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[hoondrop]

imagine boyfriend's younger brother jungwon who is obsessed with you and doesn't hide it.

he looks like a sweet young man to anyone else but the way he’s staring down at you right now is so filthy can you actually feel his dirty,, his gaze tracking the frantic rise and fall of your chest as he has you cornered after your boyfriend went for an errand leaving you with jungwon.

"noona,, you're hiding yourself from me.. " he steps closer his head lowering to catch your gaze, his lips turned upwards as if thoroughly amused. "am I making you nervous?".

telling him to back away, reminding him that you're his brother's girlfriend and it makes him chuckle, a condescending sound that makes your ears instantly turn a violent shade of red, and the pit of your stomach churning, heating up,, and when he reaches out his large warm hand cupping your chin??? his thumb tracing your lower lip with a slow pressure that forces your mouth slightly open???.

"but hyung isn't here right now, is he, noona?"

"and with the way you look at me? don't think I haven't noticed you noona,, imagining, thinking just how good I can make you feel... I know you've thought about it".

and when he steps forward and has you pressed up against the door to your boyfriend's room? not even hesitating to get up allin your face, his chest pressed against yours so shamelessly.

stepping completely into your thighs, driving himself forward until you feel his rock-hard bulge nudging against your covered pussy. him feeling thick, heavy and hot enough to make your breath hitch , your tits heaving more and your precious little pussy to twitch. the sheer and perverted audacity of it making your pussy walls instantly twitching with a sudden a need to be filled and stuffed. him groaning at the slight friction and heavy feeling.

"fuck, noona... you're already reacting to it" his eyes rolling back and his adam's apple bobbing at the vibrations his throat is letting out.

"fuck baby,, you're so dirty.. squeezing those thighs together like you wanna to trap my cock right here..want me to slide it out? do you wanna feel how much bigger I am than hyung?".

pushing him back bcs,, "jungwon stop,, this is so wrong!!"

"feels too good to be wrong, noona.. I know you can feel it. fuck,, let me see that pretty pussy baby please".

his jaw is now slackening as he pants heavily, completely pussy-drunk just from the friction through your clothes that thick warm drool begins to pool at the corner of his mouth, spilling onto your bare shoulder.

him continuing to grind and hump against your pussy, face now lolling into your shoulder,.

him pulling back, groaning more at the heavy feel of your cunt against his dick "nnggh... look at me, noona,, look at how much good this feels..us"

"you keep saying it's wrong, noona, but your body is begging for it"

"look at how loud you're breathing,, if jay hyung was enough for you, you wouldn't be shaking like a fucking leaf while his little brother humps your pussy.."

"gonna slide my cock so deep inside this tight little cunt that every time hyung touches you, you're only going to be thinking about how much bigger and better his little brother feels..."

[kinkyhoon]

WGFT - Lee Heeseung part 1

Pairing: senior!heeseung x loser!fem!reader Genre: slowburn, college!au, smut MDNI, comedy, fluff, socially challenged fem!reader, misunderstanding, he fell first he fell harder Synopsis: The hopeless romantic you are decided to confess and give a heartfelt letter to your all time crush but fate decided otherwise and made you confess to the wrong person...the so-called womanizer of campus, Lee Heeseung. Maybe you should have just keep your feelings to yourself...or maybe it was a sign from the universe. Warnings: footjob, swearing, oral (fem!rec), fingering WC: 17k Note: This one is a long one guys (just so you know), I really wanted to try putting more efforts in my writing and do something longer than I usually do, I don't know if people tend to read the shorter or longer fics but well... I'm really proud of myself for writing more detailed and polished fics, especially knowing that I'm a lazy person who usually do the bare minimum.

"You're a disaster...but God help me if I don't want to be a disaster with you for the rest of my life"

You’re staring at your own reflection in the bathroom mirror, and the girl staring back looks like she’s about to either throw up or ascend to another dimension. Maybe both. In that order.

The letter is clutched so tightly in your hand that the pale lavender envelope is starting to crease, and you force yourself to loosen your grip before you ruin the one thing you’ve spent three weeks perfecting. Three weeks. That’s twenty-one days of drafting, crossing out, rewriting, Googling “how to write a love letter without sounding like a desperate loser,” and then rewriting again. You’ve used up an entire pack of stationery. You’ve watched so many calligraphy tutorials that the YouTube algorithm thinks you’re training to become a medieval scribe. All for this one moment. This one letter. This one massive, terrifying, possibly life-ruining leap of faith.

You are a hopeless romantic. Hopeless being the operative word.

It’s not that you don’t believe in love. You do. Desperately, overwhelmingly, with every fiber of your first-year STEM student soul. You believe in meet-cutes and slow burns and the exact moment when two people look at each other and the entire world goes soft around the edges. You’ve read about it a hundred times. You’ve watched it play out on every screen you own. You’ve composed entire daydreams about it during particularly boring chemistry lectures. Love is your favorite subject, the one you’ve studied with more dedication than calculus or physics combined. There’s just one tiny, inconvenient, absolutely infuriating problem.

You’re terrified of it.

Not the idea of it. The idea is lovely. The idea is safe. The idea lives in your head where everything unfolds exactly the way you want it to, where you always say the right thing, where you never trip over your own feet or laugh too loud at the wrong moment or stand frozen in a doorway like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck. But real love? The kind that requires vulnerability and eye contact and actually speaking words out loud with your mouth? That kind of love makes your palms sweat and your heart race in a decidedly unromantic, fight-or-flight kind of way. You are, and this is the most embarrassing part, a coward. A romantic coward. You dream of grand gestures but can barely manage a coherent sentence when an attractive person so much as glances in your direction.

Which brings you back to the letter.

The letter is your loophole. Your workaround. Your way of confessing your feelings without actually having to say them, because writing them down felt manageable in a way that speaking never has. You can be eloquent on paper. On paper, you can say things like “the first time I saw your smile, it felt like someone had turned on all the lights in a room I didn’t even realize was dark” without immediately wanting to crawl into the nearest hole and live out the rest of your days an hermit. On paper, you’re brave. On paper, you’re the kind of person who goes after what she wants.

In reality, you’ve been hiding in this bathroom for fifteen minutes, and your hands are shaking so badly that a passing person would think you are having an epileptic seizure.

“Okay,” you whisper to your reflection. “Okay. You can do this. You are a woman on a mission. You are a warrior. You are-”

A toilet flushes in one of the stalls behind you, and you nearly launch yourself through the ceiling.

A girl you vaguely recognize from your introductory programming class emerges, gives you an odd look as she washes her hands, and leaves without saying anything. You wait until the door swings shut, then press your forehead against the cool glass of the mirror and contemplate every life choice that has led you to this moment.

His name is Jungwon.

Yang Jungwon. Second year. Undeclared major but leaning toward something in the humanities, which you know because you may have done a bit of light, respectful, completely non-creepy research. He has a smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes and a laugh that sounds like sunshine if sunshine could make noise, and he holds doors open for people even when they’re still like ten feet away, which creates that awkward situation where the person has to speed-walk to not seem rude, but he never seems to mind. You first noticed him at the campus library during midterms when he quietly slid a pack of gummy bears across the table toward you at 2 AM, muttering something about glucose being good for brain function, and then went back to his book like he hadn’t just fundamentally altered the trajectory of your entire emotional existence.

That was four months ago. You’ve been pining ever since. Pining, yearning, longing, you’ve run through the entire lexicon of unrequited affection, and you’re exhausted. Today, you’ve decided, is the day it ends. One way or another.

You push yourself off the mirror, square your shoulders, and march out of the bathroom with the determination of someone going to war. The envelope is slightly damp from your grip, but it’s still intact, and the words inside are still true, and somewhere on this campus, Yang Jungwon is about to receive the most heartfelt confession letter ever written by a first-year student who has consumed an unhealthy amount of romance media.

Now you just have to find him.

—————

The hallway is bustling with students, the usual midday chaos of people rushing to classes or huddling in groups to complain about assignments. You scan the crowd, looking for a familiar face that might point you in the right direction, and your eyes land on a guy leaning against the wall, scrolling through his phone with the dead-eyed expression of someone who has just finished a three-hour lab.

“Excuse me,” you say, and your voice comes out about an octave higher than normal. You clear your throat. “Sorry, um, do you know where I can find Yang Jungwon? Second year?”

The guy looks up, blinks slowly, deciding whether or not to acknowledge your presence, and then shrugs. “PC room, I think. Saw him heading there like twenty minutes ago.”

The PC room. Of course. It’s in the engineering and informatics building, a place you’ve rarely ever been to. But you know where it is, roughly, and you thank the guy with what you hope is a normal smile and not the rictus grin of someone rushing toward emotional catastrophe.

The walk across campus takes approximately seven minutes, and you spend every single one of them rehearsing what you’re going to say. You’ve already written the letter, so technically you don’t have to say anything, you can just hand it over and flee but you want to say something. Something cool. Something memorable.

“Hey, Jungwon, this is for you.” Simple. Direct. Good.

“I wrote you something. No pressure, just read it when you have time.” Casual. Low-stakes. Excellent.

“Hi, I’ve been emotionally compromised by your existence for several months, please accept this paper rectangle of feelings.” Okay, maybe not that one.

The engineering building looms in front of you before you’re ready. You push through the main doors and immediately feel out of place. The students here move with a different energy, less frantic, more focused, the kind of people who probably know what a server is and have opinions about programming languages you’ve never heard of.

You follow the signs toward the PC room, your footsteps echoing in the corridor, and with every step, your heart climbs higher up your throat. This is it. This is the moment. You’re going to walk in there, find Jungwon, hand him the letter, and then whatever happens happens. At least you’ll have tried. At least you’ll have been brave, even if it’s only for thirty seconds.

The door to the PC room is slightly ajar, and you can hear voices inside, multiple voices, which gives you pause. You assumed he’d be alone. Or with maybe one other person.

You hesitate. Your hand hovers over the door handle. Every instinct is screaming at you to turn around, go back to your dorm, and spend the rest of your life wondering what could have been. And maybe you would, if not for the small, stubborn voice in the back of your mind that says: You’ve already come this far. Don’t you want to know? Don’t you want to be the kind of person who actually does the thing instead of just dreaming about it?

Yes. Yes, you do.

You squeeze your eyes shut, take a breath so deep it makes you lightheaded, and push the door open with more force than strictly necessary. It slams against the wall with a bang that makes approximately twelve heads swivel in your direction, and for one horrifying moment, you are the center of attention in a room full of strangers.

But you don’t see any of them. You only see the figure sitting at the computer closest to the door, his back half-turned to you, hair falling over his forehead, the exact silhouette you’ve been looking for. Or at least, the exact silhouette you think you’ve been looking for.

You don’t stop to confirm. You don’t let yourself think. You just march forward, thrust the letter out in front of you like a shield, and launch into the speech you’ve been rehearsing for three weeks.

“This is for you. I’m sorry if this is weird or sudden but I’ve liked you for a really long time and I couldn’t keep it to myself anymore. You don’t have to respond right away. You don’t have to respond ever, actually. I just wanted you to know that someone out there thinks you’re wonderful and I wrote it all down because I’m better at writing than talking and honestly I might pass out if I keep standing here so please just take this and I’ll go-”

You finally look up.

And the face staring back at you is absolutely, categorically, one hundred percent not Jungwon.

The boy in front of you is taller than Jungwon. Broader shoulders. Sharper jawline. Different eyes, darker, deeper, currently widened in a mixture of surprise and something you can’t quite read. His lips are parted slightly, as if he was about to say something before you launched into your emotional word-vomit, and he’s holding a half-eaten protein bar that’s now frozen halfway to his mouth.

The room has gone completely, utterly silent.

You can feel the stares of every single person boring into the back of your head. Someone coughs. Someone else whispers something that sounds suspiciously like “did she just-” before being shushed by their neighbor.

And then the boy, the very handsome, very wrong boy, sets down his protein bar, takes the letter gently from your trembling hand, and says in a voice that’s low and smooth and completely unfamiliar: “Wow. Okay. What’s your name?”

This is the worst moment of your entire life. You are going to die right here, in this PC room, surrounded by computer monitors and half-empty energy drink cans and a dozen witnesses who will spread this story to every corner of the university within the next three hours. Your obituary will read: here lies Y/N, the loser who can’t even recognize her ultimate crush.

“Y/N,” you croak, because your mouth is apparently still functioning even though every other part of you has shut down. “L/N Y/N. First year. STEM.”

You don’t know why you said STEM. He didn’t ask for your department. You’re offering information nobody requested. This is a disaster.

But the boy, he’s looking at you with an expression you can’t decipher, his head tilted slightly to the side like you’re a puzzle he’s trying to figure out. He’s wearing a dark hoodie with the informatics department logo on it, and there’s a pair of expensive-looking headphones draped around his neck, and his hair is slightly mussed in a way that suggests he’s been running his fingers through it while concentrating. He’s absurdly good-looking, the kind of good-looking that makes you simultaneously want to stare and look away, and you’re only now noticing the way several girls in the room have been watching him since you entered, not just because of your blunder, but because they’ve been watching him.

“I’m Heeseung,” he says, and there’s a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Lee Heeseung. Third year. Informatics engineering.”

Lee Heeseung. The name registers somewhere in the back of your panic-addled brain. It’s familiar in the way that campus gossip is familiar, attached to words like hot and player and don’t get your hopes up because he’ll charm you and then move on. You’ve heard girls in your dorm talking about him in hushed, giggling tones, trading stories about brief encounters and misinterpreted invitations. And you, in your infinite wisdom, have just handed a love letter meant for someone else directly into his notorious hands.

You have to fix this. You have to tell him it was a mistake. You have to-

“I’m flattered,” Heeseung says, and his smile widens slightly, not quite a smirk but definitely approaching smirk territory. “Really. This is... I mean, no one’s ever confessed to me with an actual letter before. It’s kind of old school.” He turns the envelope over in his hands, examining it with what seems like genuine curiosity. “The handwriting is really pretty. Did you do the calligraphy yourself?”

“Yes,” you say, because you are physically incapable of lying when put on the spot, and also because your brain has apparently decided that the best course of action is to just answer whatever questions he asks like this is a normal conversation and not the emotional equivalent of a tornado.

“Impressive.” He looks at you, really looks at you, and something shifts in his expression. The teasing edge softens just a fraction. “A confession is a lot, though. I mean, I’m honored, but we don’t even know each other.”

This is your opening. This is the moment where you say “actually, that’s because this letter wasn’t meant for you, there’s been a terrible misunderstanding, I’m so sorry, please forget this ever happened.” The words are right there, lined up on your tongue, ready to go.

But the room is still watching. A dozen pairs of eyes. The whispers have stopped, but the staring hasn’t, and you can feel every single gaze like a physical weight pressing down on you. If you correct him now, in front of everyone, you’ll have to explain. You’ll have to admit that you walked into a crowded room and confessed to the wrong person like an absolute buffoon. You’ll become a campus legend for all the wrong reasons: the girl who was too stupid to even identify her own crush. The story will follow you for the rest of your university career. You’ll never live it down.

But if you just... let him believe it... if you just nod and agree and leave as quickly as possible... you can fix this later. Privately. Without an audience. You can find him tomorrow, or send him a message, or do literally anything other than humiliate yourself further in front of all these people.

Your mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.

“I know,” you hear yourself say. “It’s a lot. I know.”

Heeseung nods thoughtfully, like you’ve said something profound. “But I’m not against it. Starting slow, I mean. If you want.”

What.

“What,” you say, but it comes out more like a statement than a question.

“I’m okay with starting slow,” he repeats, and now the smile is definitely back, a little crooked, a little curious. “You’re cute. And clearly brave. I like that. So if you want to, I don’t know, get coffee sometime and see where this goes... I’m open to it.”

Someone in the room lets out a low whistle. Someone else says “Heeseung, are you serious right now?” in a tone of utter disbelief. But Heeseung doesn’t look away from you. He’s waiting for your answer, his gaze steady and warm, and you are standing in the epicenter of a complete and total catastrophe with absolutely no idea how to get out.

Say no. Say it was a mistake. Say the truth.

“Okay,” you whisper.

Okay?! Okay?!

“Okay,” he echoes, and the smile breaks fully across his face, transforming him from handsome to devastating. “Good. I’ll find you. Y/N, first year, STEM, right?”

You nod mutely.

“Cool.” He tucks your letter carefully into the pocket of his hoodie, like it’s something precious, like he’s planning to read it later, and the gesture makes your stomach twist with guilt so intense you think you might actually be sick. “I’ll see you around, Y/N.”

You don’t remember leaving the room. You don’t remember the walk back across campus or the elevator ride to your floor or the moment you collapsed face-first onto your dorm bed. All you know is that one moment you were standing in the PC room, and the next you are here, staring at the ceiling, replaying every single agonizing second on an endless loop.

You confessed to the wrong person.

You confessed to the wrong person.

And for some reason that you absolutely cannot comprehend, he said yes.

Across campus, in a PC room that has finally returned to its normal hum of activity, Lee Heeseung pulls a slightly crumpled lavender envelope out of his hoodie pocket and stares at it for a long moment.

“Dude,” says his friend Jay from the next computer over, not bothering to hide his grin. “What just happened?”

“I don’t know,” Heeseung says honestly. And he doesn’t. He’s used to attention, he knows how to handle it, how to smile and nod and gently redirect without hurting anyone’s feelings. It’s a skill he’s developed over the years, the only way he knows to deal with the unfortunate side effect of his people-pleasing tendencies. He’s nice to someone, he helps them with an assignment, he holds a door open or offers a pen, and suddenly they’re looking at him with stars in their eyes, and he doesn’t know how to tell them that he was just trying to be polite without sounding like an arrogant jerk. So he lets them down easy, or he avoids the situation entirely, and his reputation grows in ways that don’t reflect the truth at all.

But this, this is new. A letter. An actual, physical, handwritten letter, with swooping calligraphy and a lavender envelope and a girl who looked so terrified that he thought she might actually pass out right there on the linoleum floor.

She looked at him like he was a natural disaster. Like she was watching a building collapse in slow motion and couldn’t do anything to stop it.

And then she said okay anyway.

“She’s interesting,” Heeseung murmurs, more to himself than to Jay, and carefully opens the envelope.

“Interesting how?”

He doesn’t answer. He’s too busy reading, his eyes moving slowly across the carefully penned words, the ink slightly smudged in places where the writer’s hand might have trembled. It’s beautiful. It’s earnest. It’s the kind of letter that someone writes when they mean every single word, when they’ve poured their entire heart onto the page without holding anything back.

He’s never received anything like it before.

And he wants to know more about the girl who wrote it, the girl who burst into his afternoon like a hurricane of nerves and feelings.

“Jay,” he says, still staring at the letter, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “I think something interesting just walked into my life.”

He doesn’t notice the way his friend shakes his head and mutters something about “here we go again.”

He’s too busy wondering when he’ll see Y/N next.

—————

The following forty-eight hours of your life can be accurately described as a masterclass in strategic avoidance and tactical regret.

You skip two classes. Not on purpose, exactly, you just can’t bring yourself to leave your dorm room when every shadow in the hallway might be Lee Heeseung coming to collect on that coffee date you apparently agreed to in a moment of temporary insanity. You survive on instant noodles and the protein bars your friend left on her desk with a sticky note that said “FOR EMERGENCIES ONLY,” which this absolutely qualifies as. You watch three entire seasons of Bridgerton without retaining a single moment because your brain is too busy replaying the PC room incident on a continuous, merciless loop.

“I’m Lee Heeseung. Third year. Informatics engineering.”

“I’m okay with starting slow.”

“You’re cute.”

You bury your face in your pillow and scream, but it comes out muffled and pathetic, like a small animal giving up on life.

By day three, you’ve developed a system. You only leave your room during off-peak hours, skittering through campus, your head on a constant swivel. You’ve memorized the locations of every vending machine in buildings Heeseung is unlikely to frequent. You’ve started taking the long way to your remaining classes, cutting through the art department and the greenhouse and once, memorably, a service corridor that smelled strongly of bleach and soap. You’ve become a ghost. A phantom. A creature of the shadows who survives on granola bars and instant noddles.

But the problem with running away from your problems is that your problems don’t actually go anywhere. They just wait. And think about you. And eventually, when you least expect it, they catch up.

It happens on a Thursday.

You’re crouched behind a potted plant near the science building, scanning the courtyard for any sign of tall, attractive informatics students, when your phone buzzes with a text from your best friend, Yunjin.

Yunjin: heard you’ve been living like a sewer rat. want me to bring you real food?

You: can’t. i’m in the middle of a crisis

Yunjin: You’re executing what we talked about yet?

You: it’s in process

Yunjin: at the end of the day, you will have to tell him

You stare at the message for a long moment. It’s such a simple solution. So elegant. So reasonable. And yet, every time you imagine yourself walking up to Heeseung and saying “actually, I meant to give that letter to someone else,” your entire body physically recoils like you’ve touched a hot stove. The humiliation would be astronomical. The look on his face, surprise, then confusion, then that horrible moment of realization that he was never supposed to be the recipient would haunt you for the rest of your natural life. And you’d still have to explain the Jungwon part. And Jungwon would find out. And then you’d be the weird girl who couldn’t even confess to the right person, and Heeseung would be the guy who got accidentally confessed to, and everyone would laugh about it for weeks, and-

Your phone buzzes again.

Yunjin: i can hear you overthinking from across campus. just rip off the bandaid. what’s the worst that could happen

You type back a single message: he could tell everyone and i’d have to transfer schools and change my name and become a farmer in New Zeland

Yunjin: dramatic. but valid. good luck with your plant hiding

You shove your phone back into your pocket and peek around the potted plant again. The courtyard is clear. This is your window. You take a deep breath, steel your nerves, and scuttle out from behind the foliage.

The plan for today is simple: find Heeseung, explain the misunderstanding, and disappear forever. You’ve spent the entire morning psyching yourself up for this. You’ve practiced the speech in the mirror seventeen times. You’ve even written a script on your phone that you can refer to in case of emergency. It’s thorough, it’s clear, it leaves absolutely no room for misinterpretation, and it ends with a sincere apology and a polite request that you both pretend this never happened. It’s perfect. It’s foolproof. All you have to do is locate the target.

Easier said than done. You’ve been looking for him since yesterday, not to talk to, but to observe from a safe distance so you could plan your approach and the universe, in its infinite comedic wisdom, has made him completely unfindable. It’s like he vanished off the face of the earth the moment you actually wanted to see him. Three days ago, you couldn’t walk three feet without catching a glimpse of him, but now? Now he’s a ghost. A myth. A concept rather than a physical entity.

You’re going to have to ask for help.

This is, objectively, a terrible idea. Asking for help means talking to people, and talking to people about Heeseung means potentially revealing that you’re looking for him, which means potentially revealing why you’re looking for him, which means the whole campus could know about the letter situation by lunchtime. But you’re running out of options, and you’re running out of granola bars, and you can’t live behind potted plants forever.

You find your informant near the engineering building, a girl with neon green headphones and a laptop covered in stickers, sitting on a bench and typing furiously at something that looks like code. She seems approachable. She seems like she won’t ask too many questions. You approach with what you hope is casual confidence and not the desperate energy of someone who has been living on protein bars.

“Excuse me,” you say, and your voice comes out surprisingly normal. Points for you. “Do you know where I can find Lee Heeseung? Third year, informatics?”

The girl looks up, her eyes flicking over you with mild curiosity. She doesn’t ask why you’re looking for him, which makes you want to hug her. “Heeseung? Yeah, I think I saw him heading to the quad about ten minutes ago. Something about meeting up with some people before his next class.”

The quad. Of course. The most open, public, exposed location on the entire campus. The place where literally everyone congregates. The absolute last place you want to have a conversation about accidental love confessions.

“Great,” you say, and your voice is definitely an octave higher now. “Great. Thank you. Thanks. So much.”

The girl gives you a weird look, shrugs, and goes back to her coding.

You’re already moving, your feet carrying you toward the quad before your brain can catch up and talk you out of it. This is fine. This is progress. You’ll find him, you’ll pull him aside, you’ll give him the speech, and then you’ll be free. You’ll be a normal person again. You’ll be able to walk through campus without checking every corner for a tall informatics student who thinks you’re cute and brave and worthy of a coffee date.

The quad is bustling when you arrive, clusters of students sprawled across the grass and gathered around the stone benches near the fountain. The afternoon sun is bright and warm, the kind of weather that makes everyone want to be outside, which is lovely and picturesque and deeply inconvenient for your purposes. You squint against the glare, scanning the crowd for a familiar dark-haired figure.

No Heeseung.

You circle the perimeter, weaving between groups of friends and dodging a frisbee that comes sailing dangerously close to your head. You check near the fountain, near the big oak tree, near the cluster of food trucks that’s set up along the east edge. Still no Heeseung. Your informant said ten minutes ago, he should be here. Unless he already left. Unless you missed him. Unless this is a sign from the universe that you should give up and commit to the farmer life plan after all.

You’re so focused on your search that you don’t notice someone approaching until a shadow falls across your path, and a voice, warm, familiar, the exact voice you’ve been daydreaming about for four months, says:

“Y/N? Hey, it is you!”

You look up.

Yang Jungwon is standing right in front of you, smiling like the sun just came out from behind a cloud, and every single coherent thought in your brain immediately evaporates.

He’s wearing a soft-looking cream sweater with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and his dark hair is slightly windswept, and there’s a tiny mole near his chin that you’ve never noticed before but is now seared into your memory forever. He’s holding a book, something with a cracked spine and a title in a language you don’t recognize and he’s looking at you with genuine, undiluted pleasure, like running into you is the best thing that’s happened to him all day.

“It’s me,” you say, because you are a conversational genius. “I mean. Yes. Hi. Hello.”

Smooth. Flawless execution. Ten out of ten.

Jungwon doesn’t seem to notice your complete lack of verbal grace. His smile widens, crinkling the corners of his eyes in exactly the way you’ve catalogued in your mental Jungwon database. “I thought I recognized you. You’re in my philosophy elective, right? Front row, near the window?”

He knows where you sit. He knows where you sit. This is both the best and worst information you’ve ever received, because on one hand, Yang Jungwon has noticed your existence, but on the other hand, Yang Jungwon has noticed your existence, and now you have to be a normal human being and not the disaster you currently are.

“Front row near the window,” you confirm, nodding a little too vigorously. “That’s me. I like the natural light. For... note-taking purposes.”

“Makes sense.” He shifts his weight, tucking the book under his arm. “You take really detailed notes, by the way. I sat behind you once, and I was honestly impressed. Your color-coding system is no joke.”

Jungwon has looked at your notes. Jungwon has been impressed by your notes. Your brain is short-circuiting at approximately the speed of light, and you have to physically resist the urge to fist-pump in the middle of the quad.

“Thank you,” you manage. “I have a lot of highlighters. Maybe too many. Is there such a thing as too many highlighters? I don’t think so, but I’ve been told my stationery collection is concerning.”

Oh no. Why are you talking about stationery? You need to say something charming. Something witty. Something that will make him see you as more than the girl with the aggressive color-coding system.

“I don’t think it’s concerning,” Jungwon says, and there’s a teasing lilt to his voice that makes your knees go weak. “Passionate, maybe. Dedicated. I respect it.”

“Passionate and dedicated,” you repeat faintly. “That’s... yeah. That’s my brand.”

He laughs, and it’s exactly like you remember, bright and warm, the kind of laugh that makes you want to do whatever you just did again and again just to hear it on repeat. “I like it. Passion is underrated.” He tilts his head, studying you with an expression you can’t quite read. “So what brings you to the quad? You usually eat lunch in the science building courtyard, don’t you?”

Your heart stutters. He knows where you eat lunch. He’s observed your habits. This is either a sign of mutual interest or you’ve accidentally become the subject of a sociological case study, and at this point you’re willing to accept either outcome.

“I’m, um, looking for someone,” you say, and the confession letter debacle comes crashing back into your consciousness like a wrecking ball through a glass window. Right. You’re supposed to be finding Heeseung. You’re supposed to be fixing the misunderstanding. That’s why you’re here. Not to bask in the radiant warmth of Jungwon’s attention like a lizard on a sunny rock.

“Anyone I know?” Jungwon asks, and there’s something in his tone, curiosity, maybe.

“Probably not,” you say quickly. “Just a... just a person. A random person. Not important.”

Jungwon raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, but before he can press further, a new voice cuts through the afternoon air like a knife through butter.

“There you are.”

You freeze. Your blood turns to ice. Every cell in your body screams in unison: run.

Lee Heeseung is walking toward you across the quad, his headphones hanging around his neck and his hands tucked casually into the pockets of his jacket. He looks exactly as devastatingly attractive as he did three days ago, which is deeply unfair. His expression is a mixture of curiosity and amusement, and when his eyes meet yours, that slight smile, the one that’s not quite a smirk but definitely is a smirk’s second cousin, curves across his lips.

“I heard you’ve been looking for me,” he says, coming to a stop beside Jungwon like this is the most natural gathering in the world. “You know, if you wanted to see me, you could have just messaged. I would have given you my number at the PC room.”

Jungwon looks between you and Heeseung with visible confusion, his earlier smile fading into something more guarded. “Wait. You two know each other?”

This is it. This is the moment the universe has been building toward. Every terrible decision, every act of cowardice, every misguided attempt to avoid embarrassment, it’s all led here, to this exact spot on the quad, with the wrong guy standing next to the right guy and your entire romantic future hanging in the balance.

“I wouldn’t say know,” you begin, but Heeseung is already talking over you, apparently immune to the desperate telepathic signals you’re trying to beam directly into his brain.

“She confessed to me two days ago,” Heeseung says, and his tone is so casual, so conversational, like he’s discussing the weather or what he had for lunch. “Walked right into the PC room, handed me a letter, told me she’d liked me for a long time. It was very romantic. Very old-school. I was impressed.”

Silence. Jungwon stares at Heeseung. Then at you. Then back at Heeseung.

“She... confessed to you,” Jungwon repeats slowly, and his voice has gone flat in a way that makes your heart splinter into approximately seven thousand pieces.

“Full confession,” Heeseung confirms, still smiling. “I’m thinking we’ll start with coffee. Keep it simple, you know? She’s shy. I don’t want to overwhelm her.”

This is a nightmare. This is a waking, breathing, actively-unfolding nightmare, and you are trapped in it like a fly in amber, unable to move or speak or do anything except watch as every possible future with Jungwon crumbles to dust before your eyes.

Because here’s the thing you realize in that horrible, crystal-clear moment: you can’t correct Heeseung now. Not in front of Jungwon. Not when Jungwon has just been told, in no uncertain terms, that you confessed to someone else. If you explain the truth, that the letter was actually meant for Jungwon, that the whole thing was a catastrophic mistake, then what? Jungwon would know you’d been planning to confess to him, but he’d also know that you somehow managed to mess it up so spectacularly that you confessed to his friend instead. You’d look incompetent at best and completely unhinged at worst. And Heeseung would be humiliated, and Jungwon would be awkward, and you’d be the epicenter of a social catastrophe so immense that all three of you would have to avoid each other for the rest of your academic careers.

You are trapped. Completely, utterly, irreversibly trapped.

“Interesting,” Jungwon says, and the word is so neutral that it cuts deeper than any insult ever could. “I didn’t realize you two ran in the same circles.”

“We don’t,” you croak. “We really, really don’t.”

“We’re just getting started,” Heeseung says cheerfully, and he has the audacity to wink at you. Like this is some kind of adorable inside joke instead of the emotional apocalypse it actually is.

You have to get out of here. You have to escape before the sob building in your chest forces its way out and makes everything infinitely worse. You can feel it pressing against your ribs, hot and insistent, and if you don’t leave right now, you’re going to burst into tears in the middle of the quad in front of both of them, and then the disaster will be complete.

“I have to go,” you blurt out, and you’re already backing away, your feet moving before your brain can issue any kind of warning. “I have… a thing. A class. A lab. A lab class. It’s very important. I can’t miss it. I have to go.”

Heeseung’s brow furrows slightly. “Wait, I thought you wanted to talk to-”

“Nope! No talking! We’re good! Everything’s fine! Bye!”

You spin around and power-walk toward the nearest exit, which happens to be in the direction of the fountain, which you only realize when your foot catches on the low stone ledge and you go sprawling forward with all the grace of a newborn giraffe.

Your knee hits the ground. Your dignity hits the ground approximately three feet to the left. Several people turn to look.

“Y/N!” That’s Jungwon’s voice, concerned and moving closer, and you absolutely cannot handle that right now.

“I’m fine!” you shriek, scrambling to your feet with adrenaline-fueled desperation. “Totally fine! Happens all the time! I’m very clumsy! It’s part of my charm!”

You don’t look back. You can’t look back. If you look back, you’ll see Jungwon’s worried expression and Heeseung’s confused one, and you’ll have to confront the full magnitude of what just happened, and your fragile emotional state simply cannot withstand that kind of pressure. So you run. Not jog, not power-walk…run. Across the quad, past the food trucks, through a gap between two buildings, and out onto the main campus pathway like the hounds of hell are snapping at your heels.

You don’t stop until you reach the arts building, and you don’t start breathing normally until you’ve locked yourself in a practice room on the third floor, surrounded by soundproof walls and a piano that’s seen better days. You slide down against the door, pull your knees up to your chest, and let out a sound that’s halfway between a groan and a wail.

Everything is ruined. Everything. You had one chance, one single, solitary chance to fix the misunderstanding and salvage your dignity and maybe, just maybe, preserve the possibility of something with Jungwon somewhere down the line. And instead, you let your hopeless romantic heart get distracted by a five-minute conversation about philosophy notes and highlighters, and now you’re the girl who confessed to Lee Heeseung, and Jungwon thinks you’re interested in someone else, and there is no conceivable way to untangle this mess without making everything exponentially worse.

You’re going to have to transfer schools. You’re going to have to move to another country. You’re going to have to fake your own death and start a new identity as a goat farmer in New Zeland.

The door handle jiggles behind you. “Occupied!” you yell, your voice cracking.

“Y/N? Is that you?”

Your best friend Yunjin’s voice filters through the door, muffled but unmistakable, and the sound of it is enough to crack the dam you’ve been desperately trying to hold together. You scramble to your feet, fumble with the lock, and yank the door open to reveal Yunjin standing in the hallway with a cup of bubble tea in each hand and an expression of profound concern on her face.

“I saw you running,” she says, her eyes scanning your disheveled appearance. “Like, truly running. I’ve never seen you run before. You once told me running was for people who don’t appreciate the journey.”

“Yunjin,” you crumble, and your voice is so pitiful that she immediately sets down both drinks and pulls you into a hug.

“Okay,” she says, steering you back into the practice room and closing the door behind her. “Okay. Sit down. Tell me everything. What happened? Did you talk to Heeseung? Did you fix it?”

You laugh, but it comes out wrong, high and wobbly, on the edge of hysteria. “Fix it? Fix it? Yunjin, I made it so much worse. I made it so much worse that I think I actually created new dimensions of worse. Scientists are going to have to invent new words to describe how badly I messed this up.”

“That’s... improbable,” Yunjin says carefully. “But I’m listening.”

She settles onto the piano bench, and you collapse onto the floor in front of her, crossing your legs and burying your face in your hands. The story spills out of you in a torrent, the quad, the search for Heeseung, the unexpected appearance of Jungwon, the conversation that made your heart soar, and then the moment Heeseung appeared like a harbinger of doom and casually announced your confession to the one person you never wanted to know about it.

“And then I fell,” you finish miserably. “In front of both of them. And I ran away. And now Jungwon thinks I like Heeseung, and Heeseung thinks I like Heeseung, and I can’t correct either of them without making everything even weirder, and my life is a romantic comedy written by a petty incel.”

Yunjin is quiet for a moment. Then she lets out a long, slow breath. “Okay. That’s... that’s a lot.”

“I know.”

“And you’re telling me you couldn’t just say, hey Heeseung, sorry for the mix-up, the letter wasn’t for you, my bad?”

You look up at her, your eyes rimmed with red. “In front of Jungwon? After Heeseung already told him I confessed? What would Jungwon think of me?”

Yunjin considers this. “That you’re a disaster, probably.”

“Exactly!”

“But a lovable disaster,” she adds. “Disasters can be endearing.”

“Yunjin, please focus.”

She holds up her hands in surrender, but there’s a glint in her eye that you recognize, the one that means she’s about to drop some wisdom on you whether you’re ready for it or not. Yunjin has been your best friend since orientation week, when you both accidentally joined the wrong club meeting and ended up spending two hours in a competitive gardening seminar before realizing your mistake. She’s practical where you’re dreamy, decisive where you’re hesitant, and she’s talked you down from approximately four hundred anxiety spirals since the semester started. If anyone can find a way out of this mess, it’s her.

“Okay,” she says, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. “Let me present you with an alternative perspective.”

“I’m listening.”

“Lee Heeseung,” she says, ticking off points on her fingers, “has a reputation. A big one. Everyone knows it. He’s the guy who’s super nice to everyone, especially girls, and then they fall for him and he gets all surprised when they expect something more, and then things fizzle out because he wasn’t looking for anything serious.” She makes air quotes with her fingers. “Sound familiar?”

You blink. “I mean... I’ve heard things. But he didn’t seem like-”

“That’s his whole thing,” Yunjin interrupts. “He doesn’t seem like it. That’s why it works. He likes when everyone is after him. But nice doesn’t equal interested, so girls get the wrong idea and then they get hurt. It’s a cycle.” She pops a tapioca pearl into her mouth and chews thoughtfully. “My point is, you don’t need to do anything. You don’t need to fix this. You just need to wait.”

“Wait for what?”

“For him to get bored.” She says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Think about it. You’re not actually interested in him, right? You’re not going to fall all over yourself trying to get his attention. You’re not going to be waiting outside his classes or accidentally showing up wherever he hangs out. You’re not going to be like every other girl who’s chased after him.”

You frown. “So... what, I just... do nothing?”

“No, you do the opposite of chasing.” Yunjin grins, and it’s slightly wicked. “You make yourself as uninteresting to him as possible. You’re awkward, you’re weird, you’re clearly not trying to impress him. You don’t dress up when you know you might see him. You talk about boring things. You mention, I don’t know, your extensive collection of vintage stamps or whatever nerdy hobby you can think of. You make yourself boring.”

“I don’t have a stamp collection.”

“Then make one up! The point is, Heeseung is used to girls who want him. If you clearly don’t want him, his interest is going to fizzle out faster than a cheap sparkler. He’ll move on to the next girl who bats her eyelashes at him, and you’ll be free. No confrontation necessary.”

You turn this over in your mind. It’s... not the worst idea you’ve ever heard. In fact, compared to your current strategy of blind panic and tactical fleeing, it’s practically genius. If you can’t correct the misunderstanding without making everything worse, maybe you can just... let it die on its own. Let Heeseung’s fabled short attention span work in your favor. Become so aggressively unappealing that he loses interest within a week and never thinks about you again.

And once he’s out of the picture, once enough time has passed, maybe you can try again with Jungwon. Properly. With better aim.

“You’re a genius,” you tell Yunjin, the hope creeping back into your voice. “An absolute genius. I could kiss you.”

“Please don’t, you’re covered in grass stains.” She nudges one of the bubble teas toward you with her foot. “Drink your tea. Hydrate. And then we’re going to brainstorm all the ways you can make yourself seem as unappealing as possible to a hot third-year informatics student.”

You grab the drink and take a long sip, the sweetness settling something in your chest. For the first time in three days, you feel something other than panic. You feel strategic. You feel determined. Lee Heeseung might think you’re cute and brave and worthy of a coffee date, but he hasn’t met the version of you that’s about to emerge, a version so bland, so uninteresting, so aggressively mediocre that he’ll run in the opposite direction before the week is out.

“Okay,” you say, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “Okay. Let’s do this. Operation Make Heeseung Uninterested starts now.”

Yunjin raises her bubble tea in a toast. “To being boring.”

You clink your cup against hers. “To being boring.”

Somewhere across campus Heeseung is still standing in the quad with a confused expression on his face and a lavender envelope in his pocket, wondering why the girl who supposedly has a crush on him just sprinted away like she was being chased by bears.

He’s not used to this. He’s not used to any of this.

And that, he realizes with a small, bemused shake of his head, is exactly what makes it so interesting.

—————

Operation Make Heeseung Uninterested lasted exactly four days before it encountered its first major obstacle.

That obstacle is approximately six feet tall, has flowing hair that falls perfectly across his forehead, and is currently walking directly toward your table in the cafeteria with a tray in his hands and a smile on his face that suggests he has absolutely no idea he's supposed to be losing interest in you.

You spot him approximately 2.3 seconds too late. By the time your brain registers the approaching danger, you are already mid-bite into a sad cafeteria sandwich, your mouth full of bread and lettuce and the dawning realization that you are trapped. There is no escape route. Your table is in the corner, surrounded on three sides by walls and on the fourth side by Heeseung's rapidly approaching form. You are a cornered animal. A very stupid, very panicked cornered animal with mayonnaise on her chin.

"Y/N!" Heeseung says your name like it's his favorite word, bright and warm and entirely too enthusiastic for someone who's supposed to be a notorious womanizer with a short attention span. "I was hoping I'd run into you. Mind if I sit?"

Mind if he sits? Of course you mind. You mind immensely. You mind with every fiber of your being. Sitting with Heeseung is the exact opposite of what Operation Make Heeseung Uninterested is supposed to accomplish. Sitting with Heeseung means talking to Heeseung, and talking to Heeseung means opportunities to accidentally charm him, and charming him is categorically Not The Goal.

But Heeseung is already pulling out the chair across from you, and his smile is so genuine, and there's a tiny bit of what looks like grease on his cheekbone that suggests he's just come from some kind of engineering lab, and you are weak. You are so, so weak.

"Go ahead," you hear yourself say, and then immediately want to punch yourself in the face.

Operation Make Heeseung Uninterested, Day Four, 12:34 PM: catastrophic failure already in progress.

Heeseung settles into the chair with an easy grace, setting his tray down and immediately stealing one of your fries like you're old friends who share food on a regular basis. You watch the fry disappear into his mouth and feel a small part of your soul leave your body.

"So," he says, leaning back and studying you with those dark, unreadable eyes. "You ran away from me pretty fast the other day. Should I be worried? Do I have something on my face?"

He doesn't. He absolutely doesn't. He has the kind of face that belongs on a billboard, all sharp angles and soft edges and that one little mole on his forehead that you are definitely not noticing because noticing things about Heeseung's face is counterproductive to the mission.

"No," you say quickly. "No, you're fine. Your face is fine. I mean, you don't have anything on your face. I just remembered I had somewhere to be. Very suddenly. It was urgent."

"An urgent… lab class?" Heeseung's lips twitch. "That's what you said, right? An urgent lab class on a Thursday afternoon?"

Your face heats. "Yes. Exactly. Lab class. Very urgent. Science doesn't wait."

"Mmm." He pops another one of your fries into his mouth. "Well, the good news is, you don't look like you're in a hurry right now. So we can actually talk. You know, like normal people who are supposedly getting to know each other?"

Right. Getting to know each other. Because you confessed to him. Because he thinks you like him. Because you're living in an elaborate lie of your own making.

This is your chance, though. This is the perfect opportunity to implement Phase One of the Make Him Uninterested plan: Be Weird and Off-Putting. You just have to be the most boring, strange, unappealing version of yourself that you can possibly imagine. How hard can it be?

Pretty hard, as it turns out, because your brain chooses this exact moment to go completely blank.

"So," Heeseung says, apparently unbothered by your silence, "tell me about yourself. What do you like to do for fun? Besides writing beautiful love letters and then running away from the recipient?"

You choke on your own saliva. Just… straight up choke on nothing, like a cartoon character. "I don't…that wasn't…I do normal things. Normal fun things. Like… watching paint dry. And counting ceiling tiles. Very relaxing. You should try it."

Heeseung's expression flickers, confusion, amusement, something in between. "Counting ceiling tiles?"

"There are forty-seven in this cafeteria," you say, doubling down with the desperate energy of someone who has already committed to the bit. "Forty-eight if you count the one that's partially covered by that vent over there. But some people don't count partial tiles. It's a philosophical debate, really."

"Fascinating," Heeseung says, and the worst part is that he sounds like he actually means it. "What else?"

What else? What else can you say that will make you sound completely unappealing? You cast around for inspiration, your eyes landing on your sandwich. Okay. Fine. If words can't do the job, maybe actions can.

You pick up your sandwich with both hands and take the weirdest bite you can physically manage, mouth open slightly too wide, chewing with exaggerated jaw movements, making an unfortunate amount of noise in the process. You feel like a cow. You look like a cow. You are embodying the spirit of a cow, and surely, surely, this is enough to make any self-respecting hot informatics student run for the hills.

Heeseung watches you chew. His expression doesn't change.

"Good sandwich?" he asks mildly.

"Mmf," you say, still chewing, still being a cow. "Very good. I love-"

And then the lettuce hits the back of your throat.

You don't know how it happens. One moment you're chewing normally, well, abnormally, but in a controlled way and the next moment a piece of lettuce stages a rebellion and lodges itself directly in your windpipe. Your eyes go wide. Your hand flies to your throat. You make a sound that is somewhere between a wheeze and a honk.

"Y/N?" Heeseung's amused expression shifts to concern. "Are you okay?"

You are not okay. You are choking. You are choking on lettuce in front of Lee Heeseung in the middle of the cafeteria, and this is how you're going to die.

Heeseung is on his feet now, moving around the table with surprising speed. "Hey, hey, can you breathe? Do you need me to-"

You shake your head frantically, still making dying cow noises, and grab your water bottle with shaking hands. The first gulp does nothing. The second gulp, by some miracle, dislodges the lettuce just enough for you to cough it up into a napkin with all the grace and dignity of a cat hacking up a hairball.

Silence.

The entire cafeteria, you're convinced, is staring at you. In reality, probably only a few nearby tables have noticed, but it feels apocalyptic. You sit there, red-faced and teary-eyed, clutching a napkin full of your own near-death experience, and want the floor to open up and swallow you whole.

Heeseung kneels beside your chair, one hand hovering near your shoulder like he isn't sure if touching you would be welcome. "Hey. You're okay. You're okay, right? Do you need me to get you anything? More water? A doctor? A new sandwich without lettuce?"

His voice is gentle. Genuinely gentle. Not the smooth, charming tone you expect from someone with his reputation, but something softer, something that sounds almost like real concern.

"I'm fine," you croak, your voice ravaged. "I'm fine. That happens. All the time. I'm very bad at eating. It's one of my traits."

"One of your traits," Heeseung repeats, and the corner of his mouth twitches despite his obvious worry. "Being bad at eating?"

"It's a lifestyle choice."

He laughs. Not a polite chuckle or a mocking snicker, but a real laugh, surprised and bright and completely unguarded. He sits back down in his chair, shaking his head, and looks at you with something that is definitely not boredom or disinterest.

"You're really something else, you know that?"

You don't know how to respond to that, so you don't. You just sit there, still clutching your napkin of shame, and wonder how Operation Make Heeseung Uninterested has somehow resulted in him laughing at your jokes and looking at you like you're the most entertaining thing he's encountered all week.

"So," Heeseung says, propping his chin on his hand, "I've been wondering. What made you decide to confess to me? Was there a specific moment? Something I did?"

Oh no.

Oh no, oh no, oh no.

This is the worst possible question he could ask. You can't tell him the truth…I didn't mean to confess to you, I meant to confess to your friend, you just happened to be sitting in the wrong place at the wrong time, please don't hate me…but you also can't just… not answer. He's looking at you expectantly, his dark eyes curious and open, and you have approximately three seconds to come up with a convincing lie before the silence becomes too awkward to recover from.

"Your… kindness," you say, grasping at straws. "You're very… kind. To everyone. I noticed."

Heeseung tilts his head. "My kindness?"

"Very kind," you repeat, nodding vigorously. "So kind. The kindest. I saw you… hold a door open for someone once. It was… inspiring."

"I held a door open."

"A door. Yes. It was a very heavy door. And you held it. For a long time. Multiple people went through. It was very impressive."

Heeseung stares at you for a moment, and you stare back, your face burning, your soul evacuating your body. This is it. This is the moment he realizes you are completely unhinged and decides to never speak to you again. This is the victory of Operation Make Heeseung Uninterested.

"That's…" Heeseung starts, and then pauses. "That's the first time anyone's ever confessed to me because I held a door open. Usually I get compliments about my face. Or my voice. One girl told me I had a nose made to be sat on, which I still don't fully understand."

"Your node is… fine," you say weakly. "I didn't notice your nose. Or your face at all. Just the door. The door was the important part."

"A door," Heeseung says, and that smile is spreading across his face again, the one that makes him look less like a notorious player and more like someone who has just found a particularly entertaining puzzle. "You wrote me a three-page love letter because I held a door open."

"The calligraphy alone took a week," you say, and immediately regret it.

Heeseung laughs again, and this time it's softer, almost wondering. "You're not what I expected," he says. "At all."

"Is that… good or bad?"

"I haven't decided yet." But he's still smiling, and his eyes are still fixed on you with that curious intensity, and you're starting to get the sinking feeling that everything you do, no matter how strange or off-putting you try to be, is having the exact opposite effect of what you intend.

You need a new strategy. Something foolproof. Something so aggressively unappealing that even the most determined people-pleaser can't pretend to be interested.

And then, like a gift from the gods of social awkwardness, the topic of video games comes up.

Heeseung mentions something about blowing off steam after a tough assignment by playing a few rounds of something, and the question slips out before you can stop it: "Wait, do you play League of Legends?"

He raises an eyebrow. "Sometimes. You?"

And that's it. That's the moment the dam breaks.

You don't mean to start geeking out. It just happens. One moment you're thinking be boring, be uninteresting, be bland, and the next moment you're fifteen minutes deep into an impassioned monologue about the current meta, the problems with the jungle role, and why Riot Games needs to nerf a specific champion into the ground before she single-handedly destroys the competitive scene.

"-and don't even get me started on the new items, because the balance team clearly doesn't play their own game, which is fine, whatever, it's not like I have strong opinions about it except I absolutely do, and I wrote an entire essay about it on the subreddit that got like two thousand upvotes, so clearly I'm not the only one who thinks the armor penetration scaling is completely broken-"

You stop.

You stop because you have just realized, with dawning horror, that you have been talking for an incredibly long time without letting Heeseung get a single word in. You have been gesticulating. You have been making sound effects. At one point, you're pretty sure you drew a diagram on a napkin to illustrate the optimal jungle pathing route.

This is it. This is definitely, absolutely it. There is no way a hot third-year informatics student wants to listen to a first-year STEM girl rant about video game balance for fifteen straight minutes. Operation Make Heeseung Uninterested has just achieved its first genuine success.

You brace yourself for the polite excuse, the awkward glance at his phone, the slow backing away.

Instead, Heeseung leans forward, resting his elbows on the table, and says: "Okay, but hear me out, what if the armor penetration scaling isn't the problem, and it's actually the base damage values that need to be adjusted? Because if you look at the win rate data across different elos, the issue isn't consistent at all levels of play."

You blink.

"I main ADC," he adds, as if this is a perfectly normal confession. "So trust me, I feel your pain about the jungle situation. Do you know how many times I've been left to solo dragon because my jungler was AFK farming? Too many. Too many times."

"You… main ADC?"

"Vayne and Kai'Sa mostly. Sometimes Jhin if I'm feeling dramatic."

You have no response to this. Your brain has short-circuited somewhere around the phrase "win rate data across different elos," and it's still rebooting.

"Your essay on the subreddit," Heeseung continues, pulling out his phone. "What was the title? I want to read it. I love seeing well-reasoned arguments about game balance, and honestly, most of what gets posted is just people complaining without any actual data to back it up."

"It was… it was called The Current State of Armor Penetration: A Statistical Analysis and Why I'm Losing My Mind," you say faintly.

Heeseung types something into his phone, scrolls for a moment, and then his face lights up. "Found it. Two thousand three hundred upvotes and fourteen awards? That's impressive. Wait, you made graphs? You made graphs?"

"I was very passionate about the subject."

"Passionate," Heeseung repeats, looking up from his phone with an expression you can't quite read. "Yeah. I'm starting to get that about you."

He tucks his phone away and smiles at you, and it isn't the smooth, practiced smile you expect from the campus womanizer. It's something smaller. Something realer. Something that makes your stomach do a weird, traitorous flip that you immediately try to suppress.

"You know," he says, tilting his head as he studies you, "you remind me of a mouse."

Your brain screeches to a halt. "A… mouse?"

"Yeah. A little field mouse. The way your nose scrunches up when you're thinking, and how you get all twitchy and skittish when you're nervous. It's cute. It's really cute."

Cute. He calls you cute. He compares you to a rodent and somehow makes it sound like a compliment, and worst of all, worst of all, you can feel a traitorous blush spreading across your cheeks like wildfire.

"I'm not…I don't…mice are not cute. Mice are pests. They carry diseases. I'm basically a health hazard."

Heeseung laughs, and it's the same genuine laugh from before, and he's looking at you like you're the most entertaining thing he's seen in years. "A health hazard. Right. Well, consider me warned."

He stands up, gathering his tray, and for one beautiful, hopeful moment, you think the ordeal is over. But then he pauses, looking down at you with that unreadable expression, and says the words that haunt you for the rest of the day:

"I was interested before, but now?" He shakes his head, still smiling. "Now I'm really interested. See you around, little mouse."

And then he walks away, leaving you alone at your corner table with a half-eaten sandwich, a napkin full of regurgitated lettuce, and the sinking realization that Operation Make Heeseung Uninterested is not only failing, it's backfiring spectacularly.

You try to be weird, and he calls you cute.

You try to be boring, and he engages with your niche gaming opinions.

You try to choke to death in front of him, and he kneels beside your chair with genuine concern in his eyes.

You bang your forehead against the cafeteria table once, twice, three times, not caring who sees. This is a disaster. This is an unmitigated, unprecedented, absolutely catastrophic disaster. Hana's plan was supposed to work. Heeseung was supposed to get bored. He was supposed to move on. He was not supposed to look at you like you're a puzzle he wants to solve, or call you a mouse in a tone of voice that makes your heart do gymnastics, or read your League of Legends essay and compliment your graphs.

You need to regroup. You need to call an emergency meeting with Yunjin. You need to figure out a new strategy before this situation spirals even further out of control.

But first, you need to go to the library and return the books that are due today before you accrue another fine, because no matter how catastrophic your love life becomes, the university library shows no mercy.

—————

The library is your sanctuary. It always has been, a quiet, climate-controlled haven where the smell of old paper and the soft hum of fluorescent lights can soothe even the most tensed of nerves. After the cafeteria incident, you need sanctuary more than ever. You slip through the main doors with your stack of books clutched to your chest, inhaling the familiar scent of knowledge and dust, and feel some of the tension begin to ease from your shoulders.

Everything is fine. Everything is going to be fine. You return your books, you find Yunjin, you regroup, and you figure out a way to-

"Y/N?"

The voice comes from somewhere to your left, and you know that voice. You know it the way a flower knows the sun, the way a compass knows north, the way a hopeless romantic knows the exact cadence of her crush's greeting.

Jungwon is sitting at a table near the history section, surrounded by a fortress of textbooks and loose papers. He's wearing glasses…glasses…and his hair is slightly mussed from what you assume is hours of intense studying, and he's looking at you with that smile, the one that crinkles the corners of his eyes and makes your entire nervous system short-circuit.

"Hey," he says, waving you over. "What are you doing here?"

Existing in the same space as you, you think. Breathing the same air. Trying not to spontaneously combust.

"Returning books," you say, holding up your stack as evidence. "I have some overdue ones. The library fines are no joke."

"Tell me about it. I had to pay fifteen thousand won last semester because I forgot about a book I'd checked out for a research paper." Jungwon winces at the memory. "My wallet still hasn't recovered."

"That's brutal."

"The library giveth, and the library taketh away."

You laugh, and it comes out surprisingly normal, not too loud, not too high-pitched, just a regular human laugh from a regular human person who is definitely not having an internal meltdown about how good Jungwon looks in glasses.

"Hey," Jungwon says, glancing at the empty chair across from him, "if you're not in a hurry, do you want to study together? I've been here for three hours and my brain is starting to melt. It would be nice to have some company."

Your heart stops.

Yang Jungwon, the Yang Jungwon, the owner of the smile and the laugh and the gummy bears at 2 AM is asking you to study with him. This is the kind of moment you've daydreamed about for months. This is a meet-cute in progress. This is the universe throwing you a lifeline after the cafeteria disaster, a chance to actually spend time with the boy you've been pining over since midterms.

"Yes," you say, before your brain can remind you of all the reasons this is a terrible idea. "Yes, I'd…I'd love to. Let me just return these first."

You practically skip to the returns desk, your heart doing a full backflip in your chest. By the time you make it back to Jungwon's table, your philosophy textbook and notebook spread out in front of you, you've convinced yourself that this is exactly what you need. Some time with Jungwon. Some time to remember why you wrote that letter in the first place. Some time to reconnect with the feelings that got buried under the chaos of the Heeseung situation.

The only problem is that you can't focus on studying at all.

You try. You really, genuinely try. You open your textbook to the assigned chapter. You uncap your highlighter. You fix your eyes on the page and attempt to absorb information about ethical frameworks and moral philosophy. But your eyes keep drifting up, against your will, over the top of your book, to the boy sitting across from you.

Jungwon is studying. Actually studying, not fake studying, not pretending to study while secretly watching you the way you're watching him. His brow is furrowed in concentration, his pen moving steadily across his notebook as he takes notes. Every so often, he pauses, taps the end of his pen against his chin, and then resumes writing with renewed focus. The late afternoon light slants through the window behind him, catching the highlights in his dark hair and making him look like he's stepped out of a painting.

He is beautiful. He's so beautiful that it makes your chest ache, a soft, sweet ache that you've been carrying around since the moment you first saw him in this very library. You watch the way his fingers curl around his pen, the way he bites his lower lip when he's thinking, the way his glasses slide down his nose and he pushes them back up with an absent gesture.

"I can feel you looking at me," Jungwon says, not glancing up from his notebook.

Your entire body jolts like you've been electrocuted. "I wasn't…I was just…there's a clock behind you. I was checking the time."

Jungwon looks up then, and there's a knowing glint in his eyes that makes your stomach do a slow, somersaulting flip. "The clock is to your right, Y/N. Not behind me."

You look to your right. Sure enough, there's the clock, hanging on the wall in plain view, which you would have noticed if you'd spent even one second actually looking for it instead of gazing at Jungwon's face like a Renaissance painter studying their muse.

"I'm… directionally challenged," you say weakly.

"Uh-huh." Jungwon sets down his pen, and the smile playing at the corners of his mouth is soft and teasing and absolutely devastating. "Come here for a second."

"What?"

"Just come here. Lean forward a little."

Your body obeys before your brain can intervene. You lean across the table, your heart hammering so loudly you're certain the entire library can hear it. Jungwon leans forward too, closing the distance between you, and you catch a faint whiff of something clean and subtle, laundry detergent, maybe, or the kind of fragrance that just smells like him.

His hand reaches out, and before you can process what's happening, his index finger gently pokes your cheek.

"Boop," he says.

You make a sound. You don't know what the sound is supposed to be. Maybe a laugh, maybe a question, maybe a plea for mercy. What comes out is something closer to a squeak, a small, strangled, completely undignified squeak that would be embarrassing if you had any brain cells left to feel embarrassment.

Jungwon's smile widens, and his finger lingers on your cheek for just a moment longer than necessary. "You had an eyelash," he says. "Right there. But also, you just looked really cute staring at me like that. I couldn't resist."

Cute. He calls you cute. That's twice in one day that a devastatingly attractive boy has called you cute, and your hopeless romantic heart doesn't know whether to celebrate or go into cardiac arrest.

"I wasn't staring," you whisper, but it comes out completely unconvincing.

"You were absolutely staring." Jungwon withdraws his hand, but his smile stays, warm and fond and knowing. "It's okay. I don't mind. It's kind of nice, actually. Being looked at like that."

"Like what?"

"Like I'm something worth looking at."

The words settle into your chest like a stone dropping into still water, sending ripples through your entire body. He thinks it's nice. He thinks you're nice or at least your staring is nice and he pokes your cheek and calls you cute and now he's going back to his studying like he hasn't just fundamentally altered your brain chemistry.

You try to return to your textbook. The words swim in front of your eyes, meaningless and blurry. You highlight a sentence at random, realize you have no idea what it says, and highlight it again for good measure. The page is now approximately forty percent highlighter ink.

"You're going to run out of highlighter at that rate," Jungwon observes, not looking up.

"I have backups," you say. "I always have backups."

"Of course you do."

The studying session continues for another hour, and you absorb approximately zero information about ethical frameworks. What you do absorb is a comprehensive catalogue of Jungwon's study habits: the way he organizes his notes with color-coded tabs, the way he mutters to himself when he's working through a difficult concept, the way he absentmindedly drums his fingers against the table when he's thinking. Every detail is another entry in your mental Jungwon database, another thread in the tapestry of your affection.

By the time you pack up your things and say goodbye, "See you in philosophy," Jungwon says, and you respond with something that might be words or might be a series of enthusiastic nods, you are floating. You are literally, physically floating, your feet barely touching the ground as you drift out of the library and across campus toward your dorm.

Jungwon pokes your cheek. Jungwon calls you cute. Jungwon says he likes being looked at by you.

You are winning. Despite the Heeseung disaster, despite the cafeteria catastrophe, despite everything, you are winning.

By the time you reach your dorm room, you are a mess of giddy energy with nowhere to go. You close the door behind you, throw your backpack onto your desk chair, and then proceed to wriggle across your bed like an ecstatic worm, kicking your feet and muffling your squeals into your pillow.

"He called me cute," you whisper to your empty room, your voice muffled by fabric. "He poked my cheek. He did the boop thing. The boop thing, you guys. Who does the boop thing? Adorable people, that's who. Perfect people. People with beautiful smiles and kind eyes and-"

You roll onto your back, staring at the ceiling with a dreamy expression. The ceiling has forty-three tiles in your room. You counted them on your first night in the dorm. But right now, all you can see is Jungwon's face, the way he looked at you across the library table, the way his finger felt against your cheek, the way his voice went soft when he said like I'm something worth looking at.

You are going to marry him. You are going to marry Yang Jungwon and have a beautiful wedding with string lights and wildflowers and a three-tier cake, and you will tell the story of how you stared at him in the library and he poked your cheek and-

You stop wriggling.

Wait.

Wait, wait, wait.

You can't marry Jungwon. You can't even confess to Jungwon, because Jungwon thinks you confessed to Heeseung. Jungwon thinks you're interested in someone else. Jungwon was sweet and friendly and maybe a little bit flirty, but that's just his personality. He's nice to everyone. He gives you gummy bears at 2 AM; he probably gives gummy bears to everyone who looks tired. You aren't special. You are just… there.

The giddiness begins to drain out of you, replaced by the familiar weight of reality. You are still trapped in the Heeseung situation. You are still the girl who confessed to the wrong person. And no matter how many times Jungwon pokes your cheek, that fundamental fact isn't going to change.

With a heavy sigh, you drag yourself through your evening routine: shower, skincare, the episode of the baking show you're halfway through and finally crawl into bed around midnight, your emotions a tangled knot of hope and despair.

Sleep comes slowly, a gradual descent into darkness, and then-

—————

You are in the PC room again.

But this time it's different. The lights are dimmer, the computers all dark, the chairs empty. It's just you, and the door is swinging shut behind you, and there's someone waiting at the computer closest to the door.

Heeseung.

He's sitting in the chair, facing away from you, his headphones around his neck and his shoulders relaxed. When he hears your footsteps, he turns, and his expression isn't surprised or amused or curious. It's something else entirely. Something darker. Something that makes your breath catch in your throat.

"You're here," he says, and his voice is lower than you've ever heard it, a rumble that vibrates through your bones. "I've been waiting for you, little mouse."

"I'm not-" you start, but he's already standing, already moving toward you, and you can't seem to make your feet work. You're rooted to the spot, watching him approach with a mixture of fear and something else, something you don't want to name.

He stops inches away from you, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from his body, close enough that you can see the individual strands of his hair and the curve of his lips and the way his eyes, God, his eyes are fixed on your mouth.

"You know what I've been thinking about?" he murmurs, and one of his hands comes up to brush a strand of hair away from your face, his fingers lingering against your temple. "I've been thinking about that letter. The way you said you only had eyes for me. The way you said you couldn't stop thinking about me."

"That wasn't-" you try, but your voice comes out as barely a whisper, and Heeseung's thumb is tracing along your jawline now, feather-light and devastating.

"I can't stop thinking about you either," he says, and his face is getting closer, closer, and you can feel his breath against your lips. "Do you want to know what I think about?"

Your heart is hammering. Your skin is on fire. You can't move, can't speak, can't do anything except stare up at him with wide eyes as his other hand settles on your waist, warm and solid and pulling you closer.

"I think about this," he whispers, and then his mouth is on yours.

The kiss is…it's…

It's intense. It's consuming. It's the kind of kiss that erases every rational thought from your brain and replaces it with pure, unfiltered sensation. His lips are soft but insistent, moving against yours with a confidence that makes your knees weak. His hand tightens on your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you make a sound against his mouth, something small and breathless and completely involuntary.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead resting against yours, his voice is rough. "You’re what I’ve been looking for my whole life, Y/N. You’re my miracle."

And then his lips are on your neck, trailing fire down to your collarbone, and your head falls back, and his name escapes your mouth in a way you've never said it before-

He kneels before you, his movements fluid and deliberate. His eyes never leave yours as he unzips his jeans, freeing his already hard cock. It stands proud and thick, the tip glistening with pre-cum. He takes your foot in his warm hand, bringing it to his shaft.

"Look what you do to me," he murmurs, his voice husky with desire. He wraps your foot around his length, his thumb pressing against your arch as he begins to move your foot up and down his cock. His eyes flutter closed for a moment, a low groan escaping his lips.

The sensation of his hot skin against your sole sends shivers through your body. You watch, mesmerized, as he uses your foot to pleasure himself, his hips thrusting in rhythm with the movements of your foot. His other hand moves to your ankle, his grip firm but gentle, his fingers stroking your sensitive skin.

His eyes open, locking with yours again, and the intensity in his gaze makes your breath catch. "You're so beautiful," he breathes, his movements becoming faster, more urgent. "You’re perfect the way you are."

His breathing grows ragged, his muscles tensing. With a guttural moan, he comes, his hot release spilling over your foot and his hand. He leans forward, his tongue darting out to taste his own cum from your skin, his movements slow and sensual. He licks your foot clean, his tongue tracing patterns on your arch, between your toes, sending waves of pleasure through your body.

Then he shifts, positioning himself between your legs. He looks up at you, his eyes dark with desire. "I need to taste you," he says, his voice rough with need.

He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties, pulling them down slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. He tosses them aside, then leans in, his breath hot against your most sensitive flesh.

His tongue flicks out, teasing your clit, and you gasp, your hands flying to his hair. He chuckles, the vibration sending another jolt of pleasure through you. "Patience, little mouse," he murmurs against your skin.

His tongue moves in slow, deliberate circles, building your pleasure gradually. He alternates between broad, flat strokes and quick, precise flicks of his tongue against your clit. His fingers join in, one, then two, sliding inside you, curling to hit that spot that makes you cry.

Your hips buck against his face, your breath coming in ragged gasps. "Heeseung," you moan, your fingers tightening in his hair.

He responds with increased enthusiasm, his tongue working faster, his fingers pumping in and out of you. The pressure builds inside you, a coil of pleasure winding tighter and tighter until it snaps.

You come with a cry, your body convulsing as waves of pleasure wash over you. But Heeseung doesn't stop. He continues his assault on your senses, his tongue and fingers working in perfect harmony to bring you to the edge again.

And then you are squirting, your release flooding his mouth and chin as he drinks you in, his movements never faltering. He looks up at you, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he laps up every drop.

When he finally pulls away, his face glistening with your juices, he crawls up your body, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. You can taste yourself on his tongue, and the intimacy of it sends another wave of desire through you.

"Tell me you’re only thinking of me," he whispers against your lips, his hands roaming your body. "and not Jungwon."

You wake up.

You wake up in your dorm room, in your bed, at 7:43 AM on a Tuesday morning, with your heart pounding and your skin flushed, your panties soaked and your sheets twisted around your legs like they've been through a battle.

For a long moment, you just lie there, staring at the ceiling, trying to remember how to breathe.

Did you just… did you just dream about… did Lee Heeseung, the guy you're supposed to be making uninterested in you, the guy you've been trying to avoid and ignore and repel, just star in what can only be described as an extremely obscene dream? The virgin you are just cringed at the memory.

You press your hands to your burning cheeks and let out a sound that is somewhere between a groan and a scream.

"No," you whisper to the empty room. "No, no, no. This isn't, this can't…I don't even like him. I like Jungwon. Jungwon! I've liked Jungwon for four months. I wrote a letter to Jungwon. I have a color-coded mental database of Jungwon's habits. I want to marry Jungwon and have a three-tier wedding cake with wildflowers!"

But your brain, traitorous and unhelpful, keeps replaying fragments of the dream, the way Heeseung's eyes go dark, the way his voice rumbles against your ear, the way his hand feels on your waist, the way his tongue is warm and-

You grab your pillow and press it over your face, screaming into it with all the force your lungs can muster.

This is wrong. This is so, so wrong. You are a Jungwon girl. You've always been a Jungwon girl. You don't think about Heeseung like that. You don't think about Heeseung like anything. Heeseung is an obstacle. Heeseung is a problem to be solved. Heeseung is the guy you're actively trying to repel, not the guy who shows up in your subconscious and does things that make you blush in the privacy of your own bed.

"I'm a psychopath," you say to your pillow. "I'm a complete and utter psychopath. Who dreams about this with a guy they're supposed to be making uninterested? A psychopath, that's who. A deranged lunatic. A person with a broken brain."

Your pillow, predictably, does not respond.

You drag yourself out of bed and into the bathroom, splashing cold water on your face and avoiding your own reflection in the mirror. You don't want to look at yourself. You don't want to see the evidence of the dream still lingering in your flushed cheeks…and between your legs.

This is a problem. This is a Major Problem with capital letters and possibly a warning siren. You can't afford to be having dreams about Lee Heeseung. You can't afford to be thinking about Lee Heeseung at all. Your entire strategy, Operation Make Heeseung Uninterested depends on you being able to keep a clear head and a steady heart, and neither of those things is going to be possible if your subconscious keeps ambushing you with extremely vivid, extremely inappropriate content.

You need to talk to Yunjin. Immediately. Before your brain can conjure up any more unauthorized imagery.

