.𖥔 ݁ SYNOPSIS . after getting publicly broken up with because of a misspread rumor, you move away to "heal" and "start over". when you come back after months and see your ex and said person—who spread those rumors about you—getting closer each day, you realize maybe you shouldn't have ever come back. and it definitely doesn't help when your ex starts giving you mixed signals about everything.
PAIRING ex!jake x fem!reader
FEATURING aespa ningning, riize shotaro, nct haechan, le sserafim yunjin +enhypen
✎ wc 2.1k
TAGS smau (+written) ; crack ; university au ; lots of miscommunication ; dumbass jake ; cringey moments ; cliche 𝓦 none that I can think of other than suggestive comments?
When you stepped out of your building, with your glasses and with your hair all over your face, you realized that maybe you should’ve cleaned yourself a little bit before walking out. Jay was wearing a jacket with a dark blue hoodie under, clearly freezing his ass off but acting like he wasn’t. His lips trembling said otherwise.
“The weather’s so nice.” You started the conversation as you hit his arm with the rest of your long sleeve, making him chuckle.
“You’re insane.”
You gave him a playful smile, standing beside him. “So…what are you doing here? Not that I’m complaining. When I said you genuinely saved me, you genuinely saved me.” You laughed.
Jay smiled, looking around as he took out his hand from his pocket to scratch his eyebrow. “I’m glad. Your roommate is a bit…no offense, but really unkind. I’m surprised they paired you with her.” He commented, “you’re like, the opposite.”
“It is what it is, isn’t it?” You asked.
He nodded, stepping off on the stairs to start walking. You followed slightly behind, seeing as you had shorter legs than him, and stepped into the actual campus.
“Is it weird living on campus?” Jay asked.
You frowned for a second in thought, then shook your head. “Not really, I only come here to sleep. Most of my time I spent it at work or the library. Or with you, at least recently.” You let out a giggle, making him shyly smile.
“So you hate living on campus?"
“Not necessarily. Just who I’m rooming with, I guess. Which is why I’m definitely taking on that offer about looking at apartments with you as soon as possible.”
Jay hummed in understatement, looking down at how your feet walked in synchronization. “Hey, what if—what if you move into my apartment?” You side-eyed him, making him chuckle shyly. “Not permanently. Just—you know, I have a spare room that my mom uses whenever she comes to visit or when someone needs it, you know? You wouldn’t have to worry about rent or anything.” He suggested, his hands waving in the air nervously.
You smiled at him. “Actually?”
“Yeah, why not? Unless you’re not comfortable. I understand that completely.” He nodded with a flat smile. “Just a suggestion.” He said, giving you a playful shoulder nudge.
“I can’t. You’re already helping me apartment hunting…”
“Well, that’s what good friends are for.” He shrugged casually. “You’re just more special than the others, I guess.” He added with a laugh.
“Special, huh?” You raised an eyebrow teasingly, making him roll his eyes.
“Of course you are.” He said in a much serious tone, making you bite your bottom lip and nod, looking away as the air blew on your face softly. “Anyway, it’s just so you don’t have to deal with your roommate. You can say ‘no’. I can accept rejection.” You snorted a laugh, making him smile. “Damn, didn’t think you’d laugh in my face, though.”
You covered your mouth with your left hand, playfully pushing him away with the right one, making him laugh along as the two of you walked around the corner right outside campus.
Before Jay could speak, his phone buzzed, making him quickly take out his phone from his pocket to glance at it.
“Important?” You asked, sneaking a glance as well but barely seeing anything.
He shook his head, putting the phone back in his back pocket. “Nah.”
You nodded, looking ahead as Jay pointed at the convenience store on the corner street, “Let’s go eat something. My treat.”
“You’re giving me lots of treats lately.” He snorted a laugh, “by next week, I might owe you a total of one million dollars.” You joked.
Jay shook his head as he started walking, looking ahead. “Nonsense. You don’t owe me anything.”
“I beg to differ.”
“All I’m doing is helping you out a little. Don’t think about repaying me or anything, please.” You stared at him, a sigh escaping your lips but no words coming out, making Jay glance at you. “Is something wrong?”
You shook your head, waving your hand in the air as if to say “I’m cool”. “I’m just wondering how come you don’t have a girlfriend. Not that it’s a bad thing, I just–you’re a gentleman, you know?” You said, tilting your head to the side in confusion.
He nodded, looking away with a shy smile on his lips. “I–trust me, I don’t know either. I guess I just haven’t been looking for anyone.” He shrugged. Jay was lying through his teeth.
You pouted, then smiled as a question popped in your head. “Not even a crush?”
You.
He chuckled, shaking his head after you appeared in his mind.
Of course he wouldn’t say that to you. He didn’t even consider you a crush, per se. You were more than that, you were something to him, but not just a crush. A crush was someone you admired from afar because of the idea you planted of said person. But Jay knew you, the type of person you are, what you like, what you dislike, your favorite movies, the way you reacted to stuff and what you would say after it. That’s not something just a “crush” does to you.
So, he didn’t have a crush. He wasn’t technically lying to you. Was he?
A beautiful gasp echoed in his ears, causing him to startle himself. He smiled when he saw you pointing your index finger in his face.
“What?”
“You thought of someone, didn’t you?” You asked with excitement, thinking she cracked the code.
“No, I didn’t.”
You giggled, “Yeah, you did!”
Jay stared at you with squinted eyes then looked away, making you smile proudly. “You don’t have to tell me who it is. Whoever it is though…they are really lucky.”
“You think so?” You nodded. He looked down at you and gave you a flat smile, giving you a pat in the head to which you pushed him off, making him laugh. “She’s a much better person than me. If anything, I’m the lucky one.” He added.
You dramatically covered your mouth. “If that is true, then that’s amazing. Do you plan on talking to her? Make a move?” You asked with a smile. That precious smile that first made Jay lie eyes on you back in high school.
“Uh, we talk–normal, like friends.” He stumbled across his words, making you look at him attentively, as if to say “relax, take your time”, an expression he always admired. “It’s complicated. She’s going through a lot of things and I don’t want to be a burden.” He shook his head.
You stopped in front of the convenience store, turning to Jay, you placed your hand on his shoulder. “You’re everything but a burden, Jay. I hate that you say you are. If this person is as kind as you say they are…they’d think the same. And I’m sure they’d be more than happy to have you as company.”
Jay stared down at you for a second, his eyes leaving yours to look at where your hand was. “Thanks, Y/n. T–that means a lot coming from you.”
Letting your hand fall back on your body, you smiled. “Anyone would be lucky to be close to you, Jongseong.”
“Aaaand you ruined the moment.”
You snorted a laugh, quickly patting his head before stepping into the store.
For a second there, Jay stood in the same place, wondering what the hell he saved in his past life to have someone like you, to have you say something that made him believe there was no one else that could ever make him feel the way he did with you.
And fuck, he hated the fact that he knew he would never make a move on you, even if you said he should give it a try.
He couldn’t do that to Jake, or to you, for that matter.
Jakey boy: yo
Jakey boy: can i talk to you?
Jay sighed as the messages came through, quickly glancing at you. You were at the register, talking to the lady behind it with a smile. He scratched his eyebrow and opened his friend’s messages.
Jay: I'm out right now, is it important?
Jakey boy: u getting laid? 😛
Jay: just eating with a friend, i’ll call u when im back home
Jakey boy: it’s ok
Jakey boy: i just wanted an opinion
Jay: on?
Jakey boy: y/n
Jakey boy: I’m going to apologize to her
Jay swallowed nervously, sending a forced reaction emoji to his last message before he turned his phone off. He turned to look at you once again, your smile infecting the register lady as you paid for a sweet treat. He ran his fingers through his hair, looking away before it could infect you.
He waited patiently, although his foot tapping on the end of the chair said otherwise.
“I can’t believe I never forced you to try these.” You said, handing one of the popsicles to Jay as you sat back down. “They’re the best popsicles ever.”
Jay smiled subconsciously as he tore the package off with you, "you've always been obsessed with banana flavored treats.” He chuckled.
You smiled widely, taking a delicious bite, making a sound that made Jay’s stomach flutter. He shook his head before taking a bite, the same size as you. He wasn’t the biggest fan of banana flavored treats, but for you? The man would try anything.
At his unfamiliar expression, you furrowed your eyebrows. “You hate it, don't you?” Before he could respond, you sighed. “It’s okay, I can eat another one by myself.” You added as you reached for his popsicle.
Jay threw his head back, shaking it as he ate the popsicle peacefully before opening his mouth to speak. “It’s surprisingly very good.”
You sat back and cheered, making the guy chuckle. “Actually?”
He nodded.
As you opened your mouth to speak with excitement, a buzz came through your phone, making you mumble a small sorry before taking it.
A single text from Jake.
Jaeyun: can we talk?
You stared at it blankly, making Jay frown slightly at your reaction.
“Did something happen?” He asked after a second.
You put your phone down, shaking your head with a small laugh. “It’s nothing,” You took your popsicle back in your mouth to stop talking.
“Are you sure?”
You glanced at him and nodded, gathering the garbage in a pile to put it inside the plastic back. “Yeah, sorry. It’s just Jake.”
“Oh.”
You chuckled. “Yeah, oh.”
Jay let out a sigh, “Wanna talk about it?”
He did not want to talk about it.
“Thanks, but no. I feel like such a burden bringing the same topic over and over ever since I came back.” You chuckled awkwardly.
Jay reached for your hand, the hand that was moving from plastic to plastic just to do something. “You could never be a burden, Y/n.” He looked into your eyes with an expression you hadn't noticed before, making you blow air into your cheeks, making him smile a little bit. “Sure. I’m tired of hearing about Jake being an asshole, but coming from you? Nothing is a burden.”
You nodded slowly, giving him a saddened smile. “Jake is an asshole.”
He snorted a laugh, rolling his eyes playfully. “Such an asshole.”
You both smiled at each other, a real smile–innocent, even. And Jay wished you two could stay here forever, but he also knew that wasn’t possible. So again, like the coward he thought he was, he let go of your hand and instead patted your head. “Now let’s finish this thing so I can walk you back to your dorm and rest that pretty head of yours.” He teased.
You scoffed, hitting his shoulder playfully. “Just give me the damn popsicle back. What do you mean by this thing, you hater?”
All Jay could do was smile at you, going unnoticed by the way both of your expressions turned light again by the smallest teasing joke.
mars yap actually kill me bc I hate writing how I want my future husband to be GET ME A JAY NOW.
btw sorry for the week abandonment...promise I'll try my best updating ok :((((
!! synopsis: it was all fun and games having the two biggest heartthrobs on campus chasing after you. jake the steady one who showed up, who waited, who looked at you like you were the only thing that made sense. and heeseung the wild one who teased, who pushed, who looked at you like he was trying to figure out what was underneath. two boys. four years. and you, stuck in the middle, never choosing, never needing to. until you had to.
!! genre: college au, love triangle, mutual pining, smut + suggestive, crack, fluff
!! warnings: jealousy, possessive behavior, alcohol consumption, smut(mdni), switch reader, soft dom + sub jake, mean dom heeseung (hes so dada), threesome, praise kink, tit play, pet names, dirty talk, oral (female + male) , piv, light spanking + choking, degrading, unprotected sex cs we young ho's (jk wrap it before u tap it pls), cum + spit play, overstimulation, squirting, mxm if u squint (mb was feelin freaky) double penetration, orgasim denial (lots of it sry), lmk if i missed anything
!! wc: 23K
!! a/n: hihihi amazing ppl i hope u enjoy reading dont hate on my queen y/n its heejake we talking abt here. I attempted to proof read while half asleep so if something doesn't make sense js ignore it ok?? ok!! shoutout to my baddie my everything the mother of my kids @arelyvn for being my motivation to try out something new js know u getting it tonight anyways happy reading!!
Students stream past you in waves, you're halfway across the quad, when you feel it. A shift in the air. The way conversations sometimes dip and rise when someone important walks by.
You don't need to look to know who it is. You've been here long enough to recognize the sound of campus adjusting to the presence of certain people. Jake and Heeseung are crossing the quad from the opposite direction, accompanied by the rest of their friends. Jay, Sunghoon, Sunoo, Jungwon and Ni-ki, the names everyone on campus knows, the group that's been at the center of everything since freshman year. They move through the crowd like they own it, and in a way, they do.
You watch them as they pass. Jay is mid-rant about something while Sunghoon is beside him, pretending to listen. Sunoo is laughing at something on his phone, his head thrown back, and Jungwon is trying to grab the phone from him. Ni-ki is walking backward in front of them all, saying something that makes Jay throw his hands up even more, and something that makes Sunghoon look away from the crowd and pay attention.
And then there's Jake and Heeseung. Jake is the one people notice first. Something about him draws the eye without demanding it. He's got his hands in his jacket pockets, his head tilted as he listens to whatever Ni-ki is saying. He's the kind of person who makes you feel seen without trying. People have been talking about Jake since freshman year, about how he helped that transfer student find her way to the dining hall during the first week, about how he stayed up all night helping Sunghoon study for a final, about how he's the reason their group became a group in the first place.
People have been talking about Heeseung for just as long. They talk about the way he plays basketball, the way he's been scouted since his first season. Where Jake makes you feel safe, Heeseung makes you feel like you're standing at the edge of something dangerous. He walks with his eyes scanning the crowd like he's looking for something or someone and when his gaze passes over you, it lingers for just a second longer than it should. He's been doing that for four years.
You've known them both for four years. You've watched them become the people everyone talks about. You've heard the whispers of the girls who want Jake's attention, the ones who want Heeseung's, the ones who want both and the girls who've tried and fail to get there attention. And you've been in the middle of it. Not by choice, maybe, though you've never exactly stepped out of it either. You've let them orbit you, let them watch you, let them want you. You've told yourself it doesn't mean anything, that you're not doing anything wrong by letting them both stay close. And that you're not responsible for what they feel, that you're not leading anyone on, that you're just existing in the space between two people who have been there for four years. The problem is you're not sure you believe yourself anymore.
The library is quiet when you get there, the way you like it. You find your usual table near the window, spread out your books, and try to focus on the reading you've been avoiding for three days. You make it ten minutes before a coffee cup appears in your peripheral vision. You look up. Heeseung slides into the chair across from you. Oat milk vanilla latte. Exactly how you like it.
"I didn't ask for coffee."
"You didn't have to." He leans back, stretching his arms behind his head, and you try not to notice the way his shirt pulls across his chest. "You always come here on Tuesdays. You always get tired around ten. You always need a second cup."
You wrap your hands around the cup, letting the warmth seep into your palms. "That's creepy."
"It's observant. There's a difference."
"There really isn't." He grins. It's the same grin he's been giving you for four years. The one that says he's always a step ahead, that he's been watching you long enough to know exactly how to get under your skin. A puzzle you can't quite solve.
"Are you going tonight?" you ask, already knowing the answer.
"Wouldn't miss it."
"Why? Thought you hate Sunghoon's parties."
"I don't hate them. I tolerate them." He leans forward, elbows on the table, and his voice drops. "I'm going because you'll be there."
You hold his gaze. Four years ago, that kind of line would have made your stomach flip. Now, you've learned to meet him where he is. "You always say that."
"Because it's always true."
You try to hold back a smile. He catches it of course and his grin softens into something that looks almost genuine.
"See you tonight," he says, standing.
He's halfway to the door when you call after him. "Heeseung."
He turns.
"The coffee's cold."
He laughs, a real laugh the kind you don't hear often and pushes through the exit. Leaving you alone with your lukewarm latte and the strange, familiar ache in your chest.
You sit there for another twenty minutes, staring at the same page. When you finally pack up your books and head for the exit, not paying attention. You push through the doors, your eyes on your phone, your mind still tangled up in thoughts you don't want to name, and you walk directly into someone's chest.
"Watch-"
You look up. Jake.
He steadies you with a hand on your arm, his grip gentle, his face shifting from surprise to something warmer when he realizes it's you. "Sorry," he says, his hand still on your arm. "I wasn't looking."
"I wasn't either."
He doesn't let go right away. His thumb brushes your sleeve, a small, absent movement, like he's not even thinking about it. His eyes are warm in the afternoon light, the kind of warm that makes you forget you were in a hurry to leave.
"You okay?" he asks. "You look like you're somewhere else."
You pull back, tuck your hair behind your ear. "Just tired. Long week."
He nods slowly. He doesn't push. That's one of the things you've always loved about Jake.
"Sunghoon's party," he says. "You going?"
You laugh, a little breathless. "You're the third person to ask me that."
"Third?"
"Heeseung asked. Yunjin asked. Now you."
His expression doesn't change at the mention of Heeseung. You're not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing. "So what did you tell them?"
"I told them I'd think about it, but I'll most likely be there."
He smiles and steps aside to let you pass, but as you move by him, his hand brushes yours. Barely anything. But you feel it.
"I hope you come," he says, and there's something in his voice that makes you stop.
You turn to look at him. "Why?"
He holds your gaze. "Because I always have a better time when you're there."
You don't know what to say to that or why your body wants to step closer. Instead, you smile. "I'll think about it," you say again, and this time, it sounds like a promise.
He's still watching you when you walk away. You can feel his eyes on your back, warm and steady, and you let yourself wonder, for just a moment, what it would be like to stop pretending.
You're halfway across the quad when your phone buzzes. You pull it out of your pocket, expecting Yunjin or your mom or one of the dozen group chats you've muted and forgotten about. It's Heeseung. Don't think about it too hard. Just show up.
Your thumb hovers over the keyboard. You type out a response, delete it, type another, delete that too. Finally, you settle on: I'll be there.
His response comes almost immediately. Good.
You shove your phone back in your pocket and keep walking, your heart pounding, your mind racing, the weight of the weekend pressing down on you like something you're not ready to carry.
Sunghoon's party is in full swing by the time you arrive. The apartment is packed, bodies pressed together in the kitchen and the living room and the hallway. Fairy lights are strung across the ceiling, casting everything in warm gold, and someone has set up a makeshift dance floor. You walk in like you own the place. Because you do. You've been coming here for four years. You know where Sunghoon keeps the good alcohol, which corner of the couch is most comfortable. You know these people. You know this room. You know exactly what you're doing here.
Yunjin finds you immediately, her hand closing around your wrist, pulling you toward the kitchen. "You're late."
"I'm never late."
"You're always late. Drink this." She shoves a cup into your hand. "Sunoo made his special punch. It's terrible but it's strong."
You take a sip. It is terrible. But it's also strong, and you're here, and the music is loud enough to drown out the voice in your head that's been asking too many questions lately. You let Yunjin pull you through the crowd, introducing you to people you've already met, making you laugh at jokes you've already heard. She's in her element tonight, bright and loud and impossible to ignore, and you're happy to let her take the lead. But your eyes are moving.
Jake is across the room, leaning against the wall, a cup in his hand. He's talking to Niki, but his eyes find you almost immediately, like he knew exactly where you'd be. He smiles, small and easy, and you smile back before looking away. Heeseung is on the other side of the room, near the windows. He's not talking to anyone. He's just watching, the way he always watches, his hands in his jacket pockets, his face unreadable. When your eyes meet, he doesn't smile. He just tilts his head, a small gesture, a question you don't know how to answer. You look away first.
An hour later, you're on the dance floor. The music has shifted to something slower, heavier, the kind of beat that settles into your bones and makes you want to move. You're dancing with Yunjin at first, then with Sakura, then with no one in particular, just letting the music move through you.
You feel someone behind you before you see them. A hand on your waist, light, questioning. You turn. Jake is there, close enough that you can see the slight flush on his cheeks from the heat of the room.
"Dance with me," he says. It's not a question.
You raise an eyebrow. "That sounded like an order."
He grins. "Is it working?"
You let him pull you closer, his hands settling on your waist, yours finding his shoulders. He's warm, steady, the way he's always been. His hands are careful, respectful, the hands of someone who has been waiting for a long time and isn't going to rush now that he's here.
"You're a good dancer," you say.
"I'm a terrible dancer. You're just easy to move with."
You laugh, and his hands tighten on your waist, just enough for you to feel it. Across the room, you see Heeseung watching. His arms are crossed, his face unreadable, but there's something in his posture that tells you he's not as casual as he's pretending to be.
You smile at Jake. You lean in close, your lips brushing his ear. "He's watching."
Jake doesn't turn. He doesn't need to. "I know."
"Does that bother you?"
His hands slide down your waist, just slightly, just enough to pull you closer. "Not tonight."
You dance for another song, maybe two. Jake's hands stay on your waist, his eyes stay on your face, and for a moment, you let yourself exist in this space, in the warmth of him, in the steadiness of his hands. When the song ends, you pull back. He doesn't let go immediately.
"I'm getting a drink," you say.
He releases you slowly, his fingers trailing down your arm, your wrist, your hand. "I'll find you."
You know he will.
You're at the makeshift bar in the kitchen when Heeseung appears beside you. He doesn't say anything at first. He just stands there, close enough that his arm brushes yours, far enough that you could pretend you don't notice.
"Jake looked happy," he says.
"He usually does."
"Not like that." Heeseung turns to look at you. His face is close, closer than you expected, his eyes dark in the low light. "He only looks like that when you're around."
You hold his gaze. "And you?"
He doesn't answer. He reaches past you, his arm brushing your waist, and grabs a bottle from the counter. When he pulls back, he's close enough that you can smell whatever cologne he's wearing.
"What do you want, Heeseung?"
He looks at you for a long moment. Then he smiles, and it's not his usual smirk. It's something else, something that makes your stomach tighten.
"You," he says. "But I'm not the one you're dancing with tonight."
You could let it go. You could walk away, find Yunjin, pretend this conversation didn't happen. But you've been running for four years, and you're tired of running. You step closer. Close enough that your chest almost touches his. Close enough that you have to tilt your head to meet his eyes.
"Then stop watching," you say, "and do something about it."
His breath catches. You see it the moment his control slips. His hand comes up, his fingers brushing your waist, your hip, pulling you toward him.
"You're playing a dangerous game," he says, his voice low.
"Am I winning?"
He laughs, low and rough, and for a moment, you think he's going to kiss you. His face is close, his lips inches from yours, his hand tight on your waist. But he doesn't kiss you. He pulls back, just enough to breathe.
"You're going to be the death of me," he says.
He disappears into the crowd before you can respond.
You later find Yunjin on the couch, her legs draped over Jay's lap, a glass of wine in her hand. She looks at you with the particular expression she gets when she knows something you don't want her to know.
"What?" you say.
"Nothing." She takes a sip of wine. "Just watching you work."
"I'm not working."
"Oh babes you're working alright." She grins. "Jake danced with you for twenty minutes. Heeseung looked like he wanted to eat you alive. And you're standing here like you didn't do anything."
You settle onto the couch beside her. "I didn't do anything."
"That's what you think."
She laughs, and you laugh, and the night moves on.
Later, much later, you find yourself on the back patio. The air is cool, a welcome relief after the heat of the house. The city is quiet, the stars faint overhead, and for a moment, you're alone. But you're not alone for long.
Jake appears beside you, his hands in his pockets, his face half lit by the light from the house. He doesn't say anything at first. He just stands beside you, close enough to touch, far enough to let you breathe.
"You had fun tonight," he says.
"I always have fun."
"You had more fun than usual." He turns to look at you. "Heeseung looked like he wanted to kill me when I was dancing with you."
You laugh. "Heeseung always looks like that."
"Not like that." He steps closer. "Not when it's you."
You look at him. At the person who waited, who showed up, who never asked for anything except the chance to be near you.
"You're staring," you say.
"You're worth staring at."
He leans in. His forehead touches yours. His breath is warm on your lips.
"Can I kiss you?" he asks.
You think about the years of not choosing, of running back and forth, of being too scared to want what you wanted. "Yes," you say.
He kisses you. It's soft, gentle, the way he's always been. His hands cup your face, his thumbs tracing your cheekbones, and he kisses you like you're something precious, something worth waiting for. You kiss him back. Your hands find his chest, his shoulders, his hair. You pull him closer, and the kiss deepens, and for a moment, you forget about everything else.
He pulls back first, his forehead against yours, his breathing uneven.
"That was-" he starts.
"Don't ruin the mood Jake."
He laughs, low and warm. "I was going to say perfect."
You smile. "Yeah? Need you so bad Jake."
Your words seemed to be the final straw for Jake, as he's tugging you from the porch to his car and before you know it in his apartment.
Jake's apartment is quiet. The windows are open, letting in the cool spring air, the sound of the city muffled to a distant hum. His room is clean in a nice comforting way. He's standing in the middle of the room, watching you. His hands are shoved in his pockets, his shoulders slightly hunched, his hair falling across his forehead. He looks nervous. He looks like he's been waiting for this moment for years and now that it's here, he doesn't know what to do with himself.
"You're staring again," you say.
"You're worth staring at yet again."
You move toward him slowly, watching his face, watching the way his eyes track your movements, the way his chest rises and falls a little faster with each step you take. You stop when you're close enough to touch, close enough to feel the heat of him, close enough to see the slight twitch in his hands.
"What do you want tonight?" you ask.
His throat works. His hands come out of his pockets, hovering at his sides like he's not sure where to put them. "I want to try something."
