if you're gonna break me in two ⋆ masterpost ⋆ do what you gotta do
GENRE + PAIRING ⋮ college au. ice hockey player!fratboy!sunghoon x fem!reader ⋮ PART 02 WC 31.4k
SYNOPSIS ⋮ you’ve been crushing on lee heeseung for most of your college life — long enough that you were beginning to crack. one blessed night, when a girl at a party slips you his number, it feels like fate finally taking pity on you. what follows is a slow, intoxicating unraveling — late-night calls, perfect pick-ups, subtle flirts you’d expect from a charming guy like him. so why is it that when you finally wave at him on campus, he looks genuinely confused?
CONTENT WARNINGS ⋮ explicit themes INCLUDES SMUT so +18 ONLY. themes of mental illness sex as a coping mechanism self esteem issues angst with happy ending miscommunication skinship physical intimacy inferiority complex featuring enhypen + yeonjun of txt slowburn pining NSFW TAGS ⋮ dom!sunghoon, condescending remarks, piv, dumbification, creampie, unprotected sex (don't), degradation, spanking, praise, dry humping, fingering, edging, sunghoon puts reader into a mating press halfway, breeding kink, sunghoon says i love you while in it, reader is so down Bad save her.
AUTHOR'S NOTE ⋮ heeelloo i'm back again less than a week later TT up until this point i've had a huge draft to work from, but i wrote this part mostlyyy recently (like in the past 2-3weeks). i can't wait to see what everyone thinks of the fic as a whole and i'll be lurking in ur blogs... watching... also stream dwygd by the band camino the song sparked me back into finishing this fic and it's where the titles r taken from :7 ENJOY !!!! #hoonynforever
REBLOGS APPRECIATED ⋆ THANK YOU FOR READING
you know this version of yourself very well. it’s the one that immediately starts accounting for error before drawing conclusions, and the one that treats uncertainty as concrete evidence you’ve got everything wrong. by the time you reach your car, you couldn’t even pull your stupid phone out of your stupidly tight jeans, because the pocket seemed vacuum sealed to your thighs once you sat down.
the drive home is full of revision. memories, mostly, on the phone: did you dream all of lee heeseung up? who the hell started those conversations? who called you last night?
was this all one-sided?
every turn at every corner feels excruciating. the green lights are too slow and every second that passes makes you want to reach for your phone, call him immediately, and ask just what the fuck that was. your palms stick against the steering wheel and the thought of hearing his response makes your stomach twist unpleasantly.
it just can’t be possible. there is just no way that you’re this unlucky.
the rest of the journey is blank. you didn’t even turn on the radio, nor did you bother to plug in the carplay. it’s almost pathetic how fast you slide out of the leather seat, how hard you slam the door to the driver’s, and how desperately you punch in the code to your apartment. you mess it up once, which earns a small cuss under your breath, but none of it overshadows the confusion.
you can’t possibly text him like this. ringing him would only lead to something even worse. you might say something you don’t mean, or fuck things up in that signature way of yours.
so, you settle for the same routine as always: shower, lunch, nap, and try not to lose your mind throughout the day. at some point, you think it cannot possibly be this serious—you’ve never met the man like this, never spoken to him in person, and not once have you heard his voice utter your name in real life. it is absolutely ridiculous that your knees almost buckle in the shower, at the mere thought that this truly might have meant nothing. just nothing.
there is an attempt to move through the day without acknowledging the hundred pound weight on your shoulders. perhaps it’s because you’ve spent weeks with your brain at full power that it’s starting to swirl with all kinds of things now.
you’re dragging your feet against the floorboards as you make your way to the kitchen. caffeine might help, maybe. there’s no logic or sound reasoning behind the decision, but you reach for your favourite mug and position it under the coffee machine anyway. your bottom lip is swollen from biting down on it, a habit you never really got around to unlearning from middle school, and for a fleeting, pathetic moment, you think that this is your fate.
your knuckles almost go white, grip tightening on the edge of the marble island, like it’ll help regulate your feelings any better. an annoying chime plays from the coffee machine a few seconds later—hot ribbons of steam curling into the air—but you don’t even feel like drinking it at all, really.
half-heartedly, you take the mug and head straight for your bedroom. your hair is still damp against your neck, the apartment smells like your shampoo, and for a moment, you catch a whiff of cigarette smoke from the neighbour above your unit. your things are still in a mess from last night—from when you were still on the phone with him, falling asleep with a sour mood and paper notes crumpled at the foot of your bed, books still flipped open to important pages that you conveniently wiped from your memory an hour ago.
and, your phone. face down, on your night stand, plugged into the wall and far too quiet for your comfort, as if lee heeseung could sense what was wrong with you from miles away.