But as you grab your phone and type out a frantic message, EMERGENCY MEETING REQUIRED IMMEDIATELY CODE RED REPEAT CODE RED, you can't quite shake the lingering sensation from the dream.

The way Heeseung's thumb traces along your jawline.

The way he calls you little mouse in that low, rumbling voice.

The way he says you were perfect the way you were like he means it, like it's true, like he's been into you his whole life and hasn't even known it.

You shake your head violently, flinging droplets of water across the bathroom mirror.

"Nope," you say out loud. "Nope, nope, nope. We're not doing this. We're not thinking about this. We're going to go to class and eat lunch and avoid all tall informatics students, and we're going to get our brain back on the Jungwon track where it belongs."

But even as you say it, even as you try to mean it, a small, treacherous part of you wonders if maybe, just maybe, the Jungwon track isn't the only track worth following anymore.

You shove that thought into a mental box, lock it, and throw away the key.

You have a plan. You have a strategy. You are going to make Heeseung uninterested, and you are going to figure out a way to untangle the misunderstanding, and you are going to end up with Jungwon like you were always supposed to.

The dream is just a dream. It doesn't mean anything. It can't mean anything.

You refuse to let it mean anything.

(But when you catch yourself glancing toward the informatics building on your way to class, you walk a little faster, and you definitely, absolutely, one hundred percent do not wonder what Lee Heeseung is doing right now.)

—————

The dream haunts you for three days.

Not in a supernatural, ghost-in-the-corner kind of way. More in an I-can't-make-eye-contact-with-my-own-reflection kind of way. Every time you close your eyes, fragments of it flicker behind your eyelids like a movie you hadn't asked to watch. The dark PC room. The way Heeseung's voice drops to a rumble. The phantom sensation of his tongue on your clit, his hand on your ankle, his look-

You physically convulse every time the memory resurfaces, which is approximately every forty-five minutes. Your philosophy notes become a graveyard of distracted doodles, half of which look suspiciously like the curve of someone's jaw. You have to throw away an entire page because you accidentally write "little mouse" in the margin instead of "moral relativism."

Yunjin is no help whatsoever.

"So you had a wet dream about the hot guy who you’re supposedly getting bored of," she says over bubble tea the day after the incident, her expression thoroughly unimpressed. "This is a problem because…?"

"Because I don't like him, Yunjin! I like Jungwon! I've liked Jungwon since midterms! Jungwon is the goal! Jungwon is the three-tier wedding cake!"

"And Heeseung is…?"

"A temporary obstacle! A misunderstanding with legs! A very tall, very inconvenient plot twist!"

Yunjin sucks on her tapioca pearls with the air of a therapist who has heard it all before and is no longer surprised by anything. "You know what they say about protesting too much."

"I am not protesting too much. I am protesting exactly the right amount. I am protesting a perfectly calibrated quantity."

"Sure." She pats your hand with condescending sympathy. "Whatever helps you sleep at night. Oh wait-"

You throw a tapioca pearl at her face. It sticks to her cheek for a solid three seconds before falling off, and the look of absolute betrayal on her face is the only bright spot in your otherwise nightmare-plagued week.

But now it's Thursday. Thursday, 2:15 PM. You're stationed in the science building's main hallway, crouched behind a bulletin board that is absolutely not wide enough to hide your entire body, waiting for the coast to clear so you can sprint to your next class without encountering any tall informatics students.

Your system has evolved since the early days of the crisis. You now have a color-coded schedule of Heeseung's known movements, courtesy of some light reconnaissance work that Yunjin calls "stalking" and you call "strategic intelligence gathering." You know his class schedule. You know his preferred study spots. You know that he tends to grab coffee from the campus café at exactly 3 PM on Tuesdays and Thursdays, which means the science building hallway should, theoretically, be a Heeseung-free zone at 2:15.

Theoretically.

You're just about to make your move, a quick dash to the stairwell, then up two flights, then a straight shot to classroom 307, when you hear it.

"Hey, is Y/N L/N in there?"

Your blood freezes. Your muscles lock. Your soul briefly departs your body and then slams back into it with force.

That's Heeseung's voice. That's unmistakably, undeniably, catastrophically Lee Heeseung's voice, and it's coming from approximately ten feet to your left, where the door to your department's main office stands open.

You press yourself harder against the bulletin board, praying for invisibility, praying for a sudden power outage, praying for the ground to open up and swallow you into its merciful embrace. None of these things happen. Instead, you hear the department secretary respond with cheerful obliviousness.

"Y/N L/N? First year, STEM? I think I saw her in the hallway just a minute ago. Let me check, oh, there she is! Y/N! You have a visitor!"

The secretary is pointing directly at your bulletin board. Your bulletin board that is not hiding you at all. Your bulletin board that is, in fact, leaving approximately seventy percent of your body completely visible to anyone who happens to look in that direction.

Heeseung turns.

Your eyes meet.

Time stops.

There are moments in life that feel like they stretch into eternity, moments so profoundly awkward, so cosmically embarrassing, that the universe itself seems to pause and take notice. This is one of those moments. You are frozen in a half-crouch behind a bulletin board, your backpack dangling from one shoulder, your hair escaping from the ponytail you threw it into this morning, your expression one of pure, unfiltered terror. Heeseung is standing in the doorway of the department office, looking unfairly attractive in a simple black hoodie and jeans, his eyebrows rising slowly toward his hairline.

A small crowd of students has paused in the hallway to watch. You can feel their eyes on you like a physical weight. Someone whispers something to their friend. Someone else pulls out their phone.

You are going to die. You are going to perish right here in the science building hallway, and your ghost will be doomed to haunt this bulletin board for all eternity.

"Y/N?" Heeseung's voice is a mixture of confusion and amusement. He takes a step toward you, and you instinctively take a step back, which results in you bumping directly into the bulletin board and causing several flyers to flutter dramatically to the ground. "Were you… hiding behind that?"

"No," you say, too quickly. "No, I was…I dropped something. A contact lens. I was looking for my contact lens."

"You don't wear contacts."

"I might! You don't know my life!"

"Your glasses are literally on your face right now."

You reach up and touch your glasses, which are indeed sitting on your nose, clearly visible, doing their job of correcting your vision. You have no response to this. There is no response to this. You have been caught in a lie so transparent it's essentially a window.

Heeseung's lips twitch. "You know, most people who have a crush on me don't run away and hide behind furniture. This is very confusing for my ego."

The crowd is still watching. Why is the crowd still watching? Don't they have classes to go to? Midterms to study for? Lives to live that don't involve spectating your public humiliation?

"I wasn't hiding from you specifically," you say, because apparently your mouth has decided to operate independently from your brain. "I was hiding from… the sun. It's very bright in here. I'm photosensitive."

"You're a STEM student hiding from the sun in a basement hallway with no windows," Heeseung says slowly. "That's… a new one."

"It's a medical condition. It's very serious. My doctor says I need to avoid direct fluorescent lighting."

"The fluorescent lighting is what's getting you."

"Absolutely. It's my greatest enemy. Well, second greatest. After-" You stop yourself before you can say after incredibly hot informatics students who keep appearing in my life like a recurring nightmare.

Heeseung waits. When you don't finish the sentence, that smile, the one that's definitely a smirk's second cousin, maybe even its first cousin at this point, spreads across his face.

"Well," he says, "now that I've found you and dragged you out of the shadows, literally, I was wondering if you wanted to grab coffee. With me. Right now."

Every single person in the hallway is looking at you. The secretary is looking at you from the office doorway, her expression one of grandmotherly delight at what she clearly perceives as a romantic overture. The students who stopped to watch are exchanging glances and whispers. One girl gives you an encouraging thumbs up.

You are trapped. You are cornered. You are a mouse being offered coffee by a very tall, very persistent cat.

And just like every other time Heeseung has put you on the spot, you open your mouth and the wrong words come out.

"I love coffee," you say. "Coffee is my favorite liquid. After water. And possibly juice. But it's definitely in the top three."

"Is that a yes?"

"…Yes."

Heeseung's smile widens. "Great. Let's go."

[janiary]

Second Law — s.jy x f!reader

summary — Girls don't talk to Jake. But you did. The day you slid into the seat beside him in class, like you'd chosen him, his world tilted on its axis. Though, you only ever seem to text him when assignments are due, and he just can't bring himself to stop answering.

18+ mdni ⚠︎ smut with plot, humour, mild angst, fluff if you squint, college au, nerd!Jake x popular!fem!Reader, Jake pov, extremely sad and pathetic Jake, pining/yearning, "omg he took off his glasses and he's hot now" trope, unrequited feelings but complicated, slowburn, thermodynamics as metaphor, toxic relationships, moral decline, morally grey characters, emotional manipulation, transactional sexual relationships, power reversal, public humiliation, blackmail, misogynistic themes and language, toxic masculinity, power dynamics, planned revenge, ambiguous ending, awkward boners, premature ejaculation, loss of virginity, oral sex (m and f), p in v sex, mild praise kink, degradation, dom/sub undertones, verbal consent but sexual coercion (negotiated under durress), multiple orgasms, hair-pulling, begging, protected sex, everyone in this fic is genuinely a piece of shit!!! FEAT. hyung line as roommates

wc — 18.9k

a/n — i got the idea to write something extremely pathetic and Jake was the first person that came to mind. something about him screams unfortunate (i say this with love). this is a scheduled post so if you see this i'm in an exam right now please pray for me.

There are very few things out there that Jake can't figure out. The universe runs on rules, after all, and he'd spent his whole life studying them. From theoretical mathematics to quantum physics, there was never a problem he couldn't solve, never an equation that failed to make sense.

So, it kind of throws him off completely when you—all pretty, soft-looking, and sweet-smelling—plant yourself right next to him on the first day of his thermodynamics lecture. One, because how has he never seen you before? Two, because girls like you don't talk to him. Or smile at him. Or ask for his name while leaning in that close like you actually care to know it.

He tries to look straight ahead, holding his breath, hanging onto every word that leaves the professor's mouth as if he doesn't have the entire textbook memorized already. All that, just to distract himself from you. It doesn't work, though, the messy chalk writing blurring in his vision as his mind drifts.

Sure, it's a bit strange that you sat next to him when other seats were clearly open... but you probably only sat there because it's the spot with the clearest view of the board, right? That's why he chose it, anyway.

Then, you're tapping his shoulder, two fingers pressing into the fabric of his hoodie ever so lightly. He nearly jumps out of his skin as his eyes snap to you, seeing you lean in close enough to make his heart skip a beat.

"Hey," your voice is just above a whisper, and with the quirk of your brow, you ask him, "Do you understand, like, anything he's saying right now?"

Of course, he understands. He knows this subject like the back of his hand. He could probably explain it in his sleep. And yet when he tries to speak... nothing.

His mouth hangs open for half a second, eyes fleeting from you, back to the board, back to you again, then down—eyes up, Jake—then up. He blinks, and finally he manages something.

"Yeah, uh—it's just the second law stuff. Entropy increasing over time," he drags a hand through his hair, trying to smooth down the mop of messy brown strands that refused to stay put.

Now he wishes he'd spent more than thirty seconds getting ready this morning instead of rolling out of bed in his old high school mathletes hoodie.

"It's basically like... systems move toward disorder unless you put energy into keeping them organized, so—"

You laugh, a small teasing smile on your lips.

"You sure know your stuff, huh?"

"I just looked over the textbook during the winter break," he replies, a little less distressed this time. "Tried to get a head start. Don't wanna fall behind or anything."

Slowly, he feels less guarded, seeing how you don't scoff at him or roll your eyes or do any of the things he'd expect you to. Instead, you watch him—and not the passive kind that some people do when they're bored and have nothing else to do, but like, you're really watching like you're kind of, maybe, possibly... impressed? That's new. The thought alone has a warmth blooming in his chest.

"You studied before the class even started?" Your smile grows wider, amused, but not mean.

She's not being mean.

He lets out a laugh, half-relieved, though still half-embarrassed at how you're realizing that he's checking every stereotype in the box.

"Yeah, I get it, I'm a nerd," he waves it off, looking away self-consciously, "or a loser, or whatever you wanna call—"

"You're adorable, actually," you cut him off. Your knee brushes his under the desk, lingering just a moment before you're tucking your legs back in. Still, he feels the ghost of your touch, his ears turning red. "Guess I'm pretty lucky that I sat down next to you, aren't I?"

The fluorescent lights of the lecture hall usually make everyone look cold and stale. But to him, you're something else entirely—a star collapsing inward, and he's already slipping into orbit. Even if he knew how to calculate the escape velocity, he isn’t sure that he wants to.

You don't make sense. Though he thinks even if he tried to pull you apart and figure you out, his logic would slip somewhere along the way. How could anyone be expected to form a cohesive thought when lost between the sound of your voice and your pretty eyes which follow him like he's the most interesting thing in the room?

You: heyy :) You: did you finish the thermo assignment yet?

It's late on a Sunday evening when you first message him, phone buzzing on his nightstand just when he's about to turn off his lamp and cozy up in the sheets of his twin-sized bed.

He stares at the notification for a good second, heart skipping a beat as he reaches for his glasses. He reads it a second time and pauses. He waits five minutes—long enough to seem like he's not desperate (but he is) yet short enough to show he's not ignoring you. At least, that's what Heeseung does when he texts girls, and he's at least moderately successful.

Jake: finished last week

I-T... W-A-S... E-A-S-Y...

He starts typing, deletes. Then retypes.

Jake: wasn't too bad Jake: you? You: wow ok smarty pants

He smiles, a blush creeping to his cheeks.

You: [sent an image] You: im struggling so bad You: worried i wont finish on time :(

He swallows hard when he opens the image.

A selfie, your zip-up hoodie slipping down one shoulder, your tank top strap exposed, your textbook open in front of you. Your pouty face is highlighted by the blue light of your laptop, the rest of your room dimly lit.

Respectfully, as if you were in the room watching over him, he feels the urge to avert his gaze away from your face, and the skin you're revealing, instead looking to the background.

In the dim light, he spots an array of polaroid pictures on your wall—you with other girls at what looks like a party, you laughing with people he doesn't recognize. You're cool. Socially competent, clearly. You have a life. Yet you're here, texting him on a weekend night, sending him pictures.

He then returns to you, the subject of the image, and whatever respect he had been mentally trying to maintain only seconds ago is suddenly lost on him. His eyes drag over every sliver of exposed skin, however slight, practically drooling as he follows where the shadow dips just above the neckline of your top.

You look pretty. Tired, a little frustrated, and very, very, painfully pretty. Like, his head is going to explode kind of pretty. And from scribbles in your notebook, you don't appear to be anywhere close to finished. His heart thumps in his chest, followed by an ache.

That assignment is due tonight. There's no way you could finish it all now, even if you rushed for it. Unless...

Jake: [sent Assignment_1.pdf] Jake: here Jake: just change the answers a bit :) You: omg youre actually the best!! You: idk what id do without you You: tysm jake <3

He literally has to resist the urge to kick his feet and giggle, grinning like the biggest idiot as your messages come through.

Jake: it’s nothing haha Jake: happy to help You: youre actually so smart it's kind of unfair You: wish i had you in all my classes lol You: literally my hero <3

He's blushing to himself, biting his lip, and he rolls over onto his back, head against the pillow. His fingers tremble over the screen for a second before scrolling up. He rereads the exchange. Reflects. Analyzes.

Those emojis mean something, right? You didn't have to add a heart, but you did. Then there's the way you smile at him and touch him in class—that has to mean something. Girls don't go around just touching anyone, especially not him, but you do. You sat next to him. You're nice to him. And you asked him for help. You chose him.

With a newfound confidence, he's typing out his next message and clicking 'send' before he can give himself the chance to second-guess it.

The worst she can say is "no," right?

Jake: i could help you study for your other classes? Jake: if you want sent 3 weeks ago Jake: or not haha Jake: no pressure sent 2 weeks ago Jake: sorry if that was weird... sent 1 week ago Jake: hey! Jake: noticed you haven't been to class for a while Jake: you ok?

Three weeks go by like that. Every time his phone buzzes, his hand is on it before he even realizes he's moved, only to find what he already knows: that it isn't you. It never is. He starts keeping it face up on his desk when he studies. Sleeps with it on his pillow some nights, just in case.

It's stupid. It's embarrassing. He knows it is.

Maybe he shouldn't have said anything. You probably get messages like that all the time—from guys like him who think a smile means more than what it is. You're probably used to it. Of course, you'd think he's a weirdo. Or a creep. Or both. Probably both.

"Seriously, Jake, just move on already," Sunghoon says, not even looking at him, thumbs mashing into the buttons of his controller. He then slumps back in defeat when Jay is crowned winner for the third Smash Bros game in a row, "Fuck!"

Jake shifts on the couch, controller untouched at his side, phone in his hand instead.

He lounges in the living room along with his other three roommates, two empty boxes of pizza on the floor because they insist they'll eventually buy a coffee table for their "living room". Though it's been almost a year since they signed the lease and the room was still empty save for the couch and TV.

"When did you get so dogshit at this game?" Heeseung snorts at Sunghoon as he aims to throw his pizza crust in the empty box. It narrowly misses, rolling onto the floor instead. He dusts the crumbs off his hands, then turns to Jake, "But yeah, man. He's right. Rejection hurts, but it happens."

"You would know all about rejection, wouldn't you?" Jay mutters, about to take a sip of his drink, before he ducks his head, dodging the empty can Heeseung tries to throw at his face.

"She didn't even reject me though," Jake tries, quieter this time, "She just disappeared—"

"Which means she doesn't want you," Sunghoon says all too quickly, almost impatient. He nudges Jay, lowering his voice, "Can you believe this guy has a 4.0 GPA and still can't understand women?"

Jay laughs under his breath, and the two start to snicker.

Jake swallows, scrolling up to stare at the selfie you shared with him all those weeks ago. He thinks back on your laugh. Your smile. The way you used to sit with him in class. He misses your face, your voice.... He misses you.

"Listen, man. You put yourself out there, and I'm proud of you. We all are, right?" Heeseung starts, and Sunghoon and Jay nod their heads along mindlessly, only half listening as they argue over what map to choose next. He then brings a hand to his back, patting it a couple of times, and Jake winces from the impact, "But she's definitely not texting you back. Like. Ever."

Jake takes one final look at his screen before sighing.

"Guess not."

He closes the phone, eyes turning back to the game on the TV, not quite ready to accept what he thinks is the truth: that you were just being friendly and he misinterpreted the whole thing and ruined something good, but he knows there's no point in dwelling on it any longer.

"Aw, come on. Look on the bright side," Heeseung continues, "At least you got a cute picture out of it. Can never go wrong with good fap material, right?"

Before Jake can scoff it off and pretend like he definitely hasn't thought about that, his phone pings. And just like that, all eyes stop to turn to him, and where his phone lies face up in his lap.

Jay and Heeseung scoot closer on the couch, and Sunghoon nearly trips over one of the pizza boxes, stumbling over himself just to glance over Jake's shoulder.

You: heyy You: sorry i didnt reply i was super busy :( You: have you started assignment 2 yet? read at 9:13pm

"Oh."

"Oh, my god."

"Oh, hell no," Sunghoon gapes, "This bitch is evil."

"She's using you for schoolwork," Jay scoffs, "That's even worse than the friendzone, holy shit."

"You've been calculator-zoned," Heeseung shakes his head, "Absolutely brutal."

Jake's thumb hovers over the keyboard. The room feels too small, the weight of his three roommates' judgmental gaze almost suffocating as they lean over him—the smell of someone who definitely forgot to wear deodorant also suffocating, but he's not about to play detective to figure out which one of them it is.

"What are you gonna say?" Sunghoon demands, jabbing a finger toward the screen. "Tell her to fuck off."

"No, don't do that," Jay interjects, "Just ignore her. Leave her on read for, like, a month. Make her feel what you felt."

"Jakey, my man. Don't give in," Heeseung shakes his head, "To her, you’re just a warm body with a brain and enough desperation to do her work for free."

But Jake isn't listening. He's looking at the three little dots that appear, then vanish, then appear again at the bottom of the chat window. You're typing, and the thought alone sends a jolt through him, a stupid, pathetic little flutter that overrides his rationality. He wants to know what you're going to say. He needs to know.

You: helloooo? :( You: [sent an image] read at 9:22pm

Jake opens the image, another selfie. Seems like you're really trying to impress him more this time, seeing how the angle reveals just a little bit more, your pen pressed to your lower lip, looking so kissable and soft and everything he yearns for. But he knows better. It's not enough to entice him.

It is enough to make him screenshot it, though.

"Bro, seriously?" Sunghoon deadpans, as if he isn't also staring.

"Just safekeeping," Jake mutters, avoiding his glare, "She's hot, okay?"

"Shit. I take back what I said. Become her human study guide, and lemme see more of that," Heeseung whistles, trying to take the phone, but Jake yanks it away from his grabby hands, "Come on, I'll do your dishes next week if you share."

"You don't even do your own dishes, dumbass," Jay shoots back, noticing how Jake's thumb hovers over the keyboard.

In an instant, he snatches the device from him, and the three boys groan, outstretched arms trying to reach for it back. He doesn't spare a single glance as he types back.

Jake: yeah i finished it. You: really? You: uhg i wish I had your brain You: i'm so lost :( Jake: oh. Jake: thats too bad. Jake: good luck.

He throws it back into Jake's lap.

"There," Jay declares, crossing his arms. "Dignity. Intact."

"Jay, you fucking idiot," Heeseung groans, "We could've secured way more pics."

"You can find tits online if you're so desperate to jerk off," Jay retorts, slumping back down into the couch, "We're not letting our friend get taken advantage of by some campus slut."

Jake looks at the phone. He knows, deep down, Jay is right. The tiny, rational part of his brain that isn't currently short-circuited by the ghost of your knee against his agrees.

Then, the three dots appear again. And vanish. Then appear again, staying for a long, long time. All of them watch at the edge of their seat.

You: wanna come over and help me? ;)

Jake's breath catches in his throat.

"Oh, she's good," Sunghoon whispers, a grudging respect in his tone. "She's really good."

"Yeah, but she can't get our Jakey," Jay adds, a smugness in his tone, "Sure, he looks a little desperate and pathetic, and like he’s never felt the touch of a woman, but little does she know that he's way too smart for—"

Jake's thumb moves quick.

Jake: sure

The room is dead silent for a moment.

"Dude," Heeseung stares at him, mouth slightly open. "I mean, like—not that I'm one to judge but what the fuck?"

"Don't look at me like that," Jake gulps, already grabbing his hoodie from the arm of the couch, "What do you expect me to do! Say no?"

"Man," Jay laughs dryly, shaking his head. "You have to be shitting me."

Sunghoon falls back against the couch cushions, hands over his face.

"She just wants help this time. Not answers," Jake continues to explain, slipping his arms through the hoodie sleeves. "It'll be different."

"Jake..." Heeseung stands, eyeing his friend. His hands move to his shoulders, staring him dead in the eyes, "You're gonna come back here at two in the morning, heartbroken and blue-balled, and eat the leftover pizza crusts off the floor."

"You don't know that—"

"Bro." Sunghoon glares. "Yes, we do. We all know it. Even the pizza boxes know it."

He should stop. He knows it. You've given him zero reasons to defend you like this, but maybe he's tired of being logical. Maybe, for once, he just wants to feel something.

"You don't know her," he says firmly, "We don't know her. I mean. What if she really was busy, you know?"

Heeseung sighs, long and winded. And though he's shaking his head, he helps zip up his hoodie, like a mother sending off her kid to school. He spares a glance back at Sunghoon and Jay, who seem to share the same look in their eyes: pitying, a little disappointed, but resigned to the inevitable.

He returns his gaze to Jake, a hand coming up to pat his head, ruffling his already messy hair.

"Just… try not to get eaten alive, okay?"

He finds your place easily enough—another student housing unit, like his, with a porch that creaks under his weight, and a railing that's falling apart. Somewhere down the block, someone's partying, the bass a little too loud, and yet it's still not enough to drown out the sound of his heart thumping against his chest as he knocks on your door. He wipes a sweaty palm on his jeans, mentally rehearsing what he'll say. Though his mind goes completely blank when the door swings open.

So yeah. That's how he finds himself in your room, the assignment questions open on his laptop, sitting at the very edge of the bed. Meanwhile, you move about, apologizing for the mess and explaining something about your roommates being gone while picking up piles of clothes from the floor and shoving them into the laundry hamper at the corner of your room.

He swallows hard when the bed dips next to him under your weight, and he finds himself sitting upright, stiffly, like the hammock of plushies in the corner is judging him, watching his every move.

Your legs are bare beside him, wearing shorts that barely cover anything, close enough that if he shifted even a few centimetres, his knee would brush your thigh. Your tank top has one of those necklines that dips when you lean forward, which you're doing right now, peering at his screen.

"So," you say, "Where do we start?"

The fairy lights catch the curve of your shoulder, and he notes how your skin looks warm. Soft. It probably feels that way, too, doesn't it?

It takes a moment to find his words.

"I'll walk you through it," he starts, clearing his throat, "It's not bad once you get it. I swear."

"Okay," you reply with an innocent smile.

He reaches for the notebook in your grasp.

"May I?"

"Mhm," your grip loosens, and he plucks it from your hands, along with the pen. The same pen he remembers being pressed to your lips in that one photo.

Focus, Jake.

"Alright, this part," he gestures to the equation on his screen, flipping for a clean page in your very disorganized, doodle-filled notebook. "It's the same thing from last time. You just—"

His mind goes blank as you angle yourself just a bit closer, squinting your eyes at the page, and he sucks in a breath when your knee presses against his. You don't move it.

"—You just rearrange it like this," he finishes, quickly scribbling it out step by step. "Then plug it back in. Makes sense?"

"Hm," a hum escapes your lips, sounding almost breathy and whiny as you ponder the page, making him think of things he definitely shouldn't, "...I think I get it."

"Try it," he smiles, handing the pen and notebook back.

A second passes, pen tapping your chin slightly as you stare. Then blink. Then furrow your brows together.

"Actually... I don't get it."

"Okay," he nods slowly, determination not yet shaken, "Well, look, it's the same thing, you just have to—"

"Can you show me one more time?" You look at him, wide-eyed. Confused. Helpless. Your tank top strap slips off your shoulder just a bit, and his eyes follow the movement as you reach to adjust it. "Please?"

As if he's on autopilot, he takes the notebook back from you, nodding wordlessly as he writes the question for you.

He tries the same thing with the next question. Writing up a nearly identical example and solution in clear, detailed steps, explaining as best he can. But he freezes when he feels your hand on him, looking over his shoulder.

"Sorry, I just see better this way," you say so casually, like it's nothing, like he isn't losing his goddamn mind. You're then pointing, "Why does that happen?"

"Oh... because of the negative sign. So when you move it over—"

"I'm so bad at this," you sigh, voice close to his ear, "I don't even know what I'm doing."

There’s a tug at his heart.

"You're not bad!" He says almost automatically, "Not at all. Don't say that. You just need more practice."

"You think?" You ask, your hand sliding down his shoulder, until your careful fingers reach the sleeve of his hoodie. Fiddling with it, absentmindedly, you continue, "You're really patient, you know that?"

"I... I mean, I—"

"Most people would've given up by now. But not you," you whisper, "You're good to me, aren't you?"

"I try my best," he stammers out in a nervous laugh, trying not to malfunction. He taps his pen against the notebook, "How about you try the next—"

"Jake," you sigh again, though it sounds more like a whimper in his ear as your chin rests against his shoulder, "Can we just... do this one together?"

He nods, enjoying the feeling of you pressed against him too much to bother passing the notebook back to you anymore.

It's faster this way anyway, right? That's what he tells himself as he does the rest of your assignment. He can always explain it after. You'll get it once it's done.

"Really, you're the best, Jake," you repeat for what must've been the fifth time that night as he clicks the 'submit' button.

For a while now, you've been lying back against your pillows, smiling at your phone while he works, occasionally moving to watch him or leave some kind of commentary, and his roommates' warnings began to echo in his mind. Especially as he's folding up his laptop, shoving it to the side, watching you from the corner of his eye. He can't see your screen, but your hands move like you're texting someone. That thought alone makes him want to crawl into a hole somewhere and die.

"It's nothing..." his voice comes out too quiet.

Your gaze shoots up, expression changing in seconds.

"Oh, but it's not nothing!" you reply, tucking your phone. "I seriously feel like such a jerk for ghosting you! I'm sorry. I'm just so bad at texting."

Before he can process it, you're sitting up, on your knees, scooting a bit closer. Too close.

"Really, it's—"

"And doing all of this for me... You work so hard."

Your hand lands on his shoulder, gentle but firm enough that he doesn't think to resist, and you pull him back. His head hits the mattress softer than he expected.

You come into view, sitting up now, face above his. He doesn't know where to look, your eyes, your lips... definitely not where your tank top hangs low, revealing way more than you probably realize. He opts to stare at the ceiling instead. Then your face. But your face is too pretty to stare at for too long without making him nervous, so he looks anywhere else.

"You must be tired, huh?"

He's not quite sure how to even process what's happening, so he mindlessly nods.

"Poor thing," you coo, and the way you say it, soft and almost sweet, makes his chest ache, a warmth blooming in it. "I'm really happy you showed up. Actually, I was kinda nervous to ask. Thought you might be busy. Or that you'd hate me."

There's another pause as you stare down—waiting, watching with your brows furrowed in worry, lips pulled into a pout.

"Do you hate me, Jake?"

"Hate you? No. No, no, no," He's shaking his head profusely, the words tumbling out too fast. "Life gets in the way sometimes. I get it."

He should have a harder time believing it, given that he's seen you posting on your social media everyday, videos and photos from parties he'd never be invited to in a million years.

Still, how could he ever hate you when you're letting him lie down on your bed like this, looking at him like that? The memories of hurt from weeks of radio silence practically melt away like it was never even there to begin with.

"You can ask me anytime. Always. I'm free whenever."

"Whenever?" You tilt your head, mildly amused.

He swallows, mentally scolding himself as you reach for the strings of his hoodie, toying with the ends of it absentmindedly.

Come on, Jake. At least pretend like you have a life.

"Well. Not always, whenever but, I'm not busy on weekends, unless..." unless I'm playing Smash Bros with my other loser roommates. Yeah, genius. That will really impress her. "Unless I'm... studying or something."

"Is that all you do? Study?"

"I, uh..." he thinks, "I go to the gym. Sometimes."

He looks at you, searching for a reaction.

"Mm." You hum, and he swears he's going to have a heart attack when he feels your hand slide up the sleeve of his arm, firmly grasping his bicep. You barely squeeze, just once, and your hand then quickly slips away. "I can tell."

What the hell.

He gapes.

What the actual hell.

"Your girlfriend must like that."

"Girlfriend?"

"You don't have a girl?" You raise a brow.

"No—I mean—no."

"Oh?" You tilt your head, curiously, "But you talk to girls, right?"

"I'm just... I study a lot so..."

"So I have you all to myself, then?" You smile, "That's good to know."

You hum, blinking at him. Suddenly, you're reaching for his hair. He literally has no idea what the fuck is happening or how it happened, but your fingers are now in his hair, raking through it slowly. And when he feels you gently scratch at his scalp, his eyes almost close, biting down on his lip just to stop himself from making god knows what kind of pathetic noise he would've.

This isn't normal. Girls don't just do this—not to just anyone... right? He has no idea. All he knows is that he's getting embarrassingly flustered, and increasingly worried that he's misinterpreting everything all over again. It all blurs together in a messy, dizzying spiral of infatuation and anxiety.

"Do you talk to guys?"

It sounded more casual in his head. Now, it sounds stupid coming out of his mouth.

"Why?" You tilt your head, grinning, and he gulps, "You trying to see if I have a boyfriend, or something?"

"No! Just you asked, so I thought I'd ask, too. So—"

"Kidding," you sing-song, a soft laugh escaping you, "I don't really take that stuff seriously, you know?"

Jake nods, like he understands what that means. He thinks it means you at least don't have a boyfriend, which is reassuring enough. For now.

Though he can't really think anything at all, actually, because suddenly, he's panicking over a much larger problem than the thought of you talking to other guys. Your fingers, still working at his scalp, slow and deliberate, start to build a familiar heat inside him, and not the innocent kind.

Stop. Think about something else. Thermodynamics. The quadratic formula. Jay’s morning breath. Literally anything—

You graze a particular spot just behind his ear, and his whole body betrays him. He feels it immediately—a rush of need, a tightening in his jeans that he cannot under any circumstances let you notice.

He sits up so fast his vision blurs, back snapping straight.

"You okay?" Your hand hovers in the air where his head used to be.

"Bathroom," he stammers, already scrambling off the bed, nearly tripping over himself, "Um. Where's the bathroom?"

You point him down the hall.

After a good few minutes of splashing his face with cold water and thinking the unsexiest thoughts he could think of, he's calmed down enough that it's unnoticeable.

But unfortunately, when he's out, you're already guiding him to the front door, talking about some eight a.m. lecture tomorrow.

He nods along, trying to focus on tying his sneakers instead of the way you're leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching him.

He finishes the second knot after fumbling with it for longer than he should've and stands up, brushing off his jeans.

Alright, Jake, this is it.

"So, um, hey," he starts, hesitantly. "Would you want to hang out sometime? Not for school stuff. Maybe... like... go see a movie, or something?"

He watches you carefully. Holding his breath. Waiting for what feels like forever.

"Sounds fun!" You smile.

The words ring in his ears the whole walk home, smiling so wide his cheeks hurt, so stupidly infatuated and lovestruck by you that he barely registers the cold breeze that cuts through his sweater.

He wastes no time plopping down on his couch to tell his roommates about his new date plans, feeling on top of the world when their concerned expressions shift into grins—cheering him and patting him on the back before quickly devising his next move;

"Ask her what movie," Jay insists.

"What? No. That's way too passive," Sunghoon rolls his eyes, "Tell her what movie. Girls like it when guys are decisive."

"And make it a horror movie," Heeseung adds, nodding in agreement, "She'll get all scared and cling to you. Trust me, man."

"That's such a cliché."

"Cliché, but it works."

His roommates keep arguing—something about jump scares versus psychological thrillers, about whether first dates should even be movies at all, but Jake stops listening. He's staring at his phone, thumbs hovering over the keyboard.

Jake: does friday or saturday work?

He waits.

And waits.

And waits...

"I don't get it," Jake frowns, staring at the unread messages on his phone. The screen glows in the dim kitchen light, the last message he sent still hanging there, no reply.

"She said she wanted to hang out again," he continues, more to himself than anyone else. "She said, 'Sounds fun!' She even smiled when she said it."

His roommates are scattered around the kitchen like they normally are post-dinner, with Sunghoon and Jay fighting over whose turn it is to do the dishes. Meanwhile, Heeseung scarfs down his third bowl of cereal, like he hadn't just devoured a full plate of food less than an hour ago.

"No offence, but like... are you really asking that?" Heeseung doesn't even look up. Just raises the bowl to his lips and gulps down the remaining milk, dribbling a little down his chin.

Jake blinks.

"She's playing you," Jay adds, turning off the running water at the sink, sponge in one hand and a plate in the other. From that, Jake gathers he lost the dish war. "And it's working. Clearly."

"But—"

"She ghosted you for three weeks," Sunghoon cuts in, drying his hands on a dish towel. "Hit you up when she needed homework help. Then ghosted you again the second you asked her out. What part of this says 'interested' to you?"

Jake opens his mouth, then closes it again, looking back at his phone, and Sunghoon's already plucking the device from his hands before he can even consider double texting. He closes the phone, laying it face down on the kitchen table, and presses his palm flat against it like he's putting down a verdict.

"Listen, you really wanna give this homework-stealing attention whore even more attention?" He frowns, "She doesn't deserve another word from you."

His words make Jake wince a little, the pathetic urge to defend you still lingering, but he doesn't say anything. He knows what it looks like.

Heeseung sets his empty bowl down with a clink, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He leans against the counter, arms crossed, studying Jake.

"Why are you so attached anyway?" He raises his brow, "Like sure, she's hot, but did you even, you know... get any action?"

"I mean."

The kitchen goes quiet, and Jake feels a heat creep up his neck. He looks down at the table, recalling his time with you last week.

"She played with my hair."

There's a pause.

"...the fuck?" Heeseung finally says.

"Like, head scratches. You know?" Jake can feel how stupid it sounds even as he says it, but he keeps explaining, as if it will make it sound any better, "She was saying all these things, and talking, and running her fingers through it. It was nice. It was—"

"Bro," Heeseung cuts him off with a laugh—not a mean one, but something close to it, "She pet you."

"Like a dog." Sunghoon grins.

"Did you start kicking your leg when she scratched behind your ears?" Jay snickers.

"Did she call you a good boy for doing her homework?"

The three of them burst into laughter. Sunghoon has to brace himself against the table, and Jay doubles over, gripping the counter. Heeseung is just shaking his head, grinning, like Jake is the saddest thing he's ever seen.

Jake flushes.

"Guys, come on—"

"Listen, Jakey," Heeseung's voice softens, "You do realize what this is, right? She uses you for your brain, then forgets you exist until she needs you again. And like a stupid, loyal mutt, you keep running back to an owner who doesn't reward you with any treats."

"I know it looks like that, but you weren't there," Jake shrinks in his chair, pulling his hoodie sleeves over his hands, "She was talking to me. For real. Like. Touching me and—"

"And she didn't text you back," Sunghoon states. There's no bite to it. No malicious intent. Just that. That's what it is, after all.

The truth of it hurts more than he expects, maybe because deep down he knows it already. His throat tightens, and he stares down so that none of them can see how his eyes get glossy.

He just thought that maybe this was it. That maybe, for the first time, someone actually liked him. Is he really so wrong for wanting to believe that?

The kitchen is quiet now. Jay has gone back to washing dishes, but slower, quieter and Sunghoon joins him, pretending to be interested in dishes to avoid addressing the emotional tension in the room.

Heeseung is the only one who still watches Jake.

"Look, man," he starts, softer this time. "We're not trying to be dicks. We just—"

All four of them glance at the device face down on the table. No one moves. The buzz fades. Then another one. Then another.

Jake's hand twitches toward it.

"Don't," Sunghoon warns.

"It could be important."

"It's not."

Jake's hand hovers. What if it's you? What if you're apologizing? What if you have an explanation?

Sunghoon beats him to it, snatching it from the table with dishwater hands.

"Oh? Would you look at that?" he raises a brow, and Jake's heart pathetically flutters, "Let's see what the she-devil wants now."

Jake watches, holding his breath, as Sunghoon swipes open the messages. His face is unreadable for a moment.

"Gee. Shocker." He reads aloud, dripping with sarcasm. "Hey Jake, sorry I've been MIA—And there's a sad face emoji, how sweet—Did you start the next assignment yet?"

"She can't be that shameless," Heeseung states in disbelief.

Jay sets down his sponge and grabs the phone from Sunghoon, scanning the screen himself. His jaw tightens.

"That's it." He turns to Jake, holding the phone up like evidence. "This is an intervention. If you're not getting anything out of this, and I mean anything, then ignore that bitch."

"She's not a—"

"She is." Sunghoon sighs, dragging a hand down his face. "Honestly, it's just sad at this point. You're better than this."

Jake looks between them. His phone is still in Jay's hand, the screen lit up with your message. He can see the little three dots at the bottom of the chat box. You're still typing, probably coming up with another excuse— another reason for him to come running.

"Jake," Heeseung steps forward, blocking Jake's view of the device, "She hurt you. Do not respond. I'm serious this time. You hear me? You hear us? We're looking out for you."

Jake swallows. He wants to say that it'll be different this time—wants to say that they don't know you like he knows you. Wants to believe his feelings are reciprocated, and that your soft touch and sweet words were more than just a cheap manipulation tactic, but they're all watching. And he knows. He knows he has to concede.

Deflated, he nods, promising his friends he won't give in. Even if the memory of your hands in his hair sticks. Even if he swears it was real.

He really does ignore you. He doesn't respond to your messages, doesn't screenshot your selfies—well, he does look at them maybe a couple times, but that's not technically breaking his word. He keeps his phone on the other side of his bedroom when he sleeps. He spends his time with his friends laughing, instead of sulking in the corner over ignored messages.

The inexplicably strong ache he felt in his chest when he thought of you was nowhere near close to disappearing, an ache that couldn't decide between desire and hurt, but he could feel himself slowly, bit by bit, start to return to some semblance of normalcy.

Then you decide to show up to class for the first time in weeks.

Jake notices you the second you walk through the door. How could he not? You're all he can think about still, as terrible as he knows that sounds. How could he possibly bring himself to look away as your eyes scan the room, ultimately landing on him, making your merry way to slip into the seat at his side?

"Hey!" You're smiling, bright and easy, like no time has passed at all.

It's tempting to return the smile. God, he wants to accept your warmth again so badly, and maybe that would've worked on him a few weeks ago, but time has passed for him.

He'd spent all this time second-guessing every smile, every touch and word. Suffered while listening to his roommates call him a dog. He doesn't have it in him to continue hoping for anything more. Even if you look extra pretty today.

"Hey." Jake keeps his eyes on the board.

"How are you?"

"Fine."

Your smile doesn't waver, but something in your gaze is a little different, a little more steady than usual. You lean in close enough that he can smell you, breathing in your sweet, warm, intoxicating scent, close enough that his resolve starts to crumble before he can stop it. That's just what you do to him.

"You look cute today," you say softly. "I like your hair."

"Thanks."

He manages to keep his tone flat and his face neutral, as if he doesn't still dream of your hands in his hair, like you had the last time he saw you, still weak from the mere thought.

Stay strong, Jake. His jaw is tight. His hands are curled into fists under the desk. She hurt you. Don't give in.

Your smile then fades, if only a little.

"Hey... what's up with you?"

He turns to you finally, unable to keep up the act. In a moment of weakness, he lets you see the hurt, the confusion, the resentment.

You seem concerned. A little confused.

She's playing you. She's using you.

"Listen," he inhales, trying to sound firm, but there's a shakiness in his tone that he just can't hide. "I'm not helping you this time, okay? So don't—"

His eyes catch something on the desk that halts his thought process completely.

Your phone is sitting there, face up, dressed in a clear case like always, but with a new set of cute little charms attached—though that's not even the thing he notices first. The screen is covered in cracks, fractures spreading from a point near the top all the way to the bottom, and a chunk of glass is missing from the corner, exposing the dark screen underneath.

"What happened?" he blurts. Whatever he had been planning to say, to finally tell you, vanishes in an instant.

You look down at the phone. Then back at him.

"Oh my god, you have no idea." You're already shaking your head, "Last week, I lost my phone. Like, lost lost. Couldn't find it for days. I tore my whole apartment apart. I filed a lost and found report. I even checked the campus security office."

Jake stares at the cracked screen, your thumb swiping over it.

"Then," you continue, wincing as you recall the story, "my roommate tells me she felt a crunch when she was pulling out of the driveway. Turns out my phone was lying face down there. For three days. And she ran over it."

"You're kidding."

"I wish I was. I think it must've fallen out of my pocket in the dark." You pick up the phone, sighing, "It was like this when I found it. But you wanna know the craziest part? It still works."

Jake just blinks, and you laugh a little as you hold up the device to his face, showing off the horribly cracked home screen.

"I guess you thought I was ignoring you again, weren't you?" Your expression falls, "I'm so sorry, Jake. I really didn't mean to."

"It's..." He blinks again, then shakes his head. A laugh escapes him, feeling relieved, almost giddy, and all the emotions he thought he had buried for good come rushing back to him in an instant. Just like that. "I just thought you were, like, using me for homework, or something—"

"What?" You gasp, shock flashing across your face. "Oh my gosh, no, I would never."

A hand lands on his arm. Warmth spreads through him where you touch.

"I guess asking about homework first thing when I got my phone back was pretty stupid of me, wasn't it?" You shake your head, muttering, talking to yourself almost, "I was just so stressed after the whole lost phone situation, and school was the first thing on my mind. I didn't even think about how it would look."

A nervous laugh escapes you, fidgeting with the sleeve of your sweater, glancing at him wide-eyed like you're scared that he hates you for real this time.  Suddenly, his roommates' words are fading to nothing in his head.

"I mean," he says slowly, and then a small smile tugs at his lips. "Yeah. It was a little stupid."

You stare at him for a second. Then you laugh, bright and real and just like he remembered, your whole face lighting up. Relief seems to wash over both of you, and when your hand lightly grazes his shoulder again, he leans into it this time.

"Okay, okay, I deserve that," you say. "But I'll make up for it. I swear."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." You pull out your phone, squinting at the cracked screen as you pull up a tab in your search engine. "There's this new indie horror thing my friends keep talking about. Apparently, it's super scary, and I'm terrified of watching this kind of stuff alone."

You tilt the screen to him, rambling about different showtimes, explaining bits of the synopsis of the film, and he swears his heart is about to explode. His mind is already conjuring images of you clinging to his arm, burying your head in the crook of his neck at the sight of a jump-scare.

"So?" You finally ask, "You free Friday?"

There's a moment of hesitation as he thinks about his roommates. Their warnings. Their jokes. Their certainty that you were using him. Then he looks at your phone—the cracks, the missing chunk. The undeniable proof that you weren't lying.

Then he thinks about getting to hold your hand in a dark theater, driving you home after. Would you let him kiss you? Would you pull him closer, with your hands at the back of his head, fingers grazing through his hair again? Would you pull away, breathless and smiling, and invite him inside? Probably not that last part, but the thought still makes him blush.

"I'll check my schedule."

"Okay," Your smile turns almost shy, but your determination doesn't waver, "Well, no pressure, but you better say yes."

Jake spends the entire lecture trying not to smile back, thankful that all the pain he had felt, all the hurt, had been nothing more than his own imagination.

He's already knows he's going to say yes.

Jake is halfway to the door when Sunghoon's voice stops him cold.

"Where are you going?"

Jake winces, hand hovering just above the doorknob. His keys are already in his other hand, jingling softly. He doesn't turn around, certain that the look on his face will give him away, and to be honest, he's tired of being looked at like a lost cause when it comes to you.

"Out."

"Out," Sunghoon repeats slowly. "Out where, exactly?"

With a shaky breath, he turns finally. His eyes land on Jay and Sunghoon sprawled on the couch—same as always, controllers in hand, paused mid-game. Heeseung pokes his head out of his bedroom door down the hall, drawn by the sound of an argument brewing.

Jake allows himself a small, hopefully convincing enough smile.

"To study."

Like a cruel joke, a small foil square slips out of his jacket pocket and flutters to the floor—revealing the condom he'd stolen from the box Heeseung keeps at his bedside.

They all watch wordlessly, staring for a beat.

Jake's face flushes, bending down to snatch the condom off the floor, and he tucks it back into his pocket.

"Uh-huh. Study." Jay deadpans, setting down his controller. "Studying what, human anatomy?"

"It's a study date," Jake says too quickly, waving it off, "With uh... that one girl I was lab partners with last semester. You guys remember?"

"The girl you said you weren't into?"

"Well, I changed my mind."

He can feel the weight of their stare. Watching. Waiting. Judging.

"You think you're gonna get laid." Heeseung gestures vaguely to him. "And you didn't try to tell any of us about it?"

"It's just in case," he replies, still a little embarrassed, "Besides, why should I tell any of you? It's none of your business."

Heeseung tilts his head, studying him. The other two exchange knowing glances.

"It's not that you have to," He says, "But you would've. Which means you're hiding something."

"You're running back to your master, aren't you?" Sunghoon cuts to the chase with a grin, "Did she throw you a bone again?"

"No."

"Aw, I can see his tail wagging," Jay teases, "He's so excited. Thinks he's gonna finally get his dick wet this time if he plays fetch."

"Shut up."

"Jake, man," Heeseung almost groans, "You can't seriously think she wants you for real this time, right?"

"What's the score now? Campus slut: three, Jake: zero? You're losing pretty badly," Sunghoon whistles, shaking his head, "Just don't come crying to us about it after."

His fingers tighten around his keys, metal biting into the palm of his hand. He wants to tell them tonight will be different—and he's sure it will. It has to be. But he's done explaining himself, and he's done trying to explain you.

"I'm going on a study date with my old lab partner," he lies through gritted teeth, "And while you sit your lazy asses on a dirty fucking couch, marinating in your own filth, I'm going to actually be talking to a girl. So fuck you."

He doesn't wait for a response. He just turns, yanking the front door open and slamming it behind hard enough to rattle the frame just a bit.

The boys don't say anything. They just stare at the door, watching the frame shake in silence until it goes still.

"Well," Sunghoon pauses, "He kinda got us there, didn't he?"

He pulls up to your place, eyeing the same rickety-looking porch and broken railing he remembers, noting how the light above the front door flickers. And though it's anything but perfect, he still feels like he's in a scene from a movie as he walks up your steps—the kind where the guy finally gets the girl and sweeps her off her feet.

His heart is pounding as he knocks on the door and stops the moment it swings open, smiling as soon as he sees you, expression dropping when his brain catches up to realize you're... not dressed for a date. At all.

You look at him wide-eyed, almost shocked, a pencil tucked behind your ear, wearing an old hoodie and those little shorts he remembers from last time. And there, in your hand, is your thermodynamics textbook.

"Oh, Jake..." you say, blinking at him like you'd forgotten he was coming. "I totally lost track of time."

You're already turning away, leaving the door open for him to follow. Already walking back into the place, socked feet padding against the hardwood, muttering to yourself.

"This is due on Monday, and I haven't even started and— gosh, I'm so sorry. I'm such an idiot."

Jake stands still in the doorway of your bedroom, watching you plop down on the bed, looking up at him with a silent plea.

"I really thought I'd have this done by tonight. I mean, I could spend the rest of the weekend doing it, but I have all these plans and other things I have to do..." You continue to ramble, but he stops listening.

You're doing it again.

He watches you for a long, silent moment. You're already flipping through the textbook, muttering to yourself about equations and deadlines, completely absorbed.

Any butterflies he'd felt were gone, replaced with... nothing. He felt absolutely nothing, just hollow and empty and utterly deflated because he's been here before. He knows the script. He knows what happens next.

Somewhere in his mind, he can hear his roommates laughing. Hell, he's sure those stupid plushies in the corner of your room are probably laughing at him, too.

"I was thinking maybe if I could just get the first few problems, I think I could figure out the rest. But I don't even know where to start."

You look up at him, and there's that look again. The same look you gave him the first day of class. The same look that made him want to solve all your problems.

Just like that, he's doing it again, too.

She needs me, he starts to think.

People get stressed, don't they? People lose track of time. You're just one of those people. It's not on purpose. It's not malicious. It's just you.

You're tugging at his sleeve, then slipping past it just to grasp around his wrist.

"I know I'm asking for a lot, but you'll help me, won't you?" You pout, "Please, Jake?"

That almost gets him. It shouldn't, but it almost does.

"But the movie—"

"I promise we'll see it another time," you cut in, "Pinky swear, on my life, we will."

Jake can feel his hands trembling at his sides. All he wanted was a date with you. Just one night. No textbooks. No equations.

He'll be damned if he lets your poor time-management skills and terrible studying habits be the reason his night is ruined.

"What if I just... send you the answers later?"

He manages a broken smile, and you blink.

"Really?" You gape, "Oh, Jake, I'd feel terrible—"

"We can't let our movie tickets go to waste, right?" He shrugs like its nothing, like he's nonchalant or something, but there is absolutely nothing chalant about the way he needs to go out with you tonight. "I don't mind. Really. Don't worry about it, okay?"

You beam at him, and with a squeal, you're jumping off the bed faster than he can process. Your arms are around him, hugging him tight, so much that he can feel every part of you pressed against him. Suddenly, he's light as a feather again. Drifting. Weightless.

"Thank you so much!" You pull away all too quickly, shoving him out your bedroom door, "Just give me a few minutes, 'kay? I won't leave you waiting too long."

Jake can barely focus on the screen, eyes drifting from the atmospheric shots of a creepy house in the middle of nowhere, towards you instead.

He's hyper-aware of you sitting there, next to him. He can't help the way he watches you, how the light flickers across your face, catching the curve of your cheek, and your gloss-covered lips. He also can't help the way he's falling apart from just the feeling of your arm brushing against his in the dark, soft, accidental, and electric all at once.

The scent of your perfume mixes with the smell of buttery popcorn, neither of you had touched yet. He can't bring himself to eat it. Actually, he can't bring himself to do anything when he can barely manage breathing in your presence.

His heart is doing that stupid stuttering thing again, the one that makes him feel like he's a teenager taking his school crush to prom, as his hand twitches restlessly at his side.

He wants to hold your hand. He's wanted to since the moment you slipped into the passenger seat of his car, wearing that sundress, but he knew he had to wait. He rehearses the motion in his head, a slow, deliberate slide of his palm against the armrest until it touches yours. He even tries, for a second, his hand slowly drifting until his pinky barely brushes yours, enough to feel the warmth of your skin.

For a moment, he allows himself to imagine what it would feel like to do it—to take your hand in one smooth, confident stride and feel your fingers interlace with his. The thought alone is exhilarating... and far, far more terrifying than the movie's been so far.

Before he knows it, he's chickening out, hand drawing back to his lap when the screen flashes.

A face appears, a shrieking sound erupting through the theatre speakers, and he swears his soul fucking leaves his body. He jumps, a full body flinch, arm nearly knocking over the popcorn bucket as his heart slams against his ribs.

And almost immediately, he glances at you, mortified at the thought of you witnessing him actually get scared at a jump scare. But you had jumped too, hands flying to his arm, fingers digging into his sleeve. It only registers in his mind after the fact that you're clinging to him, your smaller hands curled against him, just like he had imagined. Just like he had hoped.

"Sorry," you whisper, still holding him.

"It's okay," he whispers back, silently praying that you'll continue to.

You do, and he doesn't dare move a single muscle for the remainder of the film. Even as there's more blood, more screaming and horrifying faces that genuinely make him want to sprint out of that theater crying like a baby, he stays put, trembling at the thought of the nightmares he'll have for the next few days and enjoying every second of you burying your face into his shoulder, clinging to him like he's the safest thing you've ever known.

Sometime halfway through the film, your hand finds his, fingers intertwining with his, still leaning into his shoulder. In that moment, he thinks all the missed texts, all the hurt and confusion, all of it was worth it just to feel this.

"That was so good," you rave on the car ride home, smiling from the passenger's seat, "Honestly, way too many jump scares, but the cinematography... wow."

Jake's hands grip the steering wheel just a little tighter than usual, still nervous. More nervous, actually, because he's still trying to figure out what he's going to say to you when he gets back to your place. But he knows he's overthinking it; tonight had reassured him of that.

Relax, he thinks, glancing at you from the side.

"The cinematography?" Jake teases lightly, "You were hiding in my shoulder for half of it."

"Because it was scary," you swat his arm, rolling your eyes at him, "You're supposed to protect me. Not make fun of me."

"I'm just saying..."

"You're saying nothing," you shake your head, grinning, "Don't think I didn't see you flinch a few times, too."

"You got me," he winces a little, then it's his turn to grin, "But at least I didn't scream out loud at the part with the axe, unlike someone—"

"Stop, that was so embarrassing!" You groan, bringing a hand to your face. "I'm pretty sure the entire row in front of us turned around to look. I can never go back there again!"

Jake just laughs, and you're hiding your face further in the palms of your hands as you plead with him not to tease you any further.

It's nice. Easy. He only wishes the night didn't need to end. But, alas, he's pulling up just outside your place, putting the car into park, feeling a little foolish now for having slipped that condom into his pocket at all. As if tonight could have ended any other way. But he shakes the thought away. That's not what he's here for. He's just glad that he even got to hold your hand.

"Well," he starts a little shyly, "If you're too embarrassed to go back, we can do something else next time?

He looks at you. Eyes shining. Hopeful.

"Jake..." you smile, "I had a great time tonight."

His heart swells, warm and fragile, like a balloon stretched too thin.

"But..." you continue, and he feels himself start to deflate. You look down, fidgeting with the hem of your dress, "I probably can't hang out like this for a while. You know how I am. Busy with school and all my other classes."

There's a silence, the engine still humming in the background.

"I'll help you," he then says. It's too eager sounding, the words just tumbling out of him as he goes on, "Whatever it is. Whatever class. I can do it."

"Really?" You look at him wide-eyed, seeing him nod enthusiastically, "You'd do that for me?"

"I'll do anything," he continues to nod without a second thought, "It's nothing to me, if it means—"

You lean in and press a kiss to his cheek, and he feels himself turn bright red, butterflies exploding in his chest. He's breathing heavy as he watches you pull away, your lips against his skin forever burned into his memory.

"You're the best, Jake."

"You don't mean that," he waves it off bashfully, smiling like an idiot now.

"No, I do," you smile right back, tilting your head to the side. "You're just the sweetest thing, you know?"

He looks at you, eyes dropping to your lips.

This is the part where he's supposed to kiss you, right?

He'd pictured it so many times in his head that he couldn't even believe it might be happening. It's too surreal. Feels too far removed from anything within the realm of possibilities, and yet here he is. With you in his car. Sitting in silence.

He's not sure how it's supposed to work. Or when the right moment is, but he feels like it has to be now.

Swallowing his nerves and his fears and everything else, he starts to lean in, his eyes about to fall shut when—

"You're a really great friend."

His stomach drops.

"You're just so easy to talk to, you know?" You continue, as if his entire world isn't crumbling around him.

He pulls back. Watching you. Confused. Hurt. It doesn't hit him all at once, dizzy and disoriented from the whiplash you've just hit him with.

"Any girl would be lucky to have—"

"Friend?" The word escapes him like a sharp, ugly hiss, tasting bitter on the tip of his tongue.

"What?"

You blink innocently—or, with what he would've convinced himself was innocence only moments ago, had you not decided to rip his heart and squash it beneath your feet like it means nothing to you. Like he means nothing.

"I did your assignments for you. I took you out, paid for everything," His voice is shaking now. He can hear it, can hear how pathetic he sounds, but he can't stop. "And you think I'm trying to be friends?"

"I don't understand—?"

"I like you. You know that I like you and you still..." Shaken, he trails off, looking back at the steering wheel. He can't look at you anymore. Actually, he thinks he'll literally die if he has to spend any longer in your presence, playing whatever game it is that you've been playing with him. "Forget about the schoolwork. I'm done with you."

"Jake—"

"Get out of my car." He manages, "Please, just leave me alone."

He's blinking away tears that threaten him, hands gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles turn white.

You don't move, but something in you shifts. He can't quite place it, but it's like the air around you grows colder, distant. The softness drains from your face, replaced by something else entirely.

"Seriously?" You scoff, low and annoyed, "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Jake's eyes snap back to you, arms folded over your chest as you scowl. Not pouting. Not looking concerned or helpless or confused like you usually do.

"You're the most annoying nerd I've ever had to deal with. You know that?" You continue, venom dripping with every word, "Every other loser folds with a bit of flirting and a couple selfies, but you? You realize how much time and energy I've spent on you? God, I'm way too deep in thermodynamics hell to find a new pathetic little thing to deal with, but you can bet your ass that as soon as this semester ends, I'm never, ever going near you again."

Jake's jaw falls slack, and you take a deep breath.

"And I'm literally so nice to you. I had you over in my house, on my bed. I pretended not to notice your boner—which you're terrible at hiding, by the way. I even went on a fucking date with you and clung to your arm for, like, an hour," you huff, exasperated, like you've just been dying to get it all off your chest. "What else could you possibly want from me?"

He doesn't react. He doesn't know how to.

"You were pretending." His voice is timid. Weak. Everything he tried so hard pretending not to be all night. "Everything you said, playing with my hair, going out with me, holding my hand..."

"You're just making it sound bad," you sigh, "You liked all those things, didn't you?"

"I liked them because I thought they were real."

"What difference does it make?" You snap.

Jake swallows the lump in his throat. He always knew he was a loser. Always knew he was a bit of a pathetic simp. But he never truly thought he could ever be this blind—this stupid.

"Your phone," he recalls the cracks, "That was fake, too?"

"A real convenient coincidence, wasn't it? I thought for sure I'd lost you. Luckily—or unluckily—the universe gave me a real excuse," you wave it off, looking at him, "So. What is it you want, hm? I have an assignment due in a few days, and the clock is ticking. Let's get this over with."

"I don't want anything from you."

"Come on. Everyone has something," you groan, "You could show me off to your other nerd friends. Is that what you want? Or are you gonna be one of those perverts who asks for my used panties or something?"

"You've traded your panties for grades?" His eyes go wide. The image is ugly and nothing like the fantasy he'd built up of you in his head. "How far have you gone for—?"

"I'm not a prostitute." You snap, "No touching."

Right. You've done this to other guys before. Not only was he tricked, but he's not even special. He's just the latest unfortunate soul in a long line of desperate idiots who line up to worship the ground you walk on.

Campus slut, Sunghoon had called you. Jake had scoffed at the time. Wanted to defend you. Convinced himself his roommates didn't know you like he knows you. This might even be worse than any of them could've ever imagined.

That's the sad part, too. He could sit here and ask for your used panties, but he didn't even want that. He never did. Sure, he'd gotten hard over things he probably shouldn't have. Had wet dreams about you that he should probably never repeat out loud. But talking to you was never about just wanting to get laid— even if he'd thought of it countless times. All he really wanted was to be wanted.

You start to get impatient with his silence.

"Look. I didn't want to be so brutally honest, but you were starting to act like I was your girlfriend, and I panicked." You take in a breath, still watching him. "But... I could've been a little nicer, so I'm sorry, okay? Does that make you feel a little better?"

He is just looking at his hands, the hands you held in the theatre. Which apparently now meant absolutely nothing.

"Alright, fine. Maybe this time I can make an exception," your voice is a little softer this time. "What about second base? Is that enough for you?"

"I already said I don't want anything."

"Jake," you start, your hand landing at his knee, thumb stroking in slow circles. "You're a virgin, right?"

"I'm—"

"Shh..." you press a finger to his lips, your other hand now sliding up his knee to his thigh, "I know you are, it's okay. You've never touched a girl, either, have you?"

He shakes his head.

"Then I'll ask again." Your hand trails high enough that it's just barely grazing the tent in his jeans, but still somehow earning a sound from him.

You look up at him through your lashes, like you've finally caught him, and take his hand. He watches, wide-eyed, as you lead his hand closer to you, hovering just above the swell of your breasts. His hand is so close he can feel the heat radiating off your skin, almost touching.

"Is second base enough for—?"

"No."

He draws his hand back, and your expression falls... and so does something else. Both of your eyes land on the condom- the one in his jacket pocket, which had decided to choose that exact moment to fall to the floor.

His face burns with humiliation. How stupidly hopeful he'd been just hours ago, stealing it from Heeseung's bedside like it was a talisman that could make him into someone you might actually want.

He scrambles to pick it up, but you beat him to it, holding it between your fingers with an amused expression. You're grinning like you're trying to hold back a laugh, and he thinks that kind of reaction might be worse than disgust.

"No?" you echo him, reaching to tuck the little foil back into his pocket for him. You give it a few pats before drawing back your hand. "Don't get too greedy, Jake. You know I won't do that."

"I wasn't—I was just—" he shakes his head, collecting himself, "I'm not gonna ask to feel your tits in exchange for homework answers. That's just weird," He says weakly, like it hurts him. Honestly, it does, a bit, because he's about to turn down the opportunity to feel you up in exchange for something far more pathetic sounding. "But..."

"But...?"

He looks at you, thinking of how pretty you look in the dim light—how romantic this would feel if the circumstances were different. It's just not fair how badly he aches for something he knows now, for certain, that he'll never have; something real. But he thinks that if, even for a moment, he could feel the same way he had in the theatre, when you'd taken his hand and held it, that maybe he could settle for just pretending that it's real. Maybe he could go home tonight and not feel entirely awful.

"Would you kiss me?"

You blink.

"Just a kiss?"

"Yeah," he can feel his ears turning red, "But you have to kiss me like you want me. Like we're actually on a date."

Your eyes flicker over him for a good few seconds, expression unreadable. Not upset, not weirded out, just... thinking.

"One kiss, and you promise to do my work for the rest of the semester?"

"One kiss to cover the debt you owe from the past three assignments," His voice is firmer now, though his hands are still shaking, "Then we can negotiate the rest."

"Seriously?"

"You need my help more than I need your stupid kiss," he shrugs, eyes flickering to your lips. "You asked for my price. This is the cost of my labour. Take it or leave it."

"Fine." You inhale, "One kiss—"

"With tongue."

"...With tongue," you deadpan.

You sigh, reaching up to take his glasses off. Your fingers brush his temples, gentle despite everything, and you fold the glasses carefully, setting them in the cupholder.

In this light, he looks different. Not that anything about him has changed. Rather, you're acknowledging things about him that you hadn't thought too much of before. Unlike a lot of other nerds you've led on, Jake actually showers. His skin is clear, and his smile is bright. You suppose he's also a lot kinder than the rest, too, if that counts for anything. And now that you're looking at him up close, without his glasses, you're thinking that maybe he's actually kind of cute.

Still. That's not enough to make your heart race, or something. He's pathetic enough to ask for a kiss in exchange for doing your work. That says all you need to know about him.

You lean forward and press a soft, gentle kiss to his lips. Slow, tentative, expecting a nervous response from him, so you're a little bit taken aback by the way he returns the kiss so eagerly. He's needy, not exactly rough, but too worked up to be gentle, and his hand comes up to your jaw a little too fast, fingers pressing in just enough to keep you there, like he's afraid you'll tear away all too soon.

He's messy with it. All tongue and desperate whimpers, not trying to hide how badly he clearly wants you— like he's been thinking about this for weeks and doesn't give a shit about hiding it anymore. It's not the most coordinated of kisses, but it certainly makes you feel something.

You start to forget that you're supposed to be pretending to enjoy it— not actually enjoying it. So much that you don't notice right away how his hands reach for your waist.

"Closer?" He practically whines against your mouth, "Please, can you...?"

You're sighing as you concede, not fully understanding why you choose to. You tell yourself it's to make him content enough so that he won't complain later when you ask for help again, but you're sliding into his lap so easily, dress riding up, suppressing your own noises as his hands roam your body so freely. It's only when you feel his hand slide up, feeling your chest, that you're coming to your senses.

You break the kiss, panting, hands on his shoulders to push yourself away. He lets you, but not without a string of saliva connecting your mouths. He's breathing heavily, lips swollen, and eyes wide with an emotion you can't quite read.

"The deal was a kiss," you say, trying to sound firm, but your voice comes across shakier than intended.

He just stares at you, chest heaving, like he's trying to process what just happened. His gaze drops to your lips, then back to your eyes, then down to where your dress has bunched up around your thighs.

"I know," he says, his voice rough. "I know. I just... got carried away."

You can feel the heat radiating from him, the solid evidence of his desire pressing right up against you. This is dangerous territory. You've always been in control of these situations, leading guys on, getting what you need, and walking away unscathed. But something about Jake's desperation, the raw, unfiltered need in his eyes, has you losing your grip.

"Please, just..." his eyes drop to your heaving chest, "Can I see them? Or like touch them?"

He's like a helpless puppy begging for a scrap of affection. And it's pathetic, really. But also... kind of hot in a weird, sort of sad way. You're not sure what that says about you, but you're there, in his lap already and against your better judgment, you find yourself nodding regardless.

You bite your lip, watching him swallow hard as you slowly pull down the strap of your sundress. You can see the hope in his eyes, the way he's practically holding his breath as the fabric starts to fall, revealing the lace of your bra. Under his gaze, fixed and intense, he reaches behind you, fumbling with the clasp until your bra falls away, and you're bare to him.

He makes a sound, a strangled, restrained sounding gasp that's part surprise, part pure, unadulterated lust. His hands are on you in an instant, not rough, but with a curiosity that sends a shiver down your spine. His thumbs brush over your nipples, and you can't help the small sigh that escapes your lips.

"You're beautiful," he breathes.

Oh. Your face heats up, and the throb between your legs suddenly becomes a bit harder to ignore.

You should stop this. You know you should. You've given him what he asked for already with this deal.

His mouth is on your chest. Sucking. And he can't control the way his hips buck up into yours, muttering sweet whispers into your skin. You allow yourself, if only for once, to enjoy it—not daring to allow any of the sounds you desperately wish to make escape you, but closing your eyes and just letting him do his thing. You couldn't even begin to remember the last time you've been touched like this, with this kind of earnestness.

All too soon, his hips stutter, and he's whimpering into your skin. His hands are at your hips, gripping you in place, moving them against his own, almost subconsciously, and you can't even form a single word as you watch him grind up against you, chasing the craps of friction you've offered him until he's coming apart. A string of choked noises leaves him as he rides out his orgasm, and you stare, unblinking, in... shock? Horror? Awe, maybe?

You stare at his pretty, big brown eyes, and his perfectly kissable lips, and the gorgeous expression on his face as he unravels beneath you until he goes still. Breathing. Forehead against your bare chest as he collects himself.

Then, you blink.

"Did you just...?"

He doesn't answer, but he nods against you, and your blood runs cold.

Suddenly, you remember where you are, who you're with, and why you're here. Suddenly, you remember you're right outside your place, in a university student-ridden neighbourhood, on a Friday night. Suddenly, you're just humiliated as he is—if not more—and sick to your stomach at the realization of just how fucking badly you want him right now.

You push him away, not too hard, but enough to make a point. He looks up at you, dazed, his lips slick and swollen.

"Did you actually just cum in your pants right now?"

"Sorry," he stammers, though he does seem like he means it, even if his eyes are glued to your tits now. "Sorry, just—"

"Yeah. You should be sorry. Because what the hell?” You shake your head, all too defensively. "That wasn't a part of the deal, you freak!"

He watches you fumble with your bra strap, watches you smooth down your dress, watches you avoid his eyes. Your movements are sharp, defensive, like you're trying to erase the last five minutes from existence.

For a moment, he had you. Now, all he was left with was the shame of the aftermath; you, looking at him with disgust. Him, humiliated. His pants, ruined, sticky and uncomfortable.

"I can't believe I let a loser like you touch me," you continue, muttering more to yourself in disbelief than anything else, "That was so... just... ew!"

Your words are like a slap in the face, only instead of knocking him down, they make him snap back to reality, like he'd suddenly just decided to ask himself the question he should've been asking all along: what the actual fuck is he doing?

He can't make you like him. He can't even make you respect him. Clearly, you can't even pretend to either, even with your grades on the line.

He feels different, like something about jizzing in his pants reset his brain and brought him back to normal again. Maybe that's just the post-nut clarity talking, but regardless, he's seeing you now. Not that fake fantasy version of you in his head, but you.