"What kind of something?"
His jaw sets. He straightens his shoulders, lifts his chin. There's something determined in his expression, something that looks like he's been practicing for this. "I want to be in control and have you in ways I've always dreamed," he says.
You raise an eyebrow. "Is that right?"
He steps closer. His hand finds your waist, his fingers pressing into your hip, and he pulls you toward him. His other hand comes up to your face, tilting your chin, making you look at him. "Yeah," he says, and his voice is lower than usual, rougher. "I want to take care of you. I want to make you feel good. I want to be the one who decides how fast this goes."
You let him hold you. You let him tilt your chin, let him press his body against yours, let him try to fill the space the way he thinks he's supposed to. He's trying so hard. You can see it in the set of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders, the way he's holding himself like he's playing a role he doesn't quite know.
He leans in to kiss you. It's harder than usual, more demanding, his tongue sliding against yours, his hand tight on your hip. He's trying to set the pace, trying to be the one who leads, trying to be rough in a way that doesn't come naturally to him. You kiss him back. You let him have this. For now.
He walks you backward toward the bedroom, his mouth never leaving yours, his hands everywhere from your waist, your back, your thighs. He's trying to be commanding, trying to push, trying to be the one who decides. But there's a hesitation in his touch, a carefulness that betrays him. He pulls at your shirt like he's not sure how hard to pull. His fingers tremble against your skin. His breath comes in short, sharp gasps that sound more desperate than dominant.
When your back hits the bedroom door, he presses into you, his body hard against yours, his mouth on your neck. "I've been thinking about this all night," he says against your skin. "About taking my time with you. About making you beg for it."
You bite your lip to keep from smiling. "Is that so?"
He pulls back to look at you. His eyes are dark, lips a plump cherry red his chest heaving, his hands pressed against the door on either side of your head. He's trying so hard to look commanding, trying to look like he knows what he's doing, trying to be someone he's not.
You reach up, your fingers tracing his jaw. He leans into your touch without thinking, his eyes fluttering closed, his whole body softening under your hand. "Jake," you say softly. He opens his eyes. "You're not very good at this."
He blinks. "What?"
You push against his chest. He stumbles back, surprised, and you step forward, reversing your positions. His back hits the door. Your hands press against his chest, holding him there. "You're trying to be someone you're not," you say. "You're trying to be rough. Trying to be in control. Trying to be the one who decides."
His throat works. His hands hang at his sides. "I want to be what you need."
You slide your hands up his chest, his shoulders, his neck. Your fingers thread into his hair, tilting his head back the way he did to you. "What I need," you say, your mouth close to his ear, "is you. Not some version of you that you think I want. Just you."
His breath catches. His hands find your waist, but they're not pushing, not pulling. They're holding on.
"You want to be in control tonight?" you ask. He nods. His eyes are wide, his lips parted. "You're not going to get it."
You kiss him. It's soft at first, teasing, your tongue tracing his lower lip, your fingers tightening in his hair. He makes a sound against your mouth something between a gasp and a whimper and his hands tighten on your waist, but he doesn't push. He doesn't pull. He just holds on.
You pull back. Look at him. "You want to be good for me?"
His eyes are glassy, his chest heaving. "Yes."
"Then do what I say."
He nods. His hands fall to his sides.
You step back. Look at him. His shirt is rumpled, his hair a mess, his lips swollen from kissing. He's standing against the door like he's waiting for something, like he'd do anything you asked.
"Take off your shirt."
He reaches for the hem, pulls it over his head. His skin is warm in the low light, his chest bare, his muscles tensing and relaxing under your gaze. He drops the shirt on the floor, his hands falling back to his sides.
"Good," you say. "Now the pants."
He fumbles with the button, his fingers clumsy, his eyes never leaving your face. The pants fall to the floor. He steps out of them, kicks them aside, stands in front of you in nothing but his boxers. His chest is still heaving, his hands shaking, his whole body strung tight.
You circle him slowly. His shoulders are tense, his breathing shallow, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. You run your fingers down his back, feel the muscles jump beneath your touch, hear the sharp intake of his breath. "You've been waiting for this," you say. "Haven't you?"
His voice is hoarse. "Four years."
You stop behind him, press your chest against his back, your mouth close to his ear. "Then stop trying to be in control. Let me take care of you."
He shudders. His head falls forward, his hands braced against the door.
You reach around, your fingers finding the waistband of his boxers. You pull them down slowly, feeling his breath catch, feeling his body tremble beneath your hands. The boxers fall to the floor. He steps out of them, kicks them aside, and then he's bare, his skin warm, his body hard, his heart pounding so hard you can see it in his neck.
You turn him around. He's fully hard tip already leaking, his eyes dark and wide. He looks at you like you're the only thing in the world.
You push him toward the bed. He goes willingly, his legs unsteady, his eyes never leaving your face. When his knees hit the edge, he falls back onto the mattress, his arms bracing himself.
You climb onto the bed, kneel between his legs. His thighs are warm beneath your hands, his muscles tense, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. You run your fingers up the inside of his thighs, feel him shiver, hear the small sound that escapes his throat.
"Lay back," you say. He lays back. His hands fist in the sheets. His chest rises and falls, his whole body waiting.
You wrap your hand around him. He's hot, heavy, pulsing beneath your fingers. His hips jerk up, a desperate, involuntary movement, and he makes a sound that's a whimper.
You stroke him slowly, watching his face. His eyes are closed, his lips parted, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He's already falling apart, already losing himself, and you've barely touched him.
"Look at me pretty boy," you say. He opens his eyes. They're dark, glazed, barely focused.
You lean down, your tongue tracing the head of him. He gasps, his hands flying to your hair, but he doesn't pull. He doesn't push. He holds on like you're the only thing keeping him grounded.
You take him into your mouth. The sound he makes is desperate, broken, your name caught in his throat. His hips jerk up again, but he stops himself, his hands trembling in your hair, his whole body shaking with the effort of holding still. You move slowly, your tongue circling, your lips tight, your hand working what your mouth can't reach. You feel him pulse on your tongue, hear his breath turn to ragged gasps, feel his thighs trembling beneath your hands.
"I'm not going to-" His voice breaks. "I'm going to-"
You pull back. Just before he falls over the edge.
He whimpers. His hips buck up, searching for your mouth, your hand, anything. "Please-"
You stroke him slowly, watching his face. His head is thrown back, his jaw slack, his hands fisted in the sheets. "Please," he says again. "Please, I need-"
"You need what?"
"I need to cum. Please. I've been waiting-I've been-" His voice cracks. His hips jerk up, desperate, searching.
You lean down, take him in your mouth again. His whole body arches off the bed, a broken sound tearing from his throat. You work him fast now, your hand moving with your mouth, feeling him swell, feeling his thighs shake, feeling his control slip away.
"I'm-" His voice is barely a word. "I'm-"
You pull back again.
He cries out. His hands fly to his face, covering his eyes, his whole body trembling. "Please- I- mmm stop being so mean," he whispers. "Please, I can't-I need-"
You climb up his body, straddle his hips. His hands fall away from his face, his eyes finding yours. They're wet. His cheeks are flushed, his lips parted, his whole body open and waiting.
"You want to cum?" you ask. He nods. "Then beg."
His hands grip your thighs. His voice is hoarse, broken. "Please. Please, I'll do anything. I've been waiting for four years. I've been wanting you for four years. Please let me- please let me feel you-"
You reach between your legs, position him at your entrance. His hips buck up, desperate, but you hold him down. "Say my name."
"Y/N." His voice cracks. "Y/N, please-"
You sink down onto him.
He cries out. His back arches, his hands grip your thighs, his head falls back against the pillows. You move slowly at first, watching his face, watching the way his eyes roll back, his jaw slack, the rise and fall of his chest. "You feel so good," he gasps. "So good-"
You move faster. His hands slide up your thighs, your hips, your waist. He's not trying to control. He's just holding on, his fingers pressing into your skin, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
"I'm close," he says. "I'm so close-"
You slow down. He groans, his head thrashing against the pillows. "Not yet," you say. "Please," he begs. You start moving again, fast, hard, watching his face, watching the way his control slips, the way his body strains beneath you.
"I'm going to-" His voice is desperate. "I can't-"
You slow down again.
He sobs. His hands grip your thighs, his nails digging in, his whole body shaking. "Please," he begs. "Please, I need to cum. I need-"
You lean down, your mouth close to his ear. "Flip us over."
He moves before you finish the sentence. His hands find your waist, rolling you onto your back, settling between your legs. His breaths coming out unbalanced, his face flushed, his eyes wild. He looks down at you. His hands are trembling. His whole body is trembling. "Can I?" he asks, his voice rough. "Can I-"
You nod.
He pushes into you fast moving even faster. Deeper than before. His forehead is pressed against yours, his breath hot on your lips, his hands tangled in your hair. Each thrust deliberate, each movement pulling sounds from your throat you didn't know you could make.
"You feel that?" His voice is low, rough. "You feel what you do to me?"
You nod. You can't speak.
He moves even faster. His rhythm is sloppy, uncontrolled, the kind of rhythm that comes from someone who's found his place and found his pace. "I've got you princess," he says. "I've got you."
His hand slides between your bodies, his fingers finding you, working you in time with his thrusts. The pressure builds, spiraling, tightening, until you can't breathe, can't think, can't do anything except feel.
"I want to feel you cum," he says. "I want to feel you fall apart on me."
You shatter. Your body clenches around him, your nails dig into his back, his name tears from your throat. He follows a moment later, his face buried in your neck, his body shuddering against yours, his voice breaking on your name.
He collapses beside you, his arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you against him. His chest is heaving, his skin slick with sweat, his heart pounding so hard you can feel it through his ribs. For a moment, neither of you speaks. The room is quiet, the city distant, the world reduced to the space between you.
He lifts his head, looks at you. His face is soft, open, the way it only is when it's just the two of you. "You did that on purpose," he says.
You smile. "Did what?"
"Edged me. Made me beg." His fingers trace patterns on your skin. "You liked that."
"You liked it too."
He laughs, low and warm. "I loved it." He pulls you closer, his arm tight around your waist, his face buried in your hair. You close your eyes. His heartbeat is steady beneath your ear, his breath warm on your skin, his arms holding you like you're something precious. He presses a kiss to your forehead. "I'm not going anywhere."
You smile against his chest. "Good."
The library is quiet in that particular way it gets on Thursday afternoons. You're at your usual table near the window, your books spread out around you. You've been staring at the same page for thirty minutes, your mind elsewhere, replaying the party. Jake's hands on your waist. Heeseung's voice in your ear.
You're still thinking about it when a coffee cup appears in your peripheral vision. You don't need to look up. You know that cup. You know that hand. You look up. He's sliding into the chair across from you, his jacket unzipped, his hair still damp from a shower. He looks tired, the shadows under his eyes darker than usual, but there's something in his face that makes your chest tighten.
You take a sip of the coffee. It's perfect. It's always perfect.
"Why are you here, Heeseung?" you ask. "It's three o'clock on a Thursday. You don't come to the library. You've never come to the library."
He shrugs, but there's something in his expression that shifts. "Maybe I wanted to see you."
"You see me every day."
"I see you across the quad. I see you in the dining hall. I see you dancing with Jake at parties." You notice the way his jaw tightens, just slightly at the mention of Jake. "That's not the same as seeing you."
You don't know what to say to that. You don't know what to do with the weight of his words, the way he's looking at you.
He leans forward, his elbows on the table, his voice dropping. "There's a game this weekend. Last one of the season. Scouts are coming."
You raise your eyebrows. "Scouts?"
"Professional teams. They've been watching me for a while." He shrugs, like it's not a big deal, like it's not the thing he's been working toward his whole life.
"Heeseung, that's huge."
"It's just a game."
"It's not just a game and you know it."
He's quiet for a moment. His eyes are fixed on something outside the window, something you can't see. When he looks back at you, his face is different. Softer. More open. "I want you there."
You stare at him. "What?"
"The game. I want you to come." He says it like it's simple, like it's the easiest thing in the world. Like he hasn't been watching you for four years, like he hasn't been waiting, like he hasn't been standing on the edge of something he's not sure he's allowed to want.
"You want me to come to your game."
"I want you to be there." He leans back in his chair, his eyes don't leave your face. "I've been playing for four years. Every game, I look for you in the stands. Even when I know you're not there."
Your chest tightens. "Heeseung-"
"You don't have to say anything." His voice is quiet now, almost careful. "I'm not asking you for anything. I'm not asking you to choose. I'm just asking you to be there. For one game."
"I'll think about it," you say.
He nods slowly. "That's not a no."
"That's not a yes either."
He stands up, pushing his chair back, grabbing his coffee. He's halfway to the door when he turns back. "It's Saturday. Six o'clock. The gym." He pauses. "I hope to see you."
He's gone before you can respond. The door swings shut behind him, and you're left alone with a heart that won't stop pounding.
Saturday comes faster than you expect. The gym is packed when you arrive. The stands are overflowing, students crammed into every seat, people standing along the walls, the air thick with anticipation. There are faces you don't recognize in the front row men in suits with clipboards, scouts from teams you've only seen on TV. The energy is different from the other games. Heavier. Like everyone in this room knows they're about to witness something.
You find a seat near the middle this time. Not hiding. Not tucked away. You want him to see you.
Heeseung is on the court, warming up. He's focused in a way you've never seen, his movements sharp, precise, like he's running through every play in his head before the game even starts. He doesn't look at the stands. He doesn't look at the scouts. He just moves.
The game begins. It's brutal from the start. The other team is good, better than anyone expected. They double team Heeseung every time he touches the ball, throw everything they have at him. For the first half, it works. He's frustrated, you can see it in the set of his jaw, the way his hands clench at his sides when he comes off the court.
At halftime, the score is tied. Heeseung sits on the bench, his head in his hands. You watch him. You watch the coach crouch beside him, say something you can't hear. Heeseung nods. He looks up. He looks at you.
For a moment, everything else fades. The noise, the crowd, the pressure. He looks at you like you're the only thing keeping him grounded. You give him a small smile with a little nod. Just once. He nods back.
The second half is different. Heeseung comes out like a different player. His movements are faster, sharper, like something has unlocked inside him. He drives past defenders, sinks shots from impossible angles, directs his teammates with confidence. The crowd feels it too the shift, the electricity.
The score tightens. The clock winds down. Ninety seconds left. Heeseung's team is down by two. He takes the ball. He drives. Defenders close in on all sides, three of them, bodies pressing against him, hands reaching. He should pass. Everyone in the gym knows he should pass. But he doesn't. He jumps.
The ball arcs through the air. Time slows. The crowd holds its breath. The ball hits the backboard, spins on the rim once, twice- Drops through.
The gym explodes. He stands there for a moment, frozen, the noise washing over him. Then he looks up. He finds you. His face breaks into something you've never seen before pure, unguarded joy. He points at you, just a finger raised, a gesture that says I did this for you. His teammates mob him, lift him onto their shoulders. You stay in your seat, your heart pounding, they won. He won.
After the game, you wait for him outside the locker room. The hallway is empty, the crowd long gone, the noise of the celebration faded to a distant echo. You lean against the wall, your hands in your pockets, trying to calm your heart.
A player you recognize from the team walks out, his bag over his shoulder. He sees you, stops. "You looking for Heeseung?" You nod. He grins. "He's in there. Took the longest shower of his life. Said he needed to cool down." He nods toward the door. "Go ahead. He won't mind." He disappears down the hallway before you can respond.
The locker room door is heavy. You push it open slowly, the sound echoing off the walls. It's empty. The benches are covered with towels, the air thick with the smell of soap and sweat. You hear water running from somewhere in the back, the hiss of a shower, the low hum of someone humming under their breath. You follow the sound.
Heeseung is standing at the sinks, his back to you, a towel slung low on his hips. His hair is wet, dripping onto his shoulders, onto his back, onto the floor. His skin is still flushed from the shower, still warm, still damp. The muscles in his shoulders move as he reaches for something on the counter, a roll of tape, a bottle of something you don't recognize. Water drips down his spine, following the line of his back, disappearing into the towel at his waist.
You can't breathe. You can't move. You can't stop watching.
He turns. He sees you.
For a moment, neither of you moves. The water drips from his hair onto his chest, trails down his stomach, disappears. His chest is still heaving from the game, from the shower, from whatever he was thinking about before you walked in. His arms are bare, the muscles defined in a way you've only imagined, his skin warm and damp and close enough to touch.
"You came," he says. His voice is rough, lower than usual.
"I said I would."
He takes a step toward you. Water drips from his hair onto his shoulders. "You watched?"
"Every second."
"You saw the shot?"
You nod. "I saw it."
He takes another step. He's close enough now that you can smell the soap on his skin, something clean and sharp. Close enough that you can see the water still clinging to his collarbone, his chest, the hollow of his throat.
"I made that shot for you," he says. "Every point. Every play. I did it for you."
Your heart stops. "Heeseung-"
"You want to know why I asked you to come? Why I needed you here?" His hand comes up, his fingers brushing your cheek, leaving a trail of water on your skin. "Because I can't do anything without thinking about you. I can't play without looking for you in the stands. I can't breathe without wondering if you're thinking about me too."
His hand slides into your hair, his fingers tangling in the strands. His face is close, so close you can feel his breath on your lips, warm and uneven. "I've been waiting for four years," he says. "I've been watching you with him. Watching you not choose. Watching you pretend you don't feel this. And I can't do it anymore."
"Feel what?" Your voice is barely a whisper.
He responds by kissing you. It's not soft, not careful, not gentle. It's the kind of kiss that's been building for four years, the kind of kiss that doesn't have room for hesitation. His hands are in your hair, your waist, pulling you against him, and his skin is warm and wet and you can feel every inch of him pressed against you. You kiss him back. Your hands find his chest, his shoulders, his neck, pulling him closer, and he makes a sound against your mouth that sends heat flooding through your body.
He pulls back just enough to breathe, his forehead against yours, his chest heaving. His skin is hot beneath your hands, his heart pounding so hard you can feel it.
"You're still wet," you say.
He laughs, low and rough. "You're not complaining."
Your hands slide down his chest, following the trail of water, feeling the muscles tense beneath your fingers. His breath catches. His hands tighten on your waist. "If you keep doing that," he says, "I'm not going to be able to stop."
You look at him. His hair is dripping onto your face, his skin flushed, his eyes dark. He's shirtless, wet, close enough to touch, and you've never wanted anything more. "Then don't stop."
His hands slide down your body, finding the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head. His mouth follows, hot against your collarbone, your shoulder, the space between your breasts. He kisses like he's been waiting his whole life for this, like he's memorizing every inch of you. Your back hits the lockers behind you, metal cold against your skin, and he presses into you, his body warm and solid and everywhere.
"Four years," he breathes against your neck. "Four fucking years I've wanted this. Wanted you."
You pull his face up, kiss him again, and he groans into your mouth, his hands sliding down your back, your hips, your thighs. He lifts you without effort, your legs wrapping around his waist, your back against the lockers, his body pressed against yours. "You have no idea," he says, "what you do to me."
"Then show me Hee."
He kisses you again, and you let yourself fall.
You look at him. His hair is drying, curling at the ends. His face is open, vulnerable. His lips linger on yours for a moment longer, like he's not ready to let go. When he pulls back, his eyes are dark, his breathing uneven. The locker room is quiet around you, the celebration moved somewhere else. It's just the two of you, the lights humming overhead, the smell of soap and sweat still clinging to his skin.
"We should probably get out of here," he says, but he doesn't move. His arm is still around your waist, his fingers still tracing circles on your hip.
"Probably," you agree. You don't move either.
He looks at you for a long moment. Something shifts in his expression something that looks like decision. "Come with me," he says.
You raise an eyebrow. "Where?"
"My dorm. It's closer." He pauses, his thumb stilling on your hip. "Unless you want to go back to your place."
"Your dorm," you say.
He smiles. It's small, real, the smile he only lets you see. He stands up, pulls you with him, his hands finding yours. His palms are warm, his fingers interlacing with yours like it's the most natural thing in the world. "Let's go," he says.
The walk to his dorm is quiet. Heeseung's hand is in yours. His thumb traces patterns on your skin, absent, unconscious, like he's not even thinking about it. His jacket is draped over your shoulders, he put it there before you left the locker room, his hands lingering on your arms, his breath warm on your neck. "You're cold," he had said. "I'm fine." "You're shivering." He had wrapped the jacket around you, pulled it tight, his hands resting on your shoulders for a moment longer than necessary. The jacket smells like him. You've been breathing it in ever since.
Now you walk side by side, not talking, not needing to. The silence between you is comfortable, the kind of silence that comes before something you've been waiting for. You look at him. His face is half-lit, half-shadowed, the streetlight catching the angles of his jaw, the curve of his lips. His hair is almost dry now, falling across his forehead. He's looking at you like you're the only thing in the world that matters. Then he leads you inside.
His dorm is small. The room is cluttered in that particular way boys' rooms are clothes draped over a chair, textbooks stacked on the desk, a basketball in the corner that you know he's had since freshman year. He closes the door behind you. The lock clicks. The sound echoes in the quiet room.
He moves toward you slowly, like he's giving you time to change your mind. His hands find your waist, his fingers settling on the fabric of his jacket, still wrapped around you. His face is close, close enough that you can see the sparkle in his eyes, the slight tremor in his hands. "You have no idea," he says, "how long I've wanted this."
You reach up, your fingers brushing his jaw. His skin is warm, slightly rough, and he leans into your touch like he's been waiting for it. "Then stop talking about it," you say.
He kisses you. It's different from the locker room. Slower. Deeper. His hands slide under his jacket, finding your waist, your hips, pulling you against him. Your back hits the door, and he presses into you, his body warm and solid, his mouth moving against yours like he's learning you, memorizing you. His hands push the jacket off your shoulders. It falls to the floor, pooling at your feet. His mouth is on your neck, your collarbone, your throat, and every kiss sends heat flooding through your body.
"We should move to the bed," he murmurs against your skin.
"Then move."
He laughs, picks you up, carries you across the room. You wrap your legs around his waist, your arms around his neck, and he lays you down on his bed, the sheets cool against your back, his body warm above you. He pulls back just enough to look at you. His hair is falling across his forehead, his eyes dark. "You're so fucking beautiful," he says. "You have no idea."
You pull him down, kiss him, and let yourself fall.
"You think about me when you're with him?" His thumb traces your jaw, tilting your face up. "When he's inside you, are you thinking about me?" You shake your head. "I don't-" "Don't lie to me, thought I wasn't going to find out that a pretty girl like you is out messing with a boy who cant handle all this?"His voice is soft, almost gentle, but his hand tightens on your throat. Just enough. Just enough to make your head spin. "I can smell him on you. I can see it in your eyes. You've been thinking about me this whole time. Wondering what it would be like if I was the one making you fall apart."
Your knees go weak. He feels it, pulls you closer, his thigh pressing between your legs. "That's what you want, isn't it?" His mouth is at your ear, his breath hot on your skin. "You want me to take over. You want me to make you forget his name."
"He was just-"
He cuts you off with a kiss. Hard. Deep. His tongue slides against yours, and his hands are everywhere your hair, your waist, your thighs. He kisses like he's claiming you, like he's erasing every other touch you've ever felt. His teeth catch your lower lip, pulling, biting down just enough to make you moan into his mouth. When he pulls back, you're breathless. Your head spins. Your hands find his shoulders just to steady yourself, but he grabs your wrists, pins them above your head.
"You want to know what I thought about all night?" His thumb traces your lower lip, pulling it down, watching the way your breath hitches. "I thought about getting you alone. Thought about taking you apart. Thought about making you forget your own name. Thought about the sounds you'd make when I finally got my hands on you."
Your knees go weak. He notices. His mouth curves into something that's not quite a smile but something darker, hungrier. "That's what you want, isn't it? You want someone to take control. Someone to tell you what to do. Someone to make you stop thinking for once. Someone who knows exactly how to take you apart."
You swallow. Your throat is dry. Your wrists are still pinned above your head, his grip firm enough that you couldn't move even if you wanted to. "Yes Hee."
His hands drop to the hem of your shirt. He pulls it over your head in one motion, and the cool air hits your skin. His eyes move down your body, slow, deliberate, like he's cataloging every inch of you. His gaze lingers on your breasts, on the way your chest rises and falls with each ragged breath. "Good," he says. "Because tonight, you don't get to think. You don't get to decide. You don't get to do anything unless I tell you to. Understand?"
You nod.
His hands move down your body, finding the waistband of your pants. He pulls them off slow, his eyes never leaving your face. Your underwear follows, and then you're bare beneath him, your chest heaving, your thighs pressed together, your body aching for his touch. He spreads your legs. His hand slides between them, his fingers finding you wet and ready.
"So wet for me," he says. "You've been thinking about this all night, haven't you?"
"Fuck yes I have."
"What were you thinking about? Tell me."
His finger slides inside you, slow, and you gasp. "Thinking about-about your hands. Your mouth. The way you-"
His finger curls, finds the spot that makes your hips buck. "The way I what?"
"The way you take control." Your voice is barely a whisper. "Mmmm the way you make me feel like nothing else matters."
