smirk. "i want to... fuck, what do you want me to say?"

sunoo's free hand reaches up to hold your jaw. his eyes stare into yours and you know by the firmness of his grip that he has enough patience to keep dragging out this torturous game.

"you already know what you want, doll. you just have to say it. say you love being used. say you love my cock. matter of fact, if you want it so bad... then fucking beg for it."

you nibble down on your lower lip, heart sinking at his command before finally echoing out his words with a defeated tone.

"i love… being used by you. and i want your cock to fill me up again…"

"mmm, i couldn't hear you, baby. there's not much begging from what i heard either." he prods with a fake sigh, pushing his cock back inside your gummy walls again but not fucking you with more than the tip just to see how much you'd break.

your jaw is clenched, hips moving in desperate rolls and yet it wasn't enough to satisfy you—not after feeling him entirely. pride and reputation fully compromised, you finally sob out.

"please, sunoo!" you cry, pleading. "i want your cock.. i love it and i love being used by you so please use me however you want! just—just need you to make me cum. need you to make me take it, please!"

sunoo's heart swells at the desperation in your voice, ego boosted far beyond what he could've believed.

"would you look at that? my best friend, the university's resident vixen, actually begging like a good girl." he coos with faux-sympathy before ramming inside you in a single thrust.

he doesn't let you adjust to it anymore—if you were begging for it so loudly, he'd let you take every single merciless slam he gives.

his long cock drags against your slippery walls, getting you empty only to fill you whole again, the strength of his hips snapping into you making your body rock forward each time.

"oh my gosh, sunoo—yes! you're so deep inside me, fuck, please don't stop!" you chant his name in dragged out mewls, loud and unashamed.

the blacks of his eyes drown out the amber, pupils dilated at the sight of your restless hands pushing and kneading your bouncing tits together while your fingers roll the stiff buds around in quick circles—something he's only ever fantasized in the privacy of his own mind, now made true right before him.

"that's right, baby… keep playing with your tits f'me. give me a show." he rasps, voice thick with satisfaction.

like a reward, he hooks your legs to his shoulders and leans forward to where each slam of his cock would brush against the special spot that had you seeing pure white.

"sunoo—nngh, please... there! just like that... more! h–harder, please!"

he clicks his tongue against his teeth in pretend disdain, but he's beyond pleased at how vocal you are. "greedy girl, already taking a lot and still wanting more... maybe this is what you should send him, hmm? i bet he'd get the message loud and clear when he sees how good you're being for me, all pliant and dumb and needy for my cock."

the memory of your ex doesn't even sting, doesn't make you feel anything. there's no room for it when you feel so good, and so overwhelmingly full.

all you could focus on is sunoo, how handsome and sharp he looks when he's this possessive. sweat rolling down his toned torso, faint line of his abs showing each time he bottoms out, the dull shine on his lips that's making it look much more delectable than it ever has.

you're intoxicated from the pure bliss of his length hitting all the right spots that you let go of all inhibitions. you don't care anymore. you grab sunoo's shoulders and slur out, "k–kiss.. i wan' kiss, baby..."

his expression softens, thrusts faltering briefly as your breaths mingle in that narrow space between your lips. you look into his eyes, catching lust and something deeper you can't pinpoint before he finally seals your lips together.

you hold on his nape, keeping him close while he bites on your lower lip gently to make you part your lips, giving his tongue the opportunity to lick and swirl around your wet cavern.

it feels so easy to melt into it, having achieved what you've been fantasizing about since feeling his mouth on your skin.

the intimacy of the position, the feeling of his fingers brushing up your forearm so he could take your hands and pin it beside your head, the sound of skin slapping mixed with the intermittent gasps for air both of you take before going back to the messy kiss—it's all adding to the tight coil deep down your abdomen.

sunoo's fingers laces through yours and he pulls back slowly. "fuck, doll, y–you—" his words are interrupted by a hiss, eyes moving to look at the way his cock disappears into you. "feel so fucking good, shit—you're taking my cock like a good girl."

you feel so fuzzy, so lightheaded and sunoo's voice is the only thing keeping you from floating out of your body.

"y–your good girl," you nod your head, squeezing on your interlocked palms to gain his attention back, lips already pouted. "i'm yours, 'm yours! so keep making me take it and keep kissing me, please.."

you're begging so prettily, pushing all the right buttons to get his heart fluttering that sunoo has no other choice but to give in even if he knows it'll be the end of him to taste your lips like that again.

you let him muffle your noises, swallowing down all the high pitched whines and moans. he moves his hips faster, harder, despite the tender way his lips move against yours.

"my good girl's so pretty.. tight pussy's so good at taking me like it wants me to mold it to the shape of my cock." his voice is gravel-like when he whispers praises after pulling away.

your legs subconsciously wrap around his hips in fear that he'd pull the rug under you again. you tighten you legs around him, keeping him as close as possible when the pressure in your tummy begins burning too hot.

"sunoo, i'm gonna... please.. please! 's too much.. i'm—i'm going to cum!"

the whispers of his name turn into cries, only smothered when you bite down into his shoulder. sunoo lets out a pained groan, yet does nothing to move from you. instead, he drives into your faster, ruthlessly pushing you towards your peak.

he whispers sweetly, "i know, baby. fuck, i'm close too—let go and cum again f'me, pretty. make a mess on this cock, yeah?"

his voice unravels you, your second orgasm of the night coming down on your helpless body in a violent crash.

your muscles lock up as you coat his cock in your cum, eyes rolling to the back of your head, plump lips that were still shiny from the spit you shared parting to take heavy breaths.

the sight of you looking so fucked out snips at whatever thread of restraint he has left.

sunoo couldn't think, couldn't control himself from pushing into you again. he kept grunting under his breath, hips pistoning in and out of your pulsing hole, determined to chase after his own release.

"so pretty… so fucking beautiful.."

he hurriedly pulls himself out, scooting closer to you with fingers tightly coiled around his length in a pathetic attempt to imitate the warmth and tightness of your walls.

"fuck... shit—you look so fucking pretty, baby. i'm gonna mark you up, cum on your tits and make you all fucking mine."

the way he fucks his fist makes a filthy fapfapfap sound echo out. his thighs are clenching from the delicious burn of friction and his hips lose their pace.

your name finally comes out of his lips in a shaky growl as his cum spurts out in thick, translucent ropes across your heaving chest.

sunoo takes a mental image of that obscene view, keeping an eternal copy in the back of his mind before blindly reaching for his shirt so he could wipe off the mess he made.

after a while, you feel him slump down beside you, taking heavy breaths, completely and utterly spent.

you make your move to scoot closer to him, back pressed to his chest, curling into the open arms he's prepared for you.

his arms coil around your waist like a habit, sharp nose pressed on your nape with a palm splayed on your tummy. warm, familiar, and homey.

a smile graces his lips as he gets a waft of your hair's scent—citrus and berry.

"you're using the shampoo."

"what?"

"the shampoo i got you from the farmer's market last month. you said it's gross because you don't want to walk around smelling like pastry, but you're using it."

"it grew on me, i guess."

"it grew back on you." sunoo clarifies, hooking his chin over your shoulder with a gentle smile. "remember when we were fourteen and you asked my sister the recipe for her lemon blueberry cupcakes?"

heat rushes to your cheeks at the memory but you brush it off, turning around to face him. "that's such an obscure memory pull, sunoo."

he keeps his hold on you, fingers pressing on the small of your back. he shrugged, leaning forward to press his nose on your hairline, making a dramatic sniff to tease.

"it's what i remembered when i bought it for you—all i'm saying is i'm glad you're using it."

the action causes his lips to brush against your forehead and it reminds you of the kiss—that kiss. the way you begged for it, and the way he indulged your fantasy without hesitation.

the loud, insistent thought to kiss him again fills your mind. and like telepathy, he's pressing a kiss on your forehead, another to your cheek, then another to the corner of your mouth.

but just before you think he's about to kiss your lips... he pauses.

your breath hitches and you look so small, so confused. a part of his heart cramps up when you stare at him with such soft, hopeful eyes.

anticipation and fear both come as a single force, pushing him to press his lips on yours.

this isn't messy like the ones you did ago—no tongue, no moaning, no whispers of filth in between.

there's something much more innocent and clean in the way he's kissing you this time.

your heart flutters, warmth thrumming under your skin as your mind and body comes to an unshakeable conclusion: in comparison to the kisses you've shared with every fleeting hook-up and every romantic figure in your life, only this kiss—the one you're sharing with your best friend—feels right.

you part from each other, breathless and equally pink in the face.

he looks into your eyes with same, charged intensity like before. except this time, it makes him look unreadable. all of a sudden, dread settles in your stomach. heavy and suffocating.

what does this mean?

the fucking, the making out, and the possessive words sprinkled in between his body claiming yours—you believe it could all be somehow excused as things done in the heat of the moment.

but when all of it is said and done, and you're both naked under your blanket, limbs tangled together, looking at each other after sharing something that feels much more pure and intimate than anything either of you had ever done before...

fuck.

what does this mean?

what does all of this mean?

sunoo breaks through your overthinking with a confession.

"i want you. i think... i've wanted you, this, a long long while ago."

you stare at him, wide eyed, heart slamming against your chest. in utter disbelief, you ask him, "w–what? sunoo, what do you mean—"

he pauses, his eyes widening like he's also surprised of the truth that just left his his lips. he persists, nonetheless.

"i mean sometimes i look at you and don't know what to do with myself. sometimes... you walk around me in tiny shorts and the tightest fucking tops and i can't function because all i can think about is bending you over and making you scream my name, but above all that ape-brain bullshit of wanting to fuck you silly—i get pissed,"

his eyes screw shut and he pulls you in with a hand gently cradling the back of your head. he guides you to press your face to his chest so you wouldn't be a witness to the pain of his suppressed feelings violently getting torn out of him, one confession after the next.

"i get pissed and offended on your behalf.. when other people don't treat you right. even at their best, you deserve more than what they could do. and i've gaslit myself into thinking i only feel so strongly about your feelings and your well-being because i'm your friend. your best friend. and we've been at each others side since god knows when—"

he takes a deep breath in and hugs you tighter, sighing softly.

"but marking you up... and kissing you and making you feel good and calling you mine... it all felt too good. too right. i can't deny it anymore, doll. i.. i've wanted you all to myself for so long and now that i got a taste of it, i don't think i can keep lying to myself anymore. or to you."

the air that still reeked of sex turns heavy while you stare at one another.

there's a long pause, the previous noise now thinned out into an almost ear-splitting silence.

sunoo sobers up from his own confession, pulls back, and cradles your cheeks, stroking the skin gently with his thumb with worry written all over his face.

"talk to me, baby. i can't do this... you know i don't like it when you get in your head. let me in there, mm?"

instead of answering him, your first instinct is to press your palm over his chest, right where you feel the almost violent drumming of his heart.

"would.." you purse your lips, murmuring softly. "would things between us change if i admit i want you too?"

sunoo shakes his head, unable to fight the soft, genuine smile tugging on his lips. "not if you don't want it to."

"can i still watch movies sitting your lap?"

"mhm."

"and it won't be weird if i ask for kisses every now and then?"

"nope." he answers, making a popping sound with his lips. "i'd prefer it if you asked for more, actually."

your blush deepens, but you pry further. "and i could still go to you for a hundred and one percent honest advice if i'm not sure about my outfit?"

"only if you'll let me fuck you in it when it looks too good."

you gasp, smacking his chest with a giggle. "sunoo!"

he laughs heartily, forcing your violent hands to wrap around him instead. "i'm only half-joking, baby. you know you always get what you want anyway."

"damn right i do." you slump in his hold, snuggling closer against him when the whole revenge plan pops up in your mind. "oh.. um..."

"yes, doll?"

"should i still take a photo? you know, for the.. thing."

a devious smirk tugs on sunoo's lips but he hides it by burying his face in your hair. "you don't need to worry about that right now, baby. i'll take care of it like i always do. go to sleep, mm?"

"mmkay.."

"i love you, doll." he tenderly whispered against your forehead.

you bite back a smile, pulling him closer. "i love you too, baby."

sunoo was a different animal now that he's been promoted from being a best friend to a not-quite-boyfriend-yet lover.

you were tended to, treated like a princess and treated you like something a little less than one in bed when he figured out you loved getting humiliated quite a bit more than you led on.

he fed you, made you laugh, took pictures of you, and made you take pictures together.

for memories, he said.

you nodded, not suspecting anything at all.

he was cuter, more clingy and needy and so eager to get you focused on him that he didn't allow you to look at your phone, not even once.

so just spent the entire day together as usual.

and now, sunoo's already snoring behind you, arms wrapped around your waist, nose pressed into your shoulder after yet another stellar performance between your thighs.

your phone rang like it's reminded you of its existence. you reach for it slowly as to not disturb your lover, confused at the texts from your friends, all congratulating you for finally settling with the guy who's been there all along.

you realized it was due to sunoo and the instagram story he mentioned you in—the same picture he made you take. it was a cute and possessive photo, far better than what you had planned to show off your ex.

the reminder of him startles you.

you're so in love, so strung on the high of breaking free from the friend zone that in pursuit of making more space for memories with sunoo, your brain had pushed any vicious feeling you had towards seojun and the plot you brewed against him out of your mind.

but now that you've reminded yourself of him, you oddly feel... nothing.

you tap on your screen to go to your conversation with seojun.

you weren't going to do anything malicious. you just wanted to read through your final conversation again and confirm that you didn't have any leftover anger or desire to prove your worth.

you expected to see your hate-filled texts, but instead, you got the messages sunoo sent to him on your behalf.

seojun still wanted you, still cared enough to barrage you with questions and clear it out with a talk. you thought you'd feel something because he got mad.

instead, you felt nothing at all.

the only reason for the wicked smile on your lips was because you adored how cruel sunoo gets when he's possessive, going as far as giving your ex proof of your relationship in the form of your breathless moans while sunoo fucked your brain numb for the second time.

filthy, hot, possessive, and completely yours.

getting back at your ex was what you initially planned for, but getting fucked (and confessed to) by your best friend was what you got instead—and that's probably most fulfilling outcome you could have ever imagined.

because, yeah.

happiness really is sweeter than revenge.

FROM YAN 🐰 ➤ this birthday fic is for my favorite boy, my husband, and the absolute love of my life kim sunoo. happy birthday, my love. ♡ + peep the angel number word count? yeah, that's sunoo sending me his love n approval !! >< and um.. i kinda went insane on this, if u can't tell by the tags.. i also had to revise a few scenes but i'm pretty happy with how it turned out hehe. this is also for the kim sunoo luvbots nation WE ON THE UP UPPPSSSS !!! + my special sunshine, my sunoo-loving twin, bini sol: if ur out there reeding this, this is also for you. imy and ily. < 3

PERMANENT TAGLIST  ➤  @mariegibeau @kristynaaah @ikeukiss @zerocoded @alex-is-sleeping @ntxs1 @angelhyuka @tsukheeshima @clxssy1997 @cripplinghooman @xoxo-seraphine @jakeycakeys @neozon3nha @jakeycakeys @vmpiricou @ja4hyvn @luv4dani @nightcat101 @wonkiipiilled @boundlesselixirflux @cokewithcameron @taesungx @aerrdeicall @meikstv @justpassingdontworry @firstclassjaylee

© hoonstrology 2026. please don't translate, plagiarize, steal, or repost any of my works across any platform.

[heepill]

ARE WE FUCKING SEEING THIS OH MY FUCKING GOD I’M CREAMING

[silkangelkisses]

[hoonstrology]

ERROR 404: WORD LIMIT REACHED.  ✩ PSH.

"i promise myself, while drinking a glass of water in the morning, to tell you. i'll confess what has been on the tip of my tongue tomorrow. you are pretty." — pretty u by seventeen.

PAIRING ➤ park sunghoon x fem!reader.

SYNOPSIS ➤ he wouldn't necessarily call himself talkative. sunghoon is just a normal college boy with normal hobbies and interests, so of course he likes talking about those, and he especially likes talking about you— but talking to you? it's an entirely different challenge. and he knows he has to man up and speak up before you get sick of his silence.

CONTAINS ➤ 18.3k words.⠀⠀college!au, classmates!au, slow burn-ish, strangers to lovers, lowkey loser!sunghoon, romance, very fluffy, light angst, but a whole lot more comfort, a bit of jealousy, sunghoon is a stupid dumb idiot lover boy. ✮ featuring: enhypen's 02z + heeseung, ive's gaeul and liz, and seventeen's jeonghan. WARNINGS ➤ suggestive content, making out, swearing, pet names, alcohol consumption, parties, brief mentions of blood, unintentional self injury, poor attempts at humor, sunghoon is kind of emotionally constipated but in a good way. sunghoon's taller than reader. lmk if i missed anything!

  MASTERLIST.  ┆ EPILOGUE SERIES.

꒰ from ! 🐰 yan ꒱⠀⠀my first written work !! i normally write smaus so writing a full oneshot has been daunting. this is my literal brain child so i hope you guys love it as much as i do. send feedback via asks/replies !! (pls be nice) ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡

  𝘳𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨.ᐟ  ⊹ ࣪ ˖ 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥♡

TODAY MARKED THE FIRST DAY OF YOUR FOUR YEARS IN COLLEGE. you walked past your university’s gates, chin tipped up and proud with a book held close to your chest, thin silver glasses framing your face, and a smile that you spent an entire hour practicing in the mirror yesterday. 

you wore the best outfit you could, but not in a trying-hard overdressed kind of way — just enough effort to make you memorable. you wanted to make a good impression, after all.

if you could look lost enough, maybe a senior would notice you. maybe he’d ask for your schedule, walk you to class, make light gossip about the professors you have and in a few years, he’d propose to you in the same spot by the gates, and you’d say "i do," and live a happy married lif—

clank!

you get snapped out of your sweet little daydream as pain shoots through your shoulder, down your left arm.

“fuck,” you whisper, head snapping up to shoot a frustrated glare at the thick pole in front as if it’s the one who bumped into you.

the impact was hard enough to have your book and glasses falling to the floor with a thud, and definitely hard enough to leave a bruise tomorrow because even merely moving your arm makes you wince.

thankfully, the area was mostly empty, which meant your dream of being a college cool girl was still in play, save for a tall guy just a foot beside you.

shit. 

he’s already kneeling down to pick your things up and before you could even bend over to help, he just looks up and gestures to you to stay still by pointing to your outfit.

“skirt,” is all he says, his voice deep and quiet.

you’d normally blush at the gentlemanly gesture but instead, you do it out of pure embarrassment. 

god, this wasn’t the meet-cute you imagined. 

he hands you back your book and your glasses, freshly wiped of dirt from the hem of his faded black hoodie. you slip it on your face again and bow your head out of shame, stepping aside to escape this nightmare of an embarrassment, but before you could even attempt to, he tugs on the sleeve of your cardigan, showing you his open palm like he's telling you to stop.

and against your better judgement, you do. 

the stranger slips one of his backpack’s straps off his shoulder, fishing a box out of it and begins scribbling away with a pen cap trapped between his teeth.

you take this time to look at him — really look at him.

tall, lean physique, sharp features, fair skin. he wore a pair of black thick-rimmed glasses that framed his kind-looking eyes really well. he’s stylish, no question about that.

painfully handsome, too.

the pen is closed with a faint click and he slips it back into his hoodie’s pocket and you take that as a sign to stop checking him out lest you embarrass yourself further.

his lips purse into a straight line and his thick eyebrows furrow closer as he gives the box an intense stare, the soft eyes from a while ago turning more serious and stressed as it turns to you, back to the box, and back to you again.

the suffocating silence is shattered by two men shouting from a distance, the shorter one of them comically jumping and waving his hands in the air. he turns to look at the source of the noise and lets out a small grunt, handing you the box and before jogging away without another word.

you stand there, dumbstruck, watching the three boys interact for a while before turning on your heels, slipping the box between your chest and the book. 

that was odd. 

you walk to class with a sore shoulder and cheeks that still feel warm from the whole ordeal. upon finding your room, new faces give you polite smiles or nods of acknowledgement and you do the same. once you're seated and settled, you put the book down on top of your desk.

the forgotten box falls on your lap, urging you to take a closer look at it. 

menthol pain relief patches. 

you flip the box around and you're greeted by a pastel yellow post-it note stuck on the back.

“for your shoulder. please be careful next time.” 

he probably thinks you're a loser with no depth perception—and he wouldn't be wrong for thinking that—but it doesn't stop your cheeks from heating up for the nth time this morning.

you convince yourself it's okay. that your university is big, and you surely you won't meet him again. the fact disappoints you a little bit, yes, but at least you're saved from having to face him after what happened.

you press your fingers against your forehead in stress.

first day in and you’ve already made a fool of yourself in front of a man. not just any man but a handsome one. a very important distinction. 

developing a crush feels on him feels pathetic. he just gave you muscle relief patches, an act of kindness that was just a little bit above the bare minimum. and he only said one word to you, for gods’ sake.

but you’ve never been one to think logically, so while your lecture starts, your head starts drifting off and it’s already incorporating the good-looking, tall stranger in your romantic fantasies.

as it turns out, the man in your dreams wouldn’t be a senior, nor would he be gossiping with you about your professors.

instead, you’d be sharing them. 

during your third class of the day, the handsome stranger walks in the lecture hall with his two friends in tow and you immediately recognize him because of the glasses. his hands are stuffed into his hoodie as he settles on a seat a couple of rows in front of you, still as intimidating as he looked like when he gave you the box.

you learned of his name when the professor called him to read a passage in the book. 

park sunghoon. 

you think it’s a pretty name—fitting for a pretty boy like him.

sunghoon’s voice was steady while he read, smoothly pronouncing every word, clearing his throat after a mistake and resuming with the same composure. the speed at which he spoke was just right, slow enough to enunciate every syllable but not too much to bore whoever chose to listen.

"mr. park, care to share your thoughts on what you just read?"

sunghoon only stood straighter, his natural confidence in his voice making you swoon in your seat.

“i don't believe the fable's moral lesson to necessarily be applicable in real life where businesses and industries have become fast-paced. should the readers need to have a takeaway, they should focus on what the hare lacked: humility. his over-confidence is the ultimate reason for his downfall, being a creature that has already been given natural talent and an advantage on the terrain—” 

and just like that, your small happy crush turned into full-blown attraction. his voice? his eloquence? damn. it’s like he’s trying—and succeeding—to make you want him.

you wish you had sat in front so you could look at him more. you could only imagine how stern he’d look, how his thick brows would meet together making him look even more gorgeous when he’s focused.

but for now, you could settle for the view of his back while trying your best to listen to your professor, and not to the voice that suspiciously resembles sunghoon's playing in a constant loop inside your head. 

he’s in the rest of your classes today too, which makes the task of focusing twice as hard. you feel like a creep with the way your eyes naturally gravitate to him every time you hear his voice, or when you see a tiny bit of movement from the corner of your eye. 

so when it’s almost time to go home, you do the most un-creepy thing you can think of: wait outside the door. 

one student after the another, they all step out one by one.

then he finally walks out, laughing at something his friend said before freezing mid-sentence as he catches sight of you standing with a familiar box laid out on your palm.

he looked surprised for a moment, before gripping on the single strap hanging on his shoulder, shifting uncomfortably before raising a brow like he was waiting for you to speak. 

“oh! i, uh– i already put some on my shoulder and on my arm a while ago. there’s too much in the pack and i figured i could give it back to you since i don’t really have any use for it.” you explain, pushing it towards him.

one of his friends gasps at the sight, quickly throwing a punch to sunghoon’s shoulder which he receives with a quiet hiss.

“what the fuck, hoon? i was looking for that! you know i have try-outs later!” the boy shouts, his australian accent thick and evident as he snatches the pack from your palm. “tch, can’t believe you lied to me.”

sunghoon gives him a cold stare, taking the patches away again before whispering something to the other boy which resulted in the rowdy blond getting dragged away by his collar.

he flipped the box over once, twice, and raised an eyebrow, seeming to notice that the post-it note was not there anymore.

“is this what you’re looking for?” taking the neatly folded paper from your pocket, you place it on top of the box. “i'm sorry for taking it. i thought it was for me. unless you also have other friends who regularly bump into poles while actively daydreaming and you actually meant to give that to someone els—” 

sunghoon cuts you off with his index finger pressed on his own lips. he gives both back to you before flashing you a small smile, one that causes your poor little heart to thump faster.

“for you. keep it.” his words are clipped but you can feel the kindness behind them. 

say something, anything, to keep the conversation going. 

you hold your hand out. “i’m Y/N, by the way.”

"i know. i'm sunghoon.” he murmurs, looking at the hand extended towards him before shaking it.

you sense the slight hesitation but the contact makes you giddy nonetheless. It’s as sweet as it is short lived because sunghoon quickly lets go, hands returning to the safety of his hoodie’s pocket. 

“huh? how’d you know? i don’t remember the professor calling me. wait—did he take attendance? shit, i forgot to say present—” 

the chuckle he lets out is low and breathy, making the words halt in your mouth. sunghoon shakes his head and his eyes do a quick scan of you before pointing to the small sticker that reads 'yoon Y/N's!' on the book you've been holding.

"oh."

another beat of awkward silence.

“uh.. what’s your schedule?” you ask with a kind smile, following aunghoon as he starts walking towards your building's exit and you try not to dwell on how he started walking slower, at the perfect pace for you to keep up with his long strides. 

he fishes for his phone to show you the picture and you do the same, eyes looking at your screen then his.

“we share most classes! all the ones in the afternoon.” you smile victoriously, and sunghoon releases another quiet chuckle, nodding along.

before you know it, you’ve reached the gate where his friends are waiting. he pauses, squinting his eyes at the duo who suddenly stopped talking to look between you and him, teasing grins plastered on their faces which just made sunghoon rub his temple.

“oh? who is this? a new friend?” the black-haired friend asks, a smirk on his lips while raising an eyebrow at sunghoon. 

“Y/N.” sunghoon says, pointing to you. “jake.” he points to the blonde boy with an aussie accent, before turning to the tanner friend with a jawline so sharp you’re convinced you’d need more than menthol patches if you touched it. “jay.” 

sunghoon must have told them about what happened this morning because they looked at you, eyes scanning you up and down with a flash of amusement, maybe surprise, showing in their eyes. 

“hi.” you give them a shy wave and they return it with a welcoming smile, their hands gently shaking yours.

jake pulls sunghoon away, huddling on one side while whispering, their heads occasionally turning to you every now and then with synchronicity.

“what do you mean that’s her?”

“jake, pipe the fuck down!”

you turn to jay with raised eyebrows. “are they… talking about me?”

he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose like he's grown familiar to this scenario. “looks like it. please forgive jake, he’s normally more… discreet when he’s curious about someone.” 

yeah, there’s nothing discreet about jake pointing his finger at you with a wide smile. sunghoon, on the other hand, is insistent on pushing jake's hand down with a pretty pink flush on his cheeks, looking like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole. very cute.

“do you guys share all your classes?” 

“yeah, we share an apartment so we were together when we chose our classes.”

“so I'd take it that you guys are close?” 

jay gives you a nod, eyes fond while he looks at his best friends. “met in middle school. and we’ve unfortunately been inseparable since then.”

“that's cute. must be nice to have people you can rely on already. college is kinda scary.” 

“you have us!” jake whispers from beside you, making you scream in surprise at his sudden presence.

sunghoon shoots him a sharp glare, tugging on your cardigan for the second time today to pull you by his side. the golden retriever looking boy presses his palms together, whispering a small apology before handing you his phone.

“sunghoon told me you have afternoon classes with us! so you can give me your number and just reach us whenever. not to brag, but i’m the most popular in this trio. i'll text you whenever there’s a party. i'll getcha connected to people in no time.” he adds with a wink, pulling a laugh out of you.

“i think i’ll stick to texting you for home work.” you reply with a roll of your eyes, punching your number in jake’s phone nonetheless. 

a few more friendly words are exchanged before they wave you goodbye because jay and jake are going to your college’s basketball try-outs. sunghoon isn’t interested but is supposedly "required by law" to go because he’s their moral support.

you laugh and give both of them a fist bump for good luck before walking away, failing to catch sunghoon’s lingering stare as he watches your figure disappear.

that night, you buried yourself under your duvet, congratulating yourself for surviving your first day of freshman year and making three new friends on top of that.

just then, your phone vibrated.

💬 from: unknown number — this is sunghoon. :)

your friendship with park sunghoon slowly blossomed from that day onward. though your first meeting was full of chaos, the following months were anything but.

much like him, it was calm. respectful, even.

you would give each other a smile when you passed by one another in the mornings, he’d shoot you a text to let you know he reserved the seat next to him when you were running ten minutes late in the afternoon, or you'd remind him of tasks due the next day.

he even offered to accompany you to the university’s library when your friends weren't available, headphones on and only taking it off to tap on your shoulder when he notices you dozing off. 

one day, you asked him to grab lunch with you under the pretense of not having anyone to eat with, and then it became routine.

usually it would be just you and sunghoon, but the boys would tag along every now and then. he would be noisier during those lunches, and you relished it because that’s the only time you get to see him be so comfortable and rowdy. 

you pondered what the cause could be, and eventually landed on a theory during one of your sociology classes.

deindividuation, as your professor called it.

she said being part of a larger group can lead to a sense of reduced personal responsibility and accountability which then causes individuals to feel less inhibited and more likely to engage in behaviors they might not otherwise, including speaking loudly or interrupting.

she basically described sunghoon to a perfect T. 

because your friendship with him is quiet. his half of the friendship, to be specific.

you mostly got to know him through mere observation: his habits, things he enjoyed and things he disliked. if you didn’t discover things yourself, his friends would be the one offering sunghoon's information to you.

like when jay told you he has a younger sister he adored, or when jake told you that he once wanted to go to antarctica, a dream that he left behind after he took an interest in photography. 

if you were to type out every word he's said to you for the entirety of your friendship in a continuous line, you’d probably be able to fill four pages of a document in arial 11. maybe five.

if you remember correctly, his longest running sentence is “please walk on the inside part of the sidewalk next time, angel—it’s dangerous.” 

a yet-to-be defeated record of fourteen words. it was also the first time he called you by a pet name and it had you screaming into your pillow as soon as you got home. 

initially, you thought it’d be better to converse with him through text. and it was an improvement, yes–but only by a few notches. you’d be able to make twenty pages with the words he said through the phone, but there were still days where he’d just reply with one word.

or a single emoji. 

but Sunghoon isn’t nonchalant. far from it, actually.

he laughs at your jokes, even giggles when it's done to his type of humor. if he sees you stressing out during a pop quiz, he’d slyly push his paper towards you to let you copy his answers. and he already knows to take his sweater off and hand it to you before history class because the heater doesn’t work well in that classroom. 

almost always, he’d walk out of the classroom with his bag slung on one of his shoulders and yours on the other with the finesse of someone who's used to being reliable.

you’ve never had to open your own water bottles or push through doors either because sunghoon would be the one doing it for you. all of that while wearing a proud smile.

and barely any noise.

when you ask him questions, he’d either hum to affirm, shake his head no, or shrug if he didn’t know the answer. if he’s the one asking you questions, he just gesture with his hands or fingers to get his message across.

one morning when you went to class in a new hairstyle, he pointed to it with raised brows. “ah, just wanted to try something new.” you explained. his reply was a smile and a measly thumbs up.

all that to say, he's an acts-of-service rather than a words-of-affirmation type of guy.

you always try to fill that awful silence between the both of you with endless rambles, and like the reliable person he is, he always listens with a hum here and there to let you know that he was still following your story about how your neighbor scared you shitless by trying to open your door in the middle of the night.

"—he shook the knob so hard i had to call an emergency locksmith. it’s literally the second time he did that this week! and he doesn’t even have the decency to pay me back for the fee!”

by the end your tirade, you’re slumped over the café’s table, cheeks squished flat on the smooth surface. he just chuckles and taps on your head with a finger and you raise it slightly. sunghoon places a sheet of tissue down and leans back, allowing you to press your face against the table again, but hygienically this time around.

“you care for my skin more than i do.” you grumble, blowing the stray hairs away from your face. 

he does it like it’s routine. because it is. 

the first time you did it, he shook his head in slight disappointment. “you’ll get acne.” he said, voice flat while pointing to his cheeks.

so after months of it happening, he learned to always have tissues in his bag just in case you decided you wanted to have another ranting session.

a few minutes pass and you hear him groan before reaching over to show you his watch. two thirty-seven PM.

“man. fuck history class.” you sigh, starting to pack up your things whereas sunghoon's already a few steps past the cafe door.

“hoonie! wait for me!” you whine, running to catch up and he pauses, looking at you over his shoulder.

he only resumes his strides when he hears the familiar taps of your footstep beside him, making him smile to himself as he shoves his hands in his pocket, walking back to class with the cold autumn wind that pushed leaves of gold and orange past his feet. 

this is what he does.

if he wanted to go somewhere, he’d guide you to the destination by walking instead of telling. sometimes, because you moved at the pace of a snail, he would need to tug on your shirt or on the end of your jacket to help you keep up.

he never actually touches you. not intentionally. the usual skinship he’d initiate is a tap on your shoulder, or on the back of your hand. if he was feeling extra touchy, the most he’d give is an affectionate pat to your head. 

if you remember correctly, that has only happened seven times so far.

there was also that one time he touched your cheeks for a brief moment, but you don’t think that counts because he only did it to push your head away when jake jokingly leaned towards you with a kissy face. 

“sunghoon!” 

two heads turn around to see heeseung, a sophomore, approaching with a basketball pinned between his hand and hip. he’s a good friend of jake and jay's, and by association, sunghoon’s.

“mind if i take him away for a bit?” heeseung asks you, the usual charming smile on his face as he taps on sunghoon’s shoulder. you nod and shoo them away, but not without sunghoon pointing to an empty bench first.

you head over there, one leg crossed over the other as you observe the bright smile on sunghoon’s face. words like “girls” and “after party” are thrown, and you already know it has something to do with the boys’ basketball match this weekend. 

but their words translate more like faint buzzing because you’re too busy dwelling on the way sunghoon interacts with heeseung.

it’s something that has been bothering you for a good while—the way he becomes much more animated when he talks to someone. the way sentences don’t sound strained leaving his mouth.

it’s like everyone has access to a button that activates talkative sunghoon. everyone else but you. 

the theory of deindividuation didn’t apply to him anymore. and maybe it never did.

sunghoon wasn’t technically popular, no. he was still an introvert who preferred staying on the sidelines but from what you’ve seen, anyone who was brave enough to go up to him and make friends, he accepted without protest.

weren’t you already friends with him? so why can’t he be like that with you?

your mind reels back to the time you caught him talking to a senior on the way to your next class. they were having a conversation about the cameras he liked and his history with photography, and it made you wonder for a second whether he had an identical twin his friends forgot to tell you about.

you could hear the childlike fascination as he talked, voice practically dripping with enthusiasm. so when you asked him about cameras later that same day and all you got was a simple 'i like them', it simply broke your heart.

you've spent days thinking about why he couldn’t open up to you the same way he did with others.

you’d scroll through your texts with Sunghoon and it's always polite. always curt. always “how’s your weekend?” but when you ask him the same question, he’d reply with “just okay,” before turning the conversation to something about you again.

maybe he wasn’t interested in you. not in that way, at least. because why would he? he, who would make people stare whenever you walked the hallways together. he, who made every student in class stop whatever they were doing just to listen to him whenever he recited.

he, who hugged acquaintances yet can’t seem to stand the thought of his hand grazing yours.

it made you overthink whether you truly were a friend to him or just another overzealous classmate forcing your unwanted presence.

you don’t even realize you’ve started tearing up until you see sunghoon kneeling in front of you, eyes full of worry as he looks into your glassy ones.

“angel? w–what’s wrong?” he asks, a hand reaching up but he bites his lips and brings it back down to his side. 

you turn your head to the side and force out a laugh. “where’s heeseung?”

“he left. tell me what’s wrong.” sunghoon places a hand on your knee. he doesn’t need to tell you how uncomfortable it was, because you could tell from his strained expression alone that initiating that simple touch burned him.

“it’s nothing. just… some dust got into my eyes.” you rub your eyes with your curled fist, exaggerating a few blinks before you gently push his hand off your knee.

not even a second passes and you already miss the warmth of his touch. it's pathetic.

“there. it’s gone now.” you hum, pulling him up by his bag’s strap. “let’s go? mr. shin will kill us if we’re late.”

he looks like he wants to say something but he doesn’t.

he never does.

instead, he strips off his white hoodie and hands it to you, looking at you with expectant eyes. he just stands there, your bag in his hand with the same expression until you relent and throw his hoodie over your head while rolling your eyes. 

you walk to your history class warm and smelling like a pleasant mix of sunghoon’s cologne and laundry detergent.

your exit plan hasn’t even started yet and you’re already failing. 

three weeks. 

three cruel and agonizing weeks of sunghoon missing your presence. 

he thinks it started that weekend. like heeseung suggested, he texted you an invite to the frat party to celebrate the boys’ win. He never really got a reply but he did see you arrive safely which put him a little more at ease. 

you greeted him with a breathtaking smile and the same little wave he started looking forward to receiving everyday—his biggest motivator to attend and do well in class despite the hell that it is.

you wore a short ivory white dress, blessing him with far more skin than he usually saw within the confines of yours classrooms, your hair done up to show the smooth curves of your neck and the sharp angle of your shoulders.

all he could think about is dirtying your exposed skin with marks so the annoying boys in your class would get the hint to stay away from what's his, and he hated it.

you don't even know it, but you make something deeply covetous stir inside him.

you’re already beautiful in his eyes, but that night you truly looked like an angel, and he wanted nothing more than to kneel and follow you towards the light. 

jiwon and gaeul snapped him out of his trance by dragging you away to the other side of the house before he can even get a word in, and all sunghoon could do is pray that you don't leave with someone else.

the after party went on. drunk people leaning against the kitchen counter, a random couple sucking each others’ faces off on the recliner by the entrance, and jay crying “foul!” when he lost another round of beer pong. for the sixth time. 

sunghoon looked at his phone, brows almost meeting together as he stared at your conversation. still left on read, still no reply, but he decided to send you another one anyway. 

💬 to: angel y/n. — your dress looks nice. :)

“why’s my Y/N-ie not here?” jake approached him, red solo cup in hand. 

“first of all: she’s not yours. second: you’re already slurring your words, jaeyun. sober up before we get to the car, i beg. i don’t want my car to smell like vomit again.” sunghoon grunted, trying to push the boy off as jake leaned against him for support, face pressed on his shoulder while whining about how much he wanted to see you. 

sunghoon sneered. “why? you gonna try to kiss her again?”

“if it’ll annoy you. like it always does.” jake snaps back, a drunken smirk on his face. 

sunghoon rolled his eyes, taking jake’s cup and pushing him with enough force to make him land on the couch.

“you didn’t even get to kiss her sober. what makes you think your wasted ass can do it this time?” the laugh he let out is light, yet traced with a bit of venom. 

looking at jake all sprawled out on the couch and giggling like a man without a care in the world made sunghoon's frown deepen. even thinking about that memory makes him want to knock jake out.

but he knows his best friend’s teasing is only done to get a reaction out of him, to press on a particularly sensitive bruise—the bruise being his feelings for you. 

“hoon!” he turned, seeing jay from the kitchen pointing to a girl.

he approached them with ease, flashing the stranger a smile. “he’s my friend who wanted to get something done.” jay said, charming as ever, palm pointed to sunghoon. 

“this is the minha, the artist i told you about. let me know when you guys agree on something, yeah?” he pat both their backs and made his exit, probably to tend to jake who was wasted and still trying to dance.

the girl turned to him with a gasp, excitedly showing the jewelry on her hand and fingers. they talked about the bracelet he wanted to be made, noting colors he did and didn’t want to include, even passionately showing her reference pictures.

in the middle of his conversation, he raised his head to look for jay but caught you instead, unreadable eyes moving from him to his new-found friend. he took a step back from her and one towards you but you vehemently shook your head, raising a hand to make him stay in place.

you gave him a smile, one that looked a little forced, a little too disingenuous and foreign in a kind face like yours. you mouthed ‘i’m heading home', thumb pointing to the door before waving goodbye.

“wait. i— i’ll be back.” he says to minha, running and pushing his way through the crowd of bodies. when he stepped out of the front door, gaeul's car had already sped off, leaving nothing behind but a cloud of dust.

💬 to: angel y/n. — i didn’t get to say goodbye. :(

the three bubbles popped up on his screen. after a few minutes of watching it appear and disappear, you finally replied.

💬 from: angel y/n. — it’s okay, sunghoon. enjoy the party! 👍

and so ensued the twenty one days of sunghoon’s torture. 

the absence wasn’t loud. it wasn’t immediate. it was a gradual pull, like flowers in a vase slowly losing their petals and vibrant color to their unnatural environment.

you were gone, but not entirely. though a part of him thinks it would have been more merciful if you just left outright, because the moment he starts noticing things, it’s like he can’t stop.

it's the type of cruelty only you could do to him.

you didn’t sit beside him anymore, opting to return to your previous spot behind him during classes. no more loud cheering by his side when he attended the boys’ basketball practices after class. and just to rub salt to his open wound, you made gaeul and jiwon replace him in your usual lunch spot.

that was the final straw — the thing that let him knew he somehow, some way, truly fucked up.

now he can’t even use classes as an excuse to see you because of course, of course, it had to happen right before the holiday break. not only was there an emotional distance, but a physical one, too.

he can’t text you either—not without looking stupid or desperate. the last message he sent read “okay. good night, y/n.” which was a reply to your dry “i think i'll sleep, sunghoon. night! :)” 

no more lunches, no more affectionate reminders of homework deadlines, and no more nicknames.

things changed. and the shift, though unnoticeable to others, was strong enough for his best friends to speak up. 

“i swear to god if you sigh one more time, i’ll actually mix bleach in your coffee to put you out of whatever misery you’re in.” jay grunts, throwing the couch pillow to sunghoon, unfazed and still busy fiddling with his phone despite getting hit square on his arm.

jake takes a peek from behind the couch, a plate of their shared dinner in hand, laughing as he sees sunghoon pathetically typing and deleting different variations of 'how was your day?' into his phone without actually sending anything.

“is our Y/N-ie still not talking to you?” he teases, moving to the sit on the floor, right between his best friend’s legs. the nickname rolling off jake's tongue makes sunghoon's brow twitch in irritation.

“still? I thought they were okay? didn’t she visit us during a game?”

sunghoon’s head snaps up to look at jay. “she did?” 

they nod. “the one we did before break.” 

“without me?” he says this time, voice pitched up in disbelief. 

they give him another nod.

“said she just wanted to drop by and watch us. sat with a long-haired blonde guy.” jay mumbles, giving him a shrug. 

“yeah. he seemed awfully close to her if you ask me. arm around her and everything. i’m surprised they weren’t making out.” jake adds, making the other laugh as he creates horrible slurping sounds with arms wrapped around himself.

sunghoon takes the pillow from earlier and smashes it across the side of jake’s head. “you’re disgusting.” he huffs, storming to his room, feeling his heart drop lower and lower with each stomp of his feet.

he hears nothing but static, clouded eyes burning holes on the framed photo atop his bedside table: a candid shot he took using his favorite film camera of you laughing so brightly that your eyes turned into crescents.

the mere thought of someone else seeing you in that light has dinner rushing back out his mouth.

you’ve made peace with your friendship with Sunghoon.

you've long accepted that it won’t turn into anything more. at some point, you were able to tune out the girls that hang around him, not caring whether they'd confess. he rejected every single one of them anyway, and you know you wouldn't be any different than those pretty crying faces if you tried.

you only cared when people approached him to have a friendly conversation because sunghoon would happily give them a memorable one. that's what made you jealous.

hell, he even got your friends. gaeul mentioned natto once and sunghoon yapped about the delicacy like a day-one fan. he shared his favorite fashion brands with jiwon too. complete with a detailed explanation on his preferences and favorite collections.

granted, he wasn’t on the best terms with them right now because they were the ones who had to pick up the pieces of your heart when you started crying halfway through the drive back to your apartment after that cursed party.

you stood there long enough to see him laugh and giggle in amazement at whatever amazing thing the amazing girl was showing him on her phone, stood long enough to see how casually he held her hand and raised it to his face to look at her accessories.

your eyes read his lips, 'you’re so cool', right before he saw you.

gaeul held you in her arms as soon as you curled up in your bed, jiwon on the other side shushing you while stroking your head. 

"i just— i don’t get it.” you grunted, brashly wiping your wet cheeks with the back of your hand, the mascara-laced tears staining your bedsheets as they dropped freely. “why he’s—why doesn't he doesn’t talk to me like that? but.. he looks at me like he likes me and, a–and he does things for me he doesn’t do with other people!”  

you were inconsolable, hiccuping in between sobs and screaming more words that your friends don’t understand anymore because you’re crying too much. they just exchanged tired looks while rubbing on your arm until you were exhausted enough to sleep.

the morning after, while pressing frozen spoons on your swollen eyelids, you were determined to treat him as he did you: sweet and kind, but from a safe distance.

close enough to keep your friendship with him together, but far enough so you wouldn’t have to feel your heart get stomped on when you hear him ramble about his passions to someone else.

sunghoon still attempted to ask about you through texts, tried to talk about the weather, or your progress on a project. he never brought up the topic of this weird drift in your relationship and neither did you.

at first, you replied within the same hour, then the same day, then after three days and so on.

ignoring him became easier when you went back home because you couldn’t see him, couldn't feel the hairs on your nape stand straight whenever his inspecting gaze was stuck on you. you could put your notifications on mute and pretend you fell asleep when he shot you another text to ask what's keeping you so busy.

half-way through the holiday, the ringtone you set specifically for sunghoon stopped ringing and you knew he stopped trying to reach you.

were you sad? were you relieved? you didn't know.

but what you did know is that you have to keep up this act. so even after the second semester started, you diligently stuck to your new routine.

nods in the hallway, civil hi’s and hello’s in the classroom, hoping and praying that your feelings would slip away the same way you were slipping from him.

you marked today’s date with another X.

thirty six days since the rift, twenty nine days since the texts stopped.

ten days since random letters started appearing.

you didn’t think he was trying to hide it. and if he did, he was doing a shit job because you were able to recognize his penmanship with just a glance—sunghoon had an odd way of writing the letter y, after all: a different kind of neat with a little flick at the end.

some days, the letters would be slipped in through your locker, and on busier days, it would be on your desk accompanied with food.

the drinks varied, but the pastry stayed the same. an almond croissant from your favorite café. the one you used to hangout with him.

“i don’t know what i did, but i hope you know i’m sorry.” 

that was the first letter he wrote. written in a plain piece of yellow pad, contrasting the way it’s elegantly wrapped—in an ivory envelope with a small heart sticker sealing it. y

ou made your friends read it too, and gaeul cackled loudly, teasing you for immediately turning soft and wanting to run back into sunghoon's arms.

“you’re seriously folding as quick as he folded that half-assed letter.” she said in amusement, chopsticks roughly poking through the seaweed roll on jiwon’s lunch box.

the blonde just rubbed your shoulder in understanding, shooting the older girl a glare. “don’t blame our Y/N! she’s just a girl in love.”

"hopeless romantics, the two of you." the other girl replied with a shake of her head.

since that day, the letters have improved. still in the same off-white envelope, the same red heart-shaped sticker. the content was different each time, but they made your heart race all the same.

“your hoodie today looks comfortable. i hope you’re staying warm.” “i’ve been thinking about how you're the only one that who understands me even when i don’t say a lot. i'm grateful for that.” “i saw you crying today behind the bleachers. you said it was just from a yawn. it must have hurt a lot if you couldn’t tell anyone. next time you want to yawn again, just call for me, okay?” “i look at you a lot, but i think of you even more. what do i do with you?”

you push the small calendar inside your locker and sigh softly as you peel the heart sticker off, eyes reading through today’s letter. 

“it was drizzling today and i felt so much more sullen. it made me realize how much i keep searching for the voice, the presence that made everyday brighter. i miss you, Y/N.”

you hate how your first instinct is to look around. to check if you’ll see the same annoyingly handsome, glasses-wearing face that’s been haunting you for the past month.

but of course, he isn’t there.

so you fold the letter again.another one added to the collection of the letters that you keep safely in your room so you can read it again later tonight.

away from the crowd of students flocking to their lockers, sunghoon stands with a soft smile on his face as he watches you slip the envelope in your bag. when you close the metal door shut, he takes it as a sign to walk back to jay and jake, hands in his pocket, grinning in victory.

“she didn’t throw your corny letter away this time?” jake howls and sunghoon’s smug expression falls into one of panic, making him smack the boy in the back of his head.

“she never did, idiot. and keep your voice down.”

jay raises his eyebrow. “i don’t understand why you don’t just talk to her. surely it’s easier to just do that rather than… writing all this extra shit every night. who are you? shakespeare?”

sunghoon just sighs and shakes his head, his thumb reaching up to scratch his adam’s apple. “you don’t understand, and pray that you never do. because this shit? it ain’t easy.”

too much projects still left in your to-do list, too many passive-aggressive comments from useless group mates that you chose to ignore for the sake of keeping the peace, and one-too-many snide remark from a stranger in the women’s bathroom about how ‘interesting’ your shoes are.

needless to say, it's been a rough week.

most of the students have gone home by now. your girlfriends bid you goodbye an hour ago and you stayed behind, opting to work on your essay in an empty classroom because your head wouldn't work if tried to finish it at home. the fact that you'd have a meaningful rest tomorrow gave you the last push you needed to press submit.

tired footsteps echo down the empty hallway as you use your remaining energy to trudge towards your locker. it opens with a bleary rattle and you find a square box laid atop an envelope.

huh. it’s been a while since sunghoon left you one.

you push the heavy books inside before reaching for the black suede box, the fuzzy material tickling your fingertip as you push the top open.

inside, a bracelet. fine silver chains alternating with four round glass beads– pink and green blooming from the center like ink dropped in still water. a flat silver rectangle hangs in the center with the corners of it smoothly rounded out, and embellished with detailed carvings of flowers around the edges.

on the back, an engraving of your name.

why would he do this?

you carefully return the bracelet inside its case and reach for the envelope with pursed lips. you close your eyes and let out a shaky exhale.

you need to prepare yourself for what you're about to read.

if this one's as sweet as his past letters, your resolve—the tiny amount left of it—wouldn't be able to hold you back, especially considering how worn out you are.

"you must have been having a hard time lately—the Y/N who’s precious to sunghoon. i hope we can talk again because i want you to tell me that today was tough. i want to be the one you lean on, and the one who tells you that you’re doing a good job regardless. i know you’ve been suffering through a lot, and i want you to know that i’m here.”

the corner of the paper crumples in your tightening fist as you tilt your head up to keep your tears from smudging more of the black ink. you stand in place, trying your best to control your breathing, teeth biting down on your chapped lips as your eyes run over the last words.

“you’ve worked hard, angel. i'm proud of you.”

your shaky hands close the locker door, forehead leaning against it as you hold the letter close to your chest, quietly sniffling with your head hung low, hot tears falling directly on the dirty tiles.

“he saw me. he always sees me.” you whisper to yourself, shoulders shaking as your pained cries begin to overtake your body.

there's a faint warmth radiating on your back and your nose picks up notes of sandalwood and leather cutting through the sterile scent of alcohol mixed with floor cleaners.

sunghoon.

he towers over you, body trapped in between his and the cool metal of the lockers as if to hide you from invisible prying eyes. his sturdy arms flip you around, one hand moving to your head to carefully guide it towards his chest, and the other wrapping around you to give your back gentle soothing pats.

as always, he doesn’t say anything. just wraps you in his arms while his fingers comb through the ends of your hair.

the two of you stand there until your loud cries are replaced with small hiccups.there's a small, shameful whine that leaves your lips when sunghoon pulls away from the hug, but he leans in again, long legs slightly folding to match your height until his face is just a couple of inches away from yours.

behind the thick black glasses, his dark orbs gaze into you with worry written all over his face.

you can’t help but feel irritated at how good he looks despite the cheap fluorescent lights hanging overhead.

still as handsome as the first day you saw him—just a little rugged this time around. he looks tired. frazzled. perhaps just as exhausted as you. the dilated vessels turned the whites of his eyes pink, and there’s a faint blue tint on his under eyes that make him look like he’s been losing sleep.

a selfish part of you hopes you’re the reason for it.

“i wanted to comfort you, and yet i still managed to make you cry.” sunghoon says with a sad smile, both hands cupping your cheek while his thumb brushed away the tears clinging to your lashes. “i’m sorry, angel.” he whispers before hugging you again, making you sigh in comfort.

you missed hearing that nickname. you missed his voice, his face, his scent, even his stupid glasses.

you just missed sunghoon in general.

the days you stayed apart drove him crazy too. it gave him the courage to hug you tighter, foregoing his fears and anxieties as he squeezes you in his arms.

“i missed you. i think i still do, even now.” he whispers, lips brushing on the crown of your head.

sunghoon held your wrist as he walked outside your department's building to an empty bench. the pink and peach tones in the sky have disappeared, replaced by the artificial neon orange from the street lamps. the trees are starting to grow their leaves back too, but the cool breeze still nipped at your skin like leftover air from winter trying to leave.

it was cold, but not painful nor unbearable. just enough to keep you alert, aware of how warm your side is from how close sunghoon is sitting beside you. aware of how he made more room by throwing an arm behind and casually resting it on the bench’s backrest so he could cuddle closer.

it feels like whiplash, the way he can’t keep himself from playing with your fingers when a month and a half ago, his obvious choice would be to hold the ends of your shirt like touching your skin would burn him.

and it does. it still does. 

but who could blame sunghoon? he was an addicted man who got a taste of your touch and firmly decided he’d rather get simultaneously run over, stabbed multiple times, and be set on fire than spend another moment without him holding you or vice versa. kick him too while you’re at it.

he doesn’t care as long as he can feel you.

“i'm sorry.” he says again, voice as gentle as the way he’s squeezing your index fingers’ knuckles, both pairs of eyes looking at everything else but each other.

you let out a bemused laugh. “do you even know what you’re apologizing for?”

he stays mum, tongue running across his lower lip and you catch the faint pink color tinting the shell of his ears. “i don’t. b–but… i do know that whatever i did was enough to push you away from me." he says eventually.

"i hope you know it was never intentional. i— i wouldn’t ever ever do anything to hurt you. i understand if you don’t want to tell me what... wrong i did, but i can promise that if you do, i’ll do my best not to do it again.”

his shy mumbles contrast the way he bravely pushes his fingers between yours, the now-interlocked hands resting on his thigh moving up and down as he anxiously bounces his leg.

laughter shatters the solemn atmosphere, causing his head to snap to its source, the evident frown on his face growing deeper. “are you— did you just laugh at my apology?” sunghoon asks with an incredulous tone, making you laugh even harder.

still, he can’t help his lips from quirking up at the sight.

he likes this. he likes holding your hand and hearing you laugh.

“it’s just— 'm sorry.” you pause, trying to swallow down another fit of giggles trying to burst out. “i just think it’s funny. that’s a new record.”

“what record?”

“the record of most words you’ve said to me at once. the previous one’s fourteen words, i think.”

sunghoon stares, head tilted to one side in confusion.

“think about it, sunghoon. classes and group lunches aside, you’ve never actually spoken to me properly. it’s never a conversation, it’s almost always just single words,” you let go of his hand only to lay yours on top of his and giving it a couple taps. “or stuff like this.”

“it’s like... like you have a word limit. but only when it comes to me.”

the muscle on his jaw twitches as he sees the little smile on your visage falter, the slight crack in your voice mirroring the one growing in his heart. he wants to object, to defend himself but he knows he wouldn’t have anything proper to say.

“at first i thought it was just because you were shy— but i’ve seen the way you talk to your friends, to my friends.. everyone. everyone loved talking to you, and you seemed to have fun talking with them too. i just don't get why you treat me so different."

sunghoon's hand grips on his own thigh to execute a punishment upon himself.

until it hurts, until it stings.

but he bears it because he knows it's too light compared to the hurt you've had to silently carry throughout your time with him.

"it sucks that you don’t like me enough to share your hobbies with me, sunghoon. that i have to know you through our mutual friends rather than getting to know you from what you say to me. i—” a pause. “i just gave up because i knew i’m not worth your time, or your effort to speak. that's why i stayed away.”

“Y/N… angel, it’s— it’s not like that. i swear.” he cups your cheek to make you look at him. you were still smiling, and yet he saw the sadness in your eyes. the uncertainty.

he hates himself for being the cause of it. 

“then what is it, sunghoon? why don’t you talk to me?” 

“because—” sunghoon takes a deep inhale and purses his lips before finally confessing. “because i don’t know how to.”

just as the weight is lifted from his shoulders, he feels an even heavier one get dropped back down. he knows there’s no going back. not when you’re looking at him with dissatisfaction in your eyes.

“there’s a reason why i resorted to writing letters instead, Y/N. it’s just that…  just— y–you— i’m— fuck!” exasperated, he pulls his hand away from you, using it to rub on his temples.

then one travels down and you see as his fingers starts to scratch the base of his neck, nails digging deep into his skin. 

it's one of sunghoon’s habits you’ve noted—an ugly one.

the first few times it happened, you tried to talk him out of it, told him how scared you were that he’d hurt himself, but he told you it was to help ground him when he feels frustrated.

like the stubborn man that he is, sunghoon continued to scratch harder and harder, half of his face scrunched up irritation. and true to your fear, he lets out a wince when a thin red gash on the space between his collarbones started to bleed red.

“sunghoon, stop.” you sigh, his wrists tightly trapped in your hold. when he turns his head to look at you, he looks like his world has collapsed in itself.

he's devastated. 

broken. 

“i.. i want to explain. i swear, i just—” he closes his eyes tight, hands curling into tight fists under your hold as his chest puffs from how heavy he's breathing.

you gently pry each finger open to see deep crescents on his palms. a frown is etched on your lips at the sight, and you know sunghoon’s not faring any better with the way he slumps against you, head rested on your shoulder.

“they won’t come out..” he finally says after prolonged silence, his voice thin and raspy.

"what won’t, hoon?” 

“... nothing. please let me—” his breaths are trembling, and though you don’t see it, you could feel him holding back from scratching at his neck again.

“whatever it is can wait. just.. don’t. don't do that again.” you let go of one of his hands so you could wrap your arms around his shoulder, your palm running up and down his tensed arm while he messily wipes the bleeding scar with his sleeve.

he waits until his breathing turns even before he speaks again. “are you doing anything tomorrow, angel?” 

you hum in thought. “no, why?” 

“i… missed you. it’s been so long since i last talked to you.”

“that’s weird. i clearly remember that i was the only one doing all the talking.” you reply with a nudge to his shoulder, hoping your teasing voice is enough to lighten the atmosphere.

“hey! don’t be a smart-ass. you know what i mean. it’s been.. what? like, forty one? maybe forty two days since we hung out properly.”

you lean away from his side. “you’ve been counting too?”

“too? so you also did it?” he raises a brow, the previous frown growing into a teasing smile as soon as he sees your expression, like you're glitching between the choice of fight or flight.

“would you look at that. seems like the misery over winter break was mutual.” he says, tone a little too proud for your liking, so you choose fight. you take the soft skin of his cheeks in between your fingers, pinching and stretching it with a whiny sunghoon trying to push your hand away. 

you succumb to his pained pleads to stop.

you lean in closer to soothe the skin with your thumb while laughing under your breath and sunghoon’s eyes slowly flutter close at the touch, head tilting closer to your hand as if to encourage you to continue.

“this is nice...” he whispers, raising his hand and laying it on top of yours to keep it there. 

you want to ask him what stopped him from asking for your touch because it wouldn't even take a heartbeat for you to say yes. you wanted to know why you weren’t given the privilege of seeing him this needy, this vulnerable and bare. yet you kept your mouth shut.

“the university is a place for learning, kids. not dating.”

the sweet little moment is interrupted by an older man, a security guard, pointing his plastic baton at the two of you. “and it doesn’t look like you’re in grad school either, which means you’re not allowed to loiter in university grounds.” he adds, making sunghoon stand straight, head tilted forward to give him an apologetic bow.

“we’re sorry, sir! w–we didn’t notice the time. we’ll be heading home, i promise.” his taller body instinctively stepped once to the side, covering you like shield.

the guard tilts his head, brows raised at the odd couple in front of him but his eyes soften as soon he sees the dopey smile on sunghoon’s face when his hands blindly reach out behind him in search of yours. 

“i better not catch you staying here after-hours again, alright? now go. scram!” 

sunghoon turns around and smoothly slings your bag over his other shoulder like he always used to, your hand held firmly in his as the both of you run to the exit gates giggling like children.

“girls. he just texted me. said he’ll pick me up in an hour.”

you set your phone screen-down on your vanity. jiwon’s behind you, scrolling through pinterest in search for a proper hairstyle inspo and gaeul’s lying on her stomach on top of your bed, busily typing away as she tries to cram her essay.

thank god you had the foresight to finish it yesterday because one, that meant you got to reunite with sunghoon—who apparently waited for you by the lockers that day—and two, because he was serious about hanging out today.

he double, no, triple checked that you actually wanted to go with him while he walked you to the bus stop, refusing to let go of your hand until you safely got in.

“i can’t believe that doofus finally got the courage to ask you out. we were wondering how long he’d take.” gaeul chirps up, fingers still busy tapping on her keyboard.

“finally? what do you mean finally? and what you do mean we?” your hands pause from applying your blush, head craning towards your bed to stare at your dear friend who just stares back with a straight face.

“oh, Y/N. don’t be dumb."

"i'm serious!"