You need him. You need him far more than he needs you. Without him, you fail thermodynamics—you'll sit there, in your room all alone, staring at a textbook you don't understand, praying for a miracle.

He's not the pathetic one. You, the one adjusting your dress in the dark, acting all high and mighty, pretending like you don't trade your dignity for easy A's, are the pathetic one.

The hurt isn't close to dissipating, still heavy and aching within him. The slight flutter in his heart that he feels in your presence isn't gone either. But something else lies beneath it all, something that feels a lot like freedom.

"Get out."

"Just give me a sec—"

"Get out," he snaps, flashing a glare at you while you're in the middle of fixing your hair in the side mirror. "Transaction's over. You can leave."

"Okay, jeez!" You scoff.

You get out of the car, slamming the door shut behind you, and he drives away from you faster than he's ever driven away from anything in his life.

"Well, well, well. Look who's back."

Jake doesn't say anything upon his return, hanging his keys and kicking off his shoes. Of course, all three of his roommates are still awake, sitting on that damn couch, waiting for the resident punching bag to return so they can have a good laugh before crawling to bed.

"So," Sunghoon says, a smirk on his face. "How was the big 'study date'?"

He doesn't react. Not really. He just stands there in the doorway, tired expression taking in each of theirs. The silence is abnormally long, and he notices how Sunghoon shifts in discomfort, how Jay sits up straight, how Heeseung's smile fades to concern.

"She asked me to do her homework again," he says, his voice flat, "Asked me to help with the rest of the semester too."

To his surprise, there's no 'I told you so'. For once, there's no laughing or mocking. Just silence.

Jake doesn't want to admit how much that means to him.

"So it was her." Jay says in a low voice, finally.

"The she-devil strikes again," Heeseung lightly jokes, but his tone remains sympathetic. "She really doesn't beat around the bush, does she?"

"You told her no, right?" Sunghoon blurts before Jake can respond, "Right?"

"I said yes."

The three of them sigh almost in unison. Jay has his face in his hands, and Heeseung shakes his head like a disappointed father, and Sunghoon just glares like he can't actually believe what he's hearing.

"Then I got to feel her up."

The chorus of disappointment stops, and they watch as a grin spreads across Jake's face. Not the dopey sort of puppy-love grin he used to wear when he thought of you. It's broken, revealing the hint of something cruel beneath it.

"She said I could touch her if I send her the answers, so I did, but..." He pauses, laughing to himself under his breath, "I'm not gonna send her shit."

The room goes quiet.

Heeseung is the first to move. He stands up slowly, like he's processing. He crosses the room, footsteps heavy on the hardwood, and stops in front of Jake.

For a second, he just looks at him. Then he places a hand on Jake's shoulder. Squeezes. Then grins wide.

"That's my boy."

Sunghoon recovers first. He grins, getting up to clap him on the back, and holds up a hand for a high-five. "Respect, man. Actual respect."

Jake leaves him hanging.

"No fucking way," Jay is also beaming like a proud father, "No way you actually did?"

"I did. And I'm not doing shit for her anymore," Jake says with a timid sort of smugness, "I'm done. I saw her tits, and I'm out. I'm serious this time."

"You guys hear that?" Heeseung shakes him, "Our little Jakey's all grown up."

"I'm not little."

"Your dick is little."

"Shut up, Sunghoon."

"He's just jealous," Jay rolls his eyes, moving to pick up his gaming controller. "He's never even seen tits in real life."

"I've seen plenty of tits!"

Sunghoon moves to try and wrestle Jay on the couch, their bickering falling on deaf ears as Heeseung returns his attention to Jake. He lowers his voice just a bit this time, his gaze softening.

"For real though. You're good? Like... actually good?"

Jake thinks about it. The drive home. The way his heart sank when you called him a friend. The way your voice sounded when you called him a loser.

Then, he offers his friend a smile.

"I'm good."

Heeseung smiles back before gesturing for him to join them for the next game, and Jake then seats himself on the couch. Laughing. Enjoying the rest of his night. Trying to ease the sting of your words.

He's not good. Not right now. But he'll feel better soon.

It's only a matter of time before you come crawling back.

The assignment deadline looms, a ticking clock in the back of your mind. It follows you everywhere—to class, to the dining hall, to bed at night when you should be sleeping.

Jake still hasn’t texted you the answers, even though you let him cross way too many boundaries just to secure it. You’re stewing in your own frustration. Never in all the times you’ve traded your attention for the academic labour of sad, lonely boys had you come across someone who asked for so much.

You kissed him. You let him grope your chest. You even made him cum in his pants. How on earth was that not enough to make him happy?

But. You kinda broke his poor little heart, didn’t you?

You sigh, and you realize, sitting alone in your bedroom with your textbook open to a page you've been staring at for at least forty-five minutes now, that maybe you were harsh.

You called him a loser. You called him gross for finishing in his pants—something you'd never seen happen before, something you should feel disgusted by, and yet something that you can't stop thinking about.

The thought should make you roll your eyes. It should make you shrug and reach for your phone to find the next desperate nerd willing to do your work. That's what you always do. That's what you've always done.

But Jake is different.

Unlike the other creatures you've put up with in the past—the ones who ask for nudes or used panties or god forbid feet pics—Jake was so stupidly, sickeningly sweet.

He blushed when you touched his arm. He held your hand like it was something precious. He asked you for a kiss when you offered him more. He called you beautiful.

You shift in your seat, pushing the memory away.

What an idiot.

There’s an inexplicable heaviness that sits in your chest that you’re still trying to decode. It's not guilt. You don't do guilt. Guilt is for people who care about things like morals and consequences and other people's feelings. But there's something else there that feels a lot like guilt if you squint.

You didn't need to cuss him off. Or belittle him. Or call him a gross loser for coming in his pants—the look on his face after, now forever burned into your mind. Not angry, not defensive, just hurt. Like you'd confirmed something he already believed about himself.

And underneath that disgustingly new achy feeling that you refused to name, there was a desire far worse:

You want him to text back.

You want him to want to text you back.

You want him to want you.

The thought is so foreign, so uncomfortable, that you shove it away immediately. You don't need his admiration. You don't need anyone's admiration. You're fine on your own.

Then, you look down at your textbook and sigh.

The assignment is due tonight. You haven't started. And Jake still hasn't texted back.

So you do what any normal person would do.

You find where he lives.

Not in a creepy way. You just... have connections. Your roommate happens to have a friend who has a friend who knows a girl who went out with his roommate once. Sure, you had to do a little digging, but desperate times call for desperate measures, right?

You make sure to arrive dolled up, pretty as ever, hoping that when he opens that door, he'll fall to his knees and bark for you like the good mutt you know he can be. And when he answers it, he's definitely looking, but not with the same kind of desperation as before. Rather, he looks at you like he has the right to.

His eyes are entitled to wander every inch of your body freely without complaint. And to be fair, you realize that in order to get his help again, you might just have to let him. So you let him. You even give him a little smile.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, his tone flat. He doesn't invite you in, only opening the door enough to block it with his frame. He glances a moment, back inside, distracted for a second until he turns back. "Wait, how did you even find where I live—?"

"The assignment is due," you state, plainly, "I'm collecting my end of the deal."

"Are you, now?" He scoffs, "Pretty sure that deal was broken when you started calling me a gross loser to my face."

Your eyes narrow at him, realizing he’d actually grown a semblance of a spine. How inconvenient.

"Come on, Jake, you got to take my bra off and hump me. That's way more than you bargained for."

"It's not," he says firmly, and before you can even protest that, or demand what it means, he continues, "And I'm not making deals with you anymore."

"Jake," you plead, "I'm going to fail."

"Good."

He tries to close the door on you, but you hold your arm out to keep it open.

"No. Not good," you snap, "Stop being a dick and just tell me what you want!"

"What I want, huh? Well, it's gonna take a lot more than some used panties or a pair of tits, I can tell you that much," He mocks you, a grin you've never seen him wear before spreading across his face, "What exactly are you willing to-"

You grab him by the collar of his shirt, dragging his face down to meet yours at eye level. Those big brown eyes of his blink at you, and that's how you know. You know he's still in there. The Jake who looks at you like you're the sun, and he's the planet perpetually stuck in your orbit. Not the new “Jake” who ignores your texts and acts like he doesn't want your attention.

"Anything," you seethe, sounding a little more desperate than you would hope to, but that is what you are. You still need his help. You still need to know that he wants you. "I'll do anything."

"Anything?"

"Anything."

He blinks, his twisted smile returning in an instant.

"You want a blowjob or something, you perv?" You roll your eyes at his expression, "You'll finish in five seconds, but I'll be nice and offer a round two if you send me the answers first."

You let go of his shirt, and he stumbles back as he begins to laugh, foot kicking the door. Distant laughter joins him, and the door opens just enough to reveal his three roommates sitting there on the couch, looking real amused by the scene that just played out.

"Shit, you hear that, Jake?" Heeseung calls out, "Buy one, get one free. That's a steal."

"Didn't know blowjobs were on sale this season," Jay snorts, "What's next, handjobs for half off?"

"Is swallowing included, or is that a part of the premium package?" Sunghoon grins, eyes meeting your murderous glare, "What? I'm just trying to understand the business model."

You feel your face flush with humiliation, and Jake just watches.

"Jake," you step closer, voice just above a whisper, a quiet plea, "You want something. Everyone does. Don't act like-"

He grabs you by the wrist, pulling you inside. And you both ignore the shock and teasing that escapes his roommates as he practically pushes you inside his room, firmly shutting the door behind him.

It's a small, cluttered space, but it's clean. A desk with his gaming PC, his twin bed in the corner with a rumpled comforter, and some nerdy-looking posters on the wall. It's exactly what you expected.

You open your mouth to speak again, but he cuts you off.

"I don't want a blowjob." The words cut you off, flat and final. He's already pulling out his phone, thumb swiping across the screen. He doesn't look at you. "I want something else."

He opens his roommates' group chat. Scrolls. Taps. Then, he's holding up his screen for you. A video loads, sent only a few minutes ago—blurry, shot from inside the apartment, the frame slightly obstructed by what you think is a couch pillow or someone's pocket. Though your voice is unmistakable.

"I'll do anything."

"Anything?" Jake can be heard too, but his voice is a little lower, and with his back turned to the camera, he's not easily identifiable. It could be any dark-haired guy at your school.

"You want a blowjob or something, you perv? You'll finish in five seconds, but I'll be nice and offer a round two if you send me the answers first."  

Your face is clearly revealed in the final frame just as the door cracks open, and just before the camera falls into the couch cushions. The video then cuts off.

You blink at what you'd just been shown, your stomach dropping, then you blink at the man before you.

"What I want is for you to promise you'll never do this to anyone ever again." His voice is steady. He locks the screen and tucks the phone into his back pocket. "Otherwise, this is getting sent straight to the university's confessions page."

You twitch, and your fingers curl at your sides.

"Jake." You let the old sweetness drip back into your voice—the one that used to make him blush, the one that used to work. "Are you really trying to blackmail me?"

"I'm not trying to." He holds your gaze. "I am."

You gape.

"My roommates want to leak it right away." He shrugs, moving away to lean back against his desk, arms crossed. "But I thought you at least deserved a chance to redeem yourself."

He lets the words hang. Lets you imagine the comments. The screenshots. The whispers in the hallway.

"You know what this would mean for you." His voice is quiet. Matter-of-fact. "Social suicide. No one will talk to you. No one will want to associate with you. You'll be..." He pauses, tilting his head. "Ah, what do you call it again? Right. A loser."

The word lands like a slap.

"Aw, don't look so down," he coos, "You'll always have me, right?"

You scoff, narrowing your gaze.

"You can't do this to me."

"Oh, please." He pushes off the desk and takes a step toward you. "You started this. It isn't even a big ask. Just stop flaunting yourself around and open your textbook for once."

You glare at him.

It isn't a big ask. But it's not about what he's asking you to do. It's the fact that he's holding this over your head, thinking he has the right to control you, acting like he's above your little con—all for what, revenge? Vengeance?

Boys are usually easy. You're not sure how you got stuck making deals with the most difficult of them all. But a boy is still a boy. And Jake is still Jake. And currently Jake is, you notice as your eyes drop, obviously hard in his pants.

His sweatpants do nothing to hide it. You watch his eyes drag over you—your lips, your chest, the curve of your waist—against his better judgment. He swallows, and you smile to yourself. He's still in there.

"It kills you, doesn't it?" You step closer, voice like silk. "Having a girl in your bedroom for the first time. Offering to let you do anything you want with her. And turning it down just to pretend like you're a hero."

His jaw tightens.

"Are you hoping to be applauded?" You tilt your head. "For saving all those poor innocent guys from the terrible fate of a pretty girl flirting with them?"

"It's more than that."

"Jake." You laugh, "All the other losers on campus aren't going to thank you. The only thing you'll get out of this is a pat on the back from your little friends. But if you make a deal with me..."

You reach out, trailing a finger down his chest, then let your palm slide over it instead. You can feel his heartbeat beneath your touch, his chest heaving as you look up at him through his lashes.

"I can make it more than worth your while."

You drop to your knees, ignoring how they dig into the cold, hard floor. The look on his face is priceless, seeing him slowly unravel in your grasp.

"You're upset, aren't you?" Your hand trails up and down his thigh, and your eyes shift back and forth from him to the desire in his pants, "I've been feeling down, too. I miss the little thing we had going on. It was easy, don't you think? You and me. Helping each other out."

"I helped you." His voice is strained. "And then you hurt me."

"I was so mean to you last time, wasn't I?" Your hand rests above cock this time, and he winces at the feeling of your palm engulfing him, even if through the barrier of fabric. You lean forward enough to nuzzle him, lips brushing over his crotch, "I'm sorry... But I can make up for it."

You tease him—slow, deliberate, mouth half parted over him.

"Just forget about the video." You purr, finally pressing your palm against him—just enough pressure to make him gasp. A strangled whine escapes his throat. "And just send me the assignment, Jake. I'll let you have your way with me. I'll scream loud enough to make your roommates wish they were you. You just have to click send."

You look up, and you know that look. It's the same one that folded for you when you brushed his shoulder at your house, ultimately convincing him to do your work. It's the same one he had in the car when you offered him second base. It's the look of someone who wants something so bad that they can't possibly deny themselves any longer.

"You said anything?"

"Anything."

He looks at you, pained. Helpless. Brows furrowed together, then he nods.

Your eyes glimmer.

He pulls out his phone. His thumb moves across the screen, and you wait somewhat impatiently. It feels like it takes longer than it should, you think, before your phone buzzes in your back pocket.

You immediately move to open it, ignoring the other notifications.

Jake: [sent Assignment_3.pdf]

He reaches out immediately, his fingers tangle in your hair. It's not gentle. It's a warning. Your phone tumbles from your grasp, landing with an ungraceful thud to the floor.

"You better act like you enjoy it."

You don't flinch; instead, you lock eyes with him, letting a sly smile curve your lips before your fingers hook around the waistband of his pants. His length springs free from its confines, baring him to you for the first time, and admittedly, you stare.

"That's a nice surprise," you coo, sounding genuinely impressed, rather than the act you had planned on, as you wrap your hand around his cock, thumb collecting the precum at his tip and spreading it down the length of him. You look up, seeing how he watches in complete adoration and awe, biting down his lip. He's barely holding himself together already, and you're already grinning at the thought. "You're big. You've really been keeping this thing hidden away?"

Your lips part around the head of his cock. Your tongue darts out , lapping up every drop of precum you can taste—salty, warm, proof that you've already got him. He whines, fingers curling tighter in your scalp.

"Ah- fuck," You hear him hiss. "Fuck, fuck, fuck-"

You moan around him, low and appreciative, the vibration buzzing straight through his shaft as you take him deeper, inch by inch, your mouth stretching to accommodate his thickness, taking him like your damn life depends on it- and well, your social life now does depend on it. Your tongue presses flat against the underside to trace every ridge and vein, and you can't look away from him. You're just beaming, knowing that he's struggling so hard not to lose himself this soon, when you've only just started.

His thighs tremble, muscles jumping under your hands as you grip them for leverage, nails digging in just enough to heighten the sensation. A whine slips from him, high and needy, when you take him down your throat, relaxing to let him nudge the back. You gag softly on purpose, eyes watering but never breaking contact.

"Fuck... you're really working for it, huh?" he stammers, almost in disbelief, "Maybe if you'd done this at the start, I would've done your work- shit."

His hips are stuttering into your mouth, throwing you off, and his words are laced with a mix of mockery and raw hunger, even as his body betrays him with those trembling jerks. You keep taking him anyway.

"B-but you chose to lead me on. Let me hope," He grabs your hair this time, pulling you closer despite the whines escaping him, "You're such a bitch."

Strangely, his words send a sharp pain through you, and his sounds, which grow more desperate as you work your mouth on him, start to sound less like a whimper and more like a cry, like a wounded animal. You knew you had hurt him. You just never placed yourself in a position where you had to confront that reality. But here, on your knees for him, you were forced to.

He finishes with no warning, unravelling completely in your devoted mouth, and you swallow every last drop, up until the moment he's dragging your head off of him and staring down at you. He's starry-eyed, a little distant-looking, laced with a foreign sort of desire that you don’t quite understand.

"Jake—?"

You're not sure how it happens, but you're being pushed to the bed, lips clashing into yours, tugging your clothes off your body until you're bare. You only pull him closer, removing his shirt too, and he kicks his pants to the side. He wastes no time dipping his head between your thighs, marvelling first at just how wet you were for him, then letting a shaky finger drag through the folds.

"Wanna taste you." The words escape him almost involuntarily, before he's diving right in, lapping at your folds with an eagerness that makes you gasp.

There's no teasing. His tongue laps at your folds, sloppy and unsure. There's no technique, just raw, desperate need, and yet somehow, it has you gasping for air like you've forgotten how to breathe. Your hips jerk involuntarily as he grabs you, pressing his face further into you.

You shouldn't love this nearly as much as you do. You shouldn't be showing him your cries of pleasure- you should be having to fake them. But your body betrays you. You want this. You want him so fucking badly.

Jake doesn't stop to think or second-guess; he just devours you with single-minded focus, eyes shining in wonder every time they flicker up to note your reaction, and you're losing yourself. Your fingers twist into his hair, pulling hard enough to hurt, and yet it only makes him moan against your skin, adding fuel to his burning desire. Clumsy or not, it's too much, too intense, and your back arches off the bed, legs threatening to thrash around, though he keeps your thighs steady.

"Jake—ah, Jake!" The name rips from your throat, not only loud enough for everyone in the house to hear, but you'd be surprised if the neighbours didn't hear it, too. Your breaths come in sharp, uneven pants, body coiling tight.

"Come for me," he mutters into you, and you swear you feel his stupid grin between your legs. "Come for the disgusting loser you hate."

You come with a cry, trembling all over, soaking his chin as your thighs clamp around his head. But he doesn't stop. His hands lock onto your thighs, fingers digging in to hold them wide, keeping you pinned as his tongue keeps working—lapping up your release, circling your oversensitive clit with that same relentless hunger.

"Jake—ah—Too much," You sob it out, voice breaking into higher pitches, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

He just keeps going, humming against you, coaxing his name from your mouth until you're a whimpering mess.

When he finally pulls away, crawls back up to cup your face, staring at you.

"You let me do that," he breathes, "And you liked it."

It's not a question. It's a fact. He knows it. You know it. You both know it. If screaming his name like that wasn't proof of it, the stickiness between your legs and all over his chin certainly served as evidence enough.

You can fake flirt with him. You can fake a pitiful, sorry-eyed gaze that makes him weak in the knees. But you can't fake the way your body reacts from his touch. That, alone, seems to make him malfunction all over again, his face flushed, and his eyes dropping to your lips again.

And though you only just finished coming down from your high, you're pulling him down to kiss you, hungry and wet and needy and... slow. He kisses you slow this time, breathing you in, letting his mouth learn the shape of yours. You feel the length of him against your thigh, hard again, and against all common sense, you let yourself say the one thing you never thought you'd be saying to him, of all people, so easily.

"Fuck me."

He pulls away, but he blinks from the fog in his glasses. Quickly, he removes them, fumbling around as he scrambles to hover back over you. His arms brace himself on either side of the bed, and you look up. You could take back your words. But you don't. You don't want to.

"...What?"

"Fuck me," you repeat, a little slower this time like you're spelling it out for him, "I want you to fuck me, Jake."

He looks at you, and for a moment, you see a flicker of hesitation, a flicker of the Jake you'd known that first week of class, the one who was so desperate for your affection.

"Okay," he nods, a little dazed, "Okay, lemme just..."

His hand fumbles around at his bedside, half-blindly for the little foil he'd had yet to use, but you beat him to it. You tear it open, rolling it down his cock yourself. And, a little clumsily, he positions himself, though he turns to you uncertain, his eyes meeting yours.

"You know, when I said 'you better act like you enjoy it' I didn't mean like you have to. I was just kinda saying stuff," his voice is soft, sounding almost conflicted. His hands are at your waist, thumbs moving in slow circles, and though he's achingly hard against you, he hesitates, "So if you don't want this—"

"I want this," you affirm him, and you sort of raise your brow, "Do you want this?"

He smiles, then practically scoffs in disbelief at your question.

"Do I?" He laughs, a slight shakiness to it, "I've dreamed of this."

He presses his hips forward, and you both gasp at the sudden intrusion. He's big, but it's more than you expected, and the feeling of him inside you, stretching you, filling you, is overwhelming. A whine escapes him as he pushes just a little further, until he's buried all the way in. Then, he takes a moment to steady his breathing, like he's trying not to cum on the spot.

"F-fuck, I thought about this every day for weeks." The confession is ripped out of him, hands digging just a little harder into your waist at the feeling of your walls fluttering around him, "You're so tight, holy shit."

He starts to move, slow, like if he dared to move any faster, it might end all too soon, though you're thankful he does, considering you feel every movement all the way in your guts. You're a mess yourself, hands digging into his shoulders for support.

"Thought about your face," he keeps going, his mouth running like he doesn't know how to stop it. His hand moves to your jaw, taking in your glossy-eyed gaze and parted lips. "Thought about you saying my name-"

"Jake," you involuntarily squeak, his hips starting to pick up the pace just a bit.

"Just like that," he half-laughs, half-moans, looking down at your chest. He brings his hand to it, "Thought about these. Thought about all the pretty noises you'd make."

You're arching your back, meeting his thrusts, your nails digging into his shoulders, urging him on. He leans down, capturing one nipple between his lips, sucking hard while his tongue flicks over the sensitive peak. His free hand slides down your side, gripping your hip to angle you better, driving deeper into your slick heat. You can feel every inch of him dragging against your inner walls, the friction building that delicious pressure low in your belly.

"You like this, don't you?" He breathes. Though he's bringing a hand to your face, forcing you to look at him, "You like being fucked by the nerd you used."

You can't answer, can't form a coherent thought. All you can do is feel, feel the way he's filling you, the way he's making you feel alive in a way you haven't in a long, long time. You nod mindlessly, uncaring.

One hand tangles in your hair, tilting your head back to expose your neck. He presses open-mouthed kisses there, sucking into your skin like he wants to claim every part of you.

"If I'm such a gross loser, what does that make you?" His breath is at your neck, then at your ear. "Campus slut, right? That's what they'll call you."

You cry out his name, a raw, desperate sound, as his cock presses right against the right spot inside you, and he's already following you over the edge. You clench around him, nails digging into his shoulders as he fucks you through your climax, riding out his own release you until you've both gone still.

He collapses on top of you, his body heavy and warm, his face buried in the crook of your neck. For a moment, you just lie there, tangled together, the smell of sweat and sex thick in the air. It's dizzying, trapping you in a post-climactic haze, so much that you cannot suppress the way your chest swells as he nuzzles into you. You look down at his peaceful form and instinctively, your hand reaches for his head, brushing through the mop of hair on his head. The gesture draws a groan from his throat, making you smile.

"You like it when I do that, right?" You ask softly.

He hums approval into you, arms wrapped tighter around you, all sweetly like he hadn't just fucked your brains out moments ago. It's nice. It's easy.

His breathing evens out, and for a second, you think he might have fallen asleep. So you just stroke his hair, your fingers tangling in the soft strands. You’ve always thought his hair is soft. The kind of soft that makes you want to bury your face in it and never come up for air.

"Jake?" You whisper.

"Mm?"

Your words get caught in your throat for a moment, your heart beating faster than you're used to. It makes you want to laugh at yourself.

"I liked holding your hand in the movie theatre," you finally say, with an unintended shakiness to your voice that makes your cheeks grow warmer, "and I liked kissing you in the car after."

He tilts his head at you, smiling. Wordless. Unreadable. You're not sure why it makes you nervous. You're not really sure what kind of response you had been hoping for, either.

"Just... thought I should let you know."

You scratch a particular spot close to his ear, and he lets out another happy grunt.

Your phone pings the floor, discarded somewhere along with your clothes, but you ignore it, deciding Jake's arms are too warm, and his bed is too comfy. But then it pings another time. Then another. Then his head turns to you.

"Not gonna check that?"

"Should I?" you raise a brow, and he shrugs.

You sigh, begrudgingly pushing yourself from the bed. It's probably your roommates texting about someone's dirty dishes, or your friends blowing up the group chat. But when you dig your phone up, you're blinking at the notifications.

Crawling back into the bed, you swipe through them as they filter in. Tags, messages, reactions, and your stomach drops at the one that stands out most—a mention in the university confessions page.

It's the video. From outside his door. Your voice, your face, your words: "You want a blowjob or something, you perv? "

There are already hundreds of comments, the video having been posted sometime an hour ago.

He sent it an hour ago.

You scroll in a panicked haze, skin crawling where his arms move to hold you again.

Laughing emojis. Jokes about your "business model." People you've never met are calling you a dumb whore, a desperate bitch. Campus slut. People you have met are calling you that, too. Your 'friends' have already unfollowed you, posting gossip to their stories, reposting memes.

Your social life is over. You could say goodbye to parties, to the circle of popularity you'd clawed your way into, to the image of perfection you'd upheld for years.

Pathetic. That's what you were, and that's all you'd ever be known for on campus from now until graduation, maybe even after.

The phone trembles in your grasp as you turn to him. You don't have the strength to ask how or when or why, though you suppose you already know why.

"Don't worry. I'll still help you with school," his voice is steady as he reaches over, taking his glasses from the nightstand and putting them on. "But that was my price."

✰.ᐟ read the epilogue Irreversible Process

nav • masterlist • thanks for reading ♡

[simjakedly]

mark me yours - l.hs (part 3)

— a spin-off from love me (k)not

main masterlist | part 1 | part 2

synopsis. heeseung finally knows the taste of betrayal.

pairing. alpha!heeseung x omega!female reader

genre(s). omegaverse, fated mates, strangers-to-lovers, fluff, angst, smut

warnings. MDNI (there'll be a warning cut), heavy angst, alpha!jay being our target again i'm so sorry this is the last time i promise!, tw: nosebleed, softdom!heeseung because i love soft doms, p in v, fingering, missionary AND doggy because why not, unprotected sex (haih pls just don't), loss of virginity, nipple sucking, body worshipping, BITING, MARKING, BITE-MARK, heeseung cries a lot good lord but he deserves it lowkey, LIKE BONNIE AND CLYDE MAKIN' LOVEEE (insert hoonwon's voice), yes they make love your honour, and yes it's a happy ending your honour, not beta read we die like injang, tumblr pls stop with your 1000 blocks limit im gna come at you!!! lmk if i missed anything :>

word count. 15,175 words

note. i'm sorryyyyyyy for the delay sjshidshk here's the last part!!! thank you for showing this series your love and support <3

It’s finally the day of the competition.

Yet you haven’t heard from Heeseung for days.

You try not to make it obvious, nor to show how much you care. Not when Jungwon wouldn’t say anything either.

The younger alpha has been replacing Heeseung instead, walking you home while chatting about anything but the elephant in the room.  

Or, in your case, the wolf in your universe.

There’s a lump of disappointment lodging in your chest whenever you think about it. You think that Heeseung has finally given up on trying to make up. You think that you’ve been too indifferent and unintentionally have pushed him away further than the two of you have ever been.

You don’t know why the thought makes you feel bitter.

“Our pitching is next,” Jungwon whispers next to you, snapping you out of your thoughts. You watch the group before you begin their pitching presentation.

In the first stage, the pitching was done in separate rooms to make it less time-consuming. But your group has advanced to the final stage, and now you have to convince five professionals from the business industry why your business idea is better than three other groups in front of hundreds of audience.

The image makes your blazer suddenly feel too tight around your ribs. You shift, trying not to think about the eyes watching every movement of the participants sitting on the far end of the stage.

Where the hell did this many people come from, anyway? You never see this crowd in lecture halls!

“Y/N. You’re nervous.”

“I’m relaxed.”

“Well, you don’t really smell like you’re relaxed right now.”

You purse your lips. Jungwon is right, of course, except you actually feel like your nerves are on the edge of bursting.

You’re not exactly good with stage fright. Especially in front of all these people whose names sound way too dramatic, like they don’t belong to the normal citizens like you. Their eyes are too penetrative, like they’re already figuring out every single doubt and nerves in your body, ready to tackle with impossible-to-answer questions.

You move in your seat again, trying to find comfort. But the seat is too hard for your tailbone. Beside you, Jungwon leans closer, speaking over the speaker blasting by your ears.

“Are you going to Jake hyung’s after party tonight?”

“His after party?” your eyebrows shoot up. Then you remember the invitation and something inside you sinks.

“Oh. Right. It’s his birthday today, right?”

And Heeseung must be there, you think bitterly, unaware of the withering daisies now wafting from your neck. They’re close friends, after all.

You don’t understand why, or you maybe actually do, but the lump in your chest only gets bigger. Really, you shouldn’t expect much by a man. They’ll always prioritise their homeboys over you in every way, your brain adds to the fuel.

Jungwon chuckles when he sees your frown, showing off his perfect dimples that could disarm any opponent. 

Something clicks in your mind. Yeap. That’s right. You just need to force Jungwon to smile in front of the judges and surely—

“Relax, Heeseung hyung’s daisy. Look to your right.”

You don’t know why. Maybe it’s because of his name finally being mentioned by the younger alpha, or the flutter in your chest at being called his daisy—but your head whips so fast in that direction, heart ramming behind your ribs.

Seated at the front row, standing out too much due to his handsome features and not-so-subtle hair colour, is Lee Heeseung. From where you sit, you can’t really make out his expression. 

But the alpha is already staring at you, burgundy hair swept back neatly to expose his forehead. A small curve of his lips quirks up like he’s been expecting you to notice him.

You sit dumbly as he gives you a tiny wave, not sure what to do now that the alpha is actually here. 

Here. To watch your group presentation and not there: To celebrate Jake’s birthday at his party.

For the first time in weeks, you feel your omega stirs and you almost choke.

“It’s our turn!” 

You inhale sharply, snapping your eyes back to the centre of the stage. The previous group is already receiving applause and walking towards the other end of the stage to join the audience. 

Okay. It’s actually your turn.

You feel sick to your stomach. You almost miss it when Jungwon nudges at you to stand, smoothing down his own blazer as he shoots you a dimpled smile. On the way to the centre of the stage, your mind is nothing more than a whirlwind of overthinking.

Trailing after Jungwon in your heels is nerve-wracking because what if you trip?

Bowing down to greet the judges and audience is scary because what if you lose your balance?

Staring back at the audience is distressing because what if they silently judge your makeup?

But all thoughts fly out the window when you meet eyes with Heeseung again.

As if the noise in your head suddenly vanishes, you can feel your frantic mind quieting down and your breathing, previously quite erratic, steadies without so much effort. 

And it only happens when Heeseung holds your gaze, trusting and comforting all at the same time.

It’s like the stage was a tidal wave and Heeseung was the shore that keeps you safe.

Your omega stirs again.

Before you know it, Jungwon is already passing the mic to you. You take in a shaky breath, sweaty palms almost slippery, and imagine that every cell in your brain is filing up your speech in a neat line.

Despite your worries, everything goes well.

Your presentation goes on without a hitch and it ends exactly the way your best-scenario imagination does. You even manage to answer one out of five questions from the panel, and you can’t help the pride swelling in your chest when your group is announced as the first runner-up of the competition.

It’s a national-level competition, so being in the top three is already satisfactory for you and your group members, who were lowballing to only bring home participation certificates.

“First runner up is good enough! Congrats!” you squeal, almost hugging Jungwon in your excitement. The alpha dodges you as if you were a bullet, eyes darting to somewhere behind your head.

“Hey. You dodged my hug,” you huff.

“I have no intention to challenge a dominant alpha,” Jungwon gives you a teasing smile and wiggles his eyebrows. You raise yours, and before you can ask what he means by that, Jungwon is already raising his hand and waving at someone.  

“Heeseung hyung! Your daisy is here!”

Your daisy. Heeseung hyung’s daisy. 

His daisy.

Crimson red blooms across your cheeks, and your heart decides to skip a few beats you think it’s going to fall to the floor from how fast it's pounding.

Jungwon is fast to grab your shoulders and turn you around, like a proud parent introducing their child to their conglomerate friends. Your protest dies in your throat once your eyes settle on Heeseung’s approaching figure.

He’s donning a white dress shirt with slightly rolled-up sleeves, exposing his smooth forearms and athin silver bracelet. A dark gray vest, tailored and buttoned neatly hugs his frame snugly, showing off his narrow waist. There’s a big bouquet of pink roses held close to his chest, handled delicately like it’s something sacred.

His eyes, round and soft around the edges, are already trained on you. A wide smile curves up his lips, charming and disarming you’re sure the omegas around you are stealing glances.

Inside, your omega stirs again.

“Hi, Y/N.” He holds out the bouquet to you, his smiling turning shy. “For you.”

You take it slowly, admiring the beautiful petals. There are tiny daisies filling up the spaces between the roses and you feel something tug at your heartstring.

 “Thank you, Heeseung. How’ve you been?”

Closer, only now do you notice the lack of colour in his face. His cheeks are losing its radiant flush, and his lips are void of its usual pinkish hue. There’s a slight delay before he responds and his smile comes slower than usual.

Something feels off. Not obvious enough to name, but it’s enough to make your chest tighten.

As if noticing your stare, Heeseung tries to cover his face. He raises his hand and pretends to cough.

“I was quite sick,” he says after a moment, trying to sound casual. He gives you a reassuring smile. “I’m sorry that I didn’t show up without any updates.”

“It’s okay,” you softly say. You don’t know if it’s truly okay, though, because now your heart thinks that there’s something wrong. 

Is he hiding something from you?

“I came to see you,” he says, like it’s the only place he’s ever meant to be. “I didn’t want to miss it. Congratulations, Y/N.”

He really came for you. Not for Jungwon or anyone. Not to Jake or anyone. But for you.

You can faintly hear your omega murmuring something, but your racing heart is louder than any noise in your head.

You’re about to reply when Jungwon inserts himself into the conversation, announcing his presence like a royal entering a ball.

“Thank you, hyung! I know we were great.” Jungwon says way too loudly, forcing Heeseung to shake hands with him. You let out a laugh while Heeseung only rolls his eyes.

“You too, Jungwon.”

“Anyway, why don’t we take a picture?” Jungwon, ever the trusted wingman, wiggles an eyebrow at Heeseung, hoping that you won’t notice. You actually do, but for some reason, you don’t say anything against it.

Heeseung studies your face. “Can I take a picture with you, Y/N?”

You hesitate for a second, heat sweeping across your cheeks before you nod. “Sure.”

Jungwon instantly pushes you in Heeseung’s direction. The dominant alpha, not expecting his accomplice to take such a bold move, catches you by the elbows instinctively. His fast reflexes are proving to be useful in the situation.

“Okay, look at the camera. Y/N, don’t be so stiff!”

Jungwon, that menace. One of these days you’re gonna beat his ass for sure.

“Heeseung hyung, is that a GDP gap? Get closer!”

“I’m sorry about him,” Heeseung whispers into your ears and chuckles breathily. Something kicks in your heart. “He’s a bit annoying, right?”

You just cannot hold your tongue. “He is, and I had to stick around with him when you weren’t around,” you catch yourself saying and silently curse yourself. Beside you, Heeseung stills for a second.

Why are you already whining to him? Fuck these stupid feelings, man. You’re still mad at him!

But Heeseung doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, his grin only gets wider. He leans down further, hot breath brushing against the shell of your ears.

“I’ll keep trying,” he murmurs, edged with his usual determination. “Even if you don’t let me.”

You try not to notice that Jungwon has been silently snapping the candid moments. You also try to ignore the way your heart beats like a war drum. You try not to think too much about the manly pheromones coming from Heeseung—the cinnamon and sea salt that are awakening old memories, and the way his taller shoulder brushes yours.

“On three!” Jungwon interrupts, a boyish smirk on his face. You quickly clear your throat and smile at the camera.

“Two!”

Heeseung’s left shoulder bumps into you softly from behind, angling his body to face you. His hand hovers a safe distance from the back of your waist, not touching you even by accident like he’s afraid even that would be too much.

“One!”

As the flash goes off and you hold the bouquet dearly to your chest, you quietly wonder when it stopped hurting so much.

The next morning, you’re awakened by the sound of Yujin squealing and thumping on your door.

“Y/N! Get your fucking ass out now!”

The urgency in her voice makes you jolt awake and scramble to your feet. With sleepiness still clinging to your lashes, you stumble to the door, mentally preparing yourself to punch a robber.

“Yujin! What is it?!” you ask, voice hoarse but still laced with panic.

“Did you already make up with Heeseung?!”

You pause and stand there dumbly, hazy mind slowly clearing up at her sudden interrogation. With the biggest question mark on your face, you blurt out, “Huh?”

“Heeseung posted you on his Instagram!”

“Huh?”

“Y/N! He never posted girls on his account!” Yujin screams in your face, looking more excited than ever. “Fucking hell, open your damn phone!”

Yujin rushes into your room, flipping your pillows where she knows you always keep your phone despite the electromagnet radiation that she warns you about. She unlocks the screen by shoving it into your bleary face and hits the pink-purple-orange gradient icon quickly.

“There!”

You blink the blurriness away from your eyes, adjusting to the bright screen in your face. Yujin waits impatiently, gauging your reaction with wide eyes.

On the screen is the picture you took last night. You haven’t checked the result yet because you were quickly ushered away to take group pictures with other participants after and by the time you reached home, you were out the moment your head hit the pillow.

But now, you realise, the picture turns out really well. 

Heeseung stands taller than you, a close-lipped smile spreading wide across his face as he stood proud and protective beside you. You have a similar smile mirroring his, leaned into him in a way that hinted at familiarity and domesticity. The pop of colour from the roses makes the picture look more alive, and the colour filter he used makes it look almost nostalgic.

An ancient feeling, like a prophecy waiting to be fulfilled, blooms in your chest. You stare at the picture longer than intended, then read the caption he typed in cursive.

‘smarty daisy did it again.’

You re-read it once. Then twice. The soft declaration, the hints on intimacy makes your omega purr in delight. Nobody has ever called you daisy, especially their daisy, but here Heeseung is: calling you his daisy like he’s just found a new favourite flower.

“Yujin…”

To your surprise, Yujin replies with a sniffle. When you look up, her eyes are already glossed over.

“Yujin? Why are you…”

“I’m sorry I got emotional,” Yujin cuts in, laughing it off like a funny joke with a shaky voice. 

“It’s just—I never met true mates. And while the circumstances between you two weren’t great, I’m just so glad  that you have an alpha willing to amend his mistakes.”

You can already feel your eyes watering.

“Yujin…”

Yujin takes your hands in her hold and urges you to sit on the mattress with her. It’s silent for a moment, and you take the chance to stare at the picture again.

It’s an Instagram story, but there is already a long line of comments. You read through each one of them, curiosity getting the best of you.

narin.kim no fucking way

jakesimisimiya hey so u ditched me ON MY BDAY

jeyipark @jakesimisimiya talk to me i am his lawyer

just.jungwon cute cute cuteeeee wonder who took the pic tho

evanlee @just.jungwon she is cute

nishimurariki welcome to the simp club

sunooyaa it’s time to ask me if my back hurts from carrying this ship

Every comment makes your breath feel shorter. You try hard to bite back a smile and ignore the small flutter in your chest, not noticing the way Yujin observes everything. When she eventually speaks, her voice has dropped to a serious tone.

“Have you forgiven him?”

You tear your eyes away from your phone, taking a moment to reply. Then, with a shake of your head, you reply, “No. Not yet, I think.”

It’s not a whole lie. While the human part of you has already forgiven him, your omega is still giving you radio silence. But for now, you decide to keep it to yourself first—the way your omega has been more responsive these days, albeit slowly and slightly.

“That’s good,” Yujin nods. “Forgiveness should come from your heart. You shouldn’t force it just because you feel bad for him.”

The words land like a gentle reminder tucking you in a warm blanket. You don’t say anything and look back at the screen, thumb hovering over the reply box. The gears of your mind start turning, looking for a polite way to thank the alpha.

Then, softly, Yujin continues, making your head spin with the weight of her words for the rest of the day.

“But when it’s really time to forgive him, I hope you don’t run away from it too.”

You end up reposting Heeseung’s story and hide.

The attention is quite heavy for you, to be honest. You’ve never been the centre of that many eyes, not since in the backyard of Jake’s frat house.

You never dare ask Heeseung as well. A reply of, ‘Thank you Heeseung’ is all you can manage, keeping the rest of the sentence to yourself.

‘Why did you post only me?’

You’re not blind. You see the chaos he created from that single post. The notorious alpha who doesn’t do relationships, who always prioritises his friends over girls is suddenly skipping Jake’s birthday to see a boring competition and posting a picture with the omega he came for. You become a hot sensation overnight—people just can’t stop talking about it.

Because of that, thoughts about him become even more frequent and inevitably, your heart starts to melt at how persistent he is.

It’s been more than a month yet Heeseung doesn’t falter. He keeps choosing you in routine. He keeps choosing you in public.

And, apparently, he chooses you in private, too.

You don’t mean to overhear the conversation, really. You’re just leaving the restroom during practice break, about to have lunch with Rei when you see two shadows disappearing around the corner. Your heart almost stops.

Seeing Heeseung and Narin together brings back old wounds that almost makes you lose your mind. Your quiet omega has been tugging you to follow, to see what the alpha is doing with the omega that your wolf has marked with a red ink on her forehead.

So you follow them quietly, covering your scent gland with a hand in hope to hide your presence. With your back to the wall, you hold your breath as you hear the conversation between the two of them.

“—on, Heeseung. You left things unfinished that night.” Narin’s voice is the one you hear first, frustration spilling into her tone.

“I don’t intend to finish it,” Heeseung replies, always sounding calm and composed. It painfully reminds you of the talk you had with him after the tournament.

“Why? You always sleep with different people. Why did I never get a chance?” Narin scoffs, disbelieving. “And they've been saying that you’ve stopped!”

“I have. I don’t do that anymore.”

“Is it because of Y/N?”

Your ear perks up. Damn bro, they’re now talking about you. It slips from your mind sometimes, about how childish Narin can be. Something akin to anticipation builds up in your chest, waiting for Heeseung’s reply.

“Yes,” he answers, firm and fast. “I’m pursuing her right now. I hope that’s clear.”

There is silence from Narin, but the spike in her scent sours the atmosphere almost instantly. While you, well, you try not to feel so giddy about it.

“Are you stupid? Her? Didn’t she cut the—”

“What happened between Y/N and I is a private matter of our hearts. It’s not your business,” Heeseung cuts in sharply with a bite to his voice. Your omega shifts inside you. “Are you done? Because I’m leaving.”

Panic ensues in your system at the thought of being caught eavesdropping. Your mind scrambles for escape, so without thinking you almost sprint to the vending machine at the end of the hallway and pretend to buy a drink.

Acting like you don’t notice them while catching your breath proves to be the hardest sport for you yet. You stare blankly at the vending machine, unaware of the grape juice sitting right under your nose and fully aware of the manly pheromones approaching you.

Thank Goddess that he smells like himself only. You think you’re going to break down if Narin’s scent clings onto him.

“Are you thinking of a different drink?” Heeseung murmurs softly, standing beside you and mimicking you staring at the machine.

You steal a glance at him, feeling the movement of your wolf becoming more responsive and bold. Behind your ribs, your heart is galloping like a horse.

“No. I still like grape juice.”

“Mhm, okay,” Heeseung fishes out his wallet and makes the purchase like it’s routine. The impact of the can dropping can’t even beat the loud pulse racing in your ears. Heeseung opens the can with one hand.

“For you.”

“Thank you.”

You take it, fingers brushing his. You try not to overthink the sparks the touch sends to your system and quietly drink, feeling his eyes boring into the side of your face.

“Y/N, I have something to tell you,” he begins, this time sounding slightly nervous. “Narin and I talked just now.”

Oh. Okay. He’s actually coming clean about it.

You didn’t expect that at all.

You nod, still not looking at him. Heeseung takes a second to himself, like he’s plotting something, then before you know it, he’s already moving to stand in front of you, bending his body to be on your eye-level. 

You almost choke and take a step back.

“Heeseung?”

“I need you to look into my eyes,” he licks his lips, holding your eyes with his intense gaze. “Because I need you to know that you’re the only omega I like and I’m pursuing.”

The sincerity in his voice is almost too much, but you find savouring it instead.

“And I made that clear to her just now.”

Is he trying to reassure you?

You search his face, and all you can see in those dark eyes is utter devotion and determination.

It makes your chest tighten.

“I’m serious, Y/N. I will keep trying no matter what.”

You can only hum and nod, failing to find your voice.

“Okay.”

Heeseung shoots you with a small grin and straightens up. He glances at his smartwatch and frowns.

“I have to skip tonight’s practice. There’s a meeting about the upcoming music festival,” he says, looking at you with furrowed eyebrows. “I’ll find someone to walk you home.”

“It’s okay. I’ll use the Safe Night Walk service,” you politely decline, already sick of hearing Jungwon talking about his lifelong crush on some noona that won’t see him as a man every time he walks you home.

Seriously, you don’t blame that omega. Jungwon is really cute, it’s hard to see him more than a kitty cat.

Heeseung’s face, on the other hand, twists into confusion before a look of understanding crosses his face. 

Safe Night Walk is a service provided by the omega activist club of your university. The purpose is pretty self-explanatory, where any omega who’d like to go home at night can request an alpha to keep them safe. It’s pretty well-known for how rigid the alpha selection process is, seeing as the new president of the club is the fiercest to hold the title yet, making the service the most credible it has ever been.

Which is probably why Heeseung agrees to it too easily.

“Oh, right. Jay also tried for the selection, but he never told me if he passed or not,” Heeseung pauses, pondering about something.

“Sunghoon also signed up for it and we know each other. Do you want me to contact him?”

You wave a hand. “It’s fine. I’ll get someone when it’s time to go home.”

It’s quite hard to convince the alpha that you don’t need his friend’s service, but Heeseung eventually relents. He gives you a fond smile, walking backwards and not breaking eye contact.

“Call me if no alpha is available.”

“Okay.”

“I will run to you in ten minutes. No—five minutes.”

Your heart stutters, but your face remains neutral. “As if you can do that.”

Heeseung grins. The easy affection etched in his features is almost too scary for you to bear.

“For you, I will.”

The shared apartment is quiet save for the track playing from his producer room. Heeseung lies down on his couch, staring at the ceiling in silence. His lyrics notebook sits idly on the coffee table, open and now forgotten. Outside, the rain pouring down does nothing to wash down his guilt.

He had lied to you.

He just came back from a doctor appointment, not a meeting about any festival. A checkup meant to follow up with his condition after the night he collapsed in Jay’s arms.

‘You only have two weeks to win the omega back. If nothing succeeds, you must cut the one-sided bond, Heeseung-ssi.”

Heeseung only wants to do one thing and cutting the bond is not an option. 

It’s better for him to die being yours than to live being nothing to you.

“I’m sorry,” he quietly mutters to the empty space.

“I ran away again,” he swallows thickly. “I’m still the old Heeseung in some ways. I’m sorry, Y/N.”

The pitter-patter of the rain is the only sound he receives back, thickening the guilt spilling over his chest.

He grazes the scent gland with the tip of his finger. It pulses slowly, faintly, like a calm before a storm. A storm that is just turning the key and entering the door.

“I’m home,” Jay announces, toeing off his shoes. There are tiny droplets of rain in his hoodie, but that’s not what catches Heeseung’s attention.

It’s the scent that lingers in his citrusy pheromones.

Soft daisies and sweet honey—unmistakingly you.

Jay smells like you.

Something churns violently in his stomach. 

Every silent breakdown, every secret insecurity of his best friend comes crashing down on him. His blood roars in his ears that Heeseung believes he’s seeing red.

In that one single sniff that he picks up with his sensitive nose, Heeseung almost thinks that the floor holding his weight is crumbling down. 

He springs up to sit, eyes narrowing down in his friend’s direction. His alpha is already growling, ready to take the other alpha down in a fight.

Jay, still oblivious to the storm building inside the house, throws Heeseung a smile. 

“Hee, just now—”

“Park Jongseong,” Heeseung starts slowly, trying to hide the hurt in his voice as he stands and approaches him slowly. “Why the fuck do you smell like her?”

Jay’s expression turns into confusion. He sniffs at the collar of his hoodie and—oh.

Oh.

Heeseung can’t stand the look of realisation on his face. It’s like being left out of something that should be his, something that only he should know and have. His chest twists sharply and before he can stop himself, he’s already shoving Jay into the wall, fists trembling with restraint.

“Jay,” he breathes out, his voice treading the edges of fear and heartbreak. “Please tell me why the fuck am I smelling Y/N on your right now.”

Despite his anger, Heeseung’s voice sounds way too broken. Anxiety cracks through his demeanour, and for a moment, Heeseung’s not sure if he wants to hear Jay’s answer. There is a thin veil of tears glossing over his eyes and his scent gland is throbbing violently, shooting pain all over his body.

It’s almost like he was back in the backyard, watching you scream in pain as you smelled another woman on him. Heeseung sobs, hating himself even more than he ever did.

Was this how you felt that night?

Jay claws at the hands around his collar, almost gasping for air.

“Heeseung—it’s not what you think—”

“Then tell me! Fuck!” he shouts, eyes pleading Jay desperately to prove him wrong.

The longer he smells the blend of your scent with Jay’s pheromones, the dizzier his head gets. His frantic heart is buzzing with the thoughts of being replaced, of losing yet another chance to make things right, of losing you.

His self-esteem, already in pieces since that tragic night, is filled with doubt and uncertainty to the brim.

Not you, please. Heeseung quietly prays. Please not you, Jay.

“I walked her home!” Jay yells, face red from how tight Heeseung’s gripping his collar. His wolf whines at the unexpected aggression from his closest alpha, confused and wounded from being treated like an enemy. “She used the Safe Night Walk service and I was one of the alphas on duty.”

Hearing that, Heeseung’s grip loosens a fraction, trying desperately to believe his friend.

“It’s raining so I lent her my hoodie.” Jay quietly mutters, losing the previous edge. There’s a look of hurt on his face now that he fails to mask. He searches Heeseung’s tearful face, dread growing in his chest.

Despite the aggression, Jay cannot find it in him to be upset when all he can see in his friend is fear and hurt.

“Please, Heeseung. I will never betray you like that.”

Heeseung bites his lips until it bleeds and finally lets go. Jay almost drops down to the floor, clawing at his throat for relief. His neck has turned deep red, bruised from Heeseung’s grip. 

Heeseung is strong even when he never admits it, the dominant traits in him giving him the advantage when his wolf is riled up. Jay is lucky that Heeseung didn’t use his commanding voice—he would’ve been helpless if it happened.

But deep down, Jay knows that Heeseung would never do that to him. They’re best friends, after all.

The air is thick and heavy with a dominant alpha’s wrath. Heeseung doesn’t even realise how sharp his scent has turned until he finds himself struggling to breathe.

There’s a ringing silence between the two alphas. Jay is still on the floor, chest heaving rapidly as he tries to process. Heeseung, on the other hand, is on the verge of breaking apart.

Quietly, the alpha mutters an apology.

“I’m sorry.”

Heeseung leaves the house in a storm of cinnamon and tearful bergamot, slamming the door so hard the frame rattles.

He’s never felt closer to death than tonight.

You take your time with your skincare. Or rather, you’re actually zoning out while tapping toner into your skin.

Your conversation with Jay still lingers in the back of your mind.

“Thank you for giving him a chance, Y/N. I was scared that you wouldn’t.”

What would happen if you didn’t?

You sigh and stare into the mirror. You’re freshly out of the shower and in your comfiest pajamas, yet a hint of Jay’s pheromones is still there. It seems that the rain doesn’t wash it away; it only makes it stick longer.

Inside, your omega shifts uncomfortably, unsettled by the scent of the foreign alpha. You roll your eyes.

“I know you hate it, but it can’t be helped when we haven’t forgiven him yet.” You grunt, capping your bottled product. “I mean, I already did, but since you’re like, my other half, I can’t just—”

Forgiven.

The toner slips from your hand and clatters on the floor. 

Your lungs freeze. 

“...What?”

I want to forgive him.

Slowly, a habit that you’re already accustomed to since that night, you place a hand on your chest. Your omega’s presence is more tangible now, like she’s finally arose from her deep slumber.

And she’s finally talking to you.

“Are you sure?” you start slowly, not wanting to offend the fragile soul. “We can take more time, you don’t have to feel rushed—”

I want my alpha, Y/N. I forgive him and I hope you do, too.

Every word fails you in that moment. You stand alone in your room, with only your wolf as your lifelong companion. There’s a strange feeling in your heart.

Something ancient. Something sacred. Something freeing.

A ghost of a smile grazes your lips.

“Idiot. I told you, didn’t I? The stubborn one out of the two of us is you.”

He hurt us badly, Y/N. Of course I had to stand on business.

“It’s better that you did,” you hum, finally feeling like a weight has been lifted off your shoulder. “Or else I probably won’t see this side of him and will only remember him as a bad alpha.”

Your omega doesn’t reply. In return, there’s a soft pulsing in your scent gland; something that hasn’t occurred in so long. You gasp.

But before you can process it, your phone rings, the noise slicing through the atmosphere sharply. You frown when you see that it’s your next-door neighbour, a fellow floormate that likes to borrow your detergent.

“Hello?”

“Y/N, oh my Goddess. Don’t come out!” she whisper-shouts, panic evident in her voice. “There’s an alpha outside of your door right now and he smells so bad. I think he’s dangerous. We’re about to call the security.”

Your heart drops. “What? Who?”

There’s a sound of movement and whispering before you hear a gasp.

“Okay, what the hell. It’s actually Heeseung and he’s crying,” your floormate says in disbelief. You, on the other hand, are in bigger disbelief.

Heeseung? Didn’t Yujin already let him know that you’re home?

Your feet are already padding across the tiles of your apartment, heart beating in your lungs. 

“Y/N…I think you need to come out. He’s not moving at all.”

“Okay. Thanks for letting me know.”

Your sweaty palm trembles at the doorknob. Heeseung’s pheromones, thick and definitely smells distressed—which explains why your neighbour said that he smells bad—seeps through the gap between the door and the floor. But he doesn’t knock, like he’s here only to feel your presence.

Your omega whines, restless from the distressed pheromones, eager to comfort. You take a deep breath before you yank the door open.

The scene that greets you almost makes you speechless.

Heeseung stands in front of you, head hanging low like he’s trying to make himself smaller. The hallways are filled with slightly open doors and heads peeking out; all the omegas and betas living on this floor are definitely curious about the distress-smelling alpha and his omega.

“Heeseung?”

He doesn’t respond at first. His breaths come out uneven—too sharp, too shallow—like his lungs have forgotten to work properly. For a second, you think he doesn’t hear you.

But then, he lifts his gaze slightly, holding back a storm behind his eyes as he looks into yours. His nose flares, and then his scent turns more sour.

“Heeseung?”

There, lingering too faintly under your body wash, your lotion, and your own scent like it’s already fading out slowly—is Jay’s pheromones.

Something finally shatters in his chest.

“You smell like him.”

His voice is grim and shaky, tugging at your heartstrings. You immediately know what he’s referring to and for some reason, an ugly feeling twists in yiur gut.

But before you can respond, Heeseung already drops to his knees. 

A chorus of gasps is heard across the hallways. The bystanders are no longer caring about being seen eavesdropping. You think you even see a phone directed your way, but it’s the least of your concern now.

“Heeseung—”

“I can take anything you do to me,” Heeseung’s voice cracks, barely holding it together. “I can take any punishment you want to give me but not this.”

Heeseung cranes his neck. Trails of tears clinging to his lashes are falling his nose, his cheeks, the side of his face, down to the floor.

“Please, not him. Please—I beg you.”

His face crumples, like he’s imagining the sight of you and Jay together in his mind.

“I can’t—” his breath stutters, chest heaving like it’s caving in on itself. “I can’t do it, Y/N. I thought I could take it. I thought I deserved it, but—”

His fingers curl into the fabric of his pants, knuckles turning white.

“It hurts,” he chokes out, voice breaking into something almost unrecognisable. “It hurts so fucking bad.”

Your heart lurches.

Because you know.

You know exactly what he’s feeling.

The suffocating ache. The betrayal that sits in your lungs and refuses to let you breathe. The way your mind spirals, painting images you don’t want to see but can’t stop imagining.

It’s the same pain.

The same one he put you through.

Heeseung lets out a broken sound, shaking his head like he’s trying to rid himself of it.

“I get it now,” he whispers, more to himself than to you. “I get why you looked at me like that. I get why you—”

Heeseung cuts himself off. This time, a more pained, more broken noise slips past his lips.

“I get why you ended it.”

Everything hurts. His scent gland is angry red, throbbing endlessly like a sign of the real ending. His head pounds sharply and his lungs—oh Goddess, Heeseung can’t breathe.

His body sways. Instinctively, you crouch down to his level and catch him before he can fall. Panic fills up your system when a trickle of crimson blood starts peeking out of his nose.

No. No, please no. Not this again.

You cup his face, thumbs brushing his cheeks shakily. You turn your face and shout at your neighbour to call the ambulance or anyone—you just can’t let this happen.

You can’t let Heeseung go through the same pain you did.

“Heeseung, please don’t close your eyes.”

His head weighs heavier as he lolls forward, eyes almost snapping shut. You let his head rest on your shoulder, not caring about the blood now staining your shirt. Hot tears brim along your lashline.

“Heeseung, please—”

“Please forgive me,” Heeseung whispers weakly into your ears. The pain is unbearable, crushing his bones and penetrating his system like a sharp-end disease—an inevitable reaction from smelling another alpha on you.

So this is what you went through, he thinks wistfully. You must be in so much pain.

“Please forgive me, Y/N.”

“Where’s the ambulance?!” You finally break, cheeks wet with tears. Heeseung has completely gone still in your embrace, adding panic to your system. You reach out to hold his face.

“No, no, please.”

The lower part of his face is smudged red. His eyes close shut, still leaking out his tears even in his unconsciousness.

You let out an ugly sob, feeling utterly broken and scared.

“I forgive you, Heeseung. Please.”

You’re so fucking scared. Scared of losing yet another life you could’ve had when you were so close to having it.

Scared of not having the chance to love and to be loved again, this time with the person your soul chooses and not because fate says so.

“Please don’t leave me again.”

When Heeseung comes to, you’re holding his hands, zoning out.

There’s a distant look in your expression. A thin air of sad, wilted daisies lingers, no doubt wafting from you. His wolf, having just woken up like him, immediately shifts restlessly in his chest at the scent.

Your thumb brushes over his knuckles absentmindedly, tracing the veins like you’re memorising something before it disappears again.

He stays quiet, letting his eyes trace every curve of your features. The pretty slope of your nose, the soft swell of your cheeks, the petals of your lips. Then they stop at your puffy eyes.

Something inside him twists uncomfortably.

Why does he always make you cry?

You don’t even notice that he’s awake yet, too lost in your head as you stare at the beige wall of the ward. Not until he squeezes your hand back, eager and nervous to see if you’ll return it back or let go.

When you feel the grip tighten, your eyes snap back to him. And then, like a small win that heals something in his heart, you squeeze his hand back.

Heeseung almost breaks down.

“You’re awake,” you say in relief and move to stand. “I’ll get the doctor.”

Heeseung obeys, never finding it in him to go against your words anymore. But his hand never lets go. He savours every second that you let him hold you—the closest he’s ever touched you since the night he saved you.

He doesn’t let go even as the doctor does a checkup on him. The doctor comes in with Jay, who looks as disheveled as he is. There’s an awkward atmosphere between the two alphas, but neither dares to say anything and lets the doctor do his job.

He was unconscious for twelve hours, apparently.

“The scenting from your omega helped speed up the recovery process,” the doctor elaborates. Heeseung steals a glance at you, gauging your reaction, but your face remains neutral. 

It’s no wonder that he’s been feeling at peace since waking up—you had been scenting him when he was out.

“You just need to stay for a blood test and then you’re good to go,” the doctor continues, flashing him with a reassuring smile.

Murmurs of thank-yous ripple in the room as the three of you watch the doctor take his leave. Shortly after, the tension returns, and it’s almost obvious to you that the suffocating air comes from the two best friends.

Jay shifts on his feet awkwardly, avoiding eye contact. “I’m gonna grab us lunch.”

Which leaves him alone with you in the room.

Heeseung braves himself and takes a look at you, but you’re already staring at him. Your stare unsettles him, like you’re waiting for him to confess for a crime he didn’t know yet he committed.

“How are you feeling?” you ask instead.

“I—I think I’m good. Yeah,” Heeseung says quickly, a bit taken aback. He watches as you nod, then inspect his face by blinking closer, oblivious to the way he almost explodes from the proximity.

When satisfied, you lean back slightly, but still keep a close distance with him.

“Heeseung.”

The temperature suddenly drops, and the serious look on your face damn near makes him cry. Heeseung tries to mask his panic.

Did he do something wrong again? Fuck. He messed up, didn’t he?

“Hm?”

You take a shaky breath. “Jay told me about everything.”

Heeseung freezes. Everything?

Everything as in the fight that almost broke out last night? Everything as in how pathetic he is for you, which shouldn’t be so shocking or earth-shattering because he is pathetic and a loser for you?

Or everything as in his worsening health condition?

For a moment, you just stare at him. But the more seconds pass, the more obvious it is that you’re holding back tears.

“About the two options you had.”

Heeseung stops breathing. True to his speculation, it is about his health condition. About the fate that he has to choose, about the options that stand between mercy and cruelty.

“Why didn't you tell me? No—” you shake your head, your grip on his hand trembling greatly. His lips remain shut.

“Why didn’t you just cut the bond?”

The sadness dripping in your scent feels almost physical. You hang your head low, enveloping the two of you with the distressed scent of your pheromones. A low whine echoes in your chest, not heard but felt. Your omega is just as destroyed as you are, utterly horrified from the choice he made.

What if you never forgive him? What would become of him? 

Heeseung brushes his thumb over your hand consciously, trying to seep his own calming pheromones into your troubled scent. It helps, he notices, as the tremble in your hands subsides, breath evening out.

Then, with a raw honesty, he answers.

“Because I didn’t want a life where you don’t exist in it.”

There’s a lump in your throat but you swallow it down, refusing to break now that you have the chance to understand. To understand the equally wounded alpha in front of you, flawed yet still trying. 

“I know that sounds selfish,” he adds quickly. “It is. I was choosing myself when I said that.”

You shake your head, tears threatening to escape. “You could’ve died, no—you almost died, Heeseung.” 

“I know.”

Heeseung doesn’t argue. He looks down to your joined hands, branding his brain with the image. A soft smile appears on his lips. He wishes he could hold your hands more often.

“I just…” he exhales shakily. “I thought if I let go of the bond, it would be like I never got the chance to love you at all.”

You squeeze his hand. Your alpha, you realise, is just as soft as you are. He’s always been. It was just misunderstood and misdirected—his flaws that almost cost you your life. You resented him for it, ran from him to avoid it, made it hard for him to save yourself.

But in the end, quietly, tenderly—you find yourself forgiving him.

You understand now; what he was afraid of.

For Heeseung who used to live in short-lived attachments and practiced detachment, loving someone would sound like a too-big responsibility for him. Too lost in his own fear—fear of loving someone so much they could have power over you—he made choices that hurt you.

It doesn’t justify his actions, nor did it undo everything. But understanding him softens the pain.

“You’re so stupid,” you finally whisper, but it breaks halfway through. Heeseung looks almost hurt from your comment.

“I already forgave you.”

His head snaps up but you don’t look at him.

You take your time to speak. “I already did for a while. I was just waiting for my omega to open up her heart,” you chance him a glance and smile wistfully. 

“And she did just before you came to my door last night.”

A beat of silence passes by. Heeseung can’t seem to find his voice, too stunned with the sudden grace being granted upon him. 

He searches your face. For any lies, for any possible fabrication. He’s desperate to know if this was all just fragments of his dream, if you were just a manifestation of his desperation to be forgiven.

But you’re real. You’re breathing, and you’re telling him that you’ve forgiven him.

“Is this…true?” he asks, voice sounding breathy. “Don’t forgive me just because you feel bad, Y/N. I can’t live with that.”

“No, you didn’t force me,” you shake your head, returning his gaze with built-up courage.

“You earned it.”

Your scent softens, sweeter now that you finally let it out. Like the anger finally loosens its grip on your chest, you can feel your omega melts, her walls crumbling piece by piece.

Heeseung stares at you, mouth slightly agape. The weight he’s been carrying finally cracks and finally, finally—breathing finally comes easy for him now that his chest loosens.

His alpha paws at him in joy.

“Thank you, Y/N. I—” his voice cracks, and so do the tears he’s been holding back. “Oh my Goddess—thank you for forgiving me.”

Heeseung hesitates before he slowly wraps an arm around your shoulder, gauging your reaction. When you don’t push him away, he pulls you closer and you let yourself fall into his embrace.

Heeseung buries his nose in your hair, and the familiar scent of daisies and honey and your hair wash only makes him sob harder.

“Can we try again? Please?”

You nod, wrapping your arms around his waist, smiling into the hug.

“Mhm. Let’s try again.”

Trying again with Heeseung is soft and gentle.

Heeseung doesn’t change. If anything, he becomes more present than ever. If there was hesitation in his action before, he seems more confident to initiate things now.

Holding hands when you’re together. Tucking your hair behind your ears because ‘it hides your beautiful face’. Carrying your bag before you can even greet him properly. Bringing you food and trying to bake, even when you receive complaints from Jay about his oven almost catching on fire. But honestly, out of every failed experiments he did in the kitchen, it’s his ramyeon that you love the most.

And you always get it for free, presented like a five-star Michelin with radish and perfectly-made half-boiled egg. ‘Girlfriend privileges’ is what Sunoo called it, as he and the other alphas eat from their cup noodles.

With forgiveness, conversations come easy. Talking about everything and nothing with Heeseung is like trying to map a land. You finally get to know the story behind his jersey number. 

‘My mom always tells me that I’m her number one,’ he told you when you asked, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles. ‘It sticks until now, but I know that he said that only because I was sulking about being the second son—they love my brother more, to be fair!’

You never thought that Heeseung could be cute and adorable. But the two now fit his description perfectly.

Sometimes, his old habits crawl back. Heeseung still finds it hard to tell you about things that bother him, still trying to run away from ugly emotions that make him feel vulnerable.

Just like right now, Heeseung is trying so hard not to pout as he watches his teammates grab a cookie from the Tupperware you bring.

When Riki reaches for a third, his resolve finally cracks and he slaps the alpha’s hand away.

“That’s enough, you greedy alpha. Shoo!”

You stifle a laugh, basking in the rare occasion where Heeseung shows his emotion almost openly like this. He doesn’t like sharing, of course, but he says nothing—which unsettles you a bit.

“Are you mad?” You finally ask after pulling him out for some privacy.

He doesn’t reply. Heeseung takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, then shakes his head.

“I’m not mad.”

“Please tell me what’s wrong,” you coax him again, reminding yourself that Heeseung is still trying to unlearn some of his bad habits. “I can’t fix anything if you don’t tell me.”

Heeseung gnaws at his lips and avoids your eyes. He knows, with a devastating resignation, that he could never refuse if he looks. So he doesn’t look.

But your scent does the same damage anyway. It’s sweet, it’s too intoxicating and Heeseung can feel himself melt even before he can protest.

He finally relents. “Okay,” he sighs.

Heeseung reaches out and takes your fingers in his, clutching at your smaller ones like a lifeline.

“Y/N…” he starts, contemplating his words, unconsciously pouting. “Can’t you bake only for me and not…share?”

You bite back a grin.

“See? It isn’t hard to tell me,” you squeeze his hand. “You can tell me anything, Heeseung. I will always listen.”

Heeseung gives you a pouty nod.

As for him, Heeseung thinks he was never happier than he is right now. 

There’s a strange satisfaction blooming in his chest every time he does something for you. 

Be it walking you home, or waiting at the lobby of your apartment to walk to the campus together. Or feeding you food and having a can of grape juice always ready for you. 

All the things he used to avoid—doing domestic things, having one person to devote all his attention and affection to—they become things that bring his heart at ease now.

And Heeseung loves being taller than you. He loves when you have to look up to talk to him, or the way you can easily hide your face in his chest when he says something corny. The way he can reach the higher shelf for you and become useful to you. He loves towering over you because every time he does it, he can’t help but notice the sweet spike in your scent.

You love it too.

Over time, the two of you get closer than ever. Every brush of hands, every bump of shoulders, every laughter shared—they only bring you back to him, and him to you. And slowly, like a prophecy finally meeting its destiny, the red thread finds its way back to you.

“Are you sure about this?”

You’re now standing in between his legs while Heeseung sits on the mattress of his bed, craning his neck to search your face.

Your fingers pause in his hair when you feel a faint pulse beneath his skin. 

A reminder that he’s still hurting from the one-sided bond. A reminder of the weight of fate tying the two of you.

Heeseung could’ve walked away like you did. He could’ve defied his wolf and cut the bond. But he did nothing of those.

He’s still here, still choosing you in every way you keep choosing him.

“I want this, Heeseung,” you whisper back, carding your fingers through his burgundy hair.  “I’ve never been so sure.”

One of the things that the both of you learn more about the relationship is the importance of the sacred bond. This time, you’re no longer running away or denying it—you and Heeseung take time to learn about its history, about the nature of the bond—and in your case, about how to fix the broken bond.

“It must come from your wolves,” you remember Jay’s mom saying. “And only then can you commemorate the bond and heal it for good.”

Commemorating, in this context, is to finally mate with your alpha. 