He adds a second finger. His thumb finds your clit, circles it slow, and the sounds coming out of your mouth are desperate, broken, nothing you've ever heard yourself make before. "You take it so well," he says. "You're so good for me. So fucking perfect."
His fingers move faster, his thumb pressing harder, and the pressure building in your belly is too much, not enough, everything you've been waiting for. "Look at me," he says. "I want to see your face when you cum."
You open your eyes. He's watching you, his eyes dark, his mouth parted, his hand working between your legs. "That's it," he says. "Let go. Cum for me."
You shatter. Your body clenches around his fingers, your back arches off the bed, his name rips from your throat. He doesn't stop. He keeps moving, keeps pressing, keeps pushing you higher, until the waves of your orgasm are still rolling through you and he's still not done. "You can give me more," he says. "I know you can." You shake your head. "I can't-" "You can." His fingers curl inside you, his thumb presses harder. "You're going to cum for me again."
The pressure builds again, faster this time, the sensitivity making your whole body tremble. He doesn't let up. He pushes and pushes and pushes, and when you come again, it's with a scream, your body convulsing, liquid flooding his hand, soaking the sheets beneath you. "Good girl," he says.
He pulls his shirt over his head. His chest is bare, his skin flushed, his muscles tensing as he unbuckles his belt. His pants fall to the floor, and then he's above you, his body covering yours, his weight pressing you into the mattress. He kisses you again, slower this time, like he has all the time in the world. His hands find the clasp of your bra, undo it, let it fall. His mouth follows, down your neck, your collarbone, the swell of your breasts. He takes his time. He doesn't rush. He wants you to feel every second of this.
His tongue circles your nipple, and your back arches. Your hands find his hair, fingers tangling in the strands, pulling. He bites down just enough to make you gasp and then his mouth is on the other breast, his hand replacing his mouth on the first, his thumb and finger rolling your nipple until you're squirming against him. He pulls back. "I didn't say you could touch." Your hands drop. Your chest heaves. He watches you for a moment, his eyes dark, his lips parted, a thin line of saliva still connecting his mouth to your skin. He kisses down your body connecting his lips to your wet pussy.
The first touch of his tongue makes your hips jerk. His hands grip your thighs, holding you in place, his fingers digging into the soft flesh hard enough to leave marks. He works you slow, deliberate, his tongue moving in circles that make your vision blur. He knows exactly what he's doing. Your hands find his hair again. This time he doesn't pull away. He lets you hold on, lets you grip the strands, lets you use him to ground yourself as the pressure builds in your belly.
He adds a finger. Then two. Curling them inside you, finding the spot that makes you see stars, and his mouth never stops. His tongue is relentless, circling, pressing, sucking, driving you higher and higher until you're trembling, until you're gasping, until you're right on the edge. The sounds coming out of your mouth are desperate, broken, nothing like the composed person you are in the rest of your life.
"I'm close," you breathe. "I'm-"
He pulls back.
You cry out. The sound echoes off the walls, raw and needy. Your legs are shaking. Your whole body is shaking. Your hands pull at his hair, trying to drag his mouth back to where you need him, but he doesn't move. "Did I say you could come?" You shake your head. Your voice is gone.
He lowers his mouth again. Slower this time. Teasing. His tongue traces patterns on you, learning you again, taking you apart piece by piece. He spells out letters- your initials, his, words you can't quite make out and each stroke of his tongue sends electricity through your body. His fingers move inside you, slow and deep, and he builds you up again, higher this time, pushing you toward something you can't name.
Your hips move against his mouth. Your hands pull his hair. You're beyond thinking, beyond words, beyond anything except the feeling of him, the pressure building, the need coiling tight in your belly. "Please," you gasp. "Please, I need-"
He pulls back again.
You sob. The sound tears out of you, raw and desperate, and he stands up, his mouth slick, his chin wet, his eyes dark, his chest heaving. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, watching you fall apart against the door. "You want to cum?" he asks. "Mhhmm Yes." "Beg like the good fucking whore you are."
You look at him. His face is hard, his jaw tight, his hands on your hips. His thumbs press into the hollow of your hip bones, holding you in place. He's not going to give you what you want. He's going to make you ask for it. He's going to make you earn it.
"Please," you say. Your voice cracks. "Please, Heeseung. I need to cum. I need you to let me cum. I'll be good. I'll be so good. Just please-"
He kisses you. You can taste yourself on his lips, slick and sweet, and he swallows your sounds as his hands move to his belt, slow, deliberate, and the sound of leather sliding through metal makes your thighs press together. He sees it. His mouth curves. He pulls his jeans down, kicks them aside. His boxers follow. He's hard, thick, his cock curving up toward his stomach, and your mouth waters at the sight of him. He wraps his hand around himself, strokes once, twice, watching your face.
"You want this?" he asks. "Yes." "How bad?" "So bad. I need it. I need you."
He climbs onto the bed. His body covers yours, his weight pressing you into the mattress, his hips settling between your legs. The heat of him radiates through your skin. "You want to cum for me?" he says against your mouth. "Then cum for me."
He pushes inside you in one motion.
Your body arches. Your hands claw at his back. He's thick, stretching you, filling you, and the pressure of him inside you after being denied for so long makes your eyes roll back. He doesn't wait. He doesn't give you time to adjust. He moves hard, fast, his hips driving into you, his mouth on your neck, his hands gripping your thighs.
The sound of it fills the room. Skin slapping against skin. The bed frame hitting the wall. Your moans, his grunts, the wet sounds of him moving inside you. He fucks you like he's been waiting for this, like he's been holding back for years, like every night he spent watching you with Jake is being driven out of him with every thrust.
"You feel that?" he asks, his voice rough in your ear. "You feel how good you are for me? How perfect you are when you're not thinking, not fighting, just taking what I give you?"
You can't answer. You can't speak. Your nails dig into his back, leaving red trails down his shoulder. Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him deeper, and he groans, his rhythm faltering for just a moment before he drives into you harder.
"Look at you," he says. He pulls back just enough to watch his cock disappear inside you, to watch the way your body takes him. "Look how wet you are. How hungry you are. You've been waiting for this. Waiting for someone to fuck you like this."
He reaches between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit, pressing in time with his thrusts. The pressure builds faster this time, coiling tighter, pushing you toward the edge you've been denied twice now. Your vision blurs. Your hands grip his arms, his shoulders, anything you can hold onto.
"You're going to cum for me," he says. "You're going to cum so hard you forget your own name. And when you do, I want you to say my name. I want everyone to hear who you belong to."
His thumb presses harder. His hips drive deeper. His body is slick with sweat, his hair falling across his forehead, his jaw tight with concentration. He's watching you fall apart, watching the moment your control breaks, watching you shatter underneath him.
"Now," he says. "Cum for me. Now."
The pressure inside you breaks.
You scream. His name tears from your throat, loud in the quiet room, and your body clenches around him, pulling him deeper, holding him there. Your back arches off the bed, your hands grip his arms hard enough to bruise, and you feel everything every nerve, every muscle, every cell of your body release at once.
He groans, his face buried in your neck, his hips stuttering against yours. His body tenses, his grip on your thighs tightens, and he follows you over the edge, his voice breaking on your name, his body shuddering against yours, his cock pulsing inside you.
He collapses beside you. His arm wraps around your waist, pulling you against him, his face buried in your hair. You're both breathing hard, your skin slick with sweat, your bodies tangled together in the sheets. His chest is heaving against your back. His heart is pounding so hard you can feel it through his ribs.
He presses a kiss to your shoulder. "You okay?"
You nod. Your voice is gone.
He pulls you closer. His hand finds yours, his fingers interlacing with yours, and he holds you in the quiet. He laughs low and warm, the sound vibrating through his chest into your back. "Amazing. You were amazing."
You turn in his arms, face him. His face is soft now, the hard lines gone, the control slipped away. He looks like the boy who brought you coffee on Tuesdays. His hair is damp, his lips swollen, his eyes heavy-lidded and warm. "I need water," you say.
He kisses your forehead. "I'll get it."
He disappears into the kitchen. You lie in his bed, the sheets tangled around you, your body still humming, your mind quiet for the first time in weeks. Your thighs are sticky, your back is marked with scratches, your lips are swollen. You can still feel him inside you, the ghost of him, the memory of how he filled you.
He comes back with a glass of water, helps you sit up, watches you drink. His eyes move over your body, the marks he left, the way your hair is tangled, the flush still on your skin. When you're done, he takes the glass, sets it on the nightstand, and pulls you back down beside him. His arm wraps around your waist. His leg hooks over yours. He holds you like he's afraid you'll disappear.
"Stay," he says.
You look at him. "Okay."
His arm tightens around you. His breath evens out. His heart slows beneath your ear. And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself be held.
The days after the game feel different.
You tell yourself nothing has changed. You still go to class. You still study. You still let Yunjin drag you to the dining hall. But something has shifted. You feel it in the way your body remembers Heeseung's hands, his mouth, the way he said your name. You feel it in the silence that stretches between you and Jake now, the things you're not saying, the secret you're carrying. You're going to tell him. You know you have to. You just need to find the right moment.
The right moment finds you first. It's Thursday. You're sitting on the steps outside the library, trying to focus on a reading you've read three times without absorbing a word. The afternoon sun is warm, the campus quiet, and you've been here for an hour while your mind drifts. You hear footsteps. You don't need to look up to know who it is. You know the rhythm of his walk, the weight of his presence. Jake sits down beside you. He doesn't say anything at first. That's not unusual. Jake is comfortable with silence. But this silence is different. Heavier. Charged.
You look at him. His face is tight. His jaw is set. He's looking at the quad, not at you, and there's something in his posture that makes your stomach tighten. "I heard about the game," he says. You knew this was coming. You've been preparing for it. "Jake-" "I heard you were in the locker room with him. After." His voice is clipped, controlled. "I heard you left together." You take a breath. "Yeah." He turns to look at you. His eyes are cold. You've never seen Jake look at you like this. "So it's true," he says. "You fucked him."
The word lands like a slap. You stare at him. "Excuse me?" "You heard me." He doesn't look away. His voice is flat, emotionless. "You've been stringing me along for four years, making me wait, making me think I had a chance. And the whole time, you were just waiting for him to finally make a move." Your hands curl into fists. "That's not what happened." "No?" He laughs, but there's nothing funny in it. "Then what happened? You just happened to end up in the locker room with him? You just happened to leave together? You just happened to-" "Stop." Your voice is sharp. "You don't get to talk to me like that." "I don't get to?" He stands up. You stand with him. "I've been here for four years. Four years of waiting. Four years of watching you run back and forth between us. And you couldn't even tell me? You let me find out from other people?" "I was going to tell you." "When? After you fucked him again?" His voice rises. "After you decided which one of us was worth your time? After you got tired of playing games?"
Your blood runs hot. "Playing games? You guys are the ones who are acting like I'm some kind of prize." He flinches. Just slightly. But he doesn't back down. "That was back then," he says. "I was stupid. I'm not treating you like a prize anymore. I know what I want. But you've been playing games this whole time. You liked it. You liked having both of us chasing you. You liked the attention. You liked being wanted." The words hit you like a blade. "You don't mean that." "I mean it." His voice is cold, steady. "You've had four years to choose. Four years to figure out what you want. And you didn't. Because you didn't want to choose. You wanted to keep us both on the hook. You wanted to know you could have us whenever you wanted."
Your chest is heaving. Your hands are shaking. "You're just saying this because you're hurt." "I'm saying it because it's true." He steps closer. "You slept with him, and you didn't tell me. You let me sit next to you in class. You let me hold your hand. You let me think-" His voice cracks, but he steadies it. "You let me think I meant something to you. And all that time, you were just waiting for him." Your voice is shaking. "You're standing here, acting like I'm the one who did something wrong, because I slept with someone I've known for four years? Because I didn't tell you fast enough?" "Jake you're not even my boyfriend." He opens his mouth. Closes it. For the first time, he doesn't have a response. Your voice is steady now. "You don't get to be angry because I made a choice you didn't like. You don't get to call me names because I didn't choose you."
He stares at you. His face is pale, his hands shaking, his eyes wet. But he doesn't apologize. He doesn't take it back. "You know what?" he says. "Maybe I was wrong. Maybe you're not worth waiting for." The words hang in the air between you. You feel them like a wound, sharp and deep. "Get away from me," you say. He doesn't move. "I said get the fuck away from me." He turns. He walks away. His shoulders are stiff, his head down. You watch him disappear across the quad, and you don't call after him. You don't run after him. You stand there, your hands shaking, your eyes burning.
You sit back down on the steps. Your books are still spread out around you, your coffee long cold, your phone buzzing in your pocket. You don't look at it. You don't move. You think about what he said. You liked the attention. You liked being wanted. The words echo in your head, looping and repeating. You think about the years of watching them orbit you, never choosing, never having to. About the way you let them both stay close, let them both hope, let them both wait. Your phone buzzes again. You look at it. Yunjin: Jake just showed up at Jay's. He looks like shit. What happened? You stare at the message. Your fingers hover over the keyboard. You type: He found out about Heeseung. He called me a game player. Said I like the attention. Said I wasn't worth waiting for. Three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again. Do you want me to come over? You think about it. No, I need to be alone. You type. Okay. I'm here if you need me. You put the phone down. You sit on the steps as the sun sets, as the campus empties, as the light fades to gray. You let the anger settle in your chest. You let the hurt settle underneath it. He was wrong. You know he was wrong. But some part of you wonders if he was right.
Three days pass. You don't talk to Jake. You don't talk to Heeseung. You go to class, you sit in the back, you leave before anyone can catch your eye. Yunjin brings you food you barely eat. Sakura leaves notes on your door. Chae sends you memes that you look at without seeing. You're not sad. You're not angry. You're just empty. On Friday, Yunjin shows up at your apartment. She doesn't knock. She uses the key you gave her freshman year and walks straight into your bedroom, where you've been lying on your bed for the past two hours, staring at the ceiling. "You're coming tonight," she says. You don't look at her. "I'm not going anywhere." "Sunghoon's having a party. Everyone's going to be there." She sits on the edge of your bed, her hand finding your arm. "You need to get out of this apartment. You need to see people. You need to-" "I need to not see them." "Then don't see them. But you can't hide forever." She's right. You hate that she's right.
She pulls out her phone, scrolls for a moment, shows you the screen. A message from Sunghoon in the group chat. Party tonight. Everyone come. No excuses. And then another message, sent a few minutes later. Heeseung said he's coming. He asked if you'll be there. Your heart stutters. You stare at the screen. Three days of silence, and he's asking about you through Sunghoon. Yunjin watches your face. "You don't have to talk to him. But you should go. Get dressed. Dance. Forget about everything for one night." You think about it. About the silence that's been pressing on your chest for three days. About Heeseung's hands, his mouth, the way he said your name. About Jake's voice, cold and sharp, saying maybe you're not worth waiting for. "Fine," you say. "One hour." Yunjin grins. "That's what you always say."
As always the party is already in full swing when you arrive. The music loud enough to feel in your chest, the lights low and golden. You let Yunjin pull you through the crowd, let her put a drink in your hand, let the noise wash over you. For the first time in three days, you feel something other than the weight of everything you've been carrying. You see Heeseung across the room. He's leaning against the wall, a cup in his hand, his jacket unzipped, his hair falling across his forehead. He's talking to Sunoo, but his eyes are scanning the room, looking for something. Looking for you. When he sees you, his face changes. Softens. He excuses himself from Sunoo and starts walking toward you. You could walk away. You could find Yunjin, find Sakura, find anyone who isn't him. You don't. You stand there, your drink in your hand, your heart pounding, and wait.
He stops in front of you. Close enough to touch. His eyes move over your face, your dress, your hands, like he's checking that you're real. "You came," he says. "You asked." He smiles. It's small, real, the smile he only lets you see. "I didn't think you would. After-" You shake your head. "I needed to get out." He nods. He doesn't bring up the locker room, the dorm, the night that's been sitting between you for three days. He just stands there, close enough to touch, and lets the silence be whatever it needs to be. "Drink?" he asks. You hold up your cup. "Already have one." He looks at it, raises an eyebrow. "That's Sunoo's punch. You're braver than I thought." You laugh, and it's the first time you've laughed in days. "It's terrible." "It's always terrible." He takes the cup from your hand, sets it on a nearby table, and offers you his hand. "Dance with me." You look at his hand. At his face. At the boy who's been watching you for four years. "Dance with me," he says again. "Forget about everything. Just for tonight." You take his hand.
He pulls you onto the dance floor. The music is loud, the beat heavy, and he moves with you like he's been waiting for this. His hands find your waist, yours find his shoulders, and for a while, you don't think about anything else. You don't think about Jake. You don't think about the argument. You don't think about the four years of not choosing. He's a good dancer. Not in the careful way Jake is, but in the way that comes from confidence, from knowing exactly what his body can do. His hands move down your back, your hips, pulling you closer, and you let him. "You're staring," he says. "You're worth staring at." He grins. "That's my line." "You've used it enough. I figured I'd borrow it." He pulls you closer, his mouth near your ear. "You look beautiful tonight." Your chest tightens. "Heeseung-" "I just wanted you to know."
The song changes, something slower, and he pulls you against him, your cheek against his chest, his arms around your waist. You can feel his heartbeat, steady and real. "I've missed you," he says quietly. You close your eyes. "I've missed you too." He pulls back after a while. His face is flushed, his hair damp at the temples, his eyes bright. "I need to use the bathroom," he says. "I'll be right back." You nod. He squeezes your hand once, then disappears into the crowd.
You wait. Five minutes. Ten. Fifteen. The music plays on, the crowd moves around you, and you stand there, waiting for him to come back. Something doesn't feel right. You push through the crowd toward the hallway where the bathrooms are. The hallway is quieter, the music muffled, the lights dim. You pass the bathroom door empty, the light off. He's not there. You keep walking. Toward the back of the house, toward the rooms you've never been in. You find him at the end of the hallway. He's pressed against the wall, a girl in front of him. Her hands are on his chest. Her mouth is on his. And he's kissing her back. You stop. Your hands go cold. Your chest caves in. You watch his hands slide down her sides. You watch her press closer. You watch him kiss her the way he kissed you, and something inside you breaks.
He pulls back first. He says something to her, something you can't hear. She laughs, runs a hand through his hair, and disappears into one of the rooms. He turns. He sees you. His face goes white. "Y/N-" You don't run. You don't cry. You walk toward him, slow and steady, and stop when you're close enough to see the panic in his eyes. "You said you were going to the bathroom," you say. Your voice is calm. You don't know how. "Y/N, it's not what you think." You laugh. It's hollow, empty. "You were kissing her. I saw you." "She came onto me. I wasn't-" "You were kissing her back." Your voice is rising now. "You were kissing her like you kissed me. Like I meant nothing." "That's not true." He reaches for you. You step back. "Don't touch me." He drops his hand. His face is pale, his eyes wide. "Y/N, please. It didn't mean anything. I was drunk. I wasn't thinking. I-" "Really this is the best excuse you got."
His jaw tightens. "That's not fair." "Not fair?" Your voice cracks. "You asked me to come tonight. You danced with me. You told me you missed me. And then you disappeared to kiss someone else while I was waiting for you." "I told you, it didn't mean anything." "Then what did I mean?" You're shaking now. "Was I just something to pass the time until something better came along?" His face hardens. "You're the one who ran back to Jake. You're the one who never chose. You're the one who-" "I didn't run back to Jake. I was trying to figure out what I wanted." "And what did you figure out?" He steps closer, and his voice is sharp now. "Because from where I'm standing, you don't know what you want. You've never known. And you've been dragging both of us along for four years because you're too scared to make a decision."
The words hit you like a blade. "Heeseung, are you serious right now?" "Yes, I'm serious." His voice is cold. "You like the attention. You like knowing we both want you. That's why you never chose. Because if you chose, you'd have to give something up. And you're too selfish to do that." You stare at him. The boy who brought you coffee. The boy who said you were the best thing that ever happened to him. "I slept with you," you say, your voice breaking. "I trusted you. And you're standing here calling me selfish because I caught you kissing someone else?" For a moment, something flickers in his eyes regret, maybe, or shame. But then it's gone. "You should go," he says. You don't move. You can't. "Go, Y/N." His voice is flat. "Go find Jake. Go run back to him like you always do."
The tears come before you can stop them. Hot and fast, streaming down your face, and you hate that he's seeing this, hate that he's the one making you cry. "Fine," you whisper. "You know what I will go run to Jake." You turn. You walk away. You don't look back.
You make it to the front porch before your legs give out. You sink onto the steps, your face in your hands, your shoulders shaking. The tears won't stop. They keep coming, hot and ugly, and you can't breathe, can't think, can't do anything except sit and fall apart. You don't hear the door open. You don't know anyone is there until a jacket settles around your shoulders and a familiar voice says your name. "Y/N." You look up. Jake is kneeling in front of you, his face close, his eyes worried. He's not angry. He's not cold. He's just here. "Hey," he says softly. "Hey, I've got you." You shake your head, try to pull away. "You said I wasn't worth waiting for." He flinches. "I didn't mean it. I was angry. I was hurt. I didn't mean a word of it."
You look at him. His face is open, raw, the way it's always been when it's just the two of you. "He kissed someone else. Heeseung. I saw him. And he said-" Your voice breaks. "He said I'm selfish. He said I like the attention. He said I never choose because I'm too scared to give anything up." Jake's jaw tightens. Something dark passes through his eyes. But he doesn't say anything about Heeseung. He doesn't defend him or attack him. He just looks at you, and his hand finds yours, warm and steady. "He's wrong," he says. "You're not selfish. You're not attention seeking. You're someone who's been hurt, who's been scared, who's been trying to figure out what she wants. And that's okay. That's more than okay." You stare at him. "You really believe that?" "I believe that you're worth waiting for." He squeezes your hand. "I've always believed that. And I'm sorry for what I said. I'm sorry for making you feel like you weren't."
The tears come again, but they're different now. Softer. He pulls you into his arms, his hand on your back, his chin on your head, and you let him hold you. You let yourself be held. "I've got you," he says again. "I'm not going anywhere." You close your eyes. His chest is warm, his arms steady, his heart beating beneath your ear. For the first time in days, you let yourself breathe.
You sit on the steps for a long time, Jake's jacket around your shoulders, his arm around your waist, his hand on your hip. The party noise is muffled behind you, the voices fading into background noise. The night is cool, you're still trying to catch your breath, still trying to stop the tears that keep coming no matter how hard you press your palms to your eyes. Jake doesn't say anything. He doesn't tell you it's going to be okay. He doesn't ask any questions. He just sits beside you, his arm steady around you, his thumb tracing slow circles on your side, waiting.
Your breathing evens out after a while. The tears slow, then stop. You lean into him, your head on his shoulder, and let yourself exist in the quiet. "I'm sorry," you say finally. Your voice is hoarse, raw. "What for?" "For everything. For not telling you about Heeseung. For-" You stop. Your throat tightens. "For making you feel like you were waiting for nothing." He's quiet for a moment. His hand stills on your side. "You didn't make me feel like that," he says. "I said things I didn't mean. I was angry. I was hurt. And I took it out on you. That wasn't fair." "You were right, though." You pull back, look at him. His face is half lit by the porch light, his eyes dark and soft. "I have been running back and forth. I have been scared to choose. I've been so scared of losing one of you that I never let myself have either."
He reaches up, his hand cupping your face, his thumb brushing the tear tracks from your cheek. "You're allowed to be scared. You're allowed to not know what you want. That doesn't make you selfish. That doesn't make you anything except human." You lean into his touch. His palm is warm, his fingers gentle. "I don't want to be scared anymore," you whisper. He looks at you for a long moment. Something shifts in his expression something soft, something careful, something that looks like hope. "Then let me help you forget," he says. You blink. "What?" "Tonight. Forget about Heeseung. Forget about the fight. Forget about everything that happened." His hand slides into your hair, his fingers threading through the strands. "Let me take you somewhere quiet. Somewhere that's just us. And let me remind you that you're worth everything." Your heart pounds. "Jake" He leans in, his forehead touching yours. His breath is warm on your lips. "I'm not asking for anything you're not ready to give. I'm just asking you to let me be here. Let me help you forget." "Okay," you say.
He smiles. The smile that's been yours since the beginning. He stands, pulls you up with him, and his hand finds yours. "My place," he says. "It's closer." You nod. He squeezes your hand once, and you let him lead you off the porch, away from the party, away from Heeseung, away from everything that happened tonight. The night air is cool on your skin, the streets quiet, the campus empty. His hand is warm in yours, his thumb tracing patterns on your palm, and for the first time in days, you let yourself breathe.
The morning after Jake's apartment, you wake up in your own bed. You only remember his hands, his mouth, the way he said your name. You remember the quiet afterwards, his arm around your waist, his breath warm on your neck, the way he held you like he wasn't ready to let go. You stayed until the sun came up. And then you left. Now you're lying in your bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to piece together everything that's happened in the past week. Heeseung in the locker room. Jake on the porch. Heeseung's hands, Jake's mouth. The way both of them said your name like it meant something. Your phone buzzes on the nightstand. You reach for it without looking. Yunjin: I'm coming over. Don't try to stop me. You don't try to stop her.