"jake and jay? us? we’ve all seen it since we started hanging out. you’re the only one who gets mister congeniality all nervous and speechless. now look in the mirror before i accidentally burn your cheek.” jiwon says, carefully taking your curling wand and a section of your hair.

“it’s so cute, it’s almost pathetic. but i’m still mad at him for making you cry like that, you know. he better make it up to you today, or else i'm gonna drag his stupid ass through the school field. by his ears.” gaeul says with a face that let you know she intends to follow up on her words.

jiwon continues to hum whilst curling your hair and you try your best to keep your hands from shaking as you apply your gloss.

when you look in the mirror, you can't help but ponder how much your body knew you needed sunghoon because you’re glowing. you look well-rested despite only catching three hours of sleep because of how badly you anticipated this date.

meanwhile sunghoon, alone in his car, is practically vibrating in excitement. or nervousness. he doesn’t know, really. he thinks he stopped being able to differentiate which feeling is which since he saw you that day.

he spent those thirty minutes routinely checking his rearview mirror.

is something stuck between the gaps of his teeth? he flossed again just in case.

is his hair styled correctly? didn't prevent him from running his fingers through it a few more times.

should he put on his coat or would that look too much? fuck, what if he over dressed and you think he’s cringe? 

god, he wasn't even this jittery with his exes.

it's different because he's never actually hung out with you without the excuse of classes or other university-related events. it's different because he's never actually seen you outside the usual café you spend free periods in or under the flashing strobes of the college frat house.

it's different because it's his first date with you, and he's adamant not to make this the last.

ding.

💬 from: my angel. — hoonieeeeee ! i’m almost done. :D 

he glanced at his watch. fifteen minutes left.

enough time for him to drive once around your block, get out of the car, walk to the passenger’s side and coolly lean against it while pretending he wasn’t an inch away from having a mental breakdown a few moments earlier. 

and when sunghoon finally sees you walk out in a satin dress, he’s convinced he might actually have one. 

“hey there, big guy. you look handsome today. well—you always do. but today especially! i really like your fit!” you say, adorning that bright smile that sunghoon found so captivating.the plan to look cool immediately got crushed.

he tried to stand up straight, he did. but he ended up leaning again on his car— not to look charismatic. rather, he needed to, because he was barely feeling his knees.

his heart was racing, his breathing turned short, and he began feeling the all-too-familiar prickling sensation in his throat.

“don’t go quiet on me again, or i’ll ignore you. forever this time.”

he looks more made-up, different from the usual hoodie and jeans combo you always saw. still knee-buckling attractive, but clean. khaki trousers adorning his long legs, thin black belt around his hips and a loose blue-colored polo with thin stripes, the sleeves folded to accentuate his forearms.

there’s a small sense of satisfaction that comes to you when you realize your outfits make you look like a couple. it seems gaeul made the lucky choice of getting you to wear a baby blue today, but you’ll just thank her for that later.

“your hair’s.. n–nice.” sunghoon says, a bashful smile growing on his face. “o–oh! and... and i have this!” he opens the rear door of his car, and you hear it slam again before he turns around to present you with a bouquet of flowers. white petals with vivid yellow blooming from the center, wrapped in crumpled iridescent foil and pastel blue paper.

“daffodils. the lady at the flower shop said it symbolizes new beginnings. and— a–and i want that. a new beginning. with you.” he stammers awkwardly, nibbling on his lower lip as his hands push the bouquet towards you.

you can only coo at his words, fawning over how cute and small he looked right now despite his height. so fucking adorable, this one.

pushing past the bouquet, your arms find purchase around his torso and you squeeze him in your arms. it takes him a second to return it and you feel him release a sigh, one done out of relief and longing, before leaving a gentle kiss on your hair as he lets you go.

sunghoon opens the passenger seat of his car for you with his signature shy smile, tipping his head to the side.

“get in, angel. i have a lot of making up to do.”

he takes you driving around first, wanting to spend a little more time together with you in the privacy of his car before he shares you with other people. one hand on the wheel and the other keeping yours warm, he aimlessly drove around while narrating how he spent his winter break with his family.

his dad took him and his two honorary siblings, jay and jake, to a ski resort. his mom bought him a new camera as his holiday present, and he casually slipped in wanting to test it out next time with you.

in between those stories, sunghoon admitted that his younger sister was the one to suggest the idea of leaving you letters. the confession leaves his lips in between sheepish laughter, resulting in both your cheeks turning pink.

your heart felt full listening him be so engrossed in his stories, at one point even letting go of the steering wheel to imitate how jake wobbled in his snowboard.

sure, he still stuttered every now and then, still held himself back from cussing too much on the off chance you’d get turned off, but those are tiny details you’re determined to work through with him.

he asked about you too, and you talked about the boring train ride back to your old little town, how the place looked like it was frozen in time with the same faces, same remarks about how you look like a carbon copy of your mom. sunghoon just listens intently, a smile on his face as he steals glances of your face from time to time.

you also talked about how you spent a week trying to get dye stains off your hands when your older brother painstakingly made you dye his blonde hair to black in preparation for the new season.

sunghoon’s hand tighten around yours. blonde. 

“what about.. uh.. dates? did you go out with anyone while we weren’t in contact with each other?”

“hm. not that i recall? there were a few boys in my town, but i know they’re just messing with me.”

sunghoon’s right hand leaves yours to grip on the steering wheel, knuckles turning white and lips turning into a straight line as he stares at the road ahead.

perhaps he’d been mistaken. maybe this is just how you get when you’ve grown closer to someone. maybe the hand holding or the comforting touches you gave him were ones you also gave to other people. maybe you had taken his invitation as a hang out rather than a date and that’s why you agreed despite having someone else waiting on you.

“the boys saw him, you know. if you’re still talking to him then… t–then what are we doing right now?”

the change in his tone isn’t lost on you, nor the hardened expression he wears. from the side of his eye, he catches the befuddled look on your face like you genuinely cannot remember the accusation being true.

“him? who? hoon, what are you talking about?”

the mere memory of his friends’ words, of that man, urges sunghoon to pull over to the side of the road so he can face you because when call him an presumptuous loser and friend-zone him, he at least wants to see your pretty face do it.

“jay said he saw you come to their game with a guy. long hair. blonde. said he was clinging on you like a damn shirt.”

when you laughed at his confession yesterday, he’ll admit he found it cute. but when you do it today, it does nothing else but make his scowl look more sour.

“is this little laughing-at-sunghoon thing a habit you’ve developed over winter break? because this isn’t funny to me.” he glowers, brows furrowing as your laughter increases in pitch, palms repeatedly slapping against your knee. 

“you—” your fingers point to him with a snicker, face looking pained as you try your darndest to hold back a laugh but it comes out anyway.sunghoon crosses his arms over his chest, thick eyebrow cocked up while gazing at you with an unamused expression.

“Y/N. i’m serious. if you have a guy back home, you can tell me. it’ll break my heart, yes, but i don’t want to take part in whatever open relationship you guys hav—”

“sunghoon, that was my brother."

“what?”

“tall guy. long hair. blonde. my brother.”

“that was... jeonghan hyung?”

“yes, dummy. jeonghan just wanted to take see at how the basketball team was keeping up now after he graduated. he’s an alumni, remember? you know he had blonde hair. you even hogged my phone all to yourself when he facetimed me that one time.” it’s your turn to have your arms folded on your chest, tilting your head with a little sass, lips curled in a smirk.

wordlessly, his body snaps to the front and he attempts to start the engine again, but you clutch his wrist just in time.

“no— you can’t just say that and ditch the conversation. you’re gonna explain yourself right now, park sunghoon.” the sound of his full name said in such a stern voice makes him squirm in his seat.

“i– i was jealous, okay? what more do you want me to say?” he grumbles, looking out the window while weakly attempting to shake your hold off of him, letting out a grunt that barely sounds like your name as you refuse to back down.

he sighs in defeat, and you can see the sharp tic of his jaw tensing up. “you weren’t talking to me. barely even looked my way. of course i was worried when my friends started talking about how you went to their practice without me. with a new guy, at that. it just.. the thought didn’t make me feel good. c–can we leave it now? this is embarrassing.”

a satisfied smile pushes your cheekbones up as you turn the keys, giving his shoulder a pat.

“drive, big guy.”

sunghoon made a reservation for the restaurant you mentioned months ago in passing. it’s nothing upscale or expensive. no wines or steaks. just the regular korean food you’re used to, but elevated just a little bit to make it taste more contemporary rather than home-made.

but you didn’t really care for that. the sole reason you wanted to go was their aesthetic: the dining area looked like the inside of a greenhouse with its sunroof ceiling, leaves and flowers hanging from wooden beams, and the lighting was just warm enough to set the ambience.

a hand on the small of your back courteously guided you towards your seat, and you’re too enamored by the interior to notice sunghoon staring at you with eyes full of admiration, his elbow resting on the table so he could comfortably continue to look at you in silence while you take in every detail of your surroundings.

true to his words, sunghoon makes up for his shortcomings.

he refills your drinks, debones the meat for you, constantly fills your plate before your food even runs out, and he apparently even paid for the meal in advance.

throughout the meal, sunghoon indulges you in short stories, letting you take on the role of the listener rather than the yapper this time around. he's telling you about penguins in antarctica and you hum, taking a sip of your drink when you notice one tiny, yet very clear difference in him today.

he wasn’t wearing his glasses.

you know he has a collection of them, and he switches things up every now and then. from thick boxy clear glasses, to the trendy ones you’ve seen models rock on social media.

your favorite pair would have to be the rimless silver ones he wore during your department’s post-exam party because they make him look unreal—like a real-life manhwa character. but he usually wore the good ol’ reliable thick black ones to lectures.

the glasses had their charm but without them, he’s a different kind of handsome. his features look sharper, especially with the warm lighting casting shadows from his tall, unobstructed nose bridge. his eyes look clearer and more expressive too.on the side of his chin, a tiny mole. and then another one.

black dots mapped out across his fair skin, all varying in size and but your eyes lock on the distinct one under his eye, and one on the side of his nose, right below where his glasses’ nose pad would sit.

no wonder you didn’t see it.

“you’re checking me out? so blatantly?” sunghoon pipes up, and you notice how the mole under his eye moves when he raises an eyebrow at you.

it makes you giggle, reaching forward to poking the round dot under his eye. “i didn’t know you had moles.” you rub on the skin with extra gentleness before leaning back. “kind of reminds me of someone i met when i was a kid.”

“hm? do tell.”

“ah, it’s nothing. there used to be this kid in my hometown who had moles like yours. god, that was years ago. i was really young—around eight or nine years old, i think. i met him at a playground where older boys were making fun of him for it.”

“let me guess. you defended him from the big bad bullies and he fell in love with you?”

“defended him, yeah. jesus, they were assholes. the memory is hazy, but i tried to comfort him by chasing him around and stuff. i tried to go back to the playground again the next day after my classes, but he never came back.” you poke at your leftovers with your fork, the distant memory making a grin dance on your lips. “but falling in love? highly doubt it. told him my name but i never got his back. all i remember's his cute moles. he might as well have been an imaginary friend.”

“i say defending a kid like that can definitely make them fall for you.”

“are you speaking from experience, mister?”

he grins. "partly."

you smile and cup your hands behind your ear, making sunghoon chuckle as he wipes the corner of his mouth with a napkin. “when i was a kid, i used to be so timid. waaaaay way worse than i was with you,” he says, and the way his eyes widen when he extends his words make you giggle.

“never talked to my classmates, always stayed at home. even my cousins who visited can’t get a word out of me. my parents tried making me do hobbies to get me out of my shell. you name it, i did it. and it helped, but only by a little. then they thought maybe going to the city might help my introversion. my little sister was growing up, too, so they started looking for a place here in seoul.”

your elbows perch on the table, chin resting above your interlocked fingers as you give him a dreamy nod. “mhm. and then?”

“and then the day before we moved, i decided i’m gonna try playing with the kids from my town. just to give it a last shot. except they teased me a lot because i wasn’t talking. they made fun of my moles, too. but then—” sunghoon pauses.

“this strange girl came shouting. i’ve never seen her before. think she went to a different elementary school, but she fought the boys off even though they were taller than her. she threatened to throw rocks at their heads and pull their hair out. and you know what? they looked scared. i think that was the first time i saw genuine fear.” he says, breaking out in a fit of giggles.

“picture this: i was half a foot taller than her but she was reprimanding me and pushing me to stand up straighter, saying i should learn how to speak up and fight back. that no one would fight my battles for me but me. since then, i started doing it—practicing my speech skills and self confidence. eventually, i stopped cowering whenever strangers approached me and i learned how to speak without my voice shaking. it's all thanks to her.”

when his monologue is over, sunghoon just grins at you like reminiscing alone was enough to comfort him.

you feel a little irritated, jealous of the way he speaks so affectionately of her memory. but at the same time, you can’t help but smile back. that's how you feel about your own little friend after all.

“so you fell in love?"

"i wouldn't be so hasty to call it love. perhaps admiration. deep admiration."

"don’t tell me you never told her your name like my old friend?”

his chuckle is mirthful as he shakes his head. “oh believe me, i did. swear on it. either she didn’t hear me, or she’s deaf because she just started calling me ‘pengoo’ instead of my name.”

pengoo.iIt’s familiar. 

you squint your eyes once more as you see the dimple on his cheek appear, the indentation becoming deeper as he flashes you a knowing smile.

pengoo, pengoo, pengoo. 

wait...

“his shirt. that was the shirt he was wearing...” you trail off in a whisper, the words barely audible as you point your hands at sunghoon, and he just smiles even wider, nodding his head slowly.

you sit there in stunned silence, hands crossed over your mouth as you stare at sunghoon whose look of pride turned into concern, nervous of the crystal clear shock on your face.

he's cautious as he offers his open palm on the table, skittish and biting his lip when you still refuse to hold his hand. he calls out your name with such gentleness that you’re transported back to that day—to the little, but still taller boy who had tears in his eyes, looking ridiculous and snotty while sporting a white shirt with a penguin patch.

the one who you affectionately called 'cookies and cream' for the specks of black splattered across his face, whose tears you wiped using your special barbie handkerchief, whose arm you scribbled your name on with your glittery purple pen that he wanted to taste because it smelled like grape juice.

though the memory isn’t as clear as it was to you years ago, he was a constant in your life. whenever you encountered people who leaned more towards timidity, it's him who appeared in the back of your mind: the nameless friend who you never saw again after his worried mom fetched him from the playground.

except he's not nameless anymore, and he's sitting right in front of you.

the salty tears burn when you try to hold them back, but they're insistent on coming out so you hang your head low and attempt to contain your sniffles.

panicked, sunghoon gently holds on your arm and guides you outside of the restaurant to a more secluded spot in the front lawn.

“Y/N,” he calls out again, pale hands gently squeezing on your hips as he bends down, trying to take a peek of your face that you insist to cover. “angel… did i make you cry again?”

you shake your head, quickly taking him in your arms, hugging him like how a mother would her child who’s come back from war. “my pengoo... my pengoo.” you choke out in between stifled sobs, stroking his head.

his arms wrap around your waist, lifting you off of the ground for a moment as his face settles on the crook of your neck, nose brushing against the skin as he whispers back. “it’s me. pengoo’s here. you're okay, i'm not leaving.”

his words do nothing but make you cry harder, tears staining his shirt and fists crumpling the fabric on his back. "i can’t believe it’s you. i—”

"do you want to talk about this somewhere else, angel?” sunghoon asks in a soft voice, a tone he reserved only for you, carefully wiping your damp under eyes.

a nod is all he needs.

the travel is silent aside from the small little sniffles you do and the faint melody from the car’s speaker. your eyes blankly stare outside, the view of the buildings just as blurry as the thoughts and memories running in your head.

meanwhile, sunghoon’s trying his best to console you. his thumb lazily rubbed the skin on the back of your hand while stealing glances every now and then.

“where are we?” you croak out when the car comes to a halt.

sunghoon opens the car door, his fingers nimble as they take your seatbelt off for you. “a park near my neighborhood. in one of my favorite spots to rest my head which you need to do.”

his hand return to yours so he can pull you towards the picnic area.he sits down on a bench and you elect to sit on the wooden table itself, head craning as you take in the new environment.

the place is beautiful. quiet, serene and full of trees that made it look like a modern glitch in the middle of a forest.

“you’re not gonna kill me for knowing your secret, are you?” you sniffle, feet gently nudging the side of his thigh with a soft chuckle.

“no people, no witness. i’m sorry, Y/N. can’t have people knowing i was a loser back in the day.” he says in a gurgled voice after looking around, playfully pinching your arm which made you squeal and swat his hands away.

in the middle of play fighting, your eyes catch the swing set nearby and you remember him again.pengoo.

the flashback is so clear you could almost see a younger version of yourselves: you, pushing sunghoon on the swing, and him using his voice properly for the first time to scream ‘stop!’ when his seated body lifts too high off the ground.

you turn to sunghoon, the real, grown sunghoon, and he’s already looking up at you with one hand resting on your covered knee, giving it languid strokes with his thumb. "penny for your thoughts?"

“why, hoon? i mean.. if you knew all along, why didn’t you tell me?” you reach for his cheek and his eyes close at the contact, letting out a soft sigh of comfort.

he holds it in place, tilting his head to leave a light kiss on your palm. “i’m sorry. if you want me to be honest, i had no plans to let you know. i wasn’t even aware you remembered that day. for all i knew, i was just one of the strangers who got bright little Y/N’s help.”

“you… you grew up so well.” salty tears blur your vision again as you lean down to press your lips against his forehead.

“i couldn’t have done it without you. that was a significant event in my formative years—i seriously can’t imagine what kind of life i'd live if i hadn’t met you that day.” he stands up so he can tower over you, looking down to wipe the wetness from your eyes.

“you're my savior. my angel in every sense of the word.”

you walk around the area holding each other’s hand, going over your first meeting. the actual one. the one you had before you met again as grown ups.

he apparently tried talking his parents out of moving, and though they were surprised at his sudden enthusiasm to stay, they ultimately refused because the new house in seoul was already paid for.

he waited for you that morning, until the last second—until his parents were yelling at him from the car.

"i think i left a piece of my heart in that playground."

his search didn't stop there. night and day he bothered his parents to contact anyone they could from their previous town, to ask if anyone had a child with your name. but because his parents were like him—aloof and private—nothing really turned up.

but he was a kid determined to keep you alive and present in his mind so when he met you again that fortunate morning at the university, he immediately knew it was you without even hearing your voice.

every day he stayed by your side was spent in awe, marveling at the woman you’ve become. there wasn’t much difference, physically nor emotionally. obviously you’ve matured and grown into your features— but you still talked in the same cadence, spoke your mind with just as much enthusiasm, and still cared for people the same way you did to the young boy in the playground.

still the same girl who’d get him too flustered to talk properly.

“so jay and jake knew about me the whole time too?” you ask after arriving at the parking area and sunghoon lifts you up to sit on the hood of his car.

he nods, comfortably settling between your parted legs as his hands rest on your thighs. “of course. they were the first to know about my childhood crush after all.”

“childhood crush, huh. what about now? am i still a crush?” you wiggle your eyebrows at him.

sunghoon rolls his eyes, the cute little dip on his cheek becoming more evident. “you know the answer to that already, angel.”

he pulls you closer to him by your hips and your arms naturally loop around his neck like they were always meant to be there.

you don’t know whether it’s the long day you’ve had, or the insane revelation of who sunghoon has been this whole time, but your head’s starting to spin.

perhaps it’s his cologne, how it’s starting to smell is stronger and stronger as his body leans closer to yours. or maybe it’s the way you feel too warm in your own skin whenever his eyes drop to your lips, and how he his sharp fangs poke out when he bites his in return.

it’s like the air turned heavy in a matter of a few seconds and the cool breeze is doing nothing to thin out the tension in the wide empty space.

from this close, you could hear his breath get slower, thicker, eyes never leaving your mouth. he brings a hand up to cup your cheek and your breath hitches when his thumb brushes over your lower lip.

sunghoon closes the distance first. 

the kiss is sweet and gentle but filled with yearning and just a little bit of hesitation. your lips are the softest too, practically erasing any memory left over from the other irrelevant girls he’s kissed before.

and you’re so damn sweet.

despite every inch of his body wanting to have more, he does the gentlemanly thing to do and breaks the kiss, but not without biting on your plump lower lip first. when his eyes finally focus, your cheeks are flushed, tinted a rosey color like your slightly swollen lips that reflect the distant street lights.

sunghoon's grip on you is as tight— just a hair above bruising. it’s taking everything to hold on his self-control, to not take you for himself right then and there. he just had you back. he doesn’t want to scare you away by being so forward with his need and indecency.

but it’s so, so hard to behave when you’re like this.

so small and flustered, looking up at him with half lidded eyes and your lower lip trapped between your teeth. so when he feels you attempt to press your thighs close, his instinct tells him to pull you even closer to keep them open, the movement making your dress ride up, the slit on its side exposing more of your skin.

and you whine—either from his touch or from the cold air—but sunghoon doesn’t care. not anymore.

the noise you make is more than enough to snap whatever’s left of his restraint and he leans down to capture your lips again. but it isn't soft this time.

it's sure. it's hungry, handsy.

still full of yearning, but mixed with the raw, physical need to be closer to one another.

your heads tilt to opposite sides, lips weaved together while letting out small whispers of sweet nothings in between. sunghoon takes your lower lip in between his again, sucking on the flesh while his hand slip underneath the slit of your dress, palm rubbing up and down the skin of your upper thigh, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

while his lips keep your mind fuzzy, he busies his hand by trailing it higher and higher beneath the loose fabric of your dress until you feel his thumb graze your bare hips, just a fraction of an inch below where your panties are resting, making you gasp against his mouth.

a chance opens up for sunghoon to snake his tongue past your lips, and he greedily takes it, determined to explore every possible inch. you taste like decadence. like the coffee ice cream you had for dessert combined with something celestial.

it's fucking heavenly.

you try to fight him back with your tongue, and for a while, he lets you. convinces you that you’re winning when you try to push your tongue against his. pink muscles twirl together in a dance full of lust and wanting, but sunghoon eventually grows tired of it and he gives your thigh a reprimanding squeeze, making you moan again, providing him the perfect opportunity to take over the messy liplock.

you take the small bit of revenge you can by threading your fingers through the jet black locks on the back of his head, tugging on it once, twice, until he’s growling your name against your open mouth.

his lips wrap around yours, your tongue graze on the sharp end of his canines, his fingers wander near the plump of your ass, and you kiss until both of you are literally seeing stars.

you part, heaving oxygen back in your deprived lungs and your foreheads meet with eyes still in steady contact as your heavy breathing mingles.

sunghoon’s hands never leave your thigh or your cheek. rather, he gives them a final brush with his thumb before stealing a quick peck, damp lips brushing against your skin until it reaches your jaw, giving the spot a kiss as well.

“perv.” you say, raising your thigh a little just so you could push sunghoon’s hand away. “first kiss and you’re already feeling me up?”

“okay, Y/N. let’s pretend your eyes weren’t on my arms the entire time i was driving. i know you like how veiny they look.” he replies after leaning back, the same canines that were grazing on your tongue a while ago now in full display as he flashes you a cocky grin.

“i.." you clear your thraot. "you noticed that?”

“i did. i notice a lot of things about you.”

“like what?”

he's quiet for a moment. “like how you’re starting to shiver,” his muscular arms lift you up and safely bring you back down to the ground. “i think it’s time to get you home, angel.”

a cacophony of cheers erupt in your classroom as the announcement blares from the speaker. an early dismissal due to seniors needing several classrooms to prepare for something you didn’t care enough to pay attention to. 

all you knew was you needed to get out as soon as possible so you can see sunghoon again. 

from: pengoo. 🐧— heard the announcement yet? :)  to: pengoo. 🐧 — yep!! i'll just grab a few things from my locker and head there. see u! ♡ from: pengoo. 🐧 — see you, angel. :) 

the two of you made the university garden your official hang-out spot. specifically the one near the big ginkgo tree where the both of you have spent hours under either people-watching, eating or reviewing.

and stealing kisses from each other, of course.

so when sunghoon asked to meet you there this morning, the answer was an automatic yes.

just as you sit down on the picnic mat, you see him appear from behind a tall shrub, bag slung over his shoulder and a big plastic bag hanging from his hand.

“did i take too long? i'm sorry, angel. it was lunch rush and there was a line in the restaurant and jake was arguing with a girl and—”

“hoon. i just got here. it’s okay.” you say, chuckling at his never-changing nervous demeanor.

he leans forward to give your lips a chaste peck, an apology leaving his lips again before he busies himself by taking your lunch out of the plastic and making sure your bottle is uncapped and your utensils are cleaned before tending to his own food.

a fond smile creeps on your lips as watch him try to talk about his morning in between bites. he really has improved since that date.

gone is the boy who shied away from your touches, and is replaced by one who openly asks for a hug and whines when he doesn’t feel your hands on his whenever you walk together.

his hand is always in yours when he drives both of you to school (despite the fact that he has to drive 20 minutes earlier to do so.) his arm consistently curled around your shoulder or your waist when you walk to class together. you always tease him for it too, but he just takes it with a smile because he knows it’s true.

he’s whipped for you.

after you eat and clean up, you offer to keep the picnic mat in your locker but sunghoon mentions he wants to stay for a bit more, and you appease him, letting him lie down with his head comfortably laying on your plush thighs while you lean back, palms pressed on the mat to support yourself.

silence envelops the both of you, but it doesn’t make your head run through a million thoughts anymore. it isn’t tense this time.

your eyes wander to him again—your not-quite-boyfriend boyfriend.

your finger pokes at the mole at the side of his nose out of habit, the glass beads in your bracelet reflecting bright spots on his smooth skin. you go from one mole to the next, moving it down the sharp bridge of his nose, then to his jaw, and you giggle upon feeling sunghoon shiver under your featherlight touch.

you move your middle finger down his neck, choosing to poke at the peak of his adam’s apple before noticing the pink lines on his neck.

again?

before you can even point it out, sunghoon’s voice cuts through the silence. “i feel like pengoo whenever i’m with you.”

you sit up properly. “pengoo?”

he gives you a nod and you stare, giving him a look that spells ‘i don’t know what you mean’, making him smile.

“whenever you’re around… it’s like i become that kid again. the one that can’t speak or think properly. i don’t know, it’s weird. the same girl that gave me the confidence to talk being the same one i can’t be around without making a fool of myself? i can’t even give you a proper compliment for gods' sake.”

that’s true. he always compliments your outfits, or your accessories, or compliments you through implications. things like “you’re making everyone stare.” or “that cute puppy looks just like you.” but nothing that’s actually a straight forward compliment.

you never had the courage to bring it up to him, partly because you’re afraid he might find you too needy, but also because deep down, you know the words he did say already took a lot of courage from him.

“i don’t.. really mind. not that much.”

“don’t lie to me, angel.”

“i’m serious!” you laugh, fingers forcibly pushing the edges of his frowned lips upward. “i do have a question though."

“what is it?”

your fingers ghost over the exposed skin on the base of his neck, fingers gently pressing on the spot between his clavicles, tracing over the faint red scratches over it. "have you been scratching your neck again? why do you do it when you know i don’t like it?”

“angel… i just—” sunghoon sighs softly, reaching for your hand. “i get frustrated.”

you frown. “you always say that. but there has to be a way for you to release your frustrations without scratching? the scar from last time isn’t even healed yet.”

below you, sunghoon releases a soft sigh and raises a hand to poke at the same spot on your neck. “what is this?” he asks.

“my neck…?” you reply cluelessly, to which he just shakes his head, poking at the skin again, and you flinch from the ticklishness of his touch. "what's inside here?"

“my throat?”

he finally nods, pointing to his own. “they get stuck here,” he opens his mouth, tongue sticking out and points to it as well. “and here.”

“they? hoon, you have to stop talking in riddles. you know i’m stupid.”

sunghoon runs a hand over his face and sits up, moving behind you until you're settled between his legs, back comfortably leaned against his firm chest.

“okay. i’m doing this.” he whispers mostly to himself before squeezing you in his arms as if to reassure himself. “don’t interrupt me, okay? because if i don’t get this out completely, i might not be able to say it at all.”

you press your palms on the arms wrapped around your waist and nod.

“you see those those?” sunghoon asks, and your eyes follow the direction of his finger pointing at the different florae.

the green leaves of the bushes look even brighter next to different bundles of spring-born tulips: colors of white, red and vibrant yellow scattered throughout the garden.

you're unsure of where this conversation is headed, but nod anyway.

“it’s like i have that inside me.aa garden. of words.” he says slowly, taking pauses between every words. “at least that’s what i started telling myself after i left years ago to aid me in my quietness, and it helped. a lot. i realized that i don’t really have to give people anything of value, and it made talking easier. if i don’t like someone, i can give them dead leaves or even weeds. but if i do, i can give them grass or the most common roses and it’ll do. maybe even an arrangement of better flowers for the people i want to keep in my life.”

he stays quiet for a beat, and you can feel his nose poke on your skin as his lips press on the exposed skin of your shoulder. “but you… you know you mean a lot to me, right?”

you reply with a hum, eyes glued to the leaves and petals swaying in the wind.

“i'm slow to speak because i take so long walking through the garden. because it's so difficult to choose what to give to you. because i want to pick and gather only the prettiest flowers—the prettiest, kindest words. for you. i want them to be neatly arranged and looking just as beautiful as the way you appear to me. because you’re precious to me... and you deserve nothing less.”

the words tug on your heartstrings in a way you’ve never felt before. to be adored and admired so much to the point of speechlessness wasn’t something you’ve ever experienced, or frankly, ever expected.

so when he speaks of you in such a way, it overwhelms your chest with a sense of safety— of knowing your heart is safe with him.and the way he says it too: voice low, shaky, and starkly different from the composed sunghoon you usually hear in classes.

it's then that you realize the apprehension you saw you wasn't done out of malice. sunghoon only did it because he wanted to protect something dear to him.

he shifts and pulls his hands away from your waist only to sit cross legged in front of you. it seems like you aren’t the only one feeling vulnerable because when you see him, he looks just as flustered.

his cheeks are rosy and his ears are in an even deeper shade, almost matching the petals floating above the grass.

“don’t laugh at me for this, okay?” a defeated chuckle leaves his lips and he reaches for your hand, threading his fingers through yours before looking you in the eye. "jake and jay know about how much i've been rehearsing."

"hm?"

“i’ve dreamt of meeting you again, you know? so when i saw you on our first day, i told myself that i’ll do it. i’ll show you my gratitude. i’ll show you i’ve changed. that i've grown. that i’m not the sickly and shy kid in the park anymore," sunghoon pauses. “so every night in front of my mirror, i rehearse the different ways i could talk to you— and it worked. it always goes smoothly,”

“but i’ll see you again in the morning and it’s like the hours i spent practicing rush out the window— because.. b–because i’ll hear your voice, and you’ll laugh, and you'll smile. and you’ll look at me the way you are right now… and it’s like all the bouquet of flowers get stuck here.” sunghoon explains, finger accusatorily pointing to the still-healing scar on the skin above his throat.

“it feels like their thorns are piercing me from the inside, angel. it sucks and it’s frustrating. and the only way to relieve it is to scratch, but they won’t come out even if i do. and then i’ll beat myself up over it, go home, and the cycle will repeat itself. and—you’re doing that smile again. s–stop it!” he stammers, finger now angrily pointed to you.

you chuckle because you don’t even know what kind of smile he means and sunghoon just sighs, reaching for his neck again, palm over his throat like he’s trying to relieve the itch without scratching.

he looks annoyed and irritated, nose scrunched up as he clears his throat one, two times.

“i— i love you, Y/N.”

the three words he’s been itching to confess for months, now breaking free from the tip of his tongue.

both of you freeze in your spots.you can’t believe the words he just said, and he looks like can’t believe it either.

“i love you.” sunghoon repeats, gnawing on the flesh on the inside of his lip while his hands squeeze on the base of his neck as if physically forcing the words out. “i think you’re so cool. and you’re pretty. but even that isn’t enough. beautiful is the closest i can get, but i hope you get what i mean a–and… fuck, i should’ve just written a letter.”

an intense battle of eye contact ensues, his free hand curled tightly atop his lap as he takes a deep breath in.

“i— i've admired you since i was a clueless kid in the playground. liked you s–since you talked to me on our first day. and i’ve loved you since our first kiss, but i was too much of a pussy to say it then because i didn’t want you to think i only loved you because of it.”

he grunts, knuckles pressing on his temple. “and i’m sorry that i don’t talk much because every time i do, it just makes you cry and i don’t want to see you crying because it breaks my heart too—”

the speed at which his words come out begins to pick up, making it barely understandable so you call out his name in an attempt to slow him down but he just looks at you with determination in his eyes.

“no! listen to me. i know i’ve had my moments, and i’ll probably keep having them, but i want you to know that i love you. sincerely. you’re precious to me, Y/N. and i don’t want you to doubt what i feel any longer so believe me when i say i’m trying my best right now, even though i’m babbling.”

he pauses just to take another inhale, and when he finally speaks again, both his voice and his eyes turn softer. so soft you can't hear his words.

"i'm sorry, hoon. i didn't quite catch that."

"Y/N. will you please be my girlfriend? you can say no, o–of course. i'm just throwing the idea out there but if you think i haven't proved myself yet then i'll be fine just waiting, i swear i c—”

you swallow the rest of his words in your mouth as you press your lips against his, eyes closed while you grab sunghoon’s hand by his wrist and guide it to your nape.

he lets out a meek sound of surprise but you can immediately feel him melt into you, fingers tightly holding on the neckline of your shirt as his soft, pillow-soft lips locked against yours in a slow but passionate kiss.

when you pull away, sunghoon’s eyes are glassy and you can see love pouring out from the way the beautiful chocolate brown orbs gaze into yours.

you leave a gentle peck on the mole under his eye—a thing you’ve picked up after multiple make out sessions—and lean back to appreciate the full view of a flustered sunghoon.

“i love you too,” you finally reply with an elated smile. “and i'd love to be your girlfriend.”

if humans had the chance to have heart-shaped eyes, you’re convinced sunghoon would have it at this moment.

his cheekbones are pushed all the way up, pearly whites flashed at you before he tackles you down into the picnic mat with a tight bear hug making you giggle loudly as he rolls the both of you from side to side while pressing kisses all over your face.

“hoon!” you squeal while wriggling in his hold and he relents, standing up to run in a wide circle around the garden, arms spread out wide while yelling.

“she said yes! Y/N’s mine! my girlfriend!”

thankfully, the few people meters away only flash the two of you confused looks before going about their business.

"can't believe you're my girlfriend now." he giggles breathlessly as he ends his run in front of you, only to wrap his arms around your figure once more, lifting you off the ground and spinning in place while professing his love at the top of his lungs.

it’s dizzying to be his, literally and figuratively, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

you're his, and he's yours.

you love park sunghoon.

from the thorns, to the long stems and rough leaves, up until the prettiest petals that are finally able to leave his soft lips.

but sunghoon is determined to spend the rest of life growing his garden until he can find the words that'll convince you that he loves you more.

BONUS SCENE:

"let me get this straight. you're telling me that you got jealous of me.. so you made my little Y/N cry three times?" jeonghan's voice is low, face void of any emotion as his arms cross over his chest across the both of you.

"technically it's seven, if we count the times i cried over winter break too." you mumble, meekly raising seven fingers.

sunghoon turn to you with wide eyes in disbelief. why would you throw your boyfriend under the bus? during his first time personally meeting your brother, no less.

"Y/N, what the hell?"

jeonghan's hand slammed on the table, making the both of you flinch. "don't look at her. look at me. i was asking you a question, and now you're going to explain."

he thought jeonghan was cool—and he still does—but he reminded sunghoon so much of you whenever you get stern, and it's like deja vu of the time you got serious with him during your first date.

"no, i— it wasn't necessarily because of that, hyung. i just so happen to have made her cry after i got jealous so it isn't really a cause-and-effect scenario—"

"love, you're getting a little off track..."

"he said he wanted me to explain—"

your brother's giggles echo throughout your family home's dining area and he shakes his head, leaning over to tap on sunghoon's shoulder. "nah, man. i'm just fucking with you. but you knew i had blonde hair so you really should've known better."

"ah.. y–yes, sir! i mean hyung! sir— i.. i mean... yeah." sunghoon sighs in defeat, head hanging low in an apologetic bow while jeonghan just nodded in acknowledgement.

"but if you make my little Y/N cry again, i'll make sure you really won't be able to use that throat of your ever again, got it?" the way your brother's able to make those words sound sweet make even your heart race, your hand finding sunghoon's underneath the table to give it comforting pats.

"and you're sleeping in my room. no nicknames or pda as long as you're under the yoon household."

your boyfriend's eyes travel between you and your brother and he only grips your hand, nodding.

he can't wait to go back to seoul.

꒰ from ! 🐰 yan ꒱⠀⠀aaaaaaaaaaa!! it's finally done. i'm gonna cry. ૮₍˶ ╥ ‸ ╥ ⑅₎ა i saw the video of i-lander sunghoon dancing to pretty u again and i just had to. if you can't already tell, this is heavily inspired by the song, especially the confession part! i'm thinking of writing shorter drabbles of other members so just shoot me an ask if you have an idea. < 3

⌗ taglist — @neozon3nha @zerocoded @firstclassjaylee @yuyita-rosier @chiiyuuvv

© hoonstrology 2025. please don't translate, plagiarize, steal, or repost any of my works.

[v-irtujake]

not those koreans saying sunghoon looks fat 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣 yall bitches can't handle a hot, healthy and delicious man 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣 cry about him not wanting to be anorexic like you bitches to your mothers, we want BIG BOY sunghoon forever 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

[lac4ygal]

SUNFLOWER — s.jy

-ˋˏ⚘ pairing: jake sim x female reader

-ˋˏ⚘ genre: neighbors to lovers · single dad au · fluff · angst · smut · found family · slow burn

-ˋˏ⚘ summary: You have lived in apartment 3B for two years. You know your neighbors the way you know background characters — familiar, unremarkable, just part of the scenery. Which is why it’s strange that you’ve never properly noticed the man in 3A. Until 6:58 on a Tuesday morning when someone knocks on your door and you open it to find not him, but her. Small. Round-cheeked. Duck pajamas. Absolutely certain of herself. You fall for his daughter first. Jake is just the complication that comes after. But god, what a complication.

-ˋˏ⚘ word count: 21.1k

-ˋˏ⚘ content warnings: explicit sexual content, penetrative sex, oral sex, fingering, multiple orgasms, praise kink, soft dom/sub undertones, strong language, single parent theme, child abandonment (mother leaving), brief parental guilt, an absent parent reappearing, emotional manipulation attempt, jealousy, mention of custody, legal procedure, alcohol, crying, found family theme, a toddler who will ruin your life in the best way

-ˋˏ⚘ song: You Are The Best Thing by Ray LaMontage

-ˋˏ⚘ authors note: i started this fic because i wanted to write a soft single dad jake but the mia took over everything, she was supposed to be a supporting character but how can i make someone that cute not a main. she picked reader first and she always knew and i think that’s the whole story. jake deserved softness. reader deserved to be chosen. mia deserved a mama who showed up. everyone got what they deserved. if you’re reading this — thank you. comments, reblogs, feedback and likes keep me writing and i am so serious about that. enjoy💛

-ˋˏ⚘ my masterlist

You have lived in Apartment 3B of Wattle Grove Building for two years. You know Mrs. Kim in 1A leaves her recycling out on the wrong day every single week without fail. You know the guy in 2C plays guitar badly but enthusiastically every Sunday morning. You know the building super Danny will fix anything you need as long as you leave a coffee outside your door first.

You know your neighbors the way you know background characters in a movie you’ve seen too many times. Familiar. Unremarkable. Just part of the scenery.

Which is why it’s strange that you’ve never properly noticed the man in 3A. You’ve seen him, obviously. In passing. At the mailboxes. Once in the car park when you were both leaving at the same time and did that awkward thing where you both reached for the door simultaneously and then laughed and said sorry at the same time. He’s tall. Dark hair. Has a nice face in the vague way that you register nice faces without really looking at them.

He moved in about eight months ago. Keeps to himself. Quiet. You’ve never heard a peep through the wall you share, which you appreciate deeply after two years of listening to the previous tenant’s aggressive taste in late night television. You know his name is Jake because it’s on the mailbox.

That’s it. That’s the extent of your knowledge of the man in 3A. Until 6:58 on a Tuesday morning when someone knocks on your door.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

You are not a morning person. You are, in fact, the opposite of a morning person. You are someone who sets four alarms and ignores three of them and considers getting out of bed before eight a personal attack. Your first class doesn’t start until ten. You were planning to sleep until at least eight thirty, mainline coffee until nine, and leave with approximately four minutes to spare.

So when someone knocks on your door at 6:58 AM you lie there for a full thirty seconds convincing yourself you imagined it. Then it happens again. Small. Rhythmic. Insistent. knock knock knock

You groan into your pillow. Drag yourself upright. Pull on the hoodie hanging off your desk chair and shuffle to the door, hair catastrophic, eyes barely open, prepared to be deeply unpleasant to whoever is on the other side.

You open the door. There is no one there. You blink. Look left. Look right. The hallway is empty and quiet and— “Hi.”

You look down. There is a child sitting on the floor outside your door. She is approximately three years old, round-cheeked and bright-eyed, wearing a yellow pajama set covered in tiny ducks. Her dark hair is escaping from two lopsided pigtails. She has a serious expression on her face like she has somewhere important to be and is merely pausing here briefly.

She is, without any competition, the most adorable thing you have ever seen in your entire life. You stare at her. She stares back. “Hi,” she says again, very patient, like she’s giving you time to catch up.

“Hi,” you manage. “Um. Who are you?”

She considers this question with great seriousness. “Mia.”

“Okay. Hi Mia.” You look up and down the empty hallway again. “Where did you come from?” She points at the door directly across from yours. 3A. “Are you—” You crouch down to her level. “Did you come out of your apartment by yourself?”

“Mr. Bunny is lost,” she explains, as if this answers everything. And apparently, in her world, it does. She stands up, remarkably steady on her feet for someone so small, and peers past you into your apartment with undisguised curiosity. “Is he in there?”

“Is who— Mr. Bunny? I don’t think so, sweetheart. I haven’t seen any—”

“Can I look?”

“I— well—” She’s already walking past you into your apartment.

You stand in your doorway, blinking slowly, watching a three year old you have never met toddle into your living room and start investigating with the focused energy of a tiny detective. She checks under the coffee table. Behind the couch cushions. She picks up one of your throw pillows, examines it, puts it back. “He’s not here,” she announces, sounding genuinely disappointed.

“I’m sorry.” You’re fully awake now, adrenaline doing what four alarms couldn’t. “Mia, does your dad know where you are?”

She looks at you. Blinks. And then, for the first time, something flickers across her face that isn’t complete confidence. Something small and uncertain. “Daddy’s sleeping,” she says quietly.

Oh no. Oh no.

“Okay,” you say, very carefully, going into full calm adult mode even though internally you are having a minor crisis. “Okay, that’s okay. Let’s go wake daddy up, yeah?”

You take her hand — she gives it to you immediately, tiny fingers wrapping around yours with complete trust, and something in your chest does something weird and unexpected — and you walk her across the hall to 3A.

You knock. Nothing. You knock louder. A crash. Muffled swearing. Footsteps. The door flies open.

Jake Sim, your neighbor from 3A, looks absolutely terrible. He’s in gray sweatpants and no shirt, hair destroyed, eyes wild with the specific panic of a parent who has woken up to find their child missing. There’s a pillow crease down his left cheek. He looks like a man who has just experienced the worst thirty seconds of his life.

He looks down at Mia standing beside you, her hand still in yours, looking up at him with the expression of someone who has done absolutely nothing wrong. The relief that crosses his face is so profound it’s almost painful to witness. “Mia.” His voice comes out wrecked. He drops to his knees right there in the doorway, gathering her up, holding her against his chest. She pats his back tolerantly. “Mia, I— you can’t— how did you—”

“I was looking for Mr. Bunny,” she explains into his shoulder, very reasonable.

“You can’t leave the apartment by yourself, baby, I’ve told you—”

“But Mr. Bunny—”

“I don’t care about Mr. Bunny right now—”

“Daddy.” She pulls back to look at him, deeply offended. “Mr. Bunny cares.”

You press your lips together very hard to keep from smiling. Jake looks up at you over Mia’s head, and he looks so mortified you almost feel sorry for him. Almost. It would be easier to feel sorry for him if he didn’t look — even rumpled and panicked and creased from sleep — really quite unfairly attractive. You file that observation away to examine later, when a child is not present.

“I’m so sorry,” he says. “I’m so, so sorry, she’s never done this before, I don’t know how she got the door open—”

“She knocked,” you tell him. “Very politely.”

He closes his eyes briefly. “Oh god.”

“I used my reaching stool,” Mia informs him helpfully. “For the handle.”

“We’re getting rid of the reaching stool,” Jake tells her.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Daddy, no—”

“Mia.” He pulls back to look at her properly, and his voice goes soft but serious. “You scared me. Really scared me, okay? You cannot leave without waking me up first. Ever. Do you understand?”

She looks at him. Her lip wobbles, just slightly. “I just wanted Mr. Bunny.”

“I know, baby.” He pulls her back in, pressing a kiss to her hair. “I know. But you have to wake me up. Promise me.”

“Promise,” she mumbles into his neck.

He holds her for another moment, and you feel like you’re witnessing something private. Something that belongs to them. You take a small step back. “I’ll let you—”

“Wait.” Jake stands, Mia on his hip, and looks at you with an expression that’s somehow equal parts exhausted and sincere. “I really am sorry. And thank you. Genuinely, thank you for— I don’t even want to think about what would have happened if she’d gone downstairs instead of just across the hall.”

“She was perfectly safe,” you say. “She was very focused on her investigation.”

“Mr. Bunny is lost,” Mia reminds both of you gravely.

“We’ll find him,” Jake tells her. Then to you: “I’m Jake, by the way. Since apparently we’ve been neighbors for eight months and I’ve never actually introduced myself, which is—”

“Terrible,” you supply.

“Yeah.” He winces. “Yeah, it really is. I’m sorry about that too.”

“Y/N,” you tell him. “3B.”

“I know. I’ve seen your name on the mailbox.” He shifts Mia on his hip. She has turned to look at you with renewed interest, the Mr. Bunny crisis temporarily suspended. “I kept meaning to knock and introduce myself properly but then time just—”

“It does that,” you agree.

He smiles. It’s a tired smile, still coming down from the panic, but it’s genuine. It does something to his face that you also file away for later. Mia is still staring at you. “You have pretty hair,” she announces.

“Mia—” Jake starts.

“Thank you,” you tell her seriously. “Yours is very pretty too.”

She reaches up and touches one of her lopsided pigtails, considering. “Daddy did it,” she says, with the tone of someone being very diplomatic about a disappointing situation.

You look at Jake. He looks back at you. The pigtails are genuinely quite bad. “I’m working on it,” he says.

“We could—” You stop yourself. You don’t even know this man. You’ve spoken to him for approximately four minutes. “Never mind.”

“No, what?”

“I was just going to say I could show you. If you wanted. It’s not— it’s easy once you know the trick.” You gesture vaguely. “But you probably have things to—”

“I would love that,” Jake says immediately. “Genuinely. Every morning is a disaster. She came home from daycare last week and her teacher had written a note that said ‘we love Mia’s creative hairstyles’ and I’m pretty sure that was a polite way of saying—”

“Daddy can’t do hair,” Mia explains to you, very straightforward.

“I cannot do hair,” Jake confirms.

You laugh. Actually laugh, fully awake now, standing in the hallway at seven in the morning in your old hoodie with your own hair catastrophic, and it surprises you a little. How easy it is. How natural. “Come over tomorrow morning,” you find yourself saying. “Before daycare. I’ll show you a couple of things.”

Jake looks at you like you’ve offered him something much more significant than a hair tutorial. “You don’t have to—”

“I know.” You crouch down to Mia’s level. “I hope you find Mr. Bunny.”

She studies you with those serious dark eyes. Then she reaches out and puts her small hand on your cheek, very gentle, the way toddlers sometimes do when they’re deciding something important about you. “You’re nice,” she declares.

“So are you,” you tell her. She nods, satisfied, like this has confirmed something she already suspected.

Then she tucks her face back into Jake’s neck, done with the interaction, and Jake gives you a helpless sort of smile over her head. “Thank you,” he says again. “Really.”

“Anytime.” You stand up and take a step back toward your own door. “And Jake?”

“Yeah?”

“Maybe put a chain lock on. Up high. Before tonight.”

He looks at the door. Looks at Mia. Looks back at you with the expression of a man who has just realized how many things there are to think about when you’re doing this alone. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “Yeah, good call.”

You don’t go back to sleep. You make coffee and sit on your couch and think about the way Mia put her hand on your cheek like she was taking your measure. The way she gave you her hand without hesitating, tiny fingers trusting yours completely.

The way Jake held her when he found her safe. Like she was the most important thing in the world, which she obviously was, which was obvious in every single line of his body.

You think about his apartment, which you caught a glimpse of through the open door. The small pair of shoes by the entrance. The sticker on the light switch at toddler height. The general chaos of someone who is managing, but only just. You think about the note from the daycare teacher and the terrible pigtails and the way he said I’m working on it without a single drop of self pity.

You finish your coffee. Make another one. You have a feeling that next door is going to become a lot more complicated than background noise and a name on a mailbox.

You’re not sure yet if that’s a good thing. But when you close your eyes you can still feel the ghost of small fingers wrapped around yours and you think— yeah. Yeah, you’re probably already in trouble.

Mr. Bunny turns up two days later. He is in the freezer. Neither Jake nor Mia can explain how he got there.

You laugh about it for five minutes straight when Jake texts you, and then you look at your phone and realize you’ve been texting your neighbor for two days like it’s completely normal and you’ve known him for years. You put your phone down. Pick it up again. Type back: at least he’s preserved.

Jake sends back a string of crying laughing emojis and then: Mia wants me to tell you that Mr. Bunny says thank you for looking for him

You smile so hard your face hurts. You are, you realize, completely and utterly done for. And you haven’t even properly met him yet.

The hair tutorial happens on Wednesday morning. You hear them before you see them — Mia’s voice carrying clearly through the wall at seven fifteen, a stream of cheerful commentary about something, Jake’s lower voice responding, the particular domestic chaos of someone trying to get a toddler ready for daycare on a schedule. Then a knock at your door.

You open it to find Jake holding Mia like a football under one arm, a hairbrush in his free hand, and the expression of a man who has already lost this morning’s battle comprehensively.

Mia is upside down and completely unbothered. “Hi,” she says, from her inverted position.

“Hi,” you say. You step back and open the door wider. “Come in.”

They troop inside, Jake setting Mia down on her feet in your living room where she immediately begins a thorough reinvestigation of the space, picking up where she left off two days ago. She examines your bookshelf. Touches the small succulent on your windowsill very gently with one finger. “Plant,” she observes.

“His name is Gerald,” you tell her.

She looks at you. Looks at Gerald. Looks back at you with the gravity of someone receiving important information. “Hi Gerald,” she says politely. Jake makes a sound that might be him trying not to laugh.

“Okay.” You take the hairbrush from him. “Sit her up on the couch and I’ll show you.”

What follows is twenty minutes that you will think about for the rest of the week for reasons you can’t entirely explain.

Mia sits between your knees on the couch, remarkably patient once she’s settled, holding Gerald the succulent in her lap because she asked and you said yes and Jake gave you a look that suggested he has learned to pick his battles. You work through her hair slowly, showing Jake each step — how to section it, how to hold the hair so it doesn’t pull, how to make the pigtails sit even.

He watches with the focused attention of someone who is genuinely trying to learn this. Not just nodding along but asking questions, asking you to slow down, watching your hands. At one point he leans in close to see what you’re doing and you’re very aware of how near he is and the fact that he smells like clean laundry and something warm underneath.

You focus on Mia’s hair. “The trick,” you tell him, “is that you do both sides before you tie either one off. Otherwise the first one pulls when you do the second.”

“That’s what I’ve been doing wrong,” he says. He sounds genuinely relieved, like you’ve solved something that’s been bothering him for months. Which, apparently, you have. “I couldn’t work out why they always went lopsided.”

“They were very lopsided,” Mia agrees pleasantly.

“Thanks, Mia.”

“You’re welcome, Daddy.”

You finish, tying off the second pigtail with the elastic, and smooth a hand over her hair. Perfect and even and neat. She reaches up and touches them carefully. “Pretty?” she asks.

“Very pretty,” you confirm.

She twists to look up at you, satisfied. Then she holds Gerald out. “You can have him back.”

“Thank you for taking care of him.”

“He was scared,” she explains seriously. “He doesn’t know me yet.” She places him very carefully back on the windowsill, patting the pot once. “It’s okay Gerald. I’m nice.”

Jake is watching his daughter with this expression — quiet and soft and a little undone at the edges — and when he catches you looking at him he clears his throat and looks away. Picks up the hairbrush from the cushion beside him. “Right,” he says. “We should get going. Daycare at eight.”

“Nooooo,” Mia says, without any real conviction. She’s already moving toward the door with the pragmatic acceptance of someone who knows the schedule.

“Thank you,” Jake says to you. He means it. You can tell he means it in that way where the words are bigger than they sound. “Seriously. This was—”

“It’s just pigtails.”

“It’s not just—” He stops. Starts again. “She talks about you. Since Tuesday. You’re the pretty lady from across the hall.”

Your face warms. “That’s very generous of her.”

“She’s got good taste.” He says it simply, matter of fact, and then looks slightly like he didn’t mean to say it quite like that. “I mean— she’s a good judge of character. Generally.”

“Y/N,” Mia calls from the doorway where she is putting her shoes on the wrong feet with great confidence.

“Yeah?”

She looks up at you. “Will you be here tomorrow?”

Something squeezes in your chest. “Yeah, I’ll be here.”

She nods, satisfied, like this is settled. Like you have made a commitment and she is holding you to it. Then she holds her foot up at Jake. “Daddy. Shoes.”

Jake crouches down to fix them, and you lean against your doorframe and watch, and you think about what Liv said to you once about knowing when something is going to change your life. How you can feel it sometimes. The specific weight of a moment that’s about to matter.

You feel it now, watching Jake tie his daughter’s shoes in your doorway at seven forty in the morning while she holds your door handle for balance and hums something tuneless to herself. You feel it, and you file it away with everything else, and you tell yourself it’s too early for any of this and you need coffee.

You leave cookies outside 3A that afternoon. You don’t examine why. You made a batch because you were stress baking about an assignment and you made too many and they were just sitting there and Jake mentioned once — in the mailbox, months ago, one of those nothing conversations you’d forgotten until now — that Mia liked anything with chocolate.

You leave them outside the door in a container with a post it note that says for Mia (and you, if you want) and then you go back inside and finish your assignment and don’t think about it.

At nine fifteen that night your phone buzzes: jake 3a: she ate four before I could stop her and is now absolutely feral and won’t sleep. I’m blaming you

You grin at your phone. you: that’s fair

jake 3a: they were really good though like genuinely really good. Did you make them from scratch?

you: yes

jake 3a: of course you did

jake 3a: I’m sorry, I don’t know what that means, that came out weird. I just mean they were better than anything I could make. I’m a terrible baker.

you: how terrible?

jake 3a: I made Mia a birthday cake in August and it came out flat and she cried

you: oh no

jake 3a: not because of the cake. She thought it was funny. She cried laughing. It was actually one of the best moments of my life which probably tells you everything about my standards right now

You’re smiling at your phone like an idiot. you: I’ll make the cake next time. You send it before you’ve fully decided to, and then stare at it. It’s October. You’ve just committed to being in this man’s life until at least next August.

Three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again. jake 3a: you really don’t have to

you: I want to. she told Gerald not to be scared because she was nice. I feel like she deserves a good birthday cake.

jake 3a: yeah she really does

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

The drawing appears under your door on Thursday morning. You almost step on it when you come out of your bedroom, a folded piece of paper on your doormat. You pick it up and unfold it and find a crayon drawing — several figures of varying heights and proportions, all labeled in Jake’s handwriting because Mia clearly directed and he transcribed.

Mia. Daddy. Gerald. Mr Bunny. And then, on the end, slightly larger than the others, with yellow crayon hair: Y/N. She’s drawn you into her family portrait.

You stand in your kitchen holding a crayon drawing with yellow-haired you standing next to a rectangle that is apparently Gerald and you feel something crack open in your chest so softly and so completely that you have to sit down.

You take a photo of it. You put the original on your fridge. You text Jake a photo of it on the fridge and he doesn’t respond for ten minutes and when he does it just says: jake 3a: she worked on it for an hour last night

jake 3a: kept starting over because she wanted to get your hair right

You stare at that message for a long time. you: tell her I love it

jake 3a: she’s going to lose her mind. also she asked if you want to come to the park with us Saturday

Three dots. Then: jake 3a: I want that too, for what it’s worth. If you’re free.

You look at the drawing on your fridge. Yellow-haired you, standing in a row with Mia and Daddy and Gerald and Mr. Bunny like you’ve always been there. you: I’m free Saturday

Saturday at the park is easy in a way that surprises you. You’d half expected it to be awkward — the three of you, still essentially strangers, trying to fill silence in an open space. But Mia eliminates the possibility of silence entirely. She has opinions about the swings (good), the slide (excellent, requires multiple repetitions), and the ducks by the small pond at the park’s edge (deeply suspicious, do not approach).

“They’re just ducks,” Jake tells her.

“They’re watching,” she says.

“They’re not watching.”

“Daddy.” She gives him a very patient look. “They are watching.”

Jake looks at you. You shrug. “They do look pretty focused,” you offer.

He points at you. “Don’t encourage her.”

Mia takes your hand and pulls you toward the swings, away from the ducks and away from Jake’s protests, and you go because she’s three and determined and her hand is in yours and you’ve decided that’s reason enough for basically anything at this point.

You push her on the swings while Jake sits on the bench nearby, and you watch him watching the two of you. He has his elbows on his knees and his face is open in a way you’re starting to learn is rare for him — in a crowd or with strangers he goes carefully neutral, pleasant but contained. But here, watching Mia go higher and higher and shriek with delight, he looks unguarded. Younger, somehow. Like something in him relaxes when it’s just the three of you. “Higher!” Mia demands.

“You’re already very high,” you tell her.

“Higher.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Please.”

“Nice try.”

She cackles. Pure delighted toddler sound, head thrown back. And you find yourself laughing too, pushing her at this very reasonable height, and when you look over at Jake he’s smiling at you with an expression you don’t quite have a name for yet. You look away first.

After the swings, Mia finds a stick, which becomes the most important object in the world for the next twenty minutes. She examines rocks. She makes Jake carry her on his shoulders. She falls asleep on the walk home with her cheek on his head and one fist clutching his jacket, completely unconscious, utterly trusting.

Jake walks carefully, holding her legs, talking to you in a low voice so he doesn’t wake her. “She doesn’t do this with many people,” he says.

“Fall asleep?”

“Trust people.” He adjusts his grip on her. “She’s friendly, obviously, she’ll talk to anyone. But she doesn’t— she doesn’t hold hands with people she doesn’t know. She doesn’t draw people.” He pauses. “She drew you in four days.”

You don’t know what to say to that. So you say, “she’s special.”

“Yeah.” His voice is quiet. “She really is.”

You walk in silence for a moment, the easy kind. “How long has it been?” you ask. “Just the two of you.”

He doesn’t tense the way you half expect him to. Just exhales, slow and steady. “Since she was four months old. Her mom left.” He says it flat, without bitterness, which somehow makes it worse. Like he’s had a long time to practice saying it that way. “Just— left. Packed a bag while I was at work. By the time I got home it was just us.”

“Jake—”

“It’s fine now.” He glances at you sideways. “It wasn’t, for a long time. But it’s fine now. It’s good, actually. It’s really good.” He looks up at Mia’s sleeping face. “She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I didn’t know it was possible to love someone this much.”

You look at him. At the way he holds her. At the careful tenderness of it. “She knows,” you say softly. He looks at you. “That she’s loved like that. You can tell.” You hold his gaze. “She knows.”

Something moves through his expression. Quick and unguarded and gone before you can name it. “Thanks,” he says quietly.

You walk the rest of the way home in comfortable silence, Mia asleep above you, the afternoon sun going golden through the trees lining the street. It is, you think, a very good Saturday.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

It becomes a routine without either of you deciding it should. Wednesday mornings, Jake knocks with the hairbrush. You do Mia’s hair while she holds Gerald and narrates her thoughts about the day ahead. Jake makes coffee in your kitchen like he knows where everything is, which after three weeks he does.

Saturdays are the park, or the farmers market two streets over, or just the three of you on one of your balconies eating whatever Jake has cooked because it turns out that while he cannot bake to save his life he is an genuinely excellent cook and he seems to enjoy having someone to cook for.

Evenings sometimes, when Mia’s in bed and Jake knocks quietly and you sit on his couch and watch something and talk about nothing in particular until one of you falls asleep.

It is domestic and soft and easy. It is also, you are increasingly aware, becoming something that would hurt to lose.

Mia calls you her Y/N now. Not just Y/N. Her Y/N, possessive and certain, the way she says her daddy and her Mr. Bunny and her Gerald. You are hers in her taxonomy of the world and the certainty of it does something to your chest every single time.

She tells the woman at the bakery you buy her the jam scroll she likes every Saturday. She tells a child at the park. She tells Mrs. Kim from 1A who coos and looks between you and Jake with an expression that makes Jake find something fascinating to look at on the middle distance.

You’re folding laundry in your apartment on a Thursday evening, three weeks in, when Jake knocks. You open the door. He’s holding two containers of leftover pasta, still warm. He holds one out. “Made too much,” he says.