It’s a big leap in the relationship, especially since you’re every way inexperienced. Heeseung knows this; which is why he never rushed you and let himself take the hit of the broken bond.

To the Goddess, without the commemoration, the bond is still considered one-sided. It results in Heeseung still experiencing pain from time to time and, after another nosebleed pre-game and out of care for your alpha, you decide you’re done taking your own time.

Your omega holds the sentiment as you, not having the heart to let the alpha suffer for your own sake.

Noticing your silence, Heeseung grabs your wrist gently and brings it to his nose. He starts nosing at the tender skin, pumping out his calm pheromones as he bathes you in his scent.

“Have you been with anyone else before?”

You hesitate. Then, with a shy smile, you shake your head.

“No.”

Contrary to your expectation, Heeseung stills immediately. His face crumples slightly and his phereomones—previously calming and comforting—suddenly takes a sour turn.

You frown. “Heeseung?” You hold his face, heart clenching at his trembling lips. “What’s wrong?”

When he looks up to you, there are silent tears spilling down his cheeks. It alerts you almost immediately.

“Hee?”

“I—” Heeseung takes a deep breath, but his lips wobble, betraying his effort to remain calm.

“I touched people like it didn’t mean anything,” his voice breaks. Heeseung closes his eyes, like the mere looking into your eyes was too much for him to bear. “And now you’re standing here like this is something sacred and I—” 

When you understand what he means, you can feel your own heart breaking.

“Heeseung…”

“Why are you letting me handle something this—precious? I—I don’t deserve you, Y/N. I never did.”

“Please don’t say that,” you coo at him, wiping his tears with the pad of your thumb. 

“I chose you knowing everything you’ve done,” you whisper. “Not because you’re perfect, but because you’re trying.” 

Heeseung leans into your touch, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he doesn’t. Like the warmth of your touch is the only thing that keeps him grounded. A comfortable silence falls upon you two, full of warm understanding and acceptance.

“Thank you,” Heeseung kisses your palm, long and gentle. “Thank you, Y/N. I mean it.”

A smile creeps up your face. You lean down to kiss his forehead.

“Come and sit here,” Heeseung pats his thighs. You pause for a moment, already getting shy from the proximity. But deep down, you can’t deny that you want this.

Slowly, you descend onto his lap, straddling his thighs. Heeseung pulls you closer by your hips, eliciting a soft gasp from your lips. He lets out a breathy chuckle.

“Are you comfortable?” he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. 

“Yeah,” then you pause. “I’m not heavy, am I? Are you comfortable?”

Heeseung hums. “Your weight is perfect for me, baby.”

The term of endearment makes warmth bloom across your cheeks. Heeseung gazes at you fondly, his nose already inching closer to where your scent smells the strongest.

He takes a lungful of your sweet scent—daisies and honey—and almost groans from the feeling of it. His favourite scent in the world. It’s been so long since he got to have you like this, so he keeps scenting you like he’s taking his fill.

“Your scent—you smell so good, Y/N.”

He lets his nose graze your scent gland. Once, twice, before brushing it with small, slow licks. You clutch at his shoulders, sparks bursting from the touch.

“Mhh!”

Heeseung trails up wet kisses up the column of your neck, dragging his tongue along your skin, savouring the soft gasps leaving your parted lips. His grip on your waist tightens, nails digging into your camisole while you try not to lose your mind over the foreign sensation.

Everywhere Heeseung touches with his lips is hot, sending strange, tingly feelings up your spine. It’s wet and it should make you recoil, but you find yourself loving it, already wanting more.

Heeseung stops when he reaches your lips, hot breath brushing against the soft pair. His eyes, now hooded and dark, are losing their round shape, like he, too, is already unraveling from just this.

“I’m gonna kiss you now, my daisy,” he murmurs, eyes dropping to your parted lips, open and so inviting. Something churns inside your stomach, always keening when being called his daisy.

Then you nod, granting him permission.

“Please kiss me, Heeseung.”

There’s a tiny quirk of a smile, before he finally closes the gap between your mouths. He’s careful, caressing the plump of your lips with his own, tentatively and slowly at first, before he captures your mouth in his. You close your eyes.

Heeseung kisses you like it’s sacred. He moves slowly, allowing you to follow his pace and getting used to the feeling of his mouth on yours. It’s gentle and sweet. It’s everything you have imagined sharing a kiss with a lover. 

His lips, soft and wider than yours, easily dominate the kiss with a flick of his tongue.

Your lips part in a gasp and Heeseung takes the chance to prod his tongue in, licking into every corner of your mouth like he’s been starved for you. You clasp a hand in his hair, losing your pace as Heeseung takes over.

With each passing second, the kiss turns into a needier one and you grow hotter. It’s messy now, with drool leaking down your chin and the noises you make getting louder. When you start to feel lightheaded, you tap his shoulders, lungs burning from the lack of breath. 

Heeseung lingers for a second, as if he never wants to let go, before detaching from your lips.

He looks absolutely wrecked. His lips are shiny with spit, panting into your mouth like he needs more.

“Need some air?” he whispers, voice hoarse, caressing your waist tenderly. You nod, catching your breath before you lean in and try to kiss him again.

This time, Heeseung lets you take the lead, grabbing your hips tight enough to ground himself. You mouth at the corner of his lips, peppering kisses across the pinkish skin before he loses his patience and starts kissing back, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth.

Pulling you flush against his own hips, Heeseung is desperate to feel you closer. The scent of his pheromones is taking a richer, darker tone, dripping with building arousal. He wants to stay like this forever—wants to memorise every taste, every curve of your lips, and carve it into his memory.

You’re unraveling just as fast. Driven by a deeper need to feel each other and more, you pool your arms around his neck and pull him closer, instinctively bucking your hips to soothe the ache between your legs.

Beneath you, Heeseung freezes. A strangled groan catches at the back of his throat, his fingers digging into your hips. His head is on cloud nine; he can’t believe you just did what you did, feeling his own lust slowly getting thicker.

Then, as if testing, you roll your hips again.

This time, the sound that leaves his throat is deep and ragged. Heeseung bites his lips, brows pinched together, his restraint visible through the veins popping in his neck.

“Y/N,” he rasps, voice strained. “Good? Comfortable?"

Your eyes, dazed and glossed over, look into his eyes and you nod. You move your hips again, chasing the delicious friction like a lifeline. “More.”

“Fuck,” Heeseung curses under his breath. 

Wordlessly, he snakes an arm around your waist and flips your position. Your back meets the mattress before you can process it, the impact punching a breath out of your lungs. Heeseung hovers over you, chest heaving rapidly, heated gaze raking over your body like he’s already dreamed of this many times.

“Heeseung,” you sigh, lifting your arms to his nape, already hating the distance. “Want you closer.”

Heeseung thinks he’s still in a dreamland, because there’s no way you’re lying down under him, hair splayed like a halo, asking him for more. Your lips, kiss-bruised and bitten-raw from the previous makeout session, are parted in a soft gasp, looking every bit like his wet dream.

No. This is better than any of his dreams.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes out as if he’s in a daze, a willing hostage to your magical spell. “Fuck, I just—I just love you so much.”

The confession lands like a feather drifting through the air. Your breath catches in your throat, searching for Heeseung’s eyes and almost tearing up when you see only devotion and sincerity in his gaze.

“Heeseung…”

“My precious daisy,” Heeseung lowers down and gives a smooch to the back of your ear. Your breath hitches. “My sweet, sweet honey.”

Another wave of heat pools between your legs. His voice—oh Goddess, his sweet and sultry voice in your ears, accompanied by such adoration is almost too much. You whine, clutching his shirt in a desperate grip.

“What do you need, baby?” Heeseung breathes hard into your ears, his own voice almost cracking from restraint. “Tell me, hm?”

“Need you to touch me.”

He barely stops nibbling on the sensitive skin of your earlobe. “Where do you need me?”

You grab one of his wrists and bring it to where you need him most. The moment his fingers touch your soaked sweatpants, Heeseung lets out a deep, throaty groan. He pulls away slightly just to catch the expression you make—mouth agape, eyes closing shut—as he presses a finger on your cunt.

“Here? You like it here?”

“Y-Yes—” You purse your lips, pleading eyes peering into his dark gaze. “Please—More, please.”

Heeseung holds back a smirk. “You’re so good to me,” he purrs, his alpha swelling with pride and arousal. “I’m gonna give you everything you ask for, hm?”

Heeseung slips his hand into your panties and curses out loud at the wet sensation on his fingers. 

“Fuck, Y/N—you’re leaking.”

He props himself on one arm. His long, slender fingers stroke your folds, the wet sound of your arousal filling the room. You claw at his upper arms and arch your hips, letting out a broken breath.

“H-Heeseung!” 

A deep growl rumbles in his chest. Heeseung leans down and peppers kisses all over your cheeks as he flicks his thumb over your clit. The high-pitched, whiny moan that you let out makes his twitching cock kick and drool, already begging to be freed.

“Does that feel good?” he rasps, nudging at your hole with the tip of finger. The tight hole is almost sucking his finger in, eliciting a breathless moan out of your lungs.

You nod frantically, desperate to feel anything inside.

“‘Feels so good, alpha.”

“Mhm,” he purrs, circling your gaping hole lightly, teasingly. “I’m gonna put it in slow and nice for you and you’re gonna take it, ‘kay?”

You suck in your bottom lips, heat pooling low in your stomach at the deep timbre of his voice.

“Yes. Please give it to me.”

Heeseung almost melts at the big eyes you’re giving him. He gives you a soft peck and speaks against your mouth, “Tell me if it hurts, Y/N. I will stop immediately.”

When you give him the green light to go, Heeseung slowly pushes his middle finger in, fighting back a loud moan at the feeling of your walls sucking him in. He pauses for a moment, gauging for any discomfort in your face, and then starts pumping in and out gently when he sees only pleasure.

It feels strange and uncomfortable at first; having something inside you. But the subtle feeling of pain is slowly disappearing the longer he shoves his finger in. His thumb, eager to please you, keeps circling your swollen nub, adding to the building sensation in your stomach.

Before you know it, you’re already leaking out more slick. Your head thrashes to your left and right, breathy moans spilling out of your lips.

“Ngh—fuck—Hee—“

Heeseung forces himself to stay still; forces himself to breathe at the sight of you unraveling and so, so pliant under his touch, even when all he wants to do is ruin you. He inserts another finger, the additional stretch burns so good that you almost cry.

“Heeseung!”

The alpha lets out a heavy, ragged breath as his fingers skillfully scissor you open, willing your walls to loosen for him. His lips fall open as he watches you fist the mattress with a tight grip, eyes fluttering shut from pleasure.

Heeseung thinks he’s about to come just from watching your erotic expressions alone.

“Ah—ah—ngh!” You squirm and whine and writhe, throat scratchy from how long you’ve been keeping your mouth open. 

Heeseung’s eyes darken as he takes in the way the straps of your camisole fall down your shoulders. The soft swell of your chest moves up and down in a rapid breathing, nipples peeking out just enough to tease.

Fuck—you’re a sight to behold.

He can’t think straight, not when every sense is filled up with your thick, heady scent. Your slick, where it smells the strongest, is now pouring out of your gaping hole in waves and drenching his fingers down to his wrist, making the tent in his pants tighten painfully.

“I’m gonna add one more—fuck,” Heeseung almost chuckles in disbelief at the way your body sucks him in. “Your cunt is a little greedy, baby. Might just take all my fingers in.”

You’re already a mess of broken moans and high-pitched, ‘ah—ah—fuck’. The sensation is becoming too much. You have fingered yourself before, but they don’t have the girth of Heeseung’s long and slender ones; reaching deep inside where you can’t get before, or the roughness of the pad of his thumb circling on your clit relentlessly—bringing you closer to the edge faster than you can think.

Heeseung can already feel it. Your greedy little hole is catching at his fingers even tighter, signalling how close you are to cumming. He leans down, latching his mouth on your neck and littering it with bruising kisses that are going to leave marks, increasing the speed of his wrist until your hips lift off the mattress.

“H-Hee—! I’m—God, fuck—“

“Give it to me, my daisy,” he whispers, voice hoarse and rough from arousal, thumb flicking faster. “That’s it. Give everything to me.”

Heeseung watches closely as you close your eyes and mouth falls open as you come, the erotica of everything almost makes his neglected cock bust out. A feeling of intense ecstasy floods your system, crashing through your body, slick gushing out in waves upon delicious waves.

The alpha slows down the movements of his wrist, thumb circling lazily as he lets you ride out the high. He’s already dizzy from your pheromones, so sweet and inviting, that he almost pushes you into oversensitivity.

He plops out his fingers and puts it into his mouth, tongue lapping at the nectarine of your slick like a thirsty dog. His alpha hums in satisfaction at the sweet taste of his omega’s come, all drenched and warm just for him.

“Fuck, Y/N,” Heeseung hovers over your body again, now kissing you hard in pent-up hunger. “I wanna eat you out so badly but I just can’t wait anymore.”

You hum into the kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue. Heeseung parts for a moment, jagged breathing hitting your lips warm as he stares into your eyes. His gaze softens.

“Are you okay?”

You nod. “‘M’kay.”

Heeseung nuzzles his cheek against yours, hands sliding up and down your waist before slipping under your camisole and cups your breasts. You let out a half-shocked gasp.

“Can you take more, baby?” He murmurs against your ears, teetering on the edge of sanity as he listens to the sinful sounds leaving your mouth. “Can you take my big, fat knot this time?”

You can’t find your voice, too lost in pleasure as Heeseung kneads your breasts and plays with your nipples. Heeseung drags his tongue along your earlobe, desperate to hear you more.

“Look at these perky tits,” he says as he drags down your camisole, letting it bunch around your waist. His mouth gapes at the way the plump flesh spilling over his fingers, so soft and yielding. “Fuck—you’re so beautiful, Y/N, I will fucking cry.”

“Nnggh!” You cry out when he latches his mouth on your left nub. He sucks and grazes his teeth on your hardened nipple, never breaking eye contact, the wet sensation sending heat straight to your core. 

“Hee!” Your hand flies into his hair when he sucks particularly hard at the bottom swell of your breast, marking his territory. His rough fingers fondle your right tit, rolling the perky nub with reverent attention that makes you clamp your thighs shut.

You squirm, feeling another pool of slick gathering. “H-Heeseung—!”

“Oh, fuck, baby,” he lets go with a pop, lips shiny and slick with his own spit. “Please say my name like that again,” he requests, simultaneously rolling his hips to gauge your reaction.

As he expected—your body, so sensitive and pliant in his hold—immediately writhes from the friction. Heeseung watches with awe, nose twitching as another wave of your scent floods the room, mixing with the sultry accent of his cinnamon and seasalt almost too perfectly.

“Heeseung!”

Heeseung feels so dizzy. His thoughts are only filled with your name, your voice, and your pretty, pretty face that contorts in pleasure when he grinds more. His crotch area is already so fucking wet from pre-cum and your arousal that he thinks he’s losing a chance at any decent and coherent thoughts.

He gives you another roll, and when the name that leaves your swollen lips comes out broken and high-pitched, Heeseung decides that he can’t take it anymore.

“I’m gonna fuck you now, my daisy,” he rasps, leaving one last mark on your cleavage before sitting up. He helps you out of your clothes, marvelling in the way your body trusts him completely.

You’re all soft lines and gentle curves. Heeseung loses his breath as he traces his eyes from the soft mounds of your chest—littered red from his markings, to the narrow pinch of your waist, and the flare of your hips. He caresses the flesh with his hands, gripping it like a love handle as he revels in the contrast of his tanned, big hands on your soft, unblemished skin.

And your pussy—fuck, it’s still glistening from your previous climax and his ministrations, and is now getting wetter under his heated gaze alone.

But it’s the look in your eyes that completely undoes him—pure trust and devotion only for him that he so damn near cries.

“So beautiful,” he praises again, unable to stop the word from flowing out of his mouth. He slides down his hands down your thighs, groping the supple flesh, almost moaning from the sheer softness of it.

“Every inch of you is perfect, baby,” he husks, intoxicated by your pheromones invading his senses.

You hold your breath, peering up at the dominant alpha through your lashes. In a moment of such vulnerability, your chest is filled with affection and trust only for the man now handling your body with care, as if your body was made of porcelain.

My alpha, your wolf purrs inside, heart pounding into your chest.

You spread your thighs wider, so inviting and pliant.

“Alpha,” you mewl, nervously looking up at him. “Please.”

Heeseung can feel his dick twitching from the sight alone. With a swift movement, his shirt is already discarded, thrown somewhere on the floor.

“Say it clearly, baby. Tell me what you need.”

Heeseung fumbles with the strings of his sweatpants as his hooded gaze bores into your hazy one, hissing when his aching cock is finally springing free from the confines of his pants. 

You almost drool at the sight of his weeping cock, standing tall and proud against his abdomen. Its tip is angry red, leaking precum down the length of prominent, bulging veins. Your hole flutters with dripping need.

The words come out so easily now that your pussy is pulsing with an aching need to be filled.

“Please fuck me, Heeseung.”

Heeseung’s lips are bitten raw from restraint, his jaw tight as he forces himself not to move—not to give in to the urge to push forward and lose himself inside you. But before he can move to get a condom from the drawer, your hand snaps to his wrist, shaking your head no.

“Just—just do it,” you bite your lips trying not to squirm under his darkening gaze. “I want to feel you.”

It takes everything in him to stay still—to not reach for you, not pull you back, not ruin this by losing control. Heeseung looks for any doubt in your face.

“Are you sure, baby?”

“Mhm,” you tug at his wrist, guiding his hand to cup your pussy. Heeseung almost combusts right then and there.

“Quick, Heeseung. Need you here.”

“Oh my fucking God—” Heeseung curses under his breath, trying to remain calm. But his body betrays him, his muscles tensing, breath unsteady, as he forces himself to stay where he is.  

He sits taller, his thumb rubbing your clit teasingly. His other hand strokes his cock lazily, flicking his wrist around the erection and hisses when more precum drools out.

The whole time, he doesn’t let go of your eyes, taking in every micro-expressions you make like a greedy man. You’re so sensitive, so expressive, and so, so wet—always so eager to shower him with more slick and more of your sultry moaning.

He aligns his cock in between your folds, grinding the bulbous head against your swollen clit. A choked moan escapes both of you, too fucked over the pleasure. Another gush of slick trickles down your hole, intensifying your scent.

“Heeseung—”

“Shh, baby, I know,” Heeseung coos at the tears pooling along your lashline. He reaches out to wipe it, torn between guilt and absolutely fucking pleasure that he feels from seeing you break apart at his hand like this.

“I’m gonna be gentle, yeah?” He rasps, still rolling his hips, gathering your slick around the tip of his cock. 

He trails his fingers down your wrists before pinning them over your head, hovering over you completely like an eclipse. Then, after what felt like a lifetime, Heeseung finally pushes in.

He doesn’t move after that.

A broken breath leaves him, forehead dropping to your shoulder as if the effort of holding himself back is physically weighing on him. His grip on your wrists tightens just slightly, seeking something to ground him to the moment. Beneath him, you’re trembling from the mix of pain and pleasure, the latter outweighing the former.

“Y/N…” he exhales, voice rough, almost unsteady. “Look at me.”

There’s something in the way he says it. It’s not commanding or urgent, like  he really needs to see you or he’ll fall apart.

You turn your head, meeting his gaze, your expression soft but overwhelmed, lips parted as you try to steady your breathing. It stings, but not enough for you to pull away. Heeseung did a good job at preparing you.

He searches your face like it’s the only thing anchoring him.

“Am I—” he swallows, jaw tightening. “Am I hurting you?”

You shake your head, even though the feeling is new, intense, more than you expected. But the way he’s holding himself back, the way he’s watching you like this could fall apart at any second—it steadies you. Heeseung is so careful, so scared of hurting you that it almost makes you cry.

“It’s… okay,” you whisper, fingers twitching under his hold. “Don’t stop.”

His eyes squeeze shut for a second, like he’s bracing himself, like your trust is something he has to deserve in real time.

“Slow,” he mutters to himself more than to you. “Gotta go slow…”

He barely shifts, testing, careful, measured. Like every movement is something he has to think through instead of give in to. He sinks in another inch, mind floating from the tight sensation of your hole. A strained sound slips past his lips, low and wrecked, his control slipping just enough to show.

“God…” he breathes, almost shaking. “You feel—”

He cuts himself off, jaw clenching hard, like even finishing that sentence would push him too far.

Instead, his hand comes down to your waist, grounding himself there, thumb brushing absentmindedly against your skin like he needs something soft to hold onto.

You can feel it—how much he’s holding back. Not just physically, but everything. The way his body tenses with every tiny movement, the way his breathing keeps stuttering like he’s constantly pulling himself back from the edge as he pushes inside, inch by inch.

And something in your chest tightens.

“You can move,” you murmur softly, a little unsure, but still wanting. Wanting him, wanting every side of him and not just this careful version of him.

His head lifts immediately.

“No,” he says, almost too quickly. Then his voice grows softer. “Not if you’re not ready.”

Your brows knit slightly, a small shake of your head.

“I am,” you insist, voice quiet but certain. “I trust you.”

Your declaration hits deeper than anything else.

For a moment, he just looks at you—really looks—like he’s trying to understand how you can still say that to him. Then his grip tightens again; a firm grip that anchors you to the moment.

“Okay,” he breathes.

And this time, when he moves, it’s still slow—but there’s something underneath it now. Not just restraint, but a crack in it. A quiet, dangerous edge that slips through no matter how hard he tries to hold it back.

His forehead presses to yours, breaths tangling, uneven.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he murmurs, softer now. “Anything—you tell me, yeah?”

You nod, already clutching onto him, already feeling yourself giving in to the rhythm he’s so carefully trying to control.

God, Heeseung tries not to lose himself completely. Chanting ‘Go slow, go fucking slow,’ like a mantra in his head is proving to be the hardest test he’s ever been through.

But he still tries—even when it starts slipping crack by crack.

You can feel it in the way his pace stays measured, like every pound into your walls is a calculated move. It makes your heart flutter, really, but you want more. 

You don’t know how to say it without sounding desperate, but your body knows you better. Instinctively, you clench around his cock. The action is not fully registered in your head until Heeseung’s rhythm falters.

“Y/N…” he exhales, your name catching in his throat like it’s too much for him to hold.

“More,” your fingers tighten around his arms, pulling him impossibly closer. “More, please.”

You tighten your walls again, drawing a shuddering gasp from him. His head drops forward as his control stutters, cock twitching inside you.

“Don’t,” he starts, half-warning and half-whining, “Don’t do that or I’m—”

You can’t stand it anymore. You meet his thrust, hitting his navel with yours, gasping because the sensation feels too good. A broken groan leaves him, deep and absolutely fucking wrecked.

“Fuck, baby,” he breathes, gripping your hips tighter. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

Heeseung kisses up the length of your neck, leaving more marks before he props his arms. When you catch his eyes, something flickers in that heated gaze, like his control is finally slipping away, snapping with the way he pistons his cock into you. You choke out a breath.

“Okay?” he asks, still worrying. You nod frantically, desperately. 

“Yes—please—more—”

Heeseung does it again. Again and again and again until all there’s left is the sound of your broken gasps and the wet, filthy noise of his balls hitting your hole. 

“Still—fuck—still okay?” he asks, voice rough, barely held together.

You can’t form any coherent thoughts, so you nod again, breathless and more certain this time. “Please…don’t stop.”

Heeseung lets out a curse, lifting your hips slightly before continuing pounding into you, faster and harder. A high-pitched moan rips from your throat, the new angle hitting the spot that has you seeing stars.

He watches your face, his own contorting in pleasure, setting a pace that has you blabbering out broken words and more drool.

You feel so full. His cock is so deep inside you, filling you up to the hilt. It’s a strange feeling, but it’s also so, so addictive that you just want more, more, and more. It’s the only thing you can ask for: “More, more—Heeseung—ah—please.”

Heeseung leans down, taking your earlobe into his mouth, alternating his pace between achingly slow rolls of his hips and harsh, sharp thrusts, whispering hotly into your ears.

“You’re taking me so well.”

“So fucking tight, baby, fuck.”

“My daisy. My honey. My everything.”

The heat in your stomach intensifies, building up like a tidal wave waiting to crash. Your nails dig into his biceps, meeting his heated gaze with your glassy one.

“Mate with me, Heeseung. Please.”

Heeseung almost stops, but you’re fast to hook your legs around his waist, urging him to continue. He continues with slower grinding, locking eyes with you.

It’s finally time to seal the bond for good. But even in the haze of pleasure and nirvana, all Heeseung cares about is your well-being.

“Now, baby?” he whispers in between thrusts. He catches your jaw in his hand, thumb brushing your cheeks softly. He knows it’s bound to happen tonight anyway, but if he can save you from the pain longer, he will. “It will sting, sweetheart. I don’t want to hurt you.”

You nod, never felt more sure than now. You lean up to kiss him, breath mingling hotly before you look into his eyes.

“I trust you, Heeseung,” you whisper back. You grind back into him, hips stuttering when his cock thrusts almost sharply into your cunt. 

With broken gasps, you finally say it. “Please mark me yours.”

Heeseung almost tears up from the sheer weight of your words. 

Trust. Yours. Mine.

Something that the old him would’ve never imagined wanting and needing.

But here, as your starry eyes gazing into his teary gaze, Heeseung’s never felt so full and complete. He doesn’t even know that he was capable of loving someone this much; of this overwhelming affection that he has only for you.

A single drop of tears slides down his cheek as he kisses you again, trying to convey his emotions into the sweet touch. You respond just as reverent, understanding him without words being spoken.

“Do you trust me?” he murmurs against your mouth. His hips are slowing down, getting lost in the warm sensation of your breath and your sweetening scent.

You give him a peck. “I do.”

Heeseung smiles fondly. He leaves one last kiss on your forehead before he sits up,  pulling out of you at the same time. You almost whine at the loss of touch, but he’s quick to reassure you.

“It’s okay, baby. It’s okay.”

Then, with a dominating strength that makes your stomach flutter, he grabs your waist and flips you over. You arch your back almost instinctively, shoving your ass in the air. Heeseung groans, his alpha howling in pride at seeing his omega presenting like this. His jaw clenches from restraint, absolutely close to losing his mind over this sight of you.

His cock slips back in easily. Heeseung splays a hand over the skin between your shoulders, pushing you gently into the mattress.

You glance over your shoulders, wiggling your ass and pushing it further into his face. “Like this, Heeseungie?”

Heeseung bites his lips, mouth salivating from the sight. “Yeah, baby.” He is so fucking turned on. “I’m gonna move now, yeah?”

At the single movement of your head, Heeseung is already thrusting inside, barely holding himself back. The new angle gives more access to his cock to hit places you didn’t know exist in your walls, sending sparks of electricity to your nerves.

“Ah, ah—nnghh!! Heeseungie!” 

“Keep saying my name like that, baby,” Heeseung drools over the jiggles of your round ass. He kneads the flesh with his thick fingers, moaning at the dimples his nails make by digging into it.

“So soft. So beautiful,” he grinds and rolls his hips, leaning down to bite down on your buttcheeks. You clench around him. “So responsive for me. God—you’re perfect, Y/N.”

“I’m—I’m close—”

“Oh, I can feel it, baby,” Heeseung grunts through his teeth. Your walls keep sucking him back in, as if refusing to let go. “I’m close too—fuck.”

Heeseung picks up his pace, his muscles flexing as he, too, almost reaches his high. He leans down, broad chest meeting your back and noses at your pulsing scent gland, sweat dripping down his chin.

It’s intoxicating, the way your scent blends in with his pheromones, like a perfect match made in heaven—which might not be so far from the truth. He is your true mate, after all, written in the prophecy for God knows how long.

He can feel how close you’re getting, your whining turning needier and messier. His canines sharpen slowly, readying himself to mark you.

You drool into the mattress, incoherent words leaving your mouth. The coil in your stomach tightens, so close to snapping, so close to bringing you over the edge.

And it’s with a flick of his thumb over your clit that you finally give. You go still, shockwaves of your release rippling through your body, pulling Heeseung with you as he cums, spraying your insides white.

Following his promise, Heeseung chooses that exact moment to sink his teeth in your nape, right over where your scent gland is. You yelp, body trembling from the intense feeling of pain and pleasure.

The feeling is otherworldly—like something inside you finally clicks into place.

A warmth blooms from where he’s marked you, spreading through your body in slow, overwhelming waves. It’s not just the sensation—it’s him. You can feel him in a way you’ve never felt before, like his presence has settled beneath your skin, threading into every part of you. 

Your fingers clutch at the sheets, breath stuttering as something inside you tightens and softens. You feel complete, like the quiet ache you never noticed has finally disappeared.

Heeseung groans softly against your skin, almost like he feels it too—like the bond snaps into place just as strongly on his end. His hold on you tightens, not possessive, but grounding, as if he needs to make sure you’re real, that this is real.

He quickly laps at the blood and the wound, tongue gentle now, almost reverent as he soothes the mark he’s just made. His hips slow down, now grinding into you lazily to ride out the wave before you mewl from oversensitivity.

He pulls out after a while and gently turns you back to face him. As soon as he locks eyes with you, Heeseung’s composure breaks instantly, tears spilling down his cheeks. He catches your lips in a wet kiss.

“My daisy,” he cries, cradling your jaw and never intending to let go. “Oh Goddess—I love you so much.”

His voice, broken and gasping with gratitude and relief, moves your heart in ways that unravel you just the same. You kiss back just as hard, heart finally full and complete.

Your omega purrs in satisfaction, and to your surprise, you can almost hear another wolf echoing back to yours. 

It doesn’t take a genius to know that it’s Heeseung’s wolf—your alpha, finally and wholly yours.

Heeseung breaks the kiss only to rest his forehead against yours. Your scent gland pulses, but this time, it’s gentle and grounding, like a mark of a new beginning; a bond now finally healed and sealed.

“Y/N,” he breathes out against your mouth. “Don’t get tired of me yet, okay? I… I cherish you so much. ‘I love you’ doesn’t feel like enough.” 

You let out a soft giggle and pull him closer, sealing your lips with his again.

“Then don’t say anything. Show me, my alpha…show me that we belong to each other.”

As moonlight spills into the bedroom, a blessing from the Goddess for the mated pair, the sheets bear witness to the moment two fractured souls finally become one.

You wake up before Heeseung.

Trying to remove his arms from your waist proves to be a real challenge; the alpha refuses to let you go even in his sleep. You chuckle softly and plant a kiss on his forehead before slipping out of the blanket.

Standing on slightly wobbly legs, you drift into the kitchen, your throat screaming for water. You let the sunshine hit your skin, highlighting your afterglow, as you down a whole glass of water.

The house is quiet. Jay, with the intention to give the two of you privacy, has gone to visit his parents for the weekend. You silently thank him for it. You don’t want to know how awkward it’d be if he has to hear all the noises you made last night.

Just as you’re about to return to Heeseung’s warm embrace, your eyes catch a sign on another door. It’s located at the end of the hallway, a few paces away from Heeseung’s and Jay’s bedrooms. It’s almost unnoticeable, but the name on the sign is what intrigues you to go closer.

EVAN LEE

Evan? That’s Heeseung’s English name.

You know it’s an invasion of privacy, but your wolf is nagging at you to go. So, with almost zero reluctancy, you let yourself inside.

It’s his producer room, you guess, judging from the equipment filling up the space. You let your eyes roam, smiling to yourself when you catch random things that just scream Heeseung.

There are two frames of pictures hanging on the wall, one of his family and another one of him and Jay. The two looked younger, more reckless, a given when you notice the uniform they were wearing. High-school Jay with a neat shirt, tucked in and collar buttoned up while high-school Heeseung was missing his tie. They were smiling bright, already so handsome from such a young age.

You look at the random stickers on his PC—basketball, white cats, and alphabet stickers that are arranged into ‘NI-KI’. 

A pair of headphones sit on the table, each ear decorated with different aesthetics. The left one is full of flowers, tiny stickers of ‘ddeonu’ are left as watermark, while the other is just one big orange cat sticker, and instead of leaving his name in a way that doesn’t stain, Jungwon actually signed with a marker pen.

You laugh, wondering what might be Heeseung’s reaction when that menace did that. It’s Sony, after all, and judging from the sleek design—it’s definitely pricey. But knowing how soft Heeseung is for Jungwon, he probably just let it slide because ‘Jungwonnie is cute’.

This room is so full of everything Heeseung loves. His passion for music and basketball, his affection for his close friends. A thought, not unkindly or bitter, crosses your mind: you cannot wait to leave traces of you here, too—something of yours, beside everything he already loves. 

Just as you’re about to leave, something in the corner stops you in your tracks. It’s a notebook, hidden under a keyboard, like it’s never meant to be found.

You walk over and look at the notebook, breath catching in your throat when you read the cover.

For my daisy.

Is this for you?

With trembling fingers—a result from your pounding heart—you flip the cover. There’s handwriting, unmistakably Heeseung’s, filling up the first page.

These are my silent apologies to the girl I lost. I was too late to love you when you still loved me, but I promise myself that I will start and continue loving you, even when I can no longer hear your echo until the very end.

P.s. park jongseong stop making fun of me this will become a hit album TRUST!

Just like what the note has said, the notebook is full of song lyrics. Each line, each intended melody, each scribble left in the margin—every one of them is meant for you, intended for you, and just for you.

Your vision blurs, heart tightening so painfully it almost aches—because this wasn’t just regret. It was love. Quiet, enduring, and yours all along. 

Heeseung didn’t know how to stay or to cherish—but he’s been unlearning every single bad habit for you. Through your resentment, through your tears, through your silences, until finally, your omega was willing to open up and give him another chance at love.

Your chest swells with affection and pride, echoing with only the name of the alpha.

You reach for a pen and flip back to the first page, leaving your first ever trace in his producer room.

p.s. i love you more, my cinnamon alpha. 

andddd that's the end of it!!1 thank you once again and until next time <3

dividers from: @cursed-carmine <3

permanent taglist: @kristynaaah @seungiesdoll @in-somnias-world @rikismists @loviseamms @ikeupop

fic taglist 1: @bingka @twocupsofsuga @rayofsunshineeee @all4moi @cutehoons02 @barbiecuedotcom @kitteaasstuff @sosocide @lhspeachie @sooooobean @vmpiricou @st4rg1rlies @itsmesofia @dazedinadream @yenienha @fullsunncity @kookieterry @isa942572 @jikookvfans @corroprisz @taesnumber1 @goosemantheweeb @wndrlndhee @jakey1115 @d0llddeonu @zijoan @mheretoreadff @ezekiel-bublz @pomeranyan @mono-for-real

[crystallking]

crystal's stalking, fic recs

every comment, like, and reblog is appreciated, and please go support these amazing authors!

birthday post to mr smooth operator

note : this took so long omg why did I start this series😭 jk hope u enjoy!

please reblog if you liked any of my recs! thank you

24 fics for 24 y.o pjs

JAY

all eyes on you by @jongst4r pairing: husband!jay x fem bombshell!reader themes: smut, slightly public sex, creampie, slightly possesive!jay, a lot of body worship, praise, dirty talk, strong language wc: 2k ooh no words 😮‍💨

ME AND MY HUSBAND by @bywons pairing: cold fiance!park jongseong x fem reader themes: arranged marriage au, angst, fluff, hurt & comfort, ‘she fell first but he fell harder’ vibe (?) slowburn-ish wc: 19.5k who doesn't love a good 'she fell first but he fell harder' trope

all that glitters pt. 1 by @stllmnstr pairing: park jongseong x fem reader themes: academic rivals to lovers, rich jay au, university au, angst, slow burn wc: 19.6k (pt. 1 only) I love how jay is rich in every single universe

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤOVERDOㅤㅤㅤㅤ by @courire pairing: actor!jay x fem actress!reader themes: after au, making out, skinship wc: 890 belift, please actor jay juseyo 🥺

JAY : NSFW! by @misolhee pairing: sugar daddy!jay x college student!reader themes: unprotected sex, breeding, fingering, oral sex (reader giving), rough sex, spanking, soft & romantic sex, praise kink, use of pet names all along the fic wc: 3.1k sometimes I think about engenes that don't know Tumblr, just living their lives and never knowing fics like this exist

My Sheriff by @mintokyoon pairing: sheriff!jay x fem wife!reader themes: smut, praise kink, possession themes, oral sex, vaginal penetration, orgasm control / edging, spanking / impact play, rough sex, breeding / impregnation talk wc: 1.3k I absolutely love sheriff!jay or just sheriff!enhypen in general 🫰😊

BEST PART. by @jjwoned pairing: dad!jay x fem mom!reader themes: fluff, reader is pregnant, nicknames, smt yall don't know abt me is that I DONT play abt dad!enhypen😛😮‍💨

BAD FOR ME by @jeongspetal pairing: ex!park jongseong x fem reader themes: smut, soft!dom jay, p in v, cheating, pet names wc: 1.4k im so sorry jay please take me back I didn't mean it, please take me backkkk 😭😭😭😭😭😭

its not sex by @endoll pairing: childhood bsf!jay x fem reader themes: munch!jay cursing, smut obviously, oral (f + m receiving), handjob, cum eating so when do they get married? 😁

SPORTS CAR by @avtrns pairing: f1 driver!jay x fem reader themes: smut, one night stand, porn with plot, car sex, oral (m receiving), cum eating, he's a head pusher, riding wc: 2.2k AND it has multiple parts😛😛😛😛

In The Dark;; by @kpoptrashlord-007 pairing: yandere!jay x reader themes: yandere themes, dark themes, violence wc: 2k never knew this was an option..🤭

THE HIGH LIFE by @lac4ygal pairing: musician!jay x fem nepobaby!reader themes: angst, smut, toxic relationship, musician au, nepo baby au, addiction, tragedy, no happy ending :( wc: 22.3k i cried

babysitter by @jaysbaefie pairing: chaebol!jay x fem younger bratty babysitter!reader themes: smut, rich dad au, age gap, brat x tamer, mean dom jay, possessive jay wc: 22.4k we need more fics of dad!jay on this planet

the only one for you by @v3lv3t-th1rst pairing: bsf!jay x fem reader themes: smut, softdom!jay, bigdick! jay, daddy jay wc: 2.8k i love love love possessive jay

Twisted Love by @nishirikiluv pairing: yandere!jay x reader themes: fear, drugging, a bit of noncon pt. 1, there are multiple parts stop I love this so much😍

Play dates by @sundives pairing: ex-lover ceo!jay x fem reader themes: ceo au, ex-lovers, fake dating, miscommunication, yearning, smut, fluff, angst wc: 25k this is so beautiful 🥲

with or without you by @heehxe pairing: obsessive stalker!jay x innocent reader themes: suggestive, slight angst, fluff, sensitive topics like murder wc: 4.9k why didn't i think of that 😩

𝖫𝖠𝖳𝖤 𝖲𝖯𝖱𝗂𝖭𝖦 by @yunpupp pairing: yandere!pjs x fem reader themes: abuse, smut, angst, hitting / kicking, mentions of bruises, violence, noncon, dead dove do not eat, impact play, oral (m! receiving), degradation, character death, blood kink, bodily horror wc: 1.3k 🤍

EoO by @mcwilla pairing: jay x reader themes: smut, public sex (yikes), fingering, dirty talk wc: 1.5k delicioso😋

LIKE A ROCKSTAR by @sagro pairing: jay x reader themes: smut, rockstar au, unrequited love wc: 12k please read this

instinct of a sinner by @beevitae pairing: priest!pjs x fem reader themes: heavy mentions of religion, blasphemous themes, smut wc: 11.3k this fic + lucifer on repeat 🥴

𝗨𝗡𝗧𝗘𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗥𝗘𝗗 by @noirellee pairing: park jongseong x fem reader themes: fluff, established relationship, kissing, skinship wc: 950 this is so healing

Always. by @fullsunberry pairing: jay x reader themes: angst, happy ending, running away trope, idol au wc:9.6k felt so bad for him in this, my Shayla😢

EYES DON’T LIE by @jaylaxies pairing: brother's bsf!jay x fem reader themes: smut, angst, fluff if you squint, porn with plot wc: 26.5k words please let me read this again for the first time😓😭

very comment, like, and reblog is appreciated, and please go support these amazing authors!

[doyoueverthinkofrose]

✩ Intimacy Alphabet — Byun Euijoo ✩ Euijoo x Fem!Reader (18+). ✩ A/N: Dedicating this one to @minhosimthings and hoping she doesn't massacre me

A = Aftercare ("after" the deed):

✩ Euijoo, Euijoo, Euijoo. So sleepy and sweet and soft. Pulls out and takes a good minute to recover before he's up and at 'em, grabbing for the little kit he made a few days prior for nights like these: Little washcloths, lotion, some water for you both, and some nice snacks, among other things. He's gentle, methodical, but also very tired himself. I'd give him about five minutes before he actually collapses next to you and rests his head on your chest, ready to clock out for the night.

B = Body part (their favorite on themselves and you):

✩ I don't know that he has a favorite, per se...It has more to do with how he can use them to show you his love. With his arms, he can hold you and carry heavy things. With his legs, he can travel to your apartment and put all of his passion into dancing with you in mind. With his brain, he can come up with sweet dates and remember every important event in your relationship, and with his lips, he can kiss you. <3

✩ Thigh and tummy lover! Really, any part of you that's soft; it makes him feel warm and fuzzy on the inside, all domestic. He just loves to sink into it and use you as a pillow. Also, because they're both soft, they're also easy to grab...enough said. You end up with copious bite- and finger-marks, all from Euijoo being touchy during intimacy.

C = Cum (...self-explanatory):

✩ Expanding on the above, Euijoo has an odd fascination with watching cum dripping down your thighs. He's not sure how it started, but sometimes he'll pull out, watch your combined releases dribble down your legs, and boom — he's hard all over again.

D = Dirty secret (what might they be keeping from you?):

✩ Euijoo is much more perverted than he lets on. Not kinky by any means, but he gets hard embarrassingly easily when he thinks too hard about you. It's not his fault — he just loves you! You could do something completely mundane, like unload a dishwasher, and he's giving you heart eyes and concealing a boner at the same time.

E = Experience (how experienced are they?):

✩ Euijoo is so introverted that I genuinely don't think he's all that experienced outside of making out and occasionally groping a stray boob, honestly. Any actual sexual experience comes from being with you.

F = Favorite position (speaks for itself):

✩ World's biggest spooner! It's comfy and cozy; he loves to hold you close, and when he's tired from practice (and such), he just wants to lie there and cuddle...but also have his dick in you, because you're warm and you feel like home to him :( It's also good for when you're just waking up in the morning — he doesn't have to move around all that much, and you're still able to snuggle.

✩ Also...ride him. He wants to be able to see you and hold you close, and no matter who's in control at the moment, he's content in just seeing you on top of him. It also gives him the perfect opportunity to press his face into your tits and go absolutely dumb. Sometimes, when you decide to tease him and go extra slow, he loses his patience (a very rare occasion) and grabs you roughly around the waist, holding you down as he fucks up into you. Either way, you both end up cumming with a whine.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.):

✩ Euijoo can afford to be a little silly, teasing you and getting teased back when he gets really flustered. It's just another way to show that he loves you. If he's ever 'serious,' I'd assume it's only when he's genuinely, actually pissed off, which is a very very rare occurrence.

H = Hair (how well-groomed are they?):

✩ I honestly think Euijoo is pretty clean-shaven. Like...baby-levels of smooth. If he would like to come over and prove me wrong, he can be my guest.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect):

✩ UGH. The softest man to ever soft. Euijoo is so tender and sweet. Definitely the type to just shower you with praise and gentle touches until you're too tired to keep going. Peppers your face with kisses throughout a round, even if you're fucked out and can't return the favor. Even if it's spontaneous or more lusty than anything, you can count on Euijoo to make you feel wanted.

J = Jack-off (a masturbation headcanon):

✩ Euijoo never really saw a point in jacking it until he met you. Like, yeah; girls are pretty, but he's not going to fuck his fist to the thought of one for three seconds of satisfaction. When he meets you, though, all bets are off. Suddenly, he's getting off to the most random shit at the most inconvenient times of day — right before practice, in-between recording sessions, while he excuses himself from a group lunch to disappear into a public bathroom for ten minutes. Yikes, EJ. Keep it zipped, bud.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks):

✩ Hear me out...somno. After double, triple, and quadruple-checking to make sure you're actually okay with it, Euijoo just loves to fuck you when you're asleep or close to waking up. You thought of it as a way for him to be close to you after nights spent late at practice or out with the boys, when you're just too sleepy to keep your eyes open waiting. At first, Euijoo doesn't take advantage of this privilege ("Jagiya, it feels wrong"), but one night, he decides to suck it up and give it a go. Let's just say that the experience changed his brain chemistry — there's something about sleepy girl box that makes his mind go <3333333

✩ Another hear me out. For all of his softboy-ness, Euijoo can still be assertive when needed — he just has sky-high patience. He likes it when you push him a bit, when you act a little bratty, because it gives him the motivation to come out of his shell for a bit. You don't push him too far, not enough that he'll actually get pissed, but enough that he can safely shoot you a sweet smile, tight-lipped, that says, "Hey, sweetheart. I'm putting you through the mattress in an hour, just so you know."

L = Location (favorite spots to get off):

✩ Another boy who cannot have sex anywhere but his or your living space. The most adventurous he gets is on his living room couch, and even that makes him cringe. Intimacy is just such a private thing, you know? Not everyone is supposed to see that, man. Though, as I said before, he's not against jacking off in secluded public areas.

M = Motivation (what gets them going?):

✩ A short list: You (general), having your tummy showing, your trust in him, being without release for a long time, when you challenge him, and really mundane situations that aren't horny-coded in the slightest. Keep yourself together, Byun Euijoo!

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

✩ He's not into hard dynamics — he's not going to be a mean dom or a complete sub, if you get what I mean. Like, of course you'll both have your more assertive and shy moments, but nothing is fixed. He doesn't want to be in complete control of everything the very way you don't want to give up all of your control. Euijoo finds comfort in balance.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

✩ I think this is a 50/50 — he truly does not have a preference. I'll start with receiving here, though, because you'll get one of two Euijoos. One is the cute, shy Juju that whimpers when you swirl your tongue around his head. He's too hesitant to actually take charge, so you have to do all the work while he throws an arm over his too-red face. The other Euijoo is a complete 180, that assertive and dominant type who stares down at you with half-lidded eyes. Still gentle, but he talks down to you in a way that's just condescending enough that, if you weren't all spaced out on his dick, you'd absolutely slap him for. You're too distracted by the way his eyes focus on you as he speaks, though, and also by how he slowly begins thrusting into your mouth, smiling to himself at the way you gag around him.

✩ He's also a giver, and the first time, it's only to prove (to both you and himself) that he's capable of making you feel good. Once he figures out that he's got a penchant for it, though, he very enthusiastically asks when he can give you head next. He just likes to hear your sounds, intrigued by how licking you a certain way or tilting his head just so can have you crying and scrambling for something to hold onto. He likes to hold your hand when he goes down on you to stay "extra connected" (he wants you to hold onto him so he can feel needed).

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.):

✩ Definitely slow, here. There's not really any way you could get Euijoo to get rough with you unless you straight up ask him to, and even then, he still holds back — he doesn't wanna hurt you :(. However, that doesn't mean he doesn't absolutely fuck; slow or medium-paced can still be deep, and deep he goes. Euijoo is the prime example of someone who can absolutely put you through a mattress without throwing you around. It just takes practice.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.):

✩ Surprisingly, Euijoo does not mind a quickie! As long as you're both secure and secluded, he has no issue in giving you what you want, should you ask for it. I don't think he'd necessarily drag you off for one, but in the event that it does happen, he's extra sweet (as if he could be, more than usual).

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.):

✩ Ehhhh...I'm gonna have to give this one a no. Euijoo knows what he likes, and he likes to stick with it. And if you asked, it would really depend; does he feel comfortable in doing that with you? Could someone else accidentally walk in? Etc.

✩ S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?):

✩ This really depends on how turned on he is. If this is just a quick fuck, then it lasts for approximately 15 minutes. If it's a nice, built-up session, though, with proper amounts of adoration and care, then — I kid you not — Euijoo can go for hours. Your PR is four rounds, and that was when he had the chance to have a break for three weeks. Babyboy did not want to leave your side, ever.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?):

✩ Why do I get the feeling that he'd spontaneously combust if you suggested this to him? Euijoo is a vanilla bean, tbh...he just wants to fuck you bro 😭

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease):

✩ He doesn't tease — you do. The closest thing Euijoo can get to teasing is just asking you to wait a little bit before he can come to bed. In the meantime, you take it upon yourself to rile him up as much as possible; skimming a nail across his shoulders as you walk by him, whispering in his ear to make him go red, wearing a top that's just slightly form-fitting without a bra...He's guaranteed to shut his laptop closed and follow you like a little puppy.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.):

✩ Whimpertron 3000. Dawg lets out the breathiest, softest whimpers and moans that you've ever heard. It embarrasses him a lot, but you just think it's so pretty. When he slides into you, he hisses under his breath sharply. At the beginning of the relationship, he bites down on his lip so he can keep himself quiet, assuming you find his quiet noises unattractive, but after a few months of you tugging his lips back out with your thumb, he doesn't quite feel the need to be silent.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character):

✩ Euijoo 100% talks you through it once you've been together for a while, especially when you give him head. It allows him to settle into that dominant headspace while also praising you for being so good for him. If he's feeling really, really mischievous, he'll also do it in public as a part of foreplay (the bastard).

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes):

✩ He's about six feet tall, if I remember correctly, and he's a lil shy, so he is therefore hung. Long boi, if you will, and his face gets red as fuck when your eyes widen upon seeing it for the first time. He's just a little modest, is all. Also, his tip flushes a lot...now you get to think about it, too :)

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?):

✩ Like I said for D, Euijoo gets horny at an embarrassing rate. This isn't to say that he can't control himself, because he absolutely can, but he's definitely thinking of you in compromising positions more than he'd ever admit to.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards):

✩ Sleepy boy. Give him about 5-10 minutes after aftercare, and he's out like a light. This continues into the morning — he's still fucked out and tired, and refuses to let you go when you're both awake.

[enhaeil]

JAY NSFW ALPHABET PLSPLSPLSPLSPSL you should absolutely do it for all of them but especially jay........jay pls just one chance ill make it worth it...

NS/FW ALPHABET ! - 박종성

✩ ₊˚ c/w : smut duh, mdni, lmk if u guys enjoy this <3 ofc i had to do my baby jay first

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

☆ he already has wipes and water sitting on the nightstand for you. will get up to run a bath if needed, or he'll come back with some food he ordered or cooked before. also always asks if he did "okay". mind you, your legs were SHAKING.

B = Body part (their favorite body part on their partner)

☆ he absolutely adores everything about you but he loves your legs. when you wear a short dress or skirt? he's on that. FISHNETS? you might get pregnant. has ripped so many pairs.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

☆ loves finishing on your back or your tummy, but always feels bad after. produces a normal amount of cum, i think.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

☆ this isnt really dirty?? but wants to make a sex tape with you so bad. he thinks the intimacy between you two is so beautiful, he wants to record it and watch it back 200 times.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

☆ i actually can't get a grasp on how experienced jay truly is but he DEFINITELY knows what he's doing whether he has 0 bodies or 10. i believe it.

F = foreplay (before the sex)

☆ lots of kissing and touches. every inch of your body will be touched and/or kissed by him, before he even gets to taste the heaven between your legs. but to be fair, it doesn't take much for you get soaked with jay.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

☆ jay's a goofy guy in general so of course, he's a little humorous. i mean it isnt ridiculously silly, but he definitely has made you laugh as if he's not attempting to touch your cervix.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does he mind you with hair?)

☆ he keeps it trimmed. he didn't like the completely bald look but he never lets it get extremely wild. you? he won't tell you how to live, he wants you regardless!

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

☆ the most romantic out of all the members. sex with him is so deep and passionate. you've definitely said 'i love you' during it. he just gives it to you so good and knows your body so well.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

☆ i don't think he does it that often, especially recently, he's so busy. but when he has a partner, he basically doesn't do it all ! why would he? he has you.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

☆ he has a praise kink, on the receiving end. if you praise him a little, he'll smile and his ears might get red. if you keep going, he's absolutely bricked. especially when you refer to him as 'your man'.

☆ lowkey does have a daddy kink, but not in the way you might imagine. he doesn't even refer to himself as 'daddy'. but loves when you call him it in and outside of the bedroom.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

the bed. it's comfortable, it's lots of room, and you can be as messy as you want. he might bend you over the kitchen counter if he's feeling whimsical!

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

☆ praise. PRAISE. he wouldn't say it out loud but it's obvious. when you tell him how good he is on stage, or how much you love his new haircut, or how wet he makes you, HE'S A GONER.

☆ also seeing his affect on you. when he can feel how wet you are, when your brows furrow when he hits that spot, when you cum. that'll do it

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

☆ this may be odd, but he is not "fucking" you. you can have sex. you can make love. he may even pound you. but calling it "fucking" doesn't sound right to him. that doesn't mean it isn't amazing though.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

☆ he's apart of the "eats it for his enjoyment" line. he prefers giving it and is pretty darn good at it too. doesn't hate receiving but would almost never ask you to nor does he expect it.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

☆ not super slow, but not overly fast either. its the perfect pace, and extremely sensual. speeds up when he's nearing his orgasm and gets rougher when you're nearing yours BUT NEVER TOO FAST OR TOO ROUGH.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

☆ sucker for morning quickies before he has to leave for his schedule. besides that he really likes to take his time with you, and would rather have long sessions.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

☆ he'll try most things you ask him because he loves you, but he doesn't take many risks, especially things like voyeurism because of his career.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

☆ as many as you want but after about three, he's gonna think you've gone psycho.

☆ he lasts a very long time, like i've said he doesn't cum until you do, and sometimes even after you cum he still holds out.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

☆ he doesn't own any. he doesn't care if you do, but don't tell him, he doesn't like the thought of something else making you cum cuz that's HIS job.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

☆ rarely teases. he loves to give you want you want and please you. maybe he'll let out a shy laugh when you moan loudly, BUT THAT'S IT.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

☆ a moan every blue moon during the act, but gets so loud when he's about to cum. is a loud orgasmer.

☆ speaks back to you when you talk to him, even if it's just a bunch of moans and gibberish. you could just moan his name and he's quick to be like, "i know, baby" IM SHAKING .

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

☆ usually never cums before you, but one time you were giving him back to back praises while riding him SO good, and before he knew it, his hips were thrusting up into you and he was filling you up. he was so embarrassed.

X = decided not to do this one !

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

☆ when he's away from his lover, it's not high at all. he kind of bounces off your energy. it's not that you don't make him horny, you do, he's just busy and stressed. but when he's at home, it's a normal level, he's putting it down a few times a week though!

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

☆ never before you, if he even sleeps at all. aftercare and cleanup is always first. will do chores instead, while you sleep.

a/n: creds to whoever created the template, i edited it a bit tho :)

[enhaeil]

how do you think Jay would act with a shy s/o? do you think he's shy himself? cause he's so soft spoken and sweet 🤧🫶🏻

✩ ₊˚ JAY WITH A SHY S/O—

i feel like jay isn't a very shy person, and having a shy significant other would make him even more bold!

too nervous to order? he'll do it for you. quiet around other people? he still makes sure you're heard. too shy to initiate affection with him? he's really patient and understanding.

i think overall though, he would probably prefer a not-so-shy person, and if his s/o is shy, he would try his best to help them feel comfortable AT LEAST around him.

i also feel like doesn't really see things like sex and intimacy as taboo. although he loves when you keep it cute and classy, he doesn't mind talking about things that might be too 'embarrassing' for someone who's shy.

yes, complain to him about your period (if you have one). he WILL buy you pads/tampons and whatever you need, openly.

tell him how your stomachs been hurting and you haven't been able to use the bathroom well. he doesn't mind because you're together, and you're human. human things happen!

when it comes to sexual intimacy, i don't think jay is shy at all. he just gets naked like its nothing.

he's not afraid to let you know when he's turned on, either. not obnoxiously, but a simple "i really want to have sex with you right now" or "can we make love later?" will suffice. very soft spoken, very sweet !

when it comes to his partner, he is so patient. when you're finally ready to show him your most vulnerable parts, he makes sure to constantly remind you how beautiful you are and how much of an affect you have on him.

lastly, the only time i feel like jay might get shy is if you praise him a lot, all at once. he's used to it, being an idol and all, but it's always great to hear it from you.

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

a/n: i actually really enjoyed talkin abt this !

[drkbl00d]

⧼ʟɪᴋᴇ ʀᴀʙʙɪᴛꜱ⧽ ─── 양정원

going from innocent love making to nasty fucking, like rabbits in heat. requested by anon :)

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: shyinnocent!jungwon x shyinnocent!femreader to freaky!jungwon and freaky!reader

SMUT, established relationship, little bit of fluff, loss of virginity, dom!won x sub!reader, missionary, 69, face sitting, exhibitionism, praise!kink (fem!receiving), oral (fem & male receiving), hair pulling, mention of safe word and use of tapping as safe word method, squirting, choking (fem!receiving)!, oral fixation, not proofread (2.8k words)

boyfriend!jungwon who has a reputation of being a sweetheart. big eyes and a smile that holds the power to melt the coldest glaciers. he couldn't stop blushing when he confessed his feelings to you, hands shaking while holding out the carefully picked out bouquet. even after you two got together you could feel the slight tremble of your interlinked fingers.

boyfriend!jungwon wanted to be your first time to be in missionary to see your beautiful face and make sure you're well the entire time

he asked all of his friends, went on every article that talked about "how to make your first time memorable". poor boy was haunted by anything going wrong in his sleep, but he wanted to make sure it was perfect since it was both of yours first times :( when it actually happened he was so so nervous, every second sentence was a "are you sure this is okay?" or "do you want to stop?". he's just so unbelievably happy that you feel safe enough to let him see you like this oh my sweet boy :( hearing your small little gasps turning into shy moans did things to him (and his dick) that he didn't even knew were possible. it was incredibly vanilla, shy kisses, innocent touches and small giggles but it was sweet and perfect. afterwards he held you closer than he's ever done before, lips never leaving your cheek or temple. he's full on nuzzling you, he gets incredibly clingy :')

boyfriend!jungwon who goes on a reddit deep dive with you after you tried the #basics

yes, he enjoyed a good missionary fuck or the occasional cowgirl. it's nice, it's intimate and he loves it. BUT he cannot stop wondering what more there is to try. so one night, when you two were just laying on the couch, your head rested against the crook of his neck, just dozing away he opens up reddit. "baby," he presses a little kiss on your head and you stir, "come look at this." you turn — and are greeted with 50 positions that you HAVE to try with your partner. "what on earth is a maternity- no wait mating press?" you mumble and he shrugs. one google search later, both of your eyes were wide open. "i am....." he starts. "...intruiged." you finish his sentence. you two eye each other, smiled spreading on both of your faces before you jump up and run to the bedroom.

boyfriend!jungwon cannot stop giggling at first when you try new positions.

the first time you tried 69 mans was GIGGLING into your pussy, the position was too silly to him. "won be serious, this was your idea." you mumble, hand squeezing his cock and he moans. " sorry baby, i just keep thinking of the memes." now, you can't have this man thinking about memes when your pretty pussy hovers rights above him so without further thought you just sit down on him — no warning and his face has become your seat. and jungwon enters heaven, his nose on your clit, mouth on your precum drenched cunt and all thoughts of unseriousness GONE! and when your mouth simultaneously is in his dick, moaning around because he's absolutely devouring you and slobbering your juices (it's literally running down his chin YUM) he only gets more eager, licking away at your folds and you meet him with enthusiastic bobs of your head and tongue swirls around his dick <33

another time, the position didn't even have a name, he eventually just got incredibly creative with it. it seemed like it was his mission to bend your body and intertwine himself with you until you couldn't be untangled. your head flat on the bed, body half twisted, you couldn't even decipher where one of his legs is. his hand was, the romantic that he is, entangled with yours and you give it a slight tug. "wonie, baby, i don't know if this is working." you giggle and his head snaps up. "you're not feeling good, baby?" worry coated his voice and you melted. "no, i just can't really feel you IN me babe." his face drops and he immediately detangles himself from you "now we can't have that," he mumbles, "need you fucking filled with me." he's dead serious and it's the most hilarious thing you've seen. "you won't be laughing for long..." he mutters, sly grin on his face. that man will devote his life to get you moaning and begging.

boyfriend!jungwon who keeps a list of things to try and literally whips it out when you're about to get down and dirty lol

"wait, baby" he pants into your ear as he has you pressed against the glass window that over looks the city. exhibitionism was on the list today and he has you high up against the window, technically for the entire city to see. "let me just..." he reaches back, cock still drilling into you as he reaches for his phone. it looks absolutely ridiculous, he's absolutely destroying your insides with his tongue poking out since his face id isn't working. "there." he exclaims with joy, you feel his hand tangling your hair and a tug. the delicious sting of your pulled hair and the feeling of him deep inside you earning eager moans from you. "there we fucking go, princess. don't you just look fucking gorgeous falling apart on me." which brings me to the next point!!

boyfriend!jungwon loves to praise you and goes absolutely feral when you get more vocal at his sweet degration

it started out innocent. he simply wanted to make sure you knew how nice you feel, how much he loves you. but with more filthy positions came more swear words from him, so a "gosh you're so pretty, you feel so good for me" turned into a "you're the hottest fucking thing i've ever seen, sweet pussy made for my cock, look at you swallowing me. you love going dumb on my cock don't you baby?". ughhh and you whine so deliciously, head shyly turning away, which he cannot tolerate, so he grabs your face, more roughly than he anticipated but when he noticed you moaning at the feeling of his fingertips digging into the flesh of your cheek, he discovered something new about you. from that moment on he makes it his mission to make you moan a little louder than last time, adding another finger, stimulating your clit in a different way or licking and sucking away at the sweet spot on your neck :3 he especially loves making you loud in places where you SHOULDN'T be loud, he loves the thrill. getting caught is not something he wants, you're for his eyes only but it's a nice little challenge he likes to give you. because sweet girls who do well get extra sweet treatment ><

boyfriend!jungwon feels like he just committed treason when you end up not liking something new :(

turns out you don't like something and he full on stops "do you want some space?" immediately withdrawing any skin contact, "no, no won i want you, this just wasn't it for me today. maybe some other time?" you pout, guilt eating away at you. "baby, hey," he coos, hands cradling your face. "you never have to feel bad for saying no, i need you to tell me when even the slightest thing doesn't feel right for you, otherwise i don't have fun either. this is a you and me thing." leaning in, he peppers a few kisses across your cheek and nose, making you giggle. "what does my sweet girl want to do, hm? want me to eat you out so you run your pretty little head off?" at that your eyes sparkle and he grins. big hands guide you to lay flat on your back as he positions himself between your knees. soft kisses adore your inner thighs as he makes his way to your dripping hole.

boyfriend!jungwon who then made you sit down and have a chat about a safe word!

whether that is pineapple, the colour system or tapping. he doesn't care WHAT you choose as long AS you choose and use it! and when you used it for the first time he was filled with so much love and pride. you were giving him the blowjob of the century, literally he was grabbing onto the wall, mouth open, eyes screwed shut. he was so lost in the feeling that without thinking, one hand flew down to your hair as he pulled your head closer, his cock impossible deep inside your throat as he snaps his hips toward. you've had him down your throat before (he did lowkey train you) but at some point it's bound to be on much. your moans turn into mumbles as you try to mutter out your discomfort, brain turning into mush at the overstimulation :( weakly, you hit the inside of his thigh a few times, getting his attention. he immediately snaps out of it, releases your hair and slowly pulls out of you to make sure the sudden rush of air doesn't overwhelm you. and yes, he loves to see you pathetic for him, but the sight of you coughing repeatedly makes him so upset. tears fill HIS eyes as he crouches down to your level to scoop you into his arms. "i'm so sorry angel, i should've held back." he mumbles into your hair as he softly strokes it, rocking you back and forth. you manage a hum, throat still to sore to speak and he feels his heart break. he blames himself so much :(( "i'm so proud of you for using our safety methods baby, you did so so well." a thousand kisses adore your forehead. " 's okay wonie" you mumble back, sleepy from the whole experience. "i know you didn't mean to." sweet boy picks you up and carries you to the bed. he watches you drift off to sleep in his arms, checking on the outside for any bruises or scratches. only when he saw tho injuries he allows himself to drift off too, arms tightly wrapped around you and face in your neck, breathing in the smell of you he oh so loves.

boyfriend!jungwon has an obsession with squirting, as soon as he knew it was possible it has become his life mission to find the quickest way to drain all liquid from you.....

the first time it wasn't planned, really it had been quite innocent. after a long day, jungwon just couldn't wait to be inside you and forget about the world for a few hours. everyone had been pissing him off, your pussy the only remedy. one orgasm turned into two and he showed absolutely no signs of stopping. "wonie, 's too much." you lulled out, drunk on the sting of his cock nudging your insides. "i know baby, just one more" he whispered, lips brushing your ears. "i know you can do that for me, hm?" he knew that you'd do anything to make him proud, so you clutched him a little tighter and focused on the hot sensation bubbling up in your abdomen. what you didn't expect, was for him to suddenly press his thumb to your already sensitive clit, rubbing deliberate circles onto the soft bud. your back arched, chest meeting his as your nails dug into the flesh of his shoulder. "ngh—won! wait," you squealed. "fuckkk, baby you clench so fucking nicely around me." he groaned, lips messily meeting yours, eagerly hushing your desperate gasps and whimpers. "something—, something feels different." you gasp and before you knew it the coil in your stomach snapped and warm liquid spilled down both of your thighs. jungwon stopped all his movements, eyes focused on your pulsing pussy as you writhe around the bed. still in a haze, you looked at him with frightened eyes. "i'm so sorry..." you choked out. "don't know what happened i couldn't stop it i swear!" he still didn't say anything and you felt tears welling up in your eyes. that finally made him snap out of his own haze. "holy shit baby, you're the hottest fucking thing i've ever seen." his lips met the soft flesh of you chest as he started peppering kisses up to you neck, nipping at it slightly. "you know what you just did? i read about this." he mumbled and you shook your head. "think you just squirted baby, that's like...the biggest fucking compliment ever." your eyes meet and he almost cooed at your innocent expression, teary eyes making you look like an absolute doll. "baby, nooo, you did well, i'm not mad i'm so sorry!" he added, rolling you over so you were on top of him. "sorry my angel, i just didn't expect you to do that." he whispered, playing with a lock of your hair. "didn't know what was happening," you mumbled into his chest and he felt his heart swell. "must've been so scary for you baby, but you did so so well. you could never do anything to upset me angel, okay?" "mhm" you mumble back sleepily, the weight of your orgasm still tingling on your tired out limbs. little did you know that while you were drifting off to dreamland he was thinking how he can get you to do that again next time. oh you were in for a very fun time.

boyfriend!jungwon really really really likes mutual choking o.o

so this one was initiated by you by pure accident. jungwon had your legs bent to your chest as if they were out of jelly while drilling into your poor pussy at a brutal pace (you love it) and you tried your best to hang on to him — which happened to be his neck. you were mindlessly grabbing around, looking for any stability, and your hands instantly wrapped around his neck. without meaning to you squeezed it and jungwon let out the most delicious moan you've heard in a long time. in your fucked out state you didn't even realise what he responded to and just gave him a puzzled look. he didn't even give you a verbal answer, too shocked at the new sensation he was feeling and just put his hand over yours in his neck — only then did you realise what you did. "you like that?" you moaned out, not even seductive on purpose, but he goes wild. the hand on your hip tightened, his own hips snapping into yours even quicker. what stared out as innocent grabbing on him for stability now turned into his hand also finding your throat to keep you from being bratty. in the end it just turned both of you on even more; your brattiness and his desire to keep you in line. it was one of those moments where jungwon realised just how much you both have grown together and gotten insanely fucking freaky :p

boyfriend!jungwon found out he has an oral fixation at the same time you did you have one too.

he sort of trained it into you, without meaning. in the most innocent ways he told you to lick the batter off his finger, wipes the dripped ice cream from your chin and told you to clean it off — it had all been truly innocent! he loved the feeling of your lips on him, it had a peaceful kind of possession attached to it and an incredibly deep connection of trust!! he found his fingers slip near your lips during cuddle sessions, loving how you teasingly bite or nip at the skin. long fingers loving squished your cheeks, slipping into the warmth of your mouth. for him, he loved having his mouth ON you!! it didn't even have to be a kiss, just simply resting his lips against your skin was enough. he was the one that nibbled and licked away at your skin, loving the way you squeaked at the tickling sensation :,) eventually it would also definitely find its way into your sex life. let it be you choking the life out of him as he had you sucking on his fingers — it drove both of you INSANE! he would be eating you out for hours, juices running down your legs and when you eventually have given him the nth orgasm of the day he dips his fingers into your heat, collecting the wetness and slipping it into his mouth. seeing your hazy eyes sparkle at his gesture he repeats the action but guides your juices on his fingers to your mouth. as you now clean your own slick off his fingers, twirling you tongue around the bud of his fingertips, his lips are on you again. kissing, licking, sucking and nipping away at the soft flesh of your body. it was his way of saying that you, your trust, your love. it calmed both of you such innocent way in the end. yes you both love to get down and dirty, any position at any time but you have established such a beautiful trust between each other :(

ʟɪɴꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇ: innocent to freaky won has a special place in my heart, pls meet me in my bed !

ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ: @saeivra @shawnyle @kookiesnkim @itsnotawrongnumber @shaiimuraaa @yelihusband @chaebbys @feedrinplz @shawnyle @twerkispeak (comment or send me an ask if you want to be tagged or removed <33)

ʜᴏɴᴏʀᴀʀʏ ᴛᴀɢꜱ: @fawnwonie kisses u until the sun explodes, have some wonie my love :3

ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴅʀᴋʙʟᴏᴏᴅ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ

[simjakedly]

mark me yours - l.hs

— a spin-off from love me (k)not

main masterlist

synopsis. heeseung loves omegas, but he doesn’t believe in mates—especially fated ones. that kind of destiny is reserved for people like riki and jay. but then he meets you. and the first thing you ask him to do is scent-mark you: an intimate activity shared only between mates. a spin-off from love me (k)not!

pairing. alpha!heeseung x omega!female reader

genre(s). omegaverse, fated mates, strangers-to-lovers, fluff, angst

warnings. slightly suggestive, fated mates-coded, power imbalance, unjust system and society, harassment against omegas (not by heeseung), &team cameo but they're assholes here sorry! i love them though dw, mating mark, scent-marking, heeseung is a dominant alpha, and a bigger asshole i fear, reader is a cheerleader, alpha!jay being our target again (sorry), alpha!riki, alpha!sunghoon, beta!ahn yujin, omega!rei, sunoo is bi, heeseung is also bi, this omegaverse is partly made up by me! but it’s just a tiny portion of it just to keep the plot going, denial, rejection, angst, not beta read we die like injang, please let me know if i missed anything!

word count. 21,280 words

note. please read this before proceeding 🤎 everything here is purely fictional and it has nothing to do with the members as a person outside of this fanfiction 🤎 also idk how cheerleading works so pls bear with me...