She shows up twenty minutes later with coffee and a bag of pastries. She doesn't say anything at first. She just sets the coffee on your nightstand, kicks off her shoes, and climbs into bed beside you. You lie there for a moment, side by side, staring at the ceiling. "I slept with Jake after Sunghoon's party and with Heeseung after his game," you say. She doesn't react. You keep going. "Then Jake found out. He said some things. I said some things. We didn't talk for days." You take a breath. "Then at Sunghoon's most recent party, Heeseung kissed someone else. I saw it. We had a fight. He said I was selfish. He said I like the attention. He said I never choose because I'm too scared to give anything up." Yunjin's hand finds yours. She doesn't say anything. "And then Jake found me on the porch. He took me to his place. And I slept with him again."
The words hang in the air. You wait for her to say something to tell you that you're wrong, that you're making a mistake, that you need to figure out what you want before you hurt everyone including yourself. Instead, she squeezes your hand. "That's a lot," she says. You laugh. It's weak. "That's all you have to say?" "I have a lot to say. I'm just trying to figure out where to start." She turns on her side, facing you. "How do you feel? About both of them?" You think about it. About Heeseung's hands in the locker room, the way he looked at you after the game, the way he said he made that shot for you. About Jake on the porch, his arms around you, the way he said you're worth waiting for. "I don't know," you admit. "I care about both of them. I've cared about both of them for four years. And I keep thinking that if I just had more time, I'd figure it out. But it's been four years, Yunjin. And I still don't know."
She's quiet for a moment. Then "Can I tell you something?" You nod. "When I was trying to figure out what I wanted with Jay, I kept waiting for a sign. Something that would tell me it was the right choice. And I waited so long that I almost missed it. I almost let fear keep me from something that could have been really good." She looks at you. "You're not going to get a sign. You're not going to wake up one day and magically know. You have to choose. And it's going to be scary. And you might make the wrong choice. But not choosing that's a choice too. And it's the one that hurts everyone the most."
You stare at her. "Since when did you get so wise?" She smiles. "Since I spent two years watching you do exactly what I was doing." You laugh, and it's real this time. "What should I do?" "I think you should talk to him. Heeseung. Hear what he has to say." She squeezes your hand. "Not because you have to forgive him. Not because you have to choose him. But because you deserve to know the whole story before you make up your mind."
You think about it. About Heeseung's face in the hallway, the way he said you should go. About the fight, the words that are still echoing in your head. "What if he was right?" you ask. "What if I am selfish? What if I do just like the attention?" Yunjin's face hardens. "He was wrong. He was hurt and he was angry and he said things he shouldn't have said. But that doesn't mean you should let those words live in your head forever." She sits up, swings her legs over the side of the bed. "Talk to him. Hear him out. And then decide what you want." She leaves before you can respond. The door closes behind her, and you're alone again, staring at the ceiling, thinking about her words.
He texts you that afternoon. Can we talk? You stare at the message for a long time. Your thumbs hover over the keyboard. Where? The library steps. Where we always used to meet. I'll wait. You put your phone down. You get dressed. You walk across campus, your hands in your pockets, your heart pounding.
He's sitting on the steps when you arrive. His jacket is unzipped, his hair is messy, and he looks like he hasn't slept. When he sees you, he stands up, and for a moment, neither of you moves. "Thanks for coming," he says. You don't say anything. You sit down on the steps. After a moment, he sits beside you. Not too close. Far enough that you could walk away if you wanted to. "I was wrong," he says. "At the party. Everything I said it was wrong. I was angry. I was hurt. And I took it out on you." You look at him. "You kissed someone else." He flinches. "I know." "After you asked me to come. After you danced with me. After you said you missed me." "I know." His voice cracks. "I don't have an excuse. I was scared. I was-" He stops. Runs a hand through his hair. "I saw you with Jake. At the party before. I saw you dancing with him. And I couldn't stop thinking about it. About you. About him. About what it would be like when you finally chose him." "That doesn't give you the right to kiss someone else." "I know." He turns to look at you. His eyes are red rimmed, his face open in a way you've rarely seen. "I've been in love with you for four years. And I've been watching you with him, watching you not choose, telling myself that if I just waited long enough, you'd see me the way I see you. And then you came to the game. You came to the locker room. You came to my dorm. And I thought-" His voice breaks. "I thought maybe I'd finally won. Maybe you'd finally chosen me."
You don't say anything. You let him talk. "And then I saw you with Jake at the party. The way you looked at him. The way he looked at you. And I realized-" He stops. Swallows. "I realized I was never going to be him. I was never going to be the one you ran to when things got hard. I was never going to be the one who stayed." "You never stayed," you say quietly. "That was the problem. You were always leaving. Always disappearing. Always making me wait while you figured out what you wanted." He looks at you. "Is that what you think?" "That's what you did."
He's quiet for a moment. "I was scared. Every time I get close to you, I get scared. Scared that you'd choose him. Scared that I wasn't good enough. Scared that if I let myself want you too much, I'd lose you. So I pushed. I pulled away. I made excuses. And I hurt you because I was too scared to let myself be hurt." You look at him. At the man who's been running from something he's wanted for four years. "I'm not asking you to forgive me," he says. "I'm not asking you to choose me. I just-I needed you to know before it's too late, before I-." Your throat tightens. "Before you what?" "Nothing, it's nothing dont worry about it." He says voice shaky letting you know it is something to worry about but you don't push.
You look at his hand. At his face. At the years of wanting and waiting and never quite choosing. You take a breath. "I'm glad we were able to talk things out." His hand tightens around yours. "Does that mean-" "It means I'm not going to disappear. It means I'm going to think about what you said. It means-" You stop. Look at him. "It means I'm not going to make a decision right now. I need time." He nods slowly. "I can wait." You pull your hand away. Stand up. He stands with you. "I'm not asking you to wait," you say. He smiles. It's small, sad, real. "I know." You turn. You walk away. You don't look back. But this time, it doesn't feel like an ending.
The weeks after your conversation with Heeseung settle into something you didn't expect. It's not a relationship. It's not a choice. It's not anything you can name. But there's a rhythm now, a balance that wasn't there before. You see Heeseung at practice, watch him from the stands sometimes, let him walk you to class when your schedules align. You see Jake at the dining hall, let him save you a seat, let his hand find yours under the table when no one's looking. Neither of them pushes. Neither of them asks. Neither of them makes you choose. You're not sure if that makes it easier or harder.
"You're doing it again," Yunjin says. You're sitting in her apartment, a textbook open in your lap, your phone face-down on the couch beside you. She's sprawled on the other end, a bag of chips in her hand, watching you with the particular expression she gets when she's about to say something you don't want to hear. "Doing what?" "Staring at nothing. Thinking about them." You look at her. "I'm studying." "You've been on the same page for like an hour." You glance down at your textbook. She's right. You haven't read a single word. Yunjin sets the chips aside, pulls her legs under her. "Talk to me." You close the book. "I don't know what to do." "About which one?" "About both." You lean your head back against the couch, stare at the ceiling. "I keep thinking that if I just had more time, I'd figure it out. But it's been four years, Yunjin."
She's quiet for a bit then says. "Maybe you're not supposed to know. Maybe you're supposed to stop trying to figure it out and just feel." You look at her. "That's very philosophical for someone who spent two years pretending she didn't like Jay." She throws a pillow at you. "I'm trying to help." You catch the pillow, hold it against your chest. "I know. I just don't want to hurt anyone. And I feel like no matter what I do, someone's going to get hurt." She slides closer, her knee bumping yours. "You can't control that. You can only control what you do. And whatever you choose, whatever happens, I'm here. Okay?" You look at her. At the person who's been your anchor for four years. "Okay."
She grins. "Good. Now stop moping. We have a party to get ready for." You blink. "What party?" "Sunghoon's end of semester thing. The big one. Everyone's going to be there." You groan. "Another party?" "This one's different." She's already on her feet, pulling you up. "This is the last one. The final party. The one everyone talks about for years after. You can't miss it." "I'm tired of parties." "You're tired of thinking. That's different."
She pulls you toward her closet, starts flipping through hangers. "You need to let loose. Dance. Drink. Forget about everything for one night. And everyone's going to be there. Jake. Heeseung. The whole group. It's going to be perfect." You lean against the doorframe. "What if I don't want to see them?" "Then don't see them. But you can't hide forever." She pulls out a dress, holds it against you. "Besides, you look hot in this. And if you look hot, you feel hot. And if you feel hot, you stop thinking about stupid boys for five minutes." You look at the dress. It's black, short, the kind of dress you wear when you want to be noticed. The kind of dress you haven't worn in weeks. "Fine," you say. "One hour." She grins. "Ughhhh That's what you always sayyy."
Sunghoon's house is packed as always, the music loud enough to feel in your chest, the lights low and golden. You can hear laughter from every room, see bodies pressed together, catch glimpses of faces you've known for years and faces you've never seen before. Yunjin pulls you through the crowd, her hand tight on your wrist, her energy infectious. She's wearing the dress she bought for tonight, the one she's been saving, and she looks like she's ready to take over the world. "Drink," she says, shoving a cup into your hand. "Sunoo's punch. It's terrible. Drink it anyway." You take a sip. It is terrible. You take another. You let her pull you onto the dance floor, let the music move through you, let yourself forget for a moment that you came here with weights on your chest. Yunjin is laughing, her arms around your neck, her voice loud in your ear, and for the first time in weeks, you let yourself exist in the moment.
You see Jake across the room. He's leaning against the wall, a cup in his hand, watching you with something soft in his eyes. When you catch his gaze, he smiles, small and real, and something in your chest loosens. You see Heeseung on the other side. He's standing with Sunghoon, his favorite leather jacket on , his hair falling across his forehead. He's watching you too, his expression unreadable, but when your eyes meet, he nods. Just once. You look away first.
The night moves on. You dance until your feet hurt. You drink until the edges of the room go soft. You laugh at things that aren't funny, let yourself be pulled from room to room, let the noise and the lights and the bodies press in around you until you forget why you were ever scared. Yunjin finds you in the kitchen, her face flushed, her hair escaping from the clip she's been fighting all night. "Sunghoon's setting up a game," she says, breathless. "What game?" She grins. "Seven minutes in heaven. You're playing." You shake your head. "I'm not playing." "You're playing." She grabs your arm, pulls you toward the living room. "Everyone's playing. It's tradition."
The living room has been transformed. A bottle sits in the center of the floor, surrounded by pillows and cushions, and the hallway leading to the bedrooms is dimly lit, a closet at the end waiting. People are gathered in a circle, sitting on the floor, leaning against walls, cups in hands, faces lit up with anticipation. You see Jake on one side of the circle, Heeseung on the other. They're not looking at each other. They're looking at you. Yunjin pulls you down beside her. Sunghoon is in the center, his phone in his hand, his face serious. "Rules are simple," he announces. "Spin the bottle. Seven minutes in the closet. Whatever happens in there stays in there."
The first spin lands on Sunoo and a girl you don't recognize. They disappear down the hallway, and the room holds its breath. Seven minutes later, they emerge, flushed and laughing, and the circle erupts. The bottle spins again. And again. Each time, two people disappear down the hallway, and the room waits, and the night stretches on. You're watching, not participating, when Sunghoon calls your name. "Your turn." You look at him. "I'm not playing." "You're playing." He's already reaching for the bottle, his fingers wrapping around the glass. "It's your senior year. You can't say no." He spins. The bottle turns. Once. Twice. Three times. It slows, wobbles, stops. Pointing directly at Jake.
The room erupts. Yunjin shoves you forward, and you stumble into the center of the circle. Across from you, Jake is already standing, his face unreadable, his hands in his pockets, his eyes fixed on you. "Seven minutes," Sunghoon announces, pulling out his phone. "Timer starts now." Someone pushes you toward the hallway. Jake follows. The closet door closes behind you, and suddenly it's just the two of you, in the dark, the noise of the party muffled to a distant hum.
The closet is small. There's barely enough room for the two of you, your shoulders touching. Clothes hang above you, jackets and coats that smell like Sunghoon's house, like the parties you've been coming to for four years. For a moment, neither of you moves. "Hi," he says. "Hi." He laughs softly. "This isn't how I pictured our next conversation going." "How did you picture it?" "I don't know. Less... closet." You laugh, and it's nervous, maybe, or something else you don't want to name. "It's very closet." "Very closet." He shifts beside you, his arm brushing yours. "I've been wanting to talk to you. For a while. About what happened at the party. About ya know everything." "You don't have to explain." "I want to." He turns to face you, and even in the dark, you can see his face, the sparkle in his eyes, the openness that's always been there. "I've been in love with you since freshman year. I know you're not ready to hear that. I know you're still figuring things out. But I needed you to know. Before everything changes."
Your heart is pounding. "Jake-" "I'm not asking you to choose. I'm not asking you to be ready. I'm just asking you to let me be here. For as long as you want me." You step closer. He doesn't move. He waits. You kiss him. It's soft. Gentle. The way he's always been. His hands come up to your face, cupping your cheeks, and he kisses you back like he's been waiting for this his whole life. His lips are warm, his hands steady, and for a moment, there's nothing else. No party. No future. No choices. Just him. He pulls back first, his forehead against yours, his breathing uneven. "I don't want to rush you," he breathes. "You're not rushing me." "I don't want to be something you regret." You look at him, his dark eyes, his swollen lips, the way he's looking at you like you're the only thing that matters. "You're not something I regret," you say. "You never have been." He kisses you again, and this time, there's nothing careful about it.
Neither of you hears the timer. The door opens. Light floods in, and you blink, disoriented, your hands still tangled in Jake's hair, his arms still wrapped around your waist. Heeseung is standing in the doorway. His face is unreadable. His hands are clenched at his sides. He looks at you. He looks at Jake. He looks at the way Jake's hands are on your waist, the way your fingers are still in his hair. "Time's up," he says. His voice is flat. You step back. Jake's hands fall away. The hallway is crowded. People are watching. You can feel their eyes on you, waiting to see what happens next. Yunjin is at the front of the crowd, her hand over her mouth. Sunghoon is beside her, his phone still in his hand, the timer long since finished.
Heeseung doesn't move. He just stands there, blocking the door, his eyes fixed on you. "Out," he says. You move to leave. But before you can step past him, his hand shoots out, blocking the door. "Not you," he says. He looks at Jake. "Him." Jake tenses. "Heeseung-" "Out." For a moment, no one moves. Then Jake looks at you, something unreadable in his eyes. And walks away. Heeseung doesn't give you time to process what's happening before he drags you into a room. Little did you know Jake was just a few steps behind.
It's just you and Heeseung, in the room, the noise of the party fading to nothing. He doesn't touch you. He doesn't move. He just stands there, his hand still on the wall behind you, his breathing heavy. "You've been doing this for four years," he says. "Running back and forth. Making us wait. Making us want." "Heeseung-" He turns to face you. His eyes are dark, his jaw tight, his chest heaving. "I've been watching you with him. Watching you not choose. And I told myself it was fine. I told myself I could wait. But I can't keep doing this." "What are you saying?" He steps closer. Close enough that you can feel the heat of him, smell the familiar scent of his jacket, see the pulse beating in his throat. "I'm saying that if you want him, I need you to choose. Not because I think I deserve you. But because I can't keep being the person you come to when you're not sure about him."
Your throat tightens. "I never used you." "I know." His voice is softer now. "I know you didn't. But I've been waiting for four years for you to see me the way I see you. And I don't think you ever will." You stare at him. "Don't say that." "It's the truth." He steps closer, his body nearly touching yours. His hand comes up, his fingers brushing your cheek. You lean into his touch without thinking, your body betraying you, wanting him even when you're not sure you should. "Then stop pretending," you whisper. His eyes darken. His hand slides into your hair, his fingers tangling in the strands. "Tell me what you want," he says. You look at him. At the man who's been chasing you for four years. "I want you," you say. "I want both of you." His breath catches. His hand tightens in your hair. "Both of us?" You nod. Your heart is pounding, your chest tight, your body humming with something you've never let yourself want before.
He pulls back, just enough to look at you. Something passes through his eyes, surprise, maybe, or hunger, or something else you can't name. He opens the door of the room. The hallway is empty now, the crowd moved on, the game forgotten. But to your surprise Jake is right outside the door looking like a deer caught in the headlights. "Jake," he calls. His face is guarded, his hands in his pockets, his eyes moving between you and Heeseung. Heeseung looks at Jake, and something passes between them, something that looks like understanding. "She wants both of us," Heeseung says. Jake's eyes widen. He looks at you. "Is that true?" He says stepping into the room and closing the door behind him.
You step forward, your hand still in Heeseung's, your eyes on Jake. "I'm tired of choosing," you say. "I'm tired of running back and forth. I'm tired of pretending I don't want what I want." Jake stares at you. His hands drop to his sides. His face is open, raw, the way it only is when it's just the two of you. "And what do you want?" he asks. You look between them. Heeseung on one side, his hand tight around yours, his eyes dark, his chest heaving. Jake on the other, his face soft, his hands reaching for you, his heart in his hands. "I want you," you say. "Both of you. Tonight."
The silence that follows is louder than anything they could have said. Heeseung moves first. He pulls you toward him, his hand cupping your face, his mouth finding yours. He kisses you hard, desperate, like he's been waiting for this his whole life. You kiss him back, your hands fisting in his jacket, pulling him closer. When he pulls back, Jake is there. His hand finds your waist, turning you toward him, and his mouth is on yours, softer, slower, the way he's always been. You're between them. You've always been between them. But this time it's different. Heeseung's hand slides down your back. Jake's hand finds your hip. They're both touching you, both holding you, both looking at you like you're the only thing in the world that matters. Heeseung's lips brush your ear. "You sure about this?" You look at Jake. He nods. You look at Heeseung. His eyes are dark, his breathing uneven, his hand steady on your waist. "I'm sure," you say.
Heeseung looks at Jake. Something passes between them years of competition, of wanting, of waiting. And then Heeseung nods. "You've been thinking about this," he says. His voice is low, rough. "Haven't you?" Your breath catches. "Heeseung-" "Answer me." His hand slides up your throat, giving it a slight squeeze and letting it rest there, his thumb pressed against your pulse. He can feel how fast your heart is beating. He can feel how much you want this. "Yes," you breathe. He smiles. It's not the smile you're used to. It's darker, sharper, the smile of someone who knows exactly what he wants and knows exactly how to get it. He turns you to face him, his hands cupping your face, his thumbs tracing your cheekbones. "Yes what?" "I need words cause once I start there's no going back." "Yes," you say. "I'm sure. I want this. I want both of you so much." His mouth curves into something dangerous. "My good girl."
He kisses you. Hard. Deep. His tongue slides against yours, and his hands are everywhere from your hair, your waist, your hips. He kisses like he's claiming you, and you let him. You arch into him, your hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer. When he pulls back, your head spins. Your chest heaves. You're already breathless. He looks at Jake over your shoulder. "You want to touch her?" Jake's voice is rough. "Yes." "Then touch her." Jake's hands find your waist. His touch is softer than Heeseung's, gentler, but no less hungry. He pulls you back against his chest, his arms wrapping around you, his mouth finding your neck. Heeseung watches. His eyes move over you, over Jake's hands on your body, over the way you lean into his touch. Over the way Jake leans into your touch. "Take off her shirt," Heeseung says. Without hesitation Jake's hands slide under your shirt, pushing it up. He pulls it over your head, and the cool air hits your skin. His hands are warm on your stomach, your ribs, the sides of your breasts. "Her bra," Heeseung says. Jake unhooks it. His fingers are trembling. The bra falls to the floor, and Jake makes a sound behind you something low, something desperate as his hands cup your breasts.
Heeseung steps closer. His hand slides into your hair tugging it to tilt your head back. "You like this? You like the attention? Having both of us touch you?" "Yes, fuck I love It so much." His thumb traces your lower lip. "You're going to be so good for us tonight. Aren't you?" You nod. Your tongue flicks against his thumb. His eyes darken. "Get on the bed," he says. You lie back on the mattress. The sheets are cool against your skin, and the two of them stand at the foot of the bed, watching you. Jake's hands are shaking. Heeseung's are steady. "Jake," Heeseung says. "Her breasts. Seems to need some attention." Jake moves onto the bed, settling beside you. His mouth finds your nipple, and you gasp. His tongue is soft, gentle, the way he always is. He sucks lightly, his hand cupping your other breast, his thumb circling your nipple. Alternating between the two.
Heeseung kneels between your legs. His hands push your thighs apart, and you spread for him without thinking, your body already responding to his touch. "Look at you," he says. "Already so wet like some stupid slut. You've been wanting this, haven't you?" "Mhmm yes, want it so much." His fingers slowly trace your slit, gathering wetness, circling your clit. Your hips buck trying to get more. He presses you back down with his other hand. And lands a smack to your clit making you squirm under him. "Behave, not yet." "We're going to take our time with you pretty girl."
He slides one finger inside you. Then two. Your back arches, and Jake's mouth is on your breast, sucking harder now, his tongue flicking against your nipple. Heeseung's fingers curl inside you, finding the spot that makes your vision blur. "That's it," Heeseung murmurs. "You like that? You like when he plays with your nipples while I finger you?" You can't answer. Your hands grip the sheets. The pressure is building, coiling tight in your belly, and you're so close, so close- He pulls his fingers out. You cry out. The sound is desperate, broken, and Heeseung looks at you with satisfaction in his eyes. "Did you think I was going to let you cum that easily?" "Please," you gasp. "Please, I need- I want-" "Already so fucked out cant even form words huh? Tell me what do you need?" "I need to cum. Please, Heeseung. I'll be good. I'll be so good for you guys. Just let me cum."
He looks at Jake. "Eat her out. Make her taste herself on my fingers." Jake moves down the bed. His hands push your thighs apart, taking a moment to take in how wet you are, before you know it his mouth finds you. His tongue is soft at first, tentative, then firmer, faster, lapping at you like he's been starving. His fingers dig into your thighs, holding you open, and the sound he makes loud yet low, desperate and hungry sends heat flooding through your body. Heeseung is watching. His hand is in his pants, stroking himself, his eyes fixed on your face. Then down to Jake eating you out like a starved man. "She tastes good, doesn't she?" he asks. Jake moans against you sending waves throughout your body. His tongue circles your clit, faster now, and your hips buck against his face. He holds you down, his mouth relentless, his jaw working, and you can feel yourself getting close again, can feel the pressure building.
Heeseung pulls his hand out of his pants. His cock is hard, red and wet with pre cum at the tip begging for attention, he moves up the bed straddling your chest. "You're going to open your mouth for me right princess?" He says. You open your mouth. He slides his cock across your face and lips spreading his pre cum all over than finally into your mouth. The taste of him is warm and salty you moan around him, your tongue working, your lips stretching. His hand tangles in your hair, guiding you, setting the pace. "That's it. Take all of it like a fucking champ." Jake's mouth is still on you, his tongue still working, all while rutting onto the edge of the mattress pants already damp leaving a wet mark. Heeseung's hips are moving fast, pushing deeper into your throat, and you're drowning in sensation of the taste of him, the feel of Jake's tongue, the pressure building stronger in your stomach.
Heeseung pulls out. A strand of saliva connects you to him, and he smears it across your lips. And takes a look at Jakes wrecked state. "Pathetic fucking loser." He says loud enough for Jake to hear and make him let out a high pitched moan. Heeseung diverts his attention back to your flushed face lips parted trying to catch your breath. "I want to cum on your face," he says. "You want that?" "Yes Hee want it so much, please." He strokes himself over you, fast, hard, his jaw tight, his eyes fixed on your face. When he cums, it's across your cheeks, your lips, your chin. Hot and thick. You feel it dripping down your skin, and you lick your lips, taste him, swallow. Then open your mouth to show. Heeseung watches you. "My good fucking girl."
He looks at Jake. "She came on your face?" Jake lifts his head. His mouth is slick, his chin wet, his chest heaving. "Not yet." Heeseung's hand finds your clit. You jerk. Your body is oversensitive, trembling, and the pressure is unbearable. "Then make her fucking cum loser." He pushes Jakes head back down holding it down until he's done. His tongue is faster now, harder, and Heeseung's fingers are inside you, curling, pressing, driving you toward the edge. Your hands find their hair Jake's soft strands, Heeseung's thicker ones and you hold on as the pressure builds, as your body tightens, as the world narrows to the feel of them. You cum on Jake's face. Your body arches, your mouth opens, and Heeseung's name tears from your throat. Jake drinks you down, his tongue lapping at you, and Heeseung's fingers work you through it, drawing it out until you're shaking, until you're begging him to stop.