You take it. Step back to let him in. This is how it goes now. “Mia asleep?” you ask.

“Out cold. She had daycare and then apparently spent an hour reorganizing her stuffed animals by color.” He sits on your couch. “It took everything she had.”

You sit beside him, open the pasta. It’s good — it’s always good. “Did the reorganization meet her standards?”

“She made me come and approve it before bed.” He pauses. “Mr. Bunny is in the orange section even though he’s gray.”

“He has warm undertones,” you say seriously.

Jake looks at you. Starts laughing. Not the polite laugh of someone being friendly but the real one, the one that takes over his whole face, and you’ve been cataloguing that laugh for weeks now, the way it comes out surprised sometimes like he forgot he was allowed to do it.

You’re laughing too, both of you over toddler stuffed animal color theory at eight PM with pasta containers in your laps, and when the laughter settles it leaves something warm and quiet in its place.

Jake is looking at you. Not the quick sideways glances you’ve been trading for weeks. Really looking, steady and open, and you feel it the way you feel a change in weather. The pressure of it. The way the air shifts. “Y/N,” he says.

“Yeah?”

He opens his mouth. Closes it. Looks down at his pasta container, turning it in his hands. “Nothing. Never mind. It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing.”

He looks at you again and this time he doesn’t look away. “I really like spending time with you.”

You hold his gaze. “I really like spending time with you too.”

“I haven’t—” He exhales. “I haven’t wanted to spend time with someone like this in a long time. Maybe ever. And I don’t know what to do with that.”

The honesty of it lands softly. No performance, no deflection. Just him, telling you the truth. “I don’t either,” you say. “But I don’t think I want to stop.”

He looks at you for a long moment. Then he leans in, slow and deliberate, giving you every opportunity to pull back. You don’t pull back.

His mouth finds yours, gentle at first, questioning, and then you lean into it and it stops being a question. It’s warm and unhurried and it tastes like the pasta and something underneath that is just him, and when you finally break apart you’re both quiet, foreheads almost touching.

“Okay,” he says softly.

“Okay,” you agree.

He pulls back just slightly. His expression is open and a little nervous and more serious than the moment requires, or maybe exactly as serious as it requires. “I need to say something,” he says.

“Okay.”

“If we—” He pauses, choosing his words. “Whatever this is. Whatever it becomes. Mia comes first. Always. That’s non negotiable for me. I need you to know that going in.”

You look at him. At the set of his jaw, the quiet certainty in his eyes. A man who has built his whole life around a three year old with lopsided pigtails and a stuffed rabbit and absolute confidence in the people she decides are hers. “Jake,” you say.

“Yeah.”

“I know.” You hold his gaze. “I love her. She’s— she put her hand on my face the first morning and I was gone. I was completely gone.” You shake your head a little. “I think I fell for her before I even fell for you.”

Something moves across his face. Deep and quiet and undone.“Yeah?” he says, and his voice is rough at the edges.

“Yeah.” He kisses you again. Softer this time. Like something has been settled, like the last lock has clicked open. His hand comes up to cup your jaw and you lean into it and outside the window the city is doing whatever cities do at eight o’clock on a Thursday and in here it is warm and quiet and it feels, very specifically, like the beginning of something.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

The first time Mia is at the babysitter’s overnight, it’s an accident.

Not the overnight part — that’s planned. Sandy, Mia’s regular babysitter three streets over, has been asking for weeks if she can have Mia for a sleepover because her own grandchildren are visiting and Mia and the youngest, a boy named Theo, have formed the specific intense friendship that only exists between toddlers who have decided they are best friends after forty five minutes together at a playground.

Jake agrees because Mia asks with her whole body, bouncing on her toes, and because Sandy has been his lifeline for two and a half years and he trusts her completely. What’s accidental is what happens after.

He drops Mia off at four on a Friday afternoon. You’re not there — you have a late class — but when you get home at six thirty and knock on 3A because it’s become reflex, Jake opens the door and the apartment is quiet in a way it never is.

You’ve been in this apartment dozens of times now. You know its sounds. The particular creak of the second floorboard in the hall. The way the kitchen tap needs an extra turn to stop dripping. The constant ambient noise of Mia — her commentary, her singing, her negotiations with various stuffed animals about bedtime.

The silence is enormous. “Weird, right?” Jake says, reading your face.

“Really weird.” You step inside. “How long has she been gone?”

“Two hours.” He closes the door. “I’ve cleaned the whole apartment and reorganized the pantry and I don’t know what to do with myself.”

You look at the pantry, which is indeed immaculate. You look at Jake, who is in dark jeans and a simple white t-shirt and looks simultaneously very attractive and genuinely a little lost. “Have you eaten?” you ask.

“No.”

“Cook me something.”

Something in him settles. He moves into the kitchen, and you sit on the counter the way you’ve started doing, and he makes pasta — different from the other night, something with lemon and herbs — and you open the wine you brought from your apartment and it is easy, it is so easy, the way everything with him has become easy without you noticing it happening.

You eat at his kitchen table. You talk about your classes and his current project — branding for a new café opening in the city — and the book you’ve both apparently been meaning to read for months and never have. You talk about Mia, because you always talk about Mia, about the things she’s said recently that have floored you both. “She told me yesterday,” Jake says, “that she wants to be a paleontologist.”

“She’s three.”

“I know. I asked her what a paleontologist was and she said ‘a person who finds old bones’ and I have no idea where she learned that word.”

“That’s— that’s genuinely impressive.”

“She then said she also wants to be a cat.” He takes a sip of wine. “So. Range.” You’re laughing, and he’s laughing, and the kitchen is warm and the wine is good and at some point the laughter fades and you’re just looking at each other in the quiet.

It’s been two weeks since the kiss on your couch. Two weeks of nothing changing and everything changing — the same routine, the same easy rhythm, but with this new current running underneath it. His hand finding yours sometimes. The way he says goodbye now, at the door, that takes longer than it used to. The awareness of him that hums in your chest constantly, warm and insistent.

You haven’t had a night without Mia before. You’re both aware of it. “Y/N,” he says.

“Yeah.”

“Can I—” He stops. Starts again. His jaw works slightly, that tell you’ve learned. “I’ve been thinking about this. About us. And I want to— I want to do this properly. Take you on an actual date, not just—” He gestures at the table, the apartment, the comfortable domesticity of it. “Not just this. You deserve—”

“Jake.” You set down your glass. “I like this.”

“I know, but—”

“I mean I really like this.” You hold his gaze. “I don’t need a restaurant. I don’t need— I just want you. This. Whatever this is.” He looks at you for a long moment.

Then he pushes back from the table and crosses to you and kisses you like he’s been thinking about it all evening, one hand cupping your jaw, the other finding your waist. You slide off the counter and into him and he makes a low sound against your mouth that does something devastating to your concentration. “Stay tonight,” he says against your lips.

“Yeah,” you breathe. “Okay.”

You end up on his bed.

It happens slowly, the way things happen when there’s no rush, when the whole night stretches ahead and neither of you is going anywhere. He takes his time, unhurried and thorough, like he wants to learn you. Like you’re something worth learning.

He lays you back against his pillows and looks at you for a moment, just looks, and something about being seen like that — careful and wanting and completely focused — makes heat pool low in your stomach before he’s even touched you. “Hi,” he says softly.

“Hi,” you say back.

He leans down and kisses you again, and it’s different from the doorway kisses and the couch kisses. Deeper. More deliberate. His hand slides up your side, pushing your shirt up, warm palm against your skin, and you shiver.“Cold?” he murmurs.

“Opposite.” He smiles against your mouth. Keeps moving, finding the hem of your shirt, and you lift your arms and let him pull it off. He sits back to look at you, and his expression is so openly appreciative, so uncomplicated in its wanting, that you feel heat rise to your face.

“Don’t,” he says quietly.

“Don’t what?”

“Look away.” His thumb traces your collarbone. “I want to look at you.” You keep his gaze. He keeps his.

He gets rid of his own shirt and you run your hands up his chest, his stomach, the way you’ve been wanting to since— longer than you’ll admit. He’s warm and solid and he watches your face as you touch him like your expression is telling him something important.

“What?” you ask.

“Nothing.” He catches your hands, pins them gently above your head, leans down to press his mouth to your jaw. Your neck. The soft skin below your ear. “Just thinking about how long I’ve been wanting this.”

“How long?”

He mouths at your pulse point and you gasp, arching up. “Longer than I should admit,” he murmurs. “Probably since the morning with Mia. You opened the door half asleep with terrible hair and you crouched down and talked to her like she was a real person and I thought—” He lifts his head to look at you. “I thought I was in serious trouble.”

“Your daughter was upside down under your arm,” you manage.

“I know. Terrible timing.” He releases your wrists, hands moving to the button of your jeans. “Is this okay?”

“Yes. God, yes.”

He undresses you slowly, pressing his mouth to each new piece of skin like punctuation. The inside of your wrist. Your hip. The soft skin of your inner thigh that makes you grip the sheets and breathe out his name. He looks up at you from there, chin resting on your thigh, expression somewhere between fond and wrecked. “Jake—”

“I’ve got you,” he says quietly. “Okay? I’ve got you.” And then his mouth is on you and your head falls back and you stop being able to think in complete sentences.

He takes his time the way he does everything — with complete attention, reading every sound you make, every shift of your hips, adjusting until he finds exactly what makes you come apart. He slides one finger inside you and then two, curling them just right while his tongue works your clit in slow, devastating circles, and you fist your hand in his hair and try to remember how to breathe.

“Jake— fuck— I’m—”

He doesn’t speed up. Doesn’t change what he’s doing. Just keeps that perfect steady rhythm like he has all the time in the world, like getting you there is the only thing on his agenda, and you come with your thighs clamped around his head and his name on your lips and it crashes through you in waves that don’t seem to stop.

He works you through every second of it, only easing off when you tug at his hair, oversensitive and shaking.

He moves up your body, pressing a kiss to your stomach, your sternum, your mouth. You can taste yourself on him and somehow that makes heat flare through you all over again. “Hi,” he says again, soft and amused.

“You,” you manage, “are very good at that.”

“Yeah?” He looks pleased.

“Don’t get smug about it.”

“I’m not smug.” He is a little smug. You find you don’t mind. “You okay?”

“More than okay.” You reach up, pull him down to kiss him properly, deep and unhurried. “Your turn.”

You get his jeans off, and his boxers, and you wrap your hand around him and he hisses through his teeth, hips jerking slightly.“Sorry—”

“Don’t apologize,” you tell him. You stroke him slowly, learning the weight of him, and he drops his forehead to yours and just breathes. “Tell me what you like.”

“That,” he says roughly. “Exactly that. Just—” He covers your hand with his, adjusts the pressure slightly. “Yeah. Like that.”

You watch his face — the way his jaw goes tight, the way his eyes flutter. He’s trying to stay composed and not quite managing it and you find that incredibly satisfying. “Y/N.” His voice has gone rough. “I want— can I—”

“Yes,” you say. “Please.”

He reaches into his nightstand drawer. You take the condom from him and roll it on yourself, slowly, which makes him close his eyes and exhale hard through his nose.“You’re going to kill me,” he says.

“You’ll be fine.”

He settles between your thighs and you feel him there, pressing in, and you both go still for a moment. He pushes forward, slow and careful, watching your face, and the stretch of him makes you exhale hard, fingers pressing into his shoulders. He stops halfway, checking. “Good?” he asks.

“So good.” You shift your hips, urging him on. “Don’t stop.”

He doesn’t stop. He seats himself fully and you both breathe through it, foreheads together, and then he starts to move and everything else falls away.

He fucks you slowly at first, deep and thorough, finding the angle that makes you gasp and then staying with it. His hand slides between your bodies, thumb finding your clit, and you make a sound that you’d be embarrassed about in any other context.“There?” he asks.

“There,” you confirm breathlessly.

He keeps going. Steady and focused and impossibly good, hitting that spot inside you on every stroke while his thumb works you in tight circles, and you can already feel it building again, embarrassingly fast. “Jake— fuck— already—”

“Let go,” he says against your temple. “I want to feel you.”

You come clenching around him, and he groans deep in his chest, the rhythm stuttering, and you feel him follow you over with your name on his lips, buried deep, shaking.

Afterward you lie tangled together in the quiet. He traces absent patterns on your arm. You listen to his heartbeat slow. “Hey,” he says eventually.

“Hey.”

“That was—”

“Yeah.” You tilt your head up. “It really was.” He presses a kiss to your hair. You feel him smile against it.

Outside, the city is doing its Friday night thing, indifferent and ongoing. In here the lamp is warm and the sheets are soft and Jake’s heartbeat is steady under your cheek and you think about the drawing on your fridge and the hand on your cheek and Mr. Bunny in the freezer and all the ordinary extraordinary things that have built this without you quite realizing. “Stay,” he says.

“I’m already here.”

“I mean—” He tightens his arm around you. “Stay. Not just tonight.”

You’re quiet for a moment. “You’re going to have to define that.”

“I know.” His thumb moves slow on your arm. “I’m working up to it.”

“Okay.” You settle back against him. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Mia comes home at eleven the next morning. You’re still there.

You’re in Jake’s kitchen making coffee, wearing his hoodie and your underwear, when the front door opens and Sandy’s voice floats through — “here we are, my love, home sweet home” — and small feet thunder down the hall.

Mia appears in the kitchen doorway. She takes in the scene. You, in her daddy’s hoodie. The two coffee cups. The general evidence of your presence. Her face does something complicated and then completely simple. “My Y/N,” she says, delighted, and launches herself at your legs.

You crouch down and catch her, and she wraps around you like a koala, warm and sleep-soft and smelling like Sandy’s house, and you hold her and look up at Jake in the doorway and he’s looking at the two of you with that expression again. The one that’s bigger than his face can hold.

“Hi baby,” you say into Mia’s hair. “How was Theo’s?”

“We found a worm,” she says. “His name is Dave.”

“Did you bring Dave home?”

“Sandy said no.” A pause. “I think that was wrong.”

“Dave is probably very happy in Sandy’s garden.”

She considers this. “Okay.” Then, muffled against your shoulder: “Are you staying for breakfast?”

You look at Jake. He holds your gaze, steady and warm. “Yeah,” you say. “I’m staying for breakfast.”

Mia pulls back, satisfied. “Daddy makes good eggs.”

“I know he does.”

“You can sit next to me.”

“I would love that.”

She takes your hand and tows you toward the table with the authority of someone who has decided how this morning is going to go, and Jake moves to the stove, and outside the kitchen window the Saturday morning is doing its soft unhurried thing, and this— this is everything.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

The weeks that follow are the best of your life. You don’t say that out loud. It feels too large, too exposed. But it’s true in the quiet way that the truest things are — not dramatic, not announced, just sitting solidly in your chest every time you’re aware of it.

The three of you fall into a rhythm so natural it’s almost hard to remember the before. Jake knocks on your door with the hairbrush and leaves with coffee. You come to theirs for dinner more nights than not. Mia insists on showing you everything — every drawing, every discovery, every development in the ongoing organization of her stuffed animal collection.

The farmers market becomes yours. Every Saturday, the three of you. Mia on Jake’s shoulders, small hands wrapped in his hair, pointing imperiously at things she wants to examine. You buy her a sunflower from the flower stall in week two and she carries it home with both hands like it’s precious, and after that it becomes the thing — every week, a sunflower for Mia, who has decided they are her favorite and cannot be argued with on this point.

Jake watches you with her constantly. You catch him doing it — that soft unguarded look — and he doesn’t stop when you catch him, just holds your gaze until you look away first, which you always do because the directness of it does something to your chest that you haven’t found words for yet.

Mia tells her daycare teacher about you. You know this because Jake texts you a screenshot of a drawing she brought home — the same configuration as before, Mia Daddy Gerald Mr Bunny Y/N, but this time you and Jake are holding hands.

jake 3a: her teacher asked who the people were, she said ‘that’s my daddy and my Y/N they’re in love’

You stare at the message. you: she’s three

jake 3a: three and apparently very perceptive

you: what did you tell the teacher

jake 3a: I said she wasn’t wrong

You put your phone face down on the desk and press both hands over your face and sit there for a full minute. Then you pick it up. you: jake

jake 3a: yeah?

you: are you in love with me

A pause. Longer than usual. Your heart does something complicated in the silence. jake 3a: I’ve been trying to find the right moment to say it properly not over text but yes, very much yes. I have been for a while

jake 3a: is that okay?

You read it three times. you: yes, it’s very okay. also I love you too

jake 3a: yeah?

you: yeah

jake 3a: okay, good. I’m going to say it properly tonight with Mia asleep so she doesn’t narrate it

you: she would absolutely narrate it

jake 3a: she would make it about herself somehow

you: she would bring Mr Bunny as a witness

jake 3a: he’d be very moved

You’re smiling so hard your face hurts, alone in your apartment at two in the afternoon, and you think about the morning you opened your door and found a small person sitting on your doormat in duck pajamas looking for her rabbit.

You think about tiny fingers in yours on the way back across the hall. You think about you’re nice delivered with complete certainty by someone who had known you for four minutes.

That night, after Mia is asleep, Jake says it properly. Standing in the kitchen, cup of tea going cold on the counter, both of you knowing it’s coming and neither of you in any rush because there’s no need to rush anymore.

“I love you,” he says. Simple and direct. “I love you and I love that she loves you and I don’t want to do any of this without you.”

“I love you too,” you say. “Both of you. The whole— all of it. Everything.”

He kisses you there in the kitchen and it tastes like coming home, which is a thing you didn’t know kitchens could taste like until now.

Later, in his bed, you press your face into his shoulder and listen to the particular quiet of the apartment at night — the creak of the building, the distant city, the soft sound of Mia breathing through the baby monitor on the nightstand. “Hey,” Jake says quietly. “You know what Mia asked me today?”

“What?”

“She asked if you were going to live with us.”

Your heart turns over. “What did you tell her?”

“I said I hoped so.” He tilts his head to look down at you. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” you say softly. “That’s okay.” He pulls you closer. You close your eyes. Outside, a siren somewhere. The building settling. Mia’s breathing through the monitor, slow and even and completely safe.

In here, you think. Everything is in here. You never see it coming. That’s the thing about a knock at the door when you’re happy. You don’t brace for it. You don’t clock the risk. You’re just— there. In the warm. Thinking about nothing that isn’t good.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

It’s a Sunday. Mia is at Sandy’s. Not overnight this time — just the afternoon, a regular arrangement while Jake works on a deadline.

Except Jake finished his deadline by noon and texted you and you came over and the afternoon became the best kind of afternoon, the kind that starts with coffee and talking and turns into something else entirely when Mia isn’t home, when there’s nowhere to be and no particular reason to leave the bedroom.

You’re in his bed. Late afternoon light coming gold through the curtains. His hand on your back tracing lazy patterns on your spine. You’re boneless and warm and half thinking about nothing and half thinking about whether Mia will want to show you the worm situation at Sandy’s when Jake picks her up.

“Sandy said she asked to bring Dave home three more times,” Jake says, like he’s reading your mind.

“Persistent.”

“She gets it from somewhere.” His hand moves up to the back of your neck, squeezing gently. “You hungry?” “Not yet.”

“Okay.” He presses a kiss to your shoulder. “We’ve got a couple of hours before I pick her up.” You hum. He pulls you closer. The afternoon light shifts.

Then someone knocks at the door. Jake’s hand stills on your back. “Expecting anyone?” you ask.

“No.” He frowns slightly. “Sandy would call.” He sits up, reaching for his t-shirt. “Probably Danny about the tap.”

You stretch out across the warm space he’s left, drowsy and content, listening to his footsteps down the hall. The sound of the door opening. Silence.

Not the brief silence of oh hi Danny it’s fine. A longer silence. A loaded one.

Then a voice you don’t recognize — a woman’s voice, careful and slightly uncertain — saying his name. “Jake.”

You go very still.

Jake says nothing for a long moment. When he speaks his voice is completely flat in a way you’ve never heard from him before. Like all the warmth has been removed surgically. “What are you doing here?”

“I just— I wanted to—” The woman’s voice. “Can I come in?”

“No. How did you find me?”

“Your mum. She didn’t— she thought I knew the address, I think. I don’t think she realized—”

“Why are you here.” Not a question. A demand.

A pause. “I want to see her,” the woman says. “I want to see Mia.”

The name lands in the apartment like something dropped. You sit up slowly, pulling the sheet around yourself, and the drowsy warmth of the afternoon has gone completely. In its place something cold and alert.

“You need to leave,” Jake says.

“I know I don’t have the right to—”

“You left,” Jake says, and his voice is still flat, but underneath the flatness there is something enormous being held very carefully in check. “She was four months old and you left. You’ve been gone for three years. You don’t get to knock on my door and say you want to see her like it’s a reasonable thing to say.”

“I know.” The woman’s voice cracks slightly. “I know that. I just— Jake, please, I just want—”

“To see her? Or to see me?” Silence. “Yeah,” Jake says quietly. “That’s what I thought.”

You get up. Quietly. You find your clothes in the soft afternoon mess of the room, pull them on, and you stand in the hallway outside his bedroom door and you look at the front door.

She’s standing in the doorway. Tall, dark-haired, pretty in a way that might have been beautiful before whatever she’s been carrying got into her face. She’s looking at Jake with an expression that mixes guilt and want in proportions you don’t have to be a genius to read.

She sees you. Her eyes move over you — your rumpled clothes, Jake’s apartment behind you, the obvious geography of the afternoon — and something hardens in her expression that you recognize. The specific hardening of someone who wanted to find a door open and has found it closed.

Jake turns. He sees you in the hallway. Something moves through his face — protective, apologetic, something else underneath that you don’t have time to read. “Y/N,” he says. “Hi.” You keep your voice steady. “I’ll— I can go.”

“You don’t have to—”

“It’s okay.” You look at him clearly, trying to say with your eyes what you can’t say in front of her: I’m fine. I’m not going far. Handle this. “I’ll be across the hall.”

He holds your gaze. His jaw is set, his eyes tight at the corners, but he gives you the smallest nod.

You pick up your keys from the bowl by the door — yours, in the bowl by Jake’s door, which happened so gradually you can’t remember it beginning — and you step past the woman in the doorway without looking at her.

You go into 3B. You close the door. You sit on your couch and you listen to the muffled sound of voices through the wall, and you hold yourself very carefully together, and you wait.

You sit on your couch for forty minutes. You know because you watch the clock. Not obsessively — you’re not counting seconds — but every time your eyes drift to it another chunk of time has passed and the voices through the wall have not stopped.

You make tea you don’t drink. You open your laptop and close it again. You pick up your phone three times and put it down without texting anyone because what would you even say.

My boyfriend’s ex showed up. The one who left when their daughter was four months old. She’s been there forty minutes and I’m sitting in my apartment trying not to think about the way she looked at him.

You put your phone face down on the cushion beside you.

The thing is — and you know this, you do — you trust Jake. That’s not the part that’s making your chest tight. You’ve watched him for months now. You know who he is. You know the way he holds his daughter and the way he laughs and the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not watching. You know he means what he says.

The part that’s making your chest tight is her face when she saw you. Not guilt. Not embarrassment at the intrusion. Something proprietary. Something that said what are you doing in my space even though she is the one who left. Even though she forfeited any claim to this apartment and this life and this man the day she packed a bag while her four month old daughter slept.

You’re familiar with that expression. You’ve worn it yourself, briefly, watching other women talk to Jake at the market or at the park. You know what it means. She wants him back. Mia is the reason she knocked. But she wants Jake back.

You’re still sitting with that when your phone buzzes. jake 3a: she’s gone, can you come back?

You’re across the hall before you’ve fully decided to move. He opens the door before you knock. He looks terrible. Not falling apart — Jake doesn’t fall apart, you’ve figured that out, he goes very still and very controlled when things get bad, which is almost worse — but there are lines around his eyes that weren’t there this morning and his jaw is set in that way that means he’s been holding something in for a while.

He steps back to let you in. Closes the door. You turn to face him and he looks at you for a moment like he’s checking that you’re real, that you’re still here, that the afternoon hasn’t completely dismantled itself. “You okay?” you ask.

“I should be asking you that.”

“I’m fine. I was across the hall.” You hold his gaze. “Are you okay?”

He exhales. Long and slow. Runs a hand through his hair. “She wants to see Mia. She says she’s been in therapy. That she’s been— working through things. That she made a mistake and she knows that and she just wants—” He stops. His jaw works. “She was here for forty minutes and Mia’s name came up maybe three times.”

Your stomach tightens. “What did the rest of it cover?” He looks at you with an expression that answers the question without words. “Jake—”

“I told her no,” he says. “To all of it. I told her— Mia doesn’t know her. She’s three years old, she has no memory of her, and showing up out of nowhere and announcing herself as her mother would be— I’m not doing that to her. I’m not letting someone walk in and blow up her world because they’ve decided they’re ready now.”

“That’s right,” you say quietly.

“Is it?” He looks genuinely uncertain, and that more than anything tells you how rattled he is. Jake is not an uncertain man. He’s careful, he’s considered, but when he’s decided something he holds it steady. Watching him doubt himself is unfamiliar and uncomfortable. “Because part of me thinks— she’s her mother. Biologically. Does Mia have a right to know her? At some point? And am I—”

“Jake.” You cross to him. Put your hand on his chest, flat over his heart, and look up at him. “You are the most present, devoted, thoughtful parent I have ever seen. You have been both of them for three years. Whatever you decide about this, it comes from that. Not from fear, not from jealousy. From knowing your daughter.” He looks down at you. His hand comes up to cover yours. “She’s not here because of Mia,” you say gently. “You know that.”

“Yeah.” His voice is rough. “Yeah, I know that.”

“So you handle the Mia question in your own time, with proper advice, on your terms. Not because she showed up at your door on a Sunday afternoon.”

He’s quiet for a moment. Then: “When did you get so—”

“Wise?”

“I was going to say steady.”

“Same thing.” You press your palm flatter against his chest. “You’re okay. Mia’s okay. This is just— a thing that happened on a Sunday. It doesn’t have to be more than that right now.”

He looks at you for a long moment. Something in his face shifts — the held-in thing loosening slightly, the lines around his eyes easing. “I really love you,” he says quietly.

“I know.” You reach up, press your hand briefly to his jaw. “I love you too. Go get your daughter.”

He comes back with Mia at five thirty. You’re in his kitchen making dinner — you’d found pasta and vegetables and half a block of good parmesan and it seemed like the right thing to do, to be here, to have something warm happening when they got home.

Mia comes through the door at full speed, as always, and finds you at the stove and absolutely loses her mind with delight. “My Y/N is here!”

“Hi, my Mia.” She barrels into your legs and you crouch down and catch her, and over her head you watch Jake close the front door and lean against it for just a second, eyes closed. Like he’s taking a breath. Like he’s counting the things still here and finding them all present.

Then he opens his eyes and sees you watching him and something in his face goes soft. “Dave update,” Mia says urgently against your neck.

“Tell me everything.”

“Sandy said he moved.” Her voice is full of significance. “She doesn’t know where he went.”

“Dave is living his life.”

“That’s what Sandy said.” She pulls back to look at you. “I think he went to find his family.”

“That’s a very hopeful interpretation.”

“Worms have families,” she tells you solemnly. “Probably.”

“Definitely,” you agree.

Jake has moved into the kitchen. He comes up behind you — Mia still in your arms — and presses a kiss to the side of your head. Quick and quiet. Gratitude and love in a single gesture. “Smells good,” he says.

“Twenty minutes.”

“Can I help?”

“You can set the table.”

“I want to help,” Mia announces.

“You can put the napkins out,” you tell her, and she accepts this responsibility with great seriousness, and Jake sets her down and gets the napkins and she carries them to the table one at a time with both hands like they’re fragile, and Jake catches your eye across the kitchen and mouths thank you and you shake your head slightly because there’s nothing to thank you for.

You’re exactly where you want to be.

Later, after dinner, after Mia’s bath, after two bedtime stories and one negotiation about the structural integrity of a fort she wants to construct in the living room (tomorrow, baby, it’s bedtime), after small arms around your neck and a kiss pressed very seriously to your cheek and night my Y/N into the dark—

You and Jake sit on his couch in the quiet. He has his legs stretched out on the coffee table. You’re tucked into his side, his arm around you. The lamp is the only light. The apartment has the particular peace of a small child asleep in the next room. “She’s going to come back,” Jake says quietly.

“Probably.”

“I’m going to talk to a lawyer. Get clear on where things stand legally before she does.” His thumb moves on your arm. “She signed over custody voluntarily. I don’t think she has grounds for anything. But I want to know for certain.”

“That’s smart.”

“I don’t want Mia to know about this until I do. I don’t want her picking up on anything.”

“She won’t hear it from me.”

He turns his head to press a kiss to your hair. “I know.” You sit in the quiet for a moment. “She looked at you,” he says. “The way she looked at you when she saw you there.” His arm tightens slightly. “I need you to know that whatever she came here wanting, it was never going to— she left, Y/N. She made her choice. There’s nothing there.”

“I know that too.”

“I just—” He exhales. “I don’t want you to have any doubt. About this. About us.”

You lift your head to look at him. His face in the lamplight, tired and earnest and completely, simply honest. “I don’t,” you tell him. “Not even a little.”

He holds your gaze. “Good,” he says quietly. He kisses you softly, and you let yourself melt into it, and outside the window the night is doing its ordinary thing, indifferent and ongoing.

When you break apart you settle back against his shoulder. “Stay,” he says.

“Obviously,” you say. He pulls you closer.

In the next room, Mia sleeps, completely safe, completely loved, completely unaware that someone knocked on the door today and was turned away.

She’ll know, eventually. Jake will tell her, carefully, at the right time, in the right way. That’s the kind of father he is. But tonight she just sleeps. And you and Jake stay on the couch until you both drift off, warm and quiet and whole.

The lawyer’s name is Ms. Park and she is very thorough.

Jake comes back from the meeting on a Wednesday looking lighter than he has all week. He finds you in his kitchen — where you are most afternoons now, it’s become accepted fact — and he leans in the doorway and says:

“She has no legal standing. She relinquished custody voluntarily and completely. If she wants any kind of access she would have to apply through the courts and demonstrate sustained rehabilitation and it would be a long process with no guarantee.”

You set down the mug you’re washing. “Okay.”

“She came here once and I turned her away and she hasn’t come back.” He exhales. “I don’t think she’s going to pursue it. I think she came here for me and when that didn’t work—”

“She has no reason to stay.” You cross the kitchen to him. Put your hands on his chest. “How do you feel?”

He thinks about it genuinely, the way he does. “Relieved,” he says. “And— sad, a little. That it’s this way. That Mia doesn’t have—” He stops.

“She has you,” you say. “She has Sandy and Mrs. Kim and the daycare teachers who love her and Theo the worm friend and—” You meet his eyes. “She has me. For as long as you’ll both have me.”

Something moves through his face. “Forever, then,” he says simply.

Your heart turns over. “Yeah,” you say softly. “Forever works.”

He kisses you there in the kitchen and it tastes like relief and sunlight and something settled and permanent. From the doorway comes a small voice. “Are you kissing again?”

You break apart to find Mia standing in the hallway in her socks, Mr. Bunny under her arm, regarding you both with the patient exhaustion of someone who has seen this many times and has opinions. “Sorry,” Jake says, not sounding sorry at all.

“It’s fine,” Mia says, generous. “You can kiss. But after can we do the fort?”

“We can do the fort,” you confirm. She nods, satisfied. Turns and toddles back down the hall.

Jake looks at you. You look at Jake.“The fort,” he says. You nod in agreement and follow him and your daughter down the hall.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

Three months later, Mia stops calling you my Y/N. She starts calling you mama.

It happens on a Tuesday. Not a special Tuesday. Not a significant one. Just an ordinary Tuesday in February where the sky is doing that flat grey thing it does in late summer when the heat hasn’t broken yet and everything feels slightly sticky and slow.

You’re doing her hair. The Wednesday morning routine has migrated — it’s every morning now, most mornings, because somewhere between October and February the question of which apartment are you sleeping in stopped being a real question. You’re here. You live here, functionally, in every way that matters except the technical one. Your toothbrush is here. A drawer is yours. Gerald the succulent has been relocated to the kitchen windowsill where he gets better light and Mia waters him every second day with great ceremony.

Jake is in the kitchen. Coffee is happening. Mia is between your knees on the couch, holding Mr. Bunny, and you’re doing two neat braids because she has decided braids are her preference this week and you’ve been practicing. “Tighter,” she instructs.

“If I go tighter it’ll pull.”

“I want tight braids.”

“You want braids that feel comfortable and also look good.”

She considers this negotiation. “Okay,” she concedes.

You keep going. She hums something to herself, swinging her feet, and you work through the second braid, and it’s quiet in the good way, the way that only exists when everyone in a space is completely comfortable. “Mama,” Mia says.

“Hmm?” You tie off the braid.

“Can I wear the yellow dress today?”

You’re reaching for the second hair tie when it lands.

Mama.

She said it like it was nothing. Like it was the most natural word in the world. Like she’s been saying it her whole life, which — you realize, with your heart doing something enormous and unsteady in your chest — maybe in her head she has been.

“Yeah,” you manage, and your voice comes out almost normal. “Yeah, baby, we can find the yellow dress.”

She scrambles off the couch and heads to her room, completely unbothered, Mr. Bunny trailing from one hand. You sit there. In the kitchen, the coffee maker finishes its cycle.

Jake appears in the doorway with two mugs, takes one look at your face, and stops. “What happened? Are you okay? What—”

“She called me mama,” you say.

The mugs go onto the coffee table. Jake sits beside you and looks at you with an expression that is doing the same enormous unsteady thing yours probably is. “Just now?”

“Just now.” Your voice is not quite steady. “She asked if she could wear the yellow dress and she called me mama and then she just— walked off. Like it was nothing.”

“Y/N—”

“I’m not upset.” You turn to him, urgent, needing him to understand. “I’m not— I’m not upset, Jake, I just—” You press a hand to your chest. “I don’t know what to do with this.”

He looks at you for a long moment. Then he takes your face in both hands, careful and deliberate, and presses his forehead to yours. “I do,” he says quietly.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He pulls back just enough to look at you. “You say yes. That’s what you do. You just— say yes.”

From down the hall: “Found it!” A pause. “Mama, can you do the buttons?”

You close your eyes. “Okay,” you breathe. Yeah.” You open your eyes. Look at him. “Yeah. Okay.”

He kisses you, quick and soft, and then you get up and go down the hall to do the buttons on a yellow dress, and Jake stands in the living room doorway watching and the expression on his face is the most complete thing you’ve ever seen on a human being.

That night, after Mia is asleep, Jake asks you to move in. Not impulsively. Not as a reaction to the morning. You can tell he’s been thinking about it for a while — there’s a particular quality to his stillness when he’s been working up to something, and you’ve learned it the way you’ve learned all of him, gradually and permanently.

You’re on the couch. Late. The lamp on, the city quiet outside. His hand in yours. “Move in,” he says. You look at him. “Properly,” he says. “Not the drawer and the toothbrush. All of it. Gerald and everything.”

“Gerald’s already here.”

“I know.” The corner of his mouth moves. “Consider it a trial run.”

You look at your joined hands. At the apartment that has been yours in every meaningful sense for months. At the hallway where Mia is sleeping with Mr. Bunny and her color-organized stuffed animals and absolute certainty that you will be here in the morning. “Yeah,” you say.

“Yeah?”

“Obviously yeah, Jake.” You lean over and kiss him. “Obviously.”

He pulls you in and holds you there, and you feel him exhale slowly against your hair. “She’s going to lose her mind,” he says.

“She’s going to tell Gerald first.”

“She’s going to tell Gerald, then Mrs. Kim, then Sandy, then everyone at daycare.”

“In that order.”

“In that exact order.”

You’re both laughing, quiet so you don’t wake her, and it settles into something warm and certain. “Hey,” Jake says. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” You press your face into his shoulder. “Both of you. The whole thing.”

“The whole thing loves you back,” he says simply.

You tell Mia in the morning. Jake does it, at breakfast, with the careful measured approach of a man who has learned that toddlers receive important news better when they’re eating something. “Hey Mia. You know how Y/N stays here a lot?”

Mia looks up from her toast. Looks at you. Looks back at Jake. “Yes.”

“How would you feel if she stayed here all the time? Like, lived here. With us.”

Mia blinks. Puts down her toast. Looks at you with enormous serious eyes. “Like forever?” she asks.

“Like forever,” Jake confirms.

She stares at you for a long moment with the focused intensity of someone making a very important assessment.

Then she gets down from her chair, crosses to you, climbs into your lap uninvited and completely certain of her welcome, and wraps both arms around your neck. “Okay,” she says into your shoulder. “You can live here.”

“Thank you,” you manage, arms tight around her.

“Gerald will be happy,” she adds.

“He really will.”

She pulls back. Looks at your face. Puts her small hand on your cheek exactly the way she did on the very first morning, in the hallway, four months ago when she was looking for her rabbit. “Don’t cry,” she says kindly. “It’s good news.”

“I know.” You laugh, wet at the edges. “Happy tears.”

“Oh.” She considers this. “Okay.” Then, satisfied, she climbs back down, retrieves her toast, and resumes breakfast.

Jake is looking at you over her head with an expression that could power something. “Told you,” he mouths. You shake your head, still smiling, still blinking hard.

The whole thing loves you back. Yeah. Yeah it really does.

The move takes a weekend. It’s not a big move — your apartment was small and you’ve been migrating things gradually for months without meaning to — but there’s something significant about doing it officially. Carrying boxes across the hall. Hanging your clothes properly in the wardrobe. Arranging your books on the shelves beside Jake’s.

Mia supervises. She is a very involved supervisor, offering opinions on where everything should go and occasionally redirecting items she feels would be better placed in her room. You negotiate firmly on the throw blanket. You surrender the small lamp without a fight because she’s put it next to Mr. Bunny and it does look good there, objectively.

By Sunday evening the apartment is a comfortable chaos of rearrangement and you’re all sitting on the living room floor eating pizza from the box because no one has the energy to locate the table under the moving debris.

Mia is in your lap. Jake is beside you, shoulder to shoulder, pizza slice in hand, looking around the apartment that has shifted and expanded and settled into something new. “Looks different,” he says.

“Good different?”

He looks at you. “Yeah. Really good different.”

Mia tilts her head back to look up at you from your lap. “Can we build the fort now?”

“We live in a fort,” you tell her, gesturing at the surrounding box landscape.

Her eyes go wide. She looks around. Looks back at you. “We live in a fort,” she breathes.

“We live in a fort,” Jake confirms solemnly. She is overcome.

You and Jake look at each other over her head, laughing, and it is — this moment exactly, pizza and boxes and a delighted three year old and the lamp in the wrong place and Gerald on the windowsill — it is everything. Absolutely everything.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

A year later

The morning of the wedding, Mia wakes up at five forty-three AM. You know this because she comes and stands beside the bed and breathes on your face until you open your eyes. “It’s today,” she whispers.

“It is,” you confirm.

“I’m the flower girl.”

“You are.”

She absorbs this with great seriousness. Then: “I need to practice.”

“Mia, it’s not even six—”

“I need to practice.”

Jake makes a sound beside you that is him absolutely not laughing. You elbow him. “Okay,” you say. “But quietly. So we don’t wake the neighbors.”

She nods, solemn and focused, and turns and walks very slowly back down the hallway, scattering invisible petals with great ceremony, narrating under her breath — and then I walk here, and then here, and then I find mama—

You lie there in the early morning grey and stare at the ceiling and think about the word mama the way you have thought about it every day for the past year and a half. The way it still does something enormous to your chest. The way you don’t think it will ever stop.

Jake rolls toward you. Presses his face into your neck. “Morning,” he murmurs.

“Your daughter is practicing flower girl technique in the hallway.”

“She’s been planning this since we told her.” His arm comes around you. “She asked Sandy if she could practice at her house. She practiced at daycare. She made Theo be the groom so she could practice walking toward someone.”

“She’s extremely prepared.”

“She’s extremely her.” He presses a kiss to your jaw. “How are you feeling?”

“Good.” You turn to face him. His face in the early light, sleep-soft and certain and completely, permanently yours. “Really good. You?”

“Best day of my life,” he says simply. “After the day she was born. And the day you moved in. And the day you said yes when I asked.” He pauses. “Top five, at minimum.”

“That’s very good company.”

“You’re very good company.” He kisses you properly, slow and warm, and from the hallway comes the sound of small feet completing another practice lap.

“…and then I find mama, and she’s the prettiest—” You pull back from Jake, blinking hard. He looks at you. Reaches up and brushes his thumb under your eye, gentle.

“She’s not wrong,” he says.

“It’s five forty-five in the morning, I look terrible—”

“You look like the person I’m marrying today.” He holds your gaze. “Which means you look perfect.” You press your face into his shoulder and hold on for a moment.

From the hallway: “Okay I’m ready. Can we have breakfast now?”

Sandy comes at nine to take Mia for hair and getting dressed — a situation Mia has been anticipating with the focused excitement of someone who has been told she gets curls and a flower in her hair and has not stopped thinking about it since.

She submits to the process with remarkable patience, sitting very still while Sandy works, only turning her head twice to update you on developments. “It’s getting curlier,” she reports.

“I can see that.”

“Do I look like a princess?”

“You look exactly like a princess.” She nods, satisfied, and returns to stillness.

When it’s done she stands in front of the mirror in her small white dress — simple, with a yellow sash, because she requested yellow and you would move mountains before you’d say no to that — and looks at herself for a long, serious moment.“I look nice,” she concludes.

“You look incredible,” Sandy says.

“Yeah.” She turns to look at you. Her eyes go wide. “Mama. You look so pretty.”

You’re in your dress — simple, exactly what you wanted, nothing complicated — and your hair is done and you’re holding your bouquet and you’re trying very hard not to cry and failing slightly.“So do you,” you tell her.

She crosses to you. Reaches up and takes your hand, the way she did in a hallway a long time ago, completely certain of her welcome.“Don’t be nervous,” she tells you.

“I’m not nervous.”

“Good.” She squeezes your fingers. “Daddy loves you the most.”

“He loves you the most.”

She considers this with genuine fairness. “He loves us the same,” she decides. “Equal. Like a tie.”

“That’s exactly right.”

She nods. Pats your hand once, settling the matter. “Okay,” she says. “Let’s go get married.”

The venue is small and warm and full of people who love you.

Mrs. Kim is in the third row in her best jacket, already dabbing her eyes. Sandy is beside her. Jake’s parents flew in from Brisbane — his mother cried when she met you and his father shook your hand for a very long time and said thank you for making them happy and you’d had to excuse yourself to the bathroom for five minutes after that.

Your own family. Your friends. The people who have been the walls of your life. And at the end of the aisle, Jake.

In a dark suit, hands clasped in front of him, hair the way you like it. He’s talking quietly to the celebrant and then someone touches his arm and he looks up and sees Mia in the doorway.

His face does what it always does when he sees her. That open, completely unguarded thing. She waves at him. He waves back.

Then he sees you behind her and his face does something else entirely.

The music starts. Mia goes first. She has been told, approximately as many times as you can tell a four and a half year old anything, that flower girls walk slowly. Measured. Elegant. She lasts four steps.

Then she spots Jake at the end of the aisle and she goes — there is no other word for it — feral with excitement, sunflowers clutched in both fists, petals going in every direction except down, grinning so hard her whole face is the grin, half walking half skipping half something entirely her own.

“DADDY I FOUND HER” she announces at full volume to the entire assembled gathering. “I FOUND HER SHE’S HERE”

The room erupts. Not polite wedding laughter. Real laughter, the kind that comes from somewhere genuine, rippling through every row. Mrs. Kim is crying laughing. Sandy has her hand over her mouth. Jake’s mother is gripping his father’s arm.

Jake is crouching down to catch Mia as she reaches him, scooping her up, pressing a kiss to her chaotic curls, the flower in her hair somehow surviving the sprint. “Good job,” you hear him tell her.

“I practiced,” she says, very serious.

“I know you did, baby.” He sets her down. She takes her position with great dignity, as though the sprint did not happen, as though she has been standing here elegantly the entire time.

And then Jake looks up at you. You walk toward him. The room goes soft around the edges — not blurred, just quiet, the way things go when you’re paying attention to the only thing that matters. The faces on either side are warm and familiar and you see them without seeing them because you’re looking at Jake.

Jake, who opened his door on a panicked Tuesday morning and showed you his worst fear and his whole heart in the same thirty seconds.

Jake, who makes coffee before you ask and remembers every small thing and says what he means with a simplicity that still sometimes catches you off guard.

Jake, who watched you fall in love with his daughter before you fell in love with him and let it happen without trying to manage or protect or preempt it, because he trusted you, because he looked at you and knew.

You reach him. He takes your hand and holds it like he’s been holding it his whole life. “Hi,” he says quietly.

“Hi,” you say back.

Beside him, Mia has taken your other hand. She holds it with both of hers, feet planted, present and accounted for, witnessing this with the gravity it deserves.

The celebrant begins. The vows are Jake’s own words. You knew this. You wrote yours too, separately, privately, the way you’d agreed. But hearing them — in his voice, in this room, looking at his face — is different from knowing.

He talks about the morning Mia escaped into the hallway and how he stood in your doorway afterward watching you crouch down to his daughter’s level and felt something shift that he couldn’t name yet and didn’t try to.

He talks about Wednesday mornings with the hairbrush. About leftover pasta and late night texting and the drawing on the fridge.

He talks about the way you love Mia — not as a condition of loving him, not as an extension of it, but first, entirely and separately first, because that’s who you are.

She picked you, he says, before I had a chance to. And she has never once been wrong about anything important. Beside you, Mia straightens slightly at this. You feel her grip on your hand tighten.

I’m not a man who believed in easy, Jake says. I thought love was supposed to be something you work and worry at. And then you moved in across the hall and you were just — easy. Everything with you has just been easy. Not without difficulty. Not without fear. But easy the way breathing is easy. The way I can’t imagine not doing it. His voice has gone rough at the edges.

I love you. I loved you in October and I loved you in February and I love you today and I’m going to love you when Mia is grown and gone and it’s just us and I’m going to love you in every ordinary Tuesday that comes after this one because that’s where you live. In the ordinary Tuesdays. And I want every single one of them.

The room is very quiet. You are absolutely crying. You decided before today that you weren’t going to cry until after the vows at the earliest and you have failed completely. “Don’t cry,” Mia whispers, helpful. “It’s good news.”

Laughter moves through the room like a wave. Jake laughs too, wiping his eyes, and you laugh through yours, and it breaks the solemnity just enough, the way the best moments always do — serious and true and then suddenly full of light.

Your vows. You talk about duck pajamas and a stuffed rabbit and a small hand in yours in a hallway. You talk about a crayon drawing on a fridge and a child who put you in her family portrait before you knew you belonged there.

You talk about a man who carried his daughter on his shoulders through a farmers market and came home to make dinner and knocked on your door with leftover pasta and showed you what it looked like when someone decided that loving people well was the most important thing they could do.

You taught me that, you say. Both of you. You showed me what it looks like when love is a decision someone makes every single day without drama and without conditions. Mia does it for everyone she meets. You do it quietly and completely and I want to spend the rest of my life doing it back. You look at Jake.

I love you. I love our ordinary Tuesdays. I love Wednesday mornings and Saturday markets and bedtime stories and all the Gerald updates and every single version of this life we’ve built in an apartment across the hall from where I used to live alone. I love your daughter.

You look down at Mia. She is watching you with her whole face. Completely still, completely focused, taking this in with the seriousness it deserves.

She is the best thing, you say. She is the absolute best thing, and I promise her, today, in front of everyone who loves us, that I am here. I am not going anywhere. She is mine and I am hers and that is permanent and unconditional and nothing will ever change it.

Mia’s lip wobbles. Just slightly. You watch her decide, with great effort, not to cry, because she is a flower girl and flower girls are professionals and she has a reputation to maintain. She squeezes your hand instead. Very hard. You squeeze back.

I now pronounce you married.

Jake kisses you, and the room rises, and somewhere in the noise you hear Mia announce to no one in particular and everyone simultaneously:

“THAT’S MY MAMA NOW. THAT’S OFFICIALLY MY MAMA.”

And then, apparently satisfied that this has been adequately communicated, she inserts herself between the two of you and takes both your hands and holds on.

Jake looks at you over her head. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to.

The reception is everything. Mrs. Kim dances with Mia for forty-five minutes straight and neither of them stops. Sandy cries every time someone gives a speech. Jake’s father gives a toast that makes the whole room laugh and then immediately cry. Your own people hold you and tell you they knew, they always knew, from the moment you started talking about the little girl next door like she’d hung the moon.

Jake dances with Mia first — tradition, he’d decided, she gets the first dance — and you stand at the edge of the floor and watch her stand on his feet, both of them swaying to something slow, her head against his chest, his hand spanning her whole back.

You take a photo. You will look at that photo for the rest of your life.

Then he passes her off to his mother and comes to find you, hand extended, and you take it and let him pull you out onto the floor. “Hi wife,” he says, like he’s trying the word out.

“Hi husband.”

He smiles. Pulls you closer. “How’s it feel?”

“Same,” you say honestly. “Exactly the same. Just— more settled.”

“Yeah.” His hand moves on your back. “Like it’s been true for a while and now the paperwork caught up.”

“Exactly like that.”

You dance. The room moves around you, warm and full of people you love, and Mia is somewhere in it, probably telling someone about Dave the worm or Gerald or the structural integrity of forts, and it is — all of it, every piece — everything. All of it everything.

She falls asleep at nine fifteen. Mid-sentence, apparently — Jake’s mother told you later she was explaining the color organization system for the stuffed animals and then she simply stopped explaining and was asleep, curled in the chair with her flower crown half off and her shoes long since abandoned and the last of her sunflowers still in her hand.

Jake carries her out to the car at the end of the night, limp and certain and completely trusting the way only sleeping children are, and you tuck the seatbelt around her and push the flower crown gently back from her face. She doesn’t wake up.

She won’t remember being carried, won’t remember the drive home, won’t remember being tucked in. But in the morning she’ll wake up and come and stand at the side of your bed and breathe on your face until you open your eyes, and you’ll ask her how she slept and she’ll say good and you’ll ask if she had fun at the wedding and she’ll say yes I was the flower girl with the proprietary satisfaction of someone who performed their role excellently and knows it. And she’ll be right. She was, without any competition, the best part.

Later. Much later. His penthouse — your penthouse, it still catches you sometimes — quiet and dark except for the city light through the windows. Mia asleep down the hall. The flower crown on the kitchen counter. Your bouquet in a glass of water because you couldn’t throw it, it was too pretty.

Jake’s jacket over the chair. Your heels by the door. You and Jake on the couch the way you’ve been a hundred times before, his arm around you, your head on his shoulder, the easy comfortable weight of each other. “Hey,” he says quietly.

“Hey.”

“Mia told Theo’s mum today that she picked you.”

You lift your head. “What?”

“At the reception. Apparently she walked up to Theo’s mum completely unprompted and said—” He’s smiling. “She said I picked her first. Before Daddy even knew.”

You stare at him. “She’s four and a half,” you say.

“I know. She’s extremely perceptive,” Jake says. “Always has been.”

You think about a Tuesday morning and duck pajamas and the end of a hallway. The hand on your cheek. You’re nice. The absolute certainty of it. The way she gave you her fingers without hesitating like she already knew. “She did pick me first,” you say softly.

“Yeah.” Jake presses a kiss to your hair. “She really did.”

The city does its quiet nighttime thing outside the windows. Down the hall, Mia sleeps. You and Jake stay where you are, warm and settled, in the ordinary extraordinary life you built one Tuesday at a time.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

Three weeks later, on an ordinary Wednesday morning, Mia sits between your knees on the couch.

You’re doing her braids. Jake is in the kitchen. Coffee is happening. Gerald is on the windowsill. Mr. Bunny is in the orange section of the stuffed animal shelf. Everything exactly where it should be. “Mama,” Mia says.

“Hmm?”

“When I’m big can I be a flower girl again?”

“When you’re big you can be whatever you want.”

She considers this carefully. “I want to be a flower girl and a paleontologist and a cat.”

“All three?”

“On different days.”

“That seems manageable.” She nods, satisfied. Swings her feet.

From the kitchen, Jake: “Braids today?”

“Braids,” Mia confirms, with the authority of someone whose hair decisions are final. You finish the first one. Start the second. The morning does its ordinary thing around you.

Mia tilts her head back to look up at you, upside down, grinning. “I love you, mama.”

You smooth a hand over her hair. “I love you too, baby,” you say. “So much.” She rights herself. Goes back to swinging her feet.

Outside the window the morning is doing what mornings do, indifferent and ongoing and full of ordinary things.

In here it is warm. In here everyone is exactly where they are supposed to be. This is just the beginning. And it is everything.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

Hi lovelies! If you made it all the way to the end I hope you enjoyed. I’ve had a few people ask for a drabble or two based off this. if you want to see this click this and comment below your suggestions and what you want to see.

anyway thanks for reading!!💛

[b1tterestbeachh]

much needed fluff!

[jaylaxies]

WIKIHOW: TO FLIRT (WITH PICTURES)

PAIRING: sunghoon x fem!reader

GENRE/CW: fluff, smut, angst, porn with plot, dom!sunghoon, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), oral (fem receiving), fingering, marking, dry humping, slight choking, making out, squirting, multiple orgasms, mentions of jealousy, possessiveness. hoon is clumsy and unnaturally strong, mentions of nicknames, mentions of jake, jay, hee, won, karina, lmk if i missed anything!

WORD COUNT: 29.8k words

SYNOPSIS: when the university’s untouchable campus god accidentally walks into a doorframe the literal second he lays eyes on you, you realize the rumors about park sunghoon being a smooth player are completely fabricated. now, you get a front-row seat to him desperately trying to follow a ten-step wikiHow guide on how to flirt, except you start to think that his clumsy, pathetic devotion is the most attractive thing you have ever seen.

A/N: hihi loves <3 i know it has been a rough few days for us all, i hope this lewser (affectionate) hoon makes you all feel a lil better, take care angels <3

STEP ONE: Introductions by identity theft   

Park Sunghoon prides himself on being calm and composed. 

At least that’s what he tells himself, if you generously take out the part where he’s clumsy, socially catastrophic, and possesses the spatial awareness of a newborn puppy on ice. To the Uni at large, he’s—well, a concept? The campus god, as wattpad core as it sounds, he simply makes it seem that way. The guy who sits in the back of lecture halls looking bored and devastatingly handsome, presumably thinking about complex philosophical theories or his next modeling gig (he doesn’t have any). 

In reality, he’s usually just thinking about whether it is going to rain or stressing over the fact that he held the door open for someone slightly too early, forcing them to do that awkward little run-walk, they were grateful regardless. It’s a fragile ecosystem, really. A reputation built entirely on the fact that he doesn’t talk enough for people to realize he’s actually a massive loser.

Only Sim Jaeyun knew the truth, along with Jay and Heeseung but yeah. Jake knew that Sunghoon isn’t brooding, rather, he’s buffering (as sad as that is). He knows that his oh so cold, mysterious silence is just Sunghoon’s brain playing elevator music (Wii party soundtrack preferably) while he tries to figure out how to function like a human being. 

But tonight, Sunghoon feels good, he feels capable somehow. He’s wearing his favorite gray sweatpants, Jay is making pasta and garlic bread, and the dorm smells like home in the best way possible. He has one job—bring the cups to the living room. Jake had been going on about inviting a chaotic duo he came across at a gaming cafe, who absolutely destroyed him during gaming but that eventually led to him aggressively adopting them into his life out of sheer respect for the carry later.

Sunghoon peels the plastic sleeve off the stack of red Solo cups with a satisfying crinkle, feeling that same surge of confidence, headphones playing his favourite EsDeeKid song (Palaces), letting him vibe, completely blocking out the chatter and laughter outside. He steps out of the kitchenette, the bass in his ears vibrating through his skull, making him feel momentarily infinite. He is the main character in a very low-stakes indie movie, he is cool, he is ready to perceive and be perceived, or so he thinks.

And then his eyes land on the center of the living room, and the soundtrack in his head comes to a screeching, violent-ish halt. He expects noise—he can see Jake’s mouth moving rapidly, gesturing with a ladle like a weapon—but he doesn’t expect you.

You are already there, claiming the space in a way that makes the cramped dorm room feel suddenly, terrifically bright. You’re standing near the beat-up sofa, one sneaker kicked off and overturned on the rug, looking comfortably disheveled in a way that art directors spend hours trying to replicate. You’re in the middle of laughing at something another one of your friends said, and he doesn’t know his name yet—a full-bodied, head-thrown-back kind of laugh that Sunghoon can’t hear over his music but can feel in his chest anyway.

You look effortless, like you didn’t even try, yet somehow succeeded more than anyone else in the room. You’re wearing a simple white tank top tucked into vintage denim that fits perfectly, with a leather jacket slipping casually off one shoulder. Your hair is loose, framing a face that is currently lit up with pure, unadulterated joy, and your eyes are crinkled shut with mirth.

Sunghoon’s brain, usually a well-oiled machine of anxiety, simply—stops. The music fades into static, and his calm and composed narrative dissolves. Oh, he thinks, his grip on the plastic stack tightening until it crunches. Wow.

He is so busy processing the sudden, violent realization that you might be the prettiest thing he has ever seen that he forgets a fundamental rule of Newtonian physics, Pauli Exclusion Principle: two solid objects cannot occupy the same space at the same time.

One of those objects is his broad, unsuspecting shoulder, the other is the wooden doorframe, and there’s a loud sound of collision—a bone-jarring impact that cuts right through his noise-canceling headphones and jolts his entire skeleton from the teeth down. The shockwave travels instantly to his hands, and the stack of red cups, liberated by the violence of the collision, explodes outward like plastic fireworks. They rain down onto the carpet in a chaotic, clattering cacophony that seems to echo for ten years, at least for Sunghoon.

Sunghoon freezes, vibrating with pain, staring blankly at a single red cup spinning sadly near his big toe. Slowly and painfully, he slides his headphones down to his neck. The room has gone dead silent.

The friend you were laughing with—the one with the cat-like eyes, stops mid-sentence, his mouth hanging open. Jake blinks slowly from the couch, profound confusion etched into his features. And you—you turn slowly, eyes wide, the laughter still lingering on your face as you take in the tragedy of the cups and the man currently trying to merge with the drywall.

“Holy shit,” the friend breaks the silence, abandoning his game to lean over the back of the couch, “you good, dude?”

Sunghoon stays very still, he is waiting for one of two things to happen—either for the floorboards to mercifully open up and swallow him whole, or for his body to spontaneously combust from the sheer, blinding force of his own humiliation. Neither happens, instead, the throbbing ache in his shoulder radiates down his arm, a dull, pulsing reminder that he is not, in fact, the protagonist of a cool indie film, he is a hazard.

Say something, his brain screams, make a joke, be charming. Recover for fucks sake. 

“I’m good,” Sunghoon manages, though his voice comes out about three octaves higher than usual. He clears his throat, “I’m—yeah. Totally fine. Just—slipped.”

“You slipped?” The friend—Jungwon, he remembers Jake calling him—asks, eyebrows shooting up, “into the doorframe? Vertically?”

“The carpet,” Sunghoon says, pointing an accusing finger at the perfectly standard rug, “it’s deceptive man.”

From the floor, a soft snort erupts, It’s you. You aren’t looking at him with pity, which is what he expects. You’re grinning—a wide, genuine expression that scrunches your nose—and before Sunghoon can process the movement, you’ve dropped to a crouch in front of him to help with the plastic disaster zone.

“Deceptive carpet,” you repeat, the corner of your mouth twitching as you reach for a cup that rolled near his ankle. 

Sunghoon’s ears are burning. He can feel the heat spreading down his neck, violent and undeniable. He drops to his knees out of a desperate need to avoid looking at Jake, who is currently burying his face in a cushion.

“I mean—,” Sunghoon mumbles, grabbing cups with frantic, uncoordinated hands, “It’s physics. Momentum, y’know?”

“Right, physics,” you drawl, and your voice is warm, teasing in a way that makes his stomach do a weird flip. You hand him a stack of cups you’ve gathered, “well, try not to fight any more inanimate objects tonight, okay? The dorm deposit is expensive.”

Your fingers brush against his knuckles as you pass the stack. His skin practically zaps where you touched him. Sunghoon flinches like he’s been electrocuted, nearly dropping the cups all over again. He looks up, terrified, and finds your face inches from his. Up close, you’re even intimidatingly prettier. You smell like vanilla and leather, and your eyes are dancing.

“I’m Y/N, by the way,” you say easily, sitting back on your heels. 

Sunghoon stares at you. He knows he needs to respond. The social contract dictates that he provides his own name in return, it is a simple exchange. Input: Name. Output: Name. But his brain is currently running on a backup generator powered by a single, terrified hamster, and gosh the hamster is tired.

“Uh,” Sunghoon starts, his voice cracking a little, then he clears his throat, “Y/N.”

He nods, “Right, you’re Y/N.”

You look at him, waiting.

“I’m—” Sunghoon trails off, looking at your eyes, they are very pretty. He looks at your mouth, you’re smiling, “I’m—Y/N?” He stops, eyes widening. No, that is incorrect.

“I mean—” He waves a hand frantically, nearly knocking over the stack of cups he just rescued, “You’re Y/N! I’m Sunghoon. Yeah. Yeah—you’re Sunghoon and I’m Y/N—wait.”

He freezes. The sentence hangs in the air between you, defying all logic, space, and time. Did I just steal her identity? The silence that follows is loud. Behind him, he hears Jungwon choke on a laugh, disguising it as a cough. Jake just sighs, a long, mournful sound of a man who has given up on his roommate entirely, and Heeseung doesn’t bother hiding his jolly laugh. 