In a private booth of a nightclub, a group of long-legged, broad-shouldered alphas huddle around the table, drinks in hands. The air is layered with pheromones and adrenaline, occasionally flashing with neon lights and blurred with thin smoke. 

In the middle of the couch, Heeseung sits leisurely, manspreading with ease. On either side of him, Jay and Riki lean back in a similar posture, each of them engaged in the conversation bouncing between the team.

The team has just won a friendly match against their long-sworn rival, a university from the east, after a frustrating streak of loss for two consecutive tournaments. It wasn’t really a landslide win, considering their competitive skills, but a win is a win. A satisfied smirk curls around Heeseung’s bow-shaped lips, his alpha purring with pride.

Friendly or not, the whiskey surely tastes extra sweet tonight.

“Did you see K’s face just now?” Riki pipes up from his left, still buzzing with adrenaline. Being the last man to score and secure the win for them, it’s obviously hard for Riki to contain his enthusiasm. He’s beaming wide. “I did that. I wiped that smirk off his face, gentlemen!”

The rest of the team roars in reply, infected by Riki’s contagious excitement. Heeseung and Jay wear a fond smile on their lips, clearly delighted to see the younger alpha’s happiness. Glasses clink again as they toast to their win, and to their future wins, and to the sexy, beautiful cheerleading omegas that played a part in keeping their spirits up just now—to which Jay grimaces and Riki rolls his eyes at. Heeseung snorts.

He forgets that he’s friends with a prude and a loyal, claimed alpha.

“Speaking of omegas,” Heeseung tilts his head at Riki when the chatters break into small groups of conversations among the team, leaving him to talk to two of his closest friends. “It’s a surprise to see you here, Ki. Like seeing a four-leaf clover.”

Jay joins in, his signature lopsided grin on display. “I half-expected you to run home to your girlfriend. It’s hard to see you hang out with us at the club now, pup.”

Riki crosses his arms with a dramatic huff. His bottom lip juts out in a pout. In this light, when Riki shows this side of him, free from fake nonchalance and his cool persona, Heeseung sees him ten years younger than his actual age. Riki is so cute.

“I fully expected to run home to her too, hyung. But she forced me to come here. Said something like I should celebrate my win with y’all,” Riki sighs, messing with his newly-dyed hair and tipping his head back. “So here I am. Drinking with you idiots when I could’ve cuddled with my sweet, sweet omega at home.”

Jay feigns offence while Heeseung laughs. The both of them know too well of Riki’s devotion to his girlfriend. Maybe it’s the alpha-omega bond, or just the fact that they’ve known each other practically their whole lives, but Riki is never at ease whenever she’s not around. 

But tonight, the alpha seems more relaxed than usual. He’s not playing with his fingers or toying with the hem of his shirt like he always did when his girlfriend is absent. Heeseung wonders why the sudden change until he catches a glimpse of something at the back of Riki’s neck.

His brows furrow. His movement falters mid-air.

“Riki? Is that…” Heeseung squints his eyes, trying to see better while the tips of Riki’s ears slowly redden. From his right, Heeseung can hear a soft gasp from Jay.

“Holy shit. Is that your mating mark, Ki?”

It is. It is a mating mark, Heeseung realises, when a purple neon light flashes on Riki’s wounded skin. The alpha is rubbing his neck sheepishly now, heat sweeping across his cheeks. Despite his sudden shy demeanour, Heeseung can smell the pride in his sandalwood scent, and in that moment he finally notices the subtle layer of sweet vanilla—Riki’s girlfriend’s scent—in Riki’s pheromones.

“Yeah,” Riki confirms, still red like a tomato. “I mated with her last night.”

“Wow,” Jay breathes out in amazement, eyes sparkling in the dim light. “About time, man! You’re finally mated!”

Jay’s exclamation attracts attention and soon, the whole group is congratulating Riki on the milestone. The said alpha is red down to his neck now, clearly not expecting the sudden shift of focus on him but still relishing in the pride of having his mating mark, if the musky lilt to his pheromones is anything to go by. 

Heeseung remains a quiet observer, watching as Riki pulls down the collar of his shirt to proudly show the mark. Two other alphas join him as they speak fondly of their omegas, relishing in their identical mating mark on their napes. Beside him, Jay listens with an adoring smile. There’s a certain longing in his gaze when he stares at the mated alphas that doesn’t go unnoticed by Heeseung. 

Heeseung averts his eyes away, trying to forget that familiar look on Jay’s face. He almost scoffs at the image.

He knows that look like the back of his hand. 

Jay, too, yearns for a mate. Like Riki. Unlike Heeseung.

Mate. It’s the word that is so common in omegaverse but so foreign in Heeseung’s little world.

If Jay is a walking green flag that effortlessly attracts omegas with his gentleman charms, Heeseung is a running red flag that chases after willing omegas. If Jay stays away from wild sex life, Heeseung lives by it. If Jay dates to marry, Heeseung fucks to breathe. He’s everything Jay’s not that Riki was so bewildered when the two first met him.

Don’t get him wrong—he’s not the creepy kind of chaser. Rather, he likes to call himself the sexy one. It’s not hard for him to pull; just a few flirty comments here and a couple of filthy whispers there and the next hour he’ll have an omega to bring home and under him. 

He doesn’t know if he’s the only one wired this way, but where territorial instincts stream in his alpha blood, his sexual desires run even harder and faster. It’s like an itch that just won’t get away if he doesn’t scratch at it. He’s an attractive alpha with a high sex drive, he admits it, but is he really wrong to accept any omegas with his long, eager arms?

He thinks not.

Plus, they’re omegas. Heeseung tries not to objectify them, but gosh, the scent wafting from them is always so sweet and inviting. They’re curved softly, meant to hold and love the right, physical way that he’s known how to. He’s a weak man, and an even weaker alpha; Heeseung can’t resist a good fuck between two consenting adults and he always, always consents to being sucked off dry and scratched to bleed. 

Fuck, just thinking about it is already making him excited.

Heeseung’s eyes wander, tuning out the conversation about mate as he scans for any attractive omega. It’s starting to bore him—the talk about mate and having a mate and being mated—so he’s entertaining himself with the exposed skin and swaying hips of dancing omegas on the dance floor.

For someone like him that gets off on having sex with omegas and being drunk on their sweet pheromones, mating culture is a big no for him. The idea of being tied to only one omega makes him laugh; it sounds ridiculous to him. He’s an alpha capable of giving and his knot is not limited to only one hole, so why should he settle?

Only hopeless-romantic alphas believe in the belief of fated mates. And unfortunately, two of his friends do. Heeseung mentally rolls his eyes.

He decides that he’s had enough when the mated alphas start talking about having pups; another commitment that makes goosebumps rise in his skin. Wordlessly, he places his shot glass on the table, having sipped only half of it throughout the night. 

“Leaving already?” Jay asks, craning his neck when Heeseung stands. The latter only cocks his head to the dance floor with a knowing look. The corner of his mouth curves into a playful smirk when Jay makes a face.

“The usual.”

Jay shakes his head. “Whatever. Just don’t do it raw.”

“I’m always clean and safe, Jongseong.” Heeseung retorts, already taking his leave. “Call me when you’re leaving.”

Whatever Jay replies is muffled by the loud bass and Heeseung couldn’t care less to know what the alpha has said. Probably throwing him insults for using him as his personal chauffeur again. Heeseung only shrugs. Jay’s not his concern tonight. He has a bigger fish, or rather, a pretty wolf, to catch.

His eyes sweep across the space. From where he’s standing, his nose can pick up different scents of alphas and omegas. Even the faint scent of betas are visible, usually amplified by alcohol and adrenaline. He’s still deciding between two male omegas throwing asses back on the dance floor and a group of female omegas giggling at a table not far from him when a spiked scent stabs at his senses.

His nose instantly scrunches, frowning as he tries to detect that smell. An omega in distress. It’s faint, coming from the direction of the exit door, but he can’t see anyone crying or visibly uncomfortable in his line of sight.

Heeseung looks around, momentarily distracted from his initial mission. Nobody seems to notice the scent, however, and Heeseung blames his dominant traits for this. He sometimes forgets that he’s a dominant alpha. Unlike Jay and Riki, his senses are more sensitive and developed, which is a blessing when he’s looking for a hookup and a curse when he’s inside the locker room after a game when the air is drenched in his teammates’ pheromones. Heeseung shudders at the memories. He’s always the first to shower and leave the room because only Riki smells good when sweating.

His thoughts are brought back when the scent intensifies. Heeseung keeps sniffing and blindly follows the trail of wilting daisies and burnt honey, his shoulders braced and jaw tense. He doesn’t know why, but the scent has awakened his senses to a new degree. His alpha is on full alert now. 

He passes by dancing bodies and tables to get to the exit door but he’s stopped by a hand on his arm. Heeseung looks down.

A soft, seductive voice reaches his ears. “Heeseung-ssi?”

Heeseung blinks at the smiling omega. After a second of stunned silence, he finally recognises the logo on her varsity jacket and the makeup on her face. Realisation dawns upon him.

She’s part of his college’s cheerleader squad.

The omega is running a hand up and down his arm now, arching her back to flaunt the soft swell of her chest. Behind her, her fellow cheerleaders watch closely, hiding eager smiles behind their palms. Heeseung looks down at her hand, gulping despite himself. 

“Spare me a few minutes, will you, my precious, capable alpha?”

Her voice is so enticing, dripping with the kind of allure Heeseung’s so much familiar with. There is a strong wave of her sweet scent—bubblegum and cotton candy, Heeseung notes—coming from her in full force. She’s fluttering her lashes now, hoping he’ll get the message. 

Heeseung does; oh does he get the message so well. He knows what she’s hinting on and on any other nights he’ll succumb to the temptation without putting any efforts to think, melting into a puddle of juices at the slightest touch of seductive omegas. It’s a no-brainer decision for him, usually, because he’s always ready to fuck and he always brings a pack of condom with him for this sole reason.

But tonight his wolf is restless. And the reason is none other than the bitter scent still clinging to his nose.

Heeseung gives a polite smile that doesn’t reach his eyes and removes her hand from his arm. The omega frowns, brows almost uniting at the center when the alpha takes a step back.

“Next time, yeah?”

Without waiting for her reply, Heeseung slips away from the crowd, ignoring the sour turn of her pheromones. He can feel their eyes boring into his back, but that’s not his concern now. Following the haunting scent and the sudden flaring instincts to get closer to the owner of it, Heeseung lets his legs bring him closer to the exit door. 

Heeseung hates to admit it, but right now, his wolf is thrashing at the bitter scent and his chest feels like caving in. He can feel the itch in his nails; his claws are threatening to sharpen. He frowns.

He’s never reacted this way to any omegas in distress. So why now? Why this particular scent?

When he reaches the door, Heeseung doesn’t waste a second to push it open and steps outside. As he does so, a weight suddenly crashes into his chest, pushing him slightly backwards from the force.

“Oof—” 

Heeseung reaches up to steady the figure by the arms. At this sudden proximity, the scent is thicker, the wilting daisies are more prominent it's making his heart constrict. Heeseung lets out a deep exhale and looks down to the person practically in his arms. 

A female omega. Clearly in distress, judging by the unshed tears and the tremble in her lips. A familiar varsity jacket drapes across her frame and Heeseung feels his breath stop when he recognises that face.

It’s you. One of the cheerleaders. Heeseung knows many cheerleaders, having been in bed with most of them; but even the most forgetful alpha will remember an omega like you.

A sweet face with a sweeter scent to match, but you are always detached from alphas and their advances. You’re the shy cheerleader his teammates always talk about. The untouchable one. The politely-smile-and-then-reject omega. Heeseung remembers you too well, being one of those rejected alphas himself.

He still remembers how disappointed his wolf was, whining and pouting when a pretty omega he had his eyes on rejected him. But Heeseung is a respectful alpha. He’ll take a no as a no. And you were also so kind when doing so that he moved on from it pretty fast and well.

That was one year ago.

Now you’re crying in his arms, for whatever reasons he doesn’t know and is determined to find out. He can feel your hold on his arms tighten, the spike in your scent when you recognise him, and the hitch in your breath that follows. The bitter scent is definitely coming from you.

“H-Heeseung?” Your voice is so small, like you’re not sure if you can call his name. It’s shaky and breathless. “Please help me.”

Behind you, Heeseung can see three shadows entering the alleyway. Even from the distance, his nose immediately picks up the pheromones of aroused alphas; thick and unpleasant. Your scent lingers amidst the stench, wavering in fear, so heavy he can practically taste it on his tongue. Heeseung instinctively pulls you closer.

“Are they bothering you?”

You nod frantically, the tears now spilling freely down your cheeks. When you speak, your voice is wet from tears and fear.

Nothing can ever prepare Heeseung for the words that are about to leave your mouth.

“P-Please…Please scent me.” You sob, clutching the sleeves of his T-shirt tighter. Heeseung’s breath stutters. “Please, Heeseung.”

Scent-mark. A low rumble sounds from his chest.

You’re asking him to mark you. To…claim you. It’s basically you asking him to bond with you, to shower you with his pheromones and make you smell like him. Smell like you’re his.

This is not what Heeseung’s looking forward to tonight. The fantasy of saving an omega in distress and scent-marking belongs to Jay, an alpha that was even willing to help an omega in heat out of the goodness of his heart. But not Heeseung. That’s never Heeseung. Heeseung doesn’t play the hero; he’s the one stealing the female lead from them.

Scent-marking is way…too intimate to share between two complete strangers with no interaction—that is, if you consider being rejected to having sex together as zero interaction.

Heeseung looks between you and the shadows closing in, then licks his lips. “I can’t,” he tries, and the broken look on your face damn near makes his heart take the same fate. Heeseung schools his expression, forcing himself to push you slightly away from him.

“I—This is not right. You don’t want this.”

He can’t take advantage of you. This is just your scared omega speaking. Outside of this situation, he’s damn sure you’d refuse any kind of bonds with him. Heeseung might be a sex addict, but he’s not an asshole.

But you pull him with you, shaking your head as you keep taking a glance at the approaching alphas. “I do! Please,” you choke, failing to keep your voice steady as you plead at the alpha in front of you. Heeseung forces restraint to his instincts. “Please just scent-mark me, Heeseung. I-I can’t—They will—” You heave a deep breath, your scent taking a sourer lilt at his refusal.

“They won’t back down unless it’s another alpha.”

Something sharp stabs at his chest, rendering him speechless and frozen for a moment. Heeseung stares at your trembling figure, at your shrinking body as if to make yourself disappear, and it suddenly hits him how disgusting the whole situation is.

They won’t back down unless it’s another alpha.

Alphas only take a no when it comes from another alpha.

Heeseung feels nauseous. His throat closes in and there’s a quiet ringing in his ears. In that heavy, stilled silence, everything is muffled to his senses. Only the echoes of your words ripple in his mind.

Unless it’s another alpha.

It’s a hard pill to swallow; one that Heeseung finds it bitter to believe—because it’s so, so easy to walk away from omegas than force yourself on them. It’s so, so easy to shoot your pride down than dwell on it and go feral over a rejection. It’s so, so easy to respect an omega, even for a fuckboy like him, so why is it hard for other alphas to do so?

And the result of this harsh world, of this fucked up power imbalance is sobbing in his arms, shaking and forcing herself to be okay with an unwanted bond just to save herself. Heeseung’s heart breaks for you, for the fate that follows a beautiful being like you just because of secondary genders and because the world says so.

“Please, I-I don’t—”

“Shh, it’s okay,” Heeseung whispers, rubbing a soothing circle on your arms. Your crying subsides a fraction. “I’ll scent you if that makes you feel better. Is that…okay?”

You blink at him tearily, streaks of salty tears tainting your unblemished cheeks. Even with a swollen face, you still look as pretty as he remembers.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he nods, taking a hold of your wrist when he senses those alphas getting near. “Or we can just get inside and call the cops on them if you change your mind. You can find—”

“No,” you grip him tighter, your previously-calmed scent spiking again. “Cops are useless. T-They won’t—please, Heeseung. You know how they are.”

You know how unfair the system is.

Heeseung swallows hard before he nods, the burnt honey in your pheromones starting to get really thick and sticky. He rubs the inside of your wrists, slow and deliberate, before bringing the scent gland to his nose. It’s the most appropriate point to scent, less intimate than scenting at your neck, which he guesses the last thing you want from him right now.

The tip of his nose caresses the delicate skin tentatively, testing and tasting before he takes a deep inhale. Immediately, the scent of daisies and honey fill up his senses and Heeseung’s eyes flutter shut at the feeling. There is a rush of energy bursting through his veins, his senses tingling and his wolf purring at the sweet combination of your pheromones. Heeseung feels his wolf hum, almost singing and sighing, like his muscles are unknotting in a hot spring. 

It’s strange. It’s new. But Heeseung pushes the thoughts aside.

He runs his nose over your wrist over and over again, blanketing you in his pheromones and starting to feel you relax in his arms.

The tension in your shoulders visibly disappears as you let yourself melt into Heeseung. You sigh. Heeseung’s pheromones are just like him; warm spice of cinnamon carried by cool air of sea breeze. It symbolises his fierce persona on the court and his calm demeanour when he’s out of his jersey perfectly. You lean into him further, your squirming wolf unknowingly calms down when being washed by his pheromones.

If Heeseung notices the change in your demeanour, he doesn’t say anything about it, shoving the thought to the back of his mind. His singular focus is entirely on your pulse, nosing at your wrist and pumping out his calming pheromones. When he opens his eyes, they mirror the look in yours: dazed and slightly glassy. The air is now loaded with daisies and cinnamon, intertwining with each other in a perfect, balanced mix of scent. 

Heeseung tries to ignore the loud pounding of his heart, but it’s all he can hear. He tries to ignore the stars in your eyes, but it’s all he can see. He tries to ignore how perfectly balanced the mix of your scent is with his. His grip on your wrist tightens, breath caught in his throat. His wolf refuses to let you go, wanting to keep you here, tucked safely in his embrace for as long as he can.

And that thought is so foreign and scary. He really hopes that’s just his wolf and not him.

“Hey, little bunny.” A sick, twisted voice interrupts. 

Oh, right. 

Those fucking, disgusting alphas.

Heeseung is always slouching, making him appear shorter than he actually is. But in that moment, he’s standing so tall, dominating the space around him like the air is making room for him itself. 

He instinctively pulls you behind him, shielding you from the hungry eyes of the approaching alphas. His shoulders are braced like they’re ready for an impact and Heeseung has to force a snarl down his throat when his eyes land on the wolves.

When the shadows step under the light, it takes less than a second for Heeseung to see the jerseys clinging to their bodies before he realises who he’s looking at. 

They’re the players from the opposing team that his team just beat tonight. 

K, EJ, and Nicholas.

Heeseung grinds his jaw so hard he might pop a vessel.

“If it’s not the mighty Lee Heeseung,” K taunts, wearing a smug smirk like a badge at the sight in front of him. He cocks his head, trying to see you over Heeseung’s shoulders. You cower. “Mind sharing your pretty little cheerleader? She’s exactly my type, shy but slutty.”

Shame spreads across your skin and you screw your eyes shut. Shy and slutty, you bite your lips. You’re nothing but a kinky fantasy for alphas like them.

As if sensing your turmoil, Heeseung stands taller, his eyes narrowing thin.

“Get lost.” Heeseung tries to hold back, but the rage he feels seeps through anyway. “And cover your gland, for fuck’s sake. You stink.”

K’s eyebrows shoot up, his grin turning cheshire. “Come on, man. Are you gatekeeping your cheerleaders?” K tries to take a peek at you, but Heeseung moves and covers you with his whole body. His frown deepens. “You had fucked her already. Don’t be greedy, captain.”

His alpha minions laugh, and Heeseung is now seeing red. Something hot spreads in his chest, burning in his vein like wildfire at the insult. Was it a hit to his ego and his shameless sexual routine? Definitely, but Heeseung never takes it to heart. Rather, it’s the way you gasp and sob into his back, shaken by the disgusting assumption of your dignity and your virginity. The storm of the ocean spikes in the air, taking his pheromones to a dangerous peak, gathering a tide to a new height.

Heeseung doesn’t think he’s ever released pheromones this bad. But something about seeing the same pattern of omegas falling victim to empty-headed alphas makes his blood boil.

Behind him, you whimper, your omega reacting to the agitated alpha in front of you. But Heeseung is now relentless. He holds out an arm around your waist, protecting you from their sight in a tight, almost-possessive grip.

“Watch your fucking mouth. Don’t you get it?” Heeseung seethes, pupils thinning as the laughter dies down. “She doesn’t want you. In what fucking language must she say no for your stupid brain to understand? She’s—”

Mine. She’s mine, his wolf howls. My omega. 

Heeseung grits his teeth.

No, she’s not. Get a fucking grip, Lee Heeseung. You don’t have a mate.

“...not a toy.”

The sea-salt bite of his pheromones thickens in the alley. K scoffs, stepping forward in offense but is stopped by Nicholas. The latter has his arm shot out against K’s chest, preventing him from approaching the couple.

“No, K,” Nicholas murmurs, nose sniffing at the heavy pheromones in the air. Underneath the eye-watering spice of cinnamon and the raging storm of Heeseung’ sea breeze scent, there is a tangled sweetness of daisies and honey clinging to it. He visibly gulps. “They’re together. And Heeseung…”

Nicholas throws him a side eye, giving him a once-over briefly. He takes in the sharp glare directed his way, the downturned curl of his mouth, the tense shoulders ready to pounce. Nicholas shudders imperceptibly and shakes his head.

“…He’s a dominant alpha.”

His statement, though meant to deescalate the situation, only rages Heeseung on further. The alpha takes a menacing step forward, eyes narrowing thin at the trio. They falter back.

“Get this in your empty brains you freaks,” Heeseung grits, fuming beyond reason. Nicholas swears he sees something red flickering in his irises. 

“When someone says no, you back the fuck off. Dominant alpha or not. Omega or not.” He spits out the word, the venom in his voice nearly poisons the air. “Do you fucking get it?”

His raging pheromones are turning physical, pressing on each pair of lungs like lead on a mattress. Nicholas fights the urge to cover his nose and pulls his two friends backwards with him.

“We get it. Sorry, captain.”

“Not me,” Heeseung hisses. A low growl rumbles in warning. “Her.”

Nicholas licks his lips and nods. He bows down quickly, forcing the other alphas to bend despite it hurting his pride. K reluctantly follows, though his eyes return the glare Heeseung gives him in a similar intensity. 

“We’re sorry, omega. Shit, I don’t know your name, but—we’re sorry.”

In the next moment, the three alphas are already retreating. Nicholas aggressively whispers something among them while K visibly restrains himself from running back to Heeseung. He clearly doesn’t mind taking up a challenge with the dominant alpha and Heeseung finds himself not minding to dirty his hands too.

A beat of heavy silence falls upon you. You stay rooted in place, pulse racing in your ears. Heeseung is still facing away from you, ragged breathing slowing down. The air of dense pheromones is thinning out, leaving behind trails of spicy cinnamon and soft daisies.

You let out a breath and your knees buckle. 

Heeseung is by your side in a flash, the same, now-familiar arms caging you against his tall frame. You put your hands on his chest, trying to steady the wobble in your legs.

“Hey, hey. You’re okay now. They’re gone.”

They really are. You cry. They’re actually gone.

An ugly sob racks through your chest and soon, the wilting daisies are back, staining the air with crumpled petals and sad flowers. Heeseung tightens his hold. He doesn’t like seeing people cry, but his alpha apparently despises it the most when he sees you in this state.

His calming pheromones pour out in waves, hands carding through your hair gently. “It’s okay, it’s okay. You’re safe now.”

You’re safe with me.

Your crying slows down. For a few seconds, you let yourself savour the warmth of Heeseung’s  embrace. Closer, his pheromones, layered with a faint trail of his body wash, are stronger, filling up the almost-nonexistent space between the two of you. Strangely, the spice and the salt work wonders on calming you down.

Your wolf—previously anxious and distressed—is now quiet. 

Heeseung adjusts his hold on you, and in that moment do you only realise in horror how long you’ve been shamelessly hugging him. Like a reflex, you pull away from his embrace, cheeks now flaming red when his shirt is now stained with two big spots of your tears.

“I’m sorry!” Your palms instinctively rub at the stains, as if they can dry out the tears out of the fabric. “I’ll buy you a new shirt.”

Heeseung looks down, silently watching the small of your palms against his broad chest. There’s a strange flutter that follows, quiet and unfamiliar. He hopes that you can’t feel it through the fabric.

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” Heeseung murmurs, eyes finding their ways back to your face. Red nose, swollen eyes, blotched cheeks. You really went through it, still sniffling as you still try to fix the stains on his shirt. A small part of him twists uncomfortably.

Heeseung catches your wrists, his thumbs moving almost instinctively against the soft skin.Your breath catches as you lift your gaze to look at him.

“Are you okay?” Heeseung asks, voice soft and gentle. You immediately nod, admittedly feeling better after being bathed in his calming pheromones.

“I’m okay. Just a bit thirsty.”

He searches your face, as if trying to detect any kind of discomfort or distress. But in the end, he ends up staring into your eyes, counting the lashes that guard your beautiful eyes.

It should end there. He really should just escort you back into the safety of your friend group and leave you be. Perhaps, he can go find the previous omega, seduce his way back and bring her home. The normal. The usual.

But something inside stirs in protest to that idea, and so instead he finds himself saying: “Let’s get you something to drink.”

The convenience store is bright under the dark sky, located just two blocks away from the nightclub. It’s already past one in the morning, but to the people of the night, it’s only the beginning of fun. From a distance, the queue line is only getting longer.

Beside you, Heeseung is walking on the edge of the pavement, looking out for cars despite the slow traffic. He’s been quiet since the alleyway, seemingly lost in thought. Occasionally, his hand will brush yours, a quiet graze that sends electricity in your system. You try not to react.

The convenience store is empty, save for a group of partygoers sobering up around the round table outside, leaving only a long bench beside the door empty. You stop when Heeseung does, his hand already tapping on the sensory handle.

“Wait here. I’ll buy you something to drink.”

You nod, obediently sitting down. Heeseung takes one last look at you before he enters the store, the harsh lights greeting his tired eyes. He grabs the coldest mineral water and stops in front of the necessities shelves.

Without thinking, his hand moves like it has a mind of its own, grabbing whatever his eyes land on—a heat pack, chocolate, a pack of wet tissues. It’s only when the cashier scans the items that he pauses, staring at the items with wide eyes.

Since when does he…do this?

“Anything to add, sir?”

Heeseung gulps, looks past the cashier’s head, and lands on the rows of pills behind him.

She cried too much, she might have a headache.

And so, as if on instinct, Heeseung adds paracetamol to his receipt.

Outside, the air is cooler, biting at exposed skin like a bug. Heeseung wordlessly sits beside you, placing the plastic bag on his lap. You curiously peek into the bag.

“That’s a lot. Are you hungry?”

Heeseung pauses, realisation dawns upon him. His instincts flare again. “No. Are you? Do you want ramyeon? Or packed rice? I can—”

“No! It’s fine, Heeseung,” you laugh softly, the sound like a melodious chime of a bell to his ears. “I had dinner.”

Heeseung visibly relaxes and nods. He hands you the bottle first, twisting the cap open before passing it over without a word. He watches you drink, takes the bottle from you, and gives you the heat pack next.

You blink at him. “It’s cold,” Heeseung shrugs, pulling your hand towards him and placing the heat pack on your palm. He closes your fingers over it. “This will warm you up a bit.”

For a second, you just stare at him. The warmth in your hand spreads from your fingers up to your chest, where your heart is thumping wildly at his gentle act.

You bring the heat pack to your neck, a gentle smile gracing your lips as you stare at him, cheeks blooming red. They put him in a trance, your eyes, as Heeseung finds himself unable to look away. His gaze then drops to your lips when they move, already clinging to every syllable without even knowing it.

“Thank you, Heeseung.”

The flutter comes back, now more frantic and aggressive than before, like a caged bird trying to escape. This time, Heeseung forces himself to look away, the plastic bag wrinkles under his tightening grip. 

“Don’t mention it.”

“I mean it, though.” You counter back, gazing at the passing cars as you feel a gust of chilling wind breezing through. You scoot closer to the heat beside you. “It was really scary. Thank you for helping me out.”

There’s a bitter tone, faint and subtle, to your scent, as if you’re recalling the ugly incident that just happened almost half an hour ago. Heeseung clenches his jaw. 

Before he can stop it, his pheromones spill out like soft waves, calming and comforting, cocooning you again like a safety blanket. His wolf hums in quiet satisfaction, watching the way your shoulders loosen, the tension melting off you bit by bit.

Heeseung doesn’t know when or how it happened, but there’s no gap between you now. But he doesn’t hate it like he thought he would. Here, you’re so close to him, your shoulder practically glued to his, seeking warmth from his body heat.

It’s a foreign feeling. A comfortable, foreign feeling.

You stay in that position, slowly getting drunk on his pheromones. Your eyes droop, fighting sleep, but the exhaustion from running away from scary alphas has finally caught up to you. Before you know it, your head dips against his shoulder, breath evening out as your fingers lose their grip on the heat pack. 

Heeseung swallows. He doesn’t dare move. From the proximity, he can smell your fruity hair wash, blending smoothly with your scent. 

It’s so unfair. Every inch of you smells really good, whether it’s your natural scent or the products that you use. It’s like every inch of your skin decides that you only deserve to smell the best, and Heeseung himself can’t help but agree too. It’s so unfair.

Heeseung finds his hands hover awkwardly in the air, hesitating for a second before settling carefully on your head. His fingers thread through your hair, slower this time.

“Don’t feel scared anymore,” he mumbles, gently caressing the dark strands of your hair. 

It’s me who should feel scared.

His fingers freeze in your hair. 

Scared. He is scared.

This is not him. If Riki or Jay were to walk in to see him in this state, they’d drag him to the nearest police station and demand they find the real Heeseung. The normal Heeseung. The usual Heeseung.

The Heeseung that doesn’t stay, or spend his time watching people breathe in their sleep. The Heeseung who’s out the door before the sheets even cool down. The Heeseung that dislikes small touches like these; like caressing the hair of the girl he just saved, because the only physical touch he brands himself with is sex.

Not this. Not whatever this is.

He wants to move, but his body doesn’t listen—he stays despite himself. His wolf, like it’s found something it’s been looking for all along, settles deeper instead, quiet and satisfied. You nuzzle closer into his body and Heeseung feels his chest tighten.

Something uneasy creeps up his spine.

This should feel suffocating. It should itch under his skin, make him want to pull away, shake you off, leave. 

But it doesn’t. It feels easy. Too easy, in fact.

And it scares the shit out of him.

When your senses return to you, the first thing that greets you is someone’s scent.

Warm, spicy cinnamon and calm, salty sea air.

The memory follows not long after; of angry frowns and disgusting smirks that make your skin crawl. Amidst it all, a familiar face flashes in your mind and you feel your heart stutter.

Heeseung.

The pulse in your wrist thuds violently, as if not letting you forget the owner of the pheromones now wrapped around you like a soft blanket. You faintly remember, in your subconscious, being carried to a car and your roommate, Yujin, hugging you in panic. Unconsciously, you pull your blanket closer to your chest.

Did Heeseung send you home? Did he really…scent-mark you to help you?

You bite your lips between your teeth. The clarity is palpable now that the haziness of pheromones and distress are no longer around. There’s no way an alpha—a dominant one, at that—is willing to scent-mark an omega he has no connections to. The implications are more than the action itself. Heeseung surely knows about that, right? 

It feels like a dream. It has to be a dream.

What a capable alpha, your wolf preens. Shut up, you hiss.

Then, as if the universe was insistent to prove you wrong, your eyes land on a plastic bag placed neatly on top of your vanity, a damning evidence of last night’s incident.

No way.

Your brain swirls with possibilities and your own made-up theories that it has started to throb faintly. Before you could lose your sanity, thread by unraveling thread, you rush to the bathroom to, hopefully, get rid of his scent, even when your omega begs you not to.

Unfortunately for the human-you, the cinnamon trails after you even post-showers. It clings to your clothes when you change and it doesn’t let you go even as you sit for breakfast prepared by your doting roommate. It’s strange, really. No one’s scent ever clung to you so stubbornly like this, like a chewing gum latching on shoe soles. You always cuddle with Yujin and even her green tea pheromones never stay with you after washing up.

“It’s a bit odd, yes,” Yujin munches through a mouthful of her own signature pancake. “But it’s not totally out-of-this-world. His scent will fade by this evening, I promise.”

You chew painfully slowly, eyes going wide at another possibility. “You don’t think that I conjured some kind of bond with him, right?”

It’s common knowledge that a thin, fragile bond can be easily formed when an alpha and an omega scent each other, mated or not. After all, context and intention are greatly considered, whether it’s meant for familiarity, protection, or possessiveness—each one will determine how long it’ll last.

You pull at the sleeves of your cardigan, a telltale sign of your anxiousness. The same wilting daisies accent of your scent from the night before comes back, signalling your impending distress. Yujin drops her fork and reaches a hand to yours.

“Hey, hey. Calm down for a sec, Y/N.”

“It’s just,” you swallow harshly, your traitorous mind replaying the scene from last night. Your heart thumps at the base of your throat. “I don’t know—fuck. I forced him to do this. And—and despite the circumstances, he still helped me and now…now I think…”

Your eyes turn glassy, reminded of the wolf residing deep inside you.

“I think my omega might like him.”

Yujin is silent for a moment, assessing the right words to say. It’s obvious to everyone on campus of the nature of Lee Heeseung. He’s not exactly the alpha you’d seek for companionship or commitment; he seems to be allergic to those things. 

And to get your wolf to like him…well, let’s say that you’re already set for thousand-words of angst and a life of yearning. Yujin isn’t exactly fond of the idea of dishing out what you already knew. You already seem restless enough with your own thoughts.

“Okay. That’s valid.” Yujin starts slowly, treading through every syllable like a mother to her kindergartener son. “He’s super attractive. It’s understandable. But you can, you know—unlike him.”

You perk up at that, though the doubt clouding your face is more prominent now. “How?”

“Find a better alpha,” Yujin shrugs, as if explaining the world’s simplest equation. “For the record, I do think Heeseung’s a good guy, just not in the romantic department. I don’t know why your wolf is picking a fuckboy out of all alphas, but taste is subjective.”

“It’s because he stepped up and protected me!” You deflect and pause, realising how defensive of him you have become. Yujin raises a brow and you sigh, defeated, slumping in your seat.

“Fuck. Now my omega hates you for badmouthing him.”

“Sucks to be you.”

“Just kill me.”

Yujin shoots you a small smile, pushing your now-cold plate closer to you. You reluctantly take a bite. “Why not someone else, though? You could ask literally any other alpha, like—” Yujin pauses and it takes her less than a second to pick a name. “Jay. Like Jay. He’s like, the safest option, the greenest flag. But why Heeseung? And don’t tell me it’s because he was the only one there—you could’ve just barged in and found someone else. It’s a freaking nightclub.”

You freeze, unmoving for a slow second. There is, of course, an answer to that. One that you admittedly avoid to admit, because admitting it will admit that there is something underneath that only you know, and you admit that it’s scary to admit that. Fuck this admission! Yujin wouldn’t make fun of you, right?

“I…” You trail off, second-guessing your decision. Should you really tell your roommate? Seeing the eager look on her face, with her sweet, cute dimples showing up, you decide that people with dimples should be banned from this world. Promptly, you’re reminded of your junior—an alpha with Jungwon or something as his name. The both of them possessed dimples that could make any alpha (or omega) drop down to their knees.

Alas, you force yourself to tell the truth.

“I smelled him for afar.” You watch carefully for Yujin’s reaction. “Like, from outside. While I was running from those scary alphas.”

Yujin contemplates. “Did you feel some kind of a pull towards him?”

You don’t even contemplate. “Yes.” 

“Holy shit,” Yujin laughs, her grin turning giddy. “This shit is actually real?!”

“What is?!” You frown, not liking being kept in the dark. A playful punch lands on Yujin’s shoulder, who’s now throwing her head back in laughter. Unconsciously, a pout is formed on your lips.

“What is it? Tell me!”

“It’s just, there’s this joke going around,” Yujin hiccups between every inhale, “that an omega will eventually crave for his knot. I can’t believe it’s happening to you!”

The lines in your forehead deepen. You regard your roommate with a look of contempt, thinking of the best spot to hide a body.

“That’s not true. I don’t crave his knot, or whatever it is.” You sigh, bringing a hand to pinch the bridge of your nose. “You know what? I’m just gonna pretend last night didn’t happen.”

Resigned and defeated, you rise and bring your plate to the sink. Your class doesn’t start until the next three hours, and then the evening is reserved for your new routine practice for the upcoming tournament. The ninety-two unread messages from the group chat are still left unopened; you haven’t had time to review the routine video yet.

You put on your apron and reach for the cabinet. When in distress or deep thoughts, other than nesting in your bedroom, you often opt to stress-bake instead. The scent of baked goods always puts you at ease, and it blends sweetly with your daisies and honey pheromones. Everyone who knows you knows to empty their stomach and be ready for a mass sweet-feeding whenever you’re in your stressed baker mode.

Behind you, Yujin’s laughter dies in her throat. Then, a question that stops you in your tracks comes.

“Hey, you don’t think it’s because you and Heeseung are fated mates, right?”

Fated mates. The words settle like a heavy blanket, pressing you down with its weight and keeping you warm altogether. 

It’s sacred. It’s ancient. It’s something that you never speak of lightly, afraid that a slip of a tongue would taint the purity of such a bond. Against all odds and critiques on the concept of fated mates, you’re part of the minority who believed in it, no matter how foolish or ridiculous it may sound.

You believe in fated mates. You believe in the name written in the stars, in the love that has been shaped and created just to cherish you. You believe in spending the rest of your life looking for a face that your heart would recognise in a heartbeat, feeling that inevitable pull like you’re each other’s missing half.

But after last night, do you think it’s because you and Heeseung are fated mates?

Heeseung, who’s always made it clear to everyone about his relationship with commitments?

Heeseung, who never shies away when the boys tease him about the girls he sleeps with?

You’re never one to judge someone’s sex life, but you might be a little too concerned about how they view a long-term, committed relationship. Because that’s what you’ve been looking for. 

An alpha who’s not afraid to love you loudly. An alpha whose instincts are to love and protect you. 

Sometimes, you really envy mated couples. You envy how loyal Riki is of his girlfriend, craving the same kind of devotion to be directed to you. You envy how proud Taesan is to show off his mating mark, like it’s a badge of honour and love that promises forever.

Eventually, your mind drifts to Heeseung. The captain of the basketball team. Someone who deceives people with how approachable he seems, but is actually the most detached.

Heeseung is a perfect and capable alpha. You’ve seen it.

He leads his team with the kind of leadership that becomes a glue, keeping the team together no matter what challenges they’re going through. You know that he’s from the music department, and there are a few songs with his name being credited as the producer, composer, lyricist—you name it. Heeseung is a dominant alpha and uses his authority well, and he knows how to fend for himself.

You admire him, you really do. 

But will he devote himself to you? Will he look only for you in a crowd of beautiful omegas, and beautiful omegas who have spent the night with him? Does he share the same sentiment as you when it comes to fated mates?

The churn in your stomach provides an answer clearer than any of your exams had ever done.

You let Yujin’s question fade in the background, letting yourself lose in your element—baking and baking and baking until it feels like you could feed a whole team of athletes. Which is what Yujin has suggested before she leaves for her lab session, after saving a big jar of cookies for herself.

Fated mates.

What a scary thought.

For the first time in his life, Heeseung is actively avoiding omegas.

It’s not any omegas, though. It’s only you. But since it’s you, it’s actually a pretty big deal to him. 

Heeseung doesn’t play favourites. He doesn’t believe in fated mates, remember? But last night left a lasting impact in the form of your scent still clinging to him this morning, even after showering.  Not to mention how excited his wolf has been when realising that it’s you. 

It’s you, for fuck’s sake! The one who rejected him one year ago, and, admittedly, one of the prettiest omegas on campus. You might as well be every alpha’s ideal type. Well, maybe not Riki, that man is proudly claimed and fiercely loyal to his mate. But it’s definitely the case for him and Jay. 

Knowing his best friend, Heeseung’s sure you’re just Jay’s type. And his. No. He didn’t say that. He doesn’t have a type, remember?

As if to make it worse, you also have a scent that might just be his favourite one yet. The same scent that is currently invading his senses, dampening other pheromones in the court despite being on opposite ends from you. The same scent that his wolf decides to pick up and single out the moment he steps foot in the campus, recognising you before his eyes can even see you first. The same scent that still lingers in his lungs, mingling with his cinnamon and sea breeze notes like dancing partners. 

Yeah, Heeseung is starting to think that he’s slowly going insane. 

“Dude, stop staring. You’re scaring them.”

Heeseung blinks, Jay’s voice successfully snapping him out of whatever omega-spell that you have casted on him. Yeap, he nods. It’s definitely that. You’re actually a witch. There’s no other explanation to this other than that.

A blob of freshly-dyed blonde hair pops up beside Jay. “Hyung showed up smelling like daisies and honey and suddenly he’s staring at the cheerleaders like they owe him money.” Riki teases, then grins when he realises something. “Wait, that kinda rhymes—”

“I’m not staring!” Heeseung almost shouts, belatedly realising that he, indeed, has been staring at the group of cheerleaders stretching across the court. Or, to be more precise, he’s been staring at you. He glares at Riki.

“Okay. So why do you smell like one of them then? What’s her name again, Jay hyung?”

Heeseung grumbles. “It’s no one—”

“Y/N.” 

“Yes, that one. The shy one.” 

Heeseung groans. He kicks Riki’s shins and makes a show of turning his back facing the cheerleaders. But for some reasons he refuses to admit, as if he has eyes on the back of his head, he still can point where you’re standing just from his senses alone.

These stupid, useless alpha senses.

At least Jay takes pity on him. “Your Heeseung hyung saved her from perverts last night. He scented her to calm her down because she was reacting pretty badly.”

Heeseung mentally thanks Jay and continues warming up. He opts to just watch his teammates dribble and stretch just like him. The faint hum of scent neutraliser—a new, advanced one, thanks to that incident with Riki’s girlfriend—rumbles slowly. Somewhere behind him, he can hear you laugh and taste the sweet spike in your scent on his tongue. Heeseung grits his teeth. 

What is wrong with his wolf? Please get your tail together.

Riki, on the other hand, is intrigued. “Really? Did it happen after I left? Who were those alphas?”

“Some idiots from that team we beat last night.”

Riki frowns, clearly displeased with the news he just heard. “Well, I’ll keep my eyes on them. How did Heeseung hyung find her?”

Jay shrugs and shoots him a look. Heeseung really hopes he can slap that annoying smirk off his face one day. “Dunno. Ask him. His alpha probably recognised her from miles away.”

Heeseung doesn’t like what that sentence implies. “Shut up. It’s just instinct. Normal alpha-omega reaction.”

“Keep lying to yourself. I can practically see your tail wagging when you smelled your pheromones on her just now.”

“I didn’t—” Heeseung closes his eyes, forcing himself to calm down despite the sudden flare of defensiveness exploding in his chest. He doesn’t know why he’s so reactive and not in his usual calm composure, but he’s pretty sure it has something to do with you. Jay and Riki snicker. 

“The only people that believe in fated mates are you two idiots. Do you know that?”

“Yeah, I know,” Riki snorts and looks at him, amused. “But that doesn’t necessarily mean I have a fated mate. That shit is rare. It’s like finding my size in Calvin Klein.”

Jay frowns. “I don’t see the correlation.”

“There is. My dick is just too big, hyung. There’s no size for me—”

“I don’t need to know that!” Jay slaps at Riki’s shoulders while the younger alpha only lets out a full-body laugh. “Save that information for your girlfriend, Riki. I didn’t raise you like this.”

“She already knows that.”

“Nishimura Riki!” 

Heeseung is back to zoning out, his energy is suddenly drained out of his soul. That’s usually the case when you have to deal with a Nishimura Riki and a Park Jongseong on a daily basis. His mind, choosing to move at the pace of a snail today, is replaying Riki’s words back like a broken loop.

The realisation hits him five seconds late. “Wait. Did you mean that you and your girlfriend are not…fated mates? I thought you were!”

Riki is trapping Jay in a headlock when he answers. “Nope. We only imprinted on each other from early on because we’re childhood friends.”

“So like…what’s the difference?” Heeseung pauses and hesitates for a moment. He glances at you and then thinks, fuck it. If curiosity didn’t kill the cat then it’ll definitely kill him. “Can you smell your girlfriend in a sea of people?”

Riki scrunches his nose, his hands busy play-fighting with Jay. Heeseung ignores them like it’s a daily occurrence to see them act this way. Which is probably not far from the truth. “Not really? If they’re too many people, like right now, with your stench and too many omega scents—it’s difficult to find her.” Jay tackles his side and Riki yelps. “B-But it’s getting better after the mating bite, though—Jay hyung! I just got my tattoo there!”

“So…you can’t like…” Heeseung licks his lips, his throat suddenly dry. He has a feeling that he’s not going to like the answer Riki’s going to give him once he finishes his sentence. Jay is now on the floor while Riki is pulling him by the legs and dragging him around like a used rug.

“You can’t single her out from her scent alone?”

There. He said it. His two idiotic friends will catch on it and grill him for the problem he partially caused. The other part is, no doubt, his wolf’s fault for deciding to like one single scent. You’re not at fault at all. Never. Wait, who said that?

Riki is breathless from the laughter and play-fight, but he still manages to listen and answer, thanks to his alpha senses. If he finds Heeseung’s questions strange, he only shares his suspicion through a knowing look with Jay.

“Sometimes. Like I said, it’s only when the crowd isn’t too big and when she’s in the same room as me.” Riki finally spares Heeseung a glance, tilting his head in a feigned curiosity. “Why are you asking, hyung? Did you smell Y/N from miles away or something?”

How the fuck did that idiot know?

Heeseung looks away from the teasing grin thrown his way. He really doesn’t like this. “No,” he grumbles. “I’m just afraid if I might be Jay’s fated mate because his pheromones are fucking everywhere.”

“Hey! What the fuck did I do to you?!” 

Riki bursts out laughing and high-fives Heeseung with a cheeky smile. On the floor, Jay is already huffing and sulking, mumbling something about ‘always catching strays’ and ‘citrusy pheromones aren’t smelly’. Heeseung sighs quietly when the topic takes a turn into a debate about who has the best smelling pheromones, which is an easy win for Riki, if Heeseung’s going to be honest. 

Don’t tell Jay though. Heeseung doesn’t want to lose his passenger princess privilege so soon.

Much to his relief, it’s already time for practice. Heeseung tries to ignore the prickle in his neck coming from your direction as you and your fellow cheerleaders leave the gym to go to your own practice room. He fights the urge to look back, to stride forward and ask you to stay—which is insane, by the way, what the fuck is wrong with him?

Before he slips into his captain mode, however, Jay approaches him with a more serious look on his face. “Calm your flat tits, Hee. It’s normal for her scent to linger; you kinda scented her aggressively to protect her last night.”

Heeseung weakly nods. Jay pats his shoulder. “A deep bond can’t be conjured just from scenting alone, unless you’re fated mates.”

This time, Heeseung doesn’t move, his tension visible in the rigid lines of his posture, the frantic movement of his Adam’s apple as he swallows.

“Yeah,” he croaks, his pulse louder than his own voice. “Hope not.”

Practice goes on for the next two hours. Heeseung eventually falls into routine, finding himself lost in adrenaline and competitiveness. The thoughts of you cease for a moment, replaced by his quick-thinking strategy and sharp reflexes. He keeps dribbling, scoring, and making passes, not even aware of the ticking clock or when the cheerleader squad comes back in to take a break.

The last whistle finally blows before the players dramatically fall in a heap of sweaty, breathless alphas. The practice was particularly grueling, which made his body ache and his shirt clung to his skin. The coach is on fire today, all because his wife has been giving him a silent treatment. Apparently, he forgot to buy diapers on his way home last night.

Source: Nishimura Nosy.

“I think I might die,” Jay huffs, claiming a bench all to himself. His chest rises and falls in a rapid motion. “But even as a ghost, I bet the coach would still unearth my grave to force me to practice.”

“I’ll be Ghost Number Two.” Heeseung deadpans, lying down on the bench next to Jay. The latter continues to talk about something else, which Heeseung would know and remember if he didn’t get distracted by daisies and honey.

Fuck. You’re in the court again.

The urge to corner you, to grab your wrist and ask if you were okay, crawls under his skin again—restless, unrelenting.

Heeseung isn’t stupid. He knows last night, ugly as it was, doesn’t just fade by morning. His alpha has been clawing at him since then, sharp and impatient, demanding he go to you.

But Heeseung doesn’t move.

For once, he’s a coward.

He shoves it down, buries it deep, treating his own wolf like a disease he refuses to catch.

Heeseung blinks at the ceiling in an active effort to not start looking for you and staring at you like a creep. This time, he wonders quietly why your scent smells stronger than before. Perhaps the adrenaline from your routine. But even so, you don’t only smell strong, but you also smell closer—

“Free cookies!”

Heeseung jolts in surprise and whips his head in the direction of that voice. Or, precisely, your voice. His heart, as if trying to shorten his life span, decides not to take a break from the session just now and continues beating even faster.

There, just a few paces away from him, is you, standing in the middle of the court with one of your cheerleader friends. In her hold, there’s a purple Tupperware, its lid nowhere to be found. You stand slightly behind your friend, shyly looking over her shoulders as she talks to his teammates.

“Oh my God, they brought us cookies?!” Jay is already standing up, stretching lazily like a cat. “C’mon, Hee. It’s free cookies.”

Heeseung’s quick to refuse, despite his wolf begging him to go. “Nah—”

But before he can spit out any excuses, Jay is already dragging him, his weeks spent in the gym working out with Riki are finally paying off. “Don’t be ridiculous. Take your portion and give it to me.”

Heeseung groans. He really should start joining their workout session. He can’t be manhandled by his two best friends easily like this.

Distracted, Heeseung fails to register the decreasing distance between you and him. It’s only when your scent spikes sweetly, which hits him in the face like a fucking tidal wave, does he catch your eyes and realises that, fuckfuckfuck she’s here ohmyGod—

“Hi, Jay. Hi, Heeseung.”

Wait hold on, why does his name sound even more beautiful coming from your voice?

He stands like a flag pole beside Jay, actively avoiding your eyes while being fully aware of that pretty pair staring at his face. The floor suddenly looks very interesting, with skid marks from their shoes and some sweat trails. Okay. Ew. That’s gross.

“Hey, pretty ladies.” Jay greets, flashing his attractive smile as he gestures at the container. “Heard there’s free cookies for the taking? Mind if we have some?” 

Smooth as ever, Jay doesn’t even realise how easily he has charmed your friend with his simple greeting. Poor omega is already blinking rapidly, almost bouncing on her toes as she practically shoves the Tupperware into Jay’s chest. 

“Yes! Yes, of course you can, Jay. There’s only little left! Take them all!”

Your eyes, fixated on Heeseung since he arrived, tries to search his face as you shyly interrupt, whispering into your friend’s ear. 

“Offer some to Heeseung too…”

Heeseung doesn’t know whether to curse or thank the Goddess for his advanced dominant-alpha senses, because overhearing those words…it makes his chest feel warm and tight at the same time.

But your friend doesn’t pay you any mind, urging Jay to take the Tupperware from her. Jay, ever the gentleman but still a little shameless shit when it comes to food, takes it from her eager hands. He takes one bite and immediately lights up.

“This is so good! I love that it’s not too sweet.”

Like a mirror reflecting light, you beam widely, returning Jay’s enthusiasm. Heeseung tries to ignore the ugly twist in his chest. “Really? That’s…good to hear.”

“She made these, by the way!” Your friend proudly announces, which makes red blooms across your cheeks, ducking your head down slightly. You’re so shy, so pretty, Heeseung can’t stop staring.

And so good at baking. Such a perfect omega, his wolf continues. Shut the fuck up, Heeseung hisses.

“You’re really good at this, Y/N,” Jay interrupts his internal war, his voice sounding wrong in his ears. “Care to share the recipe?”

Now, is Jay flirting with you? Since when does his voice sound like that?

Heeseung tries to inhale, attempting to calm his fucking irrational wolf down, but all he can smell is the sugary scent of yours, tangling delicately and blending seamlessly with his spicy cinnamon and salty sea breeze. Somewhere in his chest, his heartstrings soften, drunk in the perfect mix of your pheromones, a ghost of a mark from last night. 

Maybe that’s what possessed him to snatch the Tupperware from Jay.

Heeseung wastes no time and starts munching two cookies at once, ignoring the gasps from you and your friend and the bombastic side-eye from his fellow alpha friend. The flavour of buttery vanilla and sweet chocolate chips melt on his tongue and Heeseung almost purrs at the taste.

Outside, he makes an effort to look calm.

“These are good,” he comments coolly, trying to make it sound more like a statement than a compliment (he’s failing). This time, he dares himself to meet your eyes, and has to force down another purr when he sees the sparkles in your eyes. “Thank you, Y/N.”

There’s a strange satisfaction blooming in his chest when the blush in your cheeks deepen. You quickly look down to the floor, mumbling softly that could’ve been missed had it not been for his senses.

What kind of pull is this? Why is every sense of his attuned to you? Heeseung swears he can smell the subtle spike of your scent, the sound of your heartbeat and your soft breathing. It’s like his whole body has decided that it wants to worship you.

And Heeseung doesn’t worship. Fuck. This is terrifying.

“Thank you, Heeseung…”

There. Your voice again. Heeseung swallows. His grip on the Tupperware tightens. Seeing you under this light, flushed and softly smiling to the ground while sneaking glances at him—it undoes him in ways he never dared imagine. 

The question is already at the tip of his tongue without his realisation. ‘Are you okay? Does what happened last night still bother you?’ The urge to comfort and soothe, now growing like a rolling snowball, threatening to spill from his mouth.

And the scary part is: Heeseung isn’t sure if that desire comes from his wolf or himself.

However, he never gets the chance to, because Jay with his perfect, universe-timing is already pulling him backwards. “Thank you for the cookies! We’ll eat them well!”

Heeseung reluctantly nods, the grip he has on the Tupperware turning knuckle-white.

“What the fuck was that?” Jay whisper-yells when they’re out of earshot, walking back to their previous spot. “And those are not only for you. Give them back to me!”

Heeseung dodges his grabby hand. “Why the fuck are you eating more?” He asks, failing to mask the bitterness in his voice.

“Didn’t they give all ten of them to us?”

“You’ve had two.”

“And you’ve had five!”

“I don’t care. These are mine.”

“You are being ridiculous.”

That’s what it takes for Heeseung to freeze in his tracks. Seeing an opening, Jay quickly snatches the Tupperware from his grasp and runs back to his spot on the bench, not forgetting to flip off the burgundy-haired alpha as he does so.

Heeseung is losing his fucking mind.

Sighing, Heeseung closes his eyes, a faint trail of daisies and honey still clinging to his senses. Even across the room, among the murmur of the gossiping cheerleaders, it’s your voice, the only one clear and crisp to his ears. 

I’m being ridiculous.

This isn’t me.

Slowly, his human side starts taking over, all flowery images of you vanish within seconds.

Fuck, he curses. He wishes this scent-marking will be gone by tomorrow morning.

Three mornings later, much to his dismay, your scent still clings to him. On the bright side, it has been notably fading, now only the remnants of daisies and honey underneath cinnamon and sea air; like crunched petals along the shoreline, waiting to be washed away.

Against his own judgment, however, his wolf is fucking devastated.

He’s been whining like a kicked puppy ever since he walked to practice this morning and couldn’t smell his scent on you instantly. He still can spot you from two buildings away, which is still strange, but the lack of spice and salt in your scent is what does it. Heeseung has to fight the urge to march towards you and start scenting you.

His wolf has been restless. And, inevitably, it puts Heeseung in a terrible mood, too. He never knew his wolf was that desperate. 

Practice ends late that night. With the tournament just around the corner, everyone is being a little shit at managing their emotions and competitiveness on the court—the downside of having an all-alpha team that people rarely talk about. 

Heeseung is not excluded from the equation, though. He almost threw the ball to Taesan’s knot and made his omega pups-less and pregnancy-free when he accidentally made a bad pass. The court had smelled like tension and a barely held-together brotherhood when he left before a cheerleader came up to him to flirt and he wasted no time to drag her to an empty classroom.

Now, Heeseung finds himself making out with that omega, tongue licking up into her mouth while she breathlessly moans into his. It’s been five days since his last fuck, and while he usually can go on without sex for weeks (one month was his best record), he’s been at his wit’s end today. Add the confusion and silent wars he’s been having about you into the mix, and Heeseung is nothing more than a stressed body waiting to be relieved.

Weirdly enough, the frustration he hopes to get rid of stays as frustration. The old sparks he usually feels when having this intimate moment with an omega seems to disappear tonight. In the back of his mind, like a looming cloud carrying a storm, is a hazy image of teary eyes and red, trembling lips.

Something stirs uneasily in his chest.

His huge, veiny hands slip under her skirt and find purchase on her cunt, gathering the slick leaking from her arousal. Her scent spikes as she bucks up her hips and, to Heeseung’s own surprise, he recoils from the smell of it and breaks the kiss. The girl doesn’t stop her advances, switching to kiss down his long neck instead.

He subconsciously scrunches up his nose, his finger halting its movement for a second. 

“What perfume are you wearing?” He asks, voice hoarse from the makeout session. He tilts his head back, allowing access and finding stimulation, but the usual thrill is a bit dull tonight.

“My pheromones,” she manages between kisses, “you like it?”

It’s quite the opposite, to be honest. Heeseung finds himself hating it. It’s too sweet. Too sharp. It sits wrong in his nose, burns at the back of his throat, like inhaling smoke for the first time. His eyes water.

There’s something wrong. He’s not enjoying this. 

And to make things worse and more confusing, his chest hurts. It constricts, like his lungs decide to shrink into a ball of unexplained pain. Heeseung’s breath stutters, almost doubling over. His mind is a frantic buzz of noise, chanting something that he can’t seem to fully register yet.

Not my omega. Not daisies. Not honey.

Heeseung feels something twist in his gut.

The nameless omega—he forgot to ask for her name—doesn’t notice the shift yet, the way Heeseung is already a frozen statue of confusion and frustration in her embrace. She continues, trailing down hot, wet kisses along the prominent line of his collarbone and sucks the tender skin. 

“Ow!” Heeseung yelps, instinctively pushing her away. The spot stings like a pulsing heartbeat, void of any pleasure that it usually would give. He staggers backwards once.

The girl frowns, clearly not happy being pushed like that. “What’s wrong? Is everything alright?”

“I—” Heeseung hisses, his shirt sitting wrong on his skin, her scent smelling wrong in his nose. He shakes his head. “Shit. I’m sorry, I—I have somewhere to be.” 

The girl scoffs, disbelieving. “What?! Heeseung, you can’t just—”

But Heeseung can, and he already does. The alpha is out of the room in the next minute, deliberately the calls of his name and the strings of insults that come from behind him. He makes a run for it.

What the fuck did just happen? Heeseung is never one to refuse a good time with omega, but his wolf is quiet tonight. Too quiet, like it’s being silent on purpose in solidarity for something he’s yet to know—or yet to realise. 

The hazy image comes back to his mind, slowly becoming sharp and clear. Heeseung thinks his lungs have turned into bricks when he realises that he’s been imagining you. That his head has been loud with the thoughts of you, even when he’s with someone else.

Why? Why is this happening? Why you?

Heeseung makes a turn to where the locker room is, planning to grab his duffel and leave, when he bumps into Riki and Jay, freshly out of the shower.

“Heeseung hyung?” A shirtless Riki calls his name, then raises a brow when he sees his condition. “Was wondering where you were. But those lipstick stains told me enough.”

Heeseung wipes his neck harshly. Wordlessly, he yanks his locker open and checks himself out in a mirror. He turns his face left and right, yanking down his under eyes, then sighs. Riki and Jay exchange looks. The air is slowly thickening with the pheromones of a distressed alpha, coming from none other than Heeseung.

“You good, mate?” Jay decides to ask him. Heeseung doesn’t know. He doesn’t think he’s as good as he wants himself to be. The alpha lets out another sigh and slams the door closed.

“I think something is definitely wrong with me.”

“Is it practice?” Jay softens his voice, already switching on his therapist-friend mode. “Hee, today’s just that day. Everybody was losing their shits, it’s not just you.”

Heeseung leans his back on the locker and tilts his head upwards. “It’s not that. I mean it biologically. Ever since—” Heeseung pauses, suddenly unsure if saying out loud would make things right. But Riki and Jay have already caught onto it.

“Ever since what?”

Heeseung chooses to deflect. “Look, I was trying to make out with this one pretty omega just now. But no matter how much kissing we did, I just couldn’t enjoy it.” Heeseung points to his sweatpants. Riki and Jay curiously follow with their eyes. “She was practically sucking my tongue and I’m not even bricked up, man!”

Riki furrows his eyebrows. “Not even a spark?”

Heeseung shakes his head. “I couldn’t feel anything. At all. Only,” he swallows harshly. “I only felt disgusted. By her.”

Silence hangs in the room at his revelation. Riki’s expression morphs into something akin to genuine surprise, while Jay only stares at him with a gaping mouth before he starts typing on his phone.

“This is dead serious. You can’t have sex without your dick. That's like a banana cake without bananas.”

Heeseung and Riki grimace. “Please don’t ever compare my dick to a banana again.”

“Or a banana cake.” Riki slaps his shoulder. “That’s my favourite, hyung. Don’t be gross.”

Jay waves a dismissive hand, eyes still glued on his phone. “Right, right. Anyway, I texted Sunoo.”

Heeseung’s eyes go wide like saucer plates at the name and groans. “Sunoo?! Jay, you know he’s still mad at me.”

“I know, but he’s the only one who probably knows the answer to this.” Jay smacks his lips when he reads a new text from Sunoo. “He’s staying back for a lab session. Let’s go to the medicine building.”

And that’s how Heeseung finds himself cramped into a tiny booth of a ramyeon stall, located by the road near the faculty of medicine. A pouty Sunoo is sitting across from him, shooting him his foxy side-eyes as he whines at Jay.

“Jay hyung, why did you bring this traitor with you?” Sunoo pulls at the sleeves of Jay’s hoodie, sulking away from Heeseung. It’s only the three of them since Riki had gone home with his girlfriend just now. “I thought the three of us would include you, me, and Riki.”

Jay sighs exasperatedly. “I had to, Sunoo. That traitor is having a critical dick malfunction and he needs your help.”

The waitress arrives with three bowls of steaming ramyeon. Jay and Sunoo pause their not-so-quiet argument and help her place the bowls on their table. She clears her throat awkwardly, and takes a quick glance at Heeseung before leaving. Heeseung groans internally.

Great. Now words about him and his dick problem will spread around the campus.

“Is STD finally catching up with you?” 

Heeseung should know that it was never that easy to get Sunoo off his back. That boy is a professional pouty sulk-er, he’ll never let Heeseung go easily. Not after harassing him with his sass, at least. Heeseung holds back a sigh, already resigned and defeated.

With a grim voice, he apologises to the brown-haired alpha. For the fifth time. 

“Sunoo, I am so sorry. I know it was my fault, but for the record, I didn’t know you were serious about pretending to be an omega. Why would you even do that, anyway?”

“Because I like the attention!” Sunoo is fast to defend himself, his pout only deepening. “And because alphas will only spoil me if I was their pretty little soft omega—which I am not! And you exposing my secondary gender to that alpha just ruined my chance to be with him. Who would even call their friend, ‘my cutie little fake omega’, anyway?!”

“I was drunk!”

“A drunk traitor is still a traitor!”

Heeseung turns to Jay, sending him signals to help him out. But his best friend deliberately ignores him, too engrossed in his own bowl, pretending to be a wall. Heeseung rolls his eyes and looks back at Sunoo.

It might not be that easy to console the sulky boy, but Heeseung is labelled a sweet talker for a reason.

“You’re already a pretty alpha, Sunoo. Prettier than any omega I know. Anyone would drop everything for you even if they knew you weren’t an omega.”

Like a switch being flipped, the frown on Sunoo’s melts away, replaced by a beam so wide it shows off his perfect teeth.

“Aw, Heeseungie hyung. You’re now forgiven. Now tell me about this dick problem of yours.”

Jay and Heeseung look at each other and relax into their chairs in relief. Heeseung sends him a look of, ‘That was easy,’ to which Jay raises his eyebrow, ‘Why hadn’t you done it sooner?’

Now, with Sunoo not threatening to kill the burgundy-haired alpha anymore, Heeseung can finally enjoy a few bites of his untouched ramyeon. It’s already a bit cold and soggy, but the broth makes up for it. He retells the story to Sunoo between bites, watching the ever expressive boy react to it with various expressions.

“It’s not uncommon, though. But since it’s you, it must have felt very concerning.” Sunoo hums in thought, tapping his full lips with the thinnest tips of his chopsticks. “Well, Heeseungie hyung, did you imprint on any omegas?”

Heeseung hesitates for a moment before he shakes his head, feeling Jay’s eyes on him.

“No.”

“Hm, okay. Even if it’s due to imprints, it has to come from both sides,” Sunoo rubs his chin, now looking every bit a live action of Detective Conan, minus the glasses. “Did you conjure a bond with anyone? Maybe accidentally?”

Heeseung’s lips part. “I…would’ve known, right?”

“Right.” Sunoo nods firmly, then tilts his head. “Did you scent one of your hookups, then?”

“An almost-hookup,” Jay cuts in, clearly enjoying this interrogation. Heeseung shoots him a look. Jay is always out to rat him out and he’s actually so close to disowning him.

He grunts. “Just…someone.”

Sunoo smiles in amusement. “So you did scent someone. Was it someone you like?”

“Define like.”

“Like them enough to want to kiss them. Like them enough to want to fuck them. Like them enough to even want to scent them to begin with.” Sunoo shrugs. “Pick one.”

Heeseung closes his eyes. Does he like you? Wanting to kiss and fuck someone don’t equal to liking them. Because if that was true, then there’s no other explanation to Heeseung ‘liking’ every omega he has fucked other than him having an insanely big heart—which he doesn’t. He liked the sex and their company; that was all there was to it.

Which leaves him option number three. 

Heeseung’s never the guy to sit with his feelings—at least not the romantic kind. You’re an unfamiliar territory; something that he deliberately avoids his entire life, simply because he never sees settling down with a mate as a desirable goal or accomplishment. And, perfectly hidden under his fuckboy persona is also a thin layer of fear.

Fear of getting hurt by the thing that’s supposed to be love.

But does he like you?

Maybe he does. He’s always liked the way you laugh; you always cover your mouth with one hand when you do, like your smile is only visible in the privacy of those who really know you. He’s always noticed the way you touch the tip of your nose when people’s eyes are on you. He’s always thought the natural blush that you have when you’re shy is adorable.

In that one single minute, Heeseung realises that he’s been paying attention to you more than he thought he did.

Fuck. He does like you.

But does liking have to lead to being mated?

That responsibility is way taller and heavier than him and Heeseung is beyond freaked out.

“Earth to Heeseungie hyung?”

“Why does it even matter? What does it even have to do with me not getting a boner during a makeout session?” Heeseung demands, frustration bleeding into his voice. Is Sunoo punishing him for being the reason he fumbled that tall, hot alpha two weeks ago? Will Sunoo truly ever forgive him? He already apologised five times!

Sunoo, seeing enough of his hyung’s suffering, finally relents. “Geez, relax. I wasn’t playing with you. I asked because most of the time this happens,” he gestures at Heeseung and his crotch. Heeseung instinctively closes his long legs. “It’s because the wolf has already liked one omega. An omega they recognise as their mate. It’s the only explanation why you felt disgusted just now.”

Mate. That cursed word again. Beside Sunoo, Jay is whistling.

“Sorry. You mean my wolf, my alpha, likes one omega and decides I shouldn’t fuck around anymore?”

Sunoo nods. “Basically, yeah. But it usually isn’t that easy, hyung. A bond has to have been conjured between your wolf and their wolf by any kind of markings.”

“Like?”

“Like biting. Or scenting.”

Scenting. Heeseung didn’t just do scenting with you, he was scent-marking you.

“But that’s impossible,” Jay interrupts, confusion etching onto his handsome features. His leaning forward now, his empty bowl pushed to the center of the table, which reminds Heeseung of his own bowl. The alpha quickly finishes his noodles. “Scenting between unmated alpha and unmated omega will only conjure a temporary, fragile bond. It should’ve been gone by now—the scenting happened five days ago.”

“Are you sure about that? Because I can detect some floral scent in Heeseungie hyung’s pheromones.”

Heeseung almost chokes on his noodles. “You do?”

Sunoo leans forward, squinting his eyes at him like he’s some kind of lab specimen. “Yeah. It’s faint, but it’s there. Sweet. Floral. Clingy.” He tilts his head again. “It’s weird.”

Across from him, Heeseung is frozen. His grip on the chopsticks tightens. He swallows harshly.

“That’s not supposed to happen…right?”

“Exactly,” Sunoo points at him. “That’s why I’m saying it’s weird.”

Jay leans back, arms crossed. “But if it’s still there after five days—”

“It doesn’t automatically mean fated mates,” Sunoo cuts in quickly, tone sharper this time. He shoots Jay a look before turning back to Heeseung. “Don’t jump to that conclusion. That’s, like, extremely rare. And also very dramatic.”

Heeseung exhales, shoulders dropping just a little.

Right. Dramatic. His alpha begs to differ.

“It could just be a stronger-than-usual temporary bond,” Sunoo continues, more thoughtful now. “Maybe your alpha overdid it when you scented them. Or the omega was in a heightened emotional state, so the bond lasted longer.”

Jay hums, not entirely convinced.

“But the whole not getting turned on thing?” He gestures vaguely. “That still doesn’t explain it fully.”