He pulls his fingers out. Licks them clean. Dives his finger back in coating his fingers with your slick. "Open," he says leaving no more for argument. The second you open your mouth he hovers right above it and spits into it than finger fucks your mouth. Heeseung's fingers curl deeper into your mouth, pressing against your tongue, and the sound you make is wet, desperate, muffled around his knuckles. Saliva drips down your chin, pooling in the hollow of your throat, and your eyes water from the stretch, from the way he's holding you open, from the way he's watching you with something dark and satisfied in his expression. "My good little whore," he says. Making u moan against him. "Jake, fuck her dumb." He states
Jake is frozen, absolutely dazed, face flushed in awe at the way you're literally glowing. And watching Heeseung's fingers slide in and out of your mouth. Watching the mess he's making of you. Watching the way you take it. "What? Want me to finger fuck you to or something?" He teases, making himself let out a low chuckle. And Jake a high pitched whimper. "No fucking way" Heeseung says making direct eye contact with Jake. "You like watching?" His voice is low, rough, pitched for Jake's ears. His fingers never stop moving in your mouth. "You want to know what it feels like?" All of a sudden Jake's throat feels dry. His voice comes out strangled. "I-"
Heeseung's fingers slide out of your mouth with a wet pop. He reaches down, his fingers dragging through the mess on your chin, your throat, collecting the wetness on his knuckles from spit, tears and his cum all over you. Then he turns to Jake. He holds his hand out. His fingers are soaked, glistening in the low light. Jake stares at them. His breath catches. His lips part. Heeseung's thumb presses against Jake's lower lip, pulling it down. "Open up." Jake's eyes flutter. His mouth falls open. Heeseung pushes his fingers inside, slowly, watching Jake's face the whole time. Jake's eyes widen. His hands grip the sheets tighter. He makes a sound something between a gasp and a moan and Heeseung's expression shifts, something hungry surfacing. "There," Heeseung breathes. "That's it. Take it little boy." His fingers slide deeper. Jake's eyes close. His mouth works around them, tongue sliding against Heeseung's knuckles, and the sound he makes is low, desperate, muffled.
You watch them, your chest rising and falling, your body still trembling from Heeseung's hands on you. Jake's face is flushed, his lips stretched around Heeseung's fingers, his whole body arched toward him. Making you feel dizzy. Heeseung pulls his fingers out slowly, dragging them across Jake's tongue before letting them slide free. Jake gasps out of breath, his eyes opening, dark and wide. Heeseung looks at his hand, slick with spit, and then he looks at you. His mouth curves. "Liked the show didn't you," he says, his voice low teasing.
Before Jake lets his thoughts consume him he moves over you. His body covers yours, his arms bracketing your head, his hips settling between your legs. His face is wet, his lips swollen, his eyes dark. "You okay?" he asks. His voice is soft, checking. You pull him down, kiss him. You can taste yourself on his lips, taste Heeseung on your own. "Fuck me Jake." He pushes inside you. You're so wet that he slides in easily, and you both moan at the feeling of it him filling you, you clenching around him. He moves slow at first, his hips rocking against yours, his mouth on your neck. "You're so tight," he groans. "So fucking tight."
Heeseung is beside you. His hands find your breasts, playing with your nipples, pinching, rolling, sending sparks of pleasure through your overstimulated body. His mouth finds your ear. "You like that? You like him inside you while I touch you?" "Mmm fuck yeahh." He pinches harder. Your hips buck. Jake groans. Heeseung's hand slides down your stomach, finds your clit. He presses, circles, works you while Jake fucks you, and it's too much, not enough, everything. "I'm close," Jake gasps. "I'm going to-" "Not yet." Heeseung's voice is sharp. "She cums first." Making Jake groan. He presses harder on your clit. His fingers circle faster. Jake's hips drive into you, faster now, losing control, and you can feel yourself climbing, feel the pressure building, feel the edge approaching. "Come on," Heeseung says. "Cum for him. Let him feel you."
You break. Your body clenches around Jake, your hands grip his shoulders, your voice breaks on his name. He follows a moment later, his face buried in your neck, his hips stuttering against yours, his body shuddering. He collapses beside you. His chest heaves. His skin is slick with sweat.
But Heeseung isn't done. He rolls you onto your stomach, pulls your hips up. You feel him behind you, his cock pressing against your entrance, already hard again. "She's done," Jake says. His voice is concerned. "She needs a break." Heeseung looks at you. "You're my good girl you take whatever I give you, right?" You nod your head. Your voice is hoarse. "I want- I need- you- more- give me please." He pushes inside you. You cry out. You're oversensitive, raw, and every nerve is on fire. His hands grip your hips, holding you steady, and he fucks you hard, fast, the way he fucks when he's lost control.
Your body arches. Your hands claw at anything you can get a hold of. He's thick, stretching you, filling you, and the pressure of him inside you makes your eyes roll back. He doesn't wait. He doesn't give you time to adjust. He moves hard, fast, his hips driving into you, his mouth on your neck, his hands gripping your thighs. The sound of it fills the room. Skin slapping against skin. The bed frame hitting the wall. Your moans, his grunts, the wet sounds of him moving inside you. He fucks you like he's been waiting for this, like he's been holding back for years, like every night he spent watching you with Jake is being driven out of him with every thrust. "You feel that?" he says. "You feel how good you are? How perfect you are for this?" Your hands fist the sheets. Your body is shaking, your mind blank, your mouth open. You can't form words. You can only feel.
He reaches around, finds your clit. You sob. It's too much. You can't take it. But he doesn't stop. His fingers work you, his hips drive into you, and the pleasure is so intense it hurts, burns, consumes you. "I can't," you gasp. "I can't, I can't-" "You can." His voice is hard. "You're going to cum for me. You're going to cum so hard you forget your own name." Jake moves closer. His hand finds yours, holds it. His other hand cups your face, turns you toward him. "I've got you," he says. "We've got you." Heeseung's fingers press harder. His hips drive deeper. "Cum on my cock. Show me who you belong to." Was your final straw leading the pressure inside you to break.
You scream and chant both of there names like a mantra. Your body convulses, your vision whites out, and you feel yourself gush around him, soaking the sheets and soaking him your body releasing everything. Heeseung groans, his hips slamming into you one last time, and you feel him cum inside filling u up, the heat of him, the way his body shakes. He pulls out. You collapse onto the bed. Your face is wet. You're not sure if it's tears or spit or cum. You can't move. You can't think. You can only lie there, trembling, while they clean you up. Jake's hands are gentle, wiping your face, your chest, your thighs. Heeseung brings a towel, warm water, cleans the mess between your legs. They turn you over, lift you, change the sheets while you lie there, too spent to help. When they're done, they pull you between them. Jake's arm wraps around your waist. Heeseung's chest is warm against your back. "Too much?" Jake asks. You shake your head. Your voice is barely a whisper. "Perfect." Heeseung presses a kiss to your shoulder. "You did so good baby." Your eyes close. Their hands are on you, gentle now, soothing. Jake's fingers trace patterns on your hip. Heeseung's breath evens out against your neck. The last thing you feel is their arms tightening around you, holding you together as you drift.
The next week is strange. You see them both around campus, but you don't seek them out. You don't text. You don't call, allowing yourself to form your thoughts. You let the days pass, let yourself exist in the space between what happened and what comes next.
Heeseung shows up at your apartment on a random Wednesday. "Can I come in?" he asks. You step aside. He sits on your couch. You sit across from him. The space between you feels like miles. "It started as a bet," he says. "Freshman year. We were drunk. Jay made a joke. It was supposed to be stupid. Something we'd forget about by the next day." You don't say anything. "But then I saw you at the library. You were sitting by the window, and you looked up when I walked in, and you-" He stops. Swallows. "You smiled at me. Like you knew me. Like you'd been waiting for me. And I forgot there was ever a bet."
You look at him. "You never told me." "I was scared." His voice cracks. "I was scared that if you knew how it started, you'd never believe how it ended. I was scared you'd look at me and only see the stupid kid who made a bet, not the person who fell in love with you." He moves to kneel in front of you, his hands finding yours. His fingers are cold, trembling. "I love you," he says. "I've loved you since the first time I saw you. And I've spent four years trying to be someone worth loving back. I know I've messed up. I know I've hurt you. But the bet was never real. Not after the first week. Not after I knew you."
"I love you too," you say. "But I don't know if that's enough." He closes his eyes. His hands tighten around yours. "I'm leaving, I got scouted to play in the major leagues" he says. "At the end of the summer. I'm moving across the country. And I'm not going to ask you to wait." He looks up at you. "I think- I think I need to start over. Somewhere new. Somewhere I'm not the person who made a bet. Somewhere I'm just me." Your throat tightens. "Heeseung-" "I'm not saying goodbye." His voice is rough. "I'm not saying this is the end. But I need to go. I need to figure out who I am when I'm not chasing you. When I'm not waiting. When I'm not hoping."
You don't know what to say. Your chest is too full, your throat too tight. He stands up. He pulls you with him. His hands cup your face, his thumbs brushing your cheeks. "If it's meant to be," he says, "I'll find my way back. And if it's not-" He stops. Swallows. "If it's not, I need you to know that you were the best thing that ever happened to me. And I'm sorry I was too scared to tell you sooner." He kisses you. Soft. Slow. The way he kissed you in the locker room. He pulls back. He looks at you one more time. And then he walks out the door.
You stand there for a long time after he leaves. Your face is wet. Your hands are shaking. You don't know how long you stand there, in the middle of your apartment, the door closed, the silence pressing in. Your phone buzzes. You don't look at it. It buzzes again. You pick it up. Jake: Can we talk? You stare at the message. Your fingers hover over the keyboard. Come over.
He's at your door in fifteen minutes. He doesn't sit. He stands in the middle of your living room, his hands at his sides, his face open in a way you've never seen. "You know about the bet," he says. You nod. "I should have told you. I should have told you a hundred times. But I was scared. I was scared you'd walk away. I was scared you'd look at me the way you're looking at me now." You don't say anything. You let him talk. "It started as a joke. A stupid, immature joke. And I spent four years trying to make up for it. Trying to be someone worth choosing." He looks at you. "I love you a lot. I've loved you since the first time I saw you. And I know I messed up. I know I hurt you. But that bet was never real. Not after I knew you."
"I know," you say. He stares at you. "You know?" "I know it wasn't real. I know it stopped being a bet a long time ago." You step closer. "I'm still angry. I'm still hurt. But I know." His face crumples. His hands find yours, his fingers cold, trembling. "I thought I lost you." "You didn't lose me." "I thought you were going to choose him. Heeseung. I thought-" His voice breaks. You reach up, your hand cupping his face. "I need time. I need to figure out who I am when I'm not being chased. When I'm not being fought over." He nods. His eyes are wet. "I'll wait. I've been waiting for four years. I can wait a little longer." You pull him into your arms. He holds you like he's never letting go. "I love you," he says against your hair. "I've always loved you." You close your eyes. His arms are warm around you, his heart beating against your chest, his breath steady in your ear. "I love you too," you say.
He pulls back, looks at you. "So that means-" "It means I'm not going anywhere. It means I'm going to take some time to figure out what I want. And when I'm ready-" You stop. Look at him. "When I'm ready, I want it to be you." He kisses you. Soft. Gentle. The way he's always been. When he pulls back, he's smiling. It's the smile that's been yours since the beginning.
Graduation comes faster than you expect. The ceremony is long and hot, the speeches predictable, the crowd a sea of caps and gowns. Yunjin cries during the address. Sakura pretends she isn't crying too. Chae takes approximately seven thousand photos. Jake is in the row ahead of you. He turns around when your name is called, his smile wide, his eyes bright. You walk across the stage, diploma in hand, and when you sit back down, his hand finds yours.
After the ceremony, everyone gathers on the lawn outside the auditorium. The whole group is there, Yunjin with her arm looped through Jay's, Sakura and Chae are taking photos with Sunoo. Sunghoon is trying to get everyone organized for a group picture, which is proving impossible. Jungwon is laughing at something Ni-ki said. Heeseung is standing with his family nearby, his cap already off, his gown unzipped. You find him after a moment. He sees you coming and excuses himself from his parents. "Congratulations," you say. "You too." He shrugs. "I just threw a ball through a hoop. You, on the other hand, did something impressive." You laugh. "You're ridiculous." "You've mentioned that."
Jake appears beside you. His hand finds your waist. Heeseung looks at him, and for a moment, neither of them says anything. Then Heeseung smiles. "Take care of her." "I plan to." "She's stubborn. She doesn't eat when she's stressed. She pretends she's fine when she's not. You have to watch for that." Jake nods. "I know." Heeseung looks at you. "And you stop pretending you have it all figured out. No one does. That's the secret." You laugh, and it's real, and it hurts, and it's exactly what you needed. "I'm going to miss you," you say. "I'm going to miss you too." He pulls you into a hug, quick and tight.
When he pulls back, his eyes are wet. "Don't let him be boring. He has a tendency." Jake rolls his eyes. "I'm standing right here." "I know." Heeseung grins. "That's the point."
They look at each other. Four years of competition, of wanting, of waiting. And now, this. "When you're on TV," Jake says, "I'm going to tell everyone I knew you before you were famous." "I'm going to deny it." "I'm going to ask you for money." "I'm going to block your number." They laugh. You laugh too. And for a moment, it feels like everything is exactly the way it's supposed to be.
Sunghoon finally gets everyone organized for a group photo. The whole crew gathers on the steps of the auditorium. Yunjin and Jay, Sakura and Chae, Sunoo and Sunghoon, Jungwon and Ni-ki, you and Jake, and Heeseung, who's stayed even though he already took photos with his family. "Everyone squeeze in," Sunghoon calls, setting up his phone on a tripod. "Ni-ki, stop messing with Jungwon." "I'm just fixing his shirt god fricking forbid." "You're messing it up." The timer counts down. Three. Two. One. The photo captures everyone mid-laugh, mid-argument, mid-moment. It's messy and imperfect and exactly right.
After the photo, people start to drift. Sunghoon is already planning the after party. Yunjin is dragging Jay toward the parking lot. Sakura and Chae are arguing about where to go for food. Sunoo is trying to get everyone's drink orders. You're standing with Jake and Heeseung, the three of you off to the side, watching the chaos. "One more," someone says. You turn. It's Jungwon, holding up his phone. "One more photo. For old times." You laugh. You pull Jake closer. Heeseung steps in on your other side. Jungwon lifts his phone, and Ni-ki appears beside him, leaning into the frame. "Three, two-"
"Wait," Ni-ki says. He's not looking at the camera. He's looking across the lawn, at a girl standing near the fountain, holding what looked like her brother's cap while taking pictures for him. "Who's that?" Jungwon follows his gaze. His phone lowers. "I don't know. I've never seen her before." "Me neither." Ni-ki tilts his head. "She's cute." Jungwon looks at her. "She's really cute." They stand there for a moment, both of them watching her, both of them forgetting about the photo.
Jay appears beside them, Sunghoon trailing behind. "What are you two staring at?" Ni-ki nods toward the girl. "Her." Jay looks. He looks at Sunghoon. Sunghoon looks at Jay. A slow grin spreads across Jay's face. "Oh no," Sunghoon says. "What?" Jungwon looks between them. "What is it?" "Nothing." Jay's grin widens. "I've just seen this before." Sunghoon shakes his head, laughing. "Not again." "Not again what?" Ni-ki asks.
Jay puts an arm around each of them. "Let me tell you a story. About a bet. About two guys who thought they knew what they wanted. About four years of chasing and fighting and messing everything up." Jungwon and Ni-ki look at each other. They look at the girl by the fountain. "Here's the thing," Jay says. "That bet? Neither of them won. Not really. But they both ended up exactly where they were supposed to be." Ni-ki looks at the girl again. She's laughing at something, her head thrown back, now posing for pictures. "So what you're saying is-" "I'm saying be careful." Jay's voice is lighter now, teasing. "That girl? She might be trouble." Jungwon grins. "We like trouble." Sunghoon groans. "Oh my gosh here we go again."
They're still talking when you turn away, your hand in Jake's, Heeseung walking beside you. The afternoon sun is warm, the campus spread out before you, the future waiting somewhere beyond the gates. "You think they'll figure it out?" Heeseung asks, nodding toward the younger boys. You look back. Jungwon and Ni-ki are already walking toward the fountain, already finding their way toward something new. "I think," you say, "they're about to find out." Jake squeezes your hand. "Let's go home." You walk together, the three of you, out of the campus, out of the years you've spent here, into whatever comes next.
a/n: omgg if u made it this far tysm for reading I hope u enjoyed the fic and will enjoy my future works. no frl tho thank u if u made it this far ily
Synopsis! In the midst of going through yet another breakup, Jay Park, the infamous “Wonder pitcher” of the baseball team in your university asks you to be his
fake girlfriend to scare off his ex. In exchange, he promises to help you get back on your ex. However things don't go according to plan when you start to catch true feelings for your fake boyfriend.
Contents! Horrrrrrible decision making lol, Heeseung and jake being the main instigators, chopping off men’s dicks joke (obviously duh), Jay’s crazy ex, profanities, crack.
Tags: explicit sexual content, choking kink / neck play, brat taming, praise + possessiveness, slight dom/sub dynamic, oral (f and m receiving), fingering, multiple positions, couch sex, shower sex, best friends to lovers, sexual tension
Word count : 9.6k
Summary: He’s the golden boy of your friend group, also your best friend of ten years. Touchy without thinking. Protective without asking. And hot—criminally hot—without ever being yours. Until one night, in the middle of a crowded living room, his hand wraps around your neck without thinking. And you realize… he has no idea.
This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!
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There was no knock. There never was.
Chan walked into your apartment like he paid rent—hoodie half-zipped, keys jingling in his hand, the familiar scent of clean laundry and whatever cologne he swiped from his dresser that morning trailing in after him. He kicked off his shoes like a man with no shame and made a beeline for your fridge.
You didn’t even look up from your laptop. “You steal one more yogurt and I’m reporting you to the building board.”
He opened the fridge. “You don’t even like Greek yogurt.”
“You don’t know my life.”
“I know you used it once for a TikTok mask and gagged.”
You grinned. “Okay, fine. But still. Ask before you mooch.”
He shut the fridge and padded over, yogurt in one hand, water bottle in the other. “Never have. Never will.”
Chan dropped onto the couch beside you, close enough for his thigh to press solidly against yours. He stretched his arm behind you like he was at a movie theatre trying to flirt with a stranger. His fingers brushed your shoulder, then stayed there. Rested. Comfortable.
Normal.
You didn’t move. Just kept typing, one leg curled beneath you, the other pressed tight against his. You’d long since stopped noticing how often his body found yours. Chan was touchy—had been since high school. Always stretching across your lap, squeezing your arms, playing with your fingers absentmindedly during long talks. You didn’t even flinch when his palm dropped to your knee now, warm and casual.
This was just how it had always been.
People didn’t get it. Not back in school, not in college, not now when you lived a few floors apart and spent most nights either at his place or yours. The teasing from friends had been endless, and the side-eyes never stopped. But neither of you had ever crossed that line. Not even once.
Not even close.
You were hot. He was hot. That was an objective fact. But hot didn’t mean available. It didn’t mean interested. Not between you two.
Chan opened the yogurt with one hand and shoved the lid at you. “Lick this. Be useful.”
You turned your face slowly. “You want me to lick your foil lid?”
“I’m not dirtying a spoon just to eat this.”
“You’re so unserious.”
“I’m efficient.”
You took the lid, licked it once with a dramatic roll of your eyes, and handed it back. “Happy?”
He grinned. “Always.”
He popped the rest of the yogurt into his mouth and grabbed the TV remote, settling in like he didn’t plan on leaving for hours. You weren’t surprised. Most nights looked like this—Chan in your space, touching you somewhere, somehow, while the two of you talked about everything and nothing. He never asked. You never flinched. You barely noticed anymore.
And even when his hand slid just a little higher on your thigh—thumb brushing back and forth across the thin fabric of your shorts—you didn’t think twice. It didn’t register. Just Chan being Chan. Just another Tuesday.
⸻
Chan’s living room was loud. Like it always was when everyone crowded into his space.
Music buzzed from the Bluetooth speaker someone had connected half an hour ago. Your group of friends were splayed across every surface—couch cushions, beanbags, someone cross-legged on the floor—arguing over which movie to watch while the food delivery slowly made its way through Friday night traffic.
You were curled into the corner of the couch, legs tucked beneath you, half-listening, half-scrolling on your phone. Comfortable. Cozy. Familiar.
You’d lost count of how many nights like this there’d been. Movie nights, lazy dinners, game nights that never ended with the actual game. And Chan—always at the center of it. Hosting, leaning against walls with his arms crossed, eyes creased from laughter.
Right now, he was behind you, one knee on the couch as he leaned over to grab the remote off the coffee table. The angle brought his chest close to your back, the edge of his hoodie brushing your cheek before he spoke over your head.
“Why are we even voting?” he asked. “We all know it’s gonna end up being some sad indie movie with subtitles.”
“Because you like chaos,” someone shot back. “We’re trying to have feelings tonight.”
Chan huffed a laugh, dropped the remote onto the cushion beside you, and stayed where he was—half-standing behind the couch, his weight shifting from one arm to the next.
Then you felt it.
One hand landed lightly on your shoulder. And before you could glance back or even think twice, it slid upward.
His palm curved gently around the side of your neck.
Not tight. Not firm. Just resting.
His thumb brushed the underside of your jaw once, then paused, like he was measuring something.
“Huh,” he murmured, half to himself. “Your neck’s tiny.”
He squeezed—not hard, just curious. Testing the width of it in his hand. Like he was checking the fit of something he already owned. His fingers spread easily around your throat, thick and relaxed, his thumb nearly meeting his fingertips on the other side.
You didn’t move.
Couldn’t.
You kept your phone up, face calm, body casual. But inside?
You were choking.
Silently. Violently.
He had no idea.
He wasn’t even thinking about it. It was just Chan being Chan—touchy, absentminded, always touching you. Always. You’d never given it a second thought.
But this?
This was the one place you’d never imagined his hand.
The one part of your body that could short-circuit you with just a look, if the wrong person stared too long. And here he was—fingers wrapped casually around it, thumb brushing over your pulse, eyes probably still on the TV while your soul momentarily left your body.
You blinked. Swallowed. Scrolled aimlessly to mask the tension pooling hot in your stomach.
“Chan,” someone called out. “You good?”
“Yeah,” he said distractedly, thumb still grazing your neck. “Just thinking how weird it is that this—” he gave the softest squeeze, “—could pop like a grape.”
You let out a short, strangled sound that you masked as a cough.
Chan chuckled and finally moved away, dropping onto the armrest beside you with a bounce. His arm still brushed your shoulder, but the pressure on your throat was gone. Like it never happened.
Like it meant nothing.
And to him, it probably didn’t.
But to you?
You weren’t even sure if your breath had come back yet.
⸻
The door shut with a final click.
Silence fell over Chan’s apartment, the kind that only came after hours of noise—empty cups scattered across his counter, the echo of laughter still clinging to the walls. You sank deeper into the couch with a sigh, one hand absently rubbing your shoulder where it ached from sitting in the same position too long.
Chan reappeared from the kitchen, hair pushed back by a band now, hoodie sleeves rolled to the elbows. He tossed a bottle of water onto the coffee table and plopped down beside you, then paused.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Fine,” you said, too quick. “Just… tired.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You’re stiff.”
You shrugged, not looking at him. “Yeah, well. You try staying upright for four hours while Minho screams at the TV like it insulted his mother.”
He patted the space between his legs. “C’mon. Let me fix it.”
You hesitated, but only for a beat.
This wasn’t new. He’d given you shoulder rubs before—during finals in college, during hell weeks at your old job, after long car rides or moving days. It was Chan. Your Chan. The one person you trusted not to make anything feel weird.
So you shifted forward, sitting cross-legged between his thighs, and let him rest his hands on your shoulders.
At first, it was nothing.
Just firm pressure. The pads of his thumbs pushing slow, rhythmic circles into your traps, rolling out the knots like he had all the time in the world. You melted, just a little, head tipping forward under the strength of it.
“Jesus,” you muttered, “where did you even learn how to do that?”
“Years of stress,” he said. “You get good at fixing what you live with.”
You huffed something like a laugh, eyelids falling shut.
Then his thumbs pushed deeper, finding the ridge near the base of your neck, and you let out a low groan of relief.
It felt too good. Way too good.
But it was still safe.
Until his hands shifted.
Slid higher.
Thumbs brushing the edges of your neck now. Rubbing the muscles that fed into it. Soft. Slow. Intent.
Your body tensed before your brain caught up—and then it slipped.
A sound left you.
High-pitched. Sharp.
Needy.
You bit it back immediately, lips slamming shut, but the damage was done. It hung there in the air for a second too long—too feminine, too out of place for the room’s quiet.
Chan stilled.
You didn’t breathe.
Then—
“You good?” he asked lightly, voice above your head.
You could hear the confusion. Like he wasn’t sure if he’d heard it right. Or if you meant it the way it sounded.
“I—yeah.” Your voice cracked, and you cleared your throat. “Just sore.”
He hummed. Didn’t say anything else.
His hands moved again, this time slower, gentler—sweeping wide across your shoulders before sliding up again, thumbs circling your neck with almost tender pressure. Like he was feeling out the muscle tension—but also maybe trying to see if you’d make that sound again.
You were still. Too still.
“Didn’t think you were holding this much here,” he murmured. His thumbs pressed gently into the dip just behind your jaw. “You always carry it this high?”
You nodded too fast. “Y-Yeah. Must’ve slept weird.”