You blink at him. Then, slowly, that grin widens until it takes up your whole face.

“We’re swapping?” You ask, delighted, “okay—I’ve always wanted to be tall.”

Sunghoon feels his soul attempting to leave his body through his ears, he stands up, he stands up way too fast. His knees pop, adding a nice, crunchy soundtrack to his humiliation.

“I have to wash these,” he announces to the room at large, voice dangerously monotone.

“They were in a plastic sleeve,” Jake points out from the couch, finally turning around to witness the wreckage, “they’re clean bro.”

“Dust!” Sunghoon yells. He doesn’t look back, he can’t, “you can’t see it, but it’s there. It’s everywhere!”

He turns on his heel and flees. There is no other word for it, he practically speed-walks back into the safety of the kitchenette, shoulders hunched up to his ears, clutching the red cups to his chest, leaving the echo of his dignity—and his name—behind on the living room rug. He rounds the corner, out of sight, and immediately presses his forehead against the cool stainless steel of the fridge. He squeezes his eyes shut, his chest heaving like he just ran a marathon.

“He’s usually—uh—he’s usually not like this,” he hears Jake say in the other room, sounding apologetic.

“He’s funny,” you reply, and Sunghoon can hear the smile in your voice, “I like him.”

Sunghoon slides down the front of the fridge until he hits the floor, all while he buries his burning face in his hands. He is absolutely, irrevocably doomed.

“You good down there?”

Sunghoon peels one eye open, Jay is standing above him, holding a pair of tongs, staring at him with the blank, unimpressed expression of a man who has seen too much.

“I live here,” Sunghoon says to the ceiling, his voice hollow, “I pay rent, I have a 3.8 GPA. Why can’t I say my own name?”

“Nerves,” Jay says, flipping a piece of garlic bread, “also, you told her she was you. That was fucking insane.”

“Shut up, Jay.”

Sunghoon groans and scrambles up. He looks at the stack of cups in his hand, they are perfectly clean, but he washes them anyway. He turns on the tap and aggressively scrubs the brand-new plastic with the intensity of a surgeon scrubbing in for a heart transplant, just to buy himself thirty more seconds of isolation. Get it together, he coaches himself, staring at his reflection in the dark window above the sink. 

You are Park Sunghoon, you have a twelve-step skincare routine, you know how to parallel park, you are a functional member of society who definitely knows who he is.

He dries his hands, he fixes his hair in the reflection of the microwave, he takes a deep breath that does absolutely nothing to lower his heart rate, and marches back out. The vibe in the living room has shifted. In the three minutes he was gone, you have seamlessly integrated into the environment of the dorm. You’re sitting cross-legged on the rug now, stealing garlic bread from Jake’s plate. 

You look comfortable, annoyingly so, considering Sunghoon currently feels like his skin is made of itchy wool and his bones are made of glass. He walks over, moving stiffly, trying to be as aerodynamic as possible to avoid hitting any other stationary objects. He sets the slightly-damp cups down on the coffee table with a thud.

“All clean now,” he announces. 

You look up, and you don’t laugh this time, but the corner of your mouth twitches, scooting over slightly on the rug, patting the empty space next to you, wondering what was going in the head of this pretty boy.

“Saved you a spot,” you say easily.

Sunghoon’s brain does that static thing again, he walks over stiffly, like a toy soldier, and lowers himself onto the rug. He sits carefully, hyper aware of everything, of you. 

“Thanks,” he manages and it comes out deeper than he intended, almost gruff. Great. Now he sounds like a grumpy toddler.

You tear a piece off the garlic bread in your hand—the one you definitely stole, and offer it to him, “here, eat something, you’re practically vibrating.”

Sunghoon stares at the bread, then at you, “I’m not vibrating.”

“You are,” you insist, pressing the bread into his hand, “eat a lil’.”

Sunghoon takes it. He has to, really, because your fingers are brushing his palm and his brain has decided that obeying you is the only way to survive, and your fingers are soft, very soft. 

“I’m calm,” he lies, taking a bite. It’s cold, but he chews it with interest. 

“Uh-huh,” you grin, leaning back on your hands, your leather jacket creaking softly, “so, Park Sunghoon, besides forgetting your own identity, what do you do?” 

Sunghoon swallows, he wipes a crumb from his lip, trying to regain some semblance of the mysterious aura he allegedly has, “I exist,” he says, trying for deadpan humor, “I listen to music. I tolerate Jake.”

“A noble calling,” you laugh, “I’ve only known him for a week and I’m already exhausted.”

“Jungwon, remove her from the group chat,” Jake deadpans, looking at him straight in the eye. 

Jungwon looks his way, then your way before nodding, “let’s remove Jake.” 

You both chuckled as Jake let out a gasp, launching a throw pillow that hits Jungwon square in the chest while Heeseung groans, “so no one added me to the chat, huh?” 

Sunghoon doesn’t care, he’s zoned out as Jay joins the group with his freshly made mac and cheese truffle, and the room immediately devolves into a clamor of grabbing hands, Jungwon and Jake temporarily calling a truce to eat, and add a now very jolly Hee to the group chat. Sunghoon, however, has his undivided attention on you, he watches through his peripheral vision, as you lean forward to inspect the pot, the movement causes your leather jacket to slip further down your arm, he gulps at the sight. 

A nudge almost sends him into orbit, head snapping at your face with mouth wide open, and you’re looking at him with your brow raised, a bowl in your hand, “you okay?” You asked, and he nodded mindlessly, and you were genuinely confused now. 

You hand him the bowl, fingers brushing and he’s pretty sure his ears have turned red by now, but you’re not teasing him, and he likes how you simply just fit in here, “eat up, hm?”

“Thanks, yeah,” he mutters, looking down at the pasta, and it makes you smile at him fondly, before Jake’s groan interrupts you as he practically cries watching the cricket match on TV.

Jay sits behind you on the couch, starts talking about the history of this game—which only Jungwon pays attention to somehow, and then he stops to observe the room. His gaze drifts from the television screen to the floor, he watches you settle back against the couch cushions, then, his eyes slide to the person sitting next to you.

Sunghoon isn’t watching the match really. Jay watches as Sunghoon stares at the side of your profile for a beat too long. Then, Sunghoon looks down at the bowl in his lap. A small, shy smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, it’s something soft and entirely unguarded. And then, as if his brain has just caught up with what his face is doing, Sunghoon freezes. He just stops moving completely, his smile vanishing into a look of sheer, silent panic.

Jay pauses, his fork hovering halfway to his mouth. He looks at you, completely unbothered, he looks back at Sunghoon, who is currently staring at a piece of macaroni. Jay closes his eyes, he sighs, a long, heavy exhale.

“Oh no.”

STEP TWO: Prolonged realization

It had been four days since you had dinner at Jake’s place, four days since you met Sunghoon, four days since you took Jay’s tupperware as he packed some pasta for you, Jungwon, and your friend Karina. 

To be honest, you hadn't expected to see Park Sunghoon again so soon, mostly because Jungwon had reported that he was currently in hibernation to recover from the sheer embarrassment of introducing himself as you. You’d caught glimpses of him on campus, but he was always in a rush somehow with his long strides. 

“If you don’t return these,” Jungwon had told you ten minutes ago, dumping the heavy glass tower into your arms, “Jay is going to skin me, like—it’s just tupperware.”

So, here you were, standing in the hallway of the boys’ dorm, smelling faintly of rain and balancing a stack of glass containers, knocking on the door, expecting Jay to open the door, only to find a very cozy looking Sunghoon. 

He looked completely different from the guy you’d seen walking around campus. He was wearing a massive gray hoodie and wire-rimmed glasses that were sliding down his nose, and he was holding a piece of peanut butter toast in one hand. He looked soft, sleepy, and very much at home. He blinked at you, clearly surprised, with his cheeks still puffed out from a bite of toast.

“Oh,” he mumbled, swallowing hard, “hi!”

“Hi,” you smiled, adjusting the heavy stack in your arms, “just here to return these, Jay was getting impatient you see. I also made cookies cause it’s not nice to give back empty containers,” you mumbled, eyes on Sunghoon’s moles—they looked pretty. 

He stepped forward to help, reaching out with both hands, clearly forgetting the peanut butter toast in his right hand, which slipped and fell on the ground with a wet thwap. Sunghoon stared down at the rug, his shoulders slumping in instant, silent defeat.

“I literally just made that,” he whispered, looking genuinely pained.

“RIP,” you murmured, biting back a laugh at how tragic he looked over a slice of bread, “the five-second rule is a little risky with carpet, though.”

“Yeah,” he sighed, crouching down immediately to peel the sticky mess off the floor, “Jay just vacuumed, too. I’m dead.”

“Here.” You shifted the stack to one hip, crouching down to hand him a tissue from your pocket.

He took the tissue, “thanks,” he mumbled, ears turning red yet again. He stood up, tossing the ruined toast in the bin by the door, then finally turned back to take the heavy stack of containers from you properly. He carefully set the stack on the narrow entryway table. He stared at the top container for a second, seemingly processing the fact that there were actual baked goods inside.

“You really didn’t have to do that,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Figured you’d like something other than pasta,” you smiled, cause apparently that’s all what they ate. 

“I swear,” Hoon laughed, and it was cute, “it’s usually good but he uses so much basil, and it’s always penne.”

“What’s wrong with penne?”

“I just like fusilli better,” he mumbled, now aware of how he’s making you stand, “wait—do you wanna—like, come in?” 

“I would love to, but I have a lecture in—” you checked your phone, “twenty one minutes.”

He frowned for a second before nodding in understanding, “oh yeah, sorry. You should go, we can hang out some other time.” He looked so crestfallen, standing there in his oversized hoodie with his hands tucked into the sleeves, that you couldn’t help yourself. You took a step closer instead of backing away.

“Hey, Sunghoon?”

“Yeah?” He blinked, straightening up, looking at you with those wide, attentive eyes.

“Hold still.”

Before he could ask why, you reached out. His hair was a mess—probably from the hoodie, or maybe he’d been napping before you knocked—and there was a piece sticking straight up in the back like an antenna. Sunghoon froze, he almost stopped breathing as your fingers brushed against his hair, smoothing down the lock. His hair was soft, softer than it looked. You let your hand linger for a split second longer than necessary, your knuckles grazing the shell of his ear.

“Bedhead,” you murmured, pulling your hand back, scrunching your nose with how adorable he looked. Sunghoon didn’t move, simply staring at you as he gulped, his ears turning red (again) that clashed horribly with his gray hoodie. 

It was hard for him to keep his mind elsewhere even when you had taken your leave, especially when he tasted those double chocolate chip cookies—moaning with how perfect they were, crispy on the edges and softer in the middle. He was embarrassed, acting like a schoolboy with a crush, but he told himself it wasn’t that, he simply liked you as a person. 

So, when he met you again when the group decided to go out for dinner near the campus, he swore he’d be normal around you, maintaining some distance to not embarrass himself any further. 

When they arrived at the barbecue spot, the air thick with smoke and chatter, Sunghoon spotted you immediately. You were standing by the entrance with Jungwon and your other friend, laughing at something he said, wearing a simple dress that shouldn’t have looked nearly as good as it did. Don’t stare, he told himself, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. Say hi. Be cool.

“Hey guys,” you beamed as they approached, your eyes landing on him.

“Hey,” Sunghoon managed, keeping his voice painfully neutral. He offered a stiff nod, barely making eye contact before pivoting toward the empty table. 

He made a beeline for the corner seat, the one furthest from where he assumed you’d sit. He was halfway there when Jungwon threw his backpack down.

“I’m taking the wall!” Jungwon announced, diving into the booth and dragging Jake with him.

“I need the aisle to grill,” Jay declared, blocking the other side.

Sunghoon froze cause the geometry of the table was rapidly collapsing against him. Karina (your other friend slash roomie) slid in next to Jay. That left one spot—the middle, right next to the aisle. Right next to—

“Can I sit here?” You asked, appearing at his elbow with a grin.

He stiffened, his brain short-circuiting. He hurriedly shimmied into the booth, pressing his thigh against Jake’s so hard that Jake grunted, “dude, personal space.”

“Sorry,” Sunghoon muttered, staring straight ahead at the metal grill.

You slid in beside him, arm brushing against his, the friction sending a jolt straight up his spine. You smelled like vanilla and the rain from earlier, a scent that was quickly becoming his favorite thing to panic over.

“Did you like the cookies?” You asked, eyes shining in hope. 

And gosh—he did. He almost forgot about the protein diet he was planning and ate four of your cookies in a go, saving some for later as well. Not to mention how he fought Jake for the last cookie—who was running away teasing Hoon about his newly developed crush, which resulted in Jake being in his chokehold. 

“They were really good,” he managed to say sincerely. 

“He snatched the cookies from me,” Jake added helpfully, which surprised you pleasantly, much to Hoon’s dismay who didn’t want Jake to open his damn mouth. 

You liked it, liked seeing him panic, it made him look like a lost puppy. It was clear how he was trying to avoid more conversations about you, especially since he shoved a piece of meat in Jake’s mouth each time he tried to talk to you, so you focused back on Heeseung and Karina, who were debating about the new albums and rating them. 

Even while doing so, your attention kept diverting to Sunghoon and Jay discussing Maillard’s reaction for the perfect cooking of meat. He was so comfortable talking to others, not stuttering once, and he had nice hands, such nice and big and veiny hands—a kick from under the table made you wince, and you looked up to see Karina winking at you, eyes drifting to Sunghoon, which made you roll your eyes, cause sure—he was cute, but he didn’t even wish to talk to you (he just wanted to survive dinner). And somehow, that distracted you more than you’d like to admit. By the time the bill was paid, the night air had cooled down, and Jay insisted on driving you back home, granted you all lived in the dorms. 

Sunghoon could see where this was going, especially the way Karina and Jungwon headed to the backseat, Jay took the driver’s seat, Jake naturally opting for the shotgun, which left you, Heeseung, and Sughoon in the middle seating area. Heeseung didn’t bother waiting, sliding in and putting his headphones on. That left the middle seat and the seat closest to the door.

“After you,” Sunghoon said, his voice a little tight. He held the door open, gesturing for you to climb in.

You slid into the middle seat, settling against the upholstery. Sunghoon hesitated for a fraction of a second, staring at the empty space beside you before he finally climbed in and pulled the door shut. With Heeseung passed out against the far window and Jake shouting at the radio in the front, the back seat felt like a private, terrifyingly intimate bubble, more so when Jake decided they should take a detour and take a longer ride. 

Jay pulled out of the parking lot, and the car merged into the evening traffic, and by traffic, it was practically a congestion, which made you groan considering how sleepy you felt, “I hate this intersection, it’s always a mess I swear.” 

Sunghoon cleared his throat, “the civil engineers set the green light duration for the turn lane too short relative to the main avenue’s volume honestly. It creates a bottleneck every time the cycle resets. If they just added four seconds to the north-bound signal, this entire congestion would clear in no time.”

You looked at him, his skin shining under the dim lights, “you figured that out by just looking at it?” 

He just shrugged, wondering if he should have let his mouth shut, cause you probably think he’s even more of a nerd now. 

“You know,” you said, a soft smile tugging at your lips, “you’re actually really smart, Sunghoon.”

That actually hit him hard, he expected you to call him a nerd, instead, you were looking at him with genuine admiration, your eyes reflecting the passing city lights. He opened his mouth to respond, but his brain stalled. He settled for a strangled nod, quickly turning his face toward the window to hide the fact that his neck was rapidly heating up. The rest of the ride was a blur of brake lights and the rhythmic thump-thump of the windshield wipers. The warmth of the car, combined with the heavy meal, eventually pulled you under. As Jay navigated the final turn toward the dorms, your head lulled to the side, landing softly on Sunghoon’s shoulder.

He went rigid instantly, he stopped breathing actually. He didn’t move a single muscle, not even to adjust his arm which was starting to go numb from the angle. If he didn't like you, he would have politely nudged you awake or shifted away. Instead, he sat there, a statue in a damp hoodie, terrified that even a single exhale would disturb you, staring at how pretty you looked even as you slept, so comfortable around him.

He wanted to kiss you, he wished to kiss your forehead, and that should have been the sign, but he didn’t, opting to stare like a lovesick puppy who couldn’t admit he was catching feelings. It wasn’t really convenient how he wondered if you’d be just as perfect under him, would you curl up? Pull him closer? Would you want him to touch you?

And he kept on acting like an invisible man after, simply because you woke up and thanked him with that pretty smile of yours, and if it were to get any further Sunghoon swore he would not be able to survive it, not when all his friends were whistling at the fact that Sunghoon could pull someone even with his endearing loser ways.

The invisible act stayed for long, leading to the mid semester exams, which meant that Sunghoon had successfully managed to keep it together for nearly two months since that night, which made him feel proud for handling it so well, or so he thought, until the night before the final major midterm.

The library doors swung open, revealing a torrential downpour, making the group groan in unison—except for Sunghoon, who had checked three different weather apps and was clutching a sturdy black umbrella.

Logic dictated he open it. Logic dictated he offer to walk you to your dorm, sharing the small space under the canopy. But Sunghoon looked at you, shivering in your oversized sweater, and his brain supplied a vivid image of your shoulders brushing for ten whole minutes, so well, panic overrode survival instincts.

“Here,” he blurted out, shoving the umbrella handle into your chest, “cover Jungwon and Karina, It’s big enough for the group.”

“What? Sunghoon, wait—”

“I have to run!” He announced, his voice cracking.

Before you could argue, he turned and sprinted into the deluge, instantly soaking his hoodie as he splashed through the puddles while Jay and Jake watched with absolute disbelief on their faces, staring at each other and sighing, agreeing that Hoon was indeed down bad, and even worse at pretending to be normal about it. 

Behind you, Jungwon watched Sunghoon’s retreating figure, then looked at you as you immediately popped the umbrella open and bolted after him, leaving the rest of the group dry but abandoned.

“Idiots in denial,” Jungwon muttered, shaking his head as he pulled his jacket over his head, “I hate it here.”

Sunghoon made it halfway across the quad before the rain stopped hitting him. He skid to a halt, chest heaving, and looked up to see the black umbrella hovering over his head. He turned slowly to find you standing there, slightly out of breath and holding the umbrella over him, your own shoulder getting wet in the process.

“You are ridiculous, Park Sunghoon,” you laughed, though your eyes were soft, “who runs in the rain to avoid sharing an umbrella?”

Sunghoon stared at you, and god you were close, you were wet. You were smiling at him like he was the only person in the world. He was absolutely, irrevocably doomed as you walked him to the dorms, when he insisted on dropping you first, which he did. 

What he didn’t expect was the hug you gave him, “thanks Hoon,” you’d mumbled into his ear, god you smelled so good, you were so warm, and fit perfectly into his hug, smiling brightly before heading inside without any care of Jungwon and Karina. 

The hug, the smile, the way you used his nickname—yeah, Sunghoon wasn’t sure how he was still breathing, and it was comical how he stood there for five minutes even after you’d gone inside, poor man was broken, and now there wasn’t any room for denial. 

Later that night, shivering in his dorm room and wrapped in three blankets, Sunghoon stared at his ceiling with wide, terrified eyes. He fished his laptop out of his bag and typed with trembling fingers:

WikiHow: How to flirt with a pretty girl (with pictures). 

STEP THREE: Establish eye contact (like a normal person)

Sunghoon thought he was safe, that closing his laptop’s lid was enough when he went out to get some water before taking a shower, but boy he couldn’t have been more wrong. He walked into the living room with a towel still around his waist after the shower, only to find Heeseung staring at a MacBook with intense focus, but wait—was that his MacBook? Of fucking course, Jay and Jake were there as well, shoulders shaking with silent, violent laughter. Sunghoon froze in the doorway, water dripping from his hair onto the carpet, witnessing the exact moment his social life turned into a tragedy.

“Is that—is that a step-by-step guide?” Jake wheezed, tears streaming down his face as he pointed a trembling finger at the screen.

Heeseung cleared his throat, reading from the screen like a news anchor, “WikiHow: How to flirt with a pretty girl. With pictures. It says here: Smile to show you are approachable.”

“It’s not what it looks like,” Sunghoon yelled, his voice cracking two octaves. He lunged across the room, nearly losing his towel, but Jay blocked his path with a shit-eating grin.

“Doesn’t matter anyway,” Jay sighed, shaking his head with mock sympathy, “Jungwon will kill you.”

Sunghoon froze, the color draining from his face, “wait, why?”

“Cause he likes Y/N,” Heeseung said, keeping his face perfectly straight.

“He what now?” Sunghoon whispered, his voice barely audible.

“Yeah,” Jake added, nodding solemnly, “they’re in love. Haven’t you noticed? The bickering? It’s their thing.”

Sunghoon looked like he had just been shot in the chest. His shoulders slumped, his lips parted in shock, and he stared at the floor with such profound, soul-shattering devastation that the room went silent for a full second. He looked small, wet, and utterly defeated, all while being in his towel, abs out and everything.

“Oh my god,” Jay burst out laughing, hitting Heeseung’s arm, “we’re kidding! You can’t even be jealous without looking like a kicked puppy.”

Sunghoon scoffed, eyes teary, his soul slowly returning to his body as the realization hit, “I hate you, all of you,” he hissed, snatching his laptop and fleeing to the safety of his locked room.

He didn’t know if it would work, but he wished to try anyway, no more running away, which is why he opened the MacBook yet again to go over the steps, preparing himself for the first one, sighing and smiling over the fact that you and Jungwon weren’t actually dating, but that didn’t mean you’d be single for too long, hence, he needs to start step one right after the exams are done. Just like that, Hoon was more focused on the plan rather than the exam, but he was pretty sure he aced it anyway, what he lacked was practical skills, not theory.

The exams came and went, leaving everyone with varying degrees of sleep deprivation, and a desperate need for greasy food. Which is how, mere hours after the final paper was submitted, you all found yourselves crammed into a sticky booth at the campus pub for the weekly Tuesday Trivia Night. You were sitting directly across from Sunghoon, stealing fries from Jungwon’s plate while arguing about the best Mario Kart track (toad harbour). Sunghoon, however, wasn’t listening. He was mentally rehearsing. He had spent the last three days memorizing Step 1: Make Eye Contact.

The article said: Lock eyes with her for a few seconds to show you’re interested. Don’t look away first. Be bold.

He took a deep breath, gripped his pint glass until his knuckles turned white, and initiated the sequence. He looked at you while you were laughing at something Jake said, your head thrown back, looking effortless and bright against the dim pub lighting. Sunghoon locked on, staring with intense focus. You paused, a fry hovering halfway to your mouth, sensing the weight of his gaze. You blinked, confused, but Sunghoon didn’t look away. Hold the gaze, his brain screamed, assert dominance.

“Hoon?” You asked, using the nickname again.

Sunghoon didn’t answer, he couldn’t, he was too busy counting the seconds. Then, you did the one thing WikiHow hadn’t really prepared him for, you didn’t look away shyly, rather, you leaned in.

You placed your elbows on the sticky table and leaned forward, bringing your face alarmingly close to his, a playful smirk dancing on your lips.

“You’re staring, Park,” you lowered your voice, teasing him, “and here I thought you were ignoring me.”

“I wasn’t ignoring you,” he blurted, maintaining that eye contact, “it’s kind of hard—to ignore you.”

The playful smirk dropped from your face as you blinked, caught off guard by the sudden honesty in his tone, which was needed especially when you did spend a gracious amount of time complaining to Karina about how you shouldn’t have hugged Sunghoon cause he had started ignoring you. He wasn’t stuttering now, wasn’t looking elsewhere, just into your eyes—which he finds really pretty.

“Oh,” you breathed, the teasing edge now vanished, leaning back as you felt the faint heat creeping up your neck, matching his own.

“Okay, question one!” The host bellowed, successfully helping Sunghoon escape the situation.

Sunghoon exhaled a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He had survived Step 1, but he was pretty sure he’d lost a few years of his life in the process. Then the game started, and Sunghoon forgot about the steps entirely, he just watched you. You were a force of nature, especially when the category switched to 2000s Pop Culture, you were unstoppable.

“Shrek 2!” You yelled before the host finished the quote.

“Correct!”

You high-fived Jake so hard the table shook, and Sunghoon wished he was there instead of Jake. You were competitive, loud, and brilliant. Sunghoon didn’t answer a single question, he just sat there, nursing his drink, tracking your every movement. He watched the way you bit your lip when you were thinking, and the way your eyes crinkled shut when you laughed at Jake’s wrong answers, who was way too competitive for his own good.

“Ouagadougou!” You shouted for the geography round, slamming your hand on the table.

“How do you know everything?” Jungwon asked, looking at you with mild horror.

“I have a brain, Won,” you winked, shooting a glance across the table at Sunghoon, “see? We won.”

Sunghoon felt his heart do a traitorous little flip. He didn’t look away this time. He just smiled, a small, unguarded thing.

“You’re drooling,” Jungwon whispered, nudging Sunghoon’s ribs.

“Am not! Don’t kill me,” he gasped.

Jungwon furrowed his brows, “why the fuck would I kill you?”

“Uh, so you don’t like her, right?” He asked hopefully even though his friends had told him, his poor heart needed some actual confirmation.

“Bro please, you’re fighting ghosts here, absolutely not,” Jungwon said, looking at Sunghoon with—pity? 

Sunghoon processed this as you all started hugging each other, victory being too sweet not to, and he waited patiently, not sure if you would even hug him, but he did stand up with flushed cheeks when you appeared in front of him, the height difference painfully apparent now, he had to look down, his dark hair falling over his eyes, while you had to tilt your head back to meet his gaze. Without overthinking it, you reached out and pulled him into a hug.

He turned into a literal pillar for a microsecond before the realization hit. Then, slowly, his arms wound around you, hesitant at first, then firm, pulling you into the warmth of his chest, and you could hear how fast his heart was beating as you leaned in, your chin resting on his shoulder. The noise of the pub—the clinking glasses, Jake’s loud laughter, the trivia host’s drone—all felt miles away.

You let your hand slide up from his shoulder, your fingers grazing the soft hair at the nape of his neck. His breath hitched, a sharp, audible sound that told you exactly how much effect you were having, and you didn’t mind, simply saying, “don’t be a stranger anymore, Hoonie.”

The nickname did it for him, and he practically shuddered under your touch, his knees actually buckling for a split second. He buried his face in the crook of your neck to hide the fact that his entire face was burning, inhaling sharply. He smelled like mango for some reason, and expensive cologne, but he was more focused on your scent.

“I won’t,” he rasped against your skin, “I promise.”

He held on for a second longer than intended, his fingers digging into the fabric of your sweater as if he were afraid you’d disappear if he let go. When you finally pulled back, stepping out of his personal space with a lingering smile, the loss of warmth hit him as he frowned. You waved at the group and walked out the door with Karina, who was more than ready to gossip about what had just happened, leaving the bell chiming in your wake.

Sunghoon stood frozen in the middle of the pub, his hand instinctively coming up to touch the back of his neck exactly where your fingers had been. He stared at the closed door for a full minute, unable to move, unable to think, his brain reduced to white noise and the echo of Hoonie.

“He’s broken,” Jake announced, waving a hand in front of Sunghoon’s unblinking eyes, “which is fair though, he got called Hoonie.”

“Did you hear that voice crack?” Jay snickered.

Sunghoon didn’t even hear them, just letting out a long, shaky exhale, his legs finally giving out as he collapsed back into the booth, burying his face in his hands.

“You really are like Nobita, just smarter when it comes to studies,” Jake let out as Sunghoon glared at him.

“And Jungwon can be Doremon,” Heeseung laughed, “round head and all, y’know?”

“Shouldn’t WikiHow be his Doremon though?” Jay asked looking at Jungwon who found the comment highly offensive.

“WikiHow?” He asked, and Jay told him the backstory, which had this man laughing like crazy, “Oh, I’m so telling this to Y/N.”

Now, that grabbed Hoon’s attention, who simply grabbed Jungwon and picked him up effortlessly despite him thrashing around—it was a funny sight, Hoon holding him up like a cat, “you wont tell her anything,” he warned, and for the first time he realised the strength of this man. 

“Yeah, forgot to tell you he’s strong behind his loser persona,” Heeseung added.

Either way, Sunghoon was in trouble, because he couldn’t sleep that night, and neither could Jungwon, who was contemplating joining gym now.

Hoon spent all night trying to plan his next step, and now he was prepared, he just had to find you.

STEP FOUR: Love is an open door—open it wider.

You were sitting with Karina at the campus coffee shop, finally resting after the exams were over, and right then your brows furrowed as you overheard two girls talking. Now, you weren’t one to eavesdrop, however, they were talking about Sunghoon—granting someone the best pleasure of their life? But he was with the whole group last night, so what’s that even about? Karina was listening as well, genuinely concerned at the very obvious made up story.

“What is going on?” You asked Karina, and she shrugged.

“He has this reputation of being this mysterious fuckboy, and people believe it cause no one really is close to him, she’s faking it all,” she replied, sipping her iced coffee.

“Woah, what the fuck?” You scoffed, “have they even seen how he looks like a puppy who’s always confused?”

“Yeah, they obviously don’t know that—but hey, he could be wild in the sheets, we don’t know that.”

You thought for a second, wondering if it could be true, because to you, Sunghoon seemed so sweet, almost like he’d be the softest, most loving man ever. But—you do wish to know what he was behind those oversized hoodies and shy smiles.

One of the girls smirked, going on about it, “no literally, he was wild last night, he’s got a big cock, and boy he knows exactly how to use it.”

You choked on your doughnut, Karina was amused seeing you like this, even more when the shop bell chimed, “damn, speak of the devil—and is he wearing Prada?” 

You turned around, wiping sugar off your lip, and sure enough, there he was. Sunghoon stood in the doorway, clad in a long, structured trench coat over a sleek turtleneck, looking like he’d stepped straight off a runway (yeah, you wanted him in your bed now). The entire coffee shop seemed to dim in his presence. The two girls behind you gasped, clutching each other’s arms.

“He’s looking,” one whispered frantically, “act natural.”

Sunghoon, however, wasn’t looking at them, scanning the room to find you, and he paused when he did. If Jake was there, he would practically see the WikiHow page loading in his brain—Step 2: Smile and be approachable. He tried to soften his face, but the nerves got the better of him. Instead of a gentle, welcoming smile, he pulled his lips back in a stiff, terrifyingly symmetrical grimace that made him look like he was bracing for an impact. He held the expression as he walked toward the counter to order his coffee as you sat there, confused. 

“Is he okay?” You asked.

“Don’t know, he’s always like that around you,” she said, and that made you smile—getting a weird glance from Karina. 

Sunghoon grabbed his iced Americano, took a deep breath to reset his expression, and walked over. He stopped in front of you, looking slightly thrown off by Karina’s presence, but he played it cool.

“Oh,” he said, his voice dropping to a smooth, feigned nonchalance, “fancy seeing you here.”

He absolutely did not mention that he had asked Jungwon for your location, and Jungwon absolutely didn’t mention that you weren’t alone.

He looked like he was about to retreat to a corner to brood over his failed smile, but you weren’t about to let that happen. Not with the rumor mill churning behind you.

“Hoon, wait,” you said, reaching out to snag the belt of his coat, tugging him closer.

Sunghoon froze, stumbling a step forward, looking down at you with wide, confused eyes, “y—yeah?”

“You look absolutely exhausted,” you said, pitching your voice just loud enough for the table behind you to hear. You reached up, brushing a stray lock of hair off his forehead, letting your fingers linger against his skin, and he wasn’t functioning anymore, that touch sending a shiver down his body and stopping right on his cock. 

He fucking loved it when you touched him, your fingers were so gentle, so soft on his skin, and maybe you did like him—that’s why you pulled him closer, right? He looked at you with wide eyes, dropping down to your lipgloss painted lips, which looked too inviting. 

“Tired from last night?” You asked, granting him a smile. 

He almost fainted, cause it sounded as if you knew he was up all night staring at your photos from instagram, rolling around on his bed with a genuine smile. But how could you know that? So he simply nodded, thinking (hoping) you were referring to Trivia night. 

“Yeah, I mean—it did go on for a while, and you were amazing,” he nodded, leaning into your touch instinctively, praying his best to sound normal. 

Behind him, the girls inhaled sharply, their imaginations clearly running wild. You smirked, knowing they were picturing a scandalous night while you were actually thinking about him being zoned out for most of the night, paying attention to the winning part only. 

“You kept up yknow? That’s impressive too,” you added helpfully even though he had not said a word during the trivia, patting his chest, not knowing how the poor man was suffering—in a good way, “you should rest, we were up really late.”

“I—yeah, it was worth it,” he said, looking down on the floor. 

Karina was shaking her head with the biggest smile on her face, turning back to see the girls talking in hushed voices. 

You chuckled, “okay, you should go rest now, bye Hoonie!”

He nodded, trying to give you another smile that looked very—uh, scary? But he left, not having it in him to actually stay and talk when there was an audience (Karina), he kicked the random stones on the path as he walked and sat in the Uni park, unsure what had even happened. 

“You are a menace,” Karina whispered when he was gone.

“I’m just clarifying things,” you winked, taking a bite of your doughnut as the girls behind you sat in stunned, jealous silence as you both gathered your things and started walking towards the dorms.

It was then when you spotted Sunghoon sitting alone, and you stopped, “I’ll catch you later,” you told her, and she followed your gaze, smirking at how obviously dumb the both of you were.

“Try not to break him this time, hm? Go get him, tiger,” she patted your back and you rolled your eyes, heading towards him, watching him tap his foot to some rhythm, staring ahead blankly.

You slid onto the bench next to him, nudging his knee with yours. Sunghoon jumped, his head snapping toward you. When he registered it was you, he immediately smiled, he had dressed up as well, granted WikiHow did say to dress up nicely and smell good, for which he ended up going to Jay for his perfume collection. He tried to smile, he really did, but he looked so endearingly awkward, you couldn’t help but laugh at him.

“Hoon, please,” you wheezed, reaching up to pull one side of his earpods away from his ear, “what are you doing?”

Sunghoon’s face crumbled instantly, the smile dropping into a pout of genuine despair. He slumped back against the bench, looking miserable.

“I’m trying to be approachable,” he groaned, his voice low and defeated. “I heard that I look mean when I’m thinking. I didn’t want you to think I was—I don’t know, unapproachable.”

“You are unapproachable,” you pointed out, stealing the headphone cup you’d pulled off his ear and holding it to your own, “but that’s because you are handsome.”

“Huh—what—”

You didn’t let him think much as you paused, grinning slightly, “wait. Are you listening to—is this Disney?"

Sunghoon froze. He snatched the EarPod back, his cheeks flushing, “no,” he lied immediately, “It’s—hard rock. Heavy metal, yeah.”

“Sunghoon,” you grinned, leaning into his space, “that was definitely love is an open door from Frozen.”

You didn’t give him a chance to come up with another lie. You just smiled, leaned back against the bench as you grabbed the airpod yet again, wearing it, and you started singing early knowing he’d malfunction. 

“I mean it’s crazy—”

Sunghoon froze, he stared at you, his mouth slightly agape. He looked around the park to see if anyone was watching, then looked back at you. You raised an eyebrow, challenging him. You knew he couldn’t leave a verse unfinished. It was against his nature, even if he had to sing the female verse of it.

“What?” he whispered, the word slipping out involuntarily. 

You grinned, leaning closer, your shoulder pressing against his, “we finish each other’s—”

Sunghoon’s eyes darted between your lips and your eyes, he fought it. You could see the physical struggle on his face as he tried to maintain his cool, but the music was swelling, and you were looking at him with that expectant, teasing light in your eyes.

“Sandwiches!” He blurted out, perfectly on beat.

You gasped, delighted, placing a hand over your heart. “That’s what I was gonna say!”

Sunghoon let out a defeated, incredulous laugh, but he didn’t stop—he couldn’t. The two of you sat on the park bench, huddled together over a pair of earpods, quietly harmonizing the chorus while a squirrel watched judgmentally from a nearby tree.

“Our mental synchronization,” he sang, looking at you with a gaze that was too obvious, but you didn’t catch it, “can have but one explanation.”

“You,” you sang, pointing a finger at him.

“And I,” he sang, pointing back, a small, genuine smile breaking through his embarrassment.

“Were just meant to be,” you both finished in unison.

Sunghoon let the final note hang in the air before he slumped forward, burying his face in his hands again. His ears were burning a bright crimson, “I can’t believe I just did that,” he groaned into his palms, “I’m wearing a trench coat. I’m supposed to be cool.”

“You’re cool,” you said as he smiled, which made you stop, “hey, you have fangs,” you pointed it out and he got conscious, “don’t hide, your smile is pretty,” you mumbled, and he breathed out, smiling just for you, not thinking this time, as you leaned against his arm.

If Hoon thought yesterday was the best day of his life, he was wrong, cause with how carefree he felt with you in the moment, he swears this is the best day of his life.

Step: Smile at her—successful.

STEP FIVE: Be a hero (by using your crush as a human shield).

You had been smiling way too much lately, and it irritated Jungwon, who was having a shitty day with how his favourite hoodie went missing, how his headphones stopped working, and how he dropped his cupcake on the floor. He glared at you through it all, “stop smiling for fucks sake,” he mumbled.

“Oh shut up, Doremon,” you teased, as Jake had told you about the whole Nobita-Doremon conversation, minus the WikiHow part, while gaming with you. You were disappointed to see the absence of Hoon that day as he had lectures, but that didn’t compare to his disappointment. 

He fell down on the floor (it really happened, no exaggeration) when he learned that you had left just ten minutes before he arrived back at the dorm, it was as if he was facing withdrawals of your absence, not having seen you since that day in the park. And of course, he was not confident enough to actually text you. Yes, he had your number from the groupchat, but that was about it. Now, he couldn’t wait much longer as he sat down to actually plan the next step, which was breaking the touch barrier. He actively ignored Jake teasing him about how you were wearing a skirt (which you definitely wore in hopes of seeing him, but oh well), and how you looked so pretty.

Sunghoon rolled into his stomach, pulling his phone out to garner more ideas, and he settled on one which seemed to be the most natural—use a scary movie night as an excuse, hold her when she gets scared, be her protector. He wasn’t fond of it (horror movies), but he believed it was the only way to go on about it, which is why he opened the group chat and started typing, swallowing hard.

He hated horror movies, the last time he watched The Conjuring, he slept with Jay and Jake, who couldn’t really complain, being equally scared, but then, he imagined you—scared and pretty, leaning into him for protection, and he was sold.

Sunghoon: movie night, ill buy pizzas Jay: ? Jake: you hate paying bro?? Hee: free pizza i’m in Jungwon: oh you’re down to this now Karina: dw ill bring Y/N along You: sounds like fun, can’t wait :3

Sunghoon threw his phone across the bed, giggling into the pillow, and Jay stared at him from the half opened door, unimpressed at the view of his friend giggling like a schoolgirl, “please control yourself,” he mumbled. 

Sunghoon screamed, throwing the pillow his way, “personal space i swear, knock before you come in!”

“You’re cleaning that up,” Jay deadpanned, watching the pillow slide sadly down the wall, “and fix your face. You look insane.”

Three hours later, the dorm living room had been curated better as Sunghoon had dimmed the lights and gathered the pizza boxes. 

He was wearing a grey fitted tshirt because WikiHow said grey was a soft, inviting color. He was ready. When the door opened, it was chaos. Jake and Heeseung were already on the sofa, arguing about pineapple on pizza, Jungwon was complaining about the stairs, and Karina was dragging you inside.

“Hi, Hoon!” You beamed, spotting him instantly, you were wearing an oversized graphic tee and the skirt, oh that skirt, looking comfortable and devastatingly pretty.

Sunghoon’s brain short-circuited, “pizza,” he blurted out, pointing at the table, “I mean, hi. There’s pizza.”

“Smooth,” Heeseung whispered as he walked past, patting Sunghoon’s shoulder.

The seating arrangement was a battlefield, but Sunghoon had strategized. He maneuvered Heeseung to the armchair, shoved Jungwon and Karina to the beanbags, and left the sofa for the core trio: Jake on the far end, you in the middle, and himself rightfully claiming the spot on your right.

“So,” Jake asked, grabbing a slice of pepperoni. unimpressed at how Hoon was behaving, “what are we watching?”

Sunghoon took a deep breath. This was it—the ultimate sacrifice.

“The Grudge,” he announced, trying to keep his voice an octave lower than usual.

Jake froze mid-chew, looking at Sunghoon, then at the TV, then back at Sunghoon with wide, betrayed eyes, “bro, are you serious? You slept with the hallway light on for a week after we watched the trailer.”

“I did not! That was you,” Sunghoon lied through his teeth, grabbing the remote to stop Jake from exposing him further, “I crave the thrill now.”

You looked at him, impressed, leaning back into the cushions so your shoulder brushed against his, “woah, really? I love horror movies. I didn’t know you were brave like that, Hoon.”

Sunghoon preened under your praise, ignoring the way his heart was doing gymnastics, “I’m full of surprises.”

He pressed play, and the room plunged into heavy silence that only horror movies can manufacture, Sunghoon sat rigid, his spine glued to the cushions, his eyes locked on the screen, but his entire awareness was tunneled on you—tracking the way you absentmindedly chewed on the crust of your pizza, the way you leaned back, looking frustratingly calm, while his own heart was doing gymnastics against his ribs. Ten minutes in, the tension was unbearable, the protagonist walking down a dark, rotting hallway while the violins shrieked in that nausea-inducing crescendo, and Sunghoon’s palms were slick with sweat, his brain screaming at him to look away, but he couldn't, not when he had a mission.

Wait for the scare, wait for the flinch, be the fucking rock. Suddenly, the ghost appeared, a pale, contorted face filling the screen with a deafening, wet shriek.

“Ahhhhhh!”

A scream tore through the room, high and terrified—but it wasn’t you? It was Jake, who launched himself sideways, burying his face directly into your shoulder and clutching your arm like it was the last life raft on the Titanic.

“Turn it off! Turn it the fuck off! She’s gonna get me!” Jake wailed, vibrating with fear, effectively using you as a human shield against the fictional spirit.

You laughed, startled but amused, patting Jake’s head with fondness, “It’s just a jump scare, Jakey, breathe.”

Sunghoon sat frozen, his arm halfway raised in a pathetic imitation of a yawn, staring at the scene in absolute horror, because that was his shoulder, that was his moment, that was his Step 3 crumbling to dust before his eyes because his best friend had zero dignity. He glared at the top of Jake’s head, jealousy flaring hot and bright in his chest, a burning indignation that momentarily eclipsed his fear of the vengeful ghost.

“Get off her,” Sunghoon gritted out, voice laced with venom.

Jake lifted his head, eyes wide and teary, looking like a puppy, “shut up.”

“You’re crushing her,” Sunghoon lied through his teeth, reaching over to peel Jake’s fingers off your arm with surprising strength, his jaw tight, “sit up, Jake, have some self-respect, be a man.”

“You’re just jealous I got the safe spot,” Jake sniffled, retreating to the corner of the couch but keeping a hand on your sleeve just in case, pouting, and you chuckled, hiding your smile from Sunghoon.

Sunghoon bristled, turning back to the screen, determined to reclaim the moment, because the movie was building up to the next scare, the ghost crawling down the stairs with wet, cracking sounds that made his skin crawl. He lifted his arm yet again, fingers trembling slightly because he needed to be smooth, but he was scared. 

And on the screen, the ghost lunched right at the camera, and well, Sunghoon didn’t just scream, he fucking broke. Instead of casually putting an arm around you, he let out a strangled yelp and instinctively yanked you toward him, burying his face into the crook of your neck and wrapping both arms around you in a crushing embrace.

Silence filled the room, heavy and awkward, broken only by the screaming on the TV and Sunghoon’s heavy, erratic breathing against your collarbone.

You sat there, stunned, your face pressed against the soft cotton of Sunghoon’s t-shirt. You could smell his detergent—clean linen and something distinctly him—and feel the way his heart was hammering against your chest, the rhythm so fast it made your own pulse skip a beat. Butterflies erupted in your stomach, not from the fear of the movie, but from the sudden, overwhelming warmth of him surrounding you, his arms holding you like he never planned to let go—and of course, he had well defined muscles, you could feel it.

Jake paused his panic to look at Sunghoon, Jungwon stopped eating mid-chew, and Karina raised a judgmental eyebrow from the beanbag.

“Hoonie?” You whispered, your voice muffled against his chest, trying to ignore the heat rising in your cheeks.

Sunghoon froze as the realization crashed down on him—he was hugging you. He was practically hiding in your neck and everyone was watching. He had failed Step 3 in the most spectacular way possible, yet—you felt so warm. You fit so perfectly against him—and it made him want to bite you? Abort, abort, abort. He slowly pulled his face away from your neck, but he didn’t let go of the hug, he looked down at you with wide, panicked eyes, his ears burning (again), searching your face for rejection.

“I—I got you,” he stammered, his voice cracking, trying to look heroic while his hands still trembled on your back, “I thought—I thought you were going to jump, so I—uh held you.” 

Everyone was baffled, and wondering how you even entertained Sunghoon through his outbursts, but they found fun in it, watching it unfold like some sitcom.

“Held me?” You repeated, eyebrows shooting up, though the amusement dancing in your eyes was soft, not mocking, “by trying to merge our ribcages?”

“It was a reflex,” he insisted, though the thought seemed wildly nice, before looking around the room, refusing to make eye contact with Jake, who was now grinning wickedly, “don’t overthink it.”

“I think he’s using you as a teddy bear,” Jungwon deadpanned from the floor, throwing a piece of popcorn at Sunghoon’s leg.

“Shut up,” Sunghoon hissed, but he tightened his arms around you just a fraction, pulling you back down so your head rested on his chest, “i’m protecting her. Look away.”

You didn’t pull away. Instead, you shifted closer until you were comfortably tucked against his side, listening to the rapid thumping of his heart slowing down to a steady, comforting rhythm. You wrapped an arm around his waist, grounding him, feeling the tension slowly leave his frame.

“It’s okay, my brave protector,” you whispered, looking up so your breath tickled his chin, “keep me safe.”

Sunghoon swallowed hard, resting his chin on top of your head, his face still burning. He stared straight ahead at the terrifying screen, absolutely petrified of the ghost, but thinking that maybe, just maybe, failing step 3 was better than succeeding. 

Because for the rest of the movie, he didn’t let go of you once, and every time you shifted, his hold only grew gentler, more possessive, and infinitely more real.

STEP SIX: Texting builds character

“You know—I don’t get it, it feels like mixed signals,” you sighed and Karina was baffled.

“What mixed signals? You’re as blind as him I swear,” she mumbles, shaking her head, “you both get such good grades but can’t navigate life, even if you’re a bit better at hiding your dumbass thoughts.”

“Aw thanks for the support,” you gasped in fake sweetness before sitting down next to her and sighing, “one second we are hugging and the other—radio silence, what even is going on?”

Karina sighed, finally glancing at you with a pitying look, “he’s just a guy. And guys are stupid. You look like a sad Victorian woman waiting for her husband to return from war.”

“Shut up,” you groaned. 

“Make him jealous, maybe he’ll act up again and confess for real,” she shrugged.

“Confess? Girl I don’t think he sees me that way, definitely just a friend.”

Karina couldn’t believe her ears, but she couldn’t be mean when you looked like a puppy now, just like Sunghoon. It was crazy how similar you both were, yet so different, but yes, you shared that same dumbness of not acknowledging the basic emotions you harboured. 

So when you got a text from Sunghoon, you were surprised, rushing into your room before Jungwon could comment on the odd look on your face. 

Meanwhile, Sunghoon sat in the library with his textbooks wide open, but he hadn’t read a word in twenty minutes. Instead, he was staring at his phone, his thumb hovering over the delete text button. On his laptop, hidden behind a PDF of organic chemistry notes (his elective), was the tab:

WikiHow: How to Flirt Over Text

Step 1: Be playful. Send a meme that relates to a shared interest or a current mood. Humor lowers defenses.

He had agonized over the image for ten minutes. Was it too weird? Too try-hard? He needed something that said I’m thinking about you without actually admitting that he was, indeed, obsessively thinking about you. He swallowed hard, his heart doing a nervous rhythm against his ribs. Just calm down, Park. It’s a meme, not a marriage proposal (might as well have been a marriage proposal for him).

On the other hand, you had thrown yourself onto your bed, buried yourself under the duvet to block out the world (and Jungwon, who was loudly gaming in the next room), and opened the chat to find a blurry, low-res picture of Psyduck clutching its head, eyes wide in some sort of existential horror. 

Hoonie: me looking at this chem assignment rn

A laugh bubbled up in your chest. It was so stupid, so random, and so him.

You: pleaseee You: that is literally you You: drama queen Hoonie: wow Hoonie: im suffering and this is the support i get? Hoonie: fake friend

It physically pained him to even type the word, however, the guide did say to start off slow, so here he was, biting his lip as he saw you typing, wondering if you’ll play along or be offended.

You: i’m a great friend btw You: i’m manifesting good grades for u from my bed

Three dots appeared for you, bubbling, then stopping, then bubbling again.

Hoonie: must be nice to be resting Hoonie: im starving actually

You stared at the screen, wondering if this conversation was going where you thought it was going cause he was starving, and well, you were starving (always).

You: same tbh You: i would kill for boba rn

The typing bubble appeared for a long time, then it disappeared. A moment later, an audio file appeared.

Hoonie: [Voice Message 0:08]

You fumbled to hit play, holding the phone pressed tight against your ear.

The background noise of the library was faint—the rustle of pages, a distant cough—but his voice was right there, as if he was whispering directly into the mic so the others wouldn’t hear. The intimacy of it sent a shiver down your spine.

“I’m practically dead here. I was gonna sneak out to that boba place near the campus—the one that’s still open? You should come. Save me from this chemistry nightmare.”

There was a pause, a small intake of breath, and then a softer, rather shy admission, “I’ll pay.”

Your heart slammed against your ribcage, because he wasn’t just texting, he was asking you out, at 11 PM, to get bubble tea. This was it, maybe he was trying to signal directly for the first time. You bit your lip to stop the grin spreading across your face and started typing furiously.

You: deal. give me 10 mins i’m com—

Ping.

Another text popped up before you could hit send.

Hoonie: jake and jay are coming too Hoonie: so yeah group thing, you can invite won and rina  Hoonie: ill be waiting

Your thumbs froze over the keyboard. The cursor blinked at the end of your unfinished sentence, of fucking course, it was a group thing. The excitement drained out of you like water from a cracked cup. It went from a date to a hangout in the span of three seconds.

Sunghoon stared at his phone, horror dawning on his face. He dropped his forehead onto the library table with a dull thud.

“You idiot,” he whispered to the wood grain, talking to himself, “why did you invite Jake? Jake hates tapioca pearls.”

He had panicked. The voice note had felt too intimate, way too real. The WikiHow guide had a warning in bold red text—don’t come on too strong or you’ll scare her off. In a split second of terror that you might say no, he had used Jake and Jay as some human shields. Now, staring at the chat, he realized he had ruined it.

Beside him, Jake looked up from his laptop, looking at the groupchat where Jungwon had confirmed that he’ll be joining (you had asked him and Rina in a grumpy tone), your supposed date now turning into the usual hangout.

“Bro, did you just invite us to get boba? I thought we were grinding until midnight?”

Sunghoon didn’t reply, simply standing up and grabbing Jake by the hoodie, as he dragged him into a—headlock.

“Ow! What the hell?” Jake yelped.

Meanwhile, you were staring at the text, contemplating throwing your phone across the room, when another notification popped up.

Jay 🦅 sent an image.

You frowned and opened it. It was a blurry, candid photo taken in the library. In the foreground, Sunghoon had Jake in a chokehold. Sunghoon’s face was buried in his arm, his ears bright red, looking equal parts frustrated and miserable. Jake looked like a flailing hostage.

Jay 🦅: hoon is having a breakdown idk  Rina: do i even ask if he’s okay anymore Hee: click more pics, ill need those Jun-gone: ,, why? Hee: science

You stared at the photo, at Sunghoon’s red ears and frustrated posture. The disappointment in your chest loosened, replaced by a sudden, warm laugh. So he had panicked. You grabbed your hoodie, the smile back on your face. 

Sunghoon groaned, because this step had failed, miserably so.

STEP SEVEN: Turn your failures into wins. 

The universe probably hated you, or maybe you were just dumb enough not to check in with Jake about Sunghoon’s availability in their dorms, cause somehow you found yourself there with a plan to game with the boys, Karina and Jungwon had joined in as well, which means everyone was there—everyone but Sunghoon.

“He’s at the library,” Jake had said, waving a controller dismissively as he selected a track on Mario Kart, “something about his thermodynamics assignment or whatever. I think he just forgot we were hanging out.”

So, you gamed. You played round after round, fueling yourself with soda and the competitive rage of losing to Jungwon three times in a row. But as the hours ticked by and the adrenaline crashed, the exhaustion of the week finally caught up to you. The shouting and the flashing lights of the TV became a blur as your eyes felt heavy, which is how you managed to fall asleep on the couch in this awkward position. No one bothered to wake you up.

“Leaving this to Sunghoon now,,” Jungwon muttered and Karina agreed once the session was over.

When Sunghoon finally unlocked the dorm door, the silence was jarring. He had spent the last five hours battling Carnot’s theorem, and his brain felt like mush. He expected to find a room full of pizza boxes and screaming friends. Instead, he found a dim room lit only by the standby light of the TV and Jake, who was scrolling on his phone in the armchair.

And then, he saw the couch. Sunghoon froze in the entryway, his keys still clutched in his hand. You were curled up in the corner of the beat-up sofa, cheek smushed against a throw pillow, looking comfortably disheveled, hair spilling over your face, and your soft, rhythmic breathing was the only sound in the room.  

Sunghoon felt his chest tighten, a warm feeling spreading through his ribcage. He stood there, staring, forgetting for a moment that he was supposed to be cool and composed. He just looked like a guy whose heart had decided to do gymnastics because a girl was sleeping on his furniture.  

“You’re late,” Jake whispered, not looking up from his phone, “we finished like an hour ago.”

Sunghoon blinked, the spell breaking slightly. He toed off his shoes, trying to be quiet, “I was studying.”

“Sure,” Jake snorted. He gestured with his chin toward the couch, “your turn to be the hero. Everyone else bailed.”

Sunghoon took a few steps closer, looking down at you—you looked so small, so peaceful. He wanted to reach out and fix the hair falling into your eyes, but his hands felt too big, too clumsy.  

“She’s asleep,” Sunghoon stated the obvious, his voice hushed.

“Comatose, actually,” Jake corrected, finally standing up and stretching his back, “Jungwon destroyed her in Smash Bros, seemed like she was distracted,” Jake looked at Sunghoon, then at you, and rolled his eyes, “don’t just stare at her, dude, you look like a creep.”

“I’m not staring,” Sunghoon whispered defensively, though his ears were already turning red.  

“Take her to your room,” Jake said, stifling a yawn.

Sunghoon choked on air, “my—what?”

“Your room,” Jake repeated slowly, as if talking to a toddler, “the couch is lumpy, and my room is not clean right now. Unless you want her waking up with me by her side.”

“That’s not happening,” Sunghoon muttered, a sudden wave of possessiveness washing over him at the thought of you waking up next to Jake, and truly, Sunghoon was a jealous man, something he did, “fine. I’ve got her.”  

“Don’t drop her,” Jake yawned, disappearing into his room without another glance.  

Sunghoon stood alone in the dim living room, staring at you. Okay, he just had to carry you, just hold you in his arms, simple—right? He crouched down, sliding one arm under your knees and the other behind your back. He expected it to be awkward, expected to trip over the rug, but as he lifted you, he realized you fit surprisingly well in his arms, mentally patting himself on the back for acting normal.

You shifted instinctively, your head lulling to rest against his chest, nose burying into the fabric of his shirt. Sunghoon’s breath hitched, cause god, he was doing it again, trying to get a whiff of your scent, and he was terrified you’d wake up and hear his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. He walked carefully down the hall, navigating the darkness and kicked his bedroom door open with his foot. The room was cool, smelling of his detergent and books. He lowered you onto his bed and you sank into the mattress immediately. Sunghoon pulled away, his arms suddenly feeling empty and cold. He stood by the bed, watching you, his hand hovering uncertainly, caressing your cheek gently before he shook his head.

He retreated to the corner, sitting down on the desk chair as he tried to distract himself with physics yet again, but he stared at you for most of the time. Now, it was a big thing for Sunghoon who was pondering deeply—would things be like this if you were to date him? Would you sleep on his bed? Would you let him stay? He was preparing himself without even knowing much. He knew your favourites by heart now—coffee order, the type of pasta you preferred, the bands you’d been listening to. He had found your Spotify account, and he blushed when he saw you actually listening to EsDeeKid when he’d mentioned he liked it. 

It was the next step—be caring and attentive, but as much as he was following it, you were doing it too, without a guide, but yeah. There was no doubt he was down bad, he wanted you—needed you. But he was willing to wait, as for now, he was more than content watching you sleep on his bed (he’s not being creepy he swears—although he has done some questionable stuff before). He didn’t register much, especially the time, or the way you were shifting in your sleep.

“Hoon?” You whispered, your voice a small, happy to see him before you gathered your surroundings—it was Hoon’s room, he carried you inside.

Sunghoon jumped so violently his chair creaked, spinning around with wide eyes behind his lenses. He immediately tried to fix his posture, reaching for that composed shield, but he looked too drained to maintain it.  

“Hey,” he breathed, his voice deep and rough from disuse.  

He stood up and walked over to the bed, his strides careful as if he were afraid to startle you. He reached out, his hand hovering near your shoulder for a heartbeat before he gently grasped the corner of the duvet that had slipped. He tucked it back into place, his fingers lingering agonizingly close to your skin. You saw his knuckles twitch, the silent battle to touch your cheek written in the tension of his jaw, but he clenched his hand into a fist and pulled back.  

“You okay? Wanna go back to sleep? It’s late,” he said softly, his eyes reflecting the dim lamp light, “It’s late.”  

“You should sleep too,” you murmured mindlessly, reaching out from under the covers to catch his wrist.  

Sunghoon froze, his breath hitching as he stared down at your hand against his skin. The heat of the touch was instant, and he stood rooted to the spot, trapped by the gentle pressure of your fingers.  

“I will,” he lied, his voice barely a whisper, not moving an inch until you finally let go, his pulse still hammering where your fingers had been.  

You sat up slowly, rubbing your eyes as you realized the time, and even if yo didn’t want to, you said it, “I should probably go back to my dorm. I didn’t mean to take over your bed.”

Sunghoon looked at his desk, then back at you, a conflict of interest clear in his eyes, “It’s raining really hard,” he noted, his voice dropping to a low murmur.  

“So—” you teased softly, the remnants of sleep making you bolder, “should I stay?”

He looked at you, his brain likely running through a twelve-step response plan, but he settled for a slow shake of his head, “I—I’ll walk you back,” he managed, his ears turning a bright crimson because he doesn’t trust himself alone with you, especially at night—especially when you say things like that, “I have an umbrella.”

You chuckled, watching him move around—you always felt so helpless especially when he looked so soft. He was so incredibly caring, and you couldn’t even deny that you wanted more, as selfish as it might sound.

The walk back was quiet, the black canopy creating a tiny, private world for the two of you as you splashed through the puddles. He walked close, his shoulder brushing yours, his hand steady on the handle to make sure you stayed dry while he took the brunt of the mist. When you reached your door, you didn’t just wave, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around his waist, pulling him into a firm, warm hug, your emotions taking over. Sunghoon went rigid for a microsecond before his arms wound around you, pulling you into the warmth of his chest naturally now. He rested his chin on the top of your head, inhaling sharply, wishing the night didn’t have to end.

“Goodnight, Hoonie,” you whispered against his heart.  

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he rasped back, watching you head inside with a gaze that was far from neutral.

It was hard to let go, he pulled you to him harder, sighing as his hands caressed your sides, and you almost whined when he put just the slightest amount of pressure before he actually let go—eyes darker than ever, as if he was having just as hard time as you if not more.  

He walked back feeling emptier than ever, wondering what could have happened if he had asked you to stay. Would you have wrapped your arms around him the same way? Would you let him cuddle you to sleep—to kiss you goodnight or more? 

“God,” he mumbled, finally reaching his room again and getting on his bed.

His phone chimed just then, and he frowned because who would text him this late? Mouth opening wide when he saw your notification, a picture attachment. He was scared to open it, and rightfully so. He threw his phone away with a gasp, cause no way—no fucking way you sent him your picture, on your bed, in your tank top that did nothing to hide your cleavage. He’d been doing so well, holding on so well, only to shatter at the sight of you, smiling that easy smile of yours. 

Y/N-nie: thanks for tonight hoonie, sleep well 💗

Sleep? No. He grabbed the phone and managed to type a response, saving your picture as he stared deeply at the slight dimple on your face, that one mole which was barely visible—but he wanted to kiss it. The way your clavicle looked so inviting wasn’t helping his case. Was he actually getting turned on at the mere sight of what you could offer him? Yes, he was. 

“No—no I can’t do this to her—no,” he mumbled, grabbing his hardening cock through the sweatpants, “pathetic,” he breathed out.

He sat back against the headboard, the air in the room feeling thick and heavy. His breath was coming in short, uneven hitches, and he couldn’t stop the frustrated sound that caught in his throat as he looked back down at the screen. The blue light washed over his face, highlighting the sheer desperation in his eyes as he took in every detail of the photo again. His hand tightened, the fabric of his sweatpants offering little relief against the insistent, pulsing ache. He felt like he was losing a war with himself. Every time he tried to blink you away, the image of that tank top and your soft, teasing smile felt like it was burned into his retinas.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” he choked out, his voice a low, wrecked rasp, “you have to be.”