Sunoo taps his chin again. “Mhm. That part’s interesting.” He levels Heeseung with a curious look. “Who is this girl, anyway? You seem pretty fucked over her.”

Heeseung groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Can you not say it like that? Like I’m some kind of a broken alpha?”

“You kinda are right now,” Sunoo says bluntly.

“Sunoo.”

“I’m serious!” He leans forward again, eyes lighting up. “Your body is rejecting other omegas. That’s not normal for you. Like, at all.”

Heeseung slumps deeper into his seat. As if it’s not already obvious enough, Sunoo just had to spell it out loud.

“I noticed,” he mutters, defeated.

Sunoo softens slightly at that, sighing as he rests his chin on his palm. “Okay. Look. Don’t panic yet.”

“I’m not panicking.”

“You’re literally here because your dick stopped working.”

“…Okay, I’m a little panicked.”

Sunoo waves his chopsticks dismissively. “It’s probably not fated mates. If it were, you’d be way worse right now.”

Heeseung stills. “Worse?”

“Yeah,” Sunoo shrugs. “You’d be obsessing. Unable to stay away. Your senses would go crazy. You’d feel everything they feel, more or less.”

Jay slowly turns to look at Heeseung. Heeseung immediately avoids his gaze. That fucker is always eager to catch his ‘Gotcha!’ moment, it irritates him to the core.

“That doesn’t sound like me,” he says a bit too quickly, the lie tasting acidic on his tongue.

Sunoo mustn't know about the knot of uneasiness in his chest. Sunoo mustn’t know about the face that comes to his mind when he’s kissing someone else. None of his friends must know that he’s obsessing right now, itching to flee and find you in the middle of the night.

“Exactly,” Sunoo nods, unaware of his friend’s turmoil. “So relax. I’ll look into it more, yeah? Might be some weird hormonal response or delayed imprint reaction.”

Heeseung lets out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “Yeah, okay.”

“Or you can do a try-and-error,” Sunoo suggests, reaching over to pat Heeseung’s shoulder. “Just do what you always do—try hooking up with different omegas. Maybe the one you made out with tonight was just a bad compatibility for you.”

Heeseung perks up at that. Sunoo and Jay, not noticing the shift in the air, are already moving forward with a different topic, completely oblivious to the newly-lit determination now burning up his body.

Just do what you always do.

Right. Heeseung has a high body count for a reason. He decides, with a final resolution, that he should solve this his own way.

If Heeseung spends every night for the next two weeks trying to bed different omegas, Sunoo and Jay don’t have to know.

If Heeseung fails each time, unable to enjoy every kiss and friction, Sunoo and Jay don't have to know.

If the pain in his chest worsens every time he leaves the barely-warm beds, Sunoo and Jay don’t have to know.

If Heeseung avoids looking at you, avoids bumping into you, avoids speaking to you—he hopes you don’t know about it.

A quiet voice from his wolf whispers something that he refuses to acknowledge: He hopes you’ll forgive him for being unfaithful.

You’ve been sick for two weeks. 

At first it was subtle, like a faint throb in your heart that makes you stop whatever you’re doing. The first time it happened, you were in the middle of a group discussion for an elective subject. 

A quiet alpha, or a wolf hybrid named Sunghoon, to be exact, had noticed the way you winced from the pain. He didn’t say anything, but you guessed he told an omega about what he saw because right before you exited the library, one of the girls had passed you a free menstrual pad.

He thought you were experiencing period cramps. You wished it was just period cramps.

Then, it gradually grew to something worse. A sudden stabbing pain in your chest. A twist in your gut, like you were expecting something bad to happen. Sometimes it was random palpitations, where your heart was skipping huge beats, as if you were about to go down on a roller coaster.

Each time it happened, you only placed your palm over your heart, hoping it’d go away. You never understood why, but those pains only came at night, preventing you from getting any good sleep and rest. And each time you tried to close your eyes, there was only one face flashing behind your eyelids.

Heeseung.

Yujin had dragged you to the clinic, but the doctor came to a conclusion that you were just having pre-heat symptoms—which couldn’t be further from the truth, because you just had your cycle one month ago. You’re not supposed to go on your quarterly-cycle of torture for another two months.

“Oh my Goddess, you’re burning up.” Yujin’s palm is cold against your forehead. Her face is pulled into a tight expression. “Let’s just skip today’s classes, okay? I’ll stay with you.”

You weakly nod, barely registering Yujin’s movement around the room. Your body feels like a furnace, the heat simmering in your veins almost rivaling a volcano’s lava. You discard the blanket to get some sort of relief, only to shiver in the cold when the air touches your skin.

After a few minutes of exiting and entering your room, Yujin finally sits by your bed. She helps you with a glass of water and a dosage of paracetamol, careful to wipe any loose drops like a concerned mother. It doesn’t get better, but at least your throat doesn’t feel like it’s being scrubbed with sandpaper anymore.

“How’re you feeling now?”

“Dying, but a bit less dramatic.”

“Good. Wouldn’t want to give Suho from True Beauty a run for his money, would we?”

You chuckle softly, though it sounds more like a seal with a sore throat.

“But seriously, though. It’s been two weeks.” Yujin purses her lips, the worriness still marring her beautiful face. “I’m so worried, Y/N. What’s happening to you?”

You don’t answer right away. “It’s my omega.”

Yujin’s eyebrow jumps. “What about her?”

You also wonder the same thing. Swallowing, you finally let your friend in on the torturous days you have been going through. “One night, after our practice ran quite late two weeks ago, she went a bit hysteric. I couldn’t stop vomiting.” You recalled, eyes distant in memory. “She kept yelling something about a traitor, about rejection. I don’t know, really. But that’s how it started.”

“Two weeks ago, at night, you say?”

“Yeah. Why?”

Yujin is quiet for a few extended minutes, caressing her thumb over your knuckles. The motion puts you at ease, and slowly, you feel the pills begin working their chemicals.

“Did you, perhaps, hear about anything that happened that night?” You shake your head, unsure if your cheerleader squad had mentioned anything. Yujin hums. “Because I think I did.”

“What?”

“So I’m friends with this one omega named Sunoo from my faculty. A pretty boy and a petty gossiper.” Yujin starts, now treading her words slowly as if walking on eggshells. “He knows everyone on this campus. Especially the hot stuff, you know—student body, athletes, cheerleaders.” Yujin eyes you but not unkindly. “He knows you too. Just the basic stuff.”

“Like?”

“Your name, your major, your Instagram account.”

You let out a breath, a bit unsure where this is heading, but listen anyway. “Okay.”

“And because of his impeccable knowledge of gossip, I heard from him about a cheerleader breaking down in the group chat after a certain alpha left her mid-making out, all slicked and horny while he didn’t even pop a borner.”

You hold onto her every word, but for some reason, a dread has settled deep in your bones, like your body is already anticipating some bad news. Your heart, previously beating fast, is now sprinting like it might escape your rib now.

“And that alpha was Heeseung.”

It hits before you can even think.

A sharp, twisting pain lances through your chest, knocking the air out of your lungs like you’ve been struck. Your fingers curl into the sheets, clutching at nothing.

Your omega whines—hurt, betrayed. And suddenly, you understand why. The cries about betrayal. His face haunts you every night, like a painful reminder of the destiny you're subjected to.

You try to swallow once, then twice, before you find your voice back.

“Heeseung?” You try. His name now tastes bitter on your tongue.

Yujin, ever the empathetic, senses it, and tightens her hold on your hand. “Yeah,” she nods. She lets a moment of quiet pass, fidgeting and swallowing like you. Like the news has more stories that she’s yet to tell; an extended part to a nightmare that’s been keeping you up at night. You brace yourself.

“And two nights ago I saw him at Jake’s frat party with a girl. Doing sexy stuff. The usual.” Yujin can’t look at your face, choosing to stare at your intertwined hands instead. “The frat boys told me that he’s been at it almost every night. For two weeks.”

Is it possible to hurt someone this much in a span of five minutes? Getting shot multiple times would’ve hurt less than this.

There’s a heavy silence, then there’s your small, quiet voice, laced with unfiltered hurt.

“What does this have to do with me?”

“I’m saying, Y/N, that you might be facing bond rejection symptoms right now.” Yujin licks her lips. “I’m saying that you and Heeseung just might be fated mates. That night he scented you? You guys conjured a half-bond. And him fucking around with other omegas like this hurts your wolf because she knows—only this kind of bond can do that.”

Is having a fated mate supposed to hurt like this? Like your chest is caving in, collapsing under the torment of unwanted love. Can you even call it love? Whatever it is that you and Heeseung unknowingly have been sharing—Is it even love?

It’s not. It’s just…fate.

You shake your head. There’s hot pain behind your eyes, a sign of an impending doom. “This doesn’t make any sense.”

“It’s okay. It’s a lot to take in.”

A drop of tears rolls down your face and in the next blink, everything is already blurry. “I—I think I already knew it.” Your voice is wet from despair, the pain almost feels tangible.  “He never meets my eyes anymore and—and every time I see him, I feel like I might die.”

A warm pair of arms pulls you close, and instantly the scent of green tea fills up your senses. Your roommate holds you tight, letting you rest your head in the crook of her neck as you sob into her chest. 

Your wolf, the contradict that she is, hopes that it was Heeseung embracing you. Still hoping it was the alpha comforting you, soothing you with his voice and that calming pheromones of his. Still foolishly longing for him despite everything.

You feel pathetic.

Your crying subsides after a while, still curling up against Yujin like a hurt puppy. You’re already losing track of time, if it’s still proper to have breakfast or if it’s already time for lunch. It is Yujin who finally speaks first.

“Do you hate it?”

You let the question linger in the air, turning it over in your thoughts like what you’ve been doing the past hour since you woke up. “I don’t hate the bond. Nor him.”

You pause, gnawing at your lower lip. Then you exhale.

“I just hate that I was never given a chance to do this properly.”

Yujin pulls away and makes you face her. She wipes your tears using her sleeves, murmuring sweet words as you feel your chest slightly loosening at her kind gesture. “You might still have it. Go and talk to him, Y/N. If he’s avoiding you like this, he might’ve felt something too, right?”

“If he’s avoiding me like this, he might just not want anything to do with me.” A humourless chuckle escapes your lips. “And to think that I thought I had a chance.”

“Wait, I never asked you this. Do you like Heeseung? Both of you; your wolf and you.”

You don’t answer right away. The question sits between the two of you, heavy and fragile; like a mark refusing to be looked over. 

Do you like Heeseung?

Your wolf stirs immediately. Yes, I like him.

The answer is quick. Certain. Definite. 

But you purse your lips, forcing yourself to think harder, deeper. Forcing yourself to think about you, not her. You can only come to one conclusion.

“I don’t know,” you whisper, honest. It sounds weak even to your ears. Beside you, Yujin keeps rubbing small, grounding circles over your hand.

“I already know my omega likes him,” you admit softly. “She decided that the moment he stayed and took care of me that night.”

Oh, how pathetic is it to fall for someone for doing something as mundane as staying and taking care of you?

It’s laughable. But it makes your chest ache even more, like your heart was an empty can and fate was crushing it with its tight grip.

“But me…” you continue, voice quieter now, “I don’t even know him like that.”

You shake your head, frustration flickering through your expression.

“I don’t know what he’s like when he’s not surrounded by people, or when he’s not—” you gesture vaguely, like you can scoop up every rumour tied to his name. “That version of him everyone talks about.”

You stare at your hands. “But I wanted to.”

Yujin follows, voice soft. “Wanted to?”

“I wanted to get to know him,” you continue, voice trembling. “When I first found out how my wolf feels for him, I thought it could be like how I’ve always imagined having a fated mate would be: slowly falling in love with them. With him.”

A wistful smile graces your beautiful features, soft and vulnerable. “I wanted to know which game he remembers the most. I wanted to know if the number on his jersey means anything. Silly things like that. Not this.”

Your hand moves to your chest unconsciously, rubbing the surface softly.

“Not like this. Not when it hurts every time I—” you cut yourself off, breath shaking. “Not when it hurts every time I look at him.”

You still remember, after one grueling routine, when the pain was still kind enough to let you come to practice. The players had just finished their practice too, slicked with sweat and looking exhausted as ever. Among the tired alphas, your eyes locked onto Heeseung’s.

You had the instincts to go to him and pass him the cold mineral you’d unknowingly saved for him. But the look in his eyes—it was unreadable. Cold. An abyss that was enough to make you stay rooted in your place.

Then, without even a graze of a smile, he looked away, taking a bottle from Riki’s hand.

It had hurt more than you’d like to admit.

“I think…” you try again, more carefully this time. “If things were different, I would’ve liked him.”

Your throat tightens. This time, you’re reminded of that night before everything turned cruel like this. The warmth of his embrace that lingered. The spice of his scent that clung. The safety of his company that comforted you. 

Was any of it real?

“And if things were the same…I think I would've still liked him anyway.”

That’s the truth. A quiet, terrifying truth that settles deep in your chest like an unshakeable ground. The kind of truth that makes even your most grounding friend sit still in your bed.

“And that’s what makes it worse,” you whisper.

Because now it’s not just your omega.

It’s you, too.

The one-week intervarsity basketball tournament has finally begun. Around seven universities have sent their representatives, leading to a flood of humans in different-coloured jerseys wandering around on your campus, its official host. 

You’re excused from the whole week’s classes, seeing your cheerleaders and bunches of alphas more than you have ever seen your classmates since the tournament started. It was exciting at first, to participate in such a prestigious tournament that is always the talk of town. But the tight schedules between games is becoming more taxing and demanding.

It doesn’t help that the bond rejection symptoms have only gotten worse, hindering you from giving your best potential at each routine. Which, of course, catches the attention of your captain, and she’s not very amused with it.

“Y/N. If you’re not telling me what is wrong with you, then don’t make me find excuses to put you on the bleachers.” Narin once whispered to you on the third day of the tournament. You merely nodded, trying hard not to scrunch your noise at the sour smell of bubblegum and burnt cotton candy. She eyed you up and down, before she scoffed.

“Don’t get too butt-hurt that Heeseung’s fucking other cheerleaders,” she grunted. You froze. “At least you got your round that night. He fucking rejected me.”

What? The confusion must be clear on your face, because then Narin rolled her eyes, fixing the blue ribbon in her hair before she turned to face you.

“You smelled like him for weeks, Y/N. Don’t think people didn’t know that you two fucked after they won against that eastern university that night.” And then she left, leaving a dumbfounded you in the hallway, standing still like a lifeless statue.

Realisation starts settling in. Did people think you and Heeseung—fuck. You should’ve known.

No wonder many eyes were on you during those days when you still smelled like Heeseung.  You thought it was just because Heeseung was one of the most sought after alphas on campus. Not this. Not whatever allegation this is.

Still, the bomb Narin had dropped wasn’t enough to stop yourself from pushing yourself past your limits. You don’t even know what your limits are anymore. They seem to keep expanding with every new pain that blooms in your chest. 

You’re still a bit sluggish, but at least Narin is off your back. Whatever bitterness she harbours for you, though not forgotten, is at least tamed on the last day of the tournament.

You knew she wouldn’t understand, but you couldn’t help it if the pain worsens. You wish, for once, that Heeseung would take it slow with the cheerleaders from the opposing teams. Because the pain has become unbearable; cracks turning into holes of emptiness in your heart, faint pulsing turning into straight-up invisible stabbing in your gut. You’re actually surprised that you’re not already bleeding from how real it has felt.

However, deep down, there’s a small, barely-there gratitude for Heeseung for not doing it in front of you. At least you can spare yourself from whatever possible torment this fate has destined for you to face if you had to watch Heeseung fucking another omega in the empty locker room.

But you guess it’s time you finally, actually reach your limit, and your body can’t seem to be more dramatic to choose the last game as its last straw. As Heeseung hoops in the last score for the team, sealing their title as the champion, the audience erupts into the loudest cheer you’ve ever heard. You quickly get to your feet to perform the celebratory routine, but the world is spinning and your head is light when you stand up. You stagger backwards.

“Oh my Goddess, are you alright?” One of your cheerleader friends catches you in her arms, shaking you out of your pained daze. 

“I…” you cough, your voice only scratching at your throat. “I just need to. Sit. Yeah. I need to sit down and talk to Heeseung.”

“Heeseung?” The girl, who you finally recognise as Rei, looks over at the center of the court, where almost the whole school is hooting and hollering in joy. “Wait—let me sit you down first. You’re pale as hell, damn.”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding when you’re finally seated. Rei has passed you a bottle of mineral water and fans you with her pink hand-fan. She stays by your side, looking after you as the rest of the world celebrates the first champion of your university team. You’re painfully grateful to her for it.

“Hey. Can I call one of your friends? Or maybe, do you have an alpha I can contact?” Rei starts when you’re not speaking, too focused on not focusing on the pain to remember to talk. “You asked for Heeseung just now. Is he your alpha?”

Is he?

You wish you knew the answer to that too.

Instead, you shake your head. “He’s not my alpha. I just…need to have a few words with him.”

Rei purses her lips, clearly not pleased with your priority at the moment but obliges anyway. “Alright. Let me text my cousin real quick.” She says, already rummaging inside her bag for her phone.

Her statement intrigues you. “Cousin?”

“Nishimura Riki. And he’s not replying. Gimme a sec.” You watch as Rei presses the call button on her phone and puts the device over her ear. You follow her line of sight as she turns to look at the court again. The crowd hasn’t calmed down from the high of the win yet.

“Hello, adopted fuck. I need you to read my text ASAP—Nobody’s stealing your girlfriend, Riki! You can go back to kissing her face after you read my text—Okay, okay! My friend, Y/N, needs to talk to Heeseung. President-level urgent.” Rei pauses, taking a quick look at you before she continues. “Yes. It seems very important. Just get his ass here fast. Yeah—Congrats, by the way. I’m not buying you that Chrome Hearts chain. Bye.”

Rei sighs as she pockets her phone. “Heeseung will be here in five minutes. You good? Do you still need anything? I feel like I should call someone else. You’re friends with Ahn Yujin, aren’t you?” She rambles on. For someone who barely speaks to you, Rei sure is a caring omega.

You give her a small smile.”I’m alright, Rei. I’ll rest after seeing him.”

Rei hums, checking her phone when it vibrates. “Aight, if you say so. I’ll be around here until they move to celebrate at Jake’s frat tonight.” She gathers her stuff and stands up, brushing her pleated skirt with practiced elegance that you know is instilled in every cheerleader’s demeanour.

“You take care of yourself. And I better not see you at the party.”

“Thank you, Rei.” You wave at her and watch as the lines of her frame get smaller, disappearing into the crowd. 

Now alone, the weight of reality is finally hitting you square in the chest. You curse, pulling your hair when you realise your stupid, impulsive decision, made in the whim of desperation to get the pain go away.

“This is stupid,” you whisper. Without thinking further, you grab your bag and stand to leave. But before you can flee the scene, a heavy presence with the familiar scent of spicy cinnamon and salty sea breeze drifts into your senses.

“Y/N?”

The sound of your name leaving his lips has locked you in place. The haunting familiarity of his voice, one that follows you into your restless sleeps and every waking hour, engulfs you almost like the night he held you in his arms.

Except this time, there’s a piercing pain in your heart that comes with his presence. A dull, throbbing ache that’s been a constant company to you, manifested into the shape of the man that your wolf yearns for.

Lee Heeseung.

“Y/N?” He repeats, but you don’t dare to face him just yet. “Riki said you wanted to, uh, talk to me.”

Licking your dry lips, you turn to Heeseung, and the sight has almost rendered you breathless.

Heeseung’s still wearing his jersey, standing tall to his height like he’s dominating the air around him. His burgundy hair looks softer under the light, some small strands sticking to his forehead from sweat. His shoulders are squared up, still lined with pride and the high from winning the tournament. He looks at you calmly, but the edges of his eyes are somewhat gentler; if the lights weren’t tricking your eyes.

You gulp, already losing the battle before it has even started. Why does he have to look so handsome?

You force yourself to say something. “Yeah. I did. I mean, I do. It’s important. I think.”

Heeseung is patient. If your nervousness is something unusual to him, he doesn’t comment on it. After all, you’re indeed known as a shy girl among the cheerleaders.

“I’m…I’m going straight to the point and be honest with you.” Is this really happening? You’re scared that if you were to speak more, your heart might leap out of your mouth from how hard it is pumping behind your ribs. You hold your bag tighter, trying to ground yourself.

“I’m listening,” he hums.

The words are simple. His voice is calm. Too calm, like he’s unaffected, like he doesn’t have a clue about what you’re about to say. It almost makes you falter.

For a second, you just stare at him. At the same face your mind has been haunted for weeks, at the same eyes you’ve been avoiding because they make everything feel too real.

Except everything is actually real. You’re just not ready to admit it yet.

Your fingers curl tighter around your bag.

“Did you…feel anything?” you ask, voice smaller than you intended. “That night.”

Heeseung’s brows pull together, confused. “What do you mean?”

Your throat burns. Stop. Turn around. Leave. 

“When you helped me,” you stubbornly continue, ignoring the self-preservation act your wolf’s pulling. “When you scented me. Did you feel something? Anything?”

There’s a shift in the air. It’s subtle, almost imperceptible, but it’s there. Heeseung’s shoulders stiffen. His jaw tightens a fraction. A flash of something that leaves your heart hopeful crosses his face, but it leaves as soon as it comes.

“I was just helping you,” he finally says, almost too quickly. “You were in a bad state.”

The ache in your chest pulses, turning alive with each passing second.

“I know that,” you nod, almost too fast, the throbbing in your head comes back. The headache is well-guaranteed after this, you’re sure of it. “I know. I’m not saying you did anything wrong. I just—I just need to know if you felt it too.”

“Felt what?”

You stare at him. God, he’s really making you say it. Is he truly clueless or is he playing with you? Whatever he is trying to do, he’s succeeding at making you feel smaller and…desperate.

“The pull,” you whisper after a while, “the connection.”

Silent stretches between the two of you. Heeseung returns your gaze, but his black eyes reveal nothing about his thoughts. 

You try again. “You felt it too…right?”

There it is. For a fleeting second, you think you see it. That flicker in his eyes. The subtle hesitation. The twitch in his jaw. It almost makes you feel hopeful.

Heeseung exhales through his nose, running a hand through his hair.

“Y/N,” he starts slower this time, like he’s choosing his words carefully. “There’s no such thing as that.”

If your heart was made of lead, you’re sure it’d clang to the floor so loud for how fast it drops.

“What?”

“Fated mates. Bond. Whatever you’re thinking.” He shakes his head, like he’s making a show of how ridiculous you sound. “That’s not real.”

The cracks finally shatter, allowing a big, gaping hole filled with utter anguish to take place in where your heart used to reside. Your mouth opens. Then closes. Then opens. 

“But—” you try, voice undeniably trembling now. “Then, what is this?”

Your hand presses weakly against your chest.

“Why does it hurt like this? Why does,” your voice cracks, your omega thrashing wildly inside you, “why does it hurt so much?”

For a split second, panic flashes across his face. There’s a change in his scent. A sharp, biting spice that’s stinging your nose and thick, briny salt that leaves your throat itchy. 

Because he knows. He knows this isn’t normal. He knows how he almost went psychosis the moment it happened to him three weeks ago. 

But Heeseung’s always been good at leaving—it’s the one thing that’s been keeping his heart in a safe chest without any chances of getting hurt. It’s almost cruel that he never really cares if leaving right after sex would hurt any of the omegas, but he’s never felt bad enough to stop.

And you feel like someone who will make him stay.

So he does what he knows best.

“It’s in your head,” he says, firmer now. “Probably just your heat cycle messing with you. Or stress.”

The moment those words leave his mouth, your chest feels hollow. Your omega, previously hysterical and angry, is now awfully quiet and wounded.

Right. It’s just stress, he said.

You wish it was just stress.

“Oh,” is the only word you can utter. Heeseung nods, as if convincing himself too, and takes a step back.

But for you, it feels too much like a line being drawn.

“Maybe you should get some rest. You look kind of pale,” he suggests, though his voice is slowly getting small the longer he watches the changes in your expression. You’re not looking at him now, just staring at your feet with trembling fists.

The wilting flowers are back in his senses, filling up his nose and beating at his heart like a bat. Heeseung bites his lips, swallowing down the guilt. 

“I’ll see you around, Y/N.”

The sight of his retreating back…why is it so blurry?

“You are so fucking stupid, Heeseung.”

Heeseung’s always wondered how his best friend’s citrusy pheromones are going to smell like when he’s mad. Because Jay never gets mad at him. His friend has so much patience that every playful banter always stays as just a playful banter.

But tonight, Heeseung finally senses it. Jay smells bitter, like overripe lemon left too long in hot water. There’s a sharp, metallic tang to it too, representing the control that he’s trying so hard to keep in check. In response to the alpha’s irritated scent, Heeseung’s dominant wolf is itching to draw his claws out, sensing it as a threat.

They’re standing at the backyard of the frat house, where the pool is glowing blue and the night sky is blinking stars. It’s quieter here, with less people hanging around. Many guests have preferred to dance inside, still in celebration mode post-winning.

“What the fuck were you thinking, trying to get into someone else’s pants right after her—her confession?” Jay scoffs in disbelief. He has his back facing Heeseung, the tense muscle of his shoulders visible through the outline of his Polo shirt. 

Heeseung, on the other hand, looks more disheveled. The collar of his shirt is misplaced, and there are faint lipstick marks staining his neck and the corner of his mouth. Jay had heard from Riki about what happened between Heeseung and you and the alpha was determined to drag Heeseung out of the bedroom, not before muttering a small apology to the omega he was with. It was all shouts and aggressive whispers between the two alphas until Riki managed to shoo them out.

Which brings them to this moment, where Jay is a ticking bomb and Heeseung is trying his best to calm down.  Jay didn’t exactly know who she was, just that he’d seen her face among the cheerleaders. While Heeseung, well, he’s too worked up to explain.

“Confession? What made you think—”

“You guys are fated mates, Heeseung. Can’t you fucking see it?” Jay whips his head around. “This pull you’re feeling is because you guys are fated mates. There’s no other explanation to it.”

Heeseung clenches his jaw. “Those things don’t exist, Jongseong. Not to me.”

“Oh, come on. Then explain your sex problem.” Jay hisses, his eyes turning sharper. “You think I don’t know that you still can’t get your dick wet with other omegas?”

The burgundy-haired alpha doesn’t blink. “It’s none of your business.”

“It is when she could’ve died!” Jay snaps, his scent flaring with his nose. Heeseung grits his teeth, feeling challenged. 

Then, softer, like vulnerability leaking through his anger, Jay continues: “You could’ve died, Heeseung.”

Heeseung stills. “What?”

Jay lets out a harsh laugh, running a hand through his hair. “You think so little of this matter, don’t you?” His voice drops, tight and furious. “A half-bond between fated mates when left too long can cause death. And with the speed you’re going with all these nameless omegas, I bet it’ll be her turn to die first.”

Heeseung scoffs, but it’s weaker now. There’s a new fear settling in his chest. “You’re being dramatic.”

“No,” Jay cuts in sharply. “You’re being stupid. I saw her just now. She’s pale as fuck.”

Heeseung’s quiet for a moment, staring into his friend’s eyes with almost the same amount of resentment. “It has nothing to do with me.”

Like a punishment to his lie, something twists sharply in his chest. But Heeseung is quick to mask his pain under a calm facade, gritting his teeth so hard he might break his jaw. Jay scoffs and rolls his eyes.

“Oh, so you’re doing this again.” Jay steps closer, not backing away. “You’re running away again, like the coward that you are. You’ll just run and run, deflect and disappear. Typical Heeseung.”

Jay knows he’ll hit a spot if he says it, but he couldn’t care less. He watches as the expression on Heeseung hardens, giving away the emotions he kept locked in his chest.

“Don’t.”

But Jay doesn’t stop. Of course he doesn’t.

“You think I don’t see it?” Jay presses, voice rising. “Every time something starts to mean something, you bolt. New omega, new bed, new distraction—anything to avoid actually feeling something real.”

“That’s not—”

“That’s exactly what this is!” Jay gestures wildly, frustration spilling over. “You found your mate, and instead of dealing with it, you’re out there fucking anything that moves just to prove you’re still in control.”

Silence slams between them, heavy and ugly. Both alphas are holding back from spiraling, neck straining from self-control and simmering anger.

Heeseung’s laugh this time is cold. “Mate?” he repeats, like the word tastes disgusting. “You really believe in that shit?”

Jay stares at him, disbelief flickering across his face. “I believe in what’s right in front of me.”

“There’s nothing in front of you,” Heeseung shoots back. “She’s just an omega I helped. That’s it.”

“Then why her?” Jay fires immediately. “Why can you find her in a crowd? Why does your scent stick to her for days—for weeks? Why can’t you even touch another omega without looking like you’re about to throw up?”

Heeseung falters, his words failing him as Jay hits him with those facts. His shaky stance doesn’t go unnoticed by the alpha, though. He’s quick to seize the chance.

Jay inhales sharply. “You know I’m right, Heeseung. You and Y/N share a bond.”

“So what?!” Heeseung snaps, frustration finally cracking through. “So what if there’s a bond? You want me to just—what? Drop everything? Play house? Act like I’m suddenly someone I’m not?”

Heeseung meets Jay’s fiery gaze head-on and shoves his friend harshly. “Stay out of it, Jay. I swear to fucking God.”

“And what? Watch you let her die because you couldn’t care less to acknowledge the bond?” Jay lets out a hollow laugh, pushing Heeseung back just as hard. “And then I watch you die?”

“Shut the fuck up. You know nothing about this.”

Their scents clash; sharp citrus and aggressive spice filling up the space like a warning siren. It almost turns physical, Riki almost bursts through the door when he sees their chests almost touching. But it is Jay who stops first.

Not because he wants to. But because he’s thinking of you.

“My parents are fated mates, Heeseung.” Jay starts, quieter, his voice losing its harsh edges. “Doesn’t mean you don’t believe in it, it isn’t real to other people.”

Heeseung remains quiet, his chest still moving rapidly.

Jay’s eyes turn glassy. He retreats one more step away from Heeseung. “If you don’t want her, reject the bond properly,” he says, breathing hard. “You’re letting someone know that you don’t want her as your mate. At least have the decency to be kind about it.”

Jay unclenches his fists.

“Don’t drag her through this half-assed bullshit where you keep hurting her just because you can’t make a decision.”

Heeseung freezes. Out of all words being shouted tonight, it is this quiet resignation from Jay that hits his heart the hardest.

Am I being cruel? Heeseung lowers his gaze. Am I a coward?

Heeseung doesn’t wait too long for an answer.

“Stop being a coward, Heeseung. I beg you.”

The words hang between them, like unwanted vines curling around a trunk of a tree. Heeseung’s gaze stays rooted to the ground, trying to find his voice.

But he doesn’t get the chance to.

“...Heeseung?”

Your voice, soft as it is, cuts through the air like a blade. Both alphas turn to where you’re standing by the door. The faint light spilling from the moon only highlights how pale your face is, void of any warmth and colour.

You stand there, one hand gripping the doorframe like it’s the only thing keeping you upright, your other pressed weakly against your chest. Your eyes, God, your eyes. They’re glassy, unfocused, yet locked onto him like you’ve found something you’ve been searching for your entire life.

Beside him, Heeseung can sense the way Jay’s body tenses the way his does.

“Heeseung…” you call for him again and move to get closer.

But then you flinch. Your entire body recoils, your nose scrunches. 

There, lingering around Heeseung like an unwanted mark, is a scent you know too well. Fruity bubblegum and cloying cotton candy; a scent that flashes pink in your head, turning into a female rage that hits too close to home. Your gaze catches the shape of someone’s mouth staining his golden skin, and something inside you breaks.

Narin.

Heeseung smells like Narin.

Your hand instinctively goes to cover your nose, eyes slowly going wide. The room goes silent, holding its breath as Heeseung feels it. 

The fleeting second where something inside you shatters.

Heeseung steps forward. “Y/N—”

But you retreat faster, away from him like he’s a disease that could kill you. 

“No,” your voice cracks, shaking your head as if trying to physically deny what your body is already registering. “No, no, no…”

Your breath comes out in shallow bursts, your fingers clawing at your shirt. 

It hurts. It hurts so bad. 

It’s like every system in your body is collapsing, failing to cope with the ultimate rejection that comes in the scent of another woman. Your fist hits your chest, forcing the air to flow in because it suddenly feels almost impossible to breathe.

Heeseung feels it now—really, really feels it. The bond is thrashing, frantic, like it’s holding onto something that’s slipping through its grasp. The pained scent of withering daisies starts filling up the air, suffocating both alphas instantly. Jay shifts uncomfortably, looking back and forth from Heeseung to you in alert.

“Hey, hey—Y/N,” Heeseung tries again, softer this time, reaching out instinctively. “Look at me. Y/N—”

“Don’t!” Your voice spikes, sharp with fear. Heeseung freezes, his throat closing up when he sees something you’re yet to realise.

That’s when you feel it—something warm trickling down your nose. You instinctively wipe it and stare at the red liquid smearing your fingers.

Blood. Then another drop falls on your palm. Before you can react properly, it already spills down your chin, past your fingers, dripping onto the floor, tainting the white tiles like a crime scene.

“Fuck.” Jay curses under his breath, his wolf perking up in alarm.

Beside him, Heeseung is beyond agitated. “Y/N!”

He doesn’t think. Heeseung lunges forward, longing to be close to you at that moment. But you’re already shaking your head rapidly, tears spilling uncontrollably now.

“Stop!” you gasp, pale lips trembling like dying petals. “I can’t do this—I can’t—”

Inside you, your omega is screaming in pain. In betrayal. In self-preservation. Her voice, raw and jagged, torn by pain, echoes in your head. 

An instinct, primal and desperate, takes over your being.

Cut it off.

Cut it off before it kills you.

You clutch at your chest, lungs burning up like a wildfire. Tears spill out freely, drenching your face in anguish and agony.

Cut it off!

And finally, you let go.

Across from you, just a few paces away, Heeseung feels it like a force, stopping him in his tracks.

It doesn’t come gradually, or slowly. It rips through his body. A violent, invisible force tearing straight through his chest like something sacred being forcibly severed. His breath is knocked out of him.

“Fuck!” Somewhere behind him, Jay is also spiraling, realising what’s going down.

But Heeseung doesn’t know. He staggers, his knees almost giving up as excruciating pain spreads from the scent gland in his neck down to his chest. Something inside him—something he never fully acknowledges—finally snaps. He almost screams.

A thick veil of tears wells up instantly, blurring his vision faster than he could process it.

“Y/N,” his voice breaks, the cracks showing up like poison in daggers. Across from him, you’re already sobbing.

It’s loud and raw, a wailing that stops even the loud music from inside. Your scent, bitter and beyond distressed, is now flooding the space like a broken dam. Your body folds in on itself as if trying to contain something that’s already shattered beyond repair.

Inside of you, your omega goes silent completely.

And it terrifies him. A lot. 

Heeseung clutches his neck, where his scent gland is pulsing violently, throbbing in an indescribable pain that feels like it could kill him. And when his eyes find yours, he realises with dread that the pull is no longer there. 

He can’t feel you. His wolf can’t feel your wolf.

The constant, aching thread that’s been tying him to you; it’s gone.

You cut the bond from your side.

The half-bond, already fragile with doubt and cowardice, is hanging by its loose thread. If it was a red string like many people had said, Heeseung’s sure it’d waver pathetically by his finger, trembling like a thread losing its kite.

“What…What did you do?” he whispers, voice hollow and shaky.

Heeseung takes a step forward again, ignoring Jay’s warning voice from behind him. His focus becomes singular on you, not minding the many pairs of eyes watching from the other side of the door.

This time, his step is slower and careful, like approaching something fragile. Something that is already broken.

Someone wounded.

You don’t move toward him. You don’t even spare him a look. You just cry, quietly, as now it feels empty where the bond used to be. You can’t feel him. 

You can only feel pain.

“Y/N…”

“...I want to leave.”

You wipe your nose, the blood still fresh and wet. You lean on the door for support, still trying to hold yourself up despite the urge to just collapse. Heeseung has to force restraint on himself, holding himself back from running to you. He searches your face, trying to catch your eyes, terrified beyond reason.

The silence is deafening.

At last, you lift your gaze, misty eyes meeting misty eyes.

“I ended it.” Your voice, used to be soft and warm, is now cold. Heeseung feels his lungs stop functioning.

“There’s nothing between us anymore.”

And that’s when it hits him brutally.

Heeseung didn’t just push you away.

He’s lost you.

sorry for the cliffhanger! part 2 coming soon 🔜

dividers from: @cursed-carmine 🤎

perm taglist: @kristynaaah @seungiesdoll

fic taglist: @twocupsofsuga @rayofsunshineeee @all4moi @cutehoons02 @barbiecuedotcom @vmpiricou @kitteaasstuff @sosocide @lhspeachie @sooooobean @bingka @yenienha

[si3rren-deactivated20260204]

THE BEST FRIEND SYNDROME

ft. KIM SUNOO & YOU

SYNOPSIS you always thought sunoo was off-limits—sweet, soft, possibly into guys. you undressed in front of him, slept beside him, teased him without shame. but the moment jealousy breaks him, you realize he’s not safe. he’s obsessed. and he’s been waiting to take you for years.

WARNINGS fingering, oral (f!receiving), rough penetration, praise + degradation, spit, tit play, jealousy, possessive dom!sunoo, creampie, marking, confessions of past masturbation, overstimulation, choking (light), hair pulling, manhandling, emotionally intense romance, established friendship turning sexual, filthy dirty talk

WORD COUNT … 7k

a/n: this was requested by my lovely 🫐 anon!!

masterlist | wattpad

⛦ ⛦ ⛦ ⛦ ⛦ ⛦ ⛦ ⛦ ⛦ ⛦ ⛦ ⛦ ⛦ ⛦ ⛦

the first time sunoo ever thought, i am in trouble, you were standing in the kitchen in one of his shirts.

it was an old concert tee he’d left in your laundry basket by accident, hanging loose on you and barely hitting mid-thigh. your hair was still damp from the shower, feet bare against the cold floor, face scrunched in confusion as you stared into the fridge.

“do you think this yogurt has gone bad?” you asked, turning around and holding it up like evidence.

he meant to look at your face. he really did.

but his eyes flicked lower on instinct. the hem of his shirt rode up when you leaned against the counter, revealing just a little more of your thigh than his heart was prepared for at eight in the morning. his brain short-circuited, and the only thing that came out of his mouth was a broken, “huh?”

you laughed, that soft, sleepy little sound that always made his chest feel too small.

“earth to pretty boy.” you wiggled the yogurt. “smell it.”

he stepped closer without thinking, taking it from you. up close, he could smell your shampoo, the warm clean scent of your skin. you weren’t wearing any perfume but he’d recognize the way you smelled in a crowded room with his eyes closed.

“it’s fine,” he said, quickly, before he could inhale too deeply and make things even worse. “you’re dramatic.”

“i’m careful,” you corrected, rolling your eyes as you took it back. “my stomach is sensitive. unlike you, human garbage disposal.”

“that’s so rude,” he protested, but he was smiling.

you grinned back, nudging him with your hip as you started hunting for a spoon. “it’s a love language. relax, my gay best friend can take it.”

the words were light. offhand. you didn’t mean anything by it; he knew that. still, something in his chest pinched.

he looked at you from the corner of his eye. the way you moved around him like it was the most natural thing in the world, shoulders brushing, your arm grazing his when you reached past him. like his being here, in your space, was a given.

“i’m not that sensitive,” he muttered, grabbing a mug from the shelf.

“exactly,” you said, triumphant. “that’s what makes you the perfect roommate. no testosterone rage, no weird man smell, no complaining when i steal your skincare. peak life choice.”

“wow,” he scoffed. “you act like i don’t even count as a guy.”

you looked at him, spoon half-way to your mouth, expression softening in a way that made his stomach twist.

“you’re the safest guy i know,” you said, like it was the highest compliment in the world.

he forced himself to smile back and hoped you didn’t notice the way his fingers tightened around the mug.

safe.

if only you knew.

_______

the thing is, everyone thought sunoo was gay.

he kind of got it. he was pretty, and he knew it. big eyes, soft features, meticulous outfits. he liked skincare and café dates and spent more time curating pinterest boards than most people spent studying. he was open about crushing on male idols when you two were younger, and somehow that had just… solidified into this unspoken truth.

sunoo’s the gay best friend. obviously.

you had never once said it like a joke at his expense. never mocked him, never made a weird face about it. you just treated it like fact, like the sky being blue and exams being hell.

and because you believed it so completely, you gave him things he didn’t know how to give back.

you changed in front of him while ranting about professors, tugging shirts over your head and complaining that your bra strap was annoying. you curled up with him in bed during thunderstorms, pressing your cold feet into his calves and whining into his chest until he wrapped his arms around you.

you stole sips from his straw. you sat on his lap during crowded parties like it was nothing. you leaned against him when you were tired, fingers playing with his rings, eyes closed and trusting.

and every time, he smiled, joked, pretended his body didn’t react.

every time, he ended up in the bathroom some time later, breathing slowly and splashing water on his face until the tightness in his chest and the restless ache in his jeans faded enough that he could look you in the eye again.

he didn’t know when liking you had turned into something that felt like a constant, low-grade fever. he just knew he’d been living with it for so long it had become part of his routine.

______

“we’re gonna be late.”

your voice floated down the hallway, followed by hurried footsteps. sunoo looked up from tying his shoelaces and almost forgot how to breathe.

you came stumbling out of your room, backpack half-zipped, one earring in, hair in the kind of messy bun that looked suspiciously curated.

“help,” you said, shoving your wrist in his direction. “bracelet.”

“you have hands,” he pointed out, but his fingers were already closing around your arm.

“yeah, but you have magically better fine motor skills,” you shot back, breathless. “also, my nails are too long.”

the chain was delicate, a thin gold piece you wore almost every day. you stood there in front of him, wrist offered, eyes on your phone as he worked the clasp. he had to lean in a little, your skin warm under his fingertips.

your phone lit up with a new notification. he saw the name before you locked the screen.

jake.

his stomach did that weird drop again.

“he texted?” he tried to sound casual, like he did not spend half of last night listening to you talk about how nice jake was, how funny, how sweet.

“yeah,” you said, smiling without even realizing. “he found that café i was talking about. wants to go after our afternoon lecture. you should come.”

“am i invited?” the words came out sharper than he intended.

you blinked, finally looking up. “you’re always invited.”

he swallowed, fingers fumbling the clasp for a second. your eyes were so open, so sure. like his place at your side was permanent and unquestionable.

“besides,” you added, grinning. “i need you as my buffer. i can’t be alone with a hot guy, i’ll forget how to talk.”

“wow, thanks,” he said. “what am i, decoration?”

“you’re emotional support glitter,” you said solemnly. “can’t function without you.”

he snorted, fastening the bracelet at last. “done.”

“angel,” you hummed, standing on tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

it was quick, light, barely there. you’d done it a hundred times. but his skin burned under the phantom press of your lips long after you’d grabbed your bag and dragged him out the door with a cheerful, “come on, we’re gonna miss the bus, move your pretty legs.”

he couldn’t help it. his hand drifted up to touch his cheek as you rushed ahead of him down the stairs, laughing, and he thought, yeah. definitely in trouble.

______

the café was crowded and warm, the kind of place that smelled like sugar and espresso and possibility.

jake was already there when you and sunoo arrived, waving from a corner table. he stood when he saw you, that easy, open smile spreading across his face.

sunoo watched your lips curve in response. watched how you gave a little wave back, a bit shy, a bit excited.

“you made it,” jake said when you reached the table.

“of course,” you replied, swinging your bag off your shoulder. “this place is so cute.”

“you’re cute,” jake said automatically, then froze, ears going pink. “i mean. the place. the place is cute.”

you laughed, bright and pleased.

sunoo pulled out the chair next to you and sat down, ignoring the way something unpleasant twisted in his chest.

“hey, sunoo,” jake added quickly. “good to see you, man.”

“you too,” sunoo said, letting his smile slide into place. “nice choice of spot.”

they ordered drinks. you got something iced and sugary with whipped cream, sunoo got a matcha latte, and jake ordered black coffee like he was trying to impress someone.

conversation flowed easily. jake was funny, actually. earnest. he didn’t talk over you, didn’t make weird jokes at sunoo’s expense. he asked about your classes, your event next week, the group project from hell that you and sunoo were suffering through together.

at one point, you reached for your drink and got whipped cream on your lip. you didn’t notice, too busy ranting about your professor.

sunoo did.

he stared at that little smear of white at the corner of your mouth, feeling his pulse pick up. he’d seen it before, in other situations, in thoughts he tried very hard not to follow before bed.

“uh, you’ve got…” he said softly, gesturing to his own face.

“where?” you asked, tongue darting out to lick the wrong side.

his throat went dry.

“here,” he murmured, forcing himself to lean in, thumb hovering for a second before he wiped it away.

your breath hitched, just the tiniest bit. his eyes flicked up to meet yours, and for one dizzy heartbeat, the air between you felt… heavier.

then you smiled, bright and oblivious. “thanks, life saver.”

he cleared his throat and sat back, fingers curling into his palms under the table.

jake watched the whole exchange with an unreadable look. then he smiled, too, a little crookedly.

“you two are really close, huh?” he said.

“we’re roommates,” you said, like that explained everything. “and he’s my best friend. i’d die without him.”

sunoo’s heart did a weird little flip and drop at the same time.

“yeah,” jake said quietly, eyes flicking between you and sunoo. “i can see that.”

_______

later that week, you were supposed to be studying.

in reality, you were pacing around your room in various states of undress, throwing outfits onto the bed while sunoo lay there among the chaos, scrolling through his phone.

“this?” you demanded, stepping out in a skirt he’d never seen before and a fitted top that made his brain blank out for a second.

he swallowed. hard.

“you’re going to the library,” he said. “not a runway.”

“libraries are social spaces in this economy,” you argued, turning in front of the mirror. “is it too short?”

the skirt hit mid-thigh. when you turned, it rode up just a little higher. sunoo’s gaze dropped, traitorously, to the smooth line of your legs, then snapped up again.

“it’s fine,” he said, a touch too quickly. “sit.”

“what?”

“sit,” he repeated. “if you can sit without flashing the entire campus, you’re good.”

you rolled your eyes but perched on the edge of the bed beside him, knees together. the fabric crept up again. sunoo stared at the far wall like it was suddenly the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen.

“verdict?” you pressed.

“uh. you’re… fine,” he said. “maybe don’t bend over in front of anyone.”

“so you’re saying i should absolutely bend over in front of jake,” you teased, poking his arm.

something hot and sharp flared in his chest at the casual way you said it.

“it’s not always about jake,” he muttered.

you blinked. “whoa. okay. someone’s cranky.”

“i’m not cranky,” he said, even though he very obviously was.

you studied him for a second, then flopped backwards, landing half on his legs. the skirt rode up as you sprawled, your bare thigh pressing against his jeans.

his whole body went tense.

“sunoo,” you whined, staring up at the ceiling. “i can’t tell if you’re being honest or if you’re in one of your judgy stylist moods.”

“i’m being honest,” he managed, voice tight. the pressure of your leg against him was turning from warm to dangerous. “you look good.”

“you always say that,” you pouted, turning your head to look at him. from this angle, you were dangerously close. “you never say more.”

he exhaled slowly, staring straight ahead.

“what’s more?” he asked quietly.

“i don’t know,” you said, eyes narrowing playfully. “like, ‘wow, you’re so pretty, everyone will fall at your feet, you’re breathtaking, i weep when i look at you’ or something.”

he laughed, the sound strangled. “dramatic.”

“you love me,” you sing-songed, poking his side again.

you had no idea.

he shifted subtly, letting your weight slide a little lower on his legs, hoping it would give him enough space so you wouldn’t accidentally feel the way his body was very much reacting to you. his jeans suddenly felt too tight, heat creeping up his neck.

“you’re impossible,” he muttered.

“but i’m cute,” you pointed out.

he glanced down at you, and for once, he didn’t try to hide what he was thinking.

“yeah,” he said softly. “you are.”

your smile faltered for a second, something flickering across your face that he didn’t quite catch before you sat up again, brushing it away with a laugh.

“okay, skirt is approved. now help me with my notes or i’ll fail out of uni and it’ll be your fault.”

he let you pull him upright, heart still pounding.

you didn’t notice the way he needed just a second longer than usual to adjust his position before standing. you never did.

_____

their friends noticed before you did.

at a small party in jake’s apartment, the living room was packed with people and terrible lighting. music thumped from a speaker in the corner, someone was spilling beer on the rug, and yunjin was holding court from the kitchen counter.

sunoo stuck close to you like he always did, laughing at your jokes, topping up your drink, leaning down when you had to shout something into his ear over the noise.

jake drifted in and out of your orbit, too. he handed you a slice of pizza at one point, fingers brushing yours. he stood behind you while you bickered with sunoo over a stupid drinking game rule, his hand resting casually on the back of your chair.

from across the room, jungwon elbowed yunjin.

“you see it, right?” he said, nodding toward the three of you. “that’s a situation.”

yunjin took a sip of her drink, eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

“oh, definitely,” she said. “that’s a love triangle waiting to happen. or murder. depends which one snaps first.”

jungwon snorted. “my money’s on sunoo.”

“my money’s on you sticking your nose in and making it worse,” she retorted.

“fair,” he admitted, grinning.

in the middle of it all, you stood between jake and sunoo, laughing, utterly unaware.

_____

the night sunoo snapped didn’t look different at first.

you were in your shared room, lights soft, laptop open between you as a drama played. you’d both seen it before; it was mostly background noise while you pretended to catch up on readings neither of you were absorbing.

you were leaning against the headboard, he was stretched out beside you. at some point your legs tangled, your ankle hooked over his. he barely noticed anymore. his body just… recognized the shape of you, adjusted automatically.

“pause,” you said suddenly, smacking his arm.

he flinched. “what?”

“i need snacks,” you announced, already pushing the laptop aside. “do you want anything?”

“water,” he replied softly.

you nodded and climbed over him to get off the bed instead of walking around like a normal person. your thigh slid over his stomach, your hand landing on his chest for balance. he didn’t breathe until you were off him and padding out of the room.

alone in the quiet, he let out a shaky exhale.

he was so tired.

tired of swallowing his feelings, of pretending he didn’t care when you got dressed up for someone else, of hearing you call him safe like it was some kind of compliment and not the chain it felt like around his throat.

he thought about jake. about the way you’d smiled when you checked your phone earlier that evening. about the way you’d said, so casually, “i think he might ask me out soon.”

something ugly and terrified clamped down on his chest.

you came back a few minutes later with a bag of chips and a bottle of water. you tossed the water to him, then climbed back onto the bed, again taking the direct route over his body.

this time, your knee pressed down against his hip, a little too close to where he was already strung tight from his own thoughts.

heat shot through him, startling in its intensity. he sucked in a breath.

you didn’t catch it. you were too busy opening the chips, the bag crackling loud in the small room.

“so,” you said, mouth already full. “jake texted me earlier.”

of course he did.

“yeah?” sunoo asked quietly.

“he wants to go to that rooftop bar this weekend,” you said, eyes bright. “he said it’d be cute. like… a date.”

the word hung between you.

sunoo’s fingers tightened around the water bottle until the plastic crinkled.

“what did you say?” he asked, voice low.

“i told him i’d think about it,” you said, shrugging, but there was a smile playing at the corner of your mouth. “i mean, he’s nice. and he’s definitely attracted to me. you saw the way he looked at me in that skirt.”

he remembered. all too well.

“yeah,” sunoo murmured. “i saw.”

you didn’t notice the way his jaw clenched. you just scooted down a little, letting your head fall onto his shoulder, legs curling up so your knee rested across his thighs.

“what do you think?” you asked, tilting your face toward his. “should i say yes?”

there it was. the question he’d been dreading.

he could tell you no. he could say jake wasn’t good enough, make some excuse, try to sabotage it before it began. but that wasn’t who he was with you. he’d always been your supporter, your cheerleader. the one you trusted to give honest advice.

even when it killed him.

“if you like him,” sunoo said slowly, “then… yeah. you should go.”

you nodded, thoughtful. “he’s not… like, crazy intense or anything. i feel calm with him. and he’s hot. i won’t lie.”

he laughed, the sound bitter in his own ears. “your standards are very clear, i see.”

“don’t judge,” you said, poking his side. “i like guys who are nice to me and have pretty hands. it’s not that deep.”

he looked down at his own hands without meaning to. the ones that held your wrists to clasp bracelets, fixed your necklaces, brushed stray hairs from your face. the ones that had spent so many nights gripping his own sheets, trying to will his body to calm down after you fell asleep curled into him.

“yeah,” he whispered, more to himself than to you. “not that deep.”

you yawned, shifting again. somehow you ended up half on top of him, your chest pressed to his side, one leg thrown over his. the drama on screen had faded into background noise completely.

“you’re not jealous, are you?” you said, words slightly muffled against his shirt. “of me abandoning you for a man.”

he went very still.

“do you want me to be?” he asked quietly.

you pulled back just enough to look at him, eyes sleepy and amused. “i mean, i’d miss you if you started dating someone and had less time for me. it’s only fair.”

“it’s not a competition,” he said.

“it kind of is,” you insisted, smirking. “i’ve known you longer. i get boyfriend rights by default.”

there was that word again. you always said things like that, tossed them out without thinking. boyfriend. husband. mine.

never seeing the way they landed in him like small, precise knives.

something inside him finally slipped.

he sat up abruptly, shifting out from under you. the sudden movement made you wobble, catching yourself on your hands.

“hey,” you frowned. “what’s wrong?”

he got off the bed and crossed the small distance to the door, then stopped there, back to you. he ran a hand through his hair, fingers shaking.

“sunoo?” your voice was softer now.

“do you really not see it?” he asked, still not turning around.

“see what?” you said, confused.

he laughed once, humorless. “of course you don’t.”

you pushed yourself up, heartbeat picking up. you’d seen him pout before, whine, sulk over spilled coffee or bad grades or a ruined selfie. this felt… different. sharp around the edges.

“hey,” you repeated, getting off the bed and padding toward him. “talk to me. you’re scaring me a little.”

that made him turn.

his eyes found yours in the dim light, and for the first time in a long time, he didn’t look soft. he looked… tired. frustrated. hurt.

and underneath all of that, something dark and intense you couldn’t name.

“you’re really going to go on a date with jake,” he said, voice low. “and then you’re going to come back here, climb into my bed, and fall asleep on my chest like you always do. and you still won’t get it.”

“get what?” you demanded, stepping closer. “i don’t understand what you’re mad about.”

“that’s the problem,” he snapped, the word finally cracking through his control.

you flinched, taken aback.

he closed his eyes, inhaled, then exhaled slowly. when he opened them again, his voice was calmer, but that same intensity remained.

“you talk about guys in front of me like i’m your… like i’m one of your girlfriends,” he said. “you change clothes in front of me. you crawl into my bed. you put your hands on me all the time. and you never stop to think what that might be doing to me.”

your cheeks burned. suddenly you were hyper-aware of how close you were standing, of the fact that you were in an old t-shirt and shorts, hair messy, bare-faced.

“you’re my best friend,” you said, defensive. “you’ve never had a problem with it before.”

“yeah?” he said quietly. “you sure about that?”

you opened your mouth, then closed it, unsure.

“if i ever made you uncomfortable, why didn’t you say anything?” you asked, softer now. “you know i would’ve stopped.”

“because i didn’t want you to stop,” he said, the words ripped out of him. “i’m selfish like that.”

silence.

you stared at him, heartbeat roaring in your ears.

“sunoo…” his name felt different on your tongue all of a sudden.

he took a step forward, then another, until your back met the door. you hadn’t even realized you’d been moving until you felt the wood press against your shoulder blades.

he wasn’t touching you. not yet. but you could feel the heat of him, close enough that if you inhaled a little deeper, your chests would brush.

“everyone thinks i’m gay,” he said quietly. “you think i’m gay.”

you swallowed. “you like guys.”

“i do,” he agreed. “i also like girls.”

your breath caught.

“one girl,” he corrected himself, gaze dropping briefly to your mouth before finding your eyes again. “specifically.”

everything inside you lurched.

memories flashed through your mind in rapid succession. the way he sometimes looked away when you undressed. the way his hand tightened on your waist when you sat in his lap. the way his breathing changed when you curled into him at night.

how had you missed this?

“why didn’t you tell me?” you whispered.

his mouth twitched, not quite a smile. “what was i supposed to say? ‘hey, i know you think i’m safe, but i’m actually a guy who’s been trying not to lose his mind every time you walk around in my shirts’?”

your face burned. “that’s not funny.”

“i’m not trying to be funny,” he said, voice rough. “do you have any idea how many times i’ve had to walk out of the room because if i stayed, i’d—”

he cut himself off, jaw clenching.

your heart was pounding so hard you were sure he could hear it.

he lifted a hand then, slowly, like he was giving you time to pull away. his fingers brushed your jaw, feather-light, tilting your chin up just a little.

“you think you’re safe with me,” he murmured. “that i don’t see you like that. that i can’t.”

you weren’t breathing. you didn’t know how.

“sunoo,” you tried again, but it came out as more of a whisper.

“you’re wrong,” he said.

his thumb rested just under your lower lip, the barest touch. your eyes flicked down to his mouth and back up, caught.

he leaned in, close enough that his breath fanned across your cheek. your hands, which had been hanging uselessly at your sides, curled into fists against the door.

“tell me to back off,” he said softly. “if you want me as your safe best friend, if you’re really going to say yes to jake and pretend you don’t know what this is… tell me to move and i will.”

the room felt like it had shrunk around you.

your pulse was a drumbeat under your skin, loud and insistent. you could feel the tension in his body, the way he was holding himself still by sheer force of will.

he’d always been pretty. you were suddenly very aware that he was also a man standing very, very close to you, looking at you like you were the only thing in the world he wanted.

your throat felt tight.

“and if i don’t tell you to move?” you asked, the words barely audible.

his eyes darkened, something hungry flashing there that made your stomach flip.

“then,” he said, voice low and steady, “i’m going to stop pretending i don’t know exactly how much you’re driving me insane.”

his forehead almost touched yours now. almost. he was giving you that last inch of space, that last chance.

your heart hammered against your ribs, everything inside you coiled and waiting.

you didn’t move.

you didn’t tell him to stop.

his gaze flicked down to your mouth again, lingering this time, and your breath hitched, lips parting just slightly.

sunoo’s thumb pressed a fraction harder under your lip, his other hand coming up to brace against the door near your head, effectively caging you in.

“you’re not as safe as you think you are with me,” he whispered.

the distance between your mouths was a question hanging in the air.

and for the first time, you weren’t entirely sure if you wanted the answer to be no.

_______

for a second, neither of you moved.

you could feel his breath on your lips, warm and shaky, his thumb still resting under your mouth like he was holding you in place. your fingers curled against the door without meaning to, nails scraping lightly at the wood.

“sunoo,” you whispered, not even sure what you were asking.

something in his expression broke at the sound of his name. the careful distance he always kept around you snapped.

he closed the gap.

his mouth met yours in a slow, deliberate kiss that stole the air from your lungs. not tentative, not testing, but like he’d thought about this a hundred times and was finally letting himself touch what he’d only ever pictured.

you made a small, startled sound against his lips, and he swallowed it, thumb tilting your chin up just a little more. his other hand slid from the door to your waist, fingers fitting into the curve there like they had always been meant to.

you had been kissed before. you had never been kissed like this.

he moved his mouth over yours with a kind of aching patience, like he was trying to memorize every tiny reaction. the way your breath hitched when he sucked lightly on your bottom lip. the way your hands finally lifted, fisting in the front of his shirt to pull him closer.

when you tugged, he stepped in without hesitation, pressing you fully back against the door. your bodies lined up, heat meeting heat, his chest firm against yours. his heart was beating almost as hard as yours, thudding where your ribs touched.

“you have no idea,” he breathed against your mouth, the words brushing your lips, “how long i’ve wanted to do that.”

your head was spinning.

you slid your hands up, fingers finding the back of his neck, the soft hair there. he shivered, just barely, and then the kiss changed. deeper, hungrier. he angled his head, lips parting, giving you the chance to pull away.

you didn’t.

your mouth opened under his, and he took it, kissing you like the rest of the world had stopped existing. your back arched without thinking, trying to close the last bit of space between you, and his hand tightened on your waist in a way that made your knees go weak.

“sunoo,” you breathed again when you broke apart for air, your forehead dropping to his. your lips felt swollen, your voice unsteady. “everyone thinks you’re…”

“let them,” he said softly, thumb tracing the edge of your lower lip, eyes dark and focused only on you. “they don’t get to see this.”

his gaze dropped briefly, taking in your flushed face, the way you were still holding onto him like you were afraid he might disappear.

his fingers flexed at your waist, sliding just a fraction lower, resting on the top of your hip. his body was so close now that you could feel every rise and fall of his breathing, the tension in his muscles, the way he was very carefully holding himself in check.

“tell me if it’s too much,” he murmured, voice rough around the edges. “if you want me to stop, you say it and i’m done. i mean it.”

you swallowed, heart pounding.

“what if i don’t want you to stop?” you asked quietly.

his eyes fluttered shut for a second like he was physically bracing himself. when he opened them again, there was no softness left in the way he looked at you, only heat and something fiercely tender.

“then,” he said, leaning in to brush one more slow, dizzying kiss against your mouth, “i’m going to need you to hold on to me.”

his hand slid from your hip to the small of your back, pressing you closer, and you felt your fingers tighten in his shirt as your body answered before your brain could catch up.

your next breath came out shaky against his lips.

and for the first time, you understood just how quickly this could spiral into something you could never go back from.

______

his hand dropped from the door to your thigh in a slow, dragging motion, gripping just above your knee and pulling it around his hip—locking your body flush against his. the way he moved was different now. slower, firmer, like he’d finally stopped holding back.

his mouth crashed into yours again, messier this time. wetter. your head tilted back instinctively, lips parting under the sheer heat of it, and he took full advantage—tongue sliding in, kissing you deeper, dirtier. it wasn’t just affection anymore—it was hunger.

he groaned into your mouth when your hands fisted in his shirt again, pulling him closer like you needed him to hold you up. his grip on your thigh tightened, dragging your hips together, and the way he rutted against you—slow, grinding pressure right where you needed it—sent heat straight to your core.

you gasped against him, and he chased the sound, swallowing it whole. spit smeared your lips from the way he kissed you—sloppy, hot, dizzying. when he pulled back just slightly, a string of saliva clung between your mouths, glistening in the dim light. it snapped when he leaned back in, nipping your bottom lip with a low, satisfied noise.

“fuck,” he muttered, lips brushing over your cheek, jaw, throat. “you don’t even know what you do to me.”

his teeth grazed your pulse point and you whimpered, back arching, pressing your chest into his. he hissed through his teeth, then dropped both hands to your hips, gripping hard enough to bruise.

“you keep touching me like i’m yours,” he growled against your skin. “walking around in my clothes. sleeping in my bed. teasing me without even knowing it.”

you were breathing hard now, hands sliding up into his hair, tugging. his hips rolled into yours again, slow and hard, grinding against the heat between your legs through thin layers of fabric.

your head dropped back against the door with a thud, mouth falling open on a moan you couldn’t bite back.

his eyes darkened at the sound. “say it again.”

“w-what?”

“my name,” he said, teeth grazing your earlobe. “say it when i touch you.”

you gasped as he rocked into you again, his hand sliding up under your shirt to press against your bare waist, thumb tracing circles just above the band of your shorts.

“sunoo,” you breathed, voice trembling.

his whole body shuddered. “fuck. you’re gonna ruin me.”

his hand dipped lower.

your body went still.

and then—

he paused.

“we can stop,” he whispered, forehead pressed to yours, breath ragged. “if you want to stop, tell me now.”

you looked up at him, dazed, lips wet and red from his kiss, chest heaving.

“don’t stop.”

his jaw clenched.

and just like that, he picked you up—effortless, possessive, urgent—and carried you toward the bed.

________

sunoo laid you down onto the bed like he’d done it a hundred times in his head—body following yours, one knee between your legs, hands not leaving your waist for a second.

you barely had time to breathe before he was on you again, mouth crashing into yours, tongue deep, wet, hot. the kisses were spit-slick now, filthy, desperate—your chins and lips glistening from the way he didn’t stop. didn’t slow down. he sucked your tongue into his mouth and you whimpered, thighs twitching around his hips.

“you sound so sweet,” he murmured into your mouth, breath ragged. “i want more.”

his hand slipped down between you, confidently tugging at your waistband until his fingers slipped under—slow, deliberate, until his knuckles brushed your cunt and your whole body jumped under him.

he groaned like he’d been waiting forever.

“fuck,” he breathed, lips grazing your jaw. “you’re soaked.”

your hips jerked into his hand instinctively, and he bit down gently on your neck.

“been dripping like this in front of me all this time?” his voice was low, rough. “walking around in your little shorts. throwing your leg over me in bed. you had no idea, did you?”

your back arched, words lost in the moan that ripped through your throat as he pressed two fingers through your folds, sliding through the slick heat like he owned it.

his mouth never left you—kissing, licking, breathing you in. his lips traced your jaw, your neck, the corner of your mouth again like he was addicted to the taste.

and then—

his fingers pushed in, slow at first.

your hips rolled up into him, a strangled noise catching in your throat. your walls clenched around the sudden stretch, and he cursed into your skin.

“so fucking tight,” he whispered. “feels like you’re sucking me in.”

he began to move them, curling deep and steady, and you couldn’t stop the moans spilling out—his name tangled with gasps, your nails digging into his shoulder as your body shook.

“please,” you whimpered, grinding down into his hand, chasing the friction.

he pulled back from your mouth, eyes dark and blown wide as he stared down at you. the wet sounds of his fingers pumping into you filled the room—obscene and gorgeous.

“that’s it,” he murmured. “fuck yourself on my hand. take it. let me hear you.”

you were already gone. grinding helplessly into his palm, every flick of his fingers pulling a cry from your lips, his mouth crashing back into yours, tongue filthy, hot, your spit and his mixing together like you belonged to each other.

and when he slid down, down your body, settling between your legs like he was meant to live there, you barely had time to beg.

his mouth found your cunt like he’d been starving.

wet. hot. tongue flat and slow. then circling, then flicking, then sucking hard around your clit until your thighs trembled on either side of his head and your hand flew into his hair.

he moaned against you—loud, hungry, like the taste of you had undone whatever self-control he had left.

his tongue pushed lower, fucking into you, messy and deep, his fingers back inside with it—curling just right, tongue dragging over your clit again and again until your back lifted off the bed and you cried out.

“that’s it,” he groaned, spit-slick and wild between your legs. “cum on my tongue, baby. let me taste how much you missed it.”

you broke.

hips shaking, thighs clamping around his head, your cunt spasming around his fingers and his tongue as you came hard, crying out his name, back arching, the world blurring around the edges.

he didn’t stop.

he licked you through it, moaning into your pussy, chasing every drop of slick like he’d earned it, like he’d die without it.

and when you finally collapsed, boneless and gasping, he pulled back—lips shiny, chin wet, eyes burning as he stared at you.

“not so safe now,” he whispered, crawling back up your body.

“is that right?”

you could barely nod. your lips were swollen. your thighs still trembled.

his cock pressed hard against your thigh now, straining through his jeans.

“you think you can take more?” he asked, voice low, hands already sliding to his belt.

“because i’ve barely started.”

______

your body was still twitching from the aftershocks when sunoo leaned over you, breath heavy, jaw tense, eyes locked on your face like he couldn’t believe you were real.

he kissed you again—slow this time, deep and full of heat, lips wet from your slick still coating his mouth. and then he pulled back just enough to whisper, “i’ve thought about this. so many fucking times.”

his fingers slid up under your shirt, dragging it up until your chest was bare beneath him. you gasped as the air hit your damp skin, but the heat in his gaze alone was enough to make you burn.

he stared.

his hands cupped your tits, firm but reverent, like he couldn’t believe he was finally touching you like this. he leaned in and dragged his tongue slowly across one nipple, then sucked it into his mouth and moaned like he was the one being touched.

you cried out, arching into him, hand flying into his hair.

“you don’t know what you’ve done to me,” he said against your skin, mouth hot and wet, tongue swirling and sucking, his other hand squeezing and rolling your other breast like he was obsessed.

“every time you changed in front of me,” he growled, dragging his teeth gently over your nipple before sucking again, “i had to look away so i wouldn’t get hard in front of you.”

you whimpered, thighs clenching.

“every night you cuddled up to me in bed,” he went on, shifting his mouth to your other breast, licking a slow, filthy circle before sucking it hard. “i’d hold you while you slept and then lie there hard as fuck, dying.”

you gasped, grinding your hips up into him helplessly.

“and when you left in the mornings?” his voice was lower now, breath hitching. “i’d jerk off to the memory of your body against mine. to the way you smelled. to the fucking sounds you made when you sighed in your sleep.”

your mouth dropped open.

he looked up at you, lips shiny, flushed and wild. “i came thinking about you, over and over again, and you had no fucking clue.”

you moaned, full-bodied and desperate, dragging him down to kiss you again—sloppy, wet, your spit and his and the taste of yourself all mixing between your tongues.

he groaned into your mouth and reached down, shoving his jeans down enough to free himself, cock hot and hard and throbbing against your thigh.

“you still want this?” he asked, voice wrecked.

“yes,” you breathed. “yes, please.”

he lined himself up and pressed in slowly, watching your face the whole time.

your back arched as he filled you inch by inch, stretching you open, your body clenching around him tight and wet.

“fuck—so tight—” he gasped, burying himself all the way to the hilt, one hand squeezing your breast, the other gripping your hip like he was holding on for dear life.

he didn’t move at first, just stayed deep inside you, chest pressed to yours, forehead resting against yours.

“i can’t believe this is real,” he whispered. “you feel like fucking heaven.”

then he pulled back and thrust in again—harder.

you cried out, legs wrapping around his waist.

“mine,” he growled, thrusting again, pace picking up, “mine.”

you nodded, eyes wide, mouth open in a silent moan.

“say it,” he demanded, hips slamming into you, the sound of skin on skin loud and obscene.

“yours,” you gasped. “sunoo—yours.”

he kissed you then, deep and messy, tongue fucking your mouth as his cock fucked you harder, deeper, every thrust stealing the breath from your lungs.

your body jolted with every thrust, the bed creaking beneath you, the slap of his hips against yours obscene and rhythmic. sunoo groaned low in his throat, fingers digging into your thighs as he slammed in again, dragging your body down to meet his.