His touch softened, almost affectionate now, tracing down your neck with his thumbs before slipping away entirely. The absence of it made your breath hiccup.
You couldn’t look back at him.
Not yet.
Because now you weren’t sure if he didn’t notice…
Or if he definitely did.
You hadn’t mentioned it.
Neither had he.
Not when you stood to leave a few minutes later, not when he walked you to the door like he always did, not even when his hand lingered low on your back as you slipped on your slides.
If anything, he looked more normal than usual. Relaxed. Even smiled when you told him you’d come by tomorrow to help clean.
“Don’t forget I’m your friend, not your maid,” you said.
He gave your arm a little squeeze. “You’re both.”
And that was that.
Or so you thought.
—
The next day, his apartment looked exactly the same. A few stray cups gathered in the sink, a throw blanket half-draped off the couch, crumbs on the coffee table. You tossed your bag down and got to work wiping things down while he gathered trash from the bedroom.
“You could at least pretend to clean while I’m here,” you called out.
“I am cleaning,” he shouted back. “I just clean in peace. Unlike someone.”
You rolled your eyes, grinning.
It was easy again. Like nothing happened.
Until it wasn’t.
He emerged from the hallway, rubbing the back of his neck, then padded barefoot across the room to take the rag from your hand.
“Okay,” he said. “Can we talk about something?”
You glanced at him. “What?”
He didn’t speak right away.
Instead, he took the rag, folded it neatly, and set it on the table—slow and deliberate, like he was giving you time to brace.
Then he looked at you. Really looked.
“That sound you made,” he said, voice quiet. “Yesterday. When I was rubbing your neck.”
Your stomach dropped. Not in panic. Just in… sheer mortified awareness.
You played dumb. “What sound?”
Chan tilted his head, amused.
“Don’t do that.”
“I really don’t know what you’re talking about,” you insisted, backing a step toward the kitchen, like that would save you.
He followed. One step. Two.
“You made a sound,” he said, not letting it go. “High. Like… I don’t know. Not pain. Definitely not pain.”
Your cheeks flamed. “Okay, and?”
“It just surprised me.” His voice stayed calm. Curious. “You don’t usually sound like that.”
You swallowed hard, crossing your arms in a weak attempt at a barrier. “It was nothing. You just hit a spot. I didn’t even realize I—”
“Sure,” he cut in gently. “But… I’m sure I’ve hit that spot before.”
You froze.
He smiled again, but it was slower now. Measured. A little too knowing.
Your voice came out small. “So?”
“So…” he scratched at his jaw, like he was still figuring out what he wanted to say. “I don’t know. It just sounded like… something else.”
Silence.
Heavy. Awkward. Charged.
You looked down. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”
Chan stepped a little closer.
You could smell him again—clean and warm, the same scent you’d been surrounded by for years. But now? It clung to your skin differently. Sunk into your pulse.
He was watching you carefully. Not pressuring. Not pushing.
Just… observing.
“Okay,” he said finally. “I believe you.”
Relief hit you, fast and fleeting.
“But if you had meant something by it,” he added, voice lower now, “you’d tell me, right?”
Your breath hitched.
He wasn’t teasing anymore.
He wasn’t joking.
You met his gaze—eyes warm, calm, steady. There wasn’t a trace of judgment in them. No expectation either. Just the softest, slightest pull of curiosity.
And something else you couldn’t name yet.
You looked away.
“Clean your damn table, Christopher.”
He smirked. “So that’s a no?”
“That’s a goodnight.”
You grabbed your bag and made a beeline for the door, pulse thudding in your throat, your skin hot all over. You could still feel the ghost of his hand there, even now. Still circling. Still squeezing.
And the worst part? You knew you’d dream about it.
The second you turned toward the door, you knew he wasn’t going to let it slide.
You felt it.
That shift in the air. The narrowing of his patience. Chan wasn’t dumb, and he wasn’t oblivious. You’d slipped out of a hundred close calls with him over the years, danced around every whisper of tension—but now?
He had a thread.
And he was pulling it.
“Wait,” he said, quiet.
You kept walking.
“Don’t be weird about it,” you muttered. “I said it was nothing.”
The words barely left your mouth before you felt his hand curling around the waistband of your sweatpants and pulling you back into him with a snap.
Your breath hitched.
Back to his chest. Spine to his hoodie. You froze, lips parting in disbelief.
“Chan—”
He grabbed your face before you could finish. One hand cupping your jaw, the other squishing your cheeks together so your lips puckered slightly, tilting your head back against him.
Your breath caught.
“Tell me,” he said, voice low—so low it brushed against your ear like a hum. “That moan. Was it your neck?”
You squirmed, heat rushing to your face, but his grip was firm. Not rough. Just insistent. Gentle like the beginning of something you weren’t ready to name yet.
“I said it was nothing,” you mumbled through his hold.
“I heard you the first time.” His hand loosened just enough for your jaw to move, but his palm didn’t leave your skin. “But that’s not what I asked.”
You turned your head slightly, but he followed the motion, chest warm against your back, his breath fanning across your temple.
“I’m not judging you,” he said softer now, almost amused. “I’m just asking… do you have a thing for this?”
His hand dropped—slow, steady—fingertips trailing from your jaw down the curve of your throat.
You stopped breathing.
His palm hovered just under your chin, thumb resting at the side of your neck, fingers spread. Barely touching. Barely grazing.
Then— He wrapped.
Not tight. Not firm. Just enough to feel his fingers circle you.
Just enough to remind you how small you were in his hand.
Everything in you went still.
Your lips parted again—useless, breathless, caught. You didn’t moan this time, but the silence said enough.
Chan’s voice dipped, teasing now. “So you do.”
You turned your face away, jaw tensed. “It’s not like that.”
His hand didn’t move.
“Then what’s it like?”
You stayed quiet, hands fisting at your sides.
“I didn’t even squeeze,” he murmured, voice velvet-slick. “And you froze like I switched you off with a button.”
“Shut up.”
He grinned. “Ohhh. So it’s like that.”
You tried to step forward, but his grip on your waistband tightened just slightly—reminding you he still had you. That he could pull again. That he would.
He leaned in, lips almost brushing your ear now.
“I’m not mad,” he said, gentle. “I’m not freaked out. I just…” his thumb grazed under your chin again, slow, sweet, deadly. “I think it’s kinda cute.”
“Chan,” you warned, but it came out too soft. Too breathy.
He let go of your jaw, finally. Stepped back a little.
His hand dropped from your neck like nothing happened.
But nothing about your body felt normal anymore.
“I’m gonna order takeout,” he said casually, walking to the kitchen. “You want the usual?”
You blinked.
Stared at him, stunned. “Are you serious?”
He glanced back with a smirk.
“Dead serious. But—if you wanna talk more about your kinks after dinner, I’m free.”
⸻
Dinner was a blur.
You barely tasted anything.
Chan ordered your usual like it was a normal night, like he hadn’t manhandled your face and wrapped his hand around your neck barely twenty minutes ago. He sat across from you at his counter, hoodie sleeves shoved to the elbows, digging into pizza while casually talking about Genshin.
You blinked at your own bowl, lips still tingling, mind running marathons.
He’d touched you a thousand times before—your waist, your thigh, your cheek, your lower back—but not like that.
Not with intent.
Not while calling you out about your kinks like he was just checking the weather.
You poked at your own noodles.
“So we’re not gonna talk about it?” you asked.
Chan looked up, chewing, one brow lifted.
“Talk about what?”
You narrowed your eyes. “Don’t play dumb.”
A beat of silence.
Then the softest smirk curled on his lips. “Thought you didn’t wanna talk about it.”
You stared at him.
Something low and hot coiled in your stomach. That smug little tone he always used on you when he knew he’d won—when he baited you into spilling, or laughing, or saying something you didn’t mean to say.
And suddenly?
You’d had enough. You dropped your fork. Sat back in your chair.
“Fine,” you said, eyes locked on his. “You wanna talk kinks? Let’s talk.”
The smile slipped from his face, slow and sharp—like something in him clicked.
“…Now?”
You crossed your arms, chin high. “You started it.”
Chan leaned forward, resting his forearms on the counter. “Alright,” he said slowly. “Let’s go.”
His voice was low again. Not teasing this time. Steady. Intrigued. Like you’d just pulled a loaded weapon on the table and told him to pick a side.
You swallowed. “We’ve never talked about this before.”
“I know.”
“We said we wouldn’t.”
“I remember.”
“So why now?”
Chan shrugged. “Because you moaned like someone touched your soul when I only grazed your neck and then tried to lie about it. And now I’m curious.”
You flushed.
“Curious about what?”
His gaze didn’t waver. “You.”
A silence stretched between you—hot, tight, heavy.
You laughed once, hollow. “God. This is so fucking weird.”
Chan tilted his head. “Is it?”
“Yes!” you threw your hands up. “You’re my best friend.”
“I’m still your best friend.”
“And we don’t talk about sex.”
“We do now.”
Your breath caught.
His eyes were too dark. Too steady. There was no out here.
You inhaled slowly. “Fine. What do you wanna know?”
Chan sat back again, folding his arms. “What else does it for you?”
You blinked. “Seriously?”
He nodded. “Dead serious.”
You hesitated.
Then—like the words tasted like sin—you said quietly, “Hands.”
A pause.
Chan’s lips twitched. “Yeah. I figured.”
“Big ones,” you added without thinking. “Veiny. Rough. Confident.”
His eyes gleamed. “That why you always let me manhandle you like a ragdoll?”
You rolled your eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“I’m just observing,” he said. “What else?”
You gave him a flat look. “What, you taking notes now?”
He leaned in again, elbows on the table, voice dark velvet. “I will if you keep talking like that.”
Your thighs pressed together under the table.
You looked away. “You go. Say something.”
He was quiet for a second.
Then—casually—“I like brats.”
You choked.
“Excuse me?”
Chan grinned. “Smart mouths. Girls who push back. Who pretend they don’t wanna listen but fold the second I—”
“Okay!” you raised a hand. “That’s enough, Freud.”
He laughed, head tipping back.
But the tension didn’t ease.
If anything—it twisted tighter.
You bit your lip. “So like… choking. Is that weird?”
He blinked. “Is what weird? Wanting it done to you? Or doing it to someone?”
You paused. “…Both?”
Chan tilted his head, thoughtful. “Not weird. But it’s intense.”
You nodded slowly. “Yeah.”
Another silence.
He watched you. “You like intense?”
You looked up.
His eyes were too sharp again. Too serious.
You whispered, “Yeah.”
He stood.
You froze as he walked around the counter, bare feet soundless against the tile. He stopped in front of you, hand sliding onto your jaw—soft, slow—and tilted your face up again.
Your breath caught.
“You could’ve told me,” he said, voice low. “Any of this.”
“I thought you didn’t wanna hear it.”
His grip firmed just slightly—thumb brushing your cheek, the edge of your lip.
“I didn’t,” he said. “Until you moaned like that.”
His hand dipped.
Neck again.
Only this time, his fingers wrapped tight—not choking, but claiming. Measuring. Knowing.
And this time?
You didn’t pretend.
You looked him dead in the eye as your lips parted on a breathy, involuntary gasp.
“Yeah,” Chan whispered, smiling now. “That one.”
You should’ve walked away.
Should’ve laughed it off, said something dumb and deflective, gone home and buried yourself in blankets until the heat left your skin.
But you didn’t.
You sat there—his hand on your neck, your thighs clenched under the counter, breath caught somewhere in your throat—and you let him.
Chan was quiet. His eyes searched yours, slow and steady, like he was reading pages of you you didn’t even know were open.
His fingers flexed slightly around your neck. A light squeeze.
Not rough.
Just enough to say, I’m still here. You feel me, right?
And God… you did.
“You’re really into this,” he murmured.
You looked away, cheeks warm. “It’s not like I think about it all the time.”
“You don’t?”
“No.”
He hummed.
Then leaned closer.
“But you’ve imagined it.”
You stiffened.
He chuckled lowly, and you felt it through his palm, the softest vibration echoing down your spine. “That’s not a no.”
You turned your head, just slightly, and muttered, “You’re annoying.”
He pulled back.
Only to hook his fingers under your jaw again, tilting your chin up like you weighed nothing in his grip. “There she is,” he said, smiling like you’d done something delicious.
“What?”
“That mouth,” he said, tapping your lip once with his thumb. “That bratty tone.”
“I wasn’t being bratty.”
“Mhm,” he smirked, stepping back. “Sure you weren’t.”
He let go.
The loss of contact was immediate—jarring.
Your neck felt cold without his hand on it.
Chan crossed to the couch and collapsed into it, legs spread, arms stretched along the backrest. Like nothing had just happened. Like your whole reality hadn’t just tipped sideways.
You turned slowly. “What the hell was that?”
“What?”
You gestured vaguely at the space between you. “That.”
Chan shrugged. “Just testing a theory.”
Your eyes narrowed. “What theory?”
“That I’ve been missing out.”
You blinked. “Missing out on what?”
He grinned, head resting lazily against the cushion. “This side of you.”
Your heart thumped.
“There’s no side,” you lied quickly. “That was— That’s just how I talk to you.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I’m serious.”
He cocked his head. “So you’d moan like that if Seungmin gave you a massage?”
You glared. “Seungmin gives serial killer energy.”
“Then what about Hyunjin?”
“Hyunjin cries at perfume ads. I’d never let him near my neck.”
Chan laughed.
You didn’t.
“I’m not teasing you,” he said after a moment. “I just… I don’t know. Feels like we’re finally being real.”
You chewed your bottom lip. “It’s not like I was hiding anything on purpose.”
“I know.”
“I just thought it’d be… weird.”
Chan leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees. “It’s not weird.”
“You’re not freaked out?”
“Nope.”
You hesitated. “So what now?”
He smiled, that slow, cocky, dangerous smile. “Now I get to learn things.”
Your stomach flipped.
“You’re making it sound creepy,” you muttered.
He stood up again. Walked toward you, deliberate this time.
And when he stopped in front of you again, it felt different.
He wasn’t teasing now. He was… curious. Focused. Like you were a puzzle he’d just realized had more pieces.
His hand came up again—back to your neck—but this time, he didn’t wrap it.
He traced.
Knuckles down your throat. Fingertips skimming your collarbone.
You held perfectly still.
“So sensitive here,” he murmured. “And you never said a word.”
“I didn’t think it mattered.”
“It matters now.”
You swallowed. “Why?”
He leaned in. Close. His breath brushed your lips.
“Because now I’m gonna find out what else does it for you.”
Your legs weakened.
Chan reached behind you and gently pushed you back into the nearest couch, standing over you now, looking down like you were a question he wanted to spend the night answering.
He tilted his head. “You like being told what to do?”
You blinked, heart hammering. “Why?”
“Just wondering how deep the brat thing goes.”
“It’s not a brat thing,” you snapped.
That smile again. Sharp. Addictive.
“There she is.”
“Ugh,” you scoffed, sinking back.
“C’mon,” he said softly. “Give me something else. I’ll tell you one of mine.”
You looked at him, wary. “Promise?”
“Swear.”
You exhaled slowly. “I like being touched… slowly. Like… teased. Not rushed.”
Chan’s eyes darkened.
“Oh,” he said. “We’re gonna have fun.”
You blinked. “Your turn.”
He dropped to his knees in front of you. Rested his hands on your knees, just above them.
Then leaned forward and said—
“I like control. But only when someone wants to give it up.”
You froze.
“Like… the second you say stop, I’m out,” he added. “But if you give me the green light…” His thumbs stroked slow, slow circles over your legs. “I’ll ruin you sweet.”
Your breath hitched.
“Too much?” he asked, smiling.
You didn’t answer.
Because truthfully?
You didn’t know if it was.
You weren’t sure what had shifted.
The air, maybe.
Or the weight of his eyes when he looked at you like that—like you were becoming something right in front of him.
But Chan didn’t back down.
He stayed where he was, hands resting on your knees, thumbs rubbing slow, distracted strokes into your skin like his mind was already a step ahead.
“I’ve never really talked to anyone about this stuff,” he said quietly, more to himself than to you. “Not like this.”
You swallowed. “Me neither.”
“I didn’t think I needed to. Thought I had it figured out.”
“And now?”
His eyes met yours again, and there was something deeper in them now. Darker.
“Now I think I’ve been fucking around in the shallow end.”
You stiffened, legs tensing under his grip.
He felt it.
His thumbs stilled.
“That bother you?” he asked softly.
You shook your head before you could stop yourself.
He tilted his head, eyes narrowing like he’d found a loose thread in you. “Then why are your thighs clenched?”
“I don’t know,” you breathed.
“Hmm.”
He moved his hands slightly up your legs, just a few inches, nothing dramatic. But his gaze stayed pinned to yours the whole time.
“Do you like when I talk like that?”
You hesitated.
Chan leaned in, whispering, “Tell the truth.”
Your lips parted, no sound coming out.
He grinned, barely. “Thought so.”
You flushed.
He sat back on his heels, exhaling a little laugh like this whole thing was amusing—and fascinating—and fucking exhilarating.
“I think I like this side of you,” he murmured.
“What side?”
He brought his hand up again, knuckles brushing your neck, then trailing down your collarbone. “The one that can’t sit still when I do this.”
You shivered.
He smiled. “You get quiet when you want something.”
“I’m not quiet.”
“Mm. You’re quieter than usual.”
He leaned in again.
Not touching this time—just watching you breathe.
“You always give this much control without realizing it?”
Your mouth went dry.
“I’m not—” you started.
But he shook his head.
“No, don’t answer. I like watching you try.”
Your stomach dropped straight through the floor.
You were wet.
God, you were already so fucking wet, and he hadn’t even touched you where it mattered. Not once.
He moved one knee forward, bracing his arm on the cushion beside your hips. The shift brought him closer. Too close.
And that’s when you felt it.
Hard. Heavy.
Brushing your inner thigh.
Your breath stilled.
Chan didn’t move.
His lips quirked—just barely.
And that’s when you knew.
He felt it too.
Still, he played innocent.
“Something wrong?”
Your eyes flicked to his, wide. “Are you—?”
“I am,” he said calmly. “You surprised?”
You blinked.
“No.”
“Because you’re hot?”
You exhaled slowly. “Because you’re different.”
That made him pause.
“How?”
“You’ve never… acted like this.”
He hummed, low in his chest. “You’ve never let me.”
You stuttered. “I— I didn’t stop you—”
“No,” he agreed, nodding once. “But you didn’t give me an invitation either.”
You looked down, eyes on the space between your bodies, his arousal pressed right up against you like a secret you weren’t supposed to notice.
And still, you didn’t move.
Didn’t breathe.
Didn’t say a word.
His voice softened. “So now that we’re here… wanna know another thing I’ve never told anyone?”
You nodded without thinking.
Chan’s fingers skimmed your hip, slow and deliberate. “I like watching people fall apart.”
Your lips parted, breath catching.
“But not in a mean way,” he added. “I like the process. The way your body learns to trust me before your brain catches up. I like how shaky your breath gets when I press on the right spot. How your legs tense when you’re trying not to give in.”
He smirked, voice dipping lower.
“I like hearing that little gasp you just made. And I really like how your thighs are squeezing together again.”
You gasped again, this time audible.
He was rock hard now. You could feel him throb slightly against you. A steady pulse through his sweatpants.
And then—God help you—he moved just a little.
A subtle, deliberate shift of his hips.
Just enough to feel how warm you were.
How ready.
Your jaw clenched.
Chan’s eyes flicked down to your mouth.
And that was his breaking point.
Because suddenly his hand was back—on your neck.
Not squeezing. Not dominating.
Feeling.
Like he was trying to understand how something so small could make him so desperate.
“You don’t even know what you’re doing to me,” he murmured, half-lost in it.
You swallowed. “Then show me.”
His eyes snapped back to yours.
Dark.
Ravenous.
But he didn’t kiss you.
Didn’t push further.
Instead, he leaned in—nose brushing yours—and whispered, “Not yet.”
That’s what he said—low, husky, brushing your lips like a secret.
But then his head dipped lower.
And you felt it—his mouth at your cheek first, warm and lingering, then sliding lower still until his lips brushed your jawline… his teeth barely grazing your skin.
You jolted.
He smiled against you.
“Still holding it together?” he murmured, voice thick with amusement.
And then he bit you.
Soft. Right on your cheekbone. Just enough pressure to make you gasp—nothing overwhelming, but so intimate, so damn suggestive, it felt like your body cracked open around it.
A moan slipped past your lips before you could stop it.
High. Desperate.
Sinful.
“Fuck…” you breathed, under your breath.
But he heard it.
God, he heard everything.
His mouth dragged to your ear—barely brushing it—before his tongue flicked once at the shell of it and he whispered, “Say that again.”
Your head tipped back into the couch, fingers digging into the cushion beside you.
He watched you fall apart, kneeling between your knees like you were some holy thing unraveling at his mercy.
And then, without even thinking, it slipped out.
“…Chan.”
His name, like a prayer.
Choked. Shaken.
Raw.
He stilled.
Completely.
You opened your eyes slowly, vision slightly hazy, only to find him staring back at you—eyes wide, chest rising visibly beneath his hoodie.
“Shit,” he muttered, like it hit him all at once.
Like he just realized the weight of what was actually happening.
You blinked, cheeks burning. “What?”
He shook his head once. “Say it again.”
“What?”
“My name.”
You bit your lip, too overwhelmed to even fake control.
And that was it.
That broke him.
Chan’s hands flew to your hips, dragging you down the couch cushion just enough for him to lean over you completely. His mouth caught yours in a kiss so devastatingly hot you forgot your own name.
Teeth clashing. Breath mixing.
Tongues tangling like they’d been waiting years for this.
Your fingers curled into his hoodie, desperate for something to hold onto as he kissed you like a man starving—like he was angry you’d kept this from him, angry you made him wait.
And the way you moaned into his mouth? The soft gasp you let out when his hand slipped beneath your shirt and splayed wide over your waist?
It shattered him.
Chan groaned against your lips, grinding into you once—slow but solid—and the friction was unbearable.
You whimpered, breath hitching, thighs tensing around his hips.
“Jesus, babe,” he growled into your neck, voice cracking with restraint. “You don’t even know what you’re doing to me.”
But you did.
You knew now.
And worse? You loved it.
You tilted your head without thinking, exposing your throat like instinct, and the second his lips found the base of it, the moan you let out was filthy.
Loud. Guttural.
You felt him throb against your core through both your clothes.
And he didn’t even try to hide it.
His hand found your neck again—cradling, not choking. Not yet.
Just holding.
Possessive. Protective. Like it belonged to him.
“You were gonna hide this from me?” he whispered roughly against your skin. “This part of you?”
You whimpered, nails dragging down his back.
Chan laughed. Dark. Breathless.
“Not anymore.”
That was the last thing he said before everything blurred.
Your best friend had kissed you before—on your forehead, your cheek, once at midnight on New Year’s when he was tipsy and too sentimental—but this was different.
This wasn’t affection.
This was possession.
He kissed like he’d earned it—like every time he let you sleep in his bed, every time he pulled you into his chest when you were crying, every time he called you baby under his breath without thinking… was just a slow burn countdown to this moment.
His lips moved against yours like he already knew your rhythm. Like he’d been dreaming of it and now he was tasting it for real.
And when you moaned again? He growled into your mouth.
His hands were wild now, frantic. Pulling at the hem of your shirt, tugging you closer by the hips until you were slotted right against him, heat to heat.
You could feel how hard he was.
And when he shifted his weight and pressed into you deliberately, you gasped—high-pitched and startled.
He tore his lips from yours just long enough to pant, “Fuck. You’re driving me insane.”
“Then do something about it,” you whispered, already breathless.
His eyes flashed.
“Say less.”
His hand slipped beneath the waistband of your sweatpants so fast it made your breath catch—and when his fingers reached your panties, he froze.
Because you were soaked.
Dripping.
His fingers brushed along the fabric—slick and clinging—and then he dragged them lower, curling them against the wet heat right between your legs.
You gasped. Shuddered.
Chan’s head dropped to your shoulder, lips at your ear, groaning deep in his throat. “You’re fucking soaked.”
You whimpered.
His fingers stroked once—just enough to tease—before he yanked your sweatpants down in one go, panties and all.
You squeaked, legs instinctively clamping together, but he was already on his knees again, big hands sliding under your thighs and pulling them apart with a groan.
“Let me see,” he rasped. “Come on, babe, show me how bad you need me.”
You swallowed, chest heaving.
You had never seen him like this—never even imagined him like this.
Hair messy, lips red, hoodie halfway off his shoulder as he pushed himself between your legs like a man starving.
And it wasn’t until he looked up—until those dark, wrecked eyes dragged slowly up your body and met yours—that you realized:
You were gone.
Undone. Open.
And he loved it.
His fingers returned, sliding into your folds with maddening slowness.
You cried out, knees trembling.
He sucked in a breath, watching his hand work between your legs like he couldn’t believe what he was feeling.
“Dripping,” he whispered, almost reverent. “All this for me?”
You bit your lip. “Don’t be cocky.”
He smirked.
And then he curled two fingers inside you in one smooth thrust.
You screamed.
Your hand shot out, grabbing at his wrist, your thighs threatening to close—but he was too strong.