He shifted, his body reacting to the mental image of being there with you, of seeing that smile in person instead of through a cold glass screen. The tension was coiled so tight in his gut it was almost painful. He palmed himself again, a desperate, clumsy movement born out of a total lack of control, his head falling back against the wall with a dull thud as he freed himself, wrapping his big hand around his leaking cock, groaning louder by the second. Just the image of you, the scent of you on his bed drove him into madness as he pumped himself, praying that his flatmates wouldn’t hear him. 

Thrusting his hips up, he chased that feeling, delving deeper into the thoughts of you no matter how embarrassed he was at the situation, he couldn’t help but imagine your soft fingers wrapped around his cock, your pretty eyes looking up at him, calling him hoonie.

“Fuck—need you.”

He would kiss you so deeply, be so close to you so you’d breathe the same air, he’d touch you even softly—god you’d look so pretty arching into him. He gripped himself harder, wondering if you’d like him being so soft with you, wondering if you’d let him taste you, wondering if you’d want him as bad as he wants you.

Would he be soft with you? He’s pretty sure he’d lose control and come off too strong, and maybe you’d like seeing him take control. The image of you moaning his name, pulling him closer and into your pretty pussy—yeah, that had him stroking himself harder, groaning out your name, each sound rougher than the last.

Yes, it was embarrassing how fast his body gave in, thick ropes of cum staining his bed sheet and sweats as he focused on his breathing with his eyes closed, “so fucking pathetic,” he mumbled.

He isn’t sure his step worked out, but he knew one thing—he had never felt such an insane surge of pleasure before.

STEP EIGHT: Mission abort

Guilty.

That was all what Sunghoon felt after waking up—because how did he even manage to get hard at an innocent picture of you? It didn’t matter now, he had fucked up, and now he stood in front of the mirror, brushing his teeth, contemplating his choices. First—he can go out and continue acting as if nothing happened, or second—he can hide in his room and stay locked away forever and ever. The latter seemed very tempting, but that also meant he’d never see you again—the absolute love of his life.

The idea itself was so haunting, that he had no option but to jump in his room, hyping himself for the next meeting—which he was orchestrating by asking Jungwon about your schedule (again), and he was relieved to hear that you were in the library, alone. Maybe he would feel better if he gets to talk to you one on one, since that opportunity has been rare (happened twice and he was struggling). So, he wore a nice button up, parted his hair to the side, sprayed a decent amount of cologne—all while Jake stared at him, amused.

“Are you gonna ask her out?”

Hoon flinched, “Gosh—why don’t you guys ever knock?” He mumbled, pouting a little.

“I’m just going to the library,” Sunghoon deflected, turning back to the mirror to fix a strand of hair that was already perfect, “to study. Alone.”

“Right,” Jake snorted, not looking up from his phone, “just don’t trip on your way to Y/N.”

Sunghoon ignored him, grabbed his wallet, and marched out the door with the grim determination of a soldier going into battle—albeit one armed with a debit card and a crippling fear of rejection. He made a strategic detour to the campus café, the one you swore had the best blueberry cheesecake in the city. He ordered a slice to go and your favorite iced vanilla latte, his brain reciting the text he had highlighted on his laptop screen earlier.

Step 9: Surprise them with small gestures.

Bringing them their favorite snack or drink shows that you listen and that you care about their comfort. It creates a positive association with your presence.

“I listen,” Sunghoon whispered to himself as he carefully balanced the cardboard carrier and the pastry box against the biting wind, “I am a great listener, I am thoughtful, I can do it.”

He felt good, today, he was the guy in the button-up bringing coffee. He had upgraded himself to the romantic lead of a rom-com, from the previous indie movie actor. He reached the library, navigating the quiet rows of books with a newfound confidence. He knew exactly where to find the Biology section—the corner table by the window, he rounded the corner, a rehearsed casual greeting on his lips—Oh, hey, just happened to be in the neighborhood with pastries—but the words died in his throat.

You were there, just like Jungwon said, however, the composition of the scene was wrong. Sitting beside you, occupying the space Sunghoon had mentally reserved for himself, was a guy. Sunghoon didn’t know him, but he immediately felt a surge of irrational hostility. The guy wasn’t wearing a stiff button-up or drowning in expensive cologne. He was wearing a faded, oversized hoodie, leaning back in his chair with a maddening, effortless slouch that made Sunghoon nervous.

Sunghoon froze behind a stack of anatomy encyclopedias, clutching the cheesecake box so hard the cardboard buckled under his thumb.

“If you skew the standard deviation any further, this becomes a guessing game, not a lab report,” the guy said, tapping his pen against your screen.

You laughed and it wasn’t the polite, reserved chuckle you gave strangers, It was the unguarded, head-thrown-back laugh that you provided Hoon with. You nudged the guy’s shoulder playfully.

“We gotta optimize the data, Jaemin,” you teased, “look at that bell curve. It’s beautiful.”

Jaemin grinned, looking at you with a familiarity that made Sunghoon’s stomach drop, “so what? You can’t just gaslight E. Coli into fitting your hypothesis.”

Sunghoon looked down at himself. He saw the carefully ironed shirt, the polished shoes, the thoughtful surprise that suddenly felt like a desperate bribe. He felt like a caricature—a man masquerading as a romantic lead while the actual protagonist was sitting right there in a beat-up hoodie, speaking your language, making you laugh about bacteria without even trying.

The WikiHow guide hadn’t prepared him for this. It had steps for flirting, steps for eye contact, steps for mirroring body language, it didn’t have a step for watching the girl you like shine brightly at someone else, unaware that he was even in the room. He turned on his heel, the movement sharp and painful. He walked back toward the exit, his pace quickening until he was practically fleeing the scene, the cheerful chime of the library door mocking him as he stepped out into the biting wind. Sunghoon had never been good with jealousy, and right now, he wanted nothing more than to pull you away from the guy and kiss you right there, god he’d do so much just to prove a point, but no—he had to stay calm, for now at least, and leaving was the only option.

The chime of the door made you look up from your laptop. The smile that had been on your face while joking with Jaemin faded instantly as you checked your phone for the fifth time in ten minutes. The screen still displayed the last text from Jungwon—he’s on his way, said he has a surprise. You frowned, your brows knitting together as you scanned the entrance, but there was no one there. The library was quiet, devoid of the tall, clumsy boy you had been hoping to see.

“Everything okay?” Jaemin asked, noticing your shift in mood.

“Yeah,” you sighed, dropping your phone face-down on the table with a dull thud of disappointment, “I just thought—never mind. Back to the assignment.”

Outside, Sunghoon sat on a secluded concrete bench, oblivious to the fact that you had been looking for him. He placed the cooling coffee on the ground and opened the pastry box.

“I hate blueberry,” he muttered, picking up the plastic fork with shaking fingers.

He ate the cheesecake aggressively, he felt ridiculous, he was a grown man sitting in the cold eating a cake meant for a girl who was currently laughing about standard deviations with someone else, all because he needed an internet article to tell him how to be a human being.  

He pulled his phone out of his pocket, the tab was still open:

WikiHow: How to flirt with a pretty girl (with pictures).

He stared at the cheerful illustrations, the bullet points that promised success if he just followed the formula, it all looked so hollow now, so sterile. 

“Stupid,” he hissed. He closed the tab, closing the browser next before he cleared his history, as if scrubbing the evidence of his own incompetence.

He was done. He was done treating you like a puzzle to be solved with cheat codes. Watching you with Jaemin had triggered something visceral in him—not just jealousy, but a terrifying clarity. He didn’t want to be the guy who surprised you with coffee because a website told him to, he wanted to be the guy who could make you laugh like that naturally

“Tomorrow,” he said to the empty bench, tossing the empty cake box into the trash with a decisive thud. 

The end-of-semester party was tomorrow night, everyone would be there. There would be no scripts, no steps, no hiding behind Jake or a stack of books.

“I’m just going to tell her,” he decided, the wind ruffling his carefully parted hair, “I’m going to walk up to her, and I’m going to tell her. No more steps.”

He stood up, wiping a crumb from his lip. He felt terrified, he also felt nauseous, but for the first time in weeks, he didn’t feel like a project—he felt like Sunghoon.

And Sunghoon was going to confess to you.

STEP NINE: Be yourself (or not)

“Why am I wearing this again?” You asked as Karina stood behind you, zipping up your dress—which was beautiful, however, Karina wasn’t the one to instruct you on your dressing choices.

“Cause I’m fed up of you and Hoon being dumb, maybe this will make him realize what he’s been missing,” she muttered, making you roll your eyes.

“He didn’t even show up at the library, Rin. I think the message is pretty clear—and just when I thought we were actually going somewhere, especially with how sweet he was when I slept at his dorm,” you mumbled, smoothing down the fabric, “he’s not interested.”

“Or,” Karina countered, spinning you around to face the mirror, “he’s an idiot who got lost in his own head. Look at you girl—If Park Sunghoon doesn’t lose his mind tonight, he’s officially clinically dead.”

You stared at your reflection, and you felt nervous, thinking of backing out now, but Karina was already shoving a purse into your hands and dragging you out the door before you could overthink it. The frat house was vibrating before you even stepped inside. The bass rattled your teeth, and the air was thick with the scent of cheap beer and humidity. It was the kind of scene Sunghoon usually avoided, or endured by standing in the back looking bored and devastatingly handsome.

You scanned the room instinctively, your eyes darting over the sea of bobbing heads and red Solo cups, but the familiar silhouette of broad shoulders and perfectly styled dark hair was nowhere to be found. You told yourself you weren’t looking for him, that you were here to dance and forget about the odds, but your subconscious was a traitor. Every time the door opened, letting in a blast of cold air and fresh bodies, your heart did a hopeful little stutter in your chest, only to sink when it wasn’t him.

“He’s not here,” Karina shouted over the thumping bass, reading your mind with terrifying accuracy. She handed you a drink that smelled like fruit punch, “stop looking. If he shows up, he shows up. If he doesn’t, it’s his loss. Now come on, they’re playing that song you like.”

You let her drag you onto the makeshift dance floor, the sticky residue of spilled beer gripping the soles of your shoes. You tried to lose yourself in the rhythm, to let the vibrations of the music rattle the anxiety out of your bones, but the knot in your stomach remained tight. Thirty minutes later, you started feeling odd. It was subtle at first—a ripple of whispers, heads turning toward the entryway. You were by the kitchen island, trying to cool down with a cup of water, when you saw him.

Park Sunghoon had arrived.

And he wasn’t alone; Jake was flanking him like a bodyguard, but Sunghoon didn’t look like he needed protection. He looked—different, gone were the oversized, comforting hoodies. Tonight, he was wearing all black—a fitted shirt that somehow emphasized the sharp line of his jaw and dark jeans that made his legs look miles long. He wasn’t checking his phone, he didn’t even bother scanning the room with that panicked, deer-in-headlights look he usually wore, he looked focused, determined even.  

He stood near the entrance, declining a drink offered by a hopeful sophomore, his eyes now cutting through the haze of the party as if he was looking for someone.

“Target acquired,” Jake muttered into Sunghoon’s ear, nudging him hard enough that Sunghoon stumbled a step forward, breaking his cool facade for a second.

Sunghoon followed Jake’s gaze and locked onto you instantly. The noise of the party seemed to fade into white noise for him. You were standing under the harsh kitchen light, the dress Karina picked hugging your frame, looking absolutely breathtaking and terrifyingly out of his league. He took a deep breath, steeling himself as he started to move toward you, his strides long and purposeful.

But before he could reach the kitchen island, you turned abruptly, intercepted by a group of girls who grabbed your arm and pulled you and Karina towards the back hallway—the one usually reserved for coats and couples looking for privacy. You looked confused, casting one last glance over your shoulder, but the crowd swallowed Sunghoon’s view of you.

“Where is she going?” Sunghoon frowned, the panic starting to creep back in.

“Looks like interrogation,” Jake said, squinting, “uh-oh—that’s the gossip squad. Come on.”

Sunghoon didn’t need to be told twice. He followed you, weaving through the sweaty bodies, Jake trailing close behind. They reached the entrance of the narrow, dimly lit hallway just as the voices drifted out. Sunghoon raised a hand to stop Jake, pressing his back against the wall just outside the hallway entrance. He didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but the sound of his own name froze him in place.

“So, be honest,” a voice purred, that made the hair on the back of Sunghoon's neck stand up, “are you his next target?”

Sunghoon froze. He looked at Jake, whose eyes had gone wide, his hand hovering over Sunghoon’s shoulder as if to restrain him. He knew the bullshit the girls used to spew about them, but actually cornering you was concerning.

“Target?” your voice rang out, incredulous, “what are you even talking about?”

“Oh, come on,” the girl laughed, “we know the type. He puts on that whole innocent act, standing in the corner looking all bored and mysterious, but it’s just a trap, right? I heard he’s actually wild. That he has a whole rotation of girls and he just plays the quiet card to lure you in.”  

“Yeah,” another voice chimed in, “he looks like he knows exactly what he’s doing. A total player, my friend says he’s dangerous, he had a go at her.”

Sunghoon felt a strange, conflicting tightness in his chest. Part of him—the part that had spent hours reading WikiHow articles on how to be cool—held his breath. He didn’t wish to be perceived as a player, obviously, but he desperately wanted to be seen as a man, someone capable. He waited, heart hammering against his ribs, hoping you would defend him by saying he was respectful, or intense, or maybe even just—cool.

Instead, he heard you scoff, as if you were offended, “dangerous?” You repeated, the word sounding ridiculous in your mouth, “Park Sunghoon? Are you guys blind?”

“Excuse me?” the girl sounded taken aback.

“He isn’t a fuckboy,” you snapped, your voice rising in defense of him, fueled by the protective anger of someone who knew the truth, and you’d been on edge all day, which made Karina look at you with concern, wondering where this is going, “he’s barely even a guy in the way you’re thinking. He’s—he’s so innocent, you’re just tainting his image.”

The word hung in the dank hallway air. Innocent. Sunghoon felt the color drain from his face.

“Innocent?” the girl challenged, “with that face? Please.”

“I’m serious,” you insisted, stepping closer to them, your voice softening into a tone that sounded painfully, devastatingly like pity to Sunghoon’s ears, “he’s not mysterious, he’s just shy, he doesn’t have a roster, he has a skincare routine that has twelve steps. He drinks banana milk because he thinks coffee makes him too jittery sometimes.”  

Sunghoon squeezed his eyes shut. Stop, he begged silently. Please, just stop. But you were on a roll, determined to clear his name of these vile accusations, unaware that you were simultaneously dismantling his entire romantic potential, making him feel as if you never saw him as something beyond someone who was just clumsy and cute, as if you didnt see him as a guy after all, as if he couldn’t what—fuck you? 

“He’s not like that, okay? He’s like—a puppy,” you said, and fondness in your voice went unnoticed by Hoon, “a newborn puppy on ice. He trips over his own feet when he gets excited. He’s clumsy and sweet and completely harmless.”  

Harmless. The word echoed in Sunghoon’s skull, drowning out the thumping bass of the party. Harmless, safe, a puppy. Yes, you were defending him but—he couldn’t even thank you for that, simply wondering what would have happened if he actually confessed. Would you have laughed in his face and called him just a friend?

Jake slowly turned to look at Sunghoon. The amusement was gone from his face, replaced by a cringe of profound sympathy. He looked at Sunghoon’s white knuckles, at the devastation etched into the sharp lines of his jaw.

“Dude,” Jake whispered, reaching out to touch his arm.

Sunghoon felt like he couldn’t breathe. He had wanted to be the protagonist. He had wanted to be the protector, the one who held you during horror movies. He wanted you to see him as a man who could sweep you off your feet. And all this time, you didn’t see him as a man at all. You saw him as a loser, you didn’t look at him with desire—you looked at him with the same fondness one might have for a particularly incompetent golden retriever.

“Let’s go,” Sunghoon whispered, his voice hollow and scraping against his throat.

“But—you were gonna tell her—”

“I said let’s go.”

Sunghoon didn’t wait for Jake. He pushed off the wall, turning his back on the hallway where you were passionately defending his lack of masculinity. He moved through the crowd blindly, shoving past sweaty bodies, the bass pounding in his ears mocking the frantic, broken rhythm of his heart. He felt small and stupid. He felt like the massive loser he feared he was.  

He burst out of the front door into the cold night air, gasping as if he had been drowning. He didn’t look back, he couldn’t. He just walked, putting as much distance as possible between himself and the girl who thought he was a loser.

STEP TEN: Accepting defeat

Radio silence. 

You had never felt this agitated in your life, never missed someone so much in your life. It had been over a week and you hadn’t seen Sunghoon, and the worst part? You didn’t even know what was wrong, was he just ignoring you or was it the same for others as well? You could have sworn he was at the party, and as soon as you were done with the girls, you had come out to search for him, only to feel his absence even further.

You checked your phone again, hoping to see a reply but no.

You: are you okay hoonie? You: jake said you are sick

Those were the texts you had sent five days back, but you didn’t stop there.

You: is everything okay? You: hoon? You: did i do something wrong

He hadn’t even read it, simply left you on delivered. The lack of response resulted in a physical ache in your chest. You lay on your bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying the last week in your head. Had you been too clingy? Had the hug outside the dorm been too much? Or maybe, just maybe, those girls were right, and he had simply decided he was bored of his current toy.

No, you thought, rolling over and burying your face in your pillow. He’s not like that—he’s Sunghoon. He’s the guy who covers you with umbrellas and brings you coffee. He’s the guy who looked at you like you were the only person in the room. But if he was that guy, then where was he? The uncertainty was gnawing at you, turning your usual confidence into a frayed mess of nerves. You missed his awkwardness. You missed his sudden bursts of confidence followed by immediate regret. You missed the way he made you feel like you were safe.

Across campus, inside the dorm that smelled of despair, Park Sunghoon was currently lying face-down on the living room rug. He hadn’t moved in twenty minutes. Inside his head, it was a funeral. He was eulogizing his manhood, his romantic prospects, and his dignity. The word echoed in the cavern of his skull—harmless, harmless, harmless.

“Are you going to rot there all day?” A voice asked from above.

Sunghoon groaned, refusing to look up, “leave me alone, Jay. I’m decomposing.”

“You’re blocking the path to the kitchen,” Jay said, nudging Sunghoon’s ribs with his foot, “and you’ve been listening to sad bollywood playlists for three days straight when you don’t even understand the lyrics.”

“Let him rot,” Jake’s voice drifted in from the couch, though it lacked his usual biting sarcasm, “he’s mourning the death of his ego.”

Sunghoon shot up, sitting cross-legged on the rug with a sudden, frantic energy. His hair was a mess, and he looked like he hadn’t slept in a week.

“I’m not mourning my ego,” Sunghoon snapped, though his voice cracked, betraying him instantly, “I’m facing the fucking reality. She called me innocent, Jake. She told them I wasn’t shit.”

“She did not say that dude, she was defending you, you idiot,” Jay interjected, leaning against the doorframe with a dish towel in hand, “I wasn’t even there, and even I know that. Jake told me the whole story.”

“She defended me by neutering me!” Sunghoon argued, the humiliation burning fresh in his chest, “She told them I am clumsy—which is true but—she sees me as a child, Jay. You don’t date children, you babysit them."  

“She literally meant she’s comfy with you,” Jake tried to reason, sitting up. 

“I don’t want to be comfortable,” Sunghoon hissed, standing up and pacing the small room, “I wanted to be—I don’t know, someone she actually desires.”

He felt foolish for even trying. The button-up shirts, the cologne, the WikiHow articles—it was all just dressing up a golden retriever in a tuxedo. At the end of the day, you saw right through it. You saw the clumsy, anxious mess underneath and decided he was something to be coddled.  

“Okay, enough,” Jay decided, tossing the dish towel onto the counter, “you're spiraling. Put on shoes, we’re going to get food.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Nobody asked,” Jay said, grabbing his keys, “Jake, grab his other arm.”

Despite his protests, Sunghoon was manhandled into a jacket and dragged out of the dorm. He walked with his head down, hands shoved deep into his pockets, reverting to his resting bitch face now, not because he wanted to look cool, but because he wanted to disappear. They made it to the campus plaza, the wind biting at Sunghoon’s cheeks. He was busy staring at a crack in the pavement, plotting his transfer to a university on a different continent, when Jake elbowed him.

“Hoon—look.”

Sunghoon looked up to find you walking out of the convenience store, laughing at something Karina was saying. You looked tired, your eyes a little puffy as if you’d cried, but the moment you spotted the trio, your face transformed and his heart hurt—it actually hurt. The worry on your face vanished, replaced by a radiant, relieved smile. You took a step toward him, your eyes locking onto his with that familiar warmth. You looked so happy to see him. And that broke him.

Because to Sunghoon, that smile didn’t look like love. It looked like relief of finding a close friend or something similar (he truly had been blind—an overthinker self sabotaging himself). He couldn’t take it, he couldn’t stand there and be the recipient of your pity.

“Hoon?” You called out from a distance, your voice hopeful.

Sunghoon’s jaw tightened and he didn’t wave, didn’t smile back, he didn’t even acknowledge the greeting. He turned his head sharply, breaking eye contact, and walked right back towards his dorm.

“Sunghoon?” Jake hissed, grabbing at his sleeve, “what the fuck are you doing? She’s right there.”

Sunghoon ripped his arm away from Jake’s grip, “I’m going back,” he muttered, his voice cold and flat.

He walked away, leaving you standing on the pavement with your hand half-raised, the smile sliding off your face. You watched his retreating back, the way his shoulders were hunched against the wind. Confusion washed over you first—had he not seen you? But no, he had looked you dead in the eye. He had seen your relief, your joy at seeing him alive, and he had looked at you with something that looked disturbingly like resentment. He just—walked away.

The confusion hardened into something sharper. You had spent a week worrying, heck, you had been crying over him. You had defended him to those girls, you had sent texts that went unanswered, you had lost sleep wondering if he was okay. And he just walked away without even doing as much as acknowledging you.

“Okay,” you whispered to the empty air, lowering your hand, “okay, Park Sunghoon, be that way.”

If he wanted to act like you didn’t exist after everything, fine. You turned back to Karina, your eyes dry and your expression steely, “let’s go,” you said, your voice devoid of the warmth you had reserved for him, “I’m done.”

You started walking as Karina looked back, glaring at Jay as if he could’ve done something—anything, but he was just as frozen, standing with Jake who could feel a headache forming in his head.

“The fuck just happened?” Jake asked, and Jay shook his head.

“Two of the nicest people I’ve met are acting like emotionless mannequins,” Jay mumbled, “I’ve never seen him like this.”

“He doesn’t realize that Y/N meant well—even if the way she worded it hit him hard, can he stop being so difficult? Did he not see how happy she was to see him?”

“Well—now what?”

Jake shook his head with a sigh, “we suffer—all of us.”

And suffer you did.

The days that followed didn’t feel like time passing; they felt like a slow, suffocating slide into permafrost. The end-of-semester exams descended upon the campus providing the perfect, miserable backdrop for two people who were determined to freeze each other out.

The party was a distant, feverish memory, replaced by the stark reality of the library and 24-hour study halls. But if anyone thought the pressure of finals would distract you from the hollow ache in your chest, they were wrong. If anything, the silence of the study rooms only made the noise in your head louder.

You became efficient, terrifyingly so. You attended every lecture, submitted every lab report early, and sat in the front row with a posture so rigid it looked painful. You didn’t laugh with Jaemin anymore, in fact, you barely spoke to anyone outside of necessary academic exchanges. You were over it, you told yourself, you were busy. You had a GPA to maintain and a future to build, and neither of those things required a boy who treated your concern like an insult.

But Karina knew better. She saw the way your eyes lingered on the back of a black hoodie in the cafeteria before snapping away. She saw the way you checked your phone every time it vibrated, only to toss it aside with a scowl when it wasn’t him.

Across the quad, Sunghoon was disintegrating in his own way. He moved through the campus like a ghost, his headphones permanently glued to his ears—though half the time, nothing was playing. He just didn’t want to hear the world asking him if he was okay. He studied, or at least, he tried, staring at thermodynamics equations until the Greek letters started to look like your initials. He sat in the library—not at your table, never at your table—but in the far back corner, hidden behind the stacks. He told himself he was proving a point (he didnt even know what anymore). 

But every time he drank black coffee (which he still hated) instead of banana milk, he felt a little piece of himself wither. He missed the warmth, he missed the way you used to look at him before he ruined it. Now, when you passed each other in the corridor, the air temperature seemed to drop ten degrees. There were no shy glances, no blushing ears. Just two strangers walking past each other with aggressive apathy, while their mutual friends trailed behind, looking like they wanted to scream.

“It’s like watching a car crash,” Jake whispered to Jungwon one afternoon in the library. They were watching Sunghoon stare blankly at a blank Word document.

“Worse,” Jungwon muttered, eyeing you across the room where you were aggressively highlighting a textbook without actually reading it, “It’s like watching two cars almost crashing but never quite reaching there, being stubborn and all.”

The tension came to a head on Tuesday night. The library was packed, the air thick with the smell of stress and stale caffeine. You were printing a paper, waiting for the machine to finish, when Sunghoon walked up to the adjacent printer. You didn’t look at him and he didn’t look at you (he did, and he swore under his breath seeing how pretty you looked wearing that skirt he loved).

The silence between you was louder than the whirring of the machines. You could smell him—that damn cologne and clean laundry, and it made your eyes sting. You wanted to scream, you wanted to ask him why he was being such a coward, you wanted to hug him—kiss him. 

Sunghoon stood rigid, his knuckles white as he gripped his folder. He could see you in his peripheral vision. You looked tired, he wanted to ask if you were sleeping. He wanted to offer you his jacket because the library was freezing, but the word harmless flashed in his mind like a warning sign. She doesn’t want you, his brain supplied unhelpfully. She pities you.

Your printer beeped and you snatched your papers.

“Excuse me,” you said, your voice polite, as you stepped around him.

“Sure,” he replied, his voice equally flat.

You walked away without looking back. Sunghoon watched you go, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs that had absolutely nothing to do with physics and everything to do with the fact that he was miserably, hopelessly in love with the girl he was currently pretending to hate.

“I hate it here,” Jake groaned from a nearby table, dropping his head onto his open textbook, “I really, really hate it here.”

STEP ELEVEN: Let jealousy take the wheel 

“Oh she looks beautiful!”

Jake and Jay kept on cooing, staring at the pictures Jungwon was showing them—pictures of you. Well, since the end sems were over, Karina had decided to do a mini photo shoot with you and Jungwon, and since it wasn’t really a request, you had to comply.

Sunghoon was on the couch, heart hammering at the praises, but he didn’t (couldn’t) ask Jungwon to show him the pictures, which only made Jake compliment you harder. Jungwon shook his head, absolutely done with whatever was going on, he started screen sharing so the pictures would appear on the TV, and Sunghoon tried his best not to look up, but he did. For the first time in a while, his friends could see his eyes shining. You looked beautiful—you always did, and good lord, Sunghoon missed you—cursing himself for behaving exactly how a child would.

He stared more, it was a pretty picture of you sitting on the grass and smiling—however, it didn’t reach your eyes. Sunghoon wondered who were you smiling at, granted Karina was sitting on the other side of you. He saw a hand, a hand that did not look like Jungwon’s hand, and he felt even more nauseous at the image of some other man being there and making you smile.

You had been so detached from reality, you didn’t understand it—you hadn’t processed just how attached you’d felt to Sunghoon, only for him to switch up midway, and you wondered how he was taking it.

He couldn’t take it anymore. He stood up abruptly, muttering something about needing water, and retreated to the sanctuary of his room.

“The kitchen is that way, Hoon,” Jay pointed out helpfully, gesturing in the opposite direction.

“My room,” Sunghoon corrected, not breaking stride, “I have—water in my room.”

He sat on the edge of his bed, taking his MacBook out as he opened the one site that had guided him (poorly) through this entire semester—WikiHow.

He started typing, what to do when you’ve ruined everything with the girl you love and she thinks you’re a child.

No results.

He didn’t give up, trying to find variants, how to fix a relationship when you ghosted her out of insecurity.

The algorithm struggled. Finally, he clicked the same one he’d been following all along—how to flirt with a pretty girl (with pictures). He scrolled past the ads to the last step which said—If it doesn’t work out: accept that it’s over. If she says no or seems distant, respect her space and move onto a new girl.

Sunghoon stared at the screen. Move on to a new girl.

He slammed the laptop shut, he couldn’t do that. The mere thought of looking at someone else, of trying to memorize someone else’s coffee order or the way they laughed, made him feel physically ill. He didn’t want new, he wanted you. He wanted the girl who called him Hoonie and defended him, even if her defense had shattered his ego into a million pieces, and he hid instead of proving her wrong. 

He buried his face in his hands, he couldn’t move on, but he didn’t know how to move back.

Back in the living room, the atmosphere had shifted from admiration to, well, tactical planning.

“He’s hopeless,” Jake said, staring at the closed door of Sunghoon’s room, “did you see his face? He looked like a kicked puppy again.”

“We can’t keep doing this,” Jay agreed, leaning back and crossing his arms, “the atmosphere in this dorm is insane. Sunghoon is miserable, Y/N is miserable, and I’m tired of hearing sad playlists through the wall I swear—they need to fuck it out.”

Jungwon disconnected his phone from the TV, a determined look on his face (before he gave Jay an odd look, of course), “we need to force them into the same room.”

“How?” Jake asked, “Hoon won’t leave his room unless the building is on fire.”

“A party,” Jungwon said simply, “Beomgyu texted. They’re throwing a massive end of Exams bash in the Grand Suite downstairs like two days later, it’s the biggest dorm and everyone is going.”

“Sunghoon hates parties,” Jay pointed out.

“Exactly,” Jungwon smirked, “which is why we aren’t asking him—we’re dragging him.”

“And Y/N?”

“Karina is already on it,” Jungwon said, holding up his phone to show a text confirmation, “she’s bringing Y/N. The plan is simple honestly, just get them in the room. If they see each other, they’ll have to interact—if Y/N doesn’t break, Hoon sure will.”

“Sounds risky but okay,” Jake muttered. 

“Well, do we have any other options?” Jay asked, only to be met with silence, “great, then operation—get them to fuck is a go.”

“I don’t really like the operation name—”

“—Leave the styling to me,” Jay said, spinning the keys around his finger as he headed for the door, his mission clear, “I’m going to the mall. He needs an edge. I’m getting him a leather jacket—”

Jake and Jungwon shook their head, hoping it will work out for the better. 

STEP TWELVE: Grand romantic (?) gesture 

“I’m not going,” you mumbled, staring at La La Land playing on your MacBook (again), and you knew well you were torturing yourself, calling it your coping mechanism. 

Karina sighed, “you need to let loose, it’s not the end of the world,” she muttered, snapping the laptop shut, “and watching Emma Stone get her heart broken for the fifth time this week isn’t going to fix yours.”

“It’s not broken,” you lied, rolling over and burying your face into the pillow to muffle the waver in your voice, “It’s just—bruised. Badly.”

It felt like more than a bruise, though. It felt like a phantom limb ache—a nagging, persistent sensation of something missing that should have been there. It had been days of absolute radio silence from Sunghoon. No awkward texts or Pokémon memes, no shy glances across the campus quad, no memes sent at 2 AM. Just a sudden, inexplicable void where his presence used to be. You had replayed the last week in your mind until the memories were frayed at the edges, trying to pinpoint the exact moment the shift happened. 

The thought gnawed at you. You remembered defending him with such ferocity, calling him innocent and harmless, painting a picture of a boy who was sweet and misunderstood. Now, lying in the dark, you felt like a fool. Maybe he wasn’t misunderstood. Maybe he was just a guy who got bored and moved on, leaving you to dissect the silence he left behind.

“Get up,” Karina commanded, pulling the duvet off you, “Beomgyu’s party is starting, and I am not walking into that sweatbox alone. Besides, if he’s there, don’t you want him to see what he’s missing? Do you really want him to think you’re rotting in bed over him?”

That struck a nerve, the indignation flared up, burning through the lethargy. You didn’t want his pity, and you certainly didn’t want him to think he had the power to dismantle your entire life with a week of silence (he did and you missed him). You sat up, pushing hair out of your face with a grim determination. It was amusing to the others—watching you and Hoon having this insane personality shift, but garnering feelings would do that to anyone, so they couldn’t really question it.

“Fine,” you snapped, though there was no real bite in it, “but if I see him and he ignores me, I’m gonna kiss the first guy i see after him.”

You were lying (obviously), you couldn’t even imagine kissing anyone but him. At first it used to be sweet, you wanted to know if he’d smile into the kiss—but now? Now you wanted him to actually break and prove a point, which seemed a distant thought granted he wasn’t even willing to look your way. 

Sunghoon was undergoing the same thought process in his room where Jay had shoved a very expensive leather jacket his way with a simple command to dress up for the party which made no sense because Sunghoon hated parties, and somehow, he thought that you would not be there—would you? Then his mind drifted to the guy from the library and he realized that maybe you would be there—there with him. 

“He’s buffering again,” Heeseung noted from the doorway, watching Sunghoon stare at the leather jacket as if it were a sentient threat, “Hoon, if you don’t go, you’re just proving you’re a coward. You’re going to let some other guy take your spot because you’re too busy sulking?”  

Sunghoon’s head snapped up. The thought of Jaemin at the party, standing in the space he should be occupying, made his stomach do a violent flip. He realized that yes, you would be there—and the thought of you being there with him was a catalyst that finally burned through his lethargy.  

“Fine,” Sunghoon gritted out, grabbing the jacket. He stood up, his height and the sharp lines of the leather making him look like a stranger even to his roommates.

“Great,” Jay muttered, though he gave Sunghoon a lingering, skeptical look, “I’m not letting you leave that party until you open your mouth and say something that isn’t an apology for existing.”

The walk down to Beomgyu’s suite was a blur of neon lights and thumping bass. The Grand dorm was the largest in the building, and tonight it was a humid, vibrating mass of people. Sunghoon felt like a passenger in his own body, his social anxiety acting like a lead weight, yet the leather jacket served as a suit of armor. He ended up leaning against the kitchenette counter, a red cup held in a white-knuckled grip, completely zoned out as the other boys left to find Jungwon to discuss the situation. 

Despite his internal collapse, he looked devastating. A group of girls had already drifted toward him, laughing and brushing against his sleeves which he was not comfortable with, but he didn’t hear a word they said. He was staring at the door, his heart hammering against his ribs in a frantic, desperate rhythm, not paying attention to the girl who clearly wanted a night with him, cause he had reserved that for someone else tonight (and forever if things worked out right).

He closed his eyes for a while, just standing there collecting his thoughts as the group watched from a distance, muttering about how they weren’t even sure what to expect anymore, but gladly, Karina had informed them about their arrival, which Hoon missed—but you did not miss the way he was there, as if put on display right there for you to feel even worse.

You turned away, your eyes stinging, desperate to find an exit, a drink, anything to numb the sudden spike of pain.

“Well, look who finally decided to show up.”

The voice was smooth, familiar, and right in your ear. You turned to see Jaemin standing there, a lazy, charming grin plastered on his face. He looked effortless, holding a drink in one hand, his posture relaxed and open—the antithesis of the tension radiating from the kitchenette.

“Hey, Jaemin,” you managed, though your voice sounded thin to your own ears.

“You look incredible,” Jaemin said, stepping into your personal space with a confidence that felt practiced yet sincere. He tilted his head, his eyes crinkling at the corners, “though you look like you’re plotting a murder, do you need an alibi?”

You let out a weak, breathy laugh, grateful for the distraction, “just overwhelmed. It’s loud in here.”

“It is,” Jaemin agreed, leaning closer so you could hear him over the pounding bass, “I’m just feeling lucky to catch you without your usual entourage.”

Across the room, Sunghoon had opened his eyes again, now trying to find Jake, to inform him that he wishes to leave, especially when he couldn’t find you—but oh he did, and the static in Sunghoon’s brain cleared with a violent snap. He had been zoning out, letting the chatter of the girls around him fade into white noise, his mind a continuous loop of misery. But the moment his eyes landed on you, everything sharpened. He saw the way you looked—beautiful and somehow sad, and then he saw Jaemin.

He watched Jaemin lean in. He watched the easy familiarity, the way Jaemin smiled at you, the way you offered a small, reluctant smile in return. It was a smile Sunghoon hadn’t earned in days. And then Jaemin reached out, his fingers brushing a lock of hair away from your face, his touch lingering near your cheek.

The innocent boy within him died right there. The harmless label incinerated in a flash of pure, blinding jealousy. Sunghoon didn’t think about this, just felt a rush of adrenaline—which is why he felt so confident now, so sure of what he had to do, and it was interesting how one hormone could manage to switch up someone to such lengths. 

He moved through the crowd with a purpose now, his eyes locked on Jaemin like a predator sighting a threat. He was like a storm front moving across the room. You were just about to answer Jaemin’s question when the air shifted. A shadow fell over you, and before you could turn, a heavy arm clamped around your waist, pulling you backward until you were flush against a hard, solid chest. The scent of expensive cologne and leather enveloped you instantly, drowning out the stale beer smell of the party.

Sunghoon stood behind you, his body a wall of heat, his grip on your waist possessive and unyielding. He wasn’t looking at you. His dark, furious eyes were bored into Jaemin, his jaw set so tight a muscle feathered in his cheek.

“You should leave now,” Sunghoon said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous register that vibrated against your back, completely devoid of any stutter or hesitation, and for a minute, you just tried to process the situation, heart hammering in your chest.

Jaemin blinked, his smile faltering as he looked from the white-knuckled grip on your waist to Sunghoon’s icy glare, “I’m just catching up, Sunghoon. Relax.”

“Conversation’s over,” Sunghoon snapped, his fingers digging into the silk of your dress, staking a claim that required no interpretation, “leave.”

And he did, knowing when to turn back and sent a wink towards Jungwon, who had put Jaemin up to this—and it seemed as if their plan had worked, though, it was a hilarious sight to see the boys hiding at the back with their jaws hung wide open, Heeseung laughing freely.

“What the fuck—let go of me, Sunghoon,” you almost screamed, trying to pry his hands off of you. 

He didn’t answer with words. Instead, he spun you around, his eyes dark and burning with this volatile mix of desperation and the remains of that blinding jealousy. He didn’t look at the group of boys huddled near the drinks, whose jaws were indeed still dropped at the sudden, predatory shift in the guy they usually described as buffering, he only looked at you, his jaw set in that same tight line that suggested he was one second away from either shattering or exploding. Without a word, he grabbed your hand—his palm hot and slightly damp against yours—and began weaving through the crowd, hauling you toward the exit.

“The fuck are you doing?” You asked, stunned at his new behaviour. 

“We’re not doing this here,” he said, jaw clenched. 

“Oh—now you wanna talk, huh?” You seethed—because god, you were so angry, so confused and yet your heartbeat betrayed you because you were looking forward to what he had to say, what excuse he wished to use.

The walk up the stairs to the boys’ floor was a blur of cold concrete and the echoing sound of your heels. He didn’t stop until he had reached his door, swinging it open and pulling you inside before slamming it shut with a finality that made the air in the small room feel suddenly very thin. The silence of the dorm was jarring after the chaos downstairs, but it wasn’t a peaceful quiet, it was heavy and pregnant with everything that had been left unsaid since before the exams began.  

“You don’t get to do that,” you snapped the moment he let go of your hand, the anger finally breaking through the shock, “you do not get to treat me like I’m invisible for weeks, ignoring my texts and walking past me in the library like I’m a fucking ghost, only to act jealous because you saw me talking to someone else.”

Sunghoon paced the small space of his room, his hands shaking as he pushed them through his hair, successfully ruining the perfect styling Jay had insisted on, “I wasn’t ignoring you on purpose,” he shot back, his voice cracking with a jagged edge you had never heard before, “I was stopping you from looking at him the way you used to look at me before you decided I was someone you couldn’t even consider a man.”

“A man? What are you even talking about?” You yelled, stepping into his space, refusing to let him retreat into the mysterious silence he used as a shield, “I have spent weeks wondering what I did wrong! I was crying over you, Sunghoon. I defended you when everyone was asking why you were acting like this, only for you to ignore me right when I was there in front of you!”

“That’s exactly the problem!” Sunghoon roared, finally stopping his pacing and turning to face you, his eyes glassy, “I heard you, Y/N. At the party before finals, I was right there in the hallway when you were telling those girls exactly what you think of me.”

You froze, the memory of the gossip squad cornering you flashing through your mind, “yeah? And what’s wrong about it? I was defending you! They were calling you a fuckboy.”

“By basically calling me what—a loser?” He hissed, stepping closer until he was looming over you, the scent of his cologne and the leather jacket enveloping you, “I heard the words you used. You told them I was like a puppy, someone who trips over his own feet. You told them I drink banana milk because I can’t handle coffee and that I have a twelve-step skincare routine. You made me sound like an incompetent child, Y/N.”

You could not believe it—all this crying, the heartbreak stemmed from you defending him? And he took it in the worst way possible, as if his mind could not admit you would love him the way he is, and formed a thought process that did irrevocable damage to both you and him.

“I said those things in a good light,” you screamed back, your own heart hammering against your ribs, “I called you sweet because I thought you were! I didn’t know your ego was so fragile that you’d rather be seen as a villain than a person who actually cares about things!”

This conversation was not going the way you both had intended—anger taking over and ruling all the other feelings out, yet none of you were ready to back down.

“It’s not about ego!” Sunghoon grabbed your wrists, pinning them against his chest so you could feel the violent, erratic rhythm of his heart, “It’s about the fact that I’ve been sitting in this room for days trying to be a man you’d actually desire, only to find out that you look at me with pity, you made me feel like I wasn’t even an option for you—just a clumsy loser you had fun to be around.”

“So you decided to punish me instead of talking to me normally?”

“Yeah, just like you forgot all about me the second Jaemin came into your life.”

“Are you fucking hearing yourself right now?” Your throat hurt with all the yelling, and you couldn’t even back down, not when he was so close to you, “fine, if you don’t want that to happen then stop acting like a coward and actually do something, fight for me, not against me!”

His hand shot out, not to grab your wrist this time, but to grip your chin, forcing your head up so you couldn’t look away—and god he looked so different, but his eyes were the same, sweet and gentle despite the anger, “I dragged you out of there because I couldn’t stand the thought of anyone else having your attention. I’m standing here, wrecking everything, screaming my lungs out because I am fighting, Y/N. I’m fighting the urge to completely lose my mind.”

“Then show me,” you breathed, challenging him, your heart pounding so hard as the tip of his nose brushed against yours, “prove it to me you’re not the harmless boy I defended. Prove to me that you want me.”

He didn’t need to be told twice—he’d waited too long, and he couldn’t say no when you stood there with watery eyes, chest heaving up and down, bottom lip bitten, and Sunghoon swears you look the prettiest you had ever looked. He had gone through myriad scenarios of this happening, none of them involved Sunghoon surging forward with his mouth crashing against yours—which is exactly what happened. 

It did not happen with the tentative sweetness of the boy you had defended in the hallway, but with a searing, desperate hunger that tasted of frustration and a few week’s worth of repressed longing. He groaned into the kiss—it felt good, too good as he let his lips convey what he couldn’t, and it wasn’t sweet, it was rather messy and uncoordinated, a collision that felt less like affection and more like a necessity—as if he were trying to breathe you in to keep from suffocating.

You stumbled back, your spine hitting the wood of the door with a dull thud, but he didn’t let up. His hands were everywhere—one tangled tightly in the hair at the nape of your neck, tilting your head back to deepen the angle, the other gripping your waist with a bruising possession, anchoring you to him. He was heavy against you, a solid wall of heat and leather, and for a moment, the sheer shock of his intensity froze you, a shiver going down your spine, feeling the frustration radiating off him.

But then the indignation flared—the audacity of him to think he could solve this with physical force had you fighting back. You kissed him back with the same jagged intensity, your hands balling into fists against the lapels of that ridiculous jacket, pushing and pulling all at once. The kiss was an argument in itself, sharp and biting, stripped of any pretense of politeness.

He broke the contact with a ragged gasp, but he didn’t really pull away. He buried his face in the sensitive crook of your neck, his breathing harsh and uneven against your skin, his lips grazing your pulse point, breath warming you up further, especially when he nibbled on your skin. You could feel him trembling—fine tremors running through his frame that betrayed the facade he was trying so hard to maintain.

“I missed you,” he mumbled into your skin, the words thick and slurred, vibrating against your clavicle, “god, I missed you so much it physically hurt.”

It was the vulnerability in his voice—the way it cracked on the confession, stripping away the anger to reveal the desperation underneath—that finally undid you. You could feel the dampness of his eyelashes against your neck, a stark contrast to the aggression of moments before.

“You have a terrible way of showing it, Sunghoon,” you whispered, your voice shaking, your hands slowly uncurling from his jacket, moving up to grip his shoulders to keep yourself upright.

“I’ll show you, fuck—i’ll show you everything,” he mumbled, pressing opened mouthed kisses over the expanse of your neck, making you gasp his name, to which he groaned, “‘m not Sunghoon, call me Hoonie.”

“Fuck—”

“Tell me you missed me—tell me you’re feeling this too,” he hissed, which almost seemed like a plea against your lips—especially with the way he was holding your nape, looking right into your eyes.

“I—I did, Hoonie,” you mumbled against his lips, and he shook his head.

It’s filthy how he leans in to bite your bottom lip, pulling you flush against him with ease, his right thigh settling in between your legs as he did so, making you whine, and he loves the sound, he loves it too fucking much to not pull you into another kiss to absorb each sound you’re giving him so lovingly (at least he thinks so). 

“C’mon—say it,” he urged, pulling your lower lip before letting go, a string of saliva connecting you both regardless.  

“What happened to you?” You breathed out, knees threatening to give out as you held on to Sunghoon’s shoulder, who only chuckled.

“Did you really think I was a virgin? That I’m someone who can’t make you feel good, hm? As if I hadn’t thought about having you close before,” he leaned in again, and this time, you could see how calm he was, “I’m still the same man—just this time, I’m desperate to please you.”

Your eyes widened, pressing your thighs together only to cage Hoon’s leg harder, shoulders curling in, “Hoonie, you don’t have to—” 

“Shh—just be good for me tonight, I really really want to kiss you again.” He couldn’t help but express his feelings, “you look so pretty, so pretty I swear,”  he grunts, and he swears it’s intoxicating the way you taste, how he can feel your pulse as he sucks on skin. His lips linger on your neck, sucking gently at the tender skin, drawing out the heat that blooms under his touch. The pull of his mouth is unhurried, deliberate, each drag of his tongue sending a fresh wave of warmth spreading through your veins. You feel the rapid thump of your own pulse against his lips, matching the erratic beat of your heart, and it makes your breath hitch in your throat.

“Say it, baby,” he murmurs.

“I missed you—was waiting for you,” you whined, and he swore, the way you said it sent this insane feeling down his cock—which twitched with need.

One of his hands stays firm at the nape of your neck, fingers threading through your hair with a possessive grip that grounds you, while the other slides slowly down your side. His palm flattens against your ribcage, thumb brushing the underside of your breast through your shirt, tracing the curve with feather-light pressure. The fabric bunches slightly under his exploration, and you arch into the contact without thinking, a soft whimper escaping as the sensation teases your nipple into a tight peak.

“God, your body responds to me like it’s been waiting,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice low and rough, laced with that raw need that's starting to unravel you both. His breath fans hot over the damp spot he’s left on your neck, making you shiver, and he presses closer, his chest rising and falling against yours in sync with your quickening breaths, “thought about this so much—thought about you all the time, fuck! Pretty, yeah just keep your eyes on me.”

You can feel the hard line of his cock straining against the front of his jeans, pressing insistently into your hip as he shifts his weight. It’s a solid reminder of his arousal, thick and unyielding, and the knowledge sends a flush of heat straight to your core, your pussy clenching with empty want—mind still trying to process the situation. Your hands, still clutching his shoulders, slide down tentatively, fingers splaying over the firm planes of his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heart beneath the leather jacket. The material is cool and smooth under your palms, juxtaposing the feverish warmth of his body seeping through.

“Thought you got bored of me,” you gasped out.

“Could never—I thought about you each fucking day, each second.”

He groans softly at your touch, the sound vibrating through him and into you, and his hand at your side dips lower, cupping your hip with a squeeze that borders on bruising. His fingers dig into the soft flesh there, kneading slowly, pulling you tighter against him so that his thigh remains wedged firmly between your legs. The pressure against your clothed pussy is maddening—subtle friction that builds with every tiny shift, making your clit ache for more direct contact.

“Hoonie,” you whisper, your voice trembling with the mix of lingering frustration and surging desire, your nails scraping lightly over his jacket as you grip him harder. The vulnerability in his earlier confession lingers in the air, softening the edges of your indignation, and now it’s just the two of you, bodies communicating what words can’t quite capture.

He lifts his head from your neck, eyes dark and intense as they meet yours, pupils blown wide with lust and something deeper—longing perhaps, or the fear of losing this again. His free hand moves up, cupping your face, thumb stroking your cheekbone before trailing down to trace your jaw, then your throat. The touch is reverent, almost tender, but there’s an undercurrent of hunger in the way his fingers linger, pressing just enough to feel your swallow.

“I need to touch you everywhere,” he confesses, his voice cracking slightly on the words, and before you can respond, his mouth claims yours again. This kiss is slower than the last, exploratory—his tongue sliding against yours in languid strokes, tasting and teasing without the frantic edge. You melt into it, your body going pliant as his hand on your hip ventures bolder, slipping under the hem of your dress to caress the bare skin of your waist.

His palm is soft, and the texture against your smooth skin makes you gasp into the kiss. He takes the opportunity to deepen it, tongue curling around yours as his fingers spread wide, exploring the dip of your waist, the slight curve of your lower back. Each inch he claims feels electric, igniting nerves you didn’t know were so sensitive, and you press your thighs together around his leg, seeking relief from the growing wetness soaking your panties. The friction only heightens the ache, your pussy throbbing with each subtle grind, and he notices—god, he notices everything. A low hum of approval rumbles from his chest, and his hand under your dress inches higher, thumb grazing the edge of your bra. He doesn’t push further yet, just circles the underwire with agonizing slowness, feeling the way your breath stutters, the way your nipple strains against the lace.

“Tell me what you feel,” he pulls back just enough to whisper, forehead resting against yours, his eyes searching your face. His other hand leaves your face to join the first, both now under your dress, palms sliding up your sides in tandem, thumbs brushing the sides of your tits, all while he tries to memorize every inch of you, the most perfect girl for him.

“You—everywhere,” you manage, voice breathy, your hands moving to his waist, tugging at the hem of his shirt to feel the heat of his skin, “your hands—it’s too much and not enough, i need you, baby.” The confession spills out, raw and honest, mirroring his earlier vulnerability, and it seems to spur him on.

He chuckles softly once he’s done groaning cause—fuck, he’s been waiting to hear that, to have you to him. And finally, his big, veiny hands cup your breasts fully, squeezing with a firm pressure that has you moaning into his mouth as he kisses you again. His thumbs flick over your nipples through the bra, back and forth, hardening them further until they're aching points of need. The groping is thorough, unhurried—he kneads the soft flesh, feeling their weight in his palms, rolling them gently as if memorizing every curve.

“So the girls were right—ah,” you whine.

“No,” he breathed out, “I’m like this just for you, just because of you.”

Your hips rock against his thigh instinctively, the seam of your panties rubbing against your clit, and the spark of pleasure makes you clench around nothing, arousal trickling down your thighs. He feels the movement, presses his leg harder to encourage it, his own cock twitching against you in response. The air between you thickens with the scent of your combined arousal, heavy and intoxicating, and his kisses trail back to your neck, nipping lightly as his hands continue their worship.

“So responsive,” he breathes, one hand slipping around to your back, fingers working at the clasp of your bra with practiced ease. It gives with a soft snap, and he wastes no time pushing the straps down your shoulders, exposing your tits to the cool air. Goosebumps prickle your skin, but his mouth is there immediately, hot and wet, latching onto one nipple while his hand covers the other, “fucking pretty—all fucking mine.”

He sucks gently at first, tongue swirling around the peak, teeth grazing just enough to send jolts straight to your core. Your pussy pulses with each pull of his mouth, wetness seeping further, and you thread your fingers into his hair, holding him close. The feelings crash over you—the possessiveness in his grip, the desperation in his touches, the way his body trembles slightly against yours, betraying how much he needs this reconnection as much as you do.

“Seems like you have a lot of experience,” you mumbled, looking elsewhere. 

He smirked against you, “is my baby jealous?”

“No—fuck,” you whined as he let his free hand roams lower again, palming your ass through your panties, squeezing the cheek hard enough to make you gasp. He kneads it slowly, pulling you tighter against his thigh, guiding your movements as you grind, the friction building that sweet, torturous pressure, “that’s it, feel how much I want you, only you,” he murmurs against your breast, voice muffled, before switching sides, giving the other nipple the same devoted attention, and fucking hell—he was in love with you, absolutely there to hear each sound you make and every movement of your body in response to him. 

Every touch, every grope, layers the intimacy, stripping away the walls between you, leaving only the raw, aching need to be closer, to feel more.

He pulls back from your breast with a wet pop, his eyes dark and feral as they lock onto yours, “get on the bed, baby. Now,” he growls, voice thick with command, and you stumble back with him, legs shaky from the grinding, your soaked panties clinging to your pussy lips as he shoves you toward the mattress. You hit the soft sheets on your back, bra discarded somewhere on the floor, tits bouncing free.

His body follows, crashing over yours, knees pinning your thighs apart. Those veiny hands dive straight for your naked tits (which he seemed to love, especially wanting to mark them), squeezing hard—fingers digging into the soft flesh, thumbs crushing your nipples until you arch and cry out, “fuck, these tits are so perfect,” he mutters, leaning down to bite one peak sharp enough to sting, his fangs sinking in while his tongue flicks the tip. Pain mixes with heat, shooting straight to your clit, and you buck under him, pussy clenching empty and desperate, repeating his name as you find yourself wetter than ever, and he had barely touched you—you really fucking needed him.

His fingers press deep into your skin, bruising your waist as he kneads them like he owns every inch—because he does, tonight, tomorrow, always, all him to ravage, “you love this, don’t you? Watching me go crazy over you, fuck,” he rasps against your skin, breath hot, his free hand sliding down to grip your hip, nails scraping.

Your hips jerk up anyway, grinding your drenched panties against his thigh, the fabric sodden now, rubbing your swollen clit with every desperate roll. Wetness seeps through, coating his jeans, and you feel his cock twitch hard against your side, “yeah, keep going, doing so fucking well for me, c’mon, rub yourself before I lose it and fuck you dumb,” he taunts, pressing his thigh firmer into your pussy, forcing the friction deeper. You moan loud, fingers clawing at his shoulders, the ache building fast, your core pulsing with slick heat.

“Please—Hoonie, you’re insane,” you mumbled, biting his shoulder to conceal your moans, “want you, I’ve always wanted you.”

He chuckles dark despite the way he felt butterflies in his abdomen, cause god, he literally fell for you at first sight, only to truly fall for you with each passing interaction. And now? He wanted to show you exactly how good he can make you feel—leaning in low, shoving your legs wider with his knee, “enough teasing. I want that dripping cunt bare and pretty for me.” His hands hook into your panties, yanking them down rough, the elastic snapping against your thighs before he rips them off completely, tossing them aside. Cool air hits your exposed pussy, lips puffy and glistening, arousal dripping down to the bed sheet. He spreads you wide, knees hooking under yours, thumbs parting your folds to stare at your slick hole, eyes shining, “fuck—look at this messy pussy, begging for my tongue, all fucking mine, yeah?”

Before you can gasp, his head dives between your legs, mouth latching onto your cunt like a starving man, licking a stripe from your hole up to your clit before going down again. His tongue thrusts deep inside, fucking your hole with wet, urgent strokes, lapping up your juices as they flood out. You scream, back bowing off the bed, hands fisting the sheets while he devours you—sucking your clit hard, then plunging back in, tongue curling against your walls, “taste so fucking good, all wet and ready for me,” he groans into your pussy, vibrations humming through you, his stubble scraping your inner thighs raw.

“God—”

“No god, just me,” he groaned against you.

He eats you out relentlessly, nose bumping your clit as his tongue spears deeper, slurping noisily at your folds. Fingers join in, two thick ones shoving into your pussy alongside his tongue, stretching you, pumping hard while he bites your labia lightly, tugging. Your hips buck wild, grinding into his face, soaking his chin with your cum, “that’s it, fuck my mouth—come all over it,” he demands, voice muffled but commanding, free hand reaching up to pinch your nipple again, twisting until tears prick your eyes.

“God—feels so good, ah—slow down—”

Pleasure coils tight in your gut, his dominance flooding you—the way he holds you open, owns your body with every rough lick and thrust. He pulls back just enough to spit on your clit, rubbing it in with his thumb before diving back, tongue flicking fast, fingers curling to hit that spot inside that makes you see stars, “stop? Oh baby—you’re mine to fuck, mine to eat, gonna make this pussy squirt before I ram my cock in, yeah? Gonna claim you, make you forget about anyone else who had you before me,” his words hit like slaps, so very dirty and possessive, pushing you closer to the edge.

You bit your lip, trying to rile him up even further, “you sure you can—ah!” 

He slapped your cunt, making you arch off the mattress, making you cry, moans turning to pleas, his mouth working you harder, rougher—sucking your clit like he’s trying to bruise it, tongue fucking your hole until your thighs quake around his head. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t ease up, just dominates your pleasure, drawing out every drop of slick, every shudder. The room reverberates with the wet sounds of his feast, your cries echoing, bodies slick with sweat and need. But he’s not done—far from it, his cock grinding against the mattress now, hungry for more than just your taste.

“Sure I can, and I will.” Sunghoon doesn’t remember the last time he felt so feral, perhaps never before, perhaps this was just for you, and he didn’t mind especially when you were spread out so pretty for him, reacting to every bit of him, he fucking loved it—he loved you. He grabs your hips suddenly, dragging you back down the bed with a rough yank, your ass sliding over the sheets as he positions you right where he wants—legs splayed wide, pussy exposed and dripping onto the mattress. His big, veiny hands clamp onto your thighs, thumbs digging into the soft flesh to spread your soaking slit wide open, folds parting with a wet schlick, your clit throbbing in the cool air

“Stay fucking still, baby,” he snarls, eyes locked on your glistening hole, arousal leaking out in thick strings. Before you can catch your breath, his head drops again, mouth crashing against your cunt like he’s starving for it.

His tongue buries deep inside you in one brutal thrust, spearing into your walls, lapping up the fresh flood of juices with savage hunger. He sucks hard on your inner folds, pulling them into his mouth, teeth grazing just enough to sting while his tongue flicks wildly against your entrance. The suction pulls at your core, making your pussy clench around nothing, and you cry out, hips jerking up to grind against his face. Slurping sounds fill the room, obscene and wet, his stubble scraping your sensitive skin raw as he devours you deeper, nose pressing into your clit with every forceful lick. 

“This cunt’s mine, hm? Gonna eat it till you can’t walk, gonna show you how sorry I am,” he mutters right into your slit, the vibration rumbling through your nerves, sending shocks up your spine, “sorry, baby. Sorry my pretty girl—hm, so fucking sorry. You’re mine and I’m not fucking sorry about that.”

You arch off the bed, fingers twisting in his silky hair, pulling him closer even as the intensity borders on too much. His tongue thrusts in and out, curling to scoop out more of your slick, swallowing it down with greedy gulps, sucking your clit between his lips and biting down lightly, making you scream. Pleasure-pain explodes, your thighs trembling around his head, but he pins you harder, dominance radiating from every rough movement—owning your body, forcing ecstasy on you whether you can take it or not.

Without warning, he shoves two thick fingers inside you, knuckles deep in one brutal push, stretching your walls wide around the intrusion. Your pussy grips them tight, sucking him in as he starts pumping fast—curling and twisting, slamming against that spot inside that makes your vision go blur. 

“Fuck, so tight and wet—good fucking girl, stay this way, hm?” He rasps, mouth still latched on your clit, sucking hard while his fingers piston in and out, the wet squelch echoing with every thrust. Juices coat his hand, dripping down to soak the sheets, and you buck wildly, the stretch burning sweet as he adds a third finger, scissoring them to open you up more.

“Fucking crazy, what happened to clumsy Hoon?” You breathed. 

“Gone for now.”

His cock throbs hard against your thigh now, the thick length straining through his pants, hot and leaking pre-cum that smears sticky on your skin. He grinds it there deliberately, humping your leg like an animal in heat while he finger-bangs you relentlessly, thumb circling your clit in rough swirls. 

“Feel that? My dick’s aching to split you open, but first I’m gonna make this pussy gush all over my face, need to taste you,” he keeps on mumbling against you, voice muffled against your folds, breath hot and ragged. 

You drown in the raw lust, moans spilling loud and broken from your lips, every nerve firing as he devours you deeper. The pressure builds unbearable, your hips rolling desperately into his mouth, chasing the edge as waves of heat crash through you. Sweat slicks both your bodies, the air thick with the musk of sex—your arousal, his sweat. You claw at the sheets, thighs shaking, the dominance in his grip holding you down as pleasure rips you apart. 

“Can’t anymore, please—”

“Come on, pretty girl, cum on my tongue, let me taste you,” he demands, voice gravelly, tongue flicking your clit one last time before sealing his lips around it, humming low to vibrate through your core.