“listen to that,” he hissed, voice wrecked. “fucking soaked for me. dripping down my cock like you were made to take it.”

you cried out, legs shaking, the stretch too good—deep, filling, his pace brutal but perfect.

he grabbed your jaw, forcing your eyes to meet his.

“does he fuck you like this?” he growled. “jake?”

you gasped—shocked, flushed. his thrusts didn’t falter.

“no—fuck, no—” you moaned.

“does he make you moan like this?” he spat, dragging his cock out slow, just to the tip, then slamming back in hard. “do you think about him when you cum all over me?”

your head rolled back but he grabbed your throat—tight enough to still you, not enough to hurt—and pulled your gaze back down.

“look at me,” he said. “watch who’s fucking you.”

you whined under him, back arching, and he smiled—dark, flushed, hair clinging to his forehead, pupils blown wide.

“that’s right,” he breathed, fucking you harder now, faster. “you’re mine now. say it.”

“yours,” you gasped. “fuck—i’m yours—”

he groaned and leaned down, mouth hot against your chest. he sucked a nipple into his mouth, messy and wet, tongue swirling fast and rough, then he bit—just enough to make you yelp.

“these pretty tits,” he muttered, flicking your nipple with his tongue. “used to stare when you weren’t looking. you’d talk to me like nothing and all i could think about was having my mouth on you like this—”

he wrapped his lips around it again, sucking hard while his hips rutted deep into you, cock slamming right into the spot that made you scream.

“fuck, baby, keep moaning—so good like this,” he grunted, “fuck me back, yeah, ride it—show me how much you want it.”

you were already moving with him, legs wrapped around his waist, rolling your hips to meet every thrust. your body shook, tits bouncing with every slam of his cock, your cunt so wet it sounded absolutely filthy.

he pulled out suddenly and flipped you onto your stomach, yanking your hips up, chest down. his hand pressed into your back, keeping you pinned.

“don’t move,” he growled. “gonna fuck you right.”

and then he was back inside—hard, deep, deeper than before, the new angle making you sob into the sheets.

“god—fuck, so tight like this,” he moaned. “this pussy doesn’t wanna let me go.”

he leaned down, hand wrapping around your throat from behind, lips brushing your ear.

“you’re my good girl, right?” he whispered. “my desperate little slut—taking me so well—”

you choked on a moan, body clenching around him.

“so fuckin’ wet for me, so dumb on my cock—crying for it—i can feel your cunt pulsing.”

his thrusts turned punishing—fast, rough, skin slapping skin, sweat dripping, your moans dissolving into cries.

“you wanna cum again?” he panted. “yeah? that needy hole wants to squeeze around me while i’m balls-deep?”

you nodded frantically, tears stinging your eyes.

“then beg.”

“please, sunoo—please let me cum—i need it—”

his fingers reached between your legs again, rubbing fast, filthy circles on your clit as he buried himself deep.

“cum on my cock then,” he growled, “milk it—cum like a good fucking girl—”

you screamed his name, body locking up, pleasure ripping through you as you came hard, gushing around him, thighs shaking.

and that was it—he cursed, deep and breathless, slamming into you one last time before spilling deep inside you, his cock twitching as he moaned your name over and over, hips rolling through every wave of his release.

he stayed there, buried in you, panting, his body pressed along your back, one hand still gripping your tit, the other splayed over your stomach.

“mine,” he whispered again, softer this time.

“always,” you breathed, completely ruined.

and he kissed your shoulder like a man who already knew.

__________________

fuck yall for thinking sunoo is only cutesy

© si3rren 2026. all rights reserved.

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[irkkii]

𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐔𝐈𝐓𝐄⠀ ⬩⠀ 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗌 𝗌𝗈 𝖻𝗂𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗍

︵ 书記 ’ ⠀⠀ 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋 𝗍𝗈𝗑𝗂𝖼 & 𝗈𝖻𝗌𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗍𝗌.

✤━━━𝟐𝟎𝟒𝟐 bsf!enha ⠀× ⠀rea ‎⠀‎‎ ◞ ◟⠀‎ ⠀ angst⠀⠀⠀toxic behavior⠀⠀ obsession

⠀ ´⠀𝗌𝗉𝖺𝗆 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖽𝗋𝖺𝖿𝗍𝗌 𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗂𝗆 𝖺 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗁𝗈

LEE HEESEUNG

heeseung keeps a mental catalog of you that he’d never admit to out loud.

every offhand thing you’ve ever mentioned—a song you said you liked once in passing, what you ordered that one time at a restaurant two years ago. he doesn't bring it up in a way that would make you realize how closely he’s been paying attention. he just uses it. quietly. consistently. like it's nothing.

"you remembered that?" you say when he shows up with the exact snack you mentioned wanting, like, a month ago.

"you mentioned it," he says simply, like that explains it.

it doesn’t explain it. normal people don't catalog these things. heeseung does.

the possessiveness lives in the details. he doesn't get loud about it. doesn’t make scenes. but there’s something that moves across his face when someone else gets close to you at a party, some subtle tightening, and he finds a reason to materialize beside you within the next minute. always casual. always with an excuse. he heard you from across the room, he was heading over anyway, he just wanted to check if you needed a drink.

you’ve never called him out on it. you’re not sure you want to.

he texts back immediately every single time, which wouldn’t mean anything except that you know how busy he is. you’ve seen him leave people on read for hours. with you there’s no gap. not one. when you ask how he always catches your messages so fast he just shrugs and says he had his phone on him.

"are you’re always on your phone?" you say.

"i check it sometimes," he says.

that’s not an answer and you both know it.

the worst part—or the most telling part—is the way he talks about the people in your life. he’s never outright negative. heeseung is too calculated for that. but he has observations. small, precise, delivered casually enough that they land and then linger.

"i just think you could do better," he says, once, about someone you'd been spending time with.

"he’s my friend," you say.

"i know." a pause. "i’m just saying."

he never finishes the sentence. he never has to.

he wants to be the person you reach for first. he already mostly is, and he knows it, and on some level he’s made sure of it. not through anything you could point to directly. just through five years of being exactly what you need, exactly when you need it, until needing him is just something you do.

PARK JONGSEONG

jay’s version of obsession looks like concern and sounds like logic and is somehow harder to argue with because of it.

he has opinions about everything in your life, delivered with the careful precision of someone who has genuinely thought it through and is not going to pretend otherwise. your sleep schedule. the person who keeps flaking on your plans. the decision you made last week that he still hasn’t fully dropped.

"i’m not trying to run your life," he says.

"you’re literally making a spreadsheet," you say.

"it’s a pros and cons list," he says. "it’s organized. that’s different."

it is a spreadsheet. he made it on his laptop while you were sitting right there. you watched him do it.

the thing is jay is always right, which is the genuinely maddening part. his read on people is sharp, his instincts are good, and the situations he’s flagged for you have a frustrating track record of turning out exactly the way he said they would. so you can never fully dismiss him, which is exactly the problem, and you suspect he knows that.

he shows up. that’s the core of it. not when you ask, always before. he has some internal alert system specifically for you and it has never misfired. bad day? he’s at your door with food before you’ve texted anyone. overwhelmed? he's already clearing your schedule and suggesting a plan in the same breath, because jay processes care through action and standing around feeling bad about something has never made sense to him.

"i didn’t tell you it was a bad day," you say.

"you didn’t have to," he says.

"that’s a little—"

"i know you," he says simply. "that’s not weird."

the jealousy is there but it runs cold and quiet, not hot. he doesn’t blow up. he asks questions. specific, calm, almost clinical questions about whoever's been taking up your time lately, and he listens to your answers with an attention that would be flattering if it wasn't also slightly intimidating.

"why are you asking?" you say.

"i’m just curious," he says.

"you’re making a face."

"i don’t make faces."

he is absolutely making a face.

he has a standard for the people around you that he has never written down and never explained but enforces through sheer presence. if someone doesn’t meet it he won’t say so directly. he’ll just be around more. more available, more attentive, filling the space until whatever else was there starts to feel smaller by comparison.

you’ve never told him you’ve noticed. he’s never told you he does it on purpose.

SIM JAEYUN

the thing about jake is that he makes it feel easy, and easy is the most dangerous kind.

he doesn’t come across as obsessive. he comes across as attentive and warm and like being around you is genuinely his favorite thing, which it is, and that’s the problem. there’s no edge to it, nothing you can point to and name. just jake, always there, always happy to see you, always a little too good at this.

he knows your schedule without asking. not because he looked it up but because he paid attention and then kept paying attention until it was just something he had.

"how’d you know i’d be here?" you ask once, running into him in a place you hadn’t mentioned.

"you always come here after that class," he says.

"i never told you that."

he blinks like he's just now realizing. "oh," he says. "yeah, i just—noticed."

you believe him that's the more unsettling part.

the possessiveness with jake runs warm. not cold, not calculating—just this steady undercurrent of you’re mine, even though he has no claim and has never said so. when you talk about other people he listens with this expression that's mostly neutral except for something in his eyes that isn’t, and he always has a follow-up question that’s just slightly more interested than the situation calls for.

"you’ve mentioned him a lot," jake says once.

"have i?" you say.

"yeah." a pause, very easy, very calm. "just an observation."

it's not just an observation.

he’s physical in the way that has always been borderline, the kind of contact that lives in the space between friendly and something else. an arm around your shoulder that stays a beat too long. finding reasons to sit close enough that your arms are pressed together. fixing something on your jacket without asking, hands near your face, and then just—staying there a second.

"jake," you say.

"you had a thing," he says, already stepping back, completely casual.

the hardest part is that none of it feels like pressure. that’s his whole thing—he never pushes, never crowds, just makes himself so consistently present and warm and easy that the idea of him not being there starts to feel wrong before you’ve even made a decision about anything.

"you’re always around," you say once, not as an accusation, just a fact.

he smiles. "you always let me be," he says.

and the worst part is he's right.

PARK SUNGHOON

sunghoon’s obsession is quiet and organized and absolutely relentless.

he would not call it obsession. he would call it being thorough. attentive. detail oriented. he would say these things with a straight face and a clear conscience and you would not be able to fully argue with him because he’d have a point somewhere in there and he knows it.

he tracks things about you the way other people track the weather—consistently, without drama, as though the information is simply useful to have. when you’re tired before you’ve said so. when something’s bothering you before you’ve named it. when you're about to make a decision he has thoughts about, which is almost always.

"you’re doing the thing," you say.

"i'm not doing anything," he says. "i’m sitting here."

"you’re watching me."

"i’m in the same room as you. that involves visual awareness—"

"sunghoon."

he looks at you for a moment and then, with great dignity, looks somewhere else. the point stands.

the competitive streak comes out around anyone who gets close to you. he doesn’t get loud about it—sunghoon doesn't do loud—but he keeps score in some private internal way and it shows in the precision of his timing. if someone else is making you laugh he’ll say something that makes you laugh harder. if someone else is being helpful he’ll have already handled it before they get the chance. it’s subtle and consistent and it works, which is probably why he hasn't stopped.

"you don’t like him," you say, about someone, once.

"i don’t know him well enough to dislike him," sunghoon says.

"you have a face."

"i have a neutral expression."

"it’s a very judgmental neutral expression."

he doesn’t confirm or deny. he changes the subject and later he says something just slightly pointed about the person in question. just a precise little observation that you can’t stop thinking about afterward. that’s the move. plant it and let it grow.

the gentle stuff is what gets you. for all the dry precision and the quiet keeping-tabs, sunghoon is genuinely careful with you. shows up when it matters. remembers the things that are important and doesn’t make a show of remembering. there’s a version of his attention that would feel like surveillance if he weren’t also, somehow, the safest person you know.

"you’re a lot," you tell him once, affectionately.

"you’re still here," he says.

which is not a defense but is somehow still a point.

KIM SUNOO

sunoo’s version of obsession is wrapped so thoroughly in warmth and pink ribbons that you don’t see it until you’re already in the middle of it.

he’s the person who makes everyone feel like the most important person in the room. the difference is that with you he actually means it, and there's a gap between those two things that is wider than it looks from the outside.

he learns you the way he learns everything—carefully, attentively, like it matters. not just the surface stuff. the real stuff. what makes you go quiet, what you do when you’re anxious, the specific way your voice changes when you’re trying not to show that something got to you. he files it all away and uses it, not against you, never against you, just—to be there in exactly the right way at exactly the right moment.

"how do you always know?" you ask.

"know what?" he says.

"what i need. before i say it."

he tilts his head like he's genuinely considering whether this is something he should explain. "i just pay attention," he says.

"to everyone?" you ask.

"sure," he says. then, quieter, not looking away: "to you more."

you don’t know what to do with that so you don't do anything, which is a decision he accepts without pushing. sunoo is patient in a way that doesn’t feel like waiting—it feels like he already knows how it ends and he’s fine taking the long way there.

the possessiveness with him is soft but it's there. he doesn’t mind your other friends, genuinely, except when someone is taking something from you. energy, time, the version of yourself you save for people who’ve earned it. he notices when you come back from someone smaller than when you left, and he has thoughts about it that he mostly keeps to himself unless you ask.

"he’s fine," sunoo says, about someone you've been spending time with.

"but?" you say, because there’s clearly a but.

"no but," he says. and then: "i just notice you’re tired when you talk about him."

"i’m always tired," you say.

"not like that," he says simply.

sunoo genuinely sees you, maybe more clearly than you see yourself, and the problem with being truly seen by someone is that you start to need it.

which is exactly where he wants you. not because he planned it. just because that’s what happens when someone pays that much attention for that long.

YANG JUNGWON

jungwon doesn't believe he has a type until you, and then he has extremely specifically you, and he does not handle this information gracefully.

the thing is he thinks he’s subtle. he has constructed a very confident internal narrative in which his behavior reads as normal best friend behavior and nothing about it is transparent. he is wrong. he is not subtle. everyone has all noticed and no one has told him and the situation is ongoing.

he gives you a hard time constantly—playful, relentless, the kind of teasing that has its own specific language. he has a special tone of voice reserved only for you that he absolutely doesn't realize he has. if you pointed it out he would deny it with complete sincerity.

"you’re so annoying," you tell him.

"you literally texted me first today," he says.

"because i needed something—"

"you texted first," he says again, very satisfied about it.

this is how a significant portion of your conversations go.

but then something actually upsets you and the teasing stops immediately, flipped off like a switch. he gets this look—focused, quiet, a version of his face that doesn't come out often—and he’s fully present in a way that's different from his usual energy.

"talk," he says.

"i'm fine," you say.

"i know," he says. "talk anyway."

he doesn't push and he doesn't crowd, just waits in that calm way until you start talking, and once you start he listens in a way that makes you feel like nothing else exists for him right now. because nothing does. that's the thing about jungwon—when he’s in, he’s completely in, and with you he's been completely in for longer than he's admitted to himself.

the jealousy comes out sideways. little comments. quiet observations. a sudden interest in whoever you’ve mentioned that tips past friendly curiosity into something more territorial if you look closely.

"since when do you care about my plans?" you say.

"i always ask about your plans," he says.

"not like that."

"like what?" he says, very composed, very even.

you look at him. he looks back. he doesn’t blink.

"nothing," you say.

"that’s what i thought," he says, and goes back to what he was doing, but you catch the slight tension in his jaw and file it away.

the most jungwon thing about all of it is that he’d tell you, if you asked directly. he’s not a person who runs from things. but he’s decided that you’ll get there eventually and in the meantime he’s going to be exactly where he's always been—right next to you, giving you a hard time, quietly making sure you're okay.

the door’s open. he's just not going to announce it.

NISHIMURA RIKI

niki doesn’t get attached easily and everyone who knows him knows this. which is why the way he is about you is, to anyone paying attention, fairly obvious. he hasn't figured that out yet.

in the beginning he was the same with you as he is with most people—present, straightforward, fine with silence, not in a rush to be anything more than what the situation called for. you didn’t push and he appreciated that more than he said.

the shift happened slowly, which is the only way things happen with niki. somewhere between spending time together out of circumstance and spending time together because he actually wanted to, he crossed a line he didn'’ mark and now he’s on the other side of it with no clear memory of when he arrived.

he knows things about you that he has no logical reason to know. not because he asked. because he watched, the way he watches everything—quietly, efficiently. what songs you listen to when you’re in a bad mood. the specific way you go a little quieter when something’s bothering you but you don’t want to say so. the fact that you always check your phone twice before putting it away.

"you noticed that?" you say once, about something small, something you didn't realize you did.

"yeah," he says.

"why?"

he doesn't have an answer. or rather, he has one and he’s not going to say it, so he just shrugs and moves on like it was a passing thing and definitely not something he's been quietly tracking for months.

the possessiveness with niki is the understated kind. no scenes, no announcements. just this consistent low-level presence that positions itself between you and anything that feels like a variable. he doesn't make a production of it. he just—is always slightly between you and the rest of the room, and somehow that slot never goes vacant.

he doesn’t like when people talk to you in a way he’d describe, if pressed, as unnecessarily familiar. he wouldn't describe it out loud. but you can tell by the quality of his silence when someone gets close to you, the way it changes texture slightly, and the way he finds a reason to redirect the situation within the next two minutes.

"i’m guessing you don’t like him," you say, afterward.

"i didn’t say that," riki says.

"you went quiet."

"i'm usually quiet around people i don’t know," he says, completely true and completely not the point.

the realest version of him—the one underneath the composure—comes out in small doses, usually when it's just the two of you and it’s late and neither of you is performing anything. that’s when he talks more. says things that are actually about something. looks at you with that direct, unhurried attention he has and doesn’t look away when you catch him.

it unsettles you, a little, and he knows that, and he doesn’t stop.

"you’re doing it again," you say.

"what?" he says.

"staring."

he looks at you for one more second. then: "okay."

he does not stop.

[lunegenic]

exes.

in which you broke up with euijoo but he shows up at your door in heat because you're the only one that can help him. or - the one where euijoo begs for a taste. wc: 3k | notes: smut (don't like it? don't read it), some swearing, euijoo is a total munch, werewolf breeding and knotting, minors do not interact!

There was a knock at your door in the middle of the night, and you knew exactly who it was. Crossing the apartment in your fluffy bathrobe, you stopped at the door and without even checking the peephole, said, "Go away, Euijoo."

He didn't miss a beat, calling out from the other side of the wall, "Please, baby. Just please open the door."

"I'm not doing it," you told him with annoyance. "We're done."

"I said I'm sorry a million times. What else can I do?"

"You can leave me the fuck alone."

A tiny pause followed and to your surprise, you didn't move away from the door, waiting for his response. You expected another apology or maybe an excuse.

Euijoo finally spoke up again. "It's... that time. Can I please just see you?"

That time..., you thought confusedly. Then your eyes widened.

At your silence, Euijoo grew even more desperate. "I need you," he whined, his head pressed against the door and his eyes winched closed. "Just five seconds near you will take the edge off."

Your curiosity was quickly rising. Shifting your weight, you reached out but hesitated, knowing you were just going to get your heart broken again. But you couldn't stop. Turning the knob, you cracked the door, coming face-to-face with the wolf boy you'd broken up with two weeks ago.

Euijoo looked broken. His eyes were swollen, his cheeks flushed, and his hair an overgrown mess on his head, but to you he'd never looked so beautiful.

"Are you in heat?" you asked in disbelief.

"Yes," Euijoo replied, all the air draining out of his lungs at just the sight of you.

You glanced him up and down, still only keeping the door cracked for your own protection. You'd never been with him during heat before. He'd told you a little about it, and it sounded downright insane.

"Why do you need me?"

"Because you're my mate," Euijoo said sadly, his eyes glistening a little. "Only your scent calms me down."

Hearing that made something twist violently in your chest. You still loved him, you knew that and never tried to deny it, but you wanted to move on from him. His pack came first, his work came second, and you weren't going to stay in a relationship where you were never the priority.

So you left, and you'd taken Euijoo's heart with you.

Sighing loudly, you asked, "What do you need me to do?" And you quickly added in a much harsher tone, "Because I'm not letting you fuck me."

Euijoo shouldn't have been surprised by your reaction, but it still wounded him. It wasn't that long ago he was falling asleep and waking up in your arms. How could things have changed so much in such a short time?

"I know. Can I just... be near you?"

You narrowed your eyes at him. He looked kinda feverish and your instinct was always to make sure he was okay. It wasn't easy being a werewolf, hiding from the world. Opening the door wider, you said, "Come inside, but behave yourself."

The words were barely out of your mouth and Euijoo slipped through the opening and wrapped his arms around you, picking you up and burying his face in your neck. You squeaked in surprise, grabbing onto his shoulders, and let him hold you, feeling him take deep gulps of your scent.

"Fuck," Euijoo groaned, his grip on you tight but comfortable. "You smell so good."

"I just took a shower," you deadpanned.

"No." Euijoo shook his head. "This is all you."

With your feet off the floor, you were reminded just how much bigger he was than you and it sent a pulse of arousal through your body. Feeling awkward, you said, "Um, can you put me down? This is kinda weird."

Euijoo immediately set you down carefully and apologized, "I'm sorry. That was a lot."

You chuckled. "Yeah..., did it help?"

"Very much."

A heavy silence ensued, and you didn't like it. All you could think about was how close he was, how his body had felt against yours, and the scent of him now completely consuming your senses.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you asked, "Does it hurt?"

Euijoo's eyes were on your lips when you spoke, wanting to taste them, and he quickly moved his attention to your eyes. "Being away from you? Yes."

You scoffed. "You left me all the time. When I do it, it's painful?"

"I always came home to you."

Frustration overflowed inside you. The past two weeks of grieving your relationship slammed into you. "I don't want to get into this right now," you told him shakily.

Euijoo's eyes filled with concern. "I understand."

Silence filled the void again and you slipped away to the couch, sitting down and telling Euijoo he could sit with you. You'd decided to let him be near you for a while. You didn't want him walking around in torment, no matter how much he'd tortured you.

It was still awkward as hell. Euijoo sat down, leaving plenty of space between you, trying to be respectful.

You resituated on the sofa, adjusting your robe, and Euijoo gave you a quick scan.

"You're ovulating," he suddenly said.

Your eyes widened. "How the hell could you know that?"

"I smell it."

You looked away from him, because that fire in his gaze and the way his voice dropped made another vicious pulse of desire race through you. Your walls clenched on nothing, making you think back to a time when you were completely filled by him.

Euijoo growled under his breath, "Fuck, you're so fucking sensitive right now, aren't you?"

You opened your mouth to tell him to fuck right off, but the words didn't come out. He was right. It was why you'd taken a hot bath and walked around in your robe. Your breasts and your sex were hurting, overly sensitive with hormones. A dull ache had taken residence between your thighs.

Euijoo's pupils dilated. You didn't need to say anything, he could feel it. He was reading your body like a book. Inching a little closer, he asked, "Can I please eat you out?"

Well, you weren't expecting that. "Euijoo...," you started.

"Please, baby. I swear I'll leave you the fuck alone after."

Somehow you knew that wasn't true, and the thought of him leaving made you bristle. Your mind instantly locked onto the image of his head between your legs, your fingers in his fluffy hair, your toes curling as you came.

"It hurts," you told him in a small voice.

Euijoo was at attention when he heard that, his whole body stiffening. He was prepared to get on his knees and beg for a chance to fix that. "Let me make you feel better," he whispered, his voice low again.

You wanted that. Hell, you more than deserved it after what he'd put you through, and Euijoo knew that too. Your heart was beginning to race, thumping in your ears. You turned to face him and leaned back against the arm of the sofa, loosening your robe enough to make it part and reveal the heaven between your thighs to him.

Euijoo's eyes went straight to your pussy, sensing that she was swollen and pulsing, needy for his touch and his cum. Crimson swept across his already flushed cheeks and he immediately lowered himself between your legs, steered your knees over his shoulders and pressed a kiss to your perfect cunt.

You whimpered and grabbed onto his hair, arching into his mouth. Something lit itself like fire through your veins and you couldn't describe it. Euijoo's tongue in your pussy made you forget your words.

"Fuck," Euijoo groaned, his breath hot on your folds, licking and sucking like his life depended on it. Your body was so responsive to his touch, seeking him out and trembling. Euijoo sank his fingers into your fleshy thighs and ate you out hungrily.

A loud moan left you and you gripped his hair tighter, trying to slow him down. Euijoo acted like he didn't have time to work you carefully to the edge as he used to; he was out to ruin you this time, wanting you to come all over his face as fast as you could. Your walls clenched and your stomach tightened, and you wiggled under him, clamping your legs on his head, much to Euijoo's delight.

Euijoo shook his head. You tasted so good. He was obsessed with how wet you were, imagining how easily his cock would sink in, how hard your pussy would grip him when he pumped you full of his load. His dick was hard as a rock, twitching every time you moaned.

"Euijoo..., I'm gonna come," you whimpered, writhing on the couch.

In the next second, two long fingers slipped into your entrance and curled inside, finding your sweet spot immediately and dragging against it just as Euijoo sucked on your clit with a vengeance. His other hand teased over your waist before grabbing your breast, kneading before his fingers rolled and pinched your nipple.

Euijoo almost came when you did, your cries of pleasure filling the room, your cunt bouncing into his face, your walls pulsing on his fingers. He lapped up your release, the perfect scent of your slick filling Euijoo's nose and making his pupils dilate completely to black. A very wolfish growl left his throat, a shiver crashing through his body at having prepped his mate so well.

With a whine, you went limp, your hands tangled painfully in Euijoo's hair. You also realized just how tightly your thighs were clamped on his head, having lost control of your body in the orgasm. You stared up at the ceiling, your vision blurry, and imagined Euijoo impaling you on his cock.

And then you thought about him filling you with his cum. His heat and fever were rubbing off on you, because you'd never wanted to be stuffed full of his seed this badly before. Your body was screaming for it.

Euijoo sat up, steering your legs around his waist gently, and wiped his mouth, his eyes never leaving your glistening cunt. His body shook with restraint; he wanted to fuck you, but he knew that wouldn't be fair. Not with the current state of your relationship.

"Breed me," you whispered breathlessly.

Euijoo groaned and shook his head. "No."

If you only knew how violently he was fighting himself. His wolf side demanded he breed his mate. You alone were meant to carry on his bloodline.

"Yes," you growled, grabbing him and yanking him down to you, smashing your lips on his and tasting your ecstasy on his tongue.

Between hungry, messy kisses, Euijoo said, "You left me."

You braced both hands on his chest and pushed him back, snapping, "You never showed up in the first place."

Euijoo gawked down at you in disbelief. His beautiful face tensed with sadness. "Is that how I made you feel?"

You met his eyes, searching them and finding only sincerity, and you nodded.

Euijoo breathed out your name like it pained him. "I'm so sorry."

"Make it up to me now."

He shook his head again. "Doing this won't fix us," he told you gently.

Your eyes twinkled with unshed tears, staring up at him in worship. Your wolf boy, the love of your life, the person you wanted to live and die beside, Euijoo was the one. There was no doubt in your mind. Maybe leaving was exactly what he needed to come to the same conclusion you had.

"I don't want to wait every night for you to come home to me," you confessed. "I want you in the daylight too. I'm not saying we have to spend every minute together, but I felt like... I only got whatever time you had left over."

Euijoo tensed even more and he couldn't stop the tear that rolled down his cheek. "I didn't know that hurt you so much," he said softly, wounded. "I guess... they need me. I had to take care of them. I thought you didn't need me."

"I don't need you, Euijoo. I want you. I've never wanted anyone else. I want to be with you. I want to travel with you and go on dates with you. I want to laugh and cry with you. I want... to have babies with you."

"I want that too. All of it," Euijoo sighed, his voice the weakest you'd ever heard. He sounded the way he always did after you rode the soul out of him. And he wasn't even inside you yet.

You brushed your fingers over his cheek, wiping away the tears. You smiled up at your sweet, gentle wolf boy, then you brought him down slowly for a kiss that put all the others to shame.

Euijoo let you lead him, kissing you desperately as you locked your arms and legs around him until he lowered all of his weight on you. His hard cock rubbed against your folds and began coating his length in your slick. You dragged your fingers down his back and used your legs to draw him toward you.

When he finally pressed inside you, you held onto him for dear life, finding purchase in his shoulders, and cried out his name, making Euijoo moan into your mouth. He kissed you again as he buried himself to the hilt, and said, "I love you."

"I love you too."

Euijoo canted back and stroked in, meeting his lips to yours to swallow the sounds he was stealing out of you. He moved like silk, but still so hard.

"I'm gonna fill you up," Euijoo growled, his pace never falling out of rhythm. "Gonna put my baby in you."

And he did, over and over. The first time you felt him swell and release inside you, euphoria washed over you in waves and you cried out his name until you were hoarse. Your mate took you again on the floor, on your hands and knees, his grip on your waist merciless as he painted your walls with his seed.

Eventually, the two of you collapsed in a tangled mess into your bed and Euijoo dragged you underneath him once more, but you didn't want that. You pushed at his chest and sat up, straddling his lap and sinking down on him, fisting his hair when he buried his face in your neck and kissed madly over your racing pulse.

You rode him and he rolled his hips to meet you, a wet slap echoing through the room. Something animalistic and wild came over you, to the point the only thought in your head was to fuck another load out of him. It didn't matter that you could feel his cum already deep inside you where it belonged, you wanted more.

Euijoo growled and swore, a rough edge to his voice, something inhuman. He held onto you desperately, staring at you like you were the only person that existed in the world with him, and panted, "You're so fucking perfect."

"I know," you retorted, the fever and heat getting to your head. No woman would ever see him like this. Neither could they ever get this passion out of him. This man was yours, and you'd kill anyone that tried to take him from you again.

Chuckling at your attitude, Euijoo sucked at your neck, hissing through his teeth at the tight grip of your cunt. A few more strokes and you were going to drain him dry. Again.

You fucked him harder and faster, and said, "Come," and his body obeyed instantly. Euijoo let out a pained groan, grabbed your waist, and pushed you beneath him, snapping his cock into you mercilessly. You howled his name as he drove you over the edge, his whines pitching higher as he filled you again, your vision going white and your ears ringing. Pleasure rocked you from head to toe, making your breath seize in your lungs.

This was the one. You knew it would take root. Your body shook and then everything went black.

Euijoo's voice was gentle but insistent as he coaxed you back to him. You blinked, his pretty face coming into focus above you. The first thing you noticed was how human he looked, his cheeks flushed and his eyes wide. His skin glistened with sweat, his hair damp with it too.

"Are you okay?" Euijoo asked worriedly, still propped over you.

You swallowed to wet your throat, slowly getting control back of your body. You could feel his cock stuck inside you, just like all the times before, and you were very aware of how hard you both were panting. You felt like you'd just run a marathon, but you'd never left the bed.

"You blacked out," Euijoo said, searching your face. He was desperate for you to say something, terrified that his wolf half had pushed you too far.

Taking a deep breath, you let it out slowly and reached for his arms, grounding yourself back to earth. "I'm alright," you finally said, and Euijoo visibly relaxed. "That was... intense."

Euijoo dropped his head, sighing in relief. He pressed an affectionate kiss right over your beating heart and then looked up at you, his eyes twinkling.

You felt heat flush through your body, but you knew you were spent, and you asked bashfully, "What do you think - did we make a baby?"

Euijoo chuckled. "The way we went at it... maybe more than one."

That got a little laugh out of you, and you felt the tension break. You smiled up at him. "Promise me we'll make this work."

"I promise," Euijoo replied without hesitation, leaning in and kissing you softly. He kept pressing his lips to yours tenderly until you both drifted off, the morning sun beginning to peek through the curtains.

[astroyosei]

✿ JAY'S IDEAL TYPE BASED ON ASTRO

　　 my opinion! (requested)

《 No, I don't know him personally, consider this fanmade & just for fun. Also in astro not necessarily all the planets say the same, can oppose each other, just like people themselves. Included every possibility that came to my mind. 》

CANCER MOON

(☾ MOON – what he finds cozy, comfortable, familiar, innermost, calming, homely, safe, private, (motherly))

someone who feels home to him, cozy, safe and trustworthy, someone he can let his guards down with naturally, someone homely, motherly, cute, with a big heart & big tits, nostalgic, sentimental, very sensitive, intuitive, empathetic, high emotional intelligence, wants to help people, extra feminine, someone who makes him want to nurture & take care of them and someone who will nurture & take care of him, reminds him of home, someone from his homeland, someone who stimulates his homemaking side, someone he can cling to & someone who'll cling on him too, someone dependent on him and needs him, lovely, probably loves (and wants) kids, introverted, shy, reserved but very kind, probably cooks really well, someone who needs to be protected (by only him), lets him take the lead, extra loyal, plans for the long run, plans for the future, daydream of a future together, someone family- oriented, seems weaker than him, but curvy, soft and cozy

TAURUS VENUS

(♀ VENUS – what he finds attractive, beautiful, charming, magnetic, arousing, irresistible. classic 'what type of girl he likes' planet)

very practical, down to earth, rational and lively, they usually prefer the slower side of things, patient, reliable and sure, a good listener, loves comfort & luxury, will never betray you, loves money & material posessions, beautiful, radiant, attractive- looking, earthy glow, thinks things through, loves to plan out things, longs for a quiet & peaceful life, changes disturb them, traditional, homely, probably longs for marriage & having a family, loves skincare & pampering themselves, takes great care of hygiene, picky, loves good smells & fragrances, sensual, thoughtful, mature, try to be a good person, the mom friend, loves animals, loves to be kind & nurture their loves ones, probably creative, have an artistic vein, family- oriented & respects the elders, can be chubby & have dimples and freckles

LEO JUNO

(⚵ JUNO – can mean two things: either the way he acts like in a relationship, or the kind of person he the most compatible with on the long run)

someone with a big heart, dramatic, grand gestures, exxxtra, probably very creative and loud, bold, confident, queen type, queen bee, popular, well- liked & admired, even well- known, someone who loves spotlight & attention, also attracts attention, magnetic, sexual, awakens his sexual side from the get- go, someone who seems like a challenge, good in bed, extremely good- looking, photogenic, someone who loves themselves, egotistical, narcissistic even, cheeky, flirty, sultry, seductive, dominant, leads him, shows off, rich, loves fashion & self- expression, not shy, motivates him, challenges him, very loyal, supports him, cheers him up, optimist, sees the opportunity and seizes it, someone who'll treat him as a king, and someone he can treat as a queen, adventurous, courageous, a hedonist, an artist, someone inspiring, sporty, fit, (naturally) muscular, loves working out, have a good physique, knows a lot of people & have precious, valuable, beneficial connections

Dividers were made by me!

© Text all rights reserved to astroyosei, don't repost, translate and copy.

[hsnlv]

nerd bestfriend!jake teaching you how to squirt… with his dick :)

a/n: uhm, im not back. but this shit is too good to not share😞

>>>>>>>>>>

“okay, so—fuck—” jake hisses, glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose, fogged up from sweat, “so the, uh, the anterior vaginal wall is—shit—right here.”

he adjusts his grip on your thighs, pushing them up so your knees press to your chest, your pussy stretched wide around him, flushed and dripping. he’s buried deep, almost too deep, but you can’t think, can barely breathe, your hands fisting the sheets as you stare up at him.

he’s panting, face red, brows furrowed behind his glasses as he tries to keep himself from moving, trying to keep the “lesson” under control, but his cock keeps twitching inside you.

“j-jake,” you whimper, trying to move your hips, but he pins you down, glaring.

“stop, i’m teaching,” he snaps, but his voice is high, strained, as he tries to regain composure, pushing his glasses up with one trembling finger.

“a-anyway,” he continues, clearing his throat, “the g-spot is around two inches in, towards the belly button, and—fuck—when you stimulate it with the right pressure and rhythm—”

he shifts, pulling back slightly before rolling his hips forward, grinding against that spot, making your eyes roll back.

“you—ah, you feel that?” he stutters, his breath hitching, “th-that’s the—fuck, that’s the spot.”

your hands fly to his forearms, nails digging in, your body arching, “oh my god, jake—”

“and when you keep stimulating it, the skene’s glands—” he gasps as he thrusts again, “can cause—f-fuck—expulsion of fluid, which is—squirting—”

his voice cracks on the last word, his hips stuttering forward, cock dragging against your sweet spot again and again, your cunt fluttering around him.

“you’re clenching—shit, baby, you’re clenching too hard,” he moans, loud, glasses sliding down again as sweat drips onto your chest.

“jake, please, please—” you whine, tears pricking your eyes, your thighs shaking violently.

“s-shit, i’m—i’m trying to teach, okay?” he whines, loud and embarrassingly needy, “you just—fuck! you feel too good, it’s—so hard to—fuck!”

his hips snap forward harder, faster, despite himself, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he tries to keep talking.

“n-need consistent pressure—like this—” he pants, grinding his cock deep, making you sob, “and—ah—angle towards the belly button, right there, right—fuck, right there—”

your vision blurs, a tight coil snapping as you scream, your body locking up before a sudden gush of liquid spills out around his cock, soaking his thighs, the sheets, everything.

“holy shit—holy fuck—” jake chokes out, hips jerking, cock twitching inside you as he pulls out fast, wrapping his hand around himself.

he strokes himself frantically, eyes wide behind his fogged glasses as he cums, thick ropes spilling over your pussy, your stomach, some of it dripping onto your folds, warm and messy.

“s-sorry, fuck, sorry, you just—” he whines, shivering as his cum leaks between your thighs, “you just feel too—fuck! too good.”

you’re both panting, your body still shaking, your pussy still leaking from your first squirt, your skin sticky with his cum and your own mess.

he looks down at you, cheeks flushed, hair a sweaty mess, glasses crooked, before letting out a soft, breathless laugh.

“so, uh,” he says, clearing his throat as he pushes his glasses up again, “that’s… how you squirt.”

you smack his arm weakly, but you’re laughing, tears slipping down your cheeks, your heart pounding, your body warm, your best friend looking at you like you just gave him a reason to live.

©️all rights reserved | hsnlv | 2025

[avtrns]

LOVE ME HARDER — L. HS

─── if you really need me, you gotta love me harder ⋆˚꩜｡ OR where you and heeseung have always been best friends, so when things turn into friends-with-benefits, neither of you talk about it. but once you start giving attention to another man, he realizes he's losing what he needed most.

pairing: best friends with benefit!heeseung x f!reader

content + warnings: friends-with-benefits, she falls first but he falls harder, smut, angst, porn with plot what's new, not proofread, switch!heeseung, switch!reader, drunk sex, kitchen sex, oral (both receiving), riding, unprotected p in v (wrap it before you tap it), fingering, angry and jealous sex mhmm, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, face riding, thigh fucking, nipple play, use of "good girl" - let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 8.1k / 8,167

bea speaks! when this is how i continue to cope... dada come back pls pls

.✦ ݁˖

"H—Heeseung," you moan as your hand pushes him closer to where you need him most.

He gently swats your hand away, giving you a teasing smirk before pressing soft, lingering kisses along your inner thigh to avoid your heated core.

"I thought you were supposed to be enjoying yourself," he murmurs against your skin, but then rises to engulf you in a kiss again. You can taste the soju on his tongue, reminding you of how you got here in the first place.

Heeseung pulls away, reading your face like he knows something is up.

"You're overthinking again, aren't you?"

"No, keep going," you reassure, kissing him once more before he smirks and leaves a hot trail of open-mouth kisses down your chest, stopping above your core. With half-lidded eyes, you watch as he slowly gives in, his tongue sliding slowly up your center, deliberate and wet.

He doesn't rush. Your hips jerk with every lick when his hands hold you down with a firm grip every time you try to buck.

You close your eyes, letting yourself melt against him, but suddenly your mind snaps back to reality.

We're literally best friends. We were just drinking, and now he's tasting me.

Your heart starts hammering, and your cheeks heat up despite the way Heeseung is currently flicking his tongue at your bud, your senses heightened. His lips move with lazy precision entirely focused on you as if this is the most natural thing in the world.

Does he even realize? you think, a mix of thrill and panic flowing through you. You want to stop him and say something because of the lines you just crossed, but the feeling of him keeps your words lodged somewhere in your throat.

Before your thoughts can go any further, Heeseung suddenly pulls back, his hands sliding down your sides.

"Your eyes were closed for too long," he murmurs, then shifts to stand between your legs. The couch sinks as he sits next to you, pulling you onto his lap. He adjusts you, positioning you so that you're straddling him.

His eyes meet yours, filled with a mix of amusement and desire. "You don't even know how much I wanted this," he murmurs, low and rough, and before you can even respond he's pulling you into a heated kiss.

It's not gentle. Not teasing. It's teeth and tongue, the kind of urgency that makes your head spin.

"I want you to watch this time. No closing your eyes, no drifting off into your own world. Watch me."

Heeseung's hands move down to grip your ass, encouraging you to grind against his hard length trapped in his boxers. The sudden friction makes you gasp in his mouth, a string of saliva connecting your lips as you pull away.

He smirks and leans back slightly, letting his head fall against the couch. He looks up at you through his lashes, hands still guiding you. As you continue to grind against him, he slowly starts to pull his boxers down to reveal his hard length. He wraps a hand around it, pumping it as he looks up at you.

"Come here," he whispers, using his free hand to guide you over so you're hovering over him. "Sit on it."

You hold onto one of his shoulders as you position yourself over his cock, the tip brushing your entrance. He doesn't push you down but let you feel how hard he is.

"I want you to sink down slowly," he instructs softly, thumbs massaging your hips. You both look down, watching as you lower yourself onto him inch by inch. Heeseung groans, eyes rolling back for just a second before snapping back up to meet yours.

"Fuck—that's it," he breathes, one hand sliding up to grip your waist as the other tangles in your hair and tilt your head back. "Bounce on it for me."

You nod, moving quicker. As a nod of approval, he leans back and lets you have full control. His eyes drop to watch where you two connect, his thick cock disappearing inside you slowly with each bounce.

"You're so fucking pretty like this."

The sudden praise makes you ride harder, quicker—anything to get him to finish quicker. His expression darkens as you pick up the pace, your breasts bouncing in his face. A low groan escapes him as he wraps both arms around your waist and pulls you down harder onto his cock with each thrust.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck..."

He leans forward, sucking your nipple into his mouth as he hits that perfect spot inside of you. You whimper loudly, your breath heaving with every bounce.

"I'm gonna come inside you if you keep riding me like that," he warns.. He thrusts, meeting you halfway; they become erratic as he starts getting close to his high.

A pornographic moan leaves your lips as one of his hands slips between your bodies to rub your clit in rough circles. The knot inside of you becomes tighter, getting you closer to reaching your high.

Heeseung's head falls back, exposing sweat dripping down his neck and you feel his cock twitching inside of you. With a loud grown, he buries himself deep inside you and comes hard, streams of hot cum filling you up. His fingers work furiously on your clit until you're crying out your own release, convulsing around his cock.

He stays buried inside you, breathing heavily. Slowly, he presses a soft kiss to your neck, then another to your shoulder.

"Still overthinking?"

The next morning, the sunlight hits your face. You blink again slowly and start to become aware of the warmth beneath you—and the fact that Heeseung's arms are wrapped around you. Naked. On your couch.

You brain fires in every direction at once. Heeseung groans, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

"Morning," he mutters, voice hoarse.

You sit up quickly, covering yourself with a throw blanket, and your eyes land on the coffee table. Empty soju bottles. Scattered shot glasses.

Your heart drops.

Heeseung finally sits up too, running a hand through his messy hair.

"I think... we got too carried away last night," he admits, smirking despite the hangover. You groan, burying your face in your hands. "We can't—we will never talk about this ever again. Promise?"

Heeseung leans back casually. "Promise. But, I mean, I enjoyed it. And I know you did too."

Your eyes snap up at him. "What?"

He chuckles, leaning closer. "I'm just being honest."

A few days have passed since the couch incident. Things have been quieter than usual, but you're not sure if it was because of pure embarrassment, or because you both enjoyed it way more than you could admit.

Heeseung [7:04 PM]: Hey. Need some help decorating for Jungwon's birthday party tomorrow. Come over?

You roll your eyes despite knowing you'd say yes anyway.

You [7:05 PM]: Fine. But don't be weird.

When you arrive at his apartment, it smells faintly of leftover take out he probably had before you arrived. Heeseung's already surrounded by decorations with a banner in his hand, giving you a ridiculous "I'm in charge" grin as you walk towards him.

"Perfect timing," he says, pointing to the scattered streamers and balloons. "I need someone to, y'know, make sure I don't fuck this up."

You start to unpack the decorations to lay them out, but every so often, Heeseung would lean close to show you a certain placement or to ask your opinion on something else. Every time he gets close, your chest does a little jump that you can't control.

By the time the last balloon is in place and the balloons are hanging evenly, you both collapse onto the couch, exhausted. Heeseung stretches out beside you, arm draped lazily over the backrest as you sink into the couch with a long sigh.

"Why did you choose to host it here again? It's going to be a pain taking all of this down," you complain.

He shrugs, giving you a smile—a "you're-helping-me-clean-up" smile.

You shake your head and look away to hide the blush on your cheeks. As you sit there, you try to shove every memory of that night aside, but it's impossible. The feeling of him beneath you, his hands gripping your hips, the low groans, the way he looked at you. The way he said "you don't even know how much I wanted this."

Heeseung shifts beside you, his knees brushing yours. "You thinking about... that?"

Your head shoots back to look at him, cheeks flushed. He leans in closer, enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off of him. Before you can process it, his lips are on yours.

It's sudden and desperate, the kind that drags every thought out of your mind. Your hands tangle in his hair; his arms pull you flush against him. The couch creaks beneath you, a reminder of all the things you've been pretending to ignore.

When you finally break for air, you let out a shaken sigh. "We can't keep doing this," you whisper, although the tremor in your voice betrays just how badly you want to.

Heeseung smirks against your lips. "Who said anything about stopping?"

You stand up and try to run to the bathroom, but Heeseung was quicker, his hand catching your wrist to stop you. He turns you around and takes a step closer, his free hand reaching to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

"You didn't complain when you were riding my cock. Not a single word. Now you want to change the rules?"

Your lips part to say something, but nothing escapes from between them. Heeseung noticed it.

"So unless you're seriously telling me you don't want this anymore," his hand slowly creeps under your shirt, holding your waist. "I'm going to keep doing exactly what we both want."

Without letting another second pass, you pull him in for a kiss, tongues clashing immediately. His arms wrap around you, pulling you flush against his body as he deepens the kiss, walking you backwards until you hit the wall. He lifts you up, your legs wrapping around his waist automatically.

He breaks the kiss to leave open-mouthed kisses down your neck. A soft moan escapes your lips, already feeling a familiar wetness pool in between your legs.

Heeseung groans against your neck as he brings you to his bedroom, the familiar smell of his cologne filling the room. Within seconds, you're falling onto his bed as he follows, gently pressing his weight against you.

His hand grips your thigh, spreading them open as his other hand easily slides under your skirt, fingers hooking onto your panties. He looks at you with a sly smirk on his face, seeing the wet mark from your flowing juices.

Before you could react, he pushes two fingers inside you, pumping slowly. You clench around his fingers, the feeling already making you see stars. You're too far gone at this point to tell him to stop.

He curls his fingers upward, hitting that spot inside you that makes your vision blur. When you start to grind on his fingers, he pulls his fingers out with a wet pop, bringing them to his mouth to suck them clean while keeping eye contact.

"Taste so fucking good," he murmurs, voice thick with lust. Wanting to take control, he lets you push him down easily, switching positions. He spreads his arms out to the sides, giving you full access as your lips attach to his neck, leaving a faint mark. A soft grunt escapes his lips when you suck lightly on his pulse point.

His hands fist the sheets beside him as you continue your trail downwards, slowly unbuttoning his shirt. When you finally finish unbuttoning him, the sight of his toned abs and chest almost makes you fold, finishing right then and there.

Heeseung's chest rises and falls rapidly with each breath. He's completely at your mercy right now, laying there as he waits for you to continue. His hand reaches up to grab your wrists gently when you don't move.

"Keep going," he whispers, begging almost.

You lean down to leave a gentle kiss on his lips as your hand trails down his chest, stopping right at his belt. He shivers slightly when your cold hand brushes against his abdomen, tongue sliding against yours slow.

There's a small whimper in the back of your throat when you feel him get harder against your palm, twitching with every rub. He breaks the kiss to watch you toy with him.

"Go ahead," he breathes, lifting his hips slightly off the bed. Just as your hand begins to trail lower again, Heeseung's lips part, eyes half-lidded, completely lost in you.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!

He freezes, a strangled groan leaving him as his hips twitch uselessly against your hand.

"Ignore it. Probably the delivery dude," he murmurs, half-laughing.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!

Then you hear it. It's Jake's voice form outside the door.

"Yo, Heeseung! I know you're home!"

Heeseung groans, burying his face in the pillow, frustrated beyond belief. You bite back a laugh, squeezing his thigh tightly. He grits his teeth, hand gripping the sheets clearly torn between finishing this and answering the door. His cock twitches against your palm as you teasingly continue the job.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" he mutters, voice mixed with frustration and lust.

"Maybe a little," you tease, leaning down to kiss the corner of his mouth before pulling back. "But you should go answer it before he gets too suspicious."

He groans again. "Motherfucker."

Heeseung drags himself off the bed, telling you to wait here. You watch as he readjusts his pants, not caring for his unbuttoned shirt.

As soon as he opens the door, Jake's voice booms through. "Bro, took you long enough."

"Dude... I was shitting. The takeout did a number on me."

Jake blinks, then snorts. "Of course it did. Anyway, I just needed to drop off the cake for Jungwon's birthday tomorrow."

After a few moments, Heeseung returns with Jake on his way back home. You chuckle and shake your head when he falls onto the bed, disappointment flowing through his veins.

"Ugh... I was so close too," he mutters, mentally taking notes on how to take Jake down for cockblocking. You arch an eyebrow, a mischevious smirk playing on your lips.

"Who said we have to stop?" you tease, mimicking his voice from last time. He immediately shot up, eyes narrowing playfully, and then his lips are on yours again.

The next day, you find yourself walking up to Heeseung's apartment, a mix of nerves and anticipation twisting in your stomach. You keep telling yourself to keep composure; only you and Heeseung knows.

By the time you knock, your hands are slightly sweaty, and your heart is pounding. Heeseung opens the door immediately, grinning like nothing happened.

"Hey, you're late."

"Yeah... traffic," you lie smoothly, forcing a casual smile as he gives you a knowing look. Heeseung steps aside, letting you pass, but not before he brushes against your side slowly.

"Glad you finally showed up," he says lowly, almost caging you in to the wall. You thank that there was a small closet across the front door so the others couldn't see behind the wall.

You roll your eyes and take a deep breath before taking a step past Heeseung, trying to throw away the butterflies in your stomach. The living room is alive with chatter, music, and laughter.

Everyone turns towards you as you walk in.

"Hey! You're here!" Jungwon calls, his energy to the max. You grin and wave, wishing him a happy birthday as you step closer.

His eyes sparkle. "I want you to meet my friend Riki," he says, gesturing toward a tall guy leaning casually against the kitchen counter. RIki steps forward, extending his hand, but there's something in his eyes that makes your chest tighten unexpectedly.

You shake his hand, forcing a polite smile. "Nice to meet you."

Out of the corner of your eye, Heeseung shifts slightly, his expression tightening just enough that you notice. After a flicker of something—jealousy, maybe?—crosses his features, he smooths back into his usual grin when Jake approaches him.

The night flows on, and you find yourself laughing more than you expected. Having a conversation with Riki was easy. He's funny, sharp, and easy to talk to. Before you know it, you're completely absorbed in getting to know him.

"So... you're really good at keeping up with Jungwon but still look well, put together," he says, nodding towards Jungwon.

You laughter lightly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "Thanks. I've some practice surviving being around him," you reply, smiling genuinely.

Riki leans a little closer, lowering his voice so only you can hear over the music. "I bet you're even more fun when you're not trying to be polite," he teases, his eyes glinting with mischief.

You feel your cheeks warm up, caught off guard by his comment. When you look away from shyness, you catch Heeseung leaning against the wall over Riki's shoulder. His arms are crossed, watching you like a hawk, his jaw slightly tight.

Heeseung pushes off the wall and starts walking toward you. Riki notices too as his gaze follows your line of vision, and his grin falters when Heeseung gets closer.

"Hey," Heeseung says casually, "mind if I steal her for a second?"

Riki raises an eyebrow, stepping back with a shrug as he realizes the unspoken rules. "Uh... sure, I guess," he says carefully before walking away.

Heeseung smirks at you, nodding his head toward the hallway. "Bathroom?"

You laugh softly, heart racing. "Yeah, but not for too long."

The door clicks shut behind you, shutting out the noise of the party. The small bathroom suddenly feels too small, just the two of you and the quiet hum of the ventilation fan.

Heeseung presses you gently against the counter, his body just close enough to remind you of last night. His hands rest on either side of you, trapping you with that familiar heat.

"You know," he starts, "I didn't like seeing you so... entertained by someone else."

You bite your lip, heart racing. "I wasn't..." you trail off, the words catching in your throat when he leans in, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

He lets out a low chuckle, seeing the flush rising in your cheeks. "Relax," he says, voice teasing, but there's an edge of something darker. "I just want my attention."

You can feel the tension radiating off him, and it’s making your pulse spike. The familiar pull you feel toward him is almost painful.

You laugh nervously, leaning into him. "I thought you were busy with the party. You're the host after all."

He tilts his head, lips brushing your temple. "The party's fine," he mumbles. "I can handle it. But you need to stop teasing me like that."

The way he says it low, is rough, loaded with unspoken frustration. You realize he’s not just teasing; he’s trying not to admit something.

Your breath hitches when his hand slides along your waist, trailing down to toy with the hem of your dress.

"I'm not doing anything," you insist, though your voice is shakier than you want.

Heeseung leans closer, pressing a kiss just below your ear. "Uh-huh," he says. "Sure you're not."

His lips brush against your skin again, and your thoughts spin: you shouldn’t want this, but your body betrays you with every brush and sigh.

His eyes darken as he finally leans in, brushing his lips against yours in a slow kiss. At first, it’s gentle, testing the waters, but there’s a tension under it like he’s holding back, fighting the pull he can’t deny.

Your hands instinctively find their way to his chest, tugging him closer as his tongue brushes lightly against yours. Teasing, that familiar mix of urgency and control that makes your heart race.

Just as the kiss grows more heated, a loud laugh from the living room breaks the trance. Heeseung groans softly, pulling back with an annoyed expression.

"Shit... not now," he mutters, pecking your lips once more before stepping back.

You step out of the bathroom side by side, adjusting your dress as Heeseung follows behind. The loudness of the party washes over you, but the heat between you two hasn’t cooled yet.

As you walk back into the living room, Jungwon waves you over, clearly still buzzing with excitement. "Finally! I thought you disappeared!" he laughs.

It feels like centuries have passed since you last saw Heeseung. Something inside you ached for him, but you remind yourself he’s only your best friend.

You scroll through your phone with hesitation before typing a quick message.

You [4:56 PM]: Hey, you busy tonight?

Almost immediately, his reply pops up.

Heeseung [4:56 PM]: Not tonight. Have a date with Mei.

Your chest tightens, a little pang of disappointment twisting inside you. You stare at the screen, biting your lip. Part of you wants to hate him for being calm, for acting like it’s nothing, but another part—your selfish, frustrated part—wants him to fight for you.

You [5:01 PM]: Oh, okay. Have fun then!

Heeseung replies with a winky face emoji. You can feel your shoulders slump despite yourself, wishing for a spark of jealousy from him, just a hint that you mattered more than you’re pretending.

A few hours pass as you watch movies to occupy your brain. While cleaning up the snacks, your phone buzzes.

Heeseung [9:31 PM]: Done with the date. Come over?

Your heart leaps before your brain can protest. The answer is obvious.

When the door opens, Heeseung doesn’t hesitate to pull you in, pressing you flush against the door as his lips immediately find yours. He kisses you sloppily, desperate, hands gripping your waist tightly enough to bruise. There’s a sharp edge in his urgency, like he’s trying to claim what’s his before it’s too late.

You pull back slightly, needing air. You catch a whiff of floral perfume on his neck; not yours. Something foreign. Yet, his hands grip onto you like you’ll leave if he loosens his hold.

"Looks like you already had your fun with Mei," you reply, slowly pulling away further from him.

"Don’t," he warns immediately, voice low, pleading, but his body contradicts the words, grinding against you as if needing to erase the space between you.

Heeseung continues, "That was nothing. Just dinner. We didn’t—"

He kisses you again, harder, like he can erase the evidence that easily.

"You taste better."

He pulls back, jaw clenched, eyes conflicted. You see the struggle in his expression: the fight between reason and want, between denial and need.

"You know what this is. We’re only friends having fun," he breathes.

Hearing him say it knocks the wind out of you, but your mind drifts when he lifts your shirt over your head without waiting for a response. Your heart races and not just for the touch, but because he’s exposing a vulnerability you didn’t expect him to show.

He tosses your shirt aside before his mouth latches onto your neck, sucking hard in a spot that makes your knees weak.

“Heeseung…” you murmur, voice trembling, both from desire and from the tension you feel between the two of you.

His hands are rough as he unclasps your bra, kneading your breasts while leaving a soft trail of kisses along your collarbone. He looks at you like you’re the only person in the world, and you realize you’ve never wanted someone like this, like you want him right now.

"Bedroom," he growls, and you follow.

Before he even closes the door, he grabs your hand, holding it against his chest. “You know,” he murmurs, voice low and intimate, “I don’t like doing it with anyone else. Even if it’s just a date… I don’t like it.”

You glance up at him, heart hammering. “I’m not yours,” you whisper, but the words feel hollow even as you say them.

Heeseung smirks, a dangerous, knowing smirk. “Not yet,” he corrects, his hand sliding down to your waist, pulling you flush against him. “But you will be.”

Your legs tremble as he pushes you onto the bed, climbing on top. The familiar smell of his cologne, mixed with the faint scent of that floral perfume still lingering on his skin, makes your head spin. You can feel him pressing closer, his hands tracing the curves of your body as if memorizing them all over again.

Heeseung’s fingers hook under your panties, sliding them down with a teasing pull.

“God, I’ve wanted this so badly,” he breathes, lips brushing against your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

He positions himself between your legs, sliding in slowly. The warmth, the pressure—everything about him is familiar, yet every touch feels electric.

“During the date…” he groans, hips pressing in, “I couldn’t stop thinking about this. About you. About me.”

Your chest tightens at his words, a mix of guilt and desire.

“You… should’ve told me,” you murmur, voice catching.

Heeseung’s thrusts slow.

“And ruin the fun of making you want me even more? Never.” His lips find yours in a hungry, desperate kiss, teeth and tongue colliding.

Your hands clutch his shoulders as he moves with a perfect rhythm, eyes locked on yours the entire time. “You’re mine,” he whispers between kisses.

You moan, breath hitching, your body responding before your brain can even protest. “Heeseung… I—”

Your fingers dig into the sheets as he sets a steady, urgent pace, each thrust hitting deeper than the last.

“I can’t… I can’t hold back anymore,” he groans, voice ragged, eyes darkened with need. “I need you so badly.”

You tremble, nails digging into his back, body aching as you ride the wave of his intensity. “I need you too,” you admit breathlessly, finally letting yourself give in to what you’ve wanted all along.

The next time you see Heeseung, it's under completely different circumstances. The air is cooler than you expected, a soft breeze brushing past as you walk beside him. Your hands are tucked into your sleeves, trying to seem casual but your chest is too full of nerves to pretend.

"So," you start, trying to sound casual, "Riki and I are going out this weekend."

Heeseung stops mid-step, his body stiffening just enough to catch your attention.

"Like, Jungwon's friend? You're serious?" His eyes flick to yours, sharp and guarded.

You shrug. "Yeah. Why?"

He lets out a low scoff and shakes his head, kicking at a small rock on the path, jaw tight, voice quieter now. "I don't know. I just think—" He cuts himself off, exhaling sharply.

"You can do better."

There it is. You almost laugh, but it comes out softer than expected. You glance at him, noticing how he’s clenching his fists at his sides, the veins in his neck standing out slightly.

"You keep saying that," you reply, but he only responds with a shrug.

"Because it’s true." Heeseung keeps walking, but there’s a hesitation in his step, like he’s debating whether to continue or turn back.

You stop walking. He notices immediately, turning back slightly, eyes narrowing. You can see the conflict in his expression—anger, jealousy, something deeper he’s trying to hide.

"What?"

You tilt your head, studying him. "Better how?"

He opens his mouth—then closes it again. "I just mean..." he starts, running a hand through his hair, suddenly restless. "You don't have to settle."

"Settle?" Your brow furrows, a mix of curiosity and amusement.

He finally looks at you, and the pause stretches out long enough that your heart starts to hammer. "For Riki?"

His eyes search yours, just for a second, as if he’s hoping you’ll change your mind without him having to say more.

The way his expression shifts is all the answer you need. You knew what he was thinking, yet you wanted to hear him say it to you like he does whenever you're underneath him.

You step closer. "Is it because you don’t like the idea of me going out with someone else?"

Heeseung shifts uncomfortably, brushing his shoulder against yours almost by accident, and then quickly pulls back, like he doesn’t want to admit it. "It’s not like that."

"Then what?"

"You're joking," he says, letting out a disbelieving laugh, but there’s tension in his shoulders, in the way he fidgets with the cuff of his sleeve.

You don’t laugh.

You see the flicker of something deeper crossing his face, but instead of stepping forward, he takes a step back, shaking his head. His eyes drop to the path, avoiding yours, and his jaw tightens as if holding back more than words.

"You don't mean that," he mutters under his breath. "You're just—"

"What?" you press.

"Confused," he finishes, quieter now. "This thing between us... it's not—"

He gestures vaguely between the two of you like he can’t even say it properly. "It's really not that serious," he chuckles, but the corners of his mouth twitch as if he’s holding back irritation—or something worse.

There it is. The distance he keeps forcing between you. Your stomach flips, but you nod slowly, forcing yourself to match his tone.

"Right," you say. "Not that serious."

He looks back at you, and for a split second, his eyes soften before hardening again, betraying a flicker of regret.

Then he moves past you, resuming his walk, but you don’t miss how he stays rooted a second too long, like part of him wants to turn back. Your fingers twitch, almost reaching out, but you stop yourself.

The weekend arrives, and you find yourself sitting across from Riki at a small café. He’s animated, telling a story about Jungwon’s last mishap at a karaoke bar, and you laugh genuinely, but every time you do, your mind flashes to Heeseung’s smirk, the way his lips curl when he teases you, the memory of last time's heat and desperate kisses.

“So… you’re laughing a lot,” Riki teases, reaching across the table to tap your hand. “Do I get points for making you smile?”

You force a smile, nodding. “Yeah… you’re pretty funny.” But in the back of your mind, you can’t stop thinking about how Heeseung makes you laugh without even trying, how just his presence can make your chest feel tight.

The date continues—walking through the park, Riki’s hand brushing against yours once or twice. Your fingers twitch instinctively at the thought of Heeseung’s hands on you, the way he held you so close, so possessively, that it burned into your memory.

Riki leans closer, lowering his voice. “I’ve been meaning to ask… what do you like in a guy?”

You freeze slightly, caught off guard. Your heart skips because you automatically think of Heeseung, not Riki—the way he teases you, the rough kisses, the familiar heat.

“I… uh…” you trail off, chewing your lip, trying to focus. “I guess… someone confident. Someone who knows what they want.”

Riki smiles, oblivious to the fact that every fiber of your being thinks about Heeseung at that very moment. You imagine Heeseung saying the exact same words, leaning closer, voice low and rough, eyes dark. The comparison makes your stomach flutter and your chest ache all at once.

Later, the two of you sit in Riki’s car when he's dropping you off, the engine idling as rain begins to patter lightly against the windows. Somewhere along the way, he turned towards you, closing the distance, lips brushing yours in a soft, tentative kiss.

You respond, because it’s Riki—but your mind immediately drifts to Heeseung: the way he kisses like he’s claiming you, the rough urgency, the teasing murmurs, the way he made your body react without hesitation.

Riki moves his hand to the back of your neck, and you can feel his warmth, his closeness, but you can’t stop thinking of Heeseung’s hands sliding down your sides, gripping your hips, and the flutter in your stomach is impossible to ignore.

The kiss deepens, Riki leaning into you, but your thoughts betray you. You imagine Heeseung’s lips on your neck, his teeth grazing your pulse, the moans you could barely hold back in the quiet of his apartment.

You pull slightly back, blinking at him. “Sorry… I—uh… we should slow down.”

Riki frowns, a little disappointed but nods. You clear your throat and give him one last, soft kiss before bidding your goodbyes with him.

As you opened the door to your apartment, you checked your phone, seeing it was already almost midnight. The notifications flooded in and one caught your eye.

Heeseung [Missed Call 9:07 PM]

Your heart skips a beat. You weren't sure if it was an accident, or because he knew you were going out with Riki today.

You [12:02 AM]: Hey sorry I missed your call

Heeseung [12:02 AM]: Thought I'd check in. How was your date?

Your fingers froze on the keyboard. Even the way he texts, asking about the date with Riki made you want to throw up.

You [12:04 AM]: It was fine. He's a nice guy.

Heeseung [12:04 AM]: Fine? Not great or fun?

You bite your lip, remembering Riki’s lips on yours in the car, but every time you try to focus, your mind betrays you. You see Heeseung—his hands gripping your hips, his voice low and rough, his lips claiming yours.

You [12:05 AM]: I just didn't want to rush things with him so... it was fine.

Heeseung [12:06 AM]: Had to make sure you weren't thinking about me

Your chest tightens. Of course he knows. He always knows. You stare at the screen, heart hammering, fingers hovering over the keyboard.

You [12:07 AM]: Maybe… a little.

Heeseung [12:08 AM]: A little? That doesn’t sound like you.

You feel a flush creeping up your neck. Even while kissing Riki, even while holding his hand in the car, it had all felt wrong because it wasn’t Heeseung. You can’t stop thinking about his lips, his urgency, the way he made your body react without hesitation.

You [12:10 AM]: Okay… fine. It was you I was thinking about.

The screen goes quiet for a moment. You hold your breath, heart thumping like it might burst. Then his reply comes, short but heavy.

Heeseung [12:11 AM]: Figures.

Figures.

Just one word, and yet it makes your stomach flutter and ache all at once. He’s there in your mind, in every thought, and now he’s here through the screen, igniting everything you’ve been trying to push aside.

You [12:12 AM]: Do you wanna come over?

Heeseung [12:13 AM]: Yeah. Already on my way.

You drop your phone on the counter, rushing to the kitchen to find a drink to distract yourself. Within minutes, you hear the familiar knock.

You open the door, and there he is: Heeseung, a little rumpled, hair messy from the night air, expression cautious, unreadable but his eyes flick to yours the second you step inside.

“Hey,” he says softly.

“Hey,” you reply, forcing a smile.

Heeseung steps inside, taking off his jacket. You fall into step beside him as he moves toward the kitchen, the small space forcing you to walk shoulder to shoulder. The air is thick with awkwardness, neither of you saying a word, yet every brush of his arm against yours sends a jolt through your body.

Heeseung leans against the counter, his body angled just enough that you’re trapped in a quiet corner of the kitchen.

“So… Riki,” he finally says, voice low, calm but there’s a sharp edge you can’t ignore.

Of course he’s going there.

“Yeah…” you start, shrugging, trying to play it casual. But then, without thinking, you launch into all the little details.

“He’s so kind and caring. And he knows exactly how to make me laugh. And he brought me these stupid little chocolates…” You keep talking, gesturing with your hands, caught up in the memories.

Heeseung shifts slightly closer, the space between you shrinking, his body pressing almost right against yours as he leans on the counter. You notice the jaw tightening, the slight darkening of his eyes with every word.

You keep going, oblivious, or maybe too aware.

“And when we were in the car, he… he kissed me. And it wasn’t just a kiss. It was like he really wanted me, y’know? And I couldn’t stop smiling because it felt—"

Before you could finish, Heeseung's hand shoots up to cup your cheek, tilting your head slowly as his lips crash onto yours. Your eyes widen, but you melt into the kiss.

His body presses flush against yours, leaving no space, no room for anything, or anyone else. His hands move to your waist, pulling you impossibly closer as his lips demand yours, urgent and raw.

You try to pull back, just a little, but his forehead rests against yours, his breath hot, his eyes dark with something fierce, something he can’t stand hearing anymore.

“You…” he breathes against your lips, voice rough. “I cannot bear you talking about him.”

Your heart stutters, caught between shock, want, and that undeniable pull toward him. Every protest dies in your throat as he deepens the kiss, as if to erase every thought of Riki from your mind.

His lips are demanding against yours, tongue pushing past your lips to silence anything else you had to say. You can feel his hands trembling softly as they cup your face, almost like he was too scared to even touch you.

"Don't," he pants, "Don't go back to him."

His hand tangles in your hair knowing you love when he does that. His lips find yours again as he lifts you up on the counter, standing between your legs. You can feel the heat pooling between them, but your mind was too clouded to think any further.

Heeseung breaks the kiss into a trail of hot, wet kisses down your neck until he reaches your collarbone, not stopping because he has you right he wants you.

He pops open your jeans and pull them down, letting them drop to the floor.

"I can't stand the thought of him kissing you."

His voice breaks slightly as he runs his hands over your bare hips, then pulls you flush against him so you can feel him hard against your stomach.

"Only I get to kiss you like that," he breathes, "Only I get to touch you. Only I get to—"

You interrupt him, pulling him back down by his shirt, attaching your lips to his. His hand slides down between your thighs, palming your pussy over your panties. He grinds his palm, making you gasp.

Before you can protest, he pushes your panties aside and slips two fingers inside you, making you cry out against his mouth. Your hands fly back to hold yourself up on the counter as you feel him pump his fingers faster, curling to hit the spot.

His thumb rubs against your clit while he mutters against your lips, "I'll make you forget him, I swear."

He adds a third finger, pumping into you hard and fast, angry at the idea of Riki's hands ever laying on you. His tongue thrusts into your mouth in the same rhythm as his fingers, hungry for you.

You moan into him as fingers slow down, then fully pull them out to show you your slick on his fingers. He smirks, rubbing your clit once more.

"Heeseung, don't tease," you whimper, body twitching at his touch. He leans down to bite on your neck. You push him away, climbing off the counter and turning him to lean against the counter.

"What are you doing?" he asks, but you ignore him and bend down, hands already undoing his belt. His hips jerk, breath hitching as he watches you sink down to your knees, eyes never leaving his. His hands fly to the counter's edge, knuckles turning white.

"You don't have to..." It sounds like a warning, but he doesn't stop you.