“hello?”
you end up calling.
you’re sitting on the edge of your bed, shoulders slouched and back hunched over like it’ll do anything to ease the emptiness in your stomach. a screen is pressed up to your cheek, and you swear your nails might snap off if you hold your phone any tighter than you are now; the phone’s been ringing for a while, and now that he’s finally picked up, every thought decides to somersault out of the fucking window—straight down and plummeting into the concrete pavement outside.
“hey, y/n.” he says. “i’m… fuck—sorry. i’m with some friends right now. are you okay?”
he’s out of breath.
yelling in the background. plastic on plastic, some whistling, someone else calling yeonjun’s name.
you swallow thickly, but it gets caught in your throat halfway. your voice comes out more defeated than you intended. “why did you look at me like that?”
silence. you can hear his heavy breathing through the speaker, and all it does is make you pick at the skin around your nails. ears picking up everything, there’s voices layered over each other, the sound of something sharp cutting against snow, or ice. it stops momentarily when he finally understands the question, soft, but loud enough for your heart to pound.
“what?”
“like you didn’t know me,” you almost fucking whimper, and all you can think is: god, how much more humiliating can this get? “why?”
your free hand comes up to rub at the bridge of your nose, until little bursts of pressure bloom behind your eyes. all of this is giving you a headache, and there’s a split second where you think you should just hang up and save yourself the trouble. this is just how it is. your luck. your fingers knead, and knead, and knead—but it’s no use. all you can hear is him.
“y/n,” he mumbles. “can we meet? tonight?”
“you can’t just do that,” you breathe shakily. “tell me why. please.”
time has been moving wrong all day. everything feels delayed and stretched and slow in this awful, unbearable way. five seconds between responses starts feeling like whole afternoons, and minutes feel like centuries. you spent weeks getting used to talking to him whenever something happened—sending him stupid pictures and complaining about classes and saying things before thinking because there was always tomorrow, and that’s exactly what you did last night.
but now that tomorrow is here… shit, it doesn’t even matter anymore.
“y/n,” his voice breaks just a little—not very sure if it’s the horrible connection on campus, if he’s even still there. you imagine, just for the sake of your sanity, that he’s running his hands through his hair, breathing wrong, panicking. anything like those movies where the guy realises he’s going to lose it all. “i know it doesn’t make any sense—”
“what do you think, huh? do you think any of it does?”
“i know—shit, i know.”
your fingers keep kneading at your skin because the headache’s spreading now, radiating into your temples in slow pulses. you keep pressing harder like pain somewhere else will make this one smaller. it doesn’t work.
“i think we should meet in person,” he answers, calm again, like it’s how he’s always been. somehow, it pisses you off even more, when you know he can hear the shake in your voice. “i gotta go. i’m sorry.”
he’s never apologised to you before. not even for missing your calls.
“what the fuck are you sorry for, heeseung?”
you hear him breathe in, then out. he sounds exhausted in a way that has nothing to do with sleep.
“i’m just…” his voice catches faintly, before smoothing back out. “i’m sorry.”
the line goes dead.
you stay, just for a while, phone still pressed against your ear like the warmth of your skin might coax him back and force an explanation out of him. your shoulders fold further into themselves until your spine starts to ache, but moving would mean admitting the call is over, and you’re not quite ready to do that yet.
your eyes remain fixed on nothing in particular—the opposite wall, maybe, where the late afternoon light stretches unevenly across the paint and catches the tiny imperfections in the plaster that you’ve somehow never noticed despite living here for months.
your stomach really hurts. sour and hollow, underneath your ribcage, compelling you to lower your phone and lock your screen before you can over-analyse the messages from last night.
you draw a deep breath through your nose, falling back against the mattress until your shoulder blades scratch against your duvet.
you are not crying over a man you’ve technically never even met.
this is absolutely fucking ridiculous, you mutter under your breath, but you still wipe under your eyes and try to blink all the salt out of your eyes anyway. your phone dies eventually because you forget to plug it back in, and now, all that’s left is you, the tear-stained sheets and meaningless pieces of paper.
─────────────────────────
two weeks ago, park sunghoon was on the brink of losing his shit.
it was purely emotional. probably more emotion than anyone on the team has ever seen him display, and lord, was it utterly humiliating. he wonders if anyone on the team still thinks about it, given how the locker room goes dead silent every time he steps in—and it’s literally like he just got named captain all over again.
practice ended badly. not disastrously, because no one broke anything, and maki didn’t start a petty argument between the goalkeeper and him. yeonjun barely screamed at the little freshmen, and only one of them cried post-cool down—so by all technical definitions, it had been productive enough.
and still, he was irritated.
it had been building for days now, in that same slow, ugly way tension knots all your muscles before becoming pain. finals always fucked everyone over, but not enough to stop them from showing up—mentally, though, they’re elsewhere. sunghoon had been there, before he had decided he was tired of making shitty excuses for his terrible performance.