The orgasm hits you like crazy, your walls clenching hard around his fingers, gushing slick that he laps up hungrily, not missing a drop. You thrash and sob, body convulsing under his relentless ministrations, but even as the aftershocks ripple, he keeps pumping slow now, drawing it out, his cock still grinding insistently against your thigh, and you wondered what happened to the clumsy boy you knew, and why was he a fucking beast in bed for real—not knowing how he wasn’t really sure himself, just drunk in your essence probably? Or too fucking adamant to make you feel good, prove something even though you wanted him regardless. 

“That’s one—now I’m gonna fuck you raw till you beg for me to stop.”

Well—fuck. He was too good at this, cause you were left speechless, staring at how spent he looked, pulling back just enough to meet your dazed eyes, lips shiny with your juices, hunger far from sated, and eyes darker than ever—he looked insanely hot. 

Sunghoon’s gaze holds yours captive, that predatory glint in his eyes sending fresh shivers racing down your spine. His lips curve into a smirk, wicked and knowing, as he wipes a stray bead of your essence from his chin with the back of his hand, never breaking eye contact. The air between you crackles, thick with the scent of sex and sweat, your breaths mingling in the charged space. You can still feel the ghost of his fingers inside you, the way they curled just right, coaxing every last tremor from your core. But he’s not done—not by a long shot. That insistent press of his cock against your thigh grows bolder, the heat of it branding your skin, a silent vow of what’s to come.

“Speechless already?” He teases, his voice a husky rumble that vibrates through your chest. He leans in closer, his nose brushing yours in an almost tender gesture, a stark contrast to the feral hunger etched on his face, “I thought you wanted me to show you exactly how much I want you, hm? Will you be satisfied when I’m buried in deep?” His words drip with challenge, laced with that raw affection you’ve always known from him—the clumsy stumbles, the shy smiles—but twisted now into something intoxicatingly dominant.

You swallow hard, your throat dry despite the slick mess between your legs. The room spins a little, your body still humming from the high, but his proximity grounds you, pulls you back into the moment, “Hoonie—” you manage, your voice a breathy whisper, fingers twitching at your sides as if unsure whether to push him away or pull him in. The old him flickers in your mind—the boy who tripped over his own feet during movie nights, who blushed when your hands brushed accidentally. How had he transformed? It was like unleashing a storm you’d never seen brewing.

He chuckles low, the sound vibrating against your collarbone as he trails open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, savoring the salt of your skin, “yeah? Say my name like that again when I’m fucking you senseless.” 

His hand slides up your thigh, possessive and unhurried, fingers digging in just enough to leave faint marks—reminders that you’ll feel tomorrow, a secret map of this night. He stopped just for a minute, and you watched him take off his pants and boxers in a go, your eyes widening in process as you watched him undress, the dim lights accentuating every inch of him—even the ones you wondered whether you’ll be able to handle or not.

He hooks your leg over his hip, opening you up further, the tip of his cock now teasing your entrance, slick with your arousal and his own pre-cum. The anticipation builds like a slow fuse, every shallow nudge sending sparks skittering through your nerves.

“Please,” you murmur, the word escaping before you can stop it, your hips arching instinctively toward him. It’s not begging—not yet—but it’s close, the vulnerability cracking through your haze. You want to unravel him too, to see that beast roar, but god, the way he looks at you, like you’re the only thing anchoring him—it makes your heart clench alongside the ache low in your belly.

Sunghoon pauses, his breath hitching, eyes softening for a fraction of a second as he searches your face. There’s that tenderness again, peeking through the cracks of his intensity—a silent question, a check-in amid the storm, “you okay, baby?” He asks, voice dropping to a gravelly whisper, his thumb stroking soothing circles on your hip. It’s so him, this blend of fire and care, and it only makes you want him more.

“More than good,” you reply, reaching up to tangle your fingers in his damp hair, tugging lightly to bring his mouth back to yours. The kiss starts soft, exploratory, lips brushing like a shared secret, but it ignites quickly, tongues tangling with renewed urgency. You taste yourself on him, musky and intimate, and it fuels the fire, your free hand roaming down his chest, nails scraping over the ridges of his abs.

He groans into your mouth, the sound raw and needy, breaking the kiss to nip at your lower lip, “fuck, Y/N—you drive me crazy. Always have.” With that admission hanging between you, he shifts his hips, the head of his cock pressing insistently now, parting your folds with deliberate slowness. Inch by torturous inch, he sinks into you and it takes a while, leaving the room with reverberations of your moans and groans as you accommodate to his size, the stretch burning sweetly, your walls yielding to his thickness. You gasp against his shoulder, biting down to muffle the sound, but he doesn’t let you hide—his hand cups the back of your neck, forcing your eyes to meet his as he bottoms out, fully sheathed.

“Look at me,” he demands, though his voice wavers with the effort of holding still, letting you adjust, “feel how perfect you are? Made for this—for me.”His forehead rests against yours, breaths syncing in the intimate cocoon of your bodies. The fullness is overwhelming, every pulse of him echoing through you, but it’s the emotion in his stare that hits hardest—the need of wanting you. Lovers entangled in a way that feels inevitable.

You nod, words failing as you clench around him experimentally, drawing a hiss from his lips, “Sunghoon—move. Please, I need—”

“I know what you need, baby,” he cuts in, voice strained, and then he’s moving—slow at first, a languid roll of his hips that grinds against that spot inside you, building the tension like embers catching flame. Each thrust is measured, deep, his cock dragging along your sensitive walls, the friction sparking pleasure that coils tighter with every pass. His hand slips between you, thumb finding your clit with unerring accuracy, circling in time with his rhythm.

“Like that?” He murmurs, lips ghosting your ear, his free arm wrapping around your waist to hold you flush against him. The position is intimate, chest to chest, hearts pounding in tandem, but there’s nothing gentle about the way he picks up speed, hips snapping forward with increasing force. The wet sounds of your joining fill the room, obscene and arousing, mingling with your shared moans.

“Yes—god, yes,” you cry out, head falling back as the pleasure mounts, your nails digging into his shoulders for purchase.

“No baby, say my name,” he chuckles when you do so on repeat, and he’s relentless now, the beast fully unleashed, pounding into you with a ferocity that borders on punishing, yet every so often he slows, grinding deep, whispering praises that melt your bones, “so tight—so wet for me. You’re gonna cum again, aren’t you, love? Milk my cock until I can’t hold back.”

The words push you higher, your body responding with a flood of heat, slick coating him as you chase the edge. You can feel him everywhere—his sweat-slicked skin sliding against yours, the musky scent of him overwhelming your senses, the way his breath stutters when you squeeze around him. It’s raw, but threaded with that emotional undercurrent, the clumsy boy proving himself not through words, but through this worship of your body.

“Sunghoon, I’m—fuck, I’m close,” you gasp, your voice breaking as the coil snaps taut. He senses it, angles his hips just right, thumb pressing harder on your clit, and the world fractures. Your orgasm crashes over you, fiercer than the last, walls fluttering wildly around him as you sob his name, body arching in ecstasy. Stars burst behind your eyelids, pleasure radiating from your core in endless waves.

He doesn’t stop, riding it out with you, his thrusts erratic now as your release triggers his own, “that’s it, baby—cum on me. Fuck, you feel so good—”

With a guttural groan, he buries himself deep one final time, spilling hot inside you, his cock pulsing with each spurt. His body shudders against yours, arms tightening like a vice, as if afraid you’ll slip away in the haze, in awe of how you clenched harder, squirting all over his cock and abdomen, which is something you had never really done before.

For a long moment, you stay locked together, breaths ragged, the afterglow wrapping around you like a warm blanket. He presses soft kisses to your temple, your cheek, murmuring nonsense words of adoration, “you’re incredible,” he breathes.

He watches you staring at him with your pretty eyes, and now, he feels shy, yet not ready enough to part ways, so he settles with hiding his pretty face in your neck, trying to be impossibly close to you, licking the spots he’d marked earlier, making you giggle slightly, his own smile blooming when he hears that, and somehow, everything feels right again. With you playing with his hair, he giggles, and the switch up in his demeanour amuses you, because the fiercely jealous guy who dragged you out of the party had entirely melted back into the sweet boy you’d been missing for weeks.

“You’re like two different people, Hoonie,” you whisper, your fingers gently detangling the dark strands at the nape of his neck.

He hums a low, contended sound that vibrates against your skin. He shifts his weight, wrapping his arms even more securely around your waist to pull you flush against him, as if he’s terrified you might still disappear if he loosens his grip.

“I’m just me,” he murmurs, his voice muffled against your skin. Slowly, he lifts his head. His cheeks are dusted with a pretty, shy pink flush, and his dark eyes are incredibly soft, completely devoid of the panic or anger that had clouded them earlier. He looks at you with a vulnerability that makes your breath hitch.

“I didn’t know what I was doing, Y/N,” he confesses, his thumbs gently stroking the sides of your waist. He swallows hard, “I was so desperate for you to see me as a man you could desire, not just some harmless puppy you felt sorry for. I—I actually looked up a guide.”

You blink, your hands stilling in his hair, “a guide?”

Sunghoon groans, dropping his forehead against your shoulder as if trying to hide from his own embarrassment, “WikiHow,” he mumbles, “how to flirt with a pretty girl, uh—with pictures.”

The room goes completely silent for a second. You stare down at the top of his dark head, your brain struggling to process the information.

“Wait,” you breathe out, the pieces suddenly snapping together in your mind, “the staring contest at the pub during trivia night?”

“Step one: Make eye contact,” he grumbles miserably.

“The voice note asking me to get boba, and then immediately inviting Jake and Jay?”

“I panicked because the guide said not to come on too strong. I used them as human shields.”

A massive, overwhelming swarm of butterflies suddenly erupts in your stomach. The guy who looks like he belongs on a runway, was secretly reading step-by-step internet articles because he was so nervous around you. It is the most endearingly pathetic, incredibly sweet thing you have ever heard in your entire life. You can’t help it—a laugh bubbles up in your chest, bright and genuine.

Sunghoon flinches slightly, his grip tightening, “don’t laugh at me,” he whines, sounding exactly like a babie, “Jake and Heeseung already found it on my laptop and roasted me for it. It was humiliating.”

“Hoonie,” you laugh softly, cupping his face and forcing him to look up at you. His eyes are wide and entirely unguarded, “you didn’t need any of that. The steps didn’t make me like you—you made me like you.”

He searches your face, clearly searching for any trace of pity, but only finding absolute adoration, “really?”

“Really,” you promise, your thumbs brushing over his sharp cheekbones, “I didn’t fall for the guy trying to be a smooth, mysterious flirt. I fell for the guy who fought the doorframe and lost, the guy who shared his umbrella in the rain, and the guy who sang Disney songs with me in the park. You never needed a guide, Sunghoon, I wanted you.”

A beautiful, relieved smile breaks across his face, the one that reaches his eyes and shows off his cute fangs. He leans into your touch, completely melting into your space, “I like you so much it makes my brain short-circuit,” he breathes out, his forehead resting against yours, “I’m entirely, hopelessly down bad for you, Y/N.”

“I really really like you too, you puppy,” you whisper, pressing a soft, reassuring kiss to his lips as he whined, making your eyes wide, “oh you’re into that—”

“Uh—i’ll get you some water,” he panicked, getting up, cock slipping out of you, and entirely forgetting about the clothes sprawled all over the floor, which made him yelp as he fell down. 

You laughed freely, cause gosh, you really were falling for this man. Grabbing his leather jacket, you wore it as he tried to hide himself with embarrassment. It was a stupid choice to get up when your legs were not stable, because it resulted in you wobbling and falling right over hoon, the jacket doing nothing to hide your body, pressed against his so perfectly. Now, it was his turn to chuckle as he grabbed a strand of your hair, kissing it sweetly.

“Damn, was i that good?” He smirked, clearly loving the way you were hiding your face in his neck now.

“Oh shut up, puppy,” you mumbled, and he held on to you tighter.

“Well—this puppy isn’t done with you. C’mon baby, let me help you shower.”

Safe to say, you did much more than just showering, and even though exhaustion took over, sleep wasn’t something you entertained, pecking each other sweetly all night, acting clingier than ever, and honestly?

You wouldn’t have it any other way.

MEANWHILE:

Jay rattled the handle one more time, putting his shoulder into it just to be absolutely sure. He slowly turned his head to look at Jake and Heeseung in the harsh fluorescent lighting of the hallway.

“He locked it,” Jay said, his voice completely flat. 

Jake pressed his forehead against the heavy wood door, looking genuinely heartbroken, “you’ve got to be kidding me—tell me you’re kidding. My bed is in there, Jay, my toothbrush, my entire life.”

“I don’t care about your toothbrush, Jake,” Jay snapped, rubbing his temples, “I care about the fact that we are currently homeless because Sunghoon final-fucking-ly figured out how to flirt.”

Heeseung didn’t even argue, he had already accepted his fate, sliding down the wall until he hit the floor. He lay flat on his back, staring blankly at the sky, “I planned this,” I muttered, “I planned the whole party with Beomgyu, and my reward is the floor.”

Down the hall, Jungwon and Karina stepped out, stopping dead in their tracks as they took in the tragic scene. Jungwon let out a loud snort, crossing his arms, “wow, look at this sad display. You guys look pathetic.”

Heeseung immediately sat up, he scrambled over to Karina, looking up at her with giant, desperate eyes, “Karina please, have mercy.”

Karina took a step back, “what are you doing?”

“Y/N’s bed is empty,” Heeseung pleaded, “i’m a great houseguest. I will literally buy your coffee for a week—do not leave me out here in the hallway with them.”

Karina looked down at Heeseung, then over at Jay and Jake, who were staring at her like abandoned stray dogs. She let out a long, suffering sigh, “fine, get up. Heeseung, you can take Y/N’s bed. But just you.”

“Bless you,” Heeseung whispered, jumping up and sprinting before she could change her mind.

Jungwon shook his head as they all made your way towards their dorm, looking entirely too amused as he walked over to unlock his own bedroom door down the hall, “well, good luck on the carpet, you two. Build a fort or something.”

He turned the key and pushed his door open. But the second the lock clicked, Jay and Jake exchanged a single, desperate look. Pure survival instincts kicked in, and no words were needed. Before Jungwon could even step inside, Jay and Jake shoved past him, rushing into the room like they were escaping a burning building.

“Hey! What the—” Jungwon yelled, spinning around.

It was too late. Jake was already laid across Jungwon’s mattress like a starfish, pulling the duvet up to his chin, while Jay wedged himself against the wall side of the bed, squeezing his eyes shut and breathing heavily to fake being asleep.

“You can’t kick us out!” Jake screamed, hair disheveled. 

“I’m asleep!” Jay announced loudly, “so deep in sleep.”

Jungwon stood in the doorway of his own bedroom, staring at the two fully grown men currently occupying his mattress. He looked at Jake’s death grip on the blanket. He looked at Jay, who was very clearly peeking with one eye. The silence stretched for three agonizing seconds.

Jungwon just let out a long, deeply exhausted sigh, slowly reaching over and grabbing a single throw pillow off his desk chair, and turned on his heel.

“I hate all of you,” Jungwon muttered flatly, dragging his feet out into the living room to sleep on the couch.

THANK YOU FOR READING!

PERM TAGLIST: @jaeminvore @hoondrop @ajayke-reads @lunalovesstories @deobitifull @mari-oclock @kpoprhia @woniebae @blessedcursd @skzenhalove @heesuncore @seuomo @kyurizeu @tobiosbbyghorl @jezzebear @jaehoonii @itsgivingitalian @bunhoons @ma-riiii @heeliopheelia @haanigurl @kaykay11sworld @glitterjay @skzooluvr @yongbokified @prkhaven @kristynaaah @tinycatharsis @filmnings @mwahvvis @mintchocoddeonut @s0shroe @onlyticket-home @meowieshibal@ikeukiss @in-somnias-world @tokkisluv @choicila @bambiihee @taesnumber1 @yenienha @angelhyuka @heesmiles @enhypens-hoe @loverofmusic0027 @strawberrykkk1 @raikea10

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

© jaylaxies | tumblr

[guliexe]

this is me when i’m on tumblr btw

[zreamy]

won't let you go (this time)

pairing: lee heeseung x fem!reader

summary: back home for good after a semi-unsuccessful first year at university in a new city, you’re looking forward to getting back into the routines of your old life in the town you grew up in but the one person you’d been desperate to see doesn’t seem too pleased about your return :(

genre: angst.. ......... fluff, smut, college au, exes to lovers, second chance romance, slow burn

warnings: minors dni, british in a way that's not vague (might be vague.. it's hard to tell when ur british), so so long, sad heeseung, long paragraphs..

word count: 36,007 .. (apparently, i'm in a competition with myself to see who can write the longest fic)

playlist: seasons wave to earth, understand keshi

author's note: writing this fic was like pulling teeth and then cooking pasta out of it.. bUT IT'S DONE !!! also one of these scenes is smth i reworked from a fic i posted to wattpad in 2021.. thanks @asahicore for the beta u rock ! and as always be lmk ur thoughts (positive/negative/anything) 🤍

fic taglist: @enhastolemyheart

Lee Heeseung had often imagined what it would be like when he saw you again. 

Sometimes, he envisioned you standing on his doorstep, playing with the cuffs of your sweater. Other times he’d dream up a chance encounter at the local grocery shop, where you’d be distracted and bump the end of your trolley into his. He’d even pictured a sun-soaked vacation, a gorgeous white sand beach where the temperature would be inching past the thirties. You, laying out on a patterned towel, lost in the pages of a book, and your pretty face obscured by its cover. Yet, even with the sun in his eyes and his poor vision, he’d recognise you without a doubt. 

Regardless of circumstance or setting, in all of his hazy daydreams, you’d look up at him with unbridled love in your eyes and say the words he wanted to hear all those months ago: I choose you. 

Heeseung had always imagined that his heart might glow in his chest, through his shirt like something from Jane the Virgin, and you’d know you made the wrong decision. 

But sometimes, typically when in an alcohol-fuelled state of despondence, these images would be rougher around the edges. Heeseung would be hot, with bleach-blond hair and thick dark brows—a walking, talking beacon of sexual energy when you’d see him. In his head, it would happen at a party or a club somewhere, and he’d be too busy talking to another girl to notice you, his arm hanging off of her, lust clear in his eyes. Somehow, even in sweatpants and an old hoodie of his, you’d still look as beautiful as always. 

“Heeseung,” you’d say, completely crushed with tears welling up in your eyes under furrowed brows. “I choose you.”

Reluctantly, he’d draw his eyes away from the girl and notice you, finally, and a smile would spread on his lips, a mean one, condescending. He’d shrug, wrapping his arm tighter around the girl and say, “You’re too late.” He wouldn’t mean it, but he’d say it just to drive you crazy. Make you beg him to take you back for months until he felt you’d suffered enough—as much as he had. 

These thoughts were few and far between and mainly followed by hot, guilty tears rolling down his cheeks because he knew it was his fault. After all, he was the one to let you go.

For now though, the little round table in Mark’s backyard seats four, and, in the arms of a balmy summer night, Heeseung chooses the seat closest to the fence. The garden light is still busted so in his seat of choice, furthest from the kitchen door, he’ll go completely unnoticed but still see anyone who might join him outside.

His phone is freezing when he takes it from his pocket and unsurprisingly holds no notifications beyond the outsiiiide text he’d gotten from Jake before the party started. Through Instagram stories, Heeseung watches the night play out from the perspective of people who are enjoying themselves while ignoring the voice in his head that tells him he could be one of those people if he tried. 

Maybe he was a fool for believing that tonight would go differently and that the boys would keep their ‘bro’s night’ promise for longer than it took to cross the threshold—but it’s not like he blames them. Maybe he was a fool for believing he would find more company than his somewhat abandoned bottle of Peroni that watches him mockingly from the glass table. 

He grimaces after taking a sip from it, remembering that he was only ever carrying it around so his friends wouldn’t feel the need to load him with shots. Now he’s not so sure that would’ve been a bad thing, seeing as he’s completely sober and aware of the tightness in his chest as he scrolls through the text thread he’s had pinned for years. Its end came abruptly; revived only by an ignored blue bubble saying: i heard you’re back home for the summer.. 

Seeing it now, he regrets hitting send even more than he did two weeks ago. Heeseung hates himself for believing the boys when they said it was a good thing that you opened the message right away. “Means she’s thinking of u 2 dude,” was Jake's message to the group chat (along with four bicep emojis and two red exclamation marks). Jay replied: i hope you guys can talk things out! And Sunghoon didn’t say anything. 

All your conversations bring up memories that hurt more than the last but he has to take a break when he reaches a text you sent last January: i had so much fun tonight, hee, idk how to thank u enough :((( i hope ur not in too much trouble.. i love you i love you and i’ll love you forever !!!

He ended up getting grounded for three weeks and lost car privileges for months after staying out four hours past curfew, but he’d do it a million times over if it meant he’d get to see you as happy as you were that night on the two-hour drive back, running your fingertips over the Sharpie autograph of your favourite author on the book’s front page—“Heeseung?” 

His jaw falls slack and his whole body stiffens. If you don’t count old videos in his camera roll, Heeseung hasn’t heard your voice in over a year. The back door slides shut and when he finally lifts his head, he wants to throw up. Even without the glow of the kitchen lights on your face, he’d still be able to make out the cute point of your nose, and the slight curve of your soft lips. Unfortunately, the breakup only seems to have made you even more beautiful and he hates himself for wishing you were having a hard time too. 

“Hey,” you say. “Can I sit?” 

Regaining his mobility, he moves his shoulders in a stiff shrug. The sound of your chair scraping the concrete makes him cringe and he hates that you chose the seat closest to him. 

“I didn’t think you’d be here tonight.” 

Heeseung scoffs, his brows furrowing defensively. “You didn’t think I’d be at my friend’s party?” 

You set your jaw. “Okay.” 

An unbearable silence follows, so heavy he can feel it sitting on his shoulders, weighing him down. There’s no way to know how much time has passed but he feels less tense when you start to hum, drumming your fingers against the table to the beat of whatever song the kitchen door is struggling to muffle. If he doesn’t think too hard about the lingering quiet, it feels like everything is okay between you two. 

His heart races when you giggle. “You still do that?” 

“Do what?” 

You smile before mirroring his expression, puffing up your cheeks and exhaling dramatically a few times. Due to the heat, nothing comes of it but you laugh anyway. “You always liked when it was cold enough out to see your breath. I remember having to nudge you every night of summer to get you to stop.”

To Heeseung, there’s something sinister about the fact that you can so easily bring up a memory you share with him. About the fact that even after what happened, his cheeks heat up just from seeing you grin. He deflates, unable to look at you, finding interest in the label on his bottle instead. It’s slightly curled up at its edge, and he runs his thumb over it a few times before peeling it off completely—with some struggle, leaving a sticky patch in its wake. Under your loaded stare, he folds it a little to make a square before trying to craft a swan or a crane (you were the one who knew these things) from the sticker. 

Your hands are just as soft as he remembers when your fingers touch his, though it shocks him so much he drops the label, immediately withdrawing his hands and, for lack of a better option, sitting on them. Even softer than your hands is your voice when you say, “I don’t want things to be so tense between us.” 

It must be easy, he thinks. For you to say something like that after dumping him. Heeseung wants to laugh, to let his head fall back and cackle from sheer disbelief; you really must have some nerve. Instead, a bitterness, raging and sour, works in his chest, choking the laughter into silence. It pushes his lips into a scowl as he lifts his head to look at you. You’re shivering with your arms crossed over your chest and Heeseung softens. Without thinking, he shrugs off his flannel to drape it over your shoulders, almost regretting it when he fixes his tongue to scold you playfully like he used to. Still too hot for a jacket, right, baby? he wants to say. This is the last time I’m doing this for you, next time you’re on your own. Heeseung figures that somewhere, in another reality where you’re still together, a version of him says these things but continues to give you his flannels and jackets anyway.

He’d give anything to be that Heeseung instead. 

Over the last year, he’s been replacing the clothes in his wardrobe. He noticed that during your time together you steadily wore every t-shirt, flannel, and hoodie he owned. Now, as you thank him with a sincere smile, he realises he’ll have to donate his new favourite shirt too. 

“What’s in your pocket?” you ask, reaching in to find out. A bleak carton of cigarettes sits full in your hands as you look over at him with wide eyes. “You smoke now?” 

“No.” Heeseung shakes his head. “Never.” 

Back and forth between your hands, the box and its contents rustle. “Really? Because this—” You pause to pull a lighter from the same pocket. “—and this tell me something different.”

“Sunghoon’s quitting again,” he explains, with air quotes around the word quitting. 

“Oh.” You let out a laugh, nodding fondly. “He’s on, like, five weeks or something by now, though, right? Surely you don’t still need to carry these around for him.”

His head tilts so quickly he hurts his neck. With knitted brows, he inspects you. Nothing about your expression seems like you’re trying to hurt him, in truth, you look like you’re being quite sincere; your eyes are wide, curious, and your lips are quirked up at the corners with an amusement he adores. “Six,” he corrects. “How do you know?” 

“He told me.” 

“You guys still talk?” 

A shoulder-dropping sigh falls from your mouth as you put the cigarettes and lighter back in his pocket, raking a hand through your hair. “You’re the only one who doesn’t talk to me anymore,” you say in a small voice. 

The five of you stuck together in high school — where he and Jay first met you, Jake, and Sunghoon — and he knew it would be unreasonable for him to expect your shared friends, especially the youngest two whom you’d known longer, to turn on you. He also figured, given how close you’d grown to Jay, and his undying rationality, that his best friend would outright refuse to shun you on Heeseung’s behalf. Even though they didn’t need his permission, he told them that he didn’t want them to feel like they had to pick sides and that he was perfectly happy for them to keep talking to you. On one condition: that none of them tell him anything about you or your life without him unless you’re hurt—a condition they’ve clearly carried out more faithfully than Heeseung expected them to. 

Bile rises in his throat thinking about all the things your friends have kept from him about your year away. His heart twists over mundane details like your class schedules and favourite things to eat for lunch, and his eyes sting with tears over the important stuff like new friends and, worst of all, new partners. 

Heeseung jolts out of his chair, knocking the table so hard with his thighs that his bottle tips over. You’re quick to catch it. “My mum’s calling,” he blurts out, overwhelmed. 

“Heeseung.” 

“I really have to go.” 

“Heeseung!” you call out, but he’s already back inside. 

You don’t follow him. 

But that was in June, and now it’s September. 

While his friends complain about the chill of autumn, Heeseung’s just happy he can comfortably wear hoodies everywhere again. In a cool lecture hall, home to his Ethics and Responsibility class for the next few months, he relishes the feeling of soft cotton against his ears as he copies the course reading list into the first page of his notebook. 

“Is someone sitting here?” 

Heeseung’s stomach sinks to the floor. Reluctantly, he lifts his head, and through the gaps in his bangs, he sees you and the way your face falls when you see him, instantly looking around the room. 

“Oh,” you say, eyes blown. “I’m sorry, I’ll just..” you trail off.

He scans the room, chewing his lip when he realises that, despite the lecturer not having arrived yet, the seat to his left, with his backpack on it, is the only empty one. “It’s okay,” he says, trying to seem nonchalant as he takes his bag from the chair and puts it on the floor. 

“Thanks,” you mumble, frowning a little as you sit down. 

In the light of day, he really sees you and a lone butterfly, one he was sure had died with the rest last year, flutters lazily in his stomach—wings buzzing against the lining, tickling him. Even with messy hair and tired bags under your eyes, you’re just as beautiful as the first time he saw you. It’s unfair, he thinks. That you could be dealing with this and still manage to look presentable. Jealousy kills the butterfly, stirring a pit in his belly at the thought that you were able to break up with him and continue with life as normal on the other end of the country, making new friends and new memories as if nothing happened. 

Even when Dr. Kim comes in and starts the class, Heeseung can’t take his eyes off of you. You haven’t lost any of your mannerisms, he notices when you stick your tongue out a little while typing notes as the lecturer says them, barely looking up from your laptop to see the slides. 

At the end of the lecture, all he has to show for it is the reading list and a couple of bullet points that seemed important as he copied them from your screen. Side by side, you silently walk down the stairs to leave the room, and the sight of Sunghoon through the doorway pulls a relieved sigh from Heeseung’s chest. 

Sunghoon’s brows raise seeing you together and he clears his throat when you’re close enough. “Hey, you two! My little study buddies,” he says in a strained voice. “First day back! First day for you, YN, what was that like?” He sounds like he’s reading from a script as he walks between you. 

Heeseung lets you answer, listening to your voice as he walks behind you down the stairs. He wonders if things will be this way forever, briefly contemplating throwing himself over the bannister so he doesn’t have to find out. If you’re uncomfortable, you don’t show it, talking excitedly with Sunghoon about the class, mentioning things Heeseung hadn’t even heard, despite having sat through the same hour-long introduction lecture as you. He trails behind the two of you all the way to the library, where Jay is sleeping with his chin on his arms and Jake is staring at the table of contents in his textbook. You cut yourself off, jogging over to the table they’re sitting at to wake Jay. As soon as you wrap your arms around him, he flinches, waking up with his brows pulled together. 

“What are you doing?” Jay mumbles, trying to shake you off. 

As Heeseung sits beside Jake, he skims over the front page of the textbook, trying to remember what tensile strength means. Sunghoon stands at the end of the table looking at his phone, and you sit next to Jay, pulling your seat a little closer and letting him rest his head on your shoulder. Heeseung looks away, trying to bury the unease building in his stomach. 

Sunghoon breaks the silence. “Can we go get food?” And suddenly, you all stand up, filing out of the library towards the Tesco Express down the road. 

Jay and Sunghoon take the lead, picking up their lunch without much thought before waiting in line at the self-checkout, while you, Jake, and Heeseung spend an ungodly amount of time weighing up options in front of the meal deals. Heeseung gets the same thing every time but looks at every single sandwich, drink, and snack option just in case before picking up his food. 

“Just cheese is crazy, bro,” Jake says, shaking his head. “What’s wrong with you?” 

Heeseung shrugs. “It’s reliable.” 

“It’s absurd.” 

You hum between the two of them, tilting your head thoughtfully. “I don’t know, I think it’s cute.” Your shoulders rise and fall in a casual shrug, almost as if you haven’t just paid Heeseung a compliment for the first time in a year and three months. 

Jake’s eyebrows raise, a grin playing on his lips as he glances between the two of you when you step forward, pulling a just cheese sandwich from the shelf too. “Cute,” he repeats. “Sure.” 

Outside, Jay and Sunghoon are sitting on a half-finished brick wall, and while normally, Heeseung would say something to interrupt Jay’s never-ending lecture series on making the most of your meal deal, he doesn’t want to draw attention to himself or the small smile he’s struggling to keep off his face. 

“Hoon, think about it,” he says, resting his giant can of Red Bull on the stepped brick next to him. “A meal deal costs £3. You get a sandwich, a drink, and a snack, all for £3. You, foolishly, bought a sandwich, a snack, and a bottle of water, you gave them money.” 

“Yeah, man, anyone who shops anywhere gives money, that’s, like, an entry-level requirement.” 

“But I’m taking money from Tesco, you get it?” 

Jake sighs, taking a seat next to Sunghoon. “You’re technically right, but you still paid for your food under a promotion Tesco created. If you really wanted to take from Tesco, you should be stealing your lunch. Also, the sandwich he got was £2.85, and there’s more water in his bottle than Red Bull in your can, so I actually think Hoon got the better offer today.” 

Beside Heeseung, you roll your eyes, wrestling with a packet of crisps while juggling everything in your hands. Seeing your struggle, he reaches over, taking hold of your drink and sandwich. “Thanks,” you mumble, smiling. You glance towards Jay and Sunghoon, then back at Heeseung. “Are they always like this?” 

He nods with a slight frown. A tiny laugh comes through your nose as you nod too. 

During the walk back to campus, as you split your sandwich with Sunghoon, Heeseung has an unsettling realisation. If he wants to get you back, he’ll have to start out being your friend. He’s not too sure what that will look like, seeing as the two of you were friends for six weeks — that he spent hopelessly in love with you — before he asked you out. All he knows is he wants to be the one you share your lunch and link arms with unthinkingly. While he assumes that your shared friend group and three out of four classes will naturally lead to friendship, things might go better if he makes an effort.

He doesn’t.

Not today at least. The second and last class of the day ends much like the first, with a heading in his notebook, and slowly reviving butterflies in his stomach every time your knee bumps into his under the desk. Again, neither of you says much as you leave the class to go meet Jay in the library. He’s awake this time, grinning at the girl across from him. 

“They’re so cute!”

“They’re talking.” 

“Yeah, in a cute way. Look at the smile on his face,” you say as if anyone could miss Jay’s grin or the way it widens when he notices you and Heeseung staring. 

Yunjin immediately looks over, waving before getting out of her seat to come over. She greets Heeseung with a hug before flinging her arms around you, gushing about how it’s been so long. Heeseung feels his brow raise when you giggle and  say, “We hung out two weeks ago.”

She loosens her hold on you, looking down into your eyes with a shocked look. “Yeah, two weeks too many. What are you doing later?” 

It feels like Heeseung skipped a chapter and his stomach hurts when he realises he has—a whole year's worth of the contents of your life. Of course, Jay already introduced Yunjin to you, of course, you’re already friends. 

Leaving you with Yunjin in the library, Heeseung and Jay walk back to their flat. They take the long route home, through the winding bike path and over the creaky footbridge by Sunghoon’s old apartment. Jay is eerily quiet, only responding in nods and hums—this silence means one of two things, he’s either too exhausted to speak or he’s saving his words to reprimand Heeseung at home. 

Outside their flat, Jay hesitates, gripping the handle tightly before turning to Heeseung. In his eyes is a familiar look, the one he typically wears before telling someone off and Heeseung bites his tongue lest he pisses Jay off even more. A few times, Jay opens his mouth but doesn’t speak, exhaling a deep sigh as he rests his head against the door. “I want you to know I’m on your side, sort of,” he says. “If it’s too hard being around YN, we can always hang out together instead, just us.” 

Jay’s key clicks in the lock and Heeseung watches, shocked. He didn’t expect that at all. 

“It’s not like it’s hard, just weird, you know?” Heeseung runs a hand through his hair, leaving his shoes by the door while Jay locks it before following him into the living room and sinking into the couch. “We have the same friends, so I can’t avoid her, but I don’t think I want to.” 

“Like I said, we can just hang out on our own if we’re on campus.” Jay pauses for a beat, clearly pleased by whatever he’s thinking about as a smile spreads on his face. “It might do you some good being around her though, like, to see why none of us want to date her.” 

The offer is generous and Heeseung spends a while considering it. But as Jay said, it probably would be a good thing to hang out with you if he wants to build the friendship he finds himself craving. 

“It might also do you some good to, you know.. start looking nice again. It’s been a year, dude, and she’s back now, don’t you want her seeing what she’s missing out on?” 

Heeseung cocks his head to the side, surprised and honestly a little offended. “Are you saying I’m ugly now?” 

“No, I’m saying it probably wouldn’t hurt to put some essence in your hair, touch up your roots, and, you know, use deodorant.” 

Reflexively, he grabs the pit of his hoodie, bringing it to his nose and sniffing furiously. The only thing he can smell is fresh detergent and he looks at Jay with a frown. “So you think I should change everything about myself basically.” 

“I hate to be the one to say it..” Jay trails off, head falling back in contagious laughter. “Seriously though, if you want her back or, at least, want her to miss you, start putting some effort in.” 

Heeseung’s eyes are wide as saucers. “She doesn’t miss me?”

“You spent the whole day together, why would she miss you?” 

“So she doesn’t.” 

“I didn’t say that.” Jay shrugs. 

Outside, a cloud moves away from the sun, letting it shine right through the window and into Heeseung’s eyes. He squints a little, groaning before bringing his arm over his face to shield himself. Jay laughs and Heeseung flips him off. “You didn’t really say anything.” 

“Are you crying?” Jay coos. 

“Sure.” 

“Too bad, I’m taking a nap. Club later?” 

Heeseung grunts in response, considering taking a nap too. 

A dramatic sigh tugs its way from Jay’s chest. “Look, it’s not my place to say, but she told me a few months ago she was miserable in first year, something about wanting to see some guy she dated in high school.”

“You knew she was coming back?” Heeseung practically jumps in his seat, sitting up straighter. “You knew I’d see her today and you let me leave the house looking like this?” It’s not like he looks bad in his oversized black hoodie and sweatpants but he might have taken the time to do more than run a hand through his hair this morning if he knew.

Jay holds his hands up defensively. “You said you didn’t want to hear anything about her unless she died. I was just doing what you told me to.” 

“I think it goes without saying that that would’ve been a nice thing to know.”

“Noted.” Jay nods. “Club later?”

Despite saying no, Heeseung finds himself at the club anyway, having a friendly dance battle with Jay while you hype them up, filming blurry videos with your finger over the camera lens. Jake and Sunghoon came out too but went off to find girls. 

Heeseung spent all of pres and the journey to the club worrying about being drunk around you. Or rather, worrying about being drunk around drunk you. Drunk you who typically gets clingy and oversentimental just looking at a bottle of vodka, or brings up old memories and uses pouty, gloss-coated lips to say things without thinking of the consequences. For better or for worse, you haven’t done any of that yet. 

Between knocking back drinks and rivalling the club photographer, you find time to make a look of disgust every time a guy comes near you, immediately shaking your head and pressing yourself against Heeseung before mumbling an apology in his ear each time, even though he tells you it’s okay. Your admirers start to dwindle when he dances with you to a song you like, letting you hold his hand and pull him closer, all while wishing he’d stayed asleep on the couch. 

It’s only when the fifth guy shows up with a stupid smirk on his face, that Heeseung speaks up. His arm finds your waist and he holds you close as he looks at the stranger. “Dude, leave her alone,” he says, angling his shoulder to him in an attempt to shield you. “She’s not interested.” The weight of his words is lost on him until the guy rolls his eyes, shrugging and mumbling whatever as he leaves. 

He saw how uncomfortable you looked after being approached and hated how long it took for you to start enjoying yourself again, so in the moment, it seemed like the right thing to do. To look after you. But now, as he stands with his hand on your waist, his skin touching yours at the hem of your shirt, he’s starting to feel like he’s crossed a line. It’s the worst possible time to freeze in place but there’s nothing he can do about it, and Jay staring at him, with wide eyes and a dropped jaw, isn’t exactly helping. 

With embarrassment burning his cheeks and neck, Heeseung finally looks down at you. You look almost as shocked as Jay for a split second before letting your hand rest on his chest, smiling. The moment feels endless until you lean up to his ear and Heeseung has to bend down a bit. “Thank you, Hee,” you say, still smiling when you pull back. 

All he can do is nod, smiling too.

Over your head, he sees Jay grinning and the heat returns to his cheeks. As if suddenly aware of your position — your hands now resting on his shoulders, chests held together by your grip on each other — the smile falls from your face as you take a huge step back, bumping into Jay while Heeseung’s hand slips from your body. 

“Let’s get more drinks!” you yell to Jay, slinging an arm over his shoulders to pull him away. 

On his own, Heeseung dances to three whole songs, only stopping when Yoo Jimin wraps her arm around him, holding him in the world’s tightest hug. “Lee Heeseung, did I just see you all over a girl?” The interaction takes him by surprise, seeing as he hasn’t actually spoken to her since before summer. “Let’s go for drinks soon, to say congrats on finally moving on!” 

This, of course, is when you and Jay finally return. Jimin notices before he does. “Be good to him,” she yells, smiling, and never letting go of Heeseung. “Bad breakup!” 

You stand there, holding two drinks so tightly your hands start shaking, causing one to spill over your fingers. A strained smile spreads over your lips as you nod. “Right! I’ll try!” 

As quickly as she appears, Jimin vanishes with a smile on her face, pleased with herself. You visibly relax, handing Heeseung his drink and swaying to the music again. Just like at high school parties, you let Jay sling his arm over your shoulders as you dance together. Back then, you’d dance with all of your friends while waiting for Heeseung to return, usually with a cup of water for you to drink, but tonight, with Heeseung standing there, it seems like he’s as good as dead according to you. 

It’s around 2 a.m. when you and Jay decide you’ve had enough, with Jay struggling to keep his eyes open. After failing to locate Sunghoon and easily finding Jake with his cap on backwards and makeup all over his mouth and cheeks, the three of you let him know you’re going home. 

As seems to be the unspoken rule amongst your friends, Jay walks between the two of you while trying to convince you both that if you had fun tonight, there’s no reason to regret having gone out. Even if it means you’ll be sitting in class holding your eyes open. Heeseung ignores him, conspiring out loud about Sunghoon’s whereabouts—getting lost on his way to the restroom or finding an ice rink out back. 

For a while, you entertain him before sighing. “I saw in the chat, he said he’s out talking to a girl he saw wearing a band shirt—Nirvana.” 

The notion is so surprising that Heeseung almost stops in his tracks. Jay voices his shock with a raised brow and an incredulous tone. “Hoon listens to Nirvana?” 

“No, but she’s pretty. I had to send him a screenshot of their popular songs on Spotify when one of her friends came over looking for a lighter.” 

At Jay’s request, you and Heeseung spend the rest of the walk back to your flat trying to name fifteen Nirvana songs. By the time you reach the lift in your building, you’ve successfully listed nine and the three of you stand inside while you look for your keys. On your doorstep, you pull Jay into a tight hug, whispering something in his ear that makes him laugh as he pats you on the back and says, “You probably could.” 

Pathetically, Heeseung hopes you’ll hug him too. With no hesitation, you do, arms locking around his neck, leaving him with flushed cheeks and a racing heart. “Thanks for looking out for me,” you whisper, lingering by his ear before burying your face in the base of his neck. 

Heeseung holds his breath, counting to twelve before you lean away from him, your arms in place as you look up into his eyes. “I’m always going to look out for you,” he manages to say. He can already hear Jay teasing him about it when they’re alone, but the smile on your face is worth it. 

In your doorway, you wave goodbye and they wait outside until they hear your lock clicking before heading home, where Jay doesn’t tease Heeseung at all. 

Turns out, getting home at 3 a.m. when he has a class at 10 o’clock doesn’t fit in amongst any of his better ideas, but still, he gets out of bed and gets ready, heeding Jay’s advice and scheduling a hair appointment on his way to class. 

As soon as he sits down, he gets a text from Jay: thinking of getting smth pierced later, come with? 

Heeseung: what is smth.

Jay: cartilage probs

Heeseung: im getting my roots done at 5

Jay: okayyyyyyy good shit man !!! tmrw? 

Heeseung: 👍👍👍

It shouldn’t surprise Heeseung that you look good, but the sight of you walking through the door in your zip-up hoodie and jeans almost knocks the wind out of him. You’re holding your notebook to your chest, stopping in the middle of the stairs and sighing when the white strap of your tote bag slips from your shoulder to the crook of your elbow. You apologise to the people behind you before rushing up the stairs to Heeseung’s row, putting your things down and slumping into the seat beside him. The room suddenly feels warmer when you take off your hoodie and next to you and your bare arms, his heart starts to race.

“Do you have, like, an interview or something?” you ask, doodling in the margin of your notebook, filling the space with pretty butterflies that make his heart race.

Heeseung, who hasn’t looked for a job in two years, panics. “No?” 

“Oh.” You nod slowly, looking away from him. “A date? Maybe?” There’s something in your voice that makes him want to say yes and see your reaction, but the look on your face makes his stomach turn. 

“No, ne—just no.” 

“You can tell me if you’re going on a date.”

“Why would I go on a date?” 

You shrug, gesturing to his outfit. Heeseung looks down at himself and the cream-coloured cardigan he’s wearing. “You just look nice, that’s all,” you mumble after a while. Suddenly, Jay’s Prada loafers squeezing his toes doesn’t seem so bad and Heeseung sits through the whole lecture with a smile on his face. 

The leaves yellowed on October first, and unfortunately for Heeseung, the last two weeks didn’t play out how he hoped they would. Of course, he knew that you flinging your arms around him and confessing your love was probably a far stretch. But this is torture. You only talk to him when the rest of the boys are around, and even then, you only say things like, what time does class start? and do you have a pen I can borrow? 

His nice outfits don’t let up, but his hair is so long these days that you don’t take any notice of the throbbing hole through his cartilage that Jay somehow convinced him to get. Or so Heeseung tells himself because his ears stick out as far as his shoulders. 

Today marks the first time he’s sat in the library during the day for more than ten minutes, and it’s surprisingly busy. Most of his library trips take place in the early hours of the morning, playing his way through the Papa’s Gameria franchise on the computer next to Jake, who spends several minutes at a time staring at his fancy engineering software before clicking the mouse and staring again. So seeing the steady flow of students come in and out, setting up camp at their tables with headphones and thick binders, while groups of friends whisper amongst themselves, leaning back in their seats and gasping every now and then feels like a culture shock.

There’s about an hour until your class finishes, and he’s been sitting here for two hours already since his Music and Identity class ended, wondering if he’s making a mistake by waiting for you. Especially because he knows you’re not expecting him to. He’s at a table right by the library’s entrance, so you’ll see him on the way out and it can feel like a chance encounter. Uncharacteristically, he’s used this time quite wisely, deciding to go through the reading he was given on the role music plays in maintaining cultural identity among diaspora communities and making notes in the margins of his handout until your class is done. 

Impatience starts to settle in after thirty minutes so he texts you to see to ask if your class is over yet. Immediately, your response lights up his screen: yeah about an hour ago but i stayed home lmao what’s up :) 

Staring down at the message, he sighs, thumbs hovering over the keyboard as he tries to come up with something to say. This goes on for a while until he realises what he’s doing and his heart clenches. How did you go from spending every waking moment texting each other to clutching at straws for a valid reason to talk? 

At the very least, the smiley face you sent is doing wonders for his declining mood. 

Heeseung settles on, “i just left office hours and wanted to know if anyone was still around haha,” before hiding his face with his hands. 

oh nooooooo :( sorry dude, you reply. how’d it go? 

In the six years he spent by your side, he’s never known you to use the word dude—at least not with him. By the looks of things, it seems like your time away was spent studying Jake’s texting patterns or a secret other thing that makes his head hurt when he thinks about it. 

Sighing, Heeseung types back: good! had a couple questions after sem but it went well! 

You react to the message with a heart but don’t reply. He doesn’t have enough time to think about what that might mean because Mark approaches the table, clutching the straps of his backpack with a grin on his face that makes Heeseung feel at ease, like a wide-eyed first year riddled with anxious excitement. 

“You look good, man. You going somewhere nice later?” Mark asks, dapping him up. 

Heeseung shakes his head. “Just home.” 

“Nice.” Mark nods, gasping after a beat. “Did you hear? I made captain!” 

“That’s major, dude, congrats! I knew you would.” If anyone deserves to be team captain, it’s Mark Lee. He was captain of the basketball team in high school and vetoed his spot to Heeseung when he graduated. Two years later, when Heeseung came to college, Mark had been enthusiastic about him joining the team too. 

“I’ve been thinking that my first official act as captain should be getting you back on the team?” Mark’s voice tips up at the end, his brows raising hopefully. 

The last time Heeseung was on the home court, he cried with the ball in his hands because he overheard someone in the crowd saying they didn’t think he could make the shot—they were right. He laughs, shaking his head. “Way too much pressure in uni basketball. Thanks for thinking of me, though.”

“I’m not giving up on you,” Mark says, crossing his arms over his chest. “Oh, I hear your birthday’s coming up, can I host?” 

“Host what?” 

Mark’s hands clap soundlessly as he laughs. “A party, obviously! Twenty’s a big one! I’ll text you the deets, alright?” he asks, though it doesn’t sound like Heeseung has a choice because Mark’s already walking away, still laughing to himself.

In Heeseung’s eyes, there’s nothing better than knocking back (more than) a few bottles of soju with friends and singing your heart out in the four walls of a karaoke room. Worried about killing the mood, he enjoys from a distance, staying glued to the booth, ad-libbing for the boys and polishing off their drinks as discreetly as he can. The table is adorned with a collection of empty bottles and buckets of feasted-upon fried chicken that still envelop the room in a mouth-watering aroma, while a green strobe light pierces the air as Jake and Sunghoon wrap up their cover of Party Rock Anthem. 

By the time Jay manages to convince Heeseung to sing something, he’s four bottles in and searching for the most heart-wrenching ballad he can find. Sofa by Crush has always been his favourite karaoke song. Even when it first came out and he was in a happy relationship; even at home, alone in the kitchen, using a broom handle as a makeshift microphone, singing until his voice went hoarse and tears stained his shirt. 

It feels like fate when the song’s title flashes across the screen in big bold letters and he knows there’s no real way to ignore destiny, so he chooses it and stands up from his seat. Weighed down by alcohol and an aching heart, he stumbles to the front of the room to stand with his back to his friends. Clutching the mic until his knuckles turn white, he takes a deep breath, letting the intro wash over him before singing. He gets through the first half of the song before practically caving in on himself, too moved by the lyrics to stay on two feet. To Heeseung’s credit, he’s always had a beautiful voice, so he’s not exactly tanking in that respect, but if he was even a tiny bit more cognisant, he’d scrape himself up from his knees and finish the rest of the song in the same light-hearted way everyone else had.

The lights shift through red and blue, casting a pretty glow over the dim space and streaking purples and pinks all over the walls—aesthetically, the room is as moody as Heeseung feels. If he had eyes on the back of his head (or picked himself and his dignity from the floor) he might notice the way everyone else in the room is struck by his sadness, with all three boys sitting in solemn silence as a drunk Jay records the whole thing. 

Tired of watching his friend fall apart, Sunghoon gets up from his seat, muttering dick at Jay for filming before taking the phone from his hands and cutting off the recording. He lifts Heeseung at the armpits like a baby and takes the mic. Clearing his throat, Sunghoon half-heartedly finishes the rest of the song while Heeseung cries into his shoulder. Their duet scores them 63 points and Jay spends the next few minutes texting. Heeseung appreciates Sunghoon’s efforts, crying more as his emotions oscillate from love for his friend to yearning for you, all while Jake attempts to lift the mood with a genuinely moving performance of Highway to Hell. From the way he’s air-drumming and bouncing his leg to the song, anyone could tell that Sunghoon is desperate to join in, but holding back for Heeseung’s sake. With a hiccup, Heeseung wipes his tears with his sleeve and throws himself out to the front, accompanying Jake with an air guitar. It’s only during the start of the second verse that Jay and Sunghoon join in, and a full-fledged rock band moment falls upon them as if gifted from heaven. 

After another hour of singing and drinking, Heeseung and Jay race up their apartment building’s stairs. Panting heavily, with his heart beating in his throat, Heeseung’s knees ache when he reaches the top — though caught up in catching his breath and the sight of you sleeping against the doorframe — he can’t even celebrate his win. 

“Huh,” Jay says when he joins him. “How’d she get here?” 

Heeseung can only shrug in response. 

Suddenly self-conscious in your presence, he stands up straighter, pushing some of his hair off his forehead. Jay moves from behind him, approaching you, but Heeseung’s too hung up on the way you hold your jacket tight around your body to do the same. He wants to though—wants to help you out, pick you up and hold you in his arms, kiss your forehead and lovingly scold you for staying out in the cold. But he’s not drunk enough to convince himself you’ll take that well. 

Instead, he remains glued to the spot, watching Jay wake you up, only mobilising when you’re on your feet, stretching your arms above your head. To you, the sliver of skin peeking out where your shirt ends and your jeans begin is a fleeting detail, lost entirely under a veil of just-risen drowsiness. Yet, to Heeseung, it’s everything. It’s enough to make him want to beg you for a second chance right then and there. But he’s not drunk enough to convince himself you’ll take that well either. 

You’re talking with Jay and there’s a crease in your brow when Heeseung reaches you. Your voices were too quiet to make sense of with the distance but now he hears you loud and clear. “You told me almost two hours ago that you guys were leaving soon,” you sigh, rubbing your neck. 

Jay snorts, missing the keyhole a few times before catching it. “Should’ve just joined in, stupid.” 

“It was boy’s night and you made it very clear that I don’t count. And when I asked what bar you guys were at, you just said doesn’t matter, leaving in ten, and, by the way, none of it was spelt correctly. It felt like you were using code.” 

“Caesar Cipher, perhaps?” 

“Pig Latin, more like,” you scoff, leaning against the wall. 

A mischievous grin spreads over Jay’s lips and Heeseung already hates whatever he’s about to say. “Ixnay on the Eeseunghay.” Yeah, Heeseung hates it. He glances between the two of you, picking up on the smile you can’t hide as you roll your eyes. 

Your gaze finds Heeseung’s and your lips curl into a frown as you look back at Jay. “Otgay ityay.” You nod firmly. 

From context — and memories of numerous private conversations the two of you used to have in his presence — he figures it’s Pig Latin, a linguistic puzzle more intricate than any the English language has ever thrown at him. 

After a beat, you nod towards the open door. “Get inside.”

You follow the boys in and lock the door when Jay hands you his keys. He quickly heads to his room, leaving Heeseung shifting his weight from one foot to the other in the living room, staring at you. Save for Jay’s bedroom, all of the lights are off. The only light shines through the open blinds, a vivid orange beam coming from a streetlight outside, casting a harsh shadow over the room. The terminator line is stark—a clear partition between Heeseung, who’s standing in the shade, and you, who stands in front of the window, backlit by the warm light. You’re glowing. Or, at least, the lighting makes it look like you are—outlining all your edges in soft orange. 

Absently, he plays with the zipper on his jacket—unsure of what’s going on or why you’re here at all. It takes a while, but the words finally escape him. “What are you doing here?” Simultaneously, you ask if he’s okay. 

Even in the dark, your smile warms the room. For you and Heeseung, speaking in unison like that isn’t anything new, so it’s not enough to rouse a reaction from him—nonetheless, he smiles too. Whether by way of drunk optimism or his own sudden acceptance, Heeseung’s starting to feel as though maybe just being by your side, making you smile, might be enough for him. 

“Jay texted me, and I wanted to check in and see how you’re doing.” 

“What did he say?” 

“That you were having a hard time.”

Heeseung nods slowly. 

“Actually, he said—” You pause to check your phone. “—Jay said, worried but hyung he is m let down. I think he meant meltdown?” 

“Hyung,” Heeseung repeats, tilting his head as if the word is foreign to him. A crease runs along his brow, Jay is way drunker than he let on.

“Huh,” you utter, tilting your head too. “I actually thought m let down would’ve gotten a bigger reaction out of you.” 

A moment passes, and then another before Heeseung says, “You can sit if you want. I don’t know if you’re going to stay long or anything, but you can always sit here.”

You smile and he can hear it, watching you take your coat off before sitting on the couch. It’s a bit of a stretch from where you’re sitting but you reach over to turn on the lamp in the corner and Heeseung sits too, as far away as he can. You look comfortable, like you’re supposed to be there and the thought warms his heart.

“You didn’t have to come here. I’m happy you did but you didn’t have to,” he says after too long. 

A frown tugs your lips down. “Of course, I did. I care about you, Heeseung, you know that.” 

Now doesn’t seem like the time to argue, so he makes a mental note to mull over this later. “I know,” he lies, his voice nothing more than a mumble as he nods. 

“Did you guys have fun?” 

Deciding it best to pretend his Crush cover went well, he nods again, smiling as he thinks about the nice parts of boys’ night. With your encouragement, he talks happily for a while about their song choices and the way they all came together in the end. “I feel like we’d get on pretty well as an AC/DC tribute act.” 

“Do you know what room you were in? There’s got to be a way for me to pull the security footage and see for myself.” 

“I actually think Jimin works there, she might be able to hook you up.”

“Jimin?” you repeat in a different tone. The shift is so subtle that Heeseung barely picks up on it, never mind placing it or knowing what it might mean. If he were any more delusional, he might think you’re jealous, but the curiosity in your voice tells him to get out of his head. 

“Yeah, this one girl in the year above,” he explains. “She transferred to humanities so we had a couple classes together last term.” 

“Oh, cool.” 

He really can’t work out your tone and it’s disconcerting. Maybe he should talk about Jimin some more. “She’s like mega smart, and really nice too. She was actually at the club that night! The girl I was talking to when you and Jay went to get drinks,” he says, suddenly remembering. 

“Good for Jimin.” 

“I think you’d like her.” He smiles. “You know, if you’re looking for friends or anything.” 

You only nod, pressing your lips together and leaving Heeseung at a complete loss for words. He watches you chewing on the inside of your cheek, playing with the thread bracelet on your wrist. “I’ve always loved your voice,” you mumble, looking down.

“I know.. You used to beg me to stay up on the phone singing for you.” Heeseung presses his lips together after speaking, mentally locking them and throwing away the key.

You nod with a smile on your face that makes his stomach flutter. “You’re, like, the best guy ever.” 

That makes sense. That Heeseung could be like, the best guy ever but not quite good enough to stay with. He mulls over your words and contemplates setting himself on fire. Standing up from the couch, he goes over to his room. From the doorway, he says, “You can share Jay’s bed, it’s too late to go home by yourself.” 

Heeseung closes his door with plans to stay inside the whole night, but only manages an hour before he gets sick of the stale taste in his mouth. He leaves quietly, and in the light from outside, he sees you sleeping on the sofa with your hands tucked under your head. His heart sinks. Without much thought, he carries you to his room, tucks you in and runs away before doing something stupid like kissing your head to go and brush his teeth. Unlike you, he’s not afraid to wake Jay up, pushing the boy over to make room for himself on his bed, where he lays awake for hours trying to figure out what went wrong with you two until his head starts to hurt. 

In the morning, Heeseung doesn’t see you before you leave, but he spends the better part of an hour with his ear pressed against Jay’s door, eavesdropping on your conversation. If you weren’t talking about him he might feel guilty about this, but you are, so.. 

“I just feel bad, you know? I don’t know how to fit into his life and I feel like I’m only making things harder for him by being here,” you say. “Harder for everyone.”

Heeseung grips the doorframe until his knuckles turn white. He’s spent too much time thinking about how to be your friend without actually trying to be, too caught up in his own feelings to see how he’s affecting everyone else. The corners of his lips droop at the thought. 

“We’re happy to have you back, Heeseung too. He’s just.. hurting, you know? I’m not sure if you heard but he kind of got blindsided and dumped by his high school girlfriend,” Jay says. 

You laugh drily and he pictures the way you roll your eyes. “Hey, uh, random Q, what do you know about Jimin?” 

Jay’s quiet for a bit. Or he’s whispering. Heeseung presses his entire body to the door as if it’ll help. “Yoo Jimin?” he asks. 

“Probably. Heeseung’s friend.” 

“She’s cool,” he answers simply. “You’d like her.” 

“So I keep hearing. What’s going on with them?” 

“Nothing really. They met at some party last year, both pretty drunk, and somehow ended up in a random bedroom where she tried hooking up with him.” Jay’s words strike Heeseung like a jolt, his heart pounds and his stomach twists. It takes a lot for him and the knot in his stomach not to burst out of the room and clear things up. The main thing stopping him though, is that Jay’s telling the truth. “But he misread the whole thing and ended up detailing your entire relationship for two hours,” Jay adds after a while. 

“And now?” 

“Why do you care?” Jay’s tone is teasing but the question makes Heeseung spiral. 

His mouth starts to dry up at the thought of you admitting that you don’t care, that you’re over him and just being nosy. Panic swells in his chest and he jumps away from the door as if it’s red hot, scrambling back under the covers of Jay’s bed and falling back asleep. 

In the following two weeks, Heeseung finds himself mastering the art of avoidance. He fills his evenings with pick-up basketball games with Mark on random courts in the neighbourhood and rushes out of class before you have the chance to talk to him. Playing with Mark is fun, but he can’t ignore the regret festering within him, a persistent thorn in his side. Fortunately for him, Jay, whether knowingly or not, presents him with a potential turning point. He’s invited you and the boys over for pres before his party, instructing Heeseung to get his shit together and acknowledge your existence. 

On the night before his birthday, the apartment echoes with your voice, yelling at Jake to get off the floor. Sunghoon’s cackles only get louder, filling the space. Behind his closed bedroom door, Heeseung catches a panicked glance of himself in the mirror, running a hand through his hair and adjusting his bangs. He lingers in his room as long as he can, trying to put off seeing you.

Jay opens the door without knocking, a lazy grin on his face and a slight sway in his stance that tells Heeseung he’s drunk already. “What are you doing? We’re waiting.” 

“I don’t know,” he admits. 

Rolling his eyes, Jay lets out a tired groan. It’s an unspoken scolding that Heeseung heeds immediately, following him into the kitchen, where Jake is messily pouring shots on the counter. He doesn’t see you anywhere, but Sunghoon distracts him, cheering and wrapping his arms around him—also drunk already. “She’s in Jay’s room, Yunjin called,” he says. “Oh, yeah, happy almost birthday, man. Twenty is crazy.” 

By the looks of things, Sunghoon’s on a mission to kill Heeseung. Twenty shots for his twentieth birthday doesn’t sound like as much fun as Sunghoon thinks it does, it sounds like a punishment or a death sentence. Heeseung — put off by the smell of vodka — manages four shots before tapping out, deciding that he’d quite like to remember tonight and wake up on his birthday without a headache.

Heeseung’s eyes widen when you show up in the doorway, a confusing sense of surprise washing over him. It’s not like he didn’t know you were here; he heard you earlier. It’s just that your sudden presence catches him off guard. His heart skips a beat and a sudden rush of nerves courses through him. He takes in your appearance, his eyes tracing every inch of you before meeting your eyes. As you run your hand through your hair, you smile at him, so pretty and genuine that he can’t help grinning back.

Your dress is beautiful, of course—black satin, he thinks, with pretty pink ribbons tied into perfect bows on the top, and you’re the only girl Heeseung’s ever wanted in his life. 