He pressed one hand firmly on your stomach, keeping you grounded while his fingers moved—slow, then fast, then deeper.
“Not cocky,” he panted. “Just maybe obsessed.”
You cried out again, body arching, trying to grind into his palm. Every nerve ending in your body was on fire—and he was eating it up.
“Fuck, look at you,” he groaned. “Melting for me. You gonna come already?”
You shook your head, biting your fist.
He chuckled darkly. “Don’t hold back now, baby. We’ve got years to make up for.”
You moaned louder—desperate.
And then he stopped.
Just like that.
Fingers sliding out, breath ragged.
You blinked at him in shock, your whole body pulsing.
“What—?”
He wiped his fingers on the hem of his hoodie like it was nothing, then leaned forward and whispered against your mouth, “I’m not letting you come with my hand. Not the first time.”
You whimpered, a broken, trembling sound.
He kissed you again, rougher this time.
And then his hands were on his hoodie, yanking it off in one smooth motion, chest glistening with sweat, body hard and flexed as he stood to kick off his sweatpants.
You stared.
You’d seen him shirtless. You’d seen him in boxers during sleepovers. But this?
This was feral.
Ripped, flushed, bulging under tension—and fully hard now, cock bobbing as he leaned back over you, eyes wild with want.
“You ready?” he asked, voice wrecked.
You couldn’t even speak.
Just nodded.
Because the fire had already started, and now?
You wanted to burn.
You were breathless beneath him—bare, dizzy, skin hot and tingling in all the right places. And when he hovered over you now, sweat-slick and wild-eyed, your best friend didn’t look like your best friend anymore.
He looked like a man unraveling. One second away from ruin. Yours.
His hand slid behind your knee, lifting your leg over his hip. “You good?”
You nodded again, swallowing hard.
He smirked, gaze dropping to your lips.
“You sure?” he asked, dragging the blunt head of his cock through your slick folds—slow, teasing, maddening. “You look like you’re in trouble already.”
And something in you—something playful and wicked—snapped.
“Guess we’ll see if you can handle it.”
Chan paused.
Your voice—usually warm, teasing, light—was lower now. Challenging.
Bratty.
His brows lifted. “Oh?”
You shrugged, purposefully lazy beneath him, your leg tightening around his waist. “I mean… you talk a big game, but—” you made a little face, “—you’ve never even kissing me before today.”
Chan blinked slowly.
Then laughed once—dangerous and deep in his chest—before grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head in one swift movement.
“You’re cute when you’re mouthy.”
You gasped, startled, but didn’t stop.
“I’m just saying,” you said sweetly, shifting under him, deliberately dragging your slick heat along his length. “You’ve waited ten years for this. Hope you’re not rusty.”
He stared down at you like you were made of sin and gasoline.
“Oh, baby,” he murmured, lowering his face to yours, lips brushing your cheek. “You want me to wreck you, don’t you?”
You smirked. “I’d like to see you try.”
And that was it.
That was all it took.
He snapped.
His hand came down, wrapping tight around your throat and the next thing you felt was the blunt push of his cock stretching you open in one slow, greedy slide.
You cried out, head falling back, legs trembling from the stretch.
“Fuck—”
“That shut you up quick,” he growled, watching your face as he bottomed out.
You whimpered, fully filled now, completely caged beneath him, and for a moment all you could do was breathe.
You weren’t used to this—this intensity. This power shift.
You weren’t used to being his.
Chan didn’t move right away. He stayed there—deep inside you, hand on your throat, his other still pinning your wrists—just watching.
Then his voice dropped to a whisper. “Say my name.”
You bit your lip, eyes fluttering. “…Chan.”
He pulled out halfway.
“Say it right.”
“Chan—ah, fuck—Chan,” you gasped, back arching.
He snapped his hips forward—hard—and your moan broke into a scream.
“You’re soaked,” he panted. “You’ve been hiding this from me?”
“I didn’t know—” you whimpered, completely undone, “—you’d be like this.”
He smiled against your throat, kissed it once, then bit down lightly on your jaw. “This is what you do to me.”
And when you clenched around him at those words?
He lost it.
His grip tightened—your wrists, your throat, your hips—and he started moving, every thrust thick and deep, sharp enough to send your thoughts scattering into stars.
“Still wanna be a brat?” he growled, pulling out only to slam back in harder.
You whimpered, breath catching. “Yes.”
He chuckled darkly. “Wrong answer.”
He dragged your hands down, pinning them to your chest now as he fucked into you, his entire body a weapon. Every thrust hit somewhere new—some place that made you cry out, curse, beg without knowing you were doing it.
“Look at you,” he said, voice wrecked. “You gonna be good now?”
Your pride screamed no.
But your body—your soaked, trembling, wrecked body—sobbed yes.
You swallowed hard, hips twitching, and whispered up at him with all the strength you had left:
“Make me.”
Chan’s eyes blazed.
“Oh, baby,” he growled, snapping his hips forward again. “I’m gonna make you beg.”
And from the way your legs shook?
You knew he already was.
You didn’t remember when your moans got louder than the thoughts in your head.
Didn’t remember when you stopped trying to talk back and started crying his name like a plea.
But your body remembered. Every inch of it was tuned to his touch now—sweaty, sticky, soaked, and strung out beneath the weight of your best friend losing his damn mind inside you.
He hadn’t stopped moving.
And he hadn’t stopped talking.
“Fuck, you feel like heaven,” he groaned against your skin, hips snapping forward. “Been dreaming about this—about you—for years. You were right in front of me—walking around like that, giving me attitude, pushing my buttons.”
You gasped, fingers dragging down his back. “I wasn’t trying—”
“Bullshit,” he growled, pulling out just enough to thrust back in hard, rocking your entire body against the couch. “You knew what you were doing. You knew I’d snap.”
You choked on a scream, grabbing at his shoulder for balance.
And then, with a glint in his eye, he lifted one of your legs onto the couch arm and pressed forward—deep and low.
You damn near sobbed.
“Fuck, this angle—” he hissed through clenched teeth, “—you’re squeezing me so fucking tight.”
You shivered, mouth open, unable to answer—until a familiar bratty smirk broke onto your lips.
“Still think you’re in control?” you managed, breathless.
Chan stopped moving.
Dead still.
And grinned.
“Oh, baby girl.”
And just like that, he yanked out of you, flipped your body, and shoved your front down into the couch cushions.
His hand was already on your back, pressing you down as he lined up again—and when he slid back in with one long, filthy thrust, your scream was muffled in the fabric.
“Who’s in control now?” he grunted, pounding into you from behind, one hand on your hip, the other wrapped around your neck again—pulling you back, making your spine curve deliciously.
You tried to fight it—tried to sass, to squirm—but every stroke hit your g-spot like he’d mapped your body in his dreams.
And when he growled “look at that arch,” you whimpered.
“I can feel you clenching, baby. You gonna come already?”
You hissed, bratty again through your cries. “You wish—”
So he pulled out, flipped you again.
“Keep testing me,” he breathed, dragging you into his lap, guiding you down onto him so slowly it made your eyes roll back.
He didn’t move.
Just held your hips steady, eyes locked on your face.
“You think you’re the one riding me?” he whispered, almost tender—until his fingers dug into your skin and he thrust up hard.
You screamed, forehead dropping onto his shoulder.
“Oh no, baby. You just get to watch this time.”
He started bouncing you on his cock, fucking up into you, his grip rough, his rhythm feral.
“You gonna be good yet?” he panted, breath hot on your cheek. “Or should I fuck the brat out of you?”
You couldn’t speak. You could barely breathe.
But you nodded.
You were gone.
Gone for him.
He kissed your shoulder, then bit it.
And then?
He moved you again.
He was everywhere—his weight, his mouth, his cock so deep you felt like you’d split in half.
Your cries were high and broken now, your hands slipping against his sweat-slick back as he pounded you into the cushions with intent.
And then his hand went right back to your neck—holding, lifting, claiming you while he fucked the soul out of your body.
“You’re mine,” he panted, hips relentless. “Say it.”
You moaned, arching up into him. “Yours—yours, fuck—Chan—”
He dropped his forehead to yours, eyes wrecked, heart thundering.
“Come for me.”
And this time?
You did.
With a scream that could’ve broken glass.
Your body snapped, back bowing, thighs clenching around him, tears streaking your cheeks as the pleasure tore through you.
Chan didn’t stop.
He groaned, deep and desperate, as your walls clenched and fluttered around him—and then he stilled, cock buried to the hilt, trembling against you.
“Fucking—shit—”
You felt him pulse deep inside you, hot and thick.
And when he finally collapsed on top of you—panting, wrecked, his face buried in your neck—you couldn’t stop the soft, breathless laugh that left you.
“…That’s one way to discuss kinks.”
Chan huffed against your cheek.
“Oh, baby,” he murmured, kissing your jaw sweetly. “You’ve got no idea how bad it’s about to get.”
—-
Your body was buzzing—tender, used, and so completely ruined that you barely noticed when Chan lifted you off the couch like you weighed nothing.
You whimpered at the movement, tucking your face into his neck as he carried you down the hall, both of you still catching your breath.
Neither of you spoke. There was only the soft pat of his feet against the tile, your fluttering heartbeat in your ears, and the low, satisfied hum he made when you clung tighter to his shoulders.
The bathroom light flickered on. Warm. Clean. Familiar.
He didn’t hesitate. Just toed off the last piece of fabric on his body and stepped under the stream with you still in his arms.
The hot water hit your back and you gasped at the contrast—already sensitive, skin electric under every drop.
Chan’s big hands slid over you, soothing, slow. He lathered up a washcloth and began running it gently over your shoulders, your thighs, between your legs with such focus you had to fight the urge to melt all over again.
“You okay?” he asked, quiet against your ear, lips brushing your temple.
You nodded. “…Think you broke me.”
He chuckled, chest rumbling against yours. “Not even close.”
But still, his touch was careful now. Reverent. Like he couldn’t believe you were real.
And maybe that’s why you did it.
Why you let your hands roam a little more than they needed to.
Why you leaned in and started trailing soft kisses down his collarbone.
Why your lips didn’t stop there.
Because you couldn’t believe he was real either.
Not like this. Not yours.
He stilled when your mouth reached his chest.
You kissed it slowly, tenderly, running your fingers down his abs, over the ridges of muscle that flexed beneath your touch.
“…Babe,” he whispered, voice low, warning, already unraveling. “Don’t start.”
You looked up at him through wet lashes, lips parted, innocent and knowing all at once.
“Why not?” you murmured, kissing just below his ribs. “You let me fall apart for you. Let me return the favor.”
His breath hitched. He was already hardening again—and he knew it.
You kissed lower.
And lower.
And then you were kneeling—naked, dripping, your knees cushioned by the shower mat, hands already stroking his length back to full, pulsing attention.
He groaned.
“Fuck. Fuck, you look so good down there—”
You wrapped your fingers around his cock, squeezing gently, lips brushing against the flushed head of his cock. He jerked in your hand, and you hummed.
“I never told you my last kink,” you said sweetly, licking a slow stripe along the underside.
His hand hit the wall above your head, unsteady. “Yeah? What is it, baby?”
You smiled up at him—dark, sinful, soft.
“I don’t have a gag reflex.”
Chan let out a noise—guttural, choked, wrecked.
“Jesus Christ.”
And then you took him in.
All of him.
Slow. Deep. Deliberate.
His mouth fell open, eyes rolling back as you swallowed around him, your throat relaxing on instinct.
“Oh my fucking God—” he rasped, hips jerking forward before he caught himself, panting hard, water cascading down his back.
You pulled off with a wet pop, licking the tip before dragging your tongue along the base and sucking him back in just as deep.
He moaned—loud, shameless, one hand grabbing the back of your head while the other gripped the shower wall like a lifeline.
“Fuck, fuck, baby— you’re gonna kill me—”
You moaned around him in response, eyes half-lidded, hands stroking what your mouth couldn’t reach.
Every sound he made went straight to your core—deep and breathy and so needy, it felt like a reward just to listen.
“You’re unreal,” he groaned. “Fucking unreal—how is this even real—”
You let your eyes flutter closed, increasing the rhythm, hollowing your cheeks, spit and water dripping from your chin as you let him fall apart above you.
And when his stomach clenched—when his thighs started to tremble—you just held him tighter, took him deeper, and moaned his name from the back of your throat.
Not until his hips jerked one final time and you tasted all of him—thick and hot and desperate on your tongue.
He roared your name, damn near sliding down the wall as his whole body seized, then shook.
When he finally opened his eyes again, you were smiling, swallowing, licking your lips like you’d just won.
Chan stared.
Then laughed—ragged, disbelieving, utterly in awe.
“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he panted, hauling you up into his arms again. “Mark my words.”
You kissed his jaw, cheeky. “Then what a way to go.”
He groaned, forehead against yours.
“We’re not sleeping tonight.”
And you knew he meant it.
—
The water was still warm when Chan reached for a towel and wrapped it around your body, gathering you into him like you were something precious. Like you might disappear if he blinked.
You were trembling a little—not from cold, but from the comedown. The wild pace of everything. The stretch, the heat, the orgasm that had left your legs like jelly. The way he’d held your gaze while wrecking you on the couch like you weren’t his best friend—like you were already his everything.
Now? Now he was silent. Gentle.
A hand on the back of your head, stroking slowly.
“You okay?” he asked, voice raw and deep, brushing his lips to your temple.
You nodded into his chest. “Mhm. Just… processing.”
He smiled faintly, lifting you into his arms again—still naked, still wet—and carried you to his room without another word. The towel stayed wrapped around you, his hands never letting go, like it physically pained him to stop touching you.
He laid you on his bed with careful hands, kissed your forehead, then disappeared for a moment—returning with your hoodie, a fresh pair of his boxers, a warm water bottle, and a glass of juice.
You stared at him, body curling toward his naturally as you laid there—wrapped in soft cotton, legs still aching in the best way. “So… this really happened.”
Chan tilted his head, gaze steady. “Are you regretting it?”
“No,” you whispered, too fast. Then, “Are you?”
His brow furrowed like you’d offended him. “Baby. I’d do it all over again right now if you weren’t already shaky.”
You flushed, heat blooming up your neck. He noticed it. Of course he did. His thumb brushed the side of your throat, reverent.
“Still can’t believe that’s your kink,” he murmured, soft and possessive and wrecked. “You have any idea what that did to me?”
You licked your lips, looking away. “…There’s more.”
Chan’s eyes darkened. “Oh, you’re gonna tell me.”
You tried to hide your smile. “We never talked about sex in ten years and now you wanna hear all my kinks?”
“Now I need to,” he replied, curling his hand behind your neck and pulling you closer again. “You let me touch you like that. Let me own you. You think I can go back to pretending you’re just my best friend after that?”
His mouth was so close. His fingers were back to stroking your skin, down your back, over the dip of your waist.
Your voice came out quieter now. “I’ve never given up control that easily.”
“I know.” He cupped your jaw, kissed the corner of your mouth. “And I’ll never take that for granted.”
You met his eyes. “But I’d do it again.”
His breath stuttered. And then he kissed you—soft this time, lingering.
“You have no idea how hard I’m holding back right now.”
“I can tell,” you whispered, glancing down at the way his towel was starting to shift.
He growled against your skin, pressing his forehead to yours. “This changes everything.”
You nodded slowly. “But it doesn’t ruin anything.”
“No,” he murmured, brushing a thumb over your cheek. “It just means we’ve got… ten years to make up for. And I plan to.”
You smiled. “So… you’re mine now?”
Chan pulled back just enough to lock eyes with you.
“No, baby,” he said with a dangerous smirk. “You’re mine. And I don’t share.”
Your stomach fluttered. You pushed at his chest, bratty. “Mm. You weren’t this cocky when we were just friends.”
He climbed over you again, straddling you on the bed with that wolfish glint in his eye.
“You never let me touch you like this before. Now I know what you sound like when you moan my name?”
He leaned down, voice dark, hungry.
“You have no idea how cocky I’m about to get.”
And just like that, you knew.
You’d opened Pandora’s box.
And Chan had no plans to close it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Authors note: AAAAAHHHHHHH!!! God this was sooo juicy to write!!!! I am so sorry for my absence guys, theres been so much on my plate… I’ve actually started an original book that i plan to publish some time in the future. 🤭 But I’m here now and ill post more frequently. As for all the requests? I SEE EVERYTHING, I WILL WORK ON THEM!! Just hold on for me babes!
Anyway, if you enjoyed this one, leave me a comment, like and reblog guys!! My taglist is open so let me know if you want to be added or removed!
Pairing : slytherin heeseung x ravenclaw reader
Genre : Hogwarts AU, heeseung and reader are both in dark side, use of poison
Synopsis : Y/N and her twin brother Ni-ki finally enter Hogwarts, reuniting with the young man's friends who have already entered Slytherin. While the girl is sorted into Ravenclaw, her admiration for Heeseung, the son of the previous Dark Lord, transforms into something more… dark. As the Dark Lord reappears, Y/N is prepared to do anything to give Heeseung the destiny he truly deserves. A new Dark Lord is born.
Since the disappearance of the Dark Lord, the wizarding world had regained a hard-won peace, with heavy sacrifices that would remain etched in memory. But for the sake of future generations, wizards had to move forward, continuing to send their children to Hogwarts to learn magic.
Today, the Nishimura twins were making their entrance to Hogwarts. Like every young wizard, they received their acceptance letter on their eleventh birthday. The Nishimura family, like many others, was an old pure-blood family, steeped in the dark side.
The youngs Ni-ki and Y/N stood on the platform accompanied by their parents. Their older sister, Konon, was already in her second year, and their younger sister, Misora, would only go to Hogwarts next year.
"Don't forget, make our family proud," their father reminded them, adjusting his son's collar.
"And go to Slytherin, like all the Nishimuras," added their mother, stroking Y/N's cheek.
They nodded before boarding the train, their sister already gone to join her Slytherin friends. Ni-ki immediately joined his friends, older than him but also from dark families. They had practically all grown up together, seeing each other at every reception or ball given by aristocratic families.
Y/N entered the compartment occupied by the boys, already regretting not having gone to another one, even if occupied by other students. Sunoo was the first to notice her, standing up to grab her hand and pull her inside, the door slamming behind her.
"Y/N ! I'm so happy you're here ! Are you nervous for your first day ? No matter what house you're in, we'll still be friends, right ?"
"If you say so."
"Unless she lands in Gryffindor," Ni-ki taunted. "She might suddenly disappear if our parents find out. I would have been glad to have known you, twin." He let out a yelp of pain when she kicked him in the knee, jostling Jake and Jay, who were rolling with laughter, to find a spot on a corner of the bench.
While they discussed Quidditch and snacked, Y/N was immersed in a book on alchemy, one knee drawn up. Jungwon bumped into her trying to catch a candy Sunghoon tossed directly into his mouth, making her collide with the young man sitting to her right.
"Sorry…"
"Don't worry. They're quite chaotic, aren't they ?" She looked up at him, her eyes getting lost in Heeseung's. The Lee Heeseung, whose name alone made people tremble. After all, he was the son of the vanished Dark Lord, his sole heir, and one might have expected him to pick up the work and continue his father's legacy. But despite that, it didn't stop girls from falling at his feet.
"Yeah… But you get used to them, don't you ?"
Heeseung gave an amused little nod, his cheeks warming slightly as she returned her attention to her book. As Hogwarts approached, Y/N went to the bathroom to put on her wizarding robes, taking the opportunity to escape this compartment she would never set foot in again. Boys…
The first years were invited to follow Hagrid to boats that took them across the lake toward the castle. The school was illuminated against the dark night, giving it a wondrous air. It was then Mr. Filch who led them to the doors of the Great Hall, where Professor McGonagall stood.
"Welcome to Hogwarts. Before the banquet begins, the Sorting will take place. You must know that throughout your time at school, your house will be like a second family to you. They are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Throughout the year, if you achieve good results, you can earn points for your house, but if you break the rules, you can lose them."
"You think Jake hyung was joking when he said we'd have to face a Troll for the Sorting ?" Ni-ki whispered in her ear. Y/N rolled her eyes at her twin's naivety as the professor led them into the Great Hall.
Four long tables, one for each house, stood under a starry ceiling, with luminous candles floating in the air like a sky above their heads. The first years gathered at the foot of the platform where the staff table sat.
"When I call your name, you will come sit on the stool, and I will place the Sorting Hat on your head," Professor McGonagall declared. "It will determine which house you belong to. Right. Jeong Su-ha."
A blonde girl, looking anxious, stepped forward and sat on the stool. The Sorting Hat didn't take long to loudly exclaim "HUFFLEPUFF !" The table in question applauded, and then the names continued.
"Nishimura Ni-ki." Ni-ki squeezed his sister's hand in his, hearing a few whistles from the Slytherin table that he assumed came from his hyungs, and went to take his place on the stool. Barely had the Sorting Hat touched his head when its deep voice rose.
"SLYTHERIN !" A wide smile illuminated his face as he jumped off the stool and headed toward his new house, which was pounding the table. Ni-ki received backslaps from his friends and turned his head to the empty seat to his left, hoping it would be taken by his twin.
"Nishimura Y/N."
The young girl took a slow breath for courage and climbed the steps of the platform, sitting on the stool. Her fingers dug into the thick fabric of her cloak as the Sorting Hat was placed on her head. She expected it to make its choice quickly when she heard its voice in her head.
"Another Nishimura… You're usually not hard to place, but you… I see a lot in you, Nishimura Y/N."
"Send me to Slytherin like all my family members. What are you waiting for ?"
"And not help you reach the path of greatness that awaits you ? No. No, that would be a waste. I see great courage in you, fierce determination, and vast knowledge. You desire to prove yourself, you desire to be remembered. You desire… Him."
Y/N felt a blush spread across her cheeks as murmurs began to rise from the time it was taking the Hat to place her.
"Don't send me to Gryffindor, or you'll have my death on your conscience. Whether you have one or not."
"No, not Gryffindor. Too loud and chaotic for you. No, it will be… RAVENCLAW !"
The shock at the Sorting Hat's declaration gave way to applause from the blue and silver table. McGonagall removed the Hat from her head, giving her an encouraging smile as she walked toward her table. Ravenclaw wasn't the worst choice. It was the house of the learned and knowledge, everything she aspired to become.
Y/N sat among the other first years who greeted her, which she returned shyly before turning her gaze to the Slytherin table. Ni-ki was visibly disappointed not to have his sister with him but gave her a smile, which she returned, reassured to still have her twin with her.
The first feast took place in good spirits, the first years finally discovering the festive meals of Hogwarts. The prefects then led the first years to their dormitories, and Y/N was happy to discover she shared her dormitory with Park Yeji, Sunghoon's younger sister, and a girl named Lee-seo, a half-blood who seemed kind, though shy.
The next day, classes began, and Y/N was happy to see that Yeji and Lee-seo loved studying as much as she did and that they could go to the library or study together. Although she was there to make friends, she was also there to become a brilliant witch.
The Great Hall was open to students during free periods for studying or even lounging, though the supervising professors left little time for idlers. Y/N headed toward the Slytherin table with Yeji to see their brothers. "Y/N, don't you miss me too much ?" Ni-ki teased. "I know not having me around all the time hurts."
"I've already spent eight months forced in our mother's womb, I'm happy not to have your stinky ass around for seven more years." He placed a hand over his heart, feigning injury as snickers rose from his housemates.
"It's good you ended up in the same house," Sunghoon said, patting his sister's head. "You, who were afraid of being alone and not making friends, at least have Y/N."
"Shut up, Sunghoon !" Yeji retorted, her face crimson, making him laugh. Y/N held back an amused smile, turning her gaze across from her to find Heeseung, his chin resting on his fist. As soon as their eyes met, the fifth year smiled and straightened up.
"Y/N, I'm glad you've settled into Hogwarts," he declared, his voice carrying enough authority to quiet the squabbles around them. "Ravenclaw is an excellent house, made for those with literary ambition and a great sense of culture. It's perfect for you, dove. Though I would have liked to have you with us in Slytherin."
He meant 'with me' and she understood it perfectly from his gaze. Y/N opened her mouth to reply when she was brutally shoved, bumping into Yeji, who was in turn caught by Sunghoon. She dropped her book bag, which fell to the floor, before seeing who stood before her.
It was a fifth-year girl, her brown hair held back by a blue and pink bow, her short skirt elongating her long legs perched on heeled boots. Her cloak proudly displayed Slytherin colors, while two other girls stood behind her like little lapdogs.
"Can I know what you're doing, slut ?" the girl spat, approaching her threateningly. "Talking to Heeseung. Who do you think you are ?" Y/N raised an eyebrow, certainly not unsettled by her. The girl grabbed her shoulder to push her again. "Get out of here, pathetic first year, before I make the rest of your time at Hogwarts hell."
"Ni-ki, aren't you going to intervene ?" Sunoo worried, turning to his twin, who continued doodling on his parchment while munching chips.
"Nope."
"Why ?!"
"Because I don't want to die."
Before Sunoo could ask more, a loud crash echoed through the Great Hall. Y/N had slammed the fifth year onto the table, her delicate hand gripping her throat and blocking her airway as she struggled, kicking her feet in the air.