Once his pants are down, his cock releases with precum already leaking at the tip. He continues to babble about wanting to only please you, but he immediately shuts up when you leave a soft kitten lick against his mushroom tip.

You take him in your mouth slowly, feeling him hit the back of your throat. His whole body tenses, a broken moan escaping his lip. His hands slide into your hair, not pushing, just holding you there.

"That's— you don't have to—" his protest dies as you hollow your cheeks and suck. "Shit."

He lets you set the pace, hands trembling in your hair. He tried to look down, but he almost finishes inside your mouth when he saw the way your eyes were watering, your eyes glistening as you looked up at him.

You bob your head, taking him deeper each time, swallowing around him. He's moaning your name like a prayer, hips twitching with every blow. When you pull off to take a breath, he holds your head still from going back.

"I want to come inside you."

He helps you get to your feet, his hands already all over you like before. He looks at you like he's done something wrong, like you deserved better than whatever this was.

"I want to take care of you."

Heeseung cups your face, thumbs wiping the corners of your lips softly. It was such a contrast to how he just fucked your mouth. You look at him for another second, admiring his flushed face. Grabbing his hand, you drag him to your bedroom.

You push him onto the bed, straddling his hips and grinding against him. His face contorts with pleasure, but that comes to a halt when he holds you down, stopping you.

He grips your thighs, moving you up to sit on his stomach.

"Sit on my face, baby," he says, the phrase coming out as a command. You hesitate, and he can tell, but you shift forward and position your core over his face. His tongue is already lathering your juices before you could react.

Even though he's gone down on you a million times already, this position felt different. The pleasure easily overstimulates you.

Your hands fly up to hold onto the headboard as his tongue curls inside of you. His nose bumps against your clit with each thrust of his tongue. You tried to pull away with the stimulation being too overwhelming, but his arms wrap around your thighs to hold you down.

"H—Heeseung... I can't," you moan out, tears streaming down your face. His mouth is completely covered by you, muffling the dirty sounds of slurping as he tongue-fucks you mercilessly.

One hand slides back to squeeze your ass, pushing you further up his face. The sudden push made his nose harshly rub against your clit, making you moan and fall forward as you catch yourself against the headboard.

His thumbs spread your lower lips apart. "Ride my tongue."

You start to move on his face, grinding against his tongue as he looks at you. He groans loudly, the vibrations making you whimper. He sucks hard on your clit, his free hand moving to play with your breasts, pinching and pulling at your nipples.

"Cum on my face," he murmurs underneath you.

The pleasure was overwhelming, all your senses clouded with nothing but Heeseung's tongue. His tongue curled inside of you while his thumb quickly rubbed your clit.

You start to move faster, chasing your orgasm as he continues to eat you out relentlessly. When he bites down lightly on your clit, you feel the wave wash over you, your body twitching as your cum all over his face.

He doesn't stop, though. He continues to drink you even as you shake through your orgasm. His tongue keeps lapping at you, making sure he got every last drop.

"I can't anymore," you beg. When you finally come down from your second high, he kisses your inner thigh softly, pulling you down to his chest. As you lay there, Heeseung's cock presses against your thighs. His cock is already hard and leaking, ready to be inside you.

His hands start to roam your body possessively, squeezing your ass and pulling you closer to his erection.

"See what you do to me? I already got you off twice and I'm still rock hard," he shifts his hips, making his cock slide between your thighs.

When you whimper at the contact, he rolls you onto your back gently but firmly, settling between your legs. His eyes fall down to your core, puffy and swollen, glistening with a mix of his saliva and your cum.

His cock presses against your entrance, already slick from sliding it through your folds. He leans down to kiss you as he starts to push inside slowly.

You let out a quiet moan, feeling the way he stretched you out perfectly. He breaks from the kiss to watch himself slide into you inch by inch. His eyes roll back at how good you feel, your walls still fluttering from earlier.

When he fully bottoms out, he lets out a shuddering breath. He pauses for a moment to let you adjust to his size. Once he feels you relax around him, he begins to move slowly, pulling out almost all the way before sliding back in.

His thrusts are deep and steady, hitting that spot that makes your toes curl, moaning for more. He captures your mouth again, swallowing your sweet sounds as he picks up the pace. His arms rest on the sides of your head as your hands hold onto his bicep.

The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room along with your muffled cries. His thumb finds your sensitive clit, rubbing rough circles as he pounds into you. The angle changes as he sits up completely, hitting that spot dead-on with every thrust.

"You wanna ride me? Be my good girl and ride me," he says in between breaths, pulling out completely. He rolls onto his back and pulls you on top of him. You don't hesitate to immediately straddle him and sink down onto his thick cock.

He groans at the sight of you bouncing on his dick, tits bouncing with each movement. His hands slide up to squeeze your breast as you continue to grind him, fingers pinching your nipples.

"Heeseung, I'm so close," you cry out, hands flying to his shoulders as an anchor as he sits up, capturing your nipple in his mouth. His hand reaches between you, pinching your clit, knowing it would have you coming undone in any second.

He feels you getting tighter around him, your movements becoming jerky and desperate. He releases his lips from your nipples and captures your mouth in a messy kiss, swallowing your whimpers as he thrusts from below. You can feel the way his tip kisses your cervix, one second away from seeing white.

Your pussy starts to clench around him, your breathing becoming rigid against his lips. He thrusts up hard, holding you against him when your walls flutter, your head falling forward to rest on his shoulder while you orgasm. Your orgasm triggers his own release as you feel streams of hot cum shoot along your walls, his hands squeezing your ass as he finishes inside you.

Heeseung, still heavy inside you, groans softly as your breathing starts to settle. You stay pressed together, letting the aftershocks ripple through your bodies.

You pull back slightly, resting your forehead against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of him beneath you.

Heeseung shifts so you’re both lying on your sides, his arm draping over your waist, fingers lightly tracing your back.

“Fuck… you’re incredible,” he murmurs, voice low and rough, but softer now, like he’s letting himself feel something more than lust. You hum in response, heart still racing, chest pressed to his.

A quiet pause lingers, the kind of silence that makes the world shrink to just the two of you. Heeseung’s thumb brushes over your hip repeatedly, like he’s testing the waters for what he wants to say.

“I—” he starts, hesitating, swallowing thickly. “I don’t… I can’t exactly say this, but… I think I might… like—love you. A lot.”

He immediately looks away, pretending it’s casual, but the tension in his jaw and the slight tremor in his voice betray him.

You lift your head, brushing your fingers across his cheek.

He leans into your touch, eyes closing briefly as if drawing strength from you. Then, he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, holding you close.

“Just… don’t leave,” he murmurs, half-laughing, half-serious, and you can feel in the quiet of the room that he means it more than he’s willing to admit.

.✦ ݁˖

© avtrns 2026 | please do not copy, repost, or translate my work

[minhosimthings]

Killshot, Baby! || 18+

Synopsis: Who better to comfort you after your heart break over an unrequited love that your best friend, Euijoo? And who better to take your virginity as well?

Pairing: best friend Euijoo x fem!reader

Warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI, p in v, unprotected sex (not for you), oral (f receiving), fingering, virginity loss (f), corruption kink, dom!euijoo, sub!reader, big dih euijoo my beloved, SIZE KINK, a bit of dumbification?, pervert euijoo, panty sniffing yay, masturbation (m), reader is ultra feminine and lowkey dumb asf i would be too for euijoo, euijoo lowkey toxic af but we love him, Nicholas slander sorry bby i love you, not proofread gomenesai

A/N: anon deserves head for requesting this I FUCKING LOVE THIS FIC best thing i've put out till date no i will not take any arguments. legit got the worst writer's block on this but the power of byun euijoo's cheeks coursed through my clit and i finished it. Panty sniffer euijoo is something I never thought I'd be turned on by but hey here we are my pussy is ready to be bred euijoo. As always, enjoy, my sweethearts!

Word Count: 12.9k (romance babes romance)

Your friends knew, your brother knew, the grocery store cashier knew, the milky way and her children knew. Practically the entire universe knew of your crush on Wang Yixiang. 

So it was one of two options: either he was dumb as fuck or you just weren’t his type. 

Yeah, there was no way it would be the second option.

As pathetic and disappointing to feminism as it seemed, you had somewhat molded yourself to fit his type. Maybe not his type exactly, but at least a version that could talk to him as easily as the cicadas talked to the morning. The type that could slap his arm playfully when he made a joke and giggle a giggle that would sound like cherry coke. The type that wore baggy jeans and layered belts, just like him. The type that wasn't a quiet, withdrawn bitch that didn't talk to anybody, wrapped in her own ribbons and lace. The type that would be loud.

So when the day died out and you came back home, exhausted from your fictitious persona, you found solace in the one person that knew the true you.

“You look ridiculous with that on.” Euijoo chuckled, watching you wipe away your dark eyeliner—something you barely wore, “I’m surprised he didn't ask if you’re possessed, love." 

“Shut up.” You said, glancing at him in the vanity mirror. He was leaning back against the headboard of your bed, one arm thrown over his head lazily, while the other went back to scrolling on his phone, “And he did compliment me today, you absolute dick.” 

“You call that a compliment?” Euijoo laughed, throwing his phone down and sitting up, looking at your concentrated face in the mirror removing your makeup. Cute, Euijoo thought. His eyes briefly went down to your thighs in your shorts and then up, thankfully you didn't notice.

Byun Euijoo was a man of many talents. Confessing to his best friend who he had been thirsting over (and masturbating to the image of) ever since last summer was not one of them. 

In his defence however……ok he had no defense. Other than the fact that you were the most angelic person he had ever laid his eyes on. And god bless his heart (and dick), the poor boy had had a crush on you since 11th grade.

He knew it would be like all those books you read, the ones in which the guy is whole heartedly, heart-poundingly, cock-crushingly in love with the female lead, who ends up with somebody else. The second male lead syndrome, as you called it, passionately declaring that you would always love the second male lead more.

Euijoo wanted to stand in front of you with a spray painted sign that read “I am your IRL second male lead.”

What on earth did Yixiang even have that he didn't? Apart from the bad-boy look, the beautifully dyed blonde hair, the piercings, the tattoos that he designed himself, the motorbike, the cool sneakers, the–

Euijoo was beginning to see why.

He hadn't noticed it at first, though in hindsight to him now, it was scathingly obvious. The way you asked about Yixiang like nobody else mattered, the way you laughed a little harder at his very unfunny jokes, the way you lingered just a second too long when he was near, the way your voice softened when you said his name. Euijoo used to be the only one who’d hear that sweet tone of yours. 

When you had first confided in him about your earth shattering obsession for Yixiang, he wanted to laugh. You two were polar opposites, oil and water. Of course, opposites do attract but you needed to have a common base first—and there were barely any similarities between you two. You guys didn’t even like the same genre of music! 

And then when he brought it up, you only laughed (your pretty little laugh) and told him about your plan. Authenticity be fucked, he recalled you saying, all you needed to do was get Yixiang interested. Euijoo would have been lying if he said he didn't feel a bit sorry for you. 

If he knew anything about Yixiang, he knew that he wasn’t the type to fall for girls like you. Honey-sweet girls, pale blue ribbons in your hair, starry eyes that looked up at him in a way that made him want to drop to his knees and worship. Honey sweet girls who lived in the clouds and in words, who couldn't handle the emotions that came with being heart-broken. 

Euijoo knew you could protect yourself, that you were a woman with a fully functioning brain, but he also couldn't bear the image of you sobbing your heart out the day Yixiang eventually rejected you. He knew he couldn't predict the future and there could be a sliver of a chance for the both of you—but in his humble, knowledgeable opinion, that sliver was smaller than his will to live. 

But deep inside, he wanted Yixiang to reject you. He wanted so badly for you to come home to him as you always did, for you to sit down on his bed and ask with those pretty pink lips to have him hold you in his arms as you cried into his chest. It scared him sometimes how badly he wanted such a cruel thing. 

But could he really be blamed? When you fit so beautifully in his arms like you were made for his solace alone, like you two were matching puzzle pieces? When he was the only one who knew the deepest, darkest parts of you? When he was the one who had always been there, through desert and storm? Euijoo was a man of many philosophies. At least ninety percent of them revolved around you.

“You coming to Yixiang’s party on the 14th?” You asked, crawling up the bed to reach him, sitting on your knees in front of him. Your shorts barely covered your thighs, a strap of your camisole was slipping off of your shoulder and you were looking at him like he held the world in his arms. How was a man supposed to survive?

“Maybe.” Euijoo hummed, tossing his phone to the side and patting the space beside him, which you quickly occupied, immediately curling into his chest.

You stayed like that for a while, neither of you saying a word, just staring off into space as time ticked away. Euijoo wanted this moment to last forever, just the two of you pressed together like the stars pressed against the dark sky, one of your legs thrown across his, your tits very visible to him as you rested your head on his chest. 

“What’s that pretty little head thinking about, hmm love?” He said soothingly, running his slender fingers through your hair. He felt you exhale shakily against him.

“I think…” You started, then you sat up, turning around to face him again, “I’m gonna tell him in two days.” Euijoo stared at you blankly for about ten seconds, as if trying to get your words to penetrate his mind, “Oh don’t look at me like that Ju.” You chuckled, looking down at your fiddling fingers, “If not now, when?” 

Euijoo kept staring, with that peculiar look in his eyes that you just couldn't figure out. That look in his eyes that always looked like a night sky enveloping a thunderstorm. You told him that once and he had laughed awkwardly, excusing himself to go get a bottle of water. 

“In two days?” Euijoo said at last, sitting up to lean his back against the headboard, “At the party?” His voice was quieter than usual, as you nodded meekly, “I see…”

“That’s all you have to say?” You tilted your head at him, playfully reaching out a hand to grab his chin and tilt his face around, “Who are you and what have you done to my best friend?” 

Euijoo’s soft smile didn't quite reach his eyes as he took your hand in his, rubbing circles over your wrist with his thumb. He stared at your joined hands for a while, his breath even and steady as he refused to meet your gaze. 

“Ju?” You said gently, “Ju, what is it?” You slowly brought your joined hands up, resting your cheek in his palm. Oh this girl, Euijoo thought, letting out a shuddered breath as he saw how you were looking at him. He tried hard not to let his gaze flicker down.

“It’s nothing, love.” He said, his tone tranquil, “I just….” A breath, “Are you sure? Like a hundred percent sure?” He laughed at your offended expression, shifting closer, “I don’t want anything bad to happen to you love, that’s it.”

“Bad?” You said, with a curious tint in your voice, “Why would anything bad happen?” 

Because Yixiang doesn't like you. 

Euijoo wanted to scream it out, cradle your face in his hands and tell you those five magical words. He didn’t care if it hurt you even more than whatever Yixiang would say; he didn’t care if this one fuck up got him barred from hearing your angelic voice ever again. 

But like all men, he held his tongue.

“It’s probably nothing, I’m just worrying too much.” Euijoo laughed, settling down again, holding out his hand to pull you back for cuddles, “You know how I am, don’t you?”

“That I do.” You giggled, happily going back to your cuddling position, “We can get ready together on the 14th and I can show you what I got for Yixiang.” 

“Of course, love.” Euijoo hummed, closing his eyes to allow his mind a second of peace. Which he failed to attain, his mind sending him the most outrageous scenarios ever of the events that would transpire tomorrow.

How slowly the night did fall today.

______________

“Teach me how to kiss.” 

Byun Euijoo’s cause of death would have been asphyxiation if you didn't slap him on the back to push the popcorn lodged in his throat out.

“Is this because I said your scarves are ugly.” Euijoo said, rubbing his chest as he put the popcorn bowl down to avoid any more accidents, “Is this my karma?” 

“You’re so dramatic.” You said, pausing the show on the tv and turning to face him on the couch. You took both his hands in yours and stared at him with a seriousness that could have rivalled a professor’s, “I need you to teach me how to kiss so that I don’t fuck it up with Yixiang.” 

“Are you hearing yourself right now?” Euijoo said, running a hand through his hair, “We don’t even know what Yixiang is gonna say to you.”

“Are you saying you don’t have faith in my plan?” You said, with a pout on your lips, “You don’t trust me, Ju?”

“Of course I trust you but—”

“Then teach me.” Your faces were mere inches apart in seconds, “Teach me how to kiss.” You crossed your arms and looked at him with challenging eyes, “Or do you not love me anymore?”

It's because I love you, you idiot. 

Euijoo sighed, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. What had life even come to? What had he done in the past for the universe to serve him this—the woman he loved asking him to teach her how to kiss—on a silver platter? Euijoo wouldn't have minded if death came for him at that moment.

“Fine.” 

“Really?” You said excitedly, clapping your hands together, “You’re the best Euijoo has anybody told you that.”

“Yeah yeah I know.” Euijoo let out a breathy chuckle. What the actual fuck was he doing? Practically every remaining inch of logic in him was screaming at him to get up and drown himself in a lake, but here he was, breathing in deeply to remind himself how to kiss. He hadn't done it in quite a while—his last casual hookup was perhaps five months ago.

"Alright, first things first. You need to relax." He moved his hands from yours to your shoulders, giving them a gentle squeeze before trailing his touch down your arms. "Tension is said to be the enemy of a good kiss."

“Who says that—”

“Do you want to learn or not?”

You rolled your eyes, nevertheless nodding, feeling your muscles loosen under his ministrations. Euijoo smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners, gaze flickering down to your lips.

“Good, now close your eyes.” He waited until you did, then leaned in close. His breath ghosted over your lips as he spoke softly, “Now just…..picture Yixiang if it makes this easier.”

Euijoo mentally slammed his head against a pole when he heard himself say that. ‘If it makes this easier’, who the fuck even says that?

You cracked a mischievous eye open, trying to keep a smile in, when you saw how close Euijoo was, there was barely any air between you two. 

“Arms on my shoulders.” He said, you felt him shudder a bit when you followed his instructions but that could have been a figment of your imagination. His hand creeped uncertainly to rest on your thigh. Slowly, he leaned in, giving you ample time to pull away. You didn't.

Euijoo tasted like cherry cola, fizzy and electric against your lips, though his lips were soft and warm as they moved on yours like a choreographed dance. You breathed shakily into the kiss and he intertwined his fingers in yours. 

“Slow down, love.” He murmured, not opening his eyes, “We don’t have anywhere to be.” Euijoo's hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin. 

In all honesty, he could have evaporated into the air right there and then. The taste of you drove him insane, sweet—oh so fucking sweet, honey straight from the comb on a spring evening, when the scent of lilacs would fill the air and there would be butterflies everywhere.

In shorter words, Byun Euijoo’s cock was screaming at him to take care of it.

“Hmm, like this?” You mumbled, and then his world came crashing down when you moved forward, practically settling yourself into his lap.

Euijoo swallowed hard, his pulse jumping at the feel of your soft curves settling into his lap. The heat of your body seeped through the fabric of his shorts, making his already throbbing cock twitch with renewed interest. He knew he should put a stop to this before it went too far, but damn if he could find the strength to do so. Not when you felt this good in his arms.

“Yeah.” He pulled back, eyes tracing over, god fuck him you were still looking at him with those innocent eyes, “Just….he might do something like this too.”

His hands slid around to the small of your back, holding you close as he went in for another one, a deeper kiss. His tongue delved past your parted lips to stroke along yours in a sensual dance that left you breathless.

“Oh…” You said, finally ending the kiss after a long moment.

“Not bad for a first timer.” Euijoo teased, “But love, could you maybe get off now?” He raised a brow as you blinked at him, once, twice and then scrambled off his lap.

“Sorry about that.” You laughed awkwardly, “Just felt I should do that for some reason.” 

“I’m sure he’d love it.” Euijoo said, how the actual hell did you not sense the tone of his voice?

“Really?” Your eyes lit up, light and giddy, “Thank you so much Ju!” You flung your arms around him, pulling him in for a tight hug. Euijoo wrapped his arms around your waist, burying his face into the crook of your neck. As he always did, of course. As all best friends do! 

“Wanna play some League?” You said, withdrawing from the hug.

“Sure, love.”

As all best friends fucking do.

__________________

Euijoo leaned back in his gaming chair with a heavy sigh, tossing his headset aside after a late night gaming session. He had left your house at 7 pm, walking back home with barely a brain cell left in him. You had kissed his cheek before he left as you always did, but this time, it inflamed every single molecule that made up his being. He spread his legs wide, throwing his head back to stare at the ceiling. 

The beautiful flesh of your thighs, the curve of your neck where it met your shoulders, that look in your eyes, the taste of you….

Euijoo pushed himself up, walking to his closet. Opening it, he bent down to his knees and reached deep inside, shuffling his hand around till his fingers grazed it. 

He slowly pulled it out and sighed, sitting on his knees on the floor as he stared at it, his cock already straining against his shorts. You must have bought this one on sale, you never really liked it much, which explained why you didn't notice when it went missing from your house. 

Euijoo climbed onto his bed, bringing the pair of baby-pink cotton panties up to his face. He buried his nose into the soft fabric, letting the scent fill his senses. God it smelled exactly like you, so fucking honey sweet. 

Euijoo breathed in deeply, savoring your intoxicating scent that clung to the delicate fabric. His nostrils flared as he inhaled the lingering traces of your perfume and the musk of your arousal. Would you have worn this when you let your pretty little fingers linger to your sweet cunt? The heady aroma sent a jolt of electric desire straight to his throbbing cock, making it pulse with need.

He brought the panties to his mouth, running his tongue along the crotch. The salty-sweet taste burst across his taste buds, making him groan. He closed his eyes, letting the fantasy take hold as he pictured you spread out beneath him, flushed and panting with desire.

In his mind's eye, Euijoo could see every curve of your luscious body, from your gorgeous breasts down to the enticing cleft between your thighs. He ached to bury his face in your slick folds, to lap at your dripping pussy until you were writhing and screaming his name.

As he lost himself in the erotic daydream, Euijoo fumbled with the button of his shorts, shoving them down just enough to free his straining erection. His fingers curled around his thick shaft, giving it a firm stroke as he imagined how good it would feel to drive deep inside your tight heat.

Euijoo shuddered, picturing your breathy moans as he rocked into you, stretching you open on his hard length. He could feel your velvet walls gripping him, trying to milk his cock for all he was worth. He chuckled as he imagined your mouth falling open in an ‘o’, your nails drawing blood on his back.  With each mental thrust, he pumped his hand faster along his pulsing flesh, racing towards his climax.

Tension coiled tight in Euijoo's belly as he fucked into his fist with short, sharp strokes. He could almost hear your keening cries, feel your fingers digging into his shoulders as he pounded into you with desperate abandon. 

With a strangled groan, Euijoo threw his head back as pleasure crashed over him in intense waves. His cock jerked in his grasp as he shuddered through each pulse of his orgasm, picturing your face contorted in ecstasy as you came undone beneath him.

Finally spent, Euijoo collapsed back on the bed, his chest heaving as he gulped down air. He knew it wasn't the real thing, but damn if jerking off to thoughts of you didn't make for one hell of a mind-blowing orgasm. 

“Fuck…” He said softly, tossing the panties below his bed. With a blissful sigh, he let the post-orgasmic haze pull him under into a deep, satiated slumber.

Sweet, honey filled slumber. 

_________________

Euijoo often thought before he acted, a rare quality among human beings nowadays. However, there were rare occasions where he didn’t do that, the keyword being rare.

And today was one of those rare occasions! How fun! 

God damn his cock controlled brain—the version which only operated when he was around you—for saying yes to you asking him to help you pick out a dress for the party. Euijoo dressed casually, just a pair of blue jeans and a yellow shirt that fit him tight at the chest.

You, on the other hand, were throwing out the shortest dresses from the depths of your closet. And Euijoo was only a man.

“This one?” You said, looking up and down at yourself in the mirror, glancing at Euijoo sprawled out on the bed behind you, “Don’t say it looks good, you’ve said the same thing for the last five dresses!”

“Have you ever considered the fact that it's because you look good in all of them?”

“Flattery won’t get you out of this, Byun.” You said, spinning around to face him, “Now look properly and tell me which one!”

Whichever one would keep you here and away from confessing to Yixiang.

Euijoo’s eyes raked up and down, admiring the way the short silver dress hugged every curve of your body, cutting off right at your mid thigh, the thin straps showing off your shoulders beautifully. Thank god his hand was covering his crotch.

“Doesn’t Yixiang wear a lot of red?” Euijoo said, throwing an arm over his head, feigning exhaustion, “I think the velvet one would do.”

“You’re actually a genius.” You said, crossing over to pick up the discarded red dress lying on the floor, calling out to you like gold to a midas, “And stop sulking Ju, you agreed to this on your own volition.”

“I call it manipulation.” Euijoo called out, watching you slip into the bathroom to change. As soon as you were gone, his hand worked on his crotch, slowly palming his cock through the fabric. Hopefully, there weren't any hidden cameras in this room, he thought, glancing suspiciously at your teddy bears sitting on the shelf.

“Ok what do we think?” 

Euijoo needed to dip his head into a bucket of ice water and never come up for air ever again.

The delicate fabric clung to your curves in all the right places, the neckline just low enough to be enticing—a faux vixen’s play. It nipped at your waist before flaring out slightly at the hips. Euijoo’s gaze trailed over your bare shoulders,, a shiver running down his spine as heat flushed through him.

“Hello? Earth to Byun Euijoo.” You laughed, catching your reflection in the mirror, a thrill of excitement running through you at the thought of seeing Yixiang’s eye at the party. You twirled once in front of the full-length mirror, the skirt flaring out around your thighs.

“Y-Yeah. You look good.” He said, clearing his throat, “We should go or we’ll be stuck in traffic again.” He quickly moved off the bed, his jaw clenched, pulse point in his neck fluttering away. 

Byun Euijoo was a man of many talents. Hiding his very large boner perfectly from his best friend was one of them.

___________

Wang Yixiang—resident ‘bad boy’ of the town, prominent motorcyclist, occasional tattoo artist and so much more. He was the kind of guy who could command the attention of a room without breathing a single word, splitting the ocean of a crowd in half wherever he walked in.

Euijoo knew him to be a good person; they had made quick friends after a week of being in the same basketball team. Sure, Yixiang teased the hell out of him, always with that crooked grin and sharp tongue, but there was always something warm beneath it all—a brother he could trust. 

And even when this entire situation with you and him arose, Euijoo never felt any animosity towards him. Was it because he knew deep underneath that Yixiang’s type wasn't you? Perhaps. But he was also too good of a friend to feel anything like that.

However, as he stood in the crowded room now, party lights flashing in bursts of violet, blue and gold across faces known and unknown, Euijoo couldn’t help the slow, ugly coil tightening in his chest.

Jealousy. 

What a foolish emotion that mortals had.

It sat there, heavy and unrelenting, tightening with every second he spent watching you. You stood near the edge of the living room, just far enough from the chaos to not be swallowed by it completely.

The party itself felt alive in a way that was almost overwhelming—music blasting loud enough to blur thought, bass vibrating through the floor and up his spine. The walls pulsed with shifting lights, casting everyone in flashes of color that made moments feel fragmented, like scenes spliced together too quickly. Someone had opened the windows, but the air was still thick—warm with bodies, laughter, the faint sting of alcohol, and the lingering sweetness of someone’s perfume.

And Euijoo could still pick you out from the chaos effortlessly. And you looked—

He swallowed.

He shouldn't have recommended that dress, if he knew it would make him want to faint and die every time he caught sight of your thighs.The soft fabric of your dress caught the light every time you moved, your hair falling just right over your shoulders. 

You laughed at something your friend said, tilting your head slightly, eyes crinkling at the corners—but even that laugh felt distracted, like it didn’t fully belong to the moment. Your fingers traced the rim of your cup absentmindedly, your weight shifting from one foot to the other, like you were waiting for something. 

Or someone.

Euijoo leaned back against the wall, a red cup of god knows what held up absentmindedly. He hadn't taken a sip in fifteen minutes now, choosing to alternate his gaze from you to the man you were looking at.

Yixiang stood across the corner of the room, leaning against the wall like he owned the entire world. 

Someone was saying something animatedly to him, hands moving fast, but Yixiang only half-listened, head tipped, one foot braced on the wall, gaze distant. He looked effortlessly put together—leather jacket on a tanktop, hands decorated with rings galore, a lazy kind of confidence that made people orbit him without trying.

Someone said something that made the group laugh, and Yixiang’s lips curved, that small, knowing smirk that made people lean in closer. Euijoo saw it happen in real time—the way your attention slipped mid-conversation, drawn like gravity across the room. It was subtle, anyone else might have missed it. But he never missed anything about you.

Euijoo exhaled sharply through his nose, looking at the way your shoulders eased, the way your lips parted just slightly, the way something warm and hopeful flickered through your eyes. His chest tightened painfully.

Euijoo tipped his head back, glancing at the ceiling before closing his eyes, poking the inner side of his cheek with his tongue. His mind ran back to the way you had rambled about your plan to confess to Yixiang.

“I made this.” You said, a little breathless, like you were both proud and nervous at the same time, “I’m gonna give it to him and the party and then tell him.”

Euijoo stared at the bracelet—handmade, thread woven carefully, colours chosen just perfect, small details that made it feel you. Soft and earnest in a way that made it impossible to ignore.

“He mentioned once,” You continued quickly, like you needed to justify it, “that he likes this kind of stuff. Not, like, in a serious way, just—he said it offhand, but I remembered and I thought—” You stopped yourself, laughing a little, embarrassed, “I don’t know. Is it stupid?”

You sat cross-legged on the bed, sunlight spilling in through the window. It caught in your hair, outlining you like painters outlined their muses in loving, golden light.

“He’d love it.” Euijoo finally said, heart going to his stomach at your sweet smile, “I’m sure he would.”

There had been a moment, small and fragile, where Euijoo could have said something, anything to stop you. But he just nodded away and ruffled your hair.

The memory faded slower than he wanted it to, bleeding back into the present. Euijoo opened his eyes again, the noise of the party crashing back in all at once—music, laughter, voices, light. His gaze found you again.

You were saying something now, animated, your hands moving as you talked, and your friend laughed again. Your attention flickered, split between the conversation and the figure across the room, waiting for the right moment.

Euijoo’s hands curled into loose fists at his sides. He could walk over, say something, distract you, stop this before it happened, maybe threaten arson. But he didn’t move, staying right where he was, swallowing the jealousy burning like hellfire in his throat. He merely watched as you fiddled with the bracelet in your hand, waiting for the remainder of the crowd around Yixiang to disperse.

The crowd didn’t leave all at once. It thinned slowly, like a tide pulling back—one person dragged away by a friend, another distracted by a call, a couple disappearing toward the balcony. The laughter around him dulled, the tight circle loosening until it finally broke apart.

And then he was alone. Well, as alone as someone like Wang Yixiang could be at his own party.

Jackpot!

He still leaned against the wall, a red cup in his hand, head tipped slightly as he looked down at it like he had forgotten it was there. The lights flickered over him in uneven colors, catching on the metal of his rings, tracing the line of his jaw, dipping into the hollow of his collarbone where his tank top hung loose.

For a second, you just stood there watching—entranced by his beauty. Your heart thudded so loudly it almost drowned out the music, your grip tightening around the bracelet in your hand. You could feel the threads press into your palm, grounding and terrifying all at once.

This was it—your moment to be the Echo to his Narcissus. Before you could think too hard, before doubt could creep in and ruin everything—you moved. One step, then another; you weaved through the remaining people, barely registering the way shoulders brushed yours. Because all you could see was him.

And then you were there.

Oh fucking lord here you were.

Close enough to notice the faint scent of something clean and sharp, close enough to see the small details—the faint smudge of ink near his wrist, the way his lashes cast shadows when he blinked. Even the lord couldn't save you now. You adjusted your hair and moved.

“Hey.” You said, voice coming out softer (and shakier) than you intended. Yixiang looked up. For a split second, his expression was unreadable—like he was pulling himself out of wherever his thoughts had been. And then recognition settled in, easy and familiar.

“Oh,” He said, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips, “Hi there.” God he sounded so fucking hot, that effortless shift in his attention once it fully settled on you, “You’re here.”

You huffed out a small, nervous laugh. “Should I not be?”

“Mmhh, Euijoo usually tells me when he brings you along, so I’m just surprised.” He tilted his head, “Nice dress, you look cute.” Your cheeks warmed.

Godpleasefuckingsaveme.

You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, suddenly hyper-aware of everything—your posture, your voice, the way your fingers tightened around the bracelet.

“You too.” You managed, "It's a uhh…a good party.” Who the actual fuck even says that?

“Yeah?” He glanced around briefly, like he was seeing it for the first time. “Bit loud, though.”

“A bit,” You agreed, smiling. There was a beat, not too awkward. You were used to such silences between you and him. 

Yixiang shifted, pushing himself off the wall fully this time. “You want something to drink?” He asked, lifting his cup slightly before glancing at it and making a face. “Actually—don’t take this. I have no idea what this is.”

You laughed, the sound easing some of the tension in your chest. “That doesn’t sound very reassuring.”

“C’mon,” He said, nodding his head toward the kitchen. “I’ll get you something that won’t kill you.”

You hesitated for half a second (could he get his fine ass in your life) and then nodded.

You followed him through the crowd, the space parting for him without effort. It was quieter in the kitchen, the music more muffled, replaced by the low hum of the fridge and the occasional clatter of someone passing through.

Yixiang moved easily, grabbing a bottle from the counter, reaching for a clean cup. “What do you want?” He asked, glancing back at you.

“Um—anything’s fine.”

“Dangerous answer, sweetheart.” He muttered, but there was a hint of amusement in his voice as he poured something anyway, sliding the cup toward you.

“Thanks.” You wrapped your fingers around it, but didn’t drink, mind lingering on the way his veins flexed as he closed the bottle.

Your attention wavered to the bracelet in your other hand. You tried to keep it casual, resting it loosely against your side, but you could feel it like it weighed a hundred pounds.

Say it.

Not yet.

Say it now!

Wait.

Yixiang leaned back against the counter this time, mirroring how he had stood earlier, one hand resting beside him. “You good?” He asked, eyes flicking briefly to your face. “You look like you’re thinking really hard about something.”

“Is it that obvious?” You let out a small breath, laughing nervously. 

“Little bit.” He said and your heart pounded.

Just do it!

“Actually,” you started, your voice catching before you steadied it, “I…..I made something.” His gaze dropped immediately to your hand.

“The thing you’ve been holding onto like your life depends on it?” Yixiang asked, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

You groaned softly. “Please don’t say it like that.”

“Sorry, sorry.” He huffed out a quiet laugh, “Let me see?” Your fingers tightened for just a second before you stepped forward (an unnecessary step) and held it out to him.

Yixiang took it carefully, more careful than you expected, his rings cool against your skin as his fingers brushed yours, your brain almost stopped.

“You made this?” he asked, the teasing edge in his expression softened, something more thoughtful settling in its place as he turned the bracelet slightly between his fingers, tracing the threads, the details.

“Yeah,” you said, suddenly very aware of the distance between you. “I—um—I remembered you said you liked stuff like that, so I thought—”

“It’s nice,” he cut in gently.

Your breath hitched. Tension is the enemy of a good kiss.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He nodded once, still looking at it. “It’s…..really nice.” Relief bloomed in your chest, warm and bright and terrifying all at once.

“This is for me?” he asked, glancing back up at you. You nodded, a small pause. “What’s the occasion?”

And there it was. Your moment of salvation.

Your stomach flipped. Your fingers curled slightly around your cup, grounding yourself as you forced the words past the sudden tightness in your throat.

“I just—” you started, then stopped, letting out a breath. “I wanted to tell you something.”

“Oookay.” Yixiang drawled, expression not changing, “Go on, I’m listening.” You swallowed.

Now.

“I like you,” You said, the words rushing out before you could stop them. “I have for a while, actually, and I just—I wanted you to know. And I thought maybe—” your voice faltered, “—maybe you’d feel the same. Or…..something like that.”

Euijoo once told you a quote that he had made up on a June evening—‘Silence is the food of love’. You had zero idea what he meant by that but you went along anyway, letting him brush a strand of hair behind your ear as you two ate pizza.

This silence was torturous, long enough for your heartbeat to feel unbearably loud. Yixiang blinked once, then looked down at the bracelet again, turning it slowly between his fingers.

And then he laughed. It would have been better if he laughed loudly in a mocking way as he usually did, throwing his head back and practically bellowing. 

But oh the way he laughed now, so softly and gently, as one does to comfort a child who’s had a nightmare. You felt your heart melt in its cage, he laughed so kindly.

“Hey,” He said, stepping a little closer. His hand came up, resting lightly on your shoulder, warm and steady, and somehow, apologetic.

“You’re really sweet,” he said, voice gentler now. “Like—really. This?” he lifted the bracelet slightly, “This is probably one of the nicest things anyone’s done for me.” Your throat tightened. “But…” he continued, and the word felt inevitable.

“I don’t think I’m your guy.”

The sentence landed softly, spoken like a poem. But god it still landed. You forced yourself to hold his gaze. He didnt even look uncomfortable or weirded out, he just looked so fucking calm. And you were drowning in the ocean.

“I’m just—not really looking for anything like that,” he went on, his thumb brushing lightly over the threads of the bracelet. “And even if I was…” he exhaled quietly, a small, almost self-aware smile tugging at his lips, “you’re not really my type.”

It was the fact that he said it so gently, practically cajoling you. He could have, should have, screamed it at you instead, laughed cruel and high and told you to piss off. But he said it like he was comforting you, letting you down easy and then you felt the ocean rise higher.

“I mean that in the best way,” he added quickly, his hand giving your shoulder a small squeeze. “You’re—good. Like, actually good. You deserve someone who’s gonna… I don’t know, not be me.”

All you wanted was him.

“I-” You started, eyes at the floor, your breaths coming a bit too quick, like you couldn't get enough air.

“Are you alright, sweetheart? Should I call Euijoo or—”

“No.” The word came out faster than you intended. You shook your head immediately, stepping back. “I’m fine,” you said quickly, even though it was obvious you weren’t. “I just—need some air.” You didn’t wait for a response, didn’t give him time to say anything else that might make this worse, or kinder, or harder to leave.

You turned and walked out. You made it through the kitchen, past the doorway, back into the chaos of the party. The music slammed into you again, loud and disorienting, lights flashing too bright, people moving too close. It felt suffocating now—every laugh too sharp, every voice too loud.

Your vision blurred at the edges as you pushed through the crowd, murmuring quiet apologies when you bumped into someone, your grip tightening around nothing now—the cup long forgotten somewhere behind you.

Don’t cry.

Don’t cry.

Don’t—

By the time you reached the door, your steps had quickened. By the time you stepped outside, you were running. The cool night air hit you like a shock, sharp against your skin, but it didn’t help. If anything, it made everything worse, made it all feel too real.

Your vision blurred completely now, tears spilling over before you could stop them, breath hitching as you stumbled a few steps forward, arms wrapping around yourself like you could hold everything in.

It hurt.

God it fucking hurt.

__________

Euijoo was known among your circle of friends for being highly perceptive. He somehow knew exactly what someone was going through even before that person could get a word out. He didn't need the other person to say a word—he’d just sit there in silence alongside them, tissues and water in hand, until they were ready to talk or cry.

Euijoo didn’t hear what was said—didn’t need to. He saw the way you moved, too fast, too abrupt, your head down and your shoulders tight. And then you were gone out the door before he could even say anything. 

Euijoo straightened instantly, the cup in his hand abandoned on the nearest surface without a second thought. Something sharp surged through him, cutting clean through everything else as he moved 

“Hey—where are you—” His friend Fuma started, but he was already pushing past, eyes fixed on the door you had disappeared through.

“Euijoo!” A hand caught his arm briefly. He turned, just enough to see Yixiang standing there, brows drawn slightly, gaze flicking toward the door and then back to him.

“Are you—” Yixiang began, an uncertain tone to his voice. His gaze darted toward the door, then back to Euijoo like he was trying to piece something together too late. “Just tell her I’m sorry.” 

The words hung there for a second. Euijoo held his gaze for just a moment longer, something unreadable passing through his eyes. Then he gave a small nod.

“It’s not your fault, Nicho.” He sighed, “She’s just….” He thought about it for a second and then shook his head, looking up at Yixiang with a faint smile, “I’ll tell her.”

Yixiang nodded, hand slipping away from his arm as he disappeared into the party, and for a fraction of a second, Euijoo stayed there. 

Thinking, pondering, wondering……whatever other synonym for his brain sending him thoughts existed. Beneath that anger and ache and every other fucked up emotion tangled within the crevices of his heart, there lay something else. Something he hated himself for. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips, gone almost as soon as it appeared.

You were hurting.

And entirely his to take care of now.

Euijoo turned without another word, pushing through the door and into the cool night air, his eyes already searching for his car. You probably would have ran all the way home—in heels? Sure an unlikely probability but hey, a broken heart is capable of wonderous things.

Truly wonderous things.

________________

“Love?” Euijoo knocked on the door as softly as he could, knuckles barely making a sound against the wood—like anything louder might shatter whatever fragile state you were in on the other side.

For a moment, there was nothing, neither movement nor sound. Just the quiet hum of the night stretching between him and you. He shifted his weight slightly, jaw tightening, resisting the urge to knock again. His hands curled at his sides instead, forcing himself to be patient.

You’d open it. You always did.

A faint sound finally came from inside—shuffling, uneven footsteps and the soft click of the lock. And then the door creaked open.

Euijoo swore he’d never seen anyone this beautiful before. 

Eyes glassy, our cheeks were flushed a deep, aching red, tear tracks visible under the dim porch light. You'd changed out from your dress, wearing an oversized shirt and shorts now. Your hair—usually so carefully done—had fallen loose and messy, strands sticking to your damp skin, framing your face in a way that stole the breath from his lungs. The Goddess of beauty could have stood in front of him and all he’d see was you.

Every piece of you was laid bare in front of him and something in his mind told him to be proud of this fact. Only he could see you like this. So unperfectly perfect.

“Hey,” he said quietly. Your lips parted like you were about to say something—maybe to explain, maybe to brush it off, maybe to tell him you were fine, but nothing came out.

Instead, your face crumpled and that was enough. Euijoo didn’t wait for any more words. He stepped forward gently, one hand coming up instinctively to cradle the side of your head as he pulled you into him, the other wrapping around your shoulders, steady and firm.

“I’ve got you.” He murmured, voice low. “It’s okay, I’m right here, love.”

His sweet voice was all it took.

The tears came again, stronger this time, your body folding into his as a broken sob left your chest, fingers clutching at the fabric of his shirt like it was the only thing holding you up. He held you tighter, one hand smoothing over your hair, slow and repetitive, the other pressed securely against your back as he guided you inside without breaking the hold.

“Come on.” He said softly, nudging the door shut behind him with his foot. “Let’s just sit down, yeah?”

You nodded weakly, though your grip on him didn’t loosen. Euijoo led you to the couch, movements careful, like you might fall apart if he went too fast. He sat first, gently pulling you down with him, guiding you until you were tucked against his side.

He adjusted so you were comfortable, your head resting naturally against his shoulder, his arm wrapping around you properly. Your breaths came uneven, breaking apart into soft, shaky sobs that you tried to stifle but couldn’t quite manage. Your fingers curled into his shirt, holding on like you were afraid he might disappear if you let go.

Euijoo didn’t say anything. He just stayed, one hand moving slowly through your hair, untangling gentle knots, tucking strands away from your face. The other rubbed small, steady circles into your arm with a quiet rhythm.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Euijoo murmured, tilting his head slightly toward yours.

“For not listening to you.” You said, barely lifting your head, “You know….when you said I’m not his type and he’d probably just—”

“Hey, no.” Euijoo said, arm tightening around you like he was physically stopping the thought from going any further. “Don’t do that.” You let out a weak, shaky breath, your fingers curling tighter into his shirt.

“But you were right,” you whispered, voice small, almost embarrassed. “You told me and I still—I still went and—”

“And what?” He cut in softly. There was that familiar soft scolding tone to his voice, “You liked someone,” he continued, a little quieter now. “And you told them. That’s not something you apologize for, love.”

“It feels stupid,” you admitted, your voice cracking again. “I made that bracelet and everything and I just—I really thought—” Your words dissolved into another broken breath. Euijoo’s hand slowed in your hair, his fingers smoothing gently over the strands before resting briefly at the back of your head. 

“It’s not stupid, love.” Euijoo said, after a brief moment of calming silence, “It’s just….life.” You laughed against his shoulder but he continued, “That doesn’t make it stupid,” he said. “It just means he didn’t feel the same.”

“That’s worse.” You mumbled and a quiet exhale left him.

Well wouldn't he know?

“Yeah,” he admitted. “It kind of is.”

“I just—” you swallowed, your voice smaller now, worn out from crying, “I really liked him, Euijoo.”

“I know,” he murmured, oh if only you knew.

“I thought……maybe if I did it right—if I was…” you hesitated, searching for the word, “enough—”

“Hey.”

This time it wasn’t just his voice. His hand shifted from your hair to gently cup the side of your face, guiding you to look up at him. Your eyes met his and you almost gasped at how gentle they were.

“Don’t finish that sentence like that,” he said quietly. There was something different in his expression now, something a little more serious, “You being ‘enough’ has nothing to do with whether he likes you or not.”

Your brows pulled together slightly, like you didn’t quite believe him. Euijoo’s thumb brushed lightly under your eye, catching a tear before it could fall.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, love.” he continued. “You didn’t mess it up. You didn’t say it weird or give the wrong thing or pick the wrong moment.” A small pause. “He just wasn’t the right person to hear it.”

The words settled between you, softly heavy. Your gaze stayed on his for a moment longer than before, like you were trying to find something in them—something steady enough to latch onto and pull yourself up.

“I just…” you exhaled shakily, “I really thought tonight would be different.” Euijoo didn’t interrupt, just watching you, “I even thought…” you let out a small, almost embarrassed laugh, dropping your gaze again, “I thought maybe I’d have my second kiss tonight.”

Byun Euijoo was a man of many talents.

Stopping the blood rushing to his dick at those words was not one of them.

“Your second kiss?” He said, voice somehow very steady. 

“Yeah.” You laughed again, wiping your tears and sniffling, “You were my first, remember?”

Oh.

Right.

Your….first…kiss….

Euijoo went very still, chest tightening at the memory, sweet as honey straight from the comb. He swallowed, staring, just staring at you. You were talking about something else now with shy laughs and not one word was going through his head. All he could see was the fact that he was his sweet girl’s first kiss. 

“I don’t know....” You sighed, not noticing the storm brewing in his gaze, too busy fiddling with your fingers, “Maybe I was overthinking it. Maybe kissing him wouldn't have felt that good.” You shook your head faintly, “You know, like how it felt with you.”

God should have struck Byun Euijoo and his dick-controlled mind down right there and then.

Well at least before he said his next words.

“Would you like to feel like that again?” 

Great job, you horny idiot.

“Mmh?” You said, looking up at him with those widened eyes, “Did you say something Ju?”

God this girl is testing me. Euijoo's jaw clenched, his mind reeling from the image of your lips on anyone else. No, you were his to cherish, to claim in ways that would erase any doubt. He swallowed hard, voice dropping to a low, husky rumble that sent shivers down your spine. 

“I asked—” He leaned closer, half lidded eyes flickering down to your lips and staying there, “—if you’d like to feel like that again, love?”

They say seduction is a delicate art—fragile like a domino, one wrong move and poof! Everything is gone. However, when one’s mind is high under the influence of stupid, stupid human emotions, the domino will stay upright no matter what western wind hits it.

“Only if you want to, love.” Euijoo said, tilting his head with a soft smile, “I just want to make you feel better, you know that right?”

Your eyes widened, cheeks flushing hot as his words sank in. Hesitation flickered through you—nerves twisting in your stomach at the implication—but the trust you'd placed in him, the way he'd always made you feel safe, pulled you under. 

Euijoo was your best friend, of course he’d only want the best for you right? His soft gaze was locked onto you, a gentle anchor in the storm. 

“Yeah….” You nodded slowly, barely a whisper escaping, “Yeah I think I’d like that, Ju.”

Euijoo’s warm smile eased the tension in your chest as he brought a hand up to cup your cheek, running a thumb over the skin. You let out a shaky breath, leaning into his touch without protest.

“Just…..tell me if you want to stop.” 

Before you could respond, he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours.

Yeah, like he was ever going to stop.

It was soft at first, a tender kiss meant to soothe. You hesitated, your shyness making your cheeks flush, but the fucked up emotions bubbling inside you craved the comfort. And something else inside you was starved of this kind of touch. You parted your lips, letting him deepen the kiss, unaware of the drastic effect it was having on your best friend. His mouth moved against yours with affectionate slowness, his tongue slipping in to taste you, coaxing a quiet sigh from your throat.

“Ju….” You said, melting into the kiss, one hand resting on his chest while the other rested on his shoulder.

“Hmm?” Euijoo said, pulling back just enough, his eyes dark, “Do you want to stop, love?” 

In hindsight, you probably should have stopped. You had maybe two cups of shitty alcohol in you and he was your best friend. But for some stupid reason he tasted soooo good. And no one gives up nectar do they?

“Want more.” You said, breathing a bit heavy, eyes flickering down to his plump lips, “Please?”

Byun Euijoo was a dead man as soon as those syllables spilled from your mouth.

“More?” He said, his hand cupping the back of your neck, lips curving into a faint smile. His free arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush, his erection already hardening against your thigh—a thick, insistent bulge that made you gasp. 

“More what, my love?”

My love.

In that moment, Euijoo looked simply divine—the golden light of the lamplight illuminating his soft features, those plush cheeks and those eyes that seemed like deep pools of honey. He always called you ‘love’. He’d never called you his love before though. And some part of you really really liked it.

“Euijoo….” You sighed, feeling the heat rising in your cheeks and other parts of your body, “I want you to kiss me.” His eyes darkened at your response, a small smirk playing on his lips. You giggled, feeling every emotion in the world get to your brain all at once, “I want you to kiss me aaalll over.”  

Now who was Euijoo to deny you? A best friend that behaved like a best friend? Please. 

“As you wish, my love.” 

In an instant, he closed the distance, his large hand cupping the back of your neck as he drew you in. His lips crashed against yours, hungry, tongue slipping past to taste you properly. You melted into the kiss, your frame pressing against his solid chest.

The kiss grew hungrier as you melted into it, your hands clutching at his shirt. Euijoo's fingers threaded through your hair, holding you steady as your tongues danced. He nipped at your bottom lip, drawing a small gasp from you, and you felt the tension in your body start to uncoil. Making out with him felt so intimate and unhurried, pushing everything else—Yixiang, false personas, bracelets—to the edges of your mind and replacing it with the heat building between you.

Euijoo’s hands moved to grip your hips, lifting you up effortlessly. Instinctively, you wrapped your legs around his waist, gasping as sat you down on his lap. It was nothing much—you had sat there multiple times in the past. But you were just friends back then and now you were…..something else. 

"E-Euijoo..." You breathed out, tangling your fingers in his hair as he started to trail kisses along your jawline. His teeth nipped at your earlobe, sending a jolt of pleasure through you.

“Mmhh, you’re such a pretty girl.” Euijoo murmured against your skin, his hands sliding down to grip your ass. “So fucking beautiful.”

He ground his hips against yours, letting you feel just how hard he was. The friction of his erection rubbing against your clothed core had you squirming and mewling, desperate for more.

“Ju I—”

“Let me take care of you, love.” Euijoo pulled back just enough to speak, his forehead resting against yours, breath mingling, “I’ll make it all go away for you.” HIs voice was so very low, like a soft desperate prayer, “Do you trust me?”

You nodded, your heart pounding. Innocence clung to you like a veil—you'd never gone this far, never let anyone touch you like this. The thought of it scared you, made your stomach twist with nerves. But it was Euijoo. And Euijoo would never want to hurt you right?

“Are you sure?” You said, your voice trembling, “What if I don’t…you know—” You swallowed, god the thought of your first time being unsexy as fuck terrified you, “do it right?”

But Euijoo, sweet sweet Euijoo only smiled gently, cupping your face in his hands. His hands were the most familiar thing in the world, and right now, they felt like home.

“There is no right way, baby.” He said, pressing a kiss to your nose, “I’ll go slow alright? Just relax for me, hm?” His words wrapped around you like a blanket, reassuring and warm, easing the fear knotting in your chest.

His hand slid down your side, fingers splaying over your hip, thumb brushing the edge of your shirt. You whimpered, the sound fueling his desire, and he guided you backward toward the couch, laying you down with careful strength.

You looked like the most ethereal thing in the world—the kind of thing poets would write about when they tried to describe beautiful things. The kind of thing the gods would fight over—with your hair splayed all over, chest rising up and down and your flushed cheeks. Pretty, pretty girl.

Euijoo’s hands roamed your body over your clothes at first, tracing your curves until you arched into him. He kissed down your neck, sucking lightly on your skin as he tugged your shirt up and off, exposing your bra. You shivered, feeling exposed yet safe under his gaze.

“Euijoo…” you breathed, fingers tangling in his hair.

He laid you down gently on the couch, his kisses trailing lower, over your stomach, fingers hooking into your shorts and tugging them down along with your panties.  Naked now, vulnerable, you tried to close your thighs, but he nudged them apart with his knee, settling between.

Euijoo hovered over you, his weight a comforting cage as he kissed you again, slower now. His tongue explored your mouth, intoxicating strokes that left you breathless, while his hand ventured to your skin, palm warm against you. You arched into his touch, innocence cracking under the wave of need he ignited.

“So fucking beautiful baby.” He whispered, voice rough. You squirmed beneath him, heat pooling between your legs as he lavished attention on your body, kissing your thigh softly. His eyes darkened with desire as he looked at your bare pussy, already glistening from the make-out session.

God she’s so adorable.

Euijoo leaned down, mouth latching onto one peak, sucking firmly while his thick fingers teased the other, pinching just enough to draw a gasp from you. The size of his hand dwarfed your chest, making every caress feel overwhelmingly possessive. 

You knew what he was going to do—stick those thick, girthy fingers into your wet folds and make you see heaven. You’d read about it so many times, letting your little fingers wander and leave you on the edge of an orgasm but never quite hit that sweet spot. Would your best friend really be able to reach it?

“Love.” Euijoo said, calling your gaze to his, “Just breathe for me, alright? I’ll go slow, I promise.” How sweet he sounded, even as his index finger nudged dangerously high up your inner thigh. The size of his hands made your breath hitch; you were so very untouched and you weren’t sure if they were even going to fit. 

But then he was pushing one finger inside and your back was already arching, your head pressing deeper back into the cushion as your mouth hung open in an ‘o’. The stretch burned slightly as your walls gripped him tight tight tight.

“Fuck you’re tight.” Euijoo swore under his breath, tilting his head at you, eyes full of (faux) sympathy, “You want me to continue baby?” He was fighting a battle with himself not to moan at your already fucked out face, hair sprawled all over, those eyes looking up at him so very drunkenly. 

“Hmmm…” You hummed, “Feel so good Ju….want more, please?” 

Oh you were going to be the death of him.

“Of course, my love.” His touch was electric, making a string of whimpers seep out of your mouth. His eyes went to where he had breached you and Euijoo almost moaned. You were taking his finger so well, he couldn't help but imagine you taking his cock.

You moaned loud, the discomfort fading into bliss, and he added a second finger, scissoring to stretch you wider. The fullness was intense, the girth filling you in a way that bordered on too much, but the pleasure overrode it. 

“Oh oh fuck!” You screamed as he curled his fingers to hit a particular spot that made stars burst behind your eyelids, “Euijoo right there—oh goddd….”

So that was where your clit was. And how easily Euijoo found it, as if he’d been training for this moment his entire life. How funny it was that your best friend knew you so very well.

“Right there?” Euijoo cooed, now rubbing slow circles on your clit with his thumb, his ego was filled to the brim that he’d found her so quick, “You like that, my love?” He thrust them deeper, thumb on your clit, and your orgasm crashed over you easily—body shaking, pussy clenching around his fingers as you cried out his name.

That precipice of pleasure you’d always stood at but never crossed was gone now, and you were floating in the ocean, the waves cradling you to their warmth. You cried out his name like a ballad, body trembling as he coaxed you through it, whispering how good you were for him. 

 As you came down, panting, he withdrew his fingers slowly, bringing them to his mouth to lick them clean. The sight made your core clench again, a fresh wave of heat flooding you. His tongue swirled round his finger like he was licking up nectar. Euijoo watched you with affectionate eyes, leaning down to kiss you, letting you taste yourself.

“See how sweet you are?” He murmured, one hand gripping your thigh open, “I’m just going to do something, and I promise it’ll feel good, okay?” 

You merely nodded, desperate now to feel that wave of pleasure in your chest again. Whatever Euijoo did would feel like heaven and you were up for it wholeheartedly.

Euijoo's gaze locked onto yours, dark with desire, as he slid down your body slowly. His hands parted your thighs wider, making you shiver in anticipation. He settled between your legs like he belonged, his breath ghosting over your sensitive skin, sending sparks racing up your spine.

Without a word, Euijoo dipped his head and pressed his mouth to your pussy, his tongue flicking out to trace a long, firm stroke from your entrance to your clit. The warmth of his tongue contrasted with the lingering ache from your recent orgasm, reigniting the fire in your core. You gasped, hips bucking instinctively toward him, but he held you steady with firm hands on your inner thighs.

"Stay still, love," he murmured against your skin, the vibration of his voice humming through you. 

Then he dove in fully, his lips sealing around your clit, sucking gently at first, drawing it between his teeth with just enough pressure to make your toes curl. His tongue swirled in tight, insistent circles, lapping at the swollen nub with expert precision, as if mapping every nerve ending.

Pleasure built rapidly, a coiling tension in your belly that had you threading your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer. Euijoo groaned in response, the sound muffled as he buried his face deeper, his nose brushing your mound while his tongue delved lower. You tasted like no heaven could ever compare. 

He licked broad stripes along your slit, gathering your arousal on his tongue before plunging it inside you, fucking you with shallow thrusts that mimicked what he needed to do with his currently painfully hard cock. Your breaths came in ragged pants, each lap and suck sending jolts of ecstasy radiating outward. 

"Euijoo... oh! Just like that—oh fuck Ju!" you whimpered, your body arching off the couch. He hummed approval, the vibration intensifying everything, and alternated between sucking your clit hard and flattening his tongue to rub firm, relentless pressure over it.

He was relentless, affectionate in his hunger, one hand sliding up to pinch and roll your nipple while the other kept your thigh pinned. Your pussy throbbed under his assault, walls fluttering as another climax approached, faster and fiercer than the last. 

Euijoo sensed it, redoubling his efforts—tongue flicking rapidly, lips tugging, until you shattered again, crying out as waves of bliss crashed through you, your release coating his chin.

He didn't stop, gentling his touches to guide you through the aftershocks, kissing your inner thighs softly before looking up at you with a satisfied, glistening smile. 

“Taste so perfect, my love.” He said, voice husky, crawling back up to claim your lips in a deep, sharing kiss, “So good for me…” 

“Ju…” You kissed him back, mind already hazy, “Euijoo…..want moreee..” You were whining away your words, not even sure if they were coherent enough. Euijoo only chuckled.

“More?” He said, eyes meeting yours with a spark of deeper hunger, “Baby, aren’t you tired?” The afterglow of your orgasms lingered, but the air between you crackled with unspoken want.

“Mmmhh…” You moaned, staring up at him with half-lidded eyes that made his dick twitch, “—promised you’d make me feel good….” You were blabbering yet again, trying and failing to raise your hips to meet his pelvis, “want your cock Ju please please pleeaseeee…”

It was in that moment that Byun Euijoo truly realised the beauty of life. The day had started off with him waking up to a raging boner because of a wet dream with you and now the sun was about to set with his cock nestled deep in your warm walls. Life was amazing.

“Oh?” Euijoo said, his voice roughened by desire, “What was that sweetheart?” 

“Want your cock…” You whined again, bold hands coming up to tug at his hair. You pulled him down for a sloppy kiss and Euijoo swore he could have busted a nut right there and then, “Please Ju?” 

“Of course, my love.” He cooed at you, as he scooped you up effortlessly, your body limp against his chest. You wrapped your arms around his neck, heart racing at the intimacy of being carried like this.

He carried you up the stairs to the bedroom, the door clicking shut behind him as he laid you down on the soft sheets. The sheets you two had once cuddled in, talked each other’s ears off and cried your hearts out. The very bedroom Byun Euijoo would be making use of the one talent he commanded well. What is it, you may ask? Taking the virginity of his best friend, of course. 

You bit your lip, hesitation flooding back as he stripped off his shirt, revealing the lean muscles of his torso. His pants followed, and when he pushed down his boxers, your eyes widened at the sight of his cock—thick and long, veins pulsing along its length, the head already leaking pre-cum. 

The size of it dwarfed anything you'd imagined, making your untouched pussy clench in a mix of fear and curiosity. Thought of him inside you sent a cold shiver down your spine. And heat to your legs but never mind that. 

“Ju…” You murmured, voice trembling as you sat up slightly, pulling the sheet over yourself, “I don’t know if I can…”

Euijoo knelt on the bed, his hands gentle as he pulled the sheet away, exposing you again. The room was dimly lit, shadows dancing over your features, making you look even more beautiful. 

“Hey, look at me.” He said softly, cupping your face. His thumb brushed your cheek, eyes locking onto yours with that loving reassurance, “You trust me right? I’ll make it good for you baby, I swear.” His words melted your resistance, “But if you want to stop, just tell me and I’ll stop, hm?”

You nodded, lying back as he positioned himself between your legs, his broad frame hovering over you. He kissed you deeply, tongue stroking yours to distract and soothe, while one hand guided his cock to your entrance. 

In all honesty you couldn't believe this was happening. You'd always imagined your first time, chocolates, candles and roses and a man with a brow piercing. You’d imagined softness, hands perfectly molded and the feeling of ultimate pleasure.

Euijoo’s hand was warmly familiar in yours and the scent of him was comforting, chocolates and roses and soft laughter that never failed to steady the ground beneath your feet. You let yourself sink into the mattress, going almost dumb and pliant for him. My my, did he look weirdly gorgeous.

Euijoo gripped the base of his cock, guiding the thick head to your entrance, rubbing it slowly along your folds to coat himself in your wetness. The pressure against your clit made you gasp, a fresh spark of arousal igniting low in your belly.

“Breathe for me, my love.” Euijoo whispered in your ear, kissing just beneath it, one of his hands entwined in yours and the other holding your hip.

“Euijoo….” 

And then you could feel him everywhere. 

From between your legs to your chest to your throat, everything was just Euijoo Euijoo Euijoo. Sweet Euijoo, pretty Euijoo, your Euijoo. 

“Baby?” Euijoo panted, ever so worried about you even when his dick was being squeezed for all it was worth by your walls, “Baby, you with me?” His hand intertwined with yours, squeezed gently as he paused, not even halfway in yet. You were just too damn tight. 

“Ju ohhhh…” You groaned, eyes rolling to the back of your head, “feel so—fuckkkk—feel so full Ju…”

And he wasn't even halfway in. 

Euijoo's dick twitched again as he chuckled and brought his hand up to cradle your cheek. “I know, my love I know. I’m going to push in, ok?”

The stretch burned as he pushed, his thickness forcing your walls to yield. You gasped, nails digging into his shoulders, the pain sharp and unfamiliar. “It hurts..” you whimpered, tears pricking your pretty eyes, which only drove Euijoo more insane. He paused, letting you adjust, his breath warm against your lips.

"That's it, you're doing so well," he praised, voice low and soothing. He kissed you softly, tongue slipping in to distract as he sank deeper, filling you halfway before stopping again. Your body tensed, god you were so fucking full, but the ache blended with a deep, throbbing pleasure that made your toes curl.

“Euijoo…..oh…” You moaned sweetly against his lips.

“ know, shh…” he breathed against your lips, freezing until you adjusted. “Breathe with me. You're so tight, taking me like this—fuck, you're perfect.” 

Inch by breathtaking inch, he sank deeper, his cock filling you completely, the size making you feel impossibly stretched. He bottomed out with a groan, hips flush against yours, and held still, letting you acclimate to the fullness.

“Are you alright, my love?” Euijoo said, eyes tracing over you, “Open your eyes baby, let me see those pretty eyes, thaaat’s a good girl.”

“So good Ju….” You moaned, the air whooshing out your lungs at the sight of him, strands of hair falling onto his forehead, slightly hiding his eyes, plush pink kissable lips, “Move…please.”

The pain ebbed into a dull ache, replaced by a growing warmth as he began to move—shallow thrusts at 

first, pulling out just enough to slide back in. You moaned softly, the sound escaping unbidden, your body betraying your initial hesitation.

"Feels good?" he asked, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. You bit your lip, nodding, shifting your hips experimentally.

His pace was unhurried, each thrust long and measured, draaagging his cock along your inner walls to hit sensitive spots that made constellations flicker in your vision. The friction built gradually, your arousal easing the way, turning the stretch into pure bliss.

Euijoo's hand released yours to brace on the mattress beside your head, his other sliding under your thigh to hook your leg higher on his waist. This angle let him grind deeper, the head of his cock nudging your cervix with each full stroke, sending jolts of pleasure radiating through your core. You moaned, wrapping your arms around Euijoo’s neck, pulling him closer as your bodies moved in sync like voices harmonizing. 

He kissed your neck, sucking lightly at the skin while his hips rolled steadily, fucking you with a rhythm that was both tender and insistent. Sweat beaded on his skin, his lean muscles flexing with every controlled push, the dim light casting shadows that highlighted the intimacy of it all. Your pussy fluttered around him, growing wetter, the lewd sounds of skin meeting skin filling the room alongside your shared breaths.

Your whines grew louder, pornographic moans spilling out as you clutched at him, hips starting to rock in rhythm. The corruption of your innocence fueled his desire—he watched your face contort in bliss, his shy girl giving way to raw need. It snapped something in him; his eyes darkened, grip tightening on your hips as he went feral.

“Fuck baby—ah hahh—sound so pretty for me—shit…” He growled, thrusting harder now, the bed creaking under the force. 

His cock pounded into you, relentless and deep, the size making every plunge overwhelming. You cried out, legs wrapping around his waist, the pain fully forgotten in the haze of ecstasy. Euijoo buried his face in your neck, teeth grazing your skin before biting down—sharp nips that marked you as his, followed by his tongue licking the spots soothingly. 

“Mine.” He murmured between licks, sucking at your pulse point while his hips snapped forward, “Mine all mine, aren’t you pretty girl?” The loving bites sent jolts straight to your core, heightening the build-up, “Say it for me, my love.”

“Y-Yours…..” You managed to stutter out, almost screaming when his hand slipped between your bodies to circle your clit with his thumb, “Yours Euijoo! God, only yours—oh fuck fuck!”

The first orgasm hit you suddenly, your pussy clamping down on his thick length as waves crashed through you. “Euijoo!” you sobbed, body arching off the bed. He didn't slow, fucking you through it, his groans vibrating against your neck.

“One more, my love.” he demanded, voice husky with control, “You can do it, I know you can.” 

His thrusts turned punishing, cock stretching you wide with each brutal drive. He bit your neck again, harder this time, tongue lapping at the sting as his hand pinned your thigh open wider. The coil in your belly tightened, pleasure mounting with each deep plunge.

"Euijoo... closer," you gasped, and he obliged, draping his body over yours fully, his chest pressing to your breasts as he thrust harder but still languidly, drawing out every inch. 

Your orgasm hit like a slow wave this time, crashing over you in shuddering pulses, your pussy milking his cock as you cried out, nails raking down his back. Cum leaked from where you joined, your moans turning to breathless pleas.

Euijoo followed soon after, burying himself deep and spilling inside you with a guttural moan, his bites softening to tender licks as he rode out his release. He rocked through it, prolonging both your releases, before collapsing gently beside you, both panting in the afterglow. He pulled you into his arms, his hand smoothing over the back of your head, cock still twitching inside as he kissed your marked neck.

“You did so well.” He shepherd, kissing the crown of your head, holding you close in the quiet of the room, “Perfect, my love.” 

 His heart pounded against your ear, the steady rhythm gradually slowing as exhaustion seeped into your bones. Euijoo eventually pulled out as slowly as he could, peppering your face with soft kisses as he did, fingers combing through your hair in soothing strokes.

“Hmm Euijoo…” You hummed sleepily, opening your eyes only a slight crack.

“Yes, love?” 

“I think….” You giggled tiredly, wrapping your arms around him, “I don't like Yixiang any more.”

“Oh?” Euijoo fought his smile back, tucking your head under his chin as he rolled onto his side, keeping you firmly tucked against his chest, “Then who do you like baby?” 

Your breathing evened out, growing slow and steady. Euijoo watched as your lashes fluttered closed, a look of pure adoration on his face. 

“I think I like you…” You mumbled, “I think I really really like you.” You giggled drunkenly again, “Is that stupid Ju?” 

For a moment, Euijoo didn’t breathe. The words were quiet, slurred with sleep, barely more than a murmur but they settled into him like something sacred, like something that had been waiting patiently for a place to land.

I think I really, really like you

His chest tightened first, sharp, almost startling  before it gave way to something warmer. It spread slowly, blooming beneath his ribs, petal by petal, until it filled him completely. Achingly, impossibly full.

He looked down at you, half-curled against him, your face relaxed in sleep, lashes resting gently against your cheeks. You had no idea what you’d just done to him, no idea how those few drowsy words had unraveled something deep inside his chest.

“No my love, it’s not stupid.” He hummed, thumb brushing absent circles against your arm as if to pull himself to earth, “It’s not stupid at all.”  Euijoo swallowed, his hold on you tightening instinctively, like some small, instinctive part of him was afraid you might slip away if he didn’t, “I really really like you too.” 

“Mmmh good.” You mumbled before giving in to your sleep, your breathing becoming more shallow as you drifted off to sleep. 

“You have no idea, do you?” Euijoo murmured under his breath, voice so soft it barely existed. His lips pressed gently to your hair again, lingering this time.

 "I love you," he whispered, voice hoarse with emotion. "So fucking much." Carefully, like you were something fragile, he pulled you closer and for once, he let himself feel it fully. As the last rays of sun faded from the sky, Euijoo followed you into a peaceful slumber.

Byun Euijoo was a man of many talents.

Getting his girl was now officially one of them.

fin. 

A/N: gang im not lying i legit came writing this fic UGH BYUN EUIJOO MY MAN MY MAN MY MAN if yall know anything about me you guys know i am no 1 cheater BUT I HAVE LEGIT NEVER CHEATED ON THIS MAN WITH ANYBODY ELSE IN &TEAM like that's the power he holds over me. anyways im gonna go stare at his concept photos now bye

divider by @pepsipoet