A whispered whoa falls from his lips, which seem to rest in an ‘o’ as he stares at you. You’re looking away from him now, focused on the tequila puddle Jake’s left on the counter, grabbing some paper towels to mop it up. Jay snorts beside him, nudging his ribs hard. “You’ll catch flies, Heeseung. Come on—decorum, please.” 

Heeseung clears his throat, running a hand through his hair and wiping his palms on his pants, but he doesn’t make any moves towards you. 

“Do something,” Jay mumbles. 

He nods in response, repeating do something, over and over in his head until he finally approaches you. “Hey,” he says, breathless. His heart hammers in his chest when you look up at him, beaming. 

“Heeseung,” you say. “Happy almost birthday. How’re you feeling?” 

Before he has a chance to respond, you wrap your arms around his waist, and like it’s the most natural thing in the world, his arms fall around your shoulders, holding you close. It’s perfect. Some combination of your warm scent and alcohol causes the butterflies in his stomach to rage, fluttering so frantically he thinks he might be sick. 

“Insane,” he admits. 

He can hear you laughing, feeling your chuckles against his chest. “You know, what?” You lean away from him, arms still around his waist, eyes locked on his and a soft smile on your lips. “Me too.” 

An odd weakness settles in his knees, a dizzying flutter alighting his entire body as he nods. Over his shoulder, Sunghoon calls for him, chanting, “More shots! More shots!” For a while, Heeseung ignores him, watching you until he feels his ears heating up at the top. 

“I think I have to go,” he mumbles, eyes locked on your lips. They curl up into a crooked grin, and you use a hand to pat his chest. 

“Good luck.” 

Heeseung takes a deep breath when you let go of him, taking shaky steps towards his friend, who’s grinning widely enough to show his fangs. “Sorry to interrupt, I think you could use the help though,” Sunghoon says, holding out a shot glass to him.

He shakes his head at the shot, taking it from Sunghoon’s hand and placing it down on the table. “I need a minute.” 

Sunghoon only shrugs, taking the drink himself, knocking it back with no visible reaction, and Heeseung thinks he must be a monster. “I really think you could fix things tonight,” he says afterwards, pouring another. 

Instead of taking this in stride, Heeseung decides to pretend you don’t exist after hugging you—it’ll be easier that way. To him, this looks like staring at you in your pretty dress and snapping his neck in the opposite direction when you look over at him. 

To appease Sunghoon, he takes another three shots and has to sit down, overwhelmed by the way his cheeks burn and how the kitchen starts to tilt around him. His mouth is oddly dry; a sensation that has nothing to do with you or the way you look in your dress. This time when you catch him staring, he smiles. 

Even in his beyond-tipsy state, Jay manages to ensure everyone leaves the flat before requesting an Uber. Heeseung finds himself sitting cross-legged on the pavement, for some reason, scrolling through his camera roll. 

“Car’s here, get up,” Jay eventually mumbles, nudging his back with the tip of his shoe.

With some stumbling, Heeseung stands up, dusts off his pants and heads to the car. Jay holds the door open for you, and as you slide across the backseat, your dress rides up. Heeseung screws his eyes shut, shaking his head to clear his thoughts, like resetting an etch-a-sketch. Jay’s hand claps his back as he instructs him to get in, which he does. Hesitantly, he slides into the middle seat, glancing to his right to see who’ll be joining you. 

“You’ll thank me later!” Jay calls out, closing the door. 

Before he even has a chance to shift over, your hand lands firmly on his knee, silently urging him to stay put. With a pounding heart, he complies. The back of his hand brushes against your thigh as he fastens his seatbelt, and the feeling of your soft skin against his leaves him breathless. He feels afloat when the car starts moving. A few minutes pass before you take your hand from his knee, mumbling an apology as you place it on your lap, idly playing with your fingers.

Mark lives about twenty minutes away, leaving Heeseung with something close to sixteen minutes to think of something to say. R&B from the early 2000s rumbles through the speakers in the car, vaguely explicit lyrics alluding to something he’s craving fill the space around the two of you, wrapped up in your warm vanilla scent and the fresh peppermint gum you’re chewing. To put it simply, there’s not a coherent thought in his head he could express that wouldn’t get him into trouble. 

“I didn’t know you were on the basketball team,” you say after a while. “Well, I did know, but you know.” 

“I don’t know,” he admits quietly because he has no idea what you’re talking about. 

A beat passes before you speak again. “How was your day?” 

The first thing on his mind is what falls from his lips. “You look beautiful,” Heeseung blurts out, trying to ignore the tinge of anxiety that’s irritating his stomach. “Your dress is.. It’s really pretty,” he adds, feeling as though he won’t lose anything by putting everything on the table. 

“Thanks.” You smile. “You look beautiful too.” 

Heeseung’s breath hitches in his throat and he looks down at his outfit in the dark. If Jay hadn’t interfered, he’d be wearing a hoodie and sweatpants right now, but he’s happy with the simple striped shirt and loose pants Jay suggested, even if it leaves him a little chilly. “It’s, uh, it’s actually my birthday party tonight,” he supplies uselessly.

You laugh, and it’s the best sound he’s ever heard. “I kind of just meant in general.” 

“Me too.” 

The car falls silent as he lets his head fall into the space between the headrests and closes his eyes. When you reach Mark’s house, he opens them and finds you staring with a smile. “I thought you fell asleep,” you say.

He shakes his head, sliding over the backseat and opening the door. He didn’t expect you to leave from the same side as him, but he likes the heat on his cheeks as he closes the door for you. Wordlessly, the two of you go through the gate and join Jay, Jake, and Sunghoon who are sitting cross-legged on the porch, giggling around a shared joint. He has no idea how they arrived before you did. 

Heeseung isn’t sure how he loses you guys but it’s not until his third round of beer pong that he actually notices. Lee Jeno and his red eyes are a poor shot, barely managing to throw the ball without hitting Heeseung’s chest or dropping it before he gets to aim. He almost feels bad for the guy when he sinks another one of his cups, watching Jeno frown before pinching his nostrils shut and taking a big gulp. 

Jay’s sudden presence startles him, though he’s quick to grin at his best friend. The smile isn’t returned. Instead, he leans up to Heeseung’s ear, yelling that YN’s crying before nudging his way out of the room. His heart sinks and he offers no explanation to Jeno, following Jay upstairs and into the bathroom where he finds you, sitting on the floor, crying into Sunghoon’s shirt while Jake watches with a frown, picking at his nails. 

“What happened?” 

Jake talks with a hushed tone while Sunghoon helps you up before leaving. “She didn’t say anything, she just asked us to go to the bathroom with her and started crying.” He opens his mouth to continue but Jay yanks him out of the room, closing the door. 

“I’m not, like, upset or anything,” you say after a while, wiping your eyes with the back of your hands. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m sorry. I really didn’t want to ruin tonight for you so I told Jake not to say anything, but obviously, he didn’t listen.” 

“Jake did the right thing telling Jay, none of us want to see you upset.” 

“I’m not upset.” You hit Heeseung’s chest with a weak fist, crying more. “Why does everyone think I’m upset?”

“It might be the tears,” he offers, feeling good about making you smile. 

“Yeah, maybe.” 

“Are you using a new liner? Mascara? You still look good.” 

You take a look in the mirror, resting your hands on the edge of the sink. “Yeah, I discovered waterproof makeup in first year.” 

“Is it harder to take off?” 

“Definitely, but it’s worth it, I think, for nights like this.” 

“Yeah, right.” Heeseung nods, watching you carefully as he sits on the edge of the bathtub. It’s like being in high school, seeing you like this. Most of the parties you went to were spent in the bathroom, with Heeseung holding your hair back and trying to calm you down after throwing up. He misses all of it except the vomit. “Are you okay?” 

Catching his gaze in the mirror, you nod but look down at your hands when he says your name. “It’s just a little harder being back than I thought it would be.” 

“Oh.” 

You sigh, playing with your hair as you sit down next to him. “Obviously it’s great seeing the guys all the time, seeing you all the time, but everything’s fucked and we act like strangers and it’s killing me not being able to just..” you trail off. Heeseung is clearly drunker than he feels because it looks like your eyes are stuck on his lips. After a beat you slide away from him, moving until your back hits the wall. A mixture of frustration and something else colours your face. “I just don’t like treating you like a stranger and I don’t know how to fix it.” Before he has a chance to think or to say anything you ask him for the time. 

“It’s 12:23.” 

“Happy birthday!” you say, smiling. “Am I the first to say it?” 

“You’re always first.” Even last year, you sent a text at midnight, so Heeseung’s not sure why there’s a surprised look in your eyes or why it’s making him want to kiss you more than usual. “You don’t have to treat me like a stranger if you don’t want to,” he says carefully, trying to get you both back on track. 

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to act around you.” 

His voice is soft when he says, “Honestly, neither do I.” 

“I wish I never left.” 

“Everything happens for a reason, I guess.” Despite the small smile on his face, he’s still trying to understand what reason you had. 

An exhaled laugh comes from your nose and you nudge him. “Were you secretly trying to get rid of me?” 

“You caught me,” he sighs, holding out his hands in defeat. “I had this whole elaborate plan. I was going to fake my death, but you saved me the trouble. Thanks for that.” 

Both of you share a genuine laugh and the tension in the air eases up a bit. Heeseung’s eyes meet yours; a brief moment of silence follows. You clear your throat. “I’m sorry for leaving. I really wish things could’ve been different.” 

It can’t be your intention to hurt him by saying that, but you do, leaving Heeseung feeling the full spectrum of his emotions. A pang of hurt, of longing—hurting himself even more as he thinks about the could-have-beens. He purses his lips, looking down at his shoes. “Me too.” Sick of the tension, of his feelings, he glances at you, sitting up a little straighter. “How about we start fresh? Clean slate?” 

“Clean slate?” you echo, raising an inquisitive brow. 

Heeseung nods, determined, extending his hand for you to shake. “I’m Heeseung.”

“YN,” you chuckle, taking his hand in yours. 

He holds onto it, a playful grin tugging at his lips. “Funny, you look just like my ex.” 

Your eyes widen, amused. “Wow, Hee, you always know just what to say.” 

The two of you sit quietly for a moment, but Heeseung’s just glad you’re not crying anymore. He feels lighter now, hopefully you do too. Standing up, he holds out a hand to help you get to your feet which you take, smiling up at him as you straighten out your dress. 

“You know,” he says, clapping his hands together. “For a second there, I thought I’d need a manual on how to talk to you again, but I think we’re doing pretty well.” 

Heeseung feels pleased with himself when you laugh, rolling your eyes and nudging his chest with your hand. “Shut up,” you say, light and playful. 

“Are you ready to get back to the guys?” 

You smile at him, nodding before quickly turning back to the mirror. “Do I look okay?” 

It doesn’t make sense to Heeseung that a girl as beautiful as you could ever look just okay. Even with the slight swell to your glassy eyes, you’re the most perfect person he’s ever seen. But he can’t say that. So instead, he pulls a sharp breath through his teeth, tilting his head a bit and raising his hand in a horizontal gesture, his fingers wobbling as if balancing an imaginary scale. A  non-committal sound escapes him, a soft eh before he laughs at the way your jaw drops. 

You punch his arm. “Heeseung!” 

“Come on, you know you look great,” he mumbles, looking away to hide the flush in his cheeks. The sound of your lips spreading into a smile makes his stomach flutter as he opens the door to find Jay, Jake, and Sunghoon sitting cross-legged in the hall in front of it.

“Birthday boy!” Jay yells, springing to his feet and flinging his arms around Heeseung. 

“And YN!” Jake adds from his seat. 

Heeseung hears you saying thanks to Jake before sitting next to him. 

“So, did you two kiss and make up or what?” Jay’s attempt at whispering is futile and somehow Heeseung’s cheeks burn even more as he frees himself from his friend’s hold. 

“Kiss, no. Make up, yes.” 

“Playing the long game, I like it.” Jay grins, patting Heeseung on the back. “Sit down, let’s talk.” 

Heeseung sits in the space next to Sunghoon, holding his legs awkwardly to his chest. He’s not entirely sure what’s happening and he feels like he’s not drunk enough anymore to fully relax into it, until you leave Jake’s side, crawling over to Heeseung and resting your head on his shoulder. In the dim hall, the boys shuffle around but it’s too dark to see what they’re doing—not that he cares much at this point, letting his head rest on top of yours and closing his eyes. It almost sounds quite pretty when they start singing Happy Birthday, and Jake has a tiny lunchbox cake in his hands when Heeseung opens his eyes. Its purple-frosted TWENT-HEE is disrupted by a half-smoked joint stuck in the centre which the flash on Sunghoon’s phone provides a makeshift flame for. 

“Make a wish!” you squeal, clapping your hands. 

It takes three attempts for Heeseung and Sunghoon to coordinate the timing between his exhale and Sunghoon turning the flash off, but the candle is blown out, and, right now. Heeseung has everything he’s ever wanted. 

Almost. 

Heeseung wakes up pressed against the wall with an arm wrapped around his waist. An embarrassing surge of excitement courses through him as he thinks about your conversation and puts his hand over yours. What he’s met with is less of the softness he’d anticipated, and more of the coarse skin and defined knuckles he’s come to recognise as Jake’s hand under the duvet. It only takes a look over his shoulder to make sense of why Heeseung’s nose is grazing his bedroom wall. Behind him is Jake, who’s being spooned by you, and behind you is Sunghoon who’s clinging onto your frame for dear life, even in his slumber. Evidently, Jay’s had a successful night and with his unwavering loyalty to Yunjin, it’s not hard to figure out what happened in the room across the hall.

With his eyes pressed shut, desperate to clutch some more sleep, he hears you mumbling. “Park Sunghoon, if you don’t wake up and let go of me, I’ll kill you,” you say with a tone that frightens Heeseung and sets off a flutter in his stomach. The yelp and thud that follow seem to wake Jake up and he crawls over you to get out of bed, stretching his arms out above his head and making no effort to step over Sunghoon on the floor. You roll over in the bed, wrapping an arm around Heeseung’s waist and pressing yourself into his side. “Happy birthday,” you say through a yawn before getting up. 

He manages to mumble a thanks, butterflies running wild in his stomach and a flush creeping up his neck as he watches you leave the room, eyes stuck on the way your hips move in last night’s dress. He gets out of bed, sighing, untucking his shirt to cover the tightness in his pants before joining his friends in the kitchen. 

Hungry but unmoving, you and the boys occupy the three seats at the small kitchen table, harping on about the different things as Jake whines, begging you to keep it down. 

Heeseung’s first intense emotion as a sober twenty-year-old is betrayal. There are used dishes lying in the sink, plates, mugs, and pans — two of each — staring up at him, wafting the scent of a cooked breakfast, with no leftovers in sight, up to his nostrils. He sighs, wondering if it’s his responsibility as host, and eldest friend, to make more food for everyone, or if, as the birthday boy, he should sit around and wait for someone else to take action. Settling on the latter, he sights up on the countertop, sure to keep his back to you so he doesn’t have to see the low neckline of your dress.

Finally, Jay comes back, whistling an unfamiliar tune and twirling his keys on his finger when he reaches the kitchen. “Hello,” he says simply, leaning against the doorjamb as if he hadn’t single-handedly ruined Heeseung’s birthday. 

Sunghoon rubs his eyes, looking in Jay’s direction. “So now, if I want a nice breakfast after a night out, do I have to fuck you?” 

Jay’s cheeks flush as he looks at his feet. “I mean, I planned to cook for you guys when I got back.” 

“I don’t want your sloppy seconds,” he scoffs, slumping in his chair. 

“I do, Jay. Cook for me,” you say, gesturing toward Jay’s general direction making grabby hands at him.

With a gentle smile, he crosses the room and pats your head. “What are you in the mood for?”

“Anything,” you mumble into his shirt. 

Jay nods, going over to the fridge. He stands in front of it with his hands on his hips, completely still for almost two minutes and Heeseung only approaches him because he’s worried about the outside heat getting on all the food through the open door. 

“What are you doing?” he asks, uttering his first sentence of the morning. 

Jay clears his throat, scratching the back of his neck as he leans towards Heeseung. “I, uh, finished the eggs, milk, and bacon.” A nervous look covers his face before he continues. “And we ate your Hello Kitty pancake mix,” he adds, mumbling like he doesn’t want to be heard. 

Unfortunately, he is, and Heeseung’s mortified. “My Hello Kitty pancake mix?!” He takes a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. “YN got that for me, we were supposed to make those together.” His voice is as whiny as his volume will allow, and he struggles not to stomp his feet. 

“Oh, you were? How’d that work out?” Jay’s words are cutting. 

“Okay, ouch.” 

“Dude, it was expiring next week. Plus, Yunjin just looked so cute when she saw it—I had to.” 

“What if I wanted to make them this week?” 

“You’ve had the box for two years,” Jay reminds him. “Think of Yunjin.” 

With a sigh, Heeseung actually does think of Yunjin. Although the girl he envisions is different from the one Jay wants him to imagine. 

They met on the first day of university. She had a guitar strapped to her back, and a huge amp in hand when she approached him. Her eyes were wide with nervousness or excitement; Heeseung couldn’t tell which. Immediately, she extended her free hand for him to shake. “Yunjin,” she said. 

“No.” He shook his head while pointing at himself. “Heeseung.” From the way she laughed at his stupid joke, he knew she was the next girl Jay would fall for.

Jay had a habit of falling in love with the first girl to do something nice for him on any given day. And then the next girl. But after hearing Yunjin talk about her gap year, spent learning guitar seriously, Heeseung had a feeling things were going to change for his friend. He was right. 

The memory, along with the satisfaction of having figured those two out from the beginning, brings a warm smile to Heeseung’s face. “You owe me.” 

“Yeah, whatever. I owe you,” Jay scoffs, though the slight furrow in his brow suggests genuine remorse. “Just so you know, they weren’t special or anything.. just pancakes, you know?” 

Heeseung chuckles despite himself. “Are you trying to make me feel better?” 

“Maybe a little,” Jay shrugs. To his credit, it works. 

At least until Heeseung’s stomach grumbles, a noisy reminder of why they’re standing there in the first place. He also learns the hard way that the fridge starts to beep when you leave it open too long. Jay laughs through his nose, closing the door with his elbow. 

“What are we eating?” 

Jay seems to think about this for a minute, tilting his head and suggesting McDonald’s. 

If asked, Heeseung probably wouldn’t have said he pictured spending the morning of his twentieth birthday squished between Jake and Sunghoon in a sticky booth, but he’s here and can’t find anything to complain about as he inhales his breakfast. Too caught up in the way his hoodie drapes over you, he listens half-heartedly as you all quiz Jay on his night. It seems like he’s being pretty tight-lipped about the whole thing but the dreamy grin on his face is hard to miss. 

Eventually, you all pile back into Jay’s car, with Heeseung sitting shotgun as a birthday gift, that he doesn’t get to fully enjoy because he falls asleep as soon as the car starts moving. He sinks into the front seat, a contented smile playing on his lips as the warmth of the sun and his full stomach lull him into a peaceful nap. 

At home, he thanks Jay before crawling into bed where he replies to messages before letting his head fall into the pillow.

His eyes don’t even close all the way before you come into the room. “Can I nap in here?” 

Heeseung nods, watching you get comfortable under his duvet. In a matter of seconds, you’re just an arm’s reach away, softly snoring with your back to him. Meanwhile, he spends four hours laying completely still, trying to convince himself that the heat radiating from your sleeping form doesn’t make him miss you more. 

At around 3 p.m. when everyone wakes up, you and the boys hurry away for various mumbled reasons, leaving Heeseung home alone, trying to practise his surprised face for whenever you’re all back with cake and a gift. 

You don’t return until Heeseung’s hair has started to dry after his shower, but you waste no time shuffling around the kitchen before coming back with a pretty cake and real candles with a real flame, singing for him again. With the way Jake’s rushing him, Heeseung can’t come up with a wish in time, so blows out the candles with a clear mind. 

“Woo!” Jake cheers, clapping around a wrapped present that he immediately thrusts into Heeseung’s hands. “Open it!” 

He barely gets to peel the first piece of tape before he jumps off the couch and kneels down next to him. “It’s LEGO! The Infinity Gauntlet, you know? And the best part is..” Jake pauses dramatically. “You get to put it together with your best friend, Jake! Right now!” His excitement is endearing even though he’s ruined the surprise. “The others can help too, I guess.” 

You frown at him. “I paid for the kind lady at the LEGO store to gift wrap that for us.” 

“Yeah, and she did great!” Jake grins. “Can I help you open it? Please, Heeseung, please. You’re taking forever.”

With a smile, Heeseung hands the box to Jake, letting him open it carefully before Sunghoon joins in, tearing the paper to shreds all while Jay records the whole moment like a proud father. All five of you are sitting on the floor now, covered in wrapping paper while Jake holds the LEGO set up like it’s his, blinking hard at the camera with a smile on his face, and it’s Heeseung’s favourite birthday yet. 

my girl: who wants to take me on a date?

Heeseung knows he should probably change your contact name but the notification still makes his cheeks burn in a way he thinks he likes.

jake: heeseung probably 

jake: idk tho

my girl: ok heeseung come to the museum with me for class

sunghoon: next time open with the museum thing holy shit.. i almost fucking volunteered

heeseung: when?

my girl: i would have rejected you hoon

my girl: whenever ur free !

Heeseung’s schedule always has a way of clearing up when it comes to you, and he skips pick-up with Mark to pick you up at your door that evening. You answer right when Heeseung knocks, sliding some rings onto your fingers with a smile on your face, saying, “Hello.” 

“You..” Heeseung swallows, nodding his head. He’s doing his best not to check you out but he really can’t help it when your jeans seem to fit like they were made for you. “Hi,” he whispers. 

“Hey.” 

He clears his throat, finally managing to unstick his gaze from your thighs and gestures in the direction of the stairs. “Shall we?” 

At the train station, you don’t object when Heeseung pays for your ticket, he didn’t mean to, his finger just clicked through for two tickets instead of one. He’s happy when you don’t make a big deal about it, only smiling and thanking him when he hands you the ticket. He stands close behind you, protective, letting the peak-time commuters nudge past him instead of you as you wait in line for the only working ticket barrier. You go through first and Heeseung quietly follows, trying to keep his eyes off your ass and praying that the rest of the day goes by more comfortably than it’s started. 

The train is packed too, so you stand by the doors and, again, Heeseung stands maybe a little closer than necessary, his arm above his head gripping the yellow handrail. “Why did you want to go to the museum anyway?” he asks, gulping when you look up at him. 

“I’ve always liked museums.” You shrug, playing with the buttons on your cardigan. 

“I know, it’s just.. You said earlier you wanted to go for one of your classes.” 

“Right. It’s a requirement for one of them. Visualising Culture,” you explain, looking him in the eyes. Suddenly nervous, he doesn’t trust his voice to speak so he nods, keeping his gaze fixed on yours. “Museum and Exhibition Studies.” 

“Cool.” 

“Yeah.” You nod and turn your head from him, looking through the window. 

Your eyes are stuck on the trees outside, blurring into each other, and his eyes are stuck on the side of your face, staring shamelessly for the rest of the journey. A tinny voice announces the name of the station you’re approaching, and you nudge Heeseung gently, a silent signal that it’s time to leave. Silence seems to follow you out of the station and into the museum, but he tells himself he doesn’t mind. 

For the last hour, you’ve been looking at artwork without taking note of anything or making comments, all while Heeseung observes you, wondering what you’re supposed to be doing for class. “What’s the point of this trip?” he finally asks. 

Without backing away from the painting, you turn your head to look at him, raising a brow. “What do you mean?” 

“Like, what’s your task?”

You chew on your lip for a bit before looking back at the painting. He can’t help but wonder if in all your time away you’ve been flexing some sort of elitist muscle, or if it’s come about as a result of your fancy exhibition studies class that you had to take a test to be accepted into. Finally, you lean away from the painting and use your phone to take a picture of the blurb before looking at him again. 

“I wanted an excuse to get someone to come to the museum with me and I wanted it to be you.” 

Your words are so cute and so honest that his heart warms in his chest, even as he ignores his sadness about the fact you felt like you needed an excuse to hang out. “You could have just asked me.” 

Considering his words, you frown, tilting your head at him. “You make it sound so easy.” 

“It is easy, or it should be, it’s us,” he says unthinkingly. Clearing his throat, he scratches the back of his neck. “I mean, that’s, like, the whole point of having friends, right? To hang out with them?” 

“Well.. yes. I just.. I don’t know.” 

Somehow, this makes perfect sense to Heeseung who only nods his head, moving on from the frame when you do. It’s nice watching you admire the art, to watch the soft smile that develops as your eyes scan the canvas. 

You like looking at the paintings when no one else is, to get up close and try spotting the brush strokes. You like imagining the artist and how they might have felt as they painted, and when the paint is thick, protruding from the canvas, when you can see streaks of yellow peeking through a sludgy green. You have a lot to say about the paintings and how they make you feel, and how they don’t make you feel, finding something you like in all of them.

After a while, you grab Heeseung’s hand and excitedly pull him through all the Ancient Egypt stuff, and he’s too happy that his fingers are locked with yours to worry about his aching feet anymore, and you’re so cute with your wide grin that he doesn’t have the heart to tell you he’d like to sit down. He hates you a little when the two of you take turns writing your names in hieroglyphs, and you somehow manage to maintain your neat handwriting. But you make up for it by writing his name too, drawing a pretty butterfly at the end that makes his heart race.

You start rambling about shabtis and how people were typically buried with a few, depending on their wealth and status, but Tutankhamun was buried with something like four hundred, and some of them were even painted to look like him. “Look at how pretty this one is,”  you say, grinning while holding your phone in his face with a picture of one. Your excitement peaks when you reach the big sarcophagus, and you let out a squeal when you open it and three kids run out, bursting into a fit of giggles. You’re excessively cute when you ask him to take a picture of you, and then make him take a video opening the front while you're ‘dead’ inside it. Which takes a few attempts because you’re laughing each time.

You tell him to delete those takes. He doesn’t.

Right when he’s expecting you to get out, you grab him by the wrist and pull him in with you, closing the front of it before letting go of him. Heeseung is certain he’s lived this exact moment before, but he was seventeen and you were giggling like crazy, feeling around in the dark for his shoulders to wrap your arms around before kissing him. He has no idea what he’s supposed to do or what you want him to do, and the feeling of your breath fanning his neck in the tight space isn’t helping. 

Silent minutes pass by like hours until a kid pulls the sarcophagus open. The light is blinding but Heeseung steps out, relieved, almost thanking the kid for saving him. You’re fiddling with your necklace and struggling to meet his eyes. When you do though, you shoot him an easy grin, laughing to yourself about nothing. 

“Do you want to get something to eat?” Drinks maybe?” you ask after a while, playing with the zipper on your jacket. 

Heeseung takes you to a restaurant where university students he’s only seen on Instagram walk around like they own the place. A tired-looking guy comes to take your orders before you even have a chance to take your coat off so Heeseung asks for a minute and the waiter leaves. There’s something in his demeanour though that makes it seem like you only have one full minute to make up your minds. 

“What do you want to drink?” you ask, holding the drinks menu out to him. 

Heeseung closes it, sitting it on the table. “Probably a beer.” 

You laugh at this. “You don’t have to act all manly in front of me.” There’s a soft look in your eyes like you mean it. 

“I actually like beer these days.” 

Your brows raise and your jaw drops before you utter the word whoa. 

“What?” he asks, suddenly self-conscious. 

You shrug, collecting yourself. “You’re just.. different now.” 

The very prospect of being different is shocking to Heeseung who prides himself on being pretty consistent with his behaviour. His brows knit together as he tilts his head. “Because I like beer?” he asks, scoffing slightly at the mere suggestion. 

“I mean, that’s part of it.” To his dismay, this seems to be the end of your sentence. He gives you a little nod, hoping you read his mind and elaborate like he wants you to. “You bleached your hair, pierced your cartilage, what’s next? Are you going to tell me you have a tattoo?” 

Heeseung feels his breath catch in his throat when you say the word tattoo but you don’t seem to notice. “It’s been a year,” he points out, folding the corner of his napkin, pressing his thumb against it with enough pressure to leave a defined fold and have it stick up a little when he lets go. 

“I know, it’s just.. weird, you know?” Your voice is small when you speak, soft and quiet, barely anything above the noise around you both.

Heeseung nods. He does know. 

“You’re weird too.” 

“How?” There’s a defensive tone to your voice that makes him chuckle. 

“You’ve always been weird.” 

A dramatic frown curves your lips and the waiter is back before you can object. Leaning forward slightly, he orders for both of you, the sharing platter of fried chicken, your French Martini, and his controversial draught beer. He doesn’t miss the way you raise your brows when he orders the beer, as if you’d been waiting to catch him out or something. After the waiter leaves, Heeseung meets your gaze briefly, matching the gentle smile on your lips before looking away. 

The drinks only take a few minutes and you thank the waiter before looking over at Heeseung, a mischievous glint in your eyes as you slide your cocktail over to him. “Do you want to try?” 

He nods, lifting the glass and moving the straw out of the way to take a sip from the rim. Nodding his head, he hums in approval, eyes widening. “It’s good.” 

You lean back in your seat, twirling the straw when he hands the drink back to you. “Yeah?” you ask, smiling triumphantly as if you made it yourself. “A normal person would’ve used the straw.” 

Heeseung can’t help but roll his eyes, liking the way you laugh. “Are you acting out because I called you weird?” 

“A little.” 

The waiter places the platter at the centre of the table with a small smile, that you match, clearly hungrier than you’d been letting on as you lick your lips at the sight of the chicken. Heeseung’s stomach grumbles quietly as the scent hits his nose and he feels like he hasn’t eaten in days when a plate lands in front of each of you. A comfortable familiarity settles over him when he lets you pick first, and he knows you feel it too from the sweet smile you give him before eyeing the food. You take a while considering every wing, even though all of the pieces are scarily identical, before picking one and Heeseung follows, choosing with much less care than you, but enjoying it nonetheless.

Under your light-hearted scrutiny, he orders a cocktail the next time the waiter comes around. It’s much better than his beer, and so quickly, one cocktail turns into two until both you and Heeseung are four drinks in, laughing over nothing and putting in an effort not to slur your words together. 

Time seems to pass at the same rate as your drinks, though neither of you seems to notice until you check the time on your phone and your mouth falls into a gasp. Heeseung does the same when you show him your screen, you only have ten minutes to make the fifteen-minute walk back to the station so you can catch the last train. 

He gets up to settle the bill as quickly as humanly possible before you grab him by the hand and book it out of the restaurant. Though breathless, he knows he can’t let up, running as fast as his legs will carry him as he tugs you along behind him. Somehow you still have it in you to cackle every time either of you trips up. 

Out of breath, you both slump into the first seats you find, sobering up a little after the run. He looks at you and feels his heart snag in his chest. “You okay?” he asks, huffing out a breath that pushes his bangs into the air.

“No,” you whine, pouting and resting your head on Heeseung’s shoulder. He lets his head rest on top of yours reaching his hand out to grab your own. He squeezes it gently, in a way he hopes is comforting. You lock your fingers with his before he can pull away and Heeseung’s heart starts pounding again. 

He doesn’t realise you’ve fallen asleep until the train reaches your stop and you don’t react. He doesn’t want to wake you up, nor does he want to let go of your hand, but he knows he has to. Heeseung nudges you gently, rousing you from your sleep. “Let’s go,” he mumbles. 

Stretching your arms above your head, you nod while yawning. 

You take tired steps alongside him on the short walk back to your apartment, not saying anything until you reach your doorstep when you yawn once more, looking up at him. “I actually had fun today, thanks for hanging out with me.” 

“Actually?” Heeseung raises a brow. “Did you think you wouldn’t?” 

You shrug, chewing on your lip. “I thought it might be awkward.” 

“It kind of was.” 

“Maybe,” you admit with a nod. “It was a pretty successful first date though.” Your eyes are like saucers as your hand flies up to cover your mouth. “Not in that way. I’m only saying ‘date’ because that’s what I said in the chat—I would’ve called it a date if Hoon came with me, you know? I didn’t see this as a date if that’s what you’re thinking. Because it wasn’t. And I didn’t.” 

“Mhm,” Heeseung hums with a sceptical look on his face, finding amusement in watching you scramble to correct yourself. “First dates are always awkward, baby, don’t worry.” The endearment slips out before he can help it, his heart stopping in his chest until he sees you smiling. 

“Well, yeah, but this wasn’t a date, baby.” 

“Are you sure? I mean, you made me pay for your train ticket, I paid for dinner and drinks. As far as first dates go, I’ve been a perfect gentleman all night.” 

“That you have.” You nod once, firmly. “I’m not going to pay you back or anything. And this is hardly our first date.” 

Heeseung grins despite himself. “Is this your way of saying I can bill you for our other dates? Do you have savings?” 

Your head falls back in laughter, the sound infectious as it falls from your lips. You sigh softly, straightening up after a beat and nudging his shoulder with your fist. “Stop making me laugh or I’ll do something stupid like kiss you.” 

His heart races in his chest, caught between your laugh and the thought that maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing. “I feel like if we pulled up a typical date timeline we’d be right on track for that, don’t you think?” 

“Heeseung,” you mumble, face softening. It doesn’t seem like you’re finding this funny anymore. Your gaze locks on his lips — a hyper focus that makes him press them together nervously — before snapping up to meet his eyes. You gulp. “Goodnight, thank you for today.” 

“Anytime.” 

“Don’t say that or I’ll take you up on it.” 

Heeseung shrugs. “You say that like I’d have a problem with it.” 

“You wouldn’t?” 

“Never.” 

A small laugh comes through your nose as you smile up at him. “I’ll see you, let me know when you get home.” 

“Got it.” 

Wordlessly, you open the door, crossing the threshold before saying goodnight again. Heeseung says it back, watching you shut the door and waiting for the lock to click before he leaves. 

He’s never drinking with you again. 

Heeseung feels like he’s settling into the role of your friend quite well. So well that he can spend time alone with you without the discomfort he felt in September. Maybe he’s taking liberties, bending the word friendship to suit him, but as you lie in his bed together, your head on his chest as you nap, he can’t bring himself to care too much. He knows he’ll get hurt by this at some point, but for now, he’s just happy to play with your hair and try his best to fall asleep too. You don’t stir when Jay opens the door, stopping dead in his tracks at the sight before him, tilting his head before closing the door quietly. 

Sleep never reaches him, but he pretends to yawn, rubbing at his eyes when your alarm wakes you up, making a point to stretch his arms over his head and only respond to you in a lazy mumble when you speak. “Whose idea was it to nap between classes, again?”

“I think it was yours.”

“Damn,’ you mumble, yawning again before laying back down, head returning to his chest as if drawn by a magnet. “I think ten more minutes, fifteen, and then we wake up and go back.” 

“Or we could skip?” 

The suggestion makes you jolt upright, fully awake now. You let your eyes drag over his face, and maybe Heeseung’s being hopeful or straight-up imagining things, but your gaze lingers on his lips for more than a few seconds before you gulp and meet his eyes. “Lee Heeseung trying to skip class? I never thought I’d see the day.” A smile spreads over your lips, turning into a laugh as you throw your head back. “That was funny, Hee. Let’s go.’

Heeseung’s brows furrow, watching you stretch your arms out in front of you. Was it so hard to believe he would skip class if it meant spending more time with you? His lips settle into a pout. “I’m serious.”

“No, you’re scaring me. Come on, let’s go,” you say, making no attempts to get up. 

To prove a point, Heeseung shifts under the covers, lying on his side with his back to you. “You go ahead, I’m staying.” 

You sigh but don’t get out of bed, only lying down next to him and draping an arm over his waist. “Ten more minutes.” You press yourself against his back and he feels his heart racing. As quickly as he feels it, you stiffen behind him. “I’m not crossing a line, right? Holding you like this? It’s always been easier to sleep if you’re next to me,” you say into his shirt. 

Remembering the way you would cuddle into his side during sleepovers, his heart aches, wondering if you had endured the same sleepless nights as him. Heeseung only lifts your arm to turn onto his back, pulling you onto his chest like you had been earlier. “Fifteen,” he says. 

Seeing as neither of you bothered to set another alarm, you sleep through class, only waking up when it’s dark out and Jay comes back. “I bought dinner, come eat,” he says, leaving the door open on his way out. 

Wordlessly, you both peel yourselves from bed, dragging your feet to the kitchen to wash your hands before joining Jay in the living room. Heeseung sits cross-legged on the floor by the coffee table while you and Jay sit on the couch. He’s not awake enough to fully register your conversation over the rustle of plastic takeout bags and his sudden overwhelming hunger, but you’re telling Jay to shut up, mumbling something and he lets out an exaggerated groan, clutching his chest when Heeseung turns around to hand over your food. 

With his elbows on the table, he takes a bite from his burger and has to suppress a moan. Most of your conversation with Jay goes over his head and he doesn’t realise how much time has gone by until you’re standing at the door pulling on your shoes. Given the way Jay’s lying on the couch, Heeseung assumes he’s on walking-you-home duty and grabs a jacket before stuffing his feet into Jay’s slides. 

The conversation is light as you walk together, Heeseung making sure he’s on the edge of the pavement the whole time and letting you talk about your friends. The walk has become so natural now that he only realises you’re approaching home when you take out your key to open the door to your building. 

“Do you want to meet before class tomorrow? To go over the slides we missed today?” you ask, with something behind your eyes that Heeseung sleepily interprets as hope. 

He nods, smiling at you and waiting for you to lock the door before he leaves. 

Jay’s awake when Heeseung gets back home; he can’t say he’s surprised. Heeseung only nods at Jay, who sits on the couch, but he knows his flatmate well enough to know there’s a conversation coming because the TV is off and his laptop is shut. Heeseung makes it all the way to his door before Jay says anything. “You’re in way over your head.” 

Heeseung sighs, not in the mood. “Okay. Night,” he says, opening the door. 

By the time November arrives and Jake’s birthday approaches, everything is back to normal again. Turning nineteen, Jake celebrates with a modest pub crawl that spirals into a three-day bender, leaving him bedridden for nearly a week due to dehydration and fear of a test he’d forgotten to study for. 

In standard Jake fashion, he manages to bounce back and sits across from Jay at his favourite restaurant only six days after his actual birthday. Considering the state he was in, it’s a wonder he can stomach the smell of alcohol, let alone down four cocktails without a pause. Jay and Sunghoon exchange sighs, each supporting one of Jake’s sleeping arms on their shoulders to carry him home. 

“Cover the bill and let me know the amount. I’ll transfer you in the morning,” Jay mumbles before they leave. 

You shake your head when Heeseung asks if you want to go home as well. “Unless you want to,” you say, all of your words blending together. “If you want to go home, we can. I don’t want you sitting here bored or anything.” 

Heeseung smiles. “I’m not bored, we can stay as long as you like.” You seem to take this to heart, nodding and flagging down a waiter to order more drinks. “Let’s maybe slow down a little though,” he suggests. 

He pours you a glass of water and makes you drink the whole thing, withholding your alcohol until you’ve finished the cold tteokbokki in front of you. Gradually, you become more coherent, wiping your face with your hands and sitting up a little straighter. You thank him when he pours soju for you and take tiny sips from the glass here and there, telling Heeseung about some of the friends you made while you were away. There’s Yizhuo—sweet, funny, and down-to-earth. And Minjeong—a quiet girl who needed a while to warm up to new people. You tell him about meeting her for the first time, how unsure she seemed when Yizhuo introduced you two, but by the end of the night, she was falling asleep next to you in bed with her arms and legs tangled around you. 

“Do you miss them?” It’s a stupid question, anyone could tell from the fond smile on your face that you do. 

A beat passes while you think about it before shrugging. “Not as much as I missed being here.” If he wasn’t watching you, or looking you straight in the eye, he probably would’ve missed the longing in your gaze. 

He’s never known you to be subtle after a drink, and Heeseung knows he needs to nip this conversation in the bud before either of you says something you can’t take back. “How are you getting on with your research task?” he asks, while at the same time you say, “I’m so happy to be back.” 

A short laugh slips out of you, a hand falling to the table before wrapping around your glass. You bring it up to your face but don’t drink, only looking down into it as if it’ll tell you what to say. “Are you happy I’m back?” 

“Sure,” Heeseung says noncommittally. 

You sigh, sinking into your seat a little. “I loved you. I still love you,” you mumble. “Even after all that.” 

He’s not sure what to make of this, of anything you’re saying. It’s not like you had a messy breakup or anything. At least, he wouldn’t describe his long-term girlfriend breaking up with him and asking if they could be friends after as messy. Even in heartbreak, Heeseung was a reasonable person, and any reasonable person would’ve said no. Like he did. 

“I still.. You’re still the one for me.” 

His stomach lurches violently. “Don’t say that.” He gets out of his seat quicker than he means to and leaves you at the table, tapping his foot as he waits in line by the bar to pay the bill, praying he’s right about the two of you sitting at table ten when the cashier asks. With a folded receipt in his pocket and too much to think about, he returns to the table, only putting on his coat and mumbling, “Let’s go.” 

For some reason, you don’t seem to mirror his urgency, only finishing off the drink you had left in one go and sitting for a bit longer. He takes your jacket from the back of your chair and holds it open for you, helping you into it when you finally stand up. “Thanks,” you giggle.

Heeseung says nothing. 

The silence and fresh air outside are sobering as he watches an Uber driver through the app, very slowly moving from two minutes away to one before arriving. Maybe if you hadn’t said what you said at the table, he might have warmed to the idea of a forty-minute walk alone with you, but you did say those things and even the thought of this fifteen-minute car ride is unbearable when John (4.9 stars) pulls up on the curb outside. You thank Heeseung quietly when he opens the door for you, and against his better judgement, he walks over to the other side of the car and sits in the middle seat like he used to. 

Slow R&B murmurs through the speakers as the driver pulls off while Heeseung hums along. His thigh is pressed against yours but he does his best not to think about it, only chewing his lip when you rest your head on his shoulder. He lets his head rest on top of yours before regretting it.

He doesn’t move. 

It feels a little bit like the driver is playing Heeseung’s playlist, as every song he knows and loves seems to come on one after the other, steeping him in an odd comfort in the backseat of this car.

Your hand falls onto his knee so clumsily he’s sure it’s a mistake, so sure you’ll move it back into your lap that he’s genuinely surprised when you don’t. Unsure what to do, he chooses not to acknowledge it, acting like you sitting so close to him, like the feeling that no time has passed, doesn’t make his heart clench. Slowly but surely, your hand inches up his thigh—a motion Heeseung stops as soon as he realises, his hand falling heavily over yours and pushing it back to his knee. He thinks about keeping it there, but when he feels his thumb stroking your skin, he moves his hand immediately. You’ve obviously gotten the wrong idea. For a moment, he wonders if you’ve actually gotten the right idea. You have. But it can’t happen like this. After a few minutes, you move your hand again, and like before, Heeseung pushes it back, keeping his hand over yours and reminding himself not to move his thumb.

You’re drunk. This will pass. 

Finally, the driver parks outside your building, and Heeseung’s sure his “thank you so much” holds the world’s sincerity in it as he unbuckles his seatbelt and practically leaps out of the car. He opens your door and has to undo your belt for you, helping you out and thanking the driver again. 

There’s a couple leaving the building when the two of you reach the door, and with your arms wrapped around his, he thanks them when they hold it open.

The lift takes forever to come and Heeseung pushes the up button five times before it arrives. He lets the girl in fleecy pyjamas with a takeout bag in her hand go in first before following, pressing the button reading 7 before relaxing a bit. Under the protection of a stranger, he knows you won’t do anything. The journey to your floor feels like hours as the lift drags its way up the shaft—why does nothing share his urgency? 

You don’t say anything until the elevator door swooshes shut behind you. “I love you, Heeseung. You know I love you.” You’re saying everything he’s been wanting you to say for ages, but the words make his words sting. 

“Do you know where your keys are?” he asks, though you still have a ways to go before you reach your door. 

“My pocket,” you mumble. 

Heeseung finds your keys, unlocks the door and helps you in. As much as he wants to leave, he knows if he does, you won’t take your makeup off or change, so he holds your hair back for you as you brush your teeth and wash your face in the sink quietly. 

In your bedroom, you search through your drawers, pulling out something to wear. He turns his back to you and ends up face-to-face with an old photo of the two of you from school. 

“You can look, Hee.”

Drawn to the picture, he doesn’t reply. The boys are in it too, but it feels like you two are the focus. Everyone’s smiling at the camera except Heeseung, who — with his arm around you — stares at the side of your face with a lopsided smile. Happiness radiates from his being, lighting his eyes and face.

“I want you to look.” The softness and desperation in your voice tug his heart.

“Come on ba—” Heeseung sighs. “Just get dressed, yeah?” 

You don’t say anything but he can hear the rustle of your clothes as you change. 

Jealousy blooms in his chest, looking at himself three years ago. Happy and full of love for you and your friends, for life. Everything was so easy then. His chest tightens and he has to close his eyes.

Heeseung feels you next to him, hears your jewellery falling into the clay holder on your dresser and opens his eyes, looking at you. You’re in a t-shirt he’s sure belongs to Jake and struggling with the clasp on your necklace. He knows you want him to help but he feels like he can’t move.

“I know you don’t want to hear it, but I really do want to be with you,” you say when you finally get the necklace off. “And I know I’m too late, but I didn’t break up with you because I didn’t want to be with you.” 

You’re so close the peppermint on your breath hits him like a wave. A distinct smell of citrus and summer, of Jake, comes from your body, mixed up with the scent of you in a way that makes him uneasy. 

He gets a headache trying to make sense of your words, if it wasn’t that you didn’t want to be with him, then what was it? Even back then, you didn’t elaborate, you just repeated his name and the words: it’s not your fault, over and over until they sounded made up. Heeseung can’t entertain this conversation, not now. Not when you’re drunk and looking up at him with longing in your eyes. “I think we need to get you to bed,” Heeseung mumbles, taking a step back. “I’ll get you some water.”

“But I’m here now and we can be together again.”

“You moving was never the problem. You know that wasn’t the problem.” A tear slips down your cheek and he softens immediately. “I wanted to go with you, I was going to go with you.” 

You wipe your eyes with the back of your hand, frowning. “This university was your dream. How could I let you give up your scholarship for me?”

“You were my dream,” he admits. “And it wasn’t your decision to make.” 

“You would have made the wrong one.” 

Heeseung scoffs. “Do you think breaking up was the right one?” 

Your silence is brutally telling. You squeeze your eyes shut as if trying to magic yourself out of the conversation, but it only makes more tears fall. A realisation hits him like a truck: you’re thinking about it. A painful lump forms in his throat. How could you have anything to think about? How was breaking up with him, not the single worst decision you’ve ever made? He can’t believe you could have let go so easily if you loved him. Long distance wouldn’t have been easy, but surely if you loved him, you would have made it work. You would have tried. Heeseung wishes he hadn’t asked at all.

“I do,” you say finally, opening your eyes to look at him.

His heart is heavy in his chest. “Okay.”

“Heeseung.”

“What?” 

A stomach-churning sob falls out of you. “I don’t know.” 

Another silence weighs the room down and Heeseung knows what he needs to do. He sighs. “Let’s just.. I should go.” 

You don’t put up a fight, you don’t say anything, only letting your shoulders droop before you sigh and lead Heeseung to the front door. He says goodbye as he puts his shoes on and all you do is watch as he leaves your apartment. He waits for you to close the door and lock it before walking away.

Heeseung walks all the way home and only cries when he closes his door, sliding down the back of it like something from a movie. With tears in his eyes, and his knees to his chest, he pulls out his phone to text you. I hope your hangover isn’t too bad, he types. Let’s only talk when we need to.

The two of you manage to hold this up, with you finding others to sit with during classes, and no one seeming to question Heeseung’s skipping plans or new close friendship with Mark’s group who he spends time with between classes instead. But as always, things have a funny way of going different to how Heeseung expected them to. 

After three weeks of near radio silence, Jay barges into his room with his face scrunched up. “What are you doing?” 

“Right now?” Heeseung asks, confused. Standing by the bed with the corner of his duvet in his hand, in nothing but his underwear, he thinks his plans look a little obvious. “I’m about to jerk off.”

Jay rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. “You know what I mean.” 

“Evidently, I do not.” 

“Why don’t you hang out with us anymore?” he asks, squinting at Heeseung. 

“We’re hanging out right now.”

“Forgive me if I don’t count an impromptu circle jerk as hanging out.”

“I don’t.. want to do that.”

Jay clutches his chest. “I’m crushed.” 

Heeseung studies his expression. Serious, an inch of concern pooling in his eyes. “We dated for six years, she dumped me, I turned into a shell of myself, but she moved back home and we’re all friends again, so I think things are looking up for me.”

A deep sigh leaves Jay as he sits on the bed. “What happened at the bar with YN three weeks ago when we all left?” 

“Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“What exactly counts as ordinary for you two?”

Heeseung’s still trying to figure that out. He shrugs. “Making the right decisions.” 

“So you’re okay?”

“Never better.’

“You don’t have to lie to me, you know?” There’s a sincere look on Jay’s face as he leans back on his hands.

“Which is why I’m being honest.” 

It doesn’t seem like Jay’s going to let this go, but to Heeseung’s surprise, he smiles. “Perfect,” he says, standing up from the bed and walking over to the mirror where he checks himself out. “Because she and the guys are going to be here in ten. Put some clothes on.”

He does just that, pulling some shorts over his hips and a shirt over his head before pulling the two bean bag chairs stacked next to the couch to sit in front of the TV, claiming one of them with his body by sinking into it. The cosy material is soft against his thighs and he wonders why they don’t use them more. 

Ten minutes go by like seconds when Jay gets up to answer the door, laughing at something one of you says before leading you all into the living room. He’s watching some show Jay left on, greeting you and the boys with a wave before turning back to the TV. Behind him, the four of you laugh and talk on the couch but Heeesung’s too wrapped up in an argument on screen to join in. His attention only falters when he reaches for the open six-pack on the coffee table. It’s barely out of his reach, so he turns around to take a beer, trying to ignore the way his heart sinks in his chest seeing you and Jay cuddled up together. It’s friendly, he knows that. Jay’s with Yunjin and you’re.. He’s still not sure, but it hurts nonetheless. You’re bickering over a bowl of popcorn and he only laughs when you throw a handful at him. 

The red speaker Sunghoon’s holding chimes three times when he turns it on, a Frank Ocean thudding out of it that drowns out the show he’s watching, leaving him to follow along with the subtitles instead. But he can’t focus. 

Heeseung tries to settle his heartache, comforting himself with the thought of the two of you in another reality. One where it’s him instead of Jay. Or one where you come over and sit with him, curling up in his lap, pouting because Jay’s being mean. He pictures himself stroking your hair and kissing away your pout, holding you into his chest when Jake and Sunghoon start teasing you. In this reality, however, he watches you peel Jay’s shirt from his chest and dump a handful of popcorn in the gap, cackling to yourself at the clear frustration he doesn’t verbalise. Heeseung sighs, looking back at the TV and taking a sad sip of his sad beer. 

After a while, you fall into the beanbag next to him, sprawling out over the whole thing and looking at him. “Hey, Heeseung.” 

“Hello.” 

“I’m sorry about that night.” Your voice is quiet, clearly apologetic if the way you don’t meet his eyes is anything to go by.

“Okay.” Heeseung nods and a beat passes. “I meant what I said, what I texted you.” It hurts to say but it’s for the best. He stands up out of the beanbag, making a show of stretching his arms and legs before sinking into the couch next to Jake. Over Jake’s slouched form, Jay shoots him a look, arching a brow. Heeseung only stages a chuckle, shrugging before looking at the TV again. He can’t make sense of anything on the screen. 

Sunghoon emerges from Jay’s room with a grin on his face, asking when you’re going to eat. In standard fashion, the four of you stand around Jay in the kitchen, bothering him by telling him what to do like he’s a child as he puts frozen pizza and some garlic bread in the oven. 

“The middle one’s the timer,” Jake says, pointing at the knobs above the oven door. “It’s there so you can set how long the food needs to cook for, and after you set it, it’ll go off so you know it’s ready.”

“But it’s all up to you and your discretion. You can open the door whenever you want to check on everything,” you coo, patting his shoulder.

If Jay’s actually annoyed, nothing about his smile gives it away as he nods with a clenched fist, closing the door and sitting next to Heeseung on the countertop. Heeseung’s almost too busy focusing on the way his beer heats his stomach to notice the way you watch him with a small frown from barely an arm’s length away. Sunghoon picks up on your declining mood and thrusts an open bottle into your hand. “We like to drink with—” He’s cut off by Jay taking the bottle and setting it behind you on the counter, mumbling cut it out, dude, and tugging you out of the kitchen by the arm when he notices the tears in your eyes. 

He hears Jay’s door close and nobody says anything until the timer goes off and Jay comes back alone, filling a plate with food and going back to his room. 

“Thanks for dinner,” Jake says to the back of Jay’s head, offbeat and half smiling as he washes his hands in the sink. 

Sitting at the table, he watches Jake and Sunghoon eat while pretending nothing’s wrong. 

At the end of the night, when everyone’s gone home, Heeseung gets into bed, barely managing to pull the duvet up when there’s a knock at his door. “Yeah?” he calls out. Jay appears with his arms crossed over his chest. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he says quickly. 

Jay regards him with a frown. “I didn’t even say anything.” 

“You were going to.” 

“Yeah.” He nods, and Heeseung prepares himself for a lecture. “I was going to say, I’m going home next week, for Christmas, so I was wondering if you wanted to go with me.” 

The holidays go by in a soju and tteokguk-filled blur, with Heeseung choosing to stay at home until the day of his first class of the second semester so he doesn’t have to be around you. He tells himself it’s for the good of your friend group, as he watches you all make plans in the group chat through notification bubbles, so he doesn’t leave a read receipt. 

The commute is more jarring than he realised. What had been a twenty-minute drive turns into an hour-long journey, including a thirty-minute walk to the train station ‘near’ house, fifteen minutes on the train into the city centre, and another fifteen minutes on foot to campus. He’s drenched in sweat despite the below-zero temperature and has to make a stop to the bathroom to sort himself out.

He arrives early at least, finding the room where his Ethnography: Theory and Practice 2 class is set to start in fifteen minutes. The only indicator that he’s in the right place is the lecturer’s name and contact information written in the top corner of a whiteboard, and Heeseung picks the seat furthest from the door. It’s an elective class and, judging by the nine empty chairs next to him, not a very popular one. He’s relieved at least that he’ll be able to start off the semester without running into anyone he knows, least of all you. As seats start filling up and the lecturer arrives, he’s feeling unusually lucky. 

So, of course, you show up, running a hand through your hair as you walk through the open door, apologising for being late even though there are still two minutes until the class is scheduled to begin. Of course, the only empty seat is the one next to him, which you sit in without looking at him, making an effort to angle your body away from him. Of course, the lecturer assigns a presentation for two weeks time, pairing the class with the person they’re sitting beside. Neither you nor Heeseung say a word to each other, but you raise your hand when prompted to pick a topic to cover. He can’t help his irritation at you for making the decision without asking him, but you look so nice in your hoodie with your hair tied up that his annoyance settles before it has a chance to bloom. 

“YN YLN and Heeseung Lee, we’ll do music and cultural expression,” you say, picking the topic he wanted to do anyway. 

When class is over, you’re quick to get out of your seat, pulling on your jacket and stuffing your laptop back into your bag before leaving so quickly that Heeseung has to leave his stuff behind to go after you. You don’t stop walking when he calls out your name, and too scared to make a scene, he overtakes you, leaving you with no option but to stop in front of him. 

“We should go to the library, get the research and shit out of the way ASAP,” he suggests.

You nod, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“Yeah, okay, I’m going to get my stuff.”

You follow him back to class, watching from the door as he puts his things in his bag before putting on his jacket. You don’t say anything on the walk to the library, when you get there, or when you browse the Cultural Studies section. Heeseung glances at you and you’re chewing on your lip, crouching a bit to read the spines of the books on the lower shelves. “Are you alright?” he asks with genuine concern. 

You look up at him, nodding. 

“Are you sure? Because you haven’t said anything in an hour.”

This makes you straighten up, your brows furrowing in an expression he can’t figure out. “Sorry, Heeseung,” you say, your voice weak. “I’m just trying to figure out if you think I need to talk right now.” 

“Obviously, a paired project is a situation where we need to talk.” 

You sigh, muttering oh, my God, before you look at him. “You know what, I’m going home. Let’s do this tomorrow.” 

“We have class in twenty minutes.” 

“Yeah, I’ll read the slides when I get in.”

Unsure what to say, he watches you walk away, deciding that he should just go home too. 

At the flat he hasn’t seen in five weeks, Heeseung feels slightly out of place, going straight to his room and into bed, not even getting up when he hears Jay coming home. Jay opens the door without knocking, his mouth falling into an excited ‘o’ shape. “Hey, stranger,” he says. “I thought you weren’t coming back, so I started advertising your room on Gumtree.” 

“Any offers?”

“No one as good as you.” Heeseung doesn’t have to look at Jay to know he’s smiling. “Move over,” he mumbles, lifting the duvet. 

Lazily, he rolls over in bed, making room for Jay who makes himself comfortable under the covers. 

“What are you doing, Heeseung?” 

“Trying to sleep.” 

“Talk to me, help me understand.” Jay sighs and Heeseung’s lips curl into a frown. “You’re my best friend,” Jay says quietly, with a tenderness that strikes him. 

“You’re my best friend,” Heeseung repeats like an affirmation. 

“So why won’t you talk to me?”

There’s a subtle hurt in Jay’s voice that upsets Heeseung, who shifts around to lie on his back. “I don’t think there’s anything I can tell you that YN hasn’t already.” 

“She only told me that she fucked up.”

Hearing it from someone else’s mouth makes it sound drastic, especially considering he’s the one who left. Again. But he’s too bitter to say that out loud so he bites his tongue. “Seems to be the theme in our relationship.” The words taste rotten when he says them.

“Just because you’re my best friend doesn’t mean you get to be a dick,” Jay says. “What happened?” 

It takes some time but Heeseung explains everything, letting Jay ask questions and make comments until the end when he looks away, pressing his eyes shut and saying, “Oh.” 

“Oh?”

“I don’t think I get it. Boy loves girl. Girl loves boy. Why can’t you just be together already?”

Everything sounds painfully simple when it’s put like that. But there’s too much between you both for it to go that way. It’s not like he didn’t want to be with you when you confessed, it’s that he didn’t know how he could without knowing why you left him in the first place. Without knowing what he did that was so terrible you couldn’t stand to be in a relationship with him, never mind the same area code. 

A beat passes before Heeseung speaks. “There was something wrong, and instead of trying to fix it, she just.. gave up. I would’ve done anything she asked me to. I could’ve changed, could’ve fixed things, but she didn’t even tell me.” 

“Maybe she didn’t feel like she could. I don’t think she wanted to hurt you, Heeseung.” 

“But she did.” 

“Yeah,” Jay admits, sympathy lacing the word. 

“How can I be with her knowing there’s some awful part of me she hates?” 

“It’s not like that, not really.” 

“What’s it like then?”

“I’m not sure it’s my place to say.” 

Heeseung laughs, shaking his head. “Do you keep my secrets as dutifully as you keep hers?” 

“Are you kidding? She doesn’t even know you have secrets.” Jay sounds exhausted as he speaks, and it’s the last sound to come from him until a few minutes pass and Heeseung hears him snoring. 

You didn’t reply when Heeseung texted you asking to meet in the library before class, but you show up anyway, pulling out the seat across from him and dumping your bag on the table. “I don’t know if you saw the email, but the partner work is just for the presentation.” 

“Cool.” he nods, relieved. 

“I think after that, I’ll start hanging out with Yunjin instead, so you’re not uncomfortable.” 

Heeseung frowns, shaking his head. “I’m not uncomfortable around you,” he says. “I just don’t.. get you. You dump me and move as far away as you can. Now you’re back and what? You love me again?” 

You furrow your brows, inspecting him for a moment before you speak. “I don’t love you again, Heeseung. I’ve loved you this whole time.” 

“So why didn’t you choose me? I just wanted you to choose me.” He’s too anxious to know the truth to worry about how desperate he must sound. Until he notices that the guys sitting at the other end of the tables are watching him, their brows arched sharply in a mixture of shock and curiosity. Heeseung runs a hand over his face, hoping the motion might wipe away the flush burning his cheeks.

“You wanted me to choose you over my future?” 

“I could’ve been your future, part of it. I’d never ask you to choose me over university, you know I wouldn’t. I’m saying you could’ve had both.” 

“It wasn’t as easy as that.” 

“Why not?” 

“Heeseung,” you say like it’s an answer. 

“Just tell me why you didn’t want me. That’s all I want to know.” 

The following silence makes him consider packing up abruptly and faking an emergency. He’s sure he could probably fake his death if he slumps in his chair slowly enough. 

You sigh heavily, interrupting his train of thought—now, he’s wondering if he even wants to know. “Because you would’ve put me first,” you say, avoiding his gaze. “If I stayed here or moved away, I would’ve been your top priority and I couldn’t let you throw away everything you worked for, for me.” 

“I loved you, of course, you were my top priority.” He can’t believe he even has to say it, can’t believe you might have thought you weren’t the single most important thing in his life. 

“Heeseung, you were sacrificing your life for me. You missed your cousin’s engagement party to help me study for a history test, you deferred your scholarship entry by a year just so we could go to college at the same time. How could I keep letting you miss out on your life?” 

“Deferring my entry wasn’t just for you,” he lies. “And it’s not like I missed the wedding.” 