"And who do you think you're talking to, dear unnie ?" Y/N asked, leaning over her. "Who are you ?"
"S-Sooha…" She coughed, grabbing the first year's wrist, trying to make her let go, to no avail.
"Sooha ? Huh, a name as pathetic as your actions. You think attacking a first year who talked to your crush, who will never notice you, will make you look cooler ? I may not be in Slytherin, but snake blood has flowed in my veins for generations. The emblem of Ravenclaw is an eagle, and do you know what eagles represent ?" She brought her face close until they were nose to nose. "Death. Do you want me to kill you ?"
Sooha shook her head vigorously, a frightened whimper coming from her throat, still choked by the young girl.
"Maybe next time, you'll think twice before attacking someone stronger than you."
"Miss Nishimura !" Y/N released Sooha, who slid off the table and collapsed to the floor, coughing and clutching her throat. She looked up to meet Heeseung's dark, inscrutable gaze before straightening up.
Professor Snape stood before them, his hands clasped behind his back. He glanced at the fifth year, still catching her breath, and then at Y/N. "May I know what this means ? It's your first day, Miss Nishimura, and you're already causing trouble ?"
"I was merely demonstrating that words are sometimes more effective than a spell with a wand."
"Of course," he drawled, unconvinced but doing nothing to punish her.
"I am happy to meet you, Professor Snape, and look forward to Potions classes," she declared, bowing her head respectfully. "I wish to become an alchemist myself, you are a model of excellence in my eyes."
This obviously piqued the Potions professor's curiosity. Having received only contempt and indifference for his subject, he was finally flattered by recognition. "Really ? An alchemist ? That is a path that will require much work, Miss Nishimura."
"That is not what frightens me, Professor. Nor the people who will stand in my way to stop me." Her foot crushed Sooha's hand, who whimpered, trying to free herself. A glimmer of amusement shone in the professor's eyes. "I would have asked Madam Pince for advice, but the opinion of a professional like you will be even more useful. Perhaps you could recommend some useful books for my research, more advanced than what we study. I do not doubt the quality of Hogwarts' curriculum, but discovering more opens more doors."
"I would be delighted. It is pleasant to see students so serious in their studies and so determined to achieve their goals. I do indeed have some books that will certainly please you."
Professor Snape invited her to follow him, and she thanked him with a nod. The man, incidentally, made no comment if he saw her kick Sooha in the stomach before following him, taking Yeji with her. They disappeared from the Great Hall, and the gazes then fell on the fifth year, who struggled to get up with the help of her friends.
"She's completely insane !" she screamed. "Ni-ki ! Your sister is a bitch !" Ni-ki slowly lifted his gaze from his parchment, knowing his twin could handle this kind of girl, but he wouldn't accept her being insulted in front of him.
"You fucking…"
"Sooha." Heeseung's voice cut off the first year, the young girl turning to him, regaining her smile.
"Seungie ! I didn't do anything wrong, you know ! It's her who…"
"Shut up. You're giving me a headache. And if you ever speak to Y/N again or mess with her, I'll kill you. Understood ?"
Frightened by what he could do, she nodded and fled with her friends on her heels. She who thought she had his favor and pleased him was nothing but a thorn in his side. Heeseung turned his heel in the direction Y/N had taken, resting his chin on his fist.
Years passed, and as Y/N and Ni-ki entered their seventh year, Heeseung was already graduated, finishing his seventh and final year at Hogwarts. On Platform 9¾, the boys said goodbye to their friend, whom they would no longer see at school, only outside.
Heeseung then turned to Y/N, who was waiting for her brother, approaching her until she had to look up to meet his eyes. "Don't miss me too much, dove."
"Right. I'm not a coward like Ni-ki." Her twin was about to retort, offended, but the look his elder shot him over his shoulder stopped him cold. Heeseung returned his attention to Y/N, brushing her cheek with his fingertips.
"Become a brilliant witch for me, alright, dove ?"
Y/N nodded, missing the warm touch of the wizard when he stepped back, giving a final salute to his friends before leaving the station with his servant.
During the Nishimuras' schooling, the young man's friends left Hogwarts one by one, having finished their studies. During their seventh and final year, they were the last of the group still there. Ni-ki had immersed himself in Quidditch to keep busy, while his sister spent hours in the library, even after closing hours, thanks to permission from Professor Snape. It was no secret that Y/N was his favorite student, and he gave her much advice on potions and alchemy, which she studied seriously.
Some evenings, hidden from view and the attention of other professors, Professor Snape gave her private lessons on ancient potions, sometimes forbidden and even dangerous. But Y/N was eager for knowledge and wanted to know everything. From the most useful potions to the deadliest poisons. She had become a true master in the art of potions and poisons.
The time to leave Hogwarts for the Nishimura twins arrived much sooner than desired. The castle where they had spent their entire schooling and adolescence would be missed. Y/N had assured Professor Snape she would keep him informed of her potions research progress, as she had grand plans for the future. They returned to their family manor, their parents happy to have them home at last.
But the happiness was short-lived. The wizarding world was now plunged into terror. The return of the Dark Lord a few months prior boded nothing good; a dark future lay ahead where trust and allies would be precious. The Nishimura family was organizing a grand Christmas ball with most dark families and other former supporters of the Dark Lord, and Y/N knew this could only mean one thing: he would make his grand appearance that evening.
Ni-ki was tasked with greeting the guests, a thankless job in his opinion, but lighter when his friends arrived. Their parents went directly to the ballroom while the boys stayed with him. "I've never seen my mother so stressed," Ni-ki sighed, running a hand through his hair.
"Everyone seems tense," Jungwon agreed. "Our parents are the same."
"Unfortunately, it doesn't bode well," Jay breathed.
The same went for Heeseung, who hadn't spoken a word since his father's grand return. He, who had known a fragile peace for years, seeing the object of his nightmares return shattered everything he had built all those years.
"Ni-ki !" They turned at the call, the boys' eyes widening as they saw Y/N descending the marble stairs, transformed. It was true that most had left Hogwarts when she was still a teenager, and even though they had seen Ni-ki grow up since he spent every summer with them, it was the opposite for Y/N, who avoided them to not get mixed up in their chaos.
She had grown up, she had become a beautiful young woman, elegant and confident, who would have made any pure-blood son ready to marry her happy. Y/N stopped before them, ignoring the young men still staring at her with their mouths open, and grabbed her twin by the collar with one hand.
"Stop letting your damn dog into my room. He gets hair everywhere !"
"It's not my fault Bisco likes warming up in front of your fireplace !"
"And it won't be my fault if he ends up in my lab as a test subject," she threatened.
"You wouldn't dare !"
"Then keep him on a leash." Y/N released him, turned on her heel, and headed toward the ballroom, the sound of her heels clicking against the floor. Her long, backless black dress swayed with her steps as she disappeared inside the reception hall.
"Merlin's beard," Jake swore, adjusting his tie. "Was that Y/N ?"
"She's…changed."
"Hyungs ! Hands off my sister, you bunch of perverts !" Ni-ki shouted, spreading his arms in front of him.
But they had already passed him to enter the ballroom, his protests quickly forgotten. The reception hall was magnificently and richly decorated. Y/N stood beside her father, who was speaking with other men. It was true that even if the man had had some hesitations about his daughter's placement in Ravenclaw, the brilliant and powerful witch she had become and the great career opening up for her made him proud. And he didn't hesitate to show it at grand receptions like this one.
Y/N was near the buffet, refilling her champagne flute, when a large, warm palm slid into the small of her back. She was ready to push the person away and berate them for touching her like that, but it was Heeseung's gaze she met. Heeseung. "Hello, dove. Happy to see you again."
"You too. You've changed." He gave a small smile, looking her up and down before focusing on her face, his eyes lingering on her lips for a moment.
"Of the two of us, dove, you're the one who has changed the most. The last time I saw you, you were just a teen, and now you are…"
"An adult ?" she smiled, bringing her glass to her lips.
"Magnificent," he corrected.
She rolled her eyes, not letting her inner turmoil show when she was near him. He had changed too, and yet, he was still the Heeseung she knew from Hogwarts. He seemed a bit taller and more imposing physically, strands of his dark hair falling before his eyes in the most seductive way possible.
It was only now they all felt it. That imposing, crushing aura that made their hearts feel heavy in their chests. That cloud of shadows covering the manor, plunging it into darkness. The light from the chandeliers flickered. Heeseung wrapped a protective arm around Y/N's waist, pulling her against him and shielding her from any potential attacks.
The manor's doors slammed under the assault of the wind as a hooded figure, followed by two others, entered the castle, passing through the protective wards as if they were mere parchment. Shivers ran through the guests as their former master stood before them, his hood falling back to reveal his pale, serpentine face.
The man spread his arms as he contemplated his former faithful, advancing into the room. "My dear friends… To stand here with you fills me with a nostalgia of times past." He moved through the space, gazes dropping before him to avoid meeting his eyes. Y/N felt Heeseung tense as the Dark Lord stopped before them.
She thought she was brave, but his serpentine gaze wasn't meant for the weak. Heeseung felt her tremble slightly and tightened his hold on her waist, silently signaling that he was there. "Heeseung, my son. I am so happy to finally see my heir again."
"Father," the young man said through gritted teeth. The Dark Lord's gaze settled on Y/N, on his son's hand around her, and then finally back on his son. A smirk stretched the corner of his lips before he turned on his heel, ordering the festivities to resume.
Y/N detached herself from Heeseung, grabbing his wrist. "Come with me." He let himself be led out of the reception hall. The young woman guided them to a nearby corridor, private enough but still visible if someone looked. The perfect spot.
She pinned him against the wall, wrapping his arms around her waist as hers went around his neck. Thanks to her heels, they were face-to-face, and she nestled her face into the crook of his neck to reach his ear. "We need to look like we're making out."
Heeseung didn't question it and tightened his grip on her waist, his hands cupping her hips as if they were made to fit there. He let his nose slide along her jawline. "Can I at least know why we're doing this ?"
"Open your mind to me, just for me." He obeyed, lowering his mental barriers just enough for Y/N to slip in. "We're being watched. One of your father's lackeys."
"I noticed. He's keeping an eye on me. Wants to know what I'll do." Heeseung pressed her closer, her chest flush against his.
"And what are you going to do ?"
"What do you want me to do ? He's the Dark Lord. The one everyone fears. I am nothing against him."
"No… You're so much more." Y/N tightened her grip on his shirt as he placed a kiss on a sensitive spot below her ear. "Let me help you, Heeseung. The era of the Dark Lord ended long ago. A new era must begin, with you at its head. That's what you want, isn't it ?"
She slid her hands along his chest, tucking them into his pants belt, which made him growl and grip her backside firmly. "You're playing a dangerous game, dove."
"And I don't think you know who I've become, Heeseung. You only remember me as Ni-ki's sister with her nose buried in books, but I've become much more. Something far more dangerous, believe me. I'm not your little dove anymore, but a deadly raven."
"Fuck, dove… What do you want from me ?"
Y/N lifts her head to him, rising onto her tiptoes to finally seal their lips together. Heeseung reverses their positions, pinning her against the wall and wedging his knee between her legs. One hand resting beside her head and the other around her throat, the young woman moans through the kiss as he forces his tongue past her lips.
"You just have to trust me, Hee," she thinks as he presses his body against hers.
"Trust you ? Dove, I'd give my life for you."
"Then listen to me. No matter what happens tonight, don't respond to your father's provocations and wait for my signal. Slide your hand inside my cleavage, on the right." Heeseung does so without hesitation, eliciting a Ravenclaw-like gasp as his fingers brush against her nipple before touching a small velvet pouch. He retrieves it, tucking it away in his palm.
She slides her hands along his chest, tucking them into his pants belt, which makes him groan and grip her ass firmly with one hand.
"Your father will give a toast to his return. Once everyone has drunk, you must swallow one of these pills. When we've finished our little performance, go give one discreetly to Ni-ki and the guys."
"What are they for ?"
"To keep you from dying." Heeseung raises an eyebrow as she gives a small, knowing smile, placing a chaste kiss on his lips. "Trust me."
"I trust you, my dove."
A cleared throat separates them, and as hoped, one of the Dark Lord's hooded followers stands before them. "The Lord requests your presence in the reception hall, Master Lee, Miss Nishimura."
"Alright." Y/N runs her thumb over Heeseung's lips to remove any traces of her gloss and adjusts her dress before returning to the ballroom a few seconds before the young man follows. A large table now sits in the middle of the room, the faithful men seated around it. The Dark Lord stood at the head of the table, gesturing to the empty seat at the opposite end for his son. Heeseung didn't even have a chair, he had to remain standing.
Y/N took her place beside her mother, the women not allowed seats at the table and standing in a line against a wall. She hated this mentality and fully intended to change it. She caught Professor Snape's eye across the room, and the man suspected she was up to something.
"My dear friends, this gathering brings me joy. It has been almost twenty years since we were all united, has it not ? I know my absence must have weighed on you, that you've had to wear masks constantly in this rotten-to-the-core society, but that is in the past. We will resume where we left off. We have so much to do." He set his gaze on Heeseung, standing at the other end of the table, and pointed at him with a hand. "Heeseung, my son. My only heir. And my greatest disappointment. I would have thought he would have taken up my work after my disappearance, but no. He simply became a coward, like his mother. It is sad to have only one child and see him disappoint in everything he accomplishes."
Heeseung clenched his fists, using every ounce of his self-control not to retaliate and kill him on the spot. His eyes drifted to Y/N, his only comfort in the room, and she gave him a slight nod to keep his calm. The Dark Lord saw his son's attention settle on the young woman and stretched a hand toward her.
"Young girl ! Come here." Her mother grabbed her hand, trembling, as she stepped forward toward the Dark Lord. Y/N locked her mind down tight, lifting her dress with one hand as she reached the man. With a nonverbal spell, she was pushed toward him and stumbled, the Dark Lord's hand closing around her jaw as she found herself kneeling on the cold floor. Heeseung took a step forward, but the panicked look she shot him stopped him. "What is your name, child ?"
"Y/N."
"Of which family ?"
"Nishimura."
He turned his head toward her father and brother, who, even if they wanted to intervene, could not without being killed. "Nishimura… Interesting." He contemplated her, moving her head from side to side as his fingers dug into her robe. "And who are you to my son ?"
Y/N turned her gaze to Heeseung, not having an answer to that yet, and felt her ears ring as the wizard slapped her. "Answer me !"
"I'm his little dove."
"Very romantic," the Dark Lord sneered. "Heeseung, didn't I teach you that love is a weakness ? Something Muggles use for their ends ? Something that destroys ? Thankfully, she is a pure-blood, or I would have killed her already." Heeseung seethed but could do nothing with Y/N so close to his father. "But so be it. If she is the one you have chosen, I still need to continue my lineage. Go join him, dear child. Since you seem so in love with each other."
He released her, and Y/N got up, bracing herself on the floor, still staggering from the slap. She might have learned to play with the most dangerous poisons, but not how to take a slap. Heeseung pulled her protectively into his arms, shooting a look that could kill at his father.
"Good ! Let us drink !" The Dark Lord's two followers conjured goblets onto the table and filled them from two pitchers they already carried. Heeseung and Y/N took the glasses, the young woman giving him a knowing look. "To a new era !" The people around the table and the women imitated their master by raising their goblets before draining them.
Heeseung discreetly slipped the pill Y/N had given him into his mouth and swallowed it. The guys did the same, though they still didn't understand why their hyung had given it to them.
"A new era," declared Y/N, setting her goblet on the table. "A beautiful promise." The Dark Lord's gaze settled on her, an eyebrow raised.
"Something to say ? Choose your words carefully, child. I could kill you for it." Her parents signaled for her to be quiet, but she ignored them.
She chuckled, moving away from Heeseung to slowly circle the table, letting her fingers brush against the back of each chair where the men sat. "It's amusing to see you believe that even after twenty years of absence, everyone who kissed your feet in the past will come back and do the same with their eyes closed."
The wizard's gaze darkened as his grip on his wand tightened. "Watch what you say, young one."
"Oh, don't worry about what I say. You won't be here to remember it soon. Killing Muggles, enslaving Muggle-borns… that's all outdated. You're still stuck in the past, thinking too small, too… simple. Like you, actually."
"Shut up, right now !" the Dark Lord ordered, leaping to his feet. He pointed his wand at her but could do nothing as he already slumped back into his chair, a trickle of blood flowing from his nose.
"Right on time," Y/N giggled.
The men and women also began bleeding from their noses or ears, seized by violent pains that slowly crept up from their feet. Y/N circled the table, returning to stand beside Heeseung, wrapping an arm around his.
"Those who pledge allegiance to Heeseung will receive the antidote to the poison contained in the wine we all drank.Those who do not… will die !" She burst out laughing at their faces distorted by panic, pills appearing before her parents and the guys she knew were already loyal to Heeseung. "Tick tock, time's running out !"
"How dare you poison your master ?!" the Dark Lord screeched, no longer having the strength to lift his wand as he tried to control the bleeding.
"My master ? My only master is and will always be Heeseung. You are just an old relic who deserves to be buried and stay in the past. And as you said… Heeseung is your heir. He intends to take up what you started but in a much better way. Killing everyone and ruling over a world of corpses ? How boring. How all these wizards could follow you all these years is pathetic. I fully intend to accompany him on his quest for power."
Pills appeared each time before those who took the oath, swearing by blood before swallowing the antidotes, the bleeding and pains stopping instantly. Heeseung allowed a smile at the young woman's perfect plan, pressing her against him and burying his nose in the crook of her neck.
"It's funny," she chuckled as the Dark Lord coughed up blood. "You always thought of yourself as a god, and yet… you're going to die like a man. Not by magic, just with a few drops of poison. It took me years to concoct the perfect poison. Tasteless, odorless, undetectable in an autopsy and with spells, and so painful you'd all beg me to finish you off. As you said, a new era begins. But you won't be here to see your son dominate it."
The Dark Lord collapsed into his seat, bathed in his own blood, as the few followers who hadn't wanted to pledge to their cause lay lifeless, slumped over the table. Y/N sighed at the mess and called her house-elf.
"Sapphire !" A small house-elf wearing a flower-patterned robe appeared before her, her large round eyes looking up.
"What can Sapphire do for Mistress Y/N ?"
"Can you get rid of these corpses and make sure no one finds them ?" she asked, stroking the top of the elf's head.
"Sapphire can do it !"
"Perfect. And when it's done, come back here to get the old man's body and hang it in front of the Ministry of Magic's doors. Let everyone know who will rule them soon."
"Understood, Mistress !" The house-elf snapped her fingers and disappeared along with the corpses around the table.
Y/N smiled, satisfied, and let Heeseung turn her toward him, pressing his forehead against hers. "That was dramatic, bloody, and grand, just how I like it." He stole a kiss, making her giggle.
"You poisoned us !" Ni-ki cried.
"Heeseung gave you the antidote in advance," she replied without looking at him, wrapping her arms around the young man's neck.
"You're fucking crazy !"
She shot a weary look at him over her shoulder while Heeseung kissed her bare shoulder. "You're only noticing that now, little brother ?"
"I was born before you !"
Heeseung kept Y/N pressed against him but turned his gaze to the people around the table, some still wiping the blood from their faces. "Now that my father has returned to the hole he crawled out of, I expect your loyalty to me. And to Y/N's. I have no intention of repeating his mistakes, but I fully intend to accomplish great things for the wizarding world. Those who do not wish to join are free to leave, but at their own risk. I won't be violent and threatening like my father, but don't test me and don't touch what belongs to me." His thumb traced Y/N's waist, to whom he lowered his eyes. "That's it."
The wizards wasted no time getting up and leaving the room, Apparating home once outside the manor. Ni-ki was still complaining to their parents that Y/N could have warned them of her plan while his sister was still in the young Lord's arms. She brushed her lips against Heeseung's, making him growl.
"So, what do we do next, My Lord ?" she whispered.
"Rule the world together, my dove ?"
Y/N nodded, enjoying the feel of his large, warm palms running over her bare back. A new era was beginning, with a new Dark Lord.
Masterlist
Taglist : @sabyy @kyunlov @grandlightcandy @kristynaaah @li-know @maknaehyucks @cr4zyf4ngirl777 @blue-skyyy25 @maewybakes @lezleeferguson-120 @addictedtohobi @rawrrxan @fuckthinking @heeseunglover73 @spideysenses1u @vtyb23 @nosugrefer-021 @engenehazy @bvbblyjasmine @alondra6011
Can be added in comment
A Gentle Reminder About What Jungwon Has Been Going Through This Year (please reblog)
(For anyone who hasn’t been keeping up or didn’t know the full picture)
I think it’s important—especially now—to talk honestly about what Yang Jungwon has been dealing with behind the scenes. Not in a dramatic way. Not in a “cancel the company” way. Just facts, because a lot of people genuinely don’t know how heavy this year was for him. (press keep reading)
1. The Rumors From Last December Were Never Addressed
Last December, Jungwon was targeted with completely baseless rumors that spread everywhere.
Even though the claims were proven false, the company never took legal action.
No official protection.
No follow-up.
No reassurance.
He was left to deal with the damage alone.
2. He Admitted This Was the Year He Cried the Most
During multiple fan interactions, Jungwon shared that 2024–2025 has been the hardest year of his life and that he’s cried more this year than any other.
He said it quietly.
Honestly.
Almost like he hoped no one would make a big deal out of it.
But it is a big deal.
3. He Has Been Performing Injured
Throughout the tour, fans noticed:
• a wrist band on his right hand
• knee patches hidden under outfits
• visible swelling in some dance practice videos
And despite that…
he still performs at 100%.
No complaints.
No excuses.
No missed shows.
Just him pushing through everything with a smile.
4. Jungwon Sells Out Everything He Touches (With 0 Solo Deals)
This part genuinely hurts:
Jungwon is one of the strongest sellers in ENHYPEN:
• His photocards sell out first.
• His fansigns sell out instantly.
• His merch consistently ranks highest.
And yet—
he is the only member with zero solo brand deals this entire year.
Not because he lacks impact.
Not because he lacks popularity.
But because he is not given opportunities.
5. “Just the Leader” — A Narrative That’s Hurt Him
There’s been a slow shift in the fandom where people reduce him to:
“Just the leader.”
“The responsible one.”
“The organizer.”
“The guy who speaks during speeches.”
And completely ignore the fact that he is:
• one of the best dancers of 4th gen
• one of the most stable live vocalists
• a performer with natural center presence
• an idol who balances leadership + talent + emotional labor
This narrative has been incredibly unfair to him.
6. He Keeps Getting Pushed to the Back of Choreo
Despite being the strongest dancer, Jungwon:
• gets fewer center parts
• gets noticeably reduced lines each comeback
• is often placed in the back during formations
• rarely gets the camera angles he deserves
Fans see it.
He sees it.
And you can tell it eats at him, even when he doesn’t say anything.
⸻
Jungwon never complains.
He never calls anyone out.
He never asks for anything.
He cries in private, tapes his own injuries, and shows up every day trying to be strong.
The least we can do is stay aware.
Speak up respectfully.
Support him consistently.
And make sure his hard work doesn’t go unnoticed.
This isn’t fanwar bait.
This isn’t “hate the company.”
This is just acknowledging what he’s endured, so people don’t forget.
He deserves softness.
He deserves protection.
He deserves support without being reduced to a role.
Pairing: bf!Jungwon x curly haired!reader - established relationship
he is down baddddd
WC: 253
Pocket dial : [no caller id] hiiii... can you write about reader who has curly hair and jungwon who is soooo down bad for her??? also, i love your work <3
✦ Requests: OPEN ✦
⌑ transmission recovered: this fic is being reposted ⌑
He’s trying so hard not to stare. But you’re sitting cross-legged on his bed, hoodie swallowed around you, a pencil stuck in your mouth as you squint at your laptop. And your hair—God. Your hair is the reason he’s going to lose every last bit of self-control tonight.
It’s piled on top of your head in the most effortless-looking mess of curls. Spirals framing your face, a few defiant strands bouncing by your cheek as you tilt your head. Every time you move, they move too. Rebellious. Soft. Unfair.
He swallows.
You catch him staring. “What?”
Jungwon blinks like he’s been electrocuted. “Nothing.”
“…You’re literally not even blinking.”
“I just—your hair is doing something dangerous right now,” he mumbles, voice wrecked and quiet, like a confession.
You blink. Then grin. “Dangerous?”
“Criminal.” He looks like he’s fighting demons. “You’re gonna ruin me.”
You laugh, tossing a curl over your shoulder and leaning closer. “You like it?”
“‘Like it’ is an understatement.” He’s already reaching over without thinking, fingers ghosting through the curls at your nape, careful, reverent. “It’s so soft.”
“Touch it again and I’m charging you,” you tease.
“I’ll go bankrupt.”
You freeze.
He does too.
You both try not to smile.
He speaks first. Voice lower now. Honest. “I’m so serious about you, it’s stupid.”
You soften, and he leans closer, curls sliding through his fingers, like silk and gravity and something inevitable.
“Don’t look at me like that,” you whisper.
“Can’t help it. You’re my favourite thing to look at.”