“But I think you would’ve if I stubbed my toe.”

“Would that be such a bad thing?” 

You sigh again, shaking your head. “Do you hear yourself? You can’t keep living like that, you can’t just throw everything away. You’re such a hard worker, Heeseung, and I’d hate to see you waste that over some girl.” 

“But you’re you. You weren’t just ‘some girl’ you were my girl.” He doesn’t mean to say it but it’s true. “We were in high school and I was studying constantly; it didn’t matter back then. And you were so far away, it’s not like I could feasibly drop everything and go to you every time something happened.” 

“Heeseung.” 

“You had a choice.” 

“Heeseung.” 

The way you’re saying his name reminds him of your breakup—the pink walls of your childhood bedroom and the pictures of the two of you stuck up all over them, in frames on your desk, and stickers on your light switch. How they seemed to close in around him as he put all of his energy into staying on two feet, instead of falling to the floor and begging you on hands and knees to stay with him. 

“Why didn’t you just tell me? I’ve spent the last year and a half wondering what I did wrong, I don’t understand why you didn’t just tell me.” We could’ve tried, he wants to say. I could have changed and we could’ve tried. 

“I didn’t want you to lose that. I felt really lucky that you loved me like that, and I didn’t want to rob someone else of it, you know. I thought maybe you’d find a balance with someone someday, but I didn’t think that person would be me.” 

Heeseung has to put in an effort to stop his jaw from dropping. How could there ever be someone else? How could you ever think he could have someone else? There’s so much he wants to say, to ask, but he can tell by the way you press your lips together that you’re done with the conversation. 

“It’s not too late.” 

You tilt your head at him. “What?” 

“In your room that night, you said you were too late,” he explains. “I love you.”

“Still?” 

His heart shifts uncomfortably in his chest at the tone of your voice and the way your eyebrows shoot up. “Always,” he says. 

A smile starts to curve your lips, but it slips before it has a chance to bloom, stifled happiness that you cover with your hands, hiding your face completely. “I don’t think we should talk about this here.” Your palms muffle the words but not their impact; you’re right and he knows it. 

It’s been a year—the longest of his life, and the hard part is already over. He knows now and he’ll do anything he can to fix it. “Right.” Heeseung nods but you’re not looking at him. He’s going to fix it. For now, though, he says, “What’s our research topic again?” Despite having had Music and Cultural Expression typed into the search bar since before you arrived. 

With Heeseung’s work ethic and your commitment to being the best, the presentation goes quite smoothly. You make no mistakes, and Heeseung, distracted by how pretty you look in professional attire, manages to stumble through the script he’d rehearsed. The two of you even win the first place prize — satisfaction that you got a perfect score — and celebrate with coffee afterwards. 

Between the four walls of the campus café, you and Heeseung sip lattes that taste like temperature — still too hot to have a real flavour — and laugh with each other about something Jay said when you all hung out last night. Neither of you mentions your conversation from two weeks ago, deciding instead to fall into the patterns of your first term together: napping in his bed after class and coming up with excuses for alone time. He makes an effort to follow through with his commitments, even when you ask him to hang out, to show you that he’s different now. If you’ve noticed, you haven’t said anything about it, but Heeseung tells himself it’s a good thing while missing shots on the court with Mark, too hung up on you to focus on anything else. The only thing left is to figure out a way to be yours again and do everything he can to make sure he doesn’t lose you. 

Over your shoulder, through the window, the sun slips below the horizon, casting long shadows around the café. He takes a deep breath when he looks at you, smiling down at your phone as you take a picture of your half-drunk latte and the milky swirls still peeking through your coffee. A tangible determination settles in his chest as evening’s first stars appear in the sky, he knows one thing for sure: he has to grab the chance to be yours again with both hands, and once it’s his, he won’t let go this time. 

The café may be clearing out, but his heart is full of hope and for the time being, sitting with you as a friend is.. fine. 

You’d often imagined what it would be like if you hadn’t broken up with Lee Heeseung. 

Most of your first year was spent daydreaming about him in all of your usual hangouts. Sometimes, at drinks with your friends, you envisioned him showing up, a smile on his face as he apologised for being late. He’d slide into the booth next to you, wrap his arm around your shoulders and kiss your cheek. Other times you imagined him showing up to surprise you, sitting on a bench in the quad and grinning when he saw you leaving. He’d run up to you with open arms and a bouquet in his hand, wrapping you in a hug and whispering that he missed you too much to wait another day to see you. You would even fall asleep thinking about FaceTime calls that stayed on overnight or drunken texts after the club, misspelt I love yous and can’t wait to see yous filling your text thread. 

You didn’t tell your new friends much about him, briefly mentioning a partner you’d watched some film with or an artist he liked if they came up, and most nights were spent begging Jay to send you Heeseung’s social media posts and tell you every detail of the day they had without you. Based on accounts from Jay, Jake, and Sunghoon, it seemed like he was getting on well, a fact that — while hurtful — pushed you to try and do the same. After a month of avoiding your flatmates, you finally managed to connect with them, going to various social events around campus and rolling your eyes any time a drunk guy complimented you. 

This is why it took you by surprise to see him at Mark Lee’s party in the summer—sitting alone in the garden, in sweatpants and a flannel, looking at his phone with a deep frown etched over his lips. When you think about it, it feels like so long has passed since then and it’s hard to believe it wasn’t even a year ago. 

Being back in Heeseung’s life has been more challenging than you thought it would be when you filled out your transfer application. Especially in the weeks since you finished your presentation together, since you suggested the library might not have been the right place for the conversation you were having and never followed up on. 

Now doesn’t seem like the right time either—you’re sitting on the floor in Jake and Sunghoon’s living room with your back against the couch, sharing a blanket with Heeseung. Jay left about an hour ago to go to Yunjin’s, leaving the four of you to your own devices. You know you can’t bring it up with Jake and Sunghoon around, but you’ve had plenty of opportunities to over the last month. 

When you finished your celebratory lattes, Heeseung walked you home. The sky was a perfect inky black, and it was cold enough to see your breath, just the way he liked, so cold he offered you his jacket to wear. He didn’t say anything about it, only shrugging it off and setting it gently over your shoulders, shocking you so much that you stopped walking. The scent of his cologne, dark and woody, was overwhelming as you slid your arms into the sleeves, zipping it up and after three paces without you, Heeseung turned his head with wide eyes. You could have said it then, you wanted to say it then, but you bit your tongue and thanked him instead. He smiled, gulping when you closed the gap, you should have kissed him, he was close enough, his lips just a tip-toe and tilted head away, but you hugged him instead. 

After that, the two of you had all the time in the world together. Between your shared classes and going for meals alone. All the time you’d spend in his living room together, cosy on the couch when Jay would go to sleep. So many moments to talk, to get back together, but the words would die in your throat every time you thought them. It all seemed too cheesy or not cheesy enough, too dramatic or too casual, you couldn’t strike a balance and had no idea how to even find one. 

Last night was probably the most jarring occasion. Yunjin and Chaewon had been trying to convince you to go the club all week but you just weren’t in the mood. They seemed happy enough when you suggested hosting pres—but now you think they’d been hoping you’d be so drunk you’d just agree to go out. Yunjin brought half a litre of vodka and Chaewon brought a soup flask with enough murky cocktail in it to feed a small family. Together, the three of you drank and gossiped around the small table in your living room, with Chaewon’s phone in a glass to amplify her playlist. After taking a whiff of whatever she brought, you and Yunjin decided — for everyone’s wellbeing — to hide her flask and take shots of vodka, finishing off the cider you had left in the fridge. 

“Please come out,” Yunjin begged. “I’ll feel bad leaving you here, all pretty and drunk by yourself.” 

“I’ll feel bad too!” Chaewon added, clasping her hands. “Not bad enough to stay with you, but I’ll probably have less fun.” 

You shook your head. “I don’t even have an outfit.” The words were like music to their ears and you regretted them as soon as you said them. Both girls grabbed you by the hand, tugging you to your room and flinging open your wardrobe. Yunjin looked for a top and Chaewon for a skirt, though both of them gasped when they saw the dress you wore for Heeseung’s birthday. Chaewon pulled it from the rack, holding it out in front of her. 

“We won’t pay for anything if you wear this,” she squealed before she and Yunjin started chanting: Free booze! Free booze! 

You sighed, thinking of Heeseung and shook your head again. That dress, though beautiful, hadn’t been enough for him to lose all composure and skip the party in favour of fucking you into the mattress, and you didn’t love the idea of guys that weren’t him ogling you all night. “Anything but that dress.” 

Yunjin and Chaewon seemed sad, but you were able to distract them by bringing out the disaster cocktail the oldest girl brewed earlier, pouring each of them half a glass and ordering an Uber to come and take them away. You promised them you’d go out next time, locking your pinkies with theirs and closing the door behind them. 

Alone in your room, with nothing but thoughts of Heeseung to keep you company, you called him. He answered right away. You can’t remember exactly what you said but you remember the soft sigh he let out when you said it. You could practically see him tilting his head, weighing his options. 

“I’m trying to get a paper finished, it’s due Monday,” he said finally. 

“But it’s Thursday.” 

“Yeah, and I want to have my weekend free. If you’re still up when I’m done, I’ll come over, okay?” 

You nodded. “Okay.” 

Heeseung hung up after that and you got out of bed to clean up, hoping the time would fly. It didn’t, but your flat was clean again so you pretended not to mind. 

He called you after midnight. “Do you still want me to come over?” he asked, breathless. 

“Please.” There was a knock on your door after you spoke and you mumbled hold on before going to check it. Warped by the peephole, you saw Heeseung standing there, holding his phone to his ear and playing with the zipper on his jacket. He hugged you when you opened the door, asking if you were okay. “Perfect,” you said, looking into his eyes. 

His pretty face scrunched up and he pinched his nostrils shut with his fingers, turning his head. “Well, you smell like a distillery.”

Heeseung stood in the doorway of the bathroom while you brushed your teeth, grinning every time his eyes met yours in the mirror. Tell him now, you thought. You have to tell him now. Those thoughts nagged you as you gargled mouthwash, plagued you when you hugged him again and tortured you when he carried you to bed. 

He stiffened when kissed his jaw. “You can’t do that,” he mumbled, setting you down under the duvet. “Not now.” 

Then when? you wanted to say. “I’m sorry,” you said.

Heeseung sighed, shaking his head. “No, it’s just.. It’s okay.” 

Neither of you spoke after that, you made room for him on the bed and he lay down next to you, let you rest your head on his chest and played with your hair until you fell asleep. He was gone when you woke up in the morning but he left a glass of water and some paracetamol on your end table, along with a note. 

I had to go to class and you wouldn’t wake up :(  We’ll talk about everything soon, we have to. See you at Jake and Sunghoon’s later? 

— Your Hee. 

If you hadn’t been drunk he might have been okay with the kiss, he might have looked down at you and kissed you properly. You might have talked last night, fixed things—you’ve never regretted drinking so much in your life. 

Things are better tonight at least. You’ve been nursing the same can of cider since you arrived a few hours ago and Heeseung’s only had two sips of his beer, so hopefully, if you get some alone time, the two of you can finally talk. You’re still not sure what you should say, if you should apologise for waiting so long, for leaving in the first place. It seemed like a good idea at the time, applying elsewhere. You didn’t even think you’d get in but you knew you’d never forgive yourself if you didn’t at least take the chance. It seemed like a sign when the acceptance letter reached your inbox before the term had finished, an unconditional offer to a high-ranking university, you couldn’t pass it up. And knowing Heeseung as well as you did, you knew he’d do anything to be by your side when you needed him, you knew he’d drop everything to move with you if you let him. You’d owe him forever. It wouldn’t be fair on either of you. 

You called Jay in tears after a month away, telling him you made a mistake, that you needed to come back and had already filled out a transfer application. He convinced you to at least stay until the end of term, to actually make friends with the girls you were living with and see how you felt. A week later, he, Jake and Sunghoon showed up on your doorstep with chocolate and booze, hoping your room was big enough for all of them to stay for the weekend, it wasn’t, not really, but for three nights, the four of you slept head to toe in your bed after eating your body weights in pizza and ice cream. There was no talk of Heeseung, even though you begged them, and by the time they left, you felt much better. At the end of your first year, you quietly submitted your transfer application and shared a tearful goodbye with Yizhuo and Minjeong before finally flying back home. The boys seemed happy to have you back, even if it meant sneaking around to hang out with you—A nudge pulls you out of your thoughts, Heeseung.

“Are you okay?” he asks. 

When you look at him, it feels like the wind has been knocked out of you. His eyes are brimmed with concern, wide and beautiful, a deep brown you’ll never get sick of. His lips are curved into a soft pout, a crease running along his brow that you want to smooth out. 

Heeseung relaxes a little when you nod, but he seems unconvinced. “You sure?” 

You reach up to poke his cheek, grinning when he turns his head, trying to fight a smile. “I’m good,” you say, pressing a dimple into his cheek anyway. 

He holds your finger in his hands, unclenching your fist and locking his fingers with yours. A wide grin stretches over your lips as you plead with your cheeks to stop burning. Jake’s hand interrupts the moment, falling from the couch, limp and curled into a fist that smacks the back of your head. He’s fast asleep, not stirring at all even when Heeseung laughs. 

Unfortunately, you lose rock, paper, scissors and have to wake Jake up. He shifts a little on the couch when you shake him, whining at you to stop and scrunching up his face at you. Heeseung and Sunghoon eventually sigh, grabbing him by the arms and legs to carry him to bed. 

Both boys return, laughing about something and Heeseung sits down next to you again while Sunghoon leans in the doorway, yawning. “You two can have my room,” he says, cutting his eyes at you. “No funny business though, I just changed my sheets.” 

You chuckle nervously and Heeseung makes a show of hiding his face in the crook of your neck, much to Sunghoon’s visible dismay. He clutches the doorframe so hard you see his knuckles paling and uses his free hand to point a stern finger in your direction. “I mean it,” is the last thing he says before leaving. 

“Sorry,” Heeseung mumbles when the door closes. “It’s just so funny teasing him.” He’s grinning when he lifts his head and runs a shaking hand through his hair. “Anyway, you still haven’t told me about your group project.”

A sigh curls out of you, dramatic and loud as you let your head fall back against the couch at the thought of it. You brought it up in passing on Monday after class and spent the rest of the week pretending it didn’t exist. 

“Damn,” he mutters. “That bad?” 

You don’t have many friends in your Archaeology class, but you always look forward to it — because you’re covering Ancient Egypt — and enjoy it. But this morning, you slept in, arriving late, to find your lecturer assigning groups for a project weighing 25% of your final grade. She put the groups together based on where people were sitting, which left you, standing in the doorway fighting for breath, being added to a group of boys you shared a seminar with last term. They never contributed, and rarely showed up, constantly sending messages in the class Whatsapp group to ask if anyone had the tutorial answers. The sinking feeling that your project was doomed before it began plagued you throughout the lecture and all the way to lunch with Yunjin afterwards. Even though it doesn’t have anything to do with the story, you tell him in meticulous detail about your time with her that day. Thankfully, you’re sober so don’t admit that you spent a lot of the meal exchanging increasingly ridiculous ideas to get him back. 

Heeseung is just as beautiful and good at listening as always, nodding his head and uhm-ing and ah-ing at all the right parts. Until his gaze changes for a split second into something so soft and so sweet that it leaves a mark on your heart. “I was pissed about it earlier, but now I’m here, with you, and I want you to be my boyfriend again,” you say, jaw hanging open as soon as the words come out. 

His eyes widen, lips parting in shock. Then his brows furrow, pushing a crease into his forehead. 

“I know what you’re going to say and I’m sorry.” You start running damage control and pray that Jake or Sunghoon will wake up and come back. “I really didn’t mean to say that, especially not now when we haven’t talked about everything. But you looked at me, Heeseung. You really looked at me just now and I can’t pretend I don’t want to be with you. I’m sorry, really, but it’s your fault I said that.” 

Mortified, you cover your face with your hands. “Can you say something now?” you ask, mumbling into the heels of your palms. 

All he says is your name and a pit forms in your stomach. “God, anything but that,” you groan. 

Heeseung chuckles, which you think is a good thing. “Would it be better if I called you baby?” 

“In what context?” 

Holding your breath, you watch as he presses his lips together, humming as he tilts his head. “Term of endearment between a girlfriend and her boyfriend.” 

You lift your head, separating your fingers to see him properly through the space and the pit in your stomach dissolves into something live, butterflies fluttering in a frenzy from the look on his face. The gentle curve of his lips, the warmth in his eyes, and the slight flush on his cheeks all make your head spin. 

“Really?”

Heeseung nods so hard his hair follows the movement. “Yes, baby.” 

“Can we kiss now?” 

“Maybe if you move your hands out of the way.”

“I don’t like maybe.”

“Definitely if you move your hands out of the way,” he corrects. 

You can’t bring yourself to move, worried that the sudden motion might disrupt something, might knock you out of the moment. Heeseung laughs, so softly it sounds like an exhale, as he takes your wrists in his hands, tugging gently. With your face in full view, his eyes flit over your features for a beat before he cups your cheek in his hand, dragging his thumb over the soft skin of your lips. 

You don’t even realise he’s leaning in until his lips touch yours. There’s a rush of something in your chest, an intense warmth surrounding your heart. His lips are softer than ever, gentle as he kisses you like you might break—you think you might. Nothing is better than this, better than having Heeseung’s lips on yours after all this time. You lean into him completely, pressing your body impossibly close to his and twirling your fingers around the hair at the nape of his neck. 

“I love you,” he whispers, barely pulling away. “I love you so much.” 

You can’t bring yourself to reply, emotions too close to the surface, tears too close to spilling. Instead, you smile into the kiss, somehow holding him closer and hoping he’ll understand. He pulls back, just enough to gaze into your eyes with a look of pure affection. He doesn’t press for words, a reassuring smile tugging his lips. 

He understands, Heeseung always understands. 

Sunghoon’s sheets are soft against your skin when you wake up, tickling your nose with the scent of detergent and Heeseung’s shampoo—fresh and light. Your hand finds its way into his hair, fingers curling around the strands as Heeseung watches you with a soft smile, eyes scanning your features, taking you in. He lets his hand rest on your cheek, thumb stroking the skin there and his eyes flick up to meet yours. You feel like a teenager, a giddy smile gracing your lips, giggles tumbling out at the tickly feeling of lovestruck butterflies rumbling in your stomach. Heeseung beams, nuzzling into the touch of your hand as his eyes flutter shut. 

“If we’re going to work out this time—I want us to work out, but we need to talk,” you say after a beat. 

Heeseung’s brows raise like he can’t believe what you’re saying, his lips pushing into a pout. “We are going to work out, of course we’re going to work out.” His voice is still raspy from sleep, a deep hoarseness that’s too sexy for the cute way he’s chewing on his lip, doe-eyed and sweet as his eyes scan your face.

“I know, baby, I want that.” You nod, using your hand to push his hair out of his face. It’s so long now it’s starting to cover his eyes, the soft blond strands curling into his eyelashes. “But you have to say no to me, you know? I want you to have a life of your own, we both should.” 

“No.” 

“No?” You press your eyes shut, sighing. “What do you mean, no?” 

“I’m starting now.” 

“I’m serious, Hee, this is serious.” 

He pouts for a second before nodding. “I’m serious too. I can say no to you, I will say no to you.” 

You can’t help your scepticism, raising your brow at him as you inspect his face. There’s nothing about his expression that suggests he’s not being serious, nothing in those huge eyes seeming insincere. But you know Heeseung, you’ve been with Heeseung, and you know better than anyone, there’s nothing he wouldn’t do if it meant spending time with you, so you have to ask. “So from now on, if I text you when you’re in class or out with friends, and I tell you I want to see you, what are you going to do?” 

Heeseung sighs. “I’m going to text back and say that I’m.. busy.” His lips curl into a frown. “My heart will be super heavy though.” 

“But you’ll do it? You won’t see me until you’re free?” 

“I’ll do it, I won’t leave or anything.” 

“Do you promise?” 

“Yeah, baby, I promise.” When you smile at him, Heeseung leans in to seal his promise with a kiss, his lips meeting yours softly. 

You flinch when the door opens and Heeseung chuckles against your lips, but he doesn’t stop kissing you. Over his head, you see Sunghoon standing in the doorway, hair dripping water on the floor with a towel wrapped around his hips. 

Sunghoon sighs, loud and dramatic, his head falling back. “I specifically said no funny business,” he mutters. “Quit looking at me.” He comes into the room and lifts the duvet over your heads. 

Under the covers, Heeseung pulls away, poking his head out and laughing. “We’re just kissing.”

“Yeah, with your shirt off. Why is your shirt off?”

“She wanted to wear—”

Sunghoon cuts him off with a gasp, pulling the duvet back. “Wait, why are you kissing?”

“I can’t kiss my girlfriend?” 

The word makes your cheeks burn and you hide your face in Heeseung’s chest. His lips find the top of your head, kissing you as he wraps his arms around you. 

Sunghoon groans at the sight. “I haven’t missed this at all,” he says. “Who else knows?”

“Just you so far.”

You can hear Sunghoon grinning when he drops the duvet back over your heads and shuffles around the room, getting ready for skating. Heeseung calls you cute and holds you closer. “I’ve missed you so much, missed this,” he mumbles into your hair. “I love you.”

Dating Heeseung again is better than anything you could have imagined, even if it has only been two weeks. He’s everything you’ve ever wanted and more, and even the simple things he does make you smile so hard your face aches. Like when he picks up snacks for you after class or sends you pictures of sweet things he wrote about you in his old diary. Chaewon and Yunjin comment that you seem happier, that you’re glowing, and you can’t help the giggles that always escape and the flush that burns your cheeks when you mention your boyfriend, Heeseung.

Even under the pressure of taking on a group project by yourself, you find yourself fighting a grin in the library just thinking about him. Your class finished an hour ago and you’re doing research in the computer lab while waiting for him so you can go back home together. With a crease in your brow, you try to make sense of conflicting articles on the origin of the Great Pyramid of Giza, happy when your phone lights up with a text. 

hee: we should go on a date tonight !!! how does the fair sound? 

you: sounds good :D 

hee: ❤️

As if sensing that plans have been made without him, Sunghoon sends a message to the group chat asking who wants to go to the Spring Fair in the city centre tonight. 

you: hee and i are alr going :/

sunghoon: awesome i can meet u at hee’s in a few hours?

You really can’t find the heart to tell Sunghoon it’s a date so you decide not to say anything, only feeling worse when Jay replies. 

jay: sounds good :D 

hee: it’s a date dumbass, you’re not invited.

sunghoon: ok.. i can still go

jake: time?

With your date set and whatever else the boys are planning in the group chat, you manage to finish up your work in time for Heeseung to show up with a grin on his face as you pack up your notebook. Excitement stirs in your stomach when he locks his fingers with yours and you’ve never looked forward to the sticky heat of a night in spring as much as you are right now. 

“How was class?” you ask, squeezing his hand. 

Heeseung grins at you, swinging your hands between your bodies as you weave through tables to leave the library. “Turns out I focus really well when you’re not sitting with me.” 

“Oh, really?”

“Mm.” He nods, biting his lip. 

“I can sit with other people if it’ll help you focus.” 

“No!” he whines, loud enough to draw side eyes from the students around you before the tips of his ears burn red and he pulls you out of the library at lightspeed. 

When you reach his flat, Jay’s sitting on the couch grinning at something on his phone, so distracted he doesn’t even realise you’ve arrived until you sit down next to him. He’s got a lot to say about his mock trial and tells you everything, all while you’re cuddled up to Heeseung, with your head on his shoulder. 

You blink and the sun’s gone down, Jay isn’t around anymore and Heeseung’s arms are around your waist, holding you close. “Hey,” he says when you stir. “The boys left already, you just looked so cute sleeping that I didn’t want to wake you.” 

There’s a wet patch on his sweater where your mouth was that you try to wipe away. It doesn’t budge. And a burning flush attacks your cheeks and neck when Heeseung uses his thumb to wipe some of the drool by your mouth. “So cute.” He chuckles. “Should we get going?” 

You spend the whole journey to the city centre with your hand in Heeseung’s, trying to fight the butterflies in your stomach every time he smiles at you. It’s weird. To have been with him for so long, yet still feel giddy when he looks at you. This is new though, you suppose, to live away from home and see him whenever you want. Absence really does make the heart grow fonder and you can’t help the grin on your face at the thought of spending infinite nights like this, with him. 

The Spring Fair is alive with laughter and squeals of delight that you can hear from around the corner. Winking lights spill onto the pavement in rapid succession, somehow showing the whole spectrum at once. Heeseung is bursting with excitement, running down the street with you in tow, desperately trying to keep up with his stride and regulate your breathing. His eyes are huge when you reach the gates, scanning the area for the churros he’s been talking about for the entire walk and he gasps when he sees the stall, pulling you along with him. You have to weave through the crowd, dipping and dodging tired locals and excited tourists as you call out apologies to everyone Heeseung bumps into. The first night is always packed like this, so full it’s hard to believe the fair runs for six whole weeks. 

You share a heart-shaped churro and pose for the photos he wants to take, your heart swelling with affection as you pretend to be embarrassed when he buys matching character headbands for you both. Two years ago, Heeseung would’ve told you that headbands aren’t a good use of your money and bought them anyway, but today, he spent fifteen minutes trying on and taking photos with each character before finding the perfect pair. You can’t help but grin as he puts the headband on for you, a sense of excitement blooming inside you, so great it’s overwhelming.

Heeseung buys a blue raspberry slushy in an obnoxiously large reusable cup with two straws, and as he clutches his head with each brain freeze, chuckles pour out of you, only increasing when he pouts. 

At every opportunity, the two of you take selfies, and the grin on his face in each one warms your heart. He posts his favourite to his story, showing you all the compliments he’s getting in his DMs, all aimed at you. He seems so proud and excited to be with you, and butterflies go mad in your stomach as he reads some of them out to you, agreeing with and adding to the messages.

“You’re so beautiful, baby. I think I might delete the picture,” he says, frowning as the story replies pour in. 

The look on his face makes you laugh, struggling to talk but trying anyway. “But I love it.” 

Heeseung puts his phone away, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. “I love you,” he says, using his free hand to tip your chin towards him. He grins when you say it back, tracing his thumb along your jaw. An odd stillness hits you, in the midst of vibrant chaos. Flashes of multi-coloured LEDs dance in orange and purple strobes over his face and your breath hitches in your throat. His eyes are pretty and wide, flicking from your eyes to your mouth a few times as a flame starts to burn in your stomach, low and scorching. 

“I love you,” you repeat, tip-toeing to close the gap. 

You kiss him, slow and sweet to savour the sugary taste on his lips as they move against yours. His tongue slips into your mouth, deepening the kiss and the taste of syrupy artificial fruit, leaving you craving more, craving him. A pop goes out in the air and you flinch in Heeseung’s arms. He chuckles against your lips before he pulls away, looking up. Trails of pink and gold paint the sky above, vibrant sparks spreading everywhere as a few more go off. If you weren’t so busy trying to catch your breath, you might appreciate their beauty, but you are and the next pop only startles you too. 

Heeseung looks down at you, his slightly swollen lips curving into a grin. “How are you so cute?” he coos. “And don’t most people want fireworks to go off when they kiss someone?” 

“It’s probably a sensation thing, Heeseung.” You know it’s a sensation thing. The first time he kissed you, it felt like you were floating on air, as if Sunghoon’s basement, cold and dark, was the most romantic place on Earth. You were sweaty and nervous, sitting cross-legged on the floor next to Heeseung while the boys were sleeping. He was the one to lean in and he kissed the tip of your nose by accident.

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters. “Come here.” His voice is so deep and raspy that it spurs the flame on, burning higher, hotter, until it’s the only thing you can think about. His hand finds your jaw again, pulling you towards him to kiss you. Of course, you can’t resist; he’s Heeseung. 

The kiss is rife with neediness, whether from you or Heeseung you can’t tell, but you’re tugging at his hair and he’s clutching at your t-shirt, both of you struggling to get enough of the other. You nip at his bottom lip with your teeth and a heady sigh falls from his mouth into yours, brewing a storm in your mind, a thick fog obscuring everything but thoughts of him.

At the sound of a forced throat clearing, you break away from Heeseung, seeing an elderly lady with a steaming cup in her hand and a disgruntled look on her face. She extends an arm, gesturing behind you. When you follow the direction of her hand, you see a bench that you’re standing right in front of. Heeseung grabs your hand, mumbling an apology and tugging you as far away as possible. You struggle to stifle a laugh at the redness of his ears against his hair. 

A huge ride swings and spins into the air, catching your attention, though Heeseung seems to be more interested in the way Jake stands by the entrance with a scowl on his face. Jake waves you over when he sees you, grinning and hugging you both like it’s been years since he saw you. 

“Jay and Hoon are..” he trails off, using his arm to vaguely gesture towards the sky. 

“Man,” Heeseung whispers, pointing a reverent finger to the sky, “R.I.P.” 

Countless fireworks shoot up noisily, painting the dark sky, and Heeseung’s arms fall heavily around your shoulders, his body warm against your back. If not for the way Jake’s flinching next to you, covering his ears with his hands and ducking slightly at the bang of each one, it might feel like the two of you are alone in the moment. Alone despite the chatter, the laughter and squeals. Just you and Heeseung. 

And Jake. 

Heeseung is amazing at fair games, especially the ring toss. But a tired-looking man in a business suit wins the Hello Kitty plush you’d been eyeing for the snotty toddler wrapped around his leg, so you settle for the Kuromi plush instead. Heeseung says it’s cuter. You agree. 

His voice is soft when he asks, “Maybe we can go on the Ferris wheel later?” This is a far cry from the boy of sixteen who fainted at an amusement park just from seeing the drop on the biggest ride there. When you look up at him, his eyes are wide, boring into you, holding the stars in his pupils with a grin across his blue-stained lips, and how could you say no to that face? 

The platform by the Ferris wheel is sticky under your shoes, making you cringe with every step you take towards the front of the line. Heeseung’s grip on your hand is tighter than you think it’s ever been when he realises that you’re next to get on. This might be the most scared you’ve ever seen him, your poor boyfriend with his overpriced Kuromi headband shivering beside you. 

You frown at the sight, reaching up to kiss his cheek. “We don’t have to do this, Hee,” you say.

He tries to play it cool, shrugging with a nonchalance that doesn’t match the fear in his eyes. “I want to,” he assures, though his voice lacks conviction. 

“Are you sure?” The way he flinches when the ride operator opens the gate gives you his answer, but Heeseung is firm in his words as he pulls you towards the cart, despite wincing when the operator locks you in. “Baby,” you whisper, touching his cheek. “It’s not too late to get out.” 

In what appears to be a display of his bravery, he makes a show of rocking the carriage — only to be told off by the operator (who can’t be older than sixteen) — and cheering (with no conviction) about nothing in particular. You can’t help but laugh, the cart shaking slightly as you let your head fall back and you only laugh harder when Heeseung gasps because of it. 

He flinches again when the ride starts moving, an unsettling creak sending you forward just enough to allow the next victims — according to Heeseung — to get on the ride. When the last of them board, the wheel sets off in a slow spin and he spends the entire first rotation with his eyes clamped shut, only opening them after a while when he thinks the ride is over. 

The wheel creaks more than what you think is necessary and he only grows more and more outwardly uncomfortable, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth and gripping the safety bar above your laps until his knuckles turn white. 

“Would it make you feel better if I held your hand?” you coo, holding your left hand out to him. 

He rolls his eyes but takes your hand in his, holding it between his palms. Seemingly at ease, Heeseung shifts slightly in his seat to close the tiny gap between you, pressing his knee into yours. 

Even in the distance, the fair’s LED lights are beautiful, melting away into flashing bokeh before your eyes as the carriage inches higher and higher. You almost forget your company, leaning over the edge to get a better look, only for Heeseung to put his arm on your arm, mumbling, “Stop it.” 

His skin is warm despite the slight chill that comes with your increasing altitude, and you wish the carriage was smaller—cramped even, forcing the two of you together so tightly that you have no choice but to become one. You sit in the quiet of the night, excitement on the fairground growing quieter as the wheel spins, agonisingly slow, until eventually it’s just the two of you—you and Heeseung: the only people in the moment. 

The only people in the world.

“Why are we even on this thing?” you whisper, squeezing his hand. 

Heeseung shrugs his shoulders as gently as he can manage so as not to rock the carriage. His eyes are big when he looks at you, holding your gaze intently. “I wanted to be romantic.” 

Oh, Heeseung, you think, pressing your lips into a frown. He’s the sweetest person in the world and just the thought of it makes your stomach flutter. “You’re plenty romantic,” you say sincerely. 

He scoffs. “Yeah, because pretending you didn’t exist for a year is romantic.” 

“Yes! Very!” You chuckle, nodding your head. 

Again, he rolls his eyes at you but he uses his hand to hold your face, pulling you in. His kiss tastes like candy floss and the blue raspberry slushy you shared earlier, lips soft, relaxed against your own. Your hand reaches for his thigh, meeting instead with the squished plushy between your bodies and you can’t help but laugh. 

With your presentation out of the way, you and the guys are all sitting in Heeseung and Jay’s living room for the first night of Spring break. You’ve just about reached your limit, cuddling into Heeseung’s side with your eyes closed, sleepily listening to the conversation. It’s unintelligible, more laughter and wheezes than anything else. 

You shift your way into Heeseung’s lap after a while, moving around to get comfortable. It only takes two movements for him to grab you by the waist, holding you still. You try again, and his lips catch the shell of your ear. “Relax, baby. What’s up?”

“Nothing,” you admit, moving around again until he sighs, relieved, you think. A wicked grin spreads over your lips when you feel him getting hard, grinding down on him a little and liking the warmth that spreads in your stomach from having him pressed against you. 

“Stop it,” he whispers, kissing the spot behind your ear. 

You heed the warning but can’t help the thoughts filling your mind, though you try to ignore them, laughing at something Sunghoon said about Jake’s ugly hat and shoes. Jake doesn’t find it as funny as the rest of you seem to.

Another hour passes by in the same way before the boys stumble into Jay’s room, calling out a slurred goodnight to you and Heeseung on the couch. You stand up first, holding out a hand for him to take and giggling when he presses a kiss to the back of it. 

In his room, he stares at a spot on the wall as you close the door, a contemplative look on his face. “Are you okay?” you ask, but he doesn’t look at you, only nodding his head with a crease along his brow. 

You kiss him, a featherlight touch of your lips against his. It’s soft for a while, sweet and sincere until he clutches your shirt like his life depends on it. Heeseung’s hands are all over you, stroking and squeezing every part of you he can reach. Overwhelming heat burns your skin under his touch. He inhales sharply through his nose when you reach for his waistband, tugging the drawstring free but he grabs your wrist, stopping you. He keeps kissing you, keeps trying and frowns when you pull away. 

“You don’t want this?” 

He tilts his head, looking down at you with concern flooding his wide eyes. “Do you think we’re going too fast?” His voice is quiet and he chews on his lip after speaking. 

“We’ve been together for six years.” 

“A month,” he corrects, looking at his feet.

As badly as you want him, you don’t want him doing anything he’s not ready for, so you wiggle your arm free from his grip, dropping it at your side. He lifts his head to look at you, brows knitted together, the sweetest thing you’ve ever seen. “I don’t want to rush you.”

“It’s not that.” He shakes his head with wide eyes. “I just don’t want us doing anything you’ll regret.”

“I’m not going to regret this, I don’t regret anything we’ve done, Heeseung,” you say, holding his face in your hands. 

He closes his eyes, nodding. 

“Do you want to stop?” 

“Never,” he whispers and the word has you falling to your knees. 

It’s hard to see his exact expression in only the dim glow of the streetlights outside, but you can clearly see the way he’s watching you. The way his eyes are lidded as he chews on his bottom lip, watching you reach for the buckle on his belt. Heeseung threads his fingers through your hair, groaning, and for a few seconds, you’re hypnotised. Too wrapped up in tipsiness and lust to move your fingers, completely focused on the way his breath starts to pick up before you’ve even done anything. You’re starting to think it might be enough for him just to see you like this, on your knees for him, wide-eyed and eager. 

Whether on purpose or not, Heeseung tugs on your hair gently, pulling you from your trance. His blunt fingernails scratch at the back of your head as you undo his belt, tugging his jeans down. He steps out of them as soon as he can, smiling when you toss them behind you. Too worked up to wait, you push your face against him. You take a minute to hold his covered cock between your lips, shuddering at the feeling of the damp spot at the top of it. Heeseung grunts, bucking his hips. He looks like sin when you lock eyes with him, licking a strip to the top of his waistband, sucking and nipping at the skin and coarse hair there. 

“Quit teasing,” he says, still keeping control of his voice. 

You blink up at him sweetly, shaking your head. “I’m not,” you mumble, pulling his underwear down. 

Heeseung’s dick smacks his stomach with a wet sound that makes you clench around nothing, and you sit back on your heels to admire him. Maybe it’s from time, or your unbearable desire, but he looks bigger, thicker, and much prettier than you remember. When you finally drag your eyes from his dick, you notice a mark on his hip, right above where his thigh starts. It’s a smudge of something dark, inky almost. You furrow your brows, licking the pad of your thumb to try and get rid of it. He practically flinches when you touch it, moving away from you. The increased distance between you and the low lighting only further obscures it—when you rub at the mark it doesn’t budge. 

“What is this?” 

“It’s nothing,” he says, sitting down on the bed and covering it with his hand. 

If it was anyone other than Heeseung, you might have thought it was a tattoo, but you can’t make sense of the thought so it slips your mind as soon as it occurs. You reach for the lamp on his bedside table, flicking it on, losing your breath at the sight of his skin glowing golden in the light, and the tip of his cock is a tempting, glossy red. You can’t help but take him in your hand, stroking him slowly. 

“Tell me, baby.” 

“It’s a bruise,” he manages through a gasp, licking his lips.

Your thumb swipes over his slit and he crumbles. “Heeseung.” 

“Butterfly, it’s a butterfly.” 

A fuzzy warmth starts to bloom in your chest, overwhelming you. “Lay down,” you say, voice as soft as it’s ever been. 

Heeseung obliges, linking his fingers with yours when you move his hand from his thigh. Under the light, you can see it clearly, dark strokes of ink forming a pretty butterfly, tiny, and heart-achingly familiar. 

“Is it..” You trail off, moving your lips around words that you can’t get out as tears sting your eyes. “Did I draw this?” Leaning over him, you get as close as you can, using your finger to trace the shape. 

Sitting up on his elbows, he looks down at you with a worried look on his face as he nods. “Do you hate it?” 

“I love it.. it’s perfect.” You let go of his hand, using the back of your fingers to wipe at your eyes. 

Heeseung sits up, letting his hand cup your cheek and looking at you. He uses his thumb to wipe some of the tears you missed before leaning down and kissing you. His lips move slowly with yours, he’s being gentle, so gentle that you hear your heart thudding in your ears. 

“Come sit,” he mumbles against your mouth, helping you up and guiding you into his lap, a whine falling out of him when you sit on his cock and you mumble an apology that you don’t mean.

“When did.. Why did you..”

His shoulders rise and fall in a shrug. “My first birthday I spent without you. I just wanted to have something for you.”

You’ve seen it and you’ve heard it from him, but you still can’t make sense of it. “But you’re.. you’re Heeseung. You’d never get a tattoo, you told me that.” 

“I’ll probably never get another tattoo, it hurt like hell,” he says, frowning. 

“You’re such a sweetheart.” You cradle his face in your hands, gazing into his eyes, your sweet Heeseung. So different yet so incredibly similar. “You’re, like, obsessed with me.”

There’s a loud adoration in his eyes that makes your stomach turn. “How could I not be?” His smile is wide even though his lips are smushed a little by the way you’re holding his face. 

Heeseung tilts his chin towards you so you kiss him, the two of you passing moans and whines between your mouths as you grind on him, his hands gripping your waist under your shirt. He shudders under you, rutting his hips against yours with a groan. He’s harder than ever underneath you, his cock hot between your thighs, pressed up against your core in the most maddening way. It can’t be comfortable for him, the friction from your underwear but he seems like he’s enjoying it just as much as you, maybe more, you think, when he starts throbbing. 

Conscious of the boys across the hall, you try your best to be quiet, though Heeseung doesn’t share your concern, his lips parting too wide to keep kissing you and his head falling back as he lets a whine out into the air. His nails dig into your skin, hips speeding up more than you can keep up with as he trembles, clearly so close to the edge that you moan at the sight of him all fucked out in front of you. You chew on your lip, watching his whole face scrunch up before falling to your shoulder, his cum leaking out all over your panties and the tops of your thighs. A grin covers your lips while your pussy aches from the heat of his release and the feeling of his staggered breath hitting your skin. When he finally sits up, sweat slicks the column of his neck and chest, a nervous look in his eyes that he can’t quite bring to meet yours. 

“This is j—” Heeseung cuts you off by covering your mouth with his palm. 

“I remember. You don’t have to say it, baby, I remember.” 

“You were so cute that day,” you say when he moves his hand. Butterflies fill your stomach when you think about it, the first time you ever did anything with each other, with anyone. He was fifteen, with cute round glasses perched on the end of his nose and teeth too big for his mouth, finishing in his jeans with you in his lap.

“You don’t think I’m cute anymore?” he asks, frowning. 

“You’re always cute.”

Heeseung grins at your words, so wide and sweet your heart races. He kisses you gently and slips his hand into your underwear, his finger trailing the length of your pussy slowly, groaning into your mouth at how wet you are. You whine into the kiss when he strokes your clit and gasp when he pushes a finger into you easily. Gradually, he adds more fingers, fucking you open on his knuckles and watching as you fall apart.

His lips move from yours, falling to your neck so he can kiss and suck the sensitive skin there. “You feel so good, baby. My sweet girl,” he mumbles, breath searing your skin. The words make you clench, your stomach fluttering relentlessly as he uses his thumb to press on your clit, the pressure enough to make you spiral. It’s all too much too fast and before long, you’re squirming and mewling in Heeseung’s arms, finishing all over his fingers. 

Immediately, an excruciating flush burns every inch of your body as you hide your face in his neck to catch your breath. His arms wrap around you and he whispers sweet nothings into your hair while stroking your back.

Ever since that night in his room, all your senses feel heightened when Heeseung is around. 

And it doesn’t help that you spend every waking moment with him. Whether in his flat or yours, you’re joined at the hip and it’s near impossible not to pounce on him. In your stomach blooms a heat you haven’t felt in years. An all-consuming flame that makes you hold your breath when he cuddles you; makes you look away when he strips before showering.

He’s taken a liking to shirtlessness, only seeming to remember that the garments exist when he has to leave the house—which isn’t often now that classes have ended. This sudden cotton allergy plagues you, burning the image of his ever-increasing muscle definition and the tattoo on his hip into your memory, so deeply they’re the only things you see when you close your eyes at night. 

Even when Heeseung’s being romantic, cooking dinner for the two of you and almost burning his finger with a match while lighting a candle, you’re thinking about him fucking you. When he goes out with the boys and stumbles into your flat, drunk, with a crushed bouquet in his hands, you’re thinking about what might have happened if you’d gone out too. If he’d finger you in the back of a taxi or take you against the door when you got back. 

Weeks go by like this until you finally reach your limit. 

There’s nothing overtly sexual about the way Heeseung’s sitting. About the way his lashes kiss his cheeks when he blinks, or the way his hair sits in a sleepy mess on his forehead. But it’s Heeseung. So these things existing on him drive you crazy. 

Given the lack of privacy in your family homes — by way of an open-door rule when visiting each other — you and Heeseung didn’t have many opportunities to have sex that didn’t involve being tangled around one another in the backseat of his car. And even those occasions were few and far between. 

With the only three brain cells that seem to function around your shirtless boyfriend and your head on the doorjamb, you begin to scheme. It doesn’t have to be elaborate—just a way to get Heeseung to fuck you without you having to bring it up. 

“What’s up, baby?” he asks, finally looking over at you. His voice pulls you out of your thoughts, with a raspiness to it that makes your thoughts run wild. From head to toe, his eyes drag over your body, his tongue coming out to run over his lips. 

Clearly, a very delicate, well-timed conversation is in order and the gears in your mind scrape against each other, turning egregiously as you try to figure out how to start the conversation. “I want you to fuck me,” you blurt out. Not the most delicate approach, but the way Heeseung’s eyes widen suggests you might be on the right track. “I didn’t mean to say that,” you admit sheepishly. 

He chuckles deeply in a way you haven’t heard in years. “So you don’t want me to fuck you?” There’s a challenge in his question, evident from his raised brow, the setting aside of his phone, and the way he sits up straight. The movement forces the duvet to slip a little, falling from above his belly button to his hips in one fell — effortlessly sexy — swoop. 

In spite of this, you can’t help but roll your eyes at him. How could you be standing there, in nothing but his t-shirt, asking him to fuck you and he’s caught up on semantics? “That’s not what I’m saying.” 

“What are you saying?” When you don’t say anything, Heeseung lifts the duvet from his body entirely, grinning when your gaze locks on his hips. His pyjama pants are sitting low enough to show off the waistband of his underwear, and they don’t do anything to hide the way his hard cock pushes against them.

Heeseung towers over you, overwhelming you and the space of the doorframe as his mouth quirks up at one corner. “You want it, baby?” he asks, his voice soft as he cups your face in his hand, using his thumb to trace your lips. 

His face dips down to yours and you can’t resist reaching up to kiss him, whining at the contact as you move your lips in sync with his. The sounds he’s making are dizzying, deep groans you feel in your chest. His hand grips your waist, pulling you as close as possible so you can feel him, hard and thick, pressing against you. 

You whimper when he pulls away, chasing his kiss, but Heeseung only chuckles. “Say the word and I’m yours,” he whispers, looking down at you with those big eyes. 

“I’m not going to beg.” 

He smiles sweetly, a soft curve of his lips summoning butterflies. “Suit yourself,” he says, leaning down to press a kiss to the base of your neck and leaving the room. 

Flustered, you follow him, flinging your arms around his waist and pressing your face into his back. “Okay, I’m going to beg.”

“I’m listening.” 

“I need you,” you mumble into his skin. 

“You have me.” 

Even though his words and the way his lips audibly split into a grin make your heart race, you can’t help your frustration. “Heeseung,” you say, pleading with him. 

He frees himself from your grip, turning around. When you look up at him, he’s watching you closely through lidded eyes, his lips parted in a soft pout that makes your heart melt. His arms wrapped around your shoulders, holding you close enough to feel him pressing against you. “I’m all yours, baby. What’s up?”

“Why are you torturing me?”

This makes him smile as he shakes his head. “I’m not.” 

“Please.”

He brings a hand up to your face, his thumb stroking your cheek and you can’t help but nuzzle into his palm. “Please what?” 

“You know what I need and I can’t go any longer without it,” you mumble into his hand. Heeseung only raises a brow and you sigh. Somehow, your want for him is greater than your embarrassment so you sigh, looking him in the eye. “If you want to, please, please, fuck me, Heeseung. Any way you want, baby, just promise me you’ll do it. I need it, need you.” 

A shit-eating grin takes over his face as he leans down to press a kiss to your forehead. “Was that so hard?” he asks, frowning when you don’t reply. “Don’t get all moody, baby, talk to me.” 

Heeseung picks you up, holding you close as you wrap your legs around his waist. Both of his hands are spread over your ass and you’re too embarrassed to say anything, chewing your lip and staring at the little mole on his forehead. 

“Need me to fuck you ‘til you can talk again?” There’s a roughness to his voice that makes your cheeks flush, but you can’t help but laugh, head falling back in a fit of cackles. 

“What are you talking about?” 

His pretty lips come together in a pout before he speaks. “I don’t know.” He shrugs, the tips of his ears burning red as he carries you to his room, using his foot to close the door behind him. “I’m rusty.”

You shake your head before kissing his forehead. “You’re perfect.”

Heeseung sets you down on the bed gently, crawling over you. “I like seeing you in my shirts,” he says, clutching the fabric in his fists, tugging a little. 

“Someone has to wear them.”

A breathy laugh falls from his lips. “What?” He tilts his head, leaning away from you to sit back on his heels. “You don’t like seeing me like this?” 

It’s hard to find a balance between missing his warmth and looking at his body. Staring at the definition that marks his chest and stomach and the way his muscles stick out over his biceps, you can feel yourself leaking at the sight of him. Your eyes catch on his waistband, on the strip of hair that’s cut off by the start of the fabric before falling to the bulge in his pants. 

“You’re looking at me like I’m your next meal,” he mumbles, leaning back over you with a deep flush on his cheeks and neck.

“I think I want you to be.” 

“You think?”

You nod eagerly, anticipation swirling in your stomach. 

“Anything I can do to make you certain?” Heeseung’s voice is thick with something you think could be enough to make you finish. 

“Whatever you want,” you say, desperate. 

He chews on his lip, considering you for a while before kissing your cheek. Once more, he sits up, tugging at your waist. “First, I want this shirt out of my way,” he says with a smile. 

Immediately, you lean off the bed to let him take it off, tossing it behind him. “Anything else?” 

Heeseung’s too busy staring to speak, taking you in hungrily with a jarring combination of lust and adoration behind his eyes. You thought you’d feel shy about him seeing you after so long, but you’ve never felt more comfortable in your life as he reaches down to lock his fingers with yours. He brings your hand up to his mouth, kissing the back of it. “You’re so pretty,” he says against your skin. 

There’s no stopping the flutter in your stomach or the smile that spreads over your lips. You tell him you love him and he says it back as he leans back down to kiss you slowly, his tongue licking into your mouth at an agonising pace, a line of saliva connecting you to him when he pulls away. 

“I want to get my head between your legs,” he mumbles, letting his hand dip between your spread thighs. “So wet already?” he asks, dragging your slick up to your clit, rubbing it with a featherlight touch that leaves a whine slipping from your lips. “Will you let me?” 

You nod. 

Heeseung smiles and you match it before he dips his head into the crook of your neck, kissing the skin there for a minute. His breath and wet mouth are hot, burning a trail down to your collarbone and chest, where he gets distracted, pulling one of your nipples between his lips.

Your stomach twists at the sight of him, his pretty, pouty lips sucking and biting at your sensitive skin, the way he’s moaning against you, using his thick fingers to tug and pinch your other breast. It takes him a while to move on but you don’t complain, even when he presses tickly kisses to your stomach. 

When he reaches your legs, he gets off the bed, kneels on the floor and hooks his arms around your thighs to pull you towards him. You feel exposed when he uses his thumbs to spread you, staring at your pussy with wide eyes, his lips parted a little until his head falls back with a groan. 

“Missed this pussy. Been thinking about it so much, all the time. So beautiful, baby.” He manages to drag his gaze from between your legs to lock eyes with you. “You’re so beautiful, baby.” His lips touch your thighs, kissing the soft skin there, sucking marks into it and biting softly. The sting is subtle but it makes you clench, a movement that isn’t lost on him. “You’re so needy, huh? You want me that bad?” he asks, looking up with a tilted head. 

You mumble the word ‘no’ and shake your head. “Need you.” The words come out of their own accord, nothing more than a desperate whine that makes Heeseung press his eyes shut. You watch as he shifts on the floor, leaning in and giving you the attention you deserve. 

Heeseung’s nose grazes your slit and you gasp at the sudden contact, flinging your head back into the pillows when he licks a strip from there to your clit, giving it a quick peck. 

You card your fingers through his hair, gripping at the strands so hard it must hurt, but he doesn’t seem to mind, going slow despite the way you’re trying to rut against his face. He kisses the spot above your clit, his tongue poking out to lick at the skin there, only hitting the bud a few times and the anticipation is enough to make you spiral. 

Time stands still, all concept of it demolished when, finally, he wraps his lips around your swollen clit, running his tongue over it with a pressure that leaves you shaking against the sheets. Moans pour out of you like water from a faucet with nothing but pleasure and Heeseung’s sweet mouth crossing your mind. 

It doesn’t seem like he’s ever going to stop, only coming up for air for a brief moment before sticking a finger into you and attaching his mouth to your clit, burying himself in your wetness. The stretch is minimal, barely registering in the waves of pleasure crashing over you, until he adds a second finger, thick and rigid as he works you open for him. By the time his third finger enters, you have to pull him away by his hair, struggling to find the words to say and settling on a whiny cry of his name.

“Hmm?” He looks up at you, face covered in slick that shines on his chin and nose, shoulders rising and falling heavily, but his fingers don’t let up, curling towards your belly button torturously slow.

“Want to cum with you inside.”

Heeseung’s eyes darken and he licks his lips. “Yeah?” 

“Uh-huh, and I don’t want you using a condom either, want you to fill me up.”

“Are you sure?” 

You nod. “I’m still on the pill and you’re the only person I’ve ever been with.”

Heeseung wastes no time standing up from the floor, watching hungrily as you sigh at the emptiness, moving up on the bed. He uses his fist to pump his cock slowly, sighing when he drags his thumb over his tip. A beat passes before he grins, boyish and handsome while crawling over you again. His face softens and his eyes burn into yours as he cups your cheek in his palm. “You sure about this?” 

“I’m sure, Heeseung, you’re all I want,” you whisper, pecking his lips. 

“Me too.” 

He uses his free hand to reach for his cock, rubbing his tip over your clit and chewing on his lip. He lets his cock split your folds, grinding his length against you, rubbing your cunt with a wet sound that fills the room. Heeseung straightens up and you moan when he spits into his palm, stroking himself before pressing the head of his cock to your entrance. You hold your breath, bracing for the stretch and crying out when he pushes in. His head falls forward with a sigh, his hair tickling your forehead.

“I missed you,” he groans when he bottoms out, his thumb running over your lips. A moan slips out of him when you open your mouth, running your thumb over the pad of his finger and sucking on it. “Missed these pretty lips, this pussy. Don’t know how I got on without it.” His words and the feeling of him inside after so long only make you dizzy, knowing that he wanted you like you wanted him. He watches you with parted lips, rocking his hips tenderly against yours. 

“Faster, Hee,” you whisper. “Harder.” 

Heeseung’s brows knit together and he slows to a pace that lets you feel single vein and inch of him as he bottoms out before pulling almost all the way out. “Can you take it?” he asks, a jarring tone to his voice that you think is a challenge. 

You nod desperately. “Please.” 

The word flips a switch for him and he speeds up, thrusting so hard, so deep that your back arches off the bed as his tip nudges your g-spot each time. Just when it all starts to feel too much, Heeseung lifts one of your legs, hitting deeper than he has before and tangling up a knot in your stomach. 

“You’re so good, baby, so good for me.” His eyes are dark and lidded, full of all the love in the world as he gazes into yours, a tangible love that overwhelms you, eating you alive along with his praise.

Sweltering heat stretches through every part of your body at the drag of him inside, the push and pull of his cock along your stuttering walls. It’s enough to make you shiver and a cry of his name rips out of you when he starts rubbing your clit again, pushing the bud in slow circles that make you screw your eyes shut. 

“That’s it. Cum for me, baby, make a mess,” he whispers and that’s as much as you can take. 

Stars flash behind your closed eyes as every single part of your body sets alight, dazed by Heeseung’s whines and the feeling of being full, finally being full, until both ends of the knot tug and tug, leaving you with nothing but a hoarse moan that dies in your throat as your orgasm hits you like a truck. 

A lewd squelch accompanies each of his thrusts as they get sloppier and sloppier, losing their rhythm and intensity. It seems like he’s right there with you though when he collapses on top of you, his head falling into the crook of your neck and his moans slipping out like music to your ears.

It’s hard not to fall apart under him, but you try your best, dragging your nails over the toned muscles of his back while telling him you love him over and over until he finishes. Both of you are trembling, fighting for breath and whining as Heeseung sloppily fucks you full of his cum. The sound is downright pornographic, loud and wet as your cum mixes with his for the first time in so long. An inexplicable intimacy so thick it hangs in the air, perching on your shoulders as he looks into your eyes. 

Heeseung slows down after a while, stopping completely but not pulling out yet, keeping you full and aching around him. When he catches his breath, he gives you a dreamy smile, thanking you before pressing soft kisses to every part of your face he can reach. 

You whine when he pulls out, missing him as soon as he’s gone. Despite your sensitivity, you want to beg him to come back, to slip back into you and stay forever, though Heeseung has other plans. He sits between your legs, dragging a lazy finger up your slit and watching with a smile as cum leaks out. You squirm against the sheets, pushing your head into the pillow when he uses two fingers to push it back in.

“Wish I could keep you full like this forever,” he mumbles absently, curling his fingers. 

All you can do is sigh happily. Long minutes go by until he takes his fingers out of you, reaching behind him for his shirt to wipe you up before leaning down to your face, mumbling against your lips to come and shower with him.

You’ve never showered with Heeseung before and a voice in your head tells you to press your cheek against the tile and let him have you again, but you’re way too sleepy for that. The warmth of the water and his big hands roaming your body do nothing to help, only forcing your eyes to fall shut as you lean back against Heeseung’s chest, willing yourself to stay awake. 

Once you’re all showered and clean, you only feel sleepier, standing on the plush bath mat in front of the steamed-up mirror. Droplets of water trickle down your skin and you can’t help but revel in the warmth of the room around you. Wrapped snugly in a soft, fluffy towel, you find yourself too tired to follow Heeseung out, slathering some of the expensive moisturiser Jay keeps in the bathroom over your skin. You peer into the mirror, though you don’t see much, and for a moment, it’s just you and the steady trickle of water from the showerhead. The bathroom smells like Heeseung’s minty shower gel and you miss him already, but you take your time anyway, savouring the moment and everything that came before it. 

You find him in his room when you’re done, tucking the last corner of a fitted sheet around his mattress. 

“You want to nap, baby?” he asks when he sees you, holding out a clean shirt for you to wear. 

“Mm,” you hum, nodding your head and dropping the towel so he can put the shirt over your head. 

“Let me just fix the pillowcases, yeah?” 

You nod, slumping into his desk chair and watching the muscles in his back shift and flex as he moves around the room, dumping the dirty bedding into his laundry basket and slipping the clean linen over his pillows. He pulls the duvet back and pats the mattress, grinning when you shake your head and make grabby hands in his direction, 

Heeseung stretches his arms above his head and comes over to you but you stop him before he can pick you up. 

“I’m going grocery shopping with Yunjin later and I need a pound for the trolley, do you have any?” you ask through a yawn. 

He scratches his chin, thinking about it. “If I do, they’re in my wallet,” he says, reaching for it on the desk and handing it to you before taking a seat on the end of his bed. 

When you pull on the zipper to open the coin slot, you find a shiny pound coin and a folded piece of lined paper. You leave the coin where it is and hold the paper between two fingers for him to see. “What’s this?” 

Immediately, he hides his face with his hands but you can still see the flush on his ears. You’re not sure what reaction you were expecting, but despite your curiosity, you won’t look at it if he doesn’t want you to. “Sorry, baby,” you say, putting it back. “Forget I asked.” 

Heeseung sighs, looking up at you through the gaps in his fingers. “You can look if you want, it’s nothing bad, just mildly humiliating.” 

Nervous anticipation settles over your body and you can’t help but laugh a little, feeling your breath catch in your throat when you unfold the crumpled and creased paper. It’s blank. You arch a curious brow at Heeseung, who, though still slightly embarrassed, gestures for you to turn it over. 

What meets your eyes on the other side leaves you stunned. There, inked in blue with delicate care yet bearing the natural imperfections of a hand-drawn butterfly, was a familiar image. It’s the very same butterfly you drew in your notebook on a spring date with him four years ago. Your fingers tremble as you trace the lines, your heart racing as you remember how he’d torn it from the page, eyes full of appreciation for the simple drawing. 

Tears well up in your eyes when it dawns on you. It’s the very same butterfly he has tattooed on his hip, a permanent reminder of your love that endured separation and time. 

Your voice is weak as you look up at him, quivering with emotion. “You kept it after all these years,” you whisper.

Heeseung smiles, his eyes full of love. “I never let go of what matters to me.” 

© zreamy (2023), all rights reserved. do not repost, translate, or plagiarise my work. do let my know your thoughts !

permanent taglist: @asahicore

[b1tterestbeachh]

this was literally peak i cant even explain it

[hyuckzcult]

Keep it a Secret (or try) | MASTERLIST

synopsis you kinda (literally) catch your brother’s best friend touching himself and can't stop thinking about him after that. He doesn't make it any easier when he starts teasing you. enhypen masterlist.

pairing brother's bff!heeseung x reader genre smau (+ written). crack. brother's best friend. featuring rei, wonyoung, & liz (ive), enhypen, anton (riize), taesan & leehan (bnd), minju, yunah, & moka (illit). contains kys jokes; suggestive jokes; little age gap (19&21); profanity; a lot of dick jokes; Rei being so into Jake (obviously fake don’t take it seriously). mars' yap this is my first time posting in here, I've had so much fun reading SMAUs so I thought i'd try it since I kind of do them but in Wattpad (follow me by the way @ hyuckzcult)! I will try updating regularly and not leave you waiting lol but I can't promise anything!! Reblogs, comments, asks and even likes are deeply appreciated. Have fun reading!!

PROFILES just us girlies ; gay freaks

CHAPTERS

01. caught in 4k

02. bouta jump off a cliff✌️😂

03. "perfect" brother-in-law (not)

04. hey shawty

05. stolen glances - 2.9k words

06. clueless flirting

07. Jake in cupid form

08. unfortunate live tweeting

09. the rejection (he might khs)

10. keep it a secret (not anymore) - 2k words

BONUS

11. boyfriend material

12. stack of donuts

Also credits to @cafekitsune for their divider!

[foreveronez]

oh my fart i love smaus so bad bro