shortcuts irritate him. he’s watching people cut corners before his very eyes because they assume he’s as tired as them—well, he is, but that’s besides the point.
he hated it.
metal lockers slammed shut one after another while conversations overlapped in every direction. someone was laughing too loudly, and sunghoon was almost certain the obnoxiously loud carly rae jepsen echoing through the room belonged to maki’s fucked up speakers again. the locker room was humid in that unpleasant post-practice way—the air thick with damp towels, deodorant and sweat drying into fabric, hot enough that stepping in after the rink always felt vaguely suffocating.
sunghoon walks further into the space and, while it isn’t the most obvious thing in the world, conversations shift around him in tiny ways he’s learnt to recognize over the years. a few voices lower, someone moves their legs in so he can pass. one of the freshmen instinctively straightens up halfway through pulling his shirt over his head.
his duffel hangs off one shoulder. sweat drips slowly from his temples, sliding down the side of his neck before disappearing into the dark collar of his shirt. his whole body feels heavy today, and not even in the satisfying way—just fucking heavy. his shoulders ache in that deep, irritating way that suggests recovery isn’t catching up anymore, and lately sleep hasn’t been doing much except making him conscious again.
it’s fine. everything had been feeling vaguely wrong for a while now, anyway.
yeonjun’s already on his way out when he brushes past him, shoulder bumping his with enough force to be annoying but not enough to start anything. “have a wonderfully peaceful night,” he mutters with that unbearably cocky, punchable grin.
any other day, sunghoon might’ve shoved him into a locker.
instead, he dropped his bag beside the end of the bench, and listened to the wood creak underneath his weight. the freshmen lingering nearby begin moving almost immediately. one shifts two lockers down, and another grabs his things and suddenly remembers he has somewhere else to be. by the time sunghoon looks up from his phone properly, half of them have disappeared entirely.
he watches one hesitate after accidentally making eye contact. the kid immediately looks away, picks up his shit, and leaves.
sunghoon looks back down. god, his shoulders hurt.
the muscles between his shoulder blades have been tightening more lately. sleep’s been shit. practice feels slower. finals are making everyone stupid. nobody can pass properly anymore, or communicate once they’re on the ice. everything seems held together by routine and whatever miscroscopic amount of discipline he can force onto everyone else.
whatever. it’s manageable, he thinks. everything always is, if you’re strong and willing and miserable enough. eat properly, sleep properly, train properly, study properly. repeat until wanting anything else becomes inefficient or a distraction, until it’s ordinary and until enough days pass that discomfort isn’t discomfort anymore, and simply morphs into the default.
maybe that’s why the past few weeks have felt stranger than anything else—nothing has gotten easier. his schedule has been become even more hellish than before, his muscles still ache and everyone expects more from him; but there’s been this stupid, absurd sense of anticipation stitched quietly into the gaps of his day.
he’s excited for something. for someone.
he checks his phone when he has nothing to do. sleeps later, thinks about conversations while stretching or when someone says something that you mentioned in passing. none of it means anything, at least individually, but it feels so a embarrassingly noticeable once he becomes aware of it together.
“…i’m serious, though.”
his thumb stills over his lockscreen. sunghoon doesn’t look up immediately, because the sentence barely reaches his ears at first. locker room noise tends to sound a lot like static after practice, but then your name slips, and suddenly every other sound becomes painfully irrelevant.
there’s a burst of laughter from somewhere to his left.
“y/n? yeah, i know. she’s prettier than i thought.”
sunghoon’s hand had been unlocking his phone without thought, thumb dragging upward automatically before freezing halfway. his forearm rests against his thigh, veins standing out faintly beneath skin flushed warm from practice, and he only notices after a second that his wrist has gone rigid enough to make the tendons ache.
the fabric of his jersey sticks unpleasantly against the centre of his back, where it hasn’t dried yet.
“fuck, i still remember that dress.”
“she’s fine as fuck, seriously,” someone snorts. “wonder if she’d let me tap. you think?”
“don’t be a fucking asshole,” sunghoon hears, the laughter echoing and bouncing off the walls suggesting that nobody is really bothered by this except him. “you’re not in her league, man.”
more laughter. sunghoon doesn’t think he’s ever been this pissed off before, truly, because now his fist is balled so tight that his knuckles are starting to pale. his ears are beginning to ring, and all his body decides to do is amplify the voices of his teammates who decided you’d be the centre of their attention tonight.
someone tosses their towel onto the bench he’s on. maki’s finally out, he notices, quieter now that he’s packing his things up.
“who knows if she’s desperate… might have a chance.”
“shut the fuck up!”
sunghoon rolls one shoulder once and immediately regrets it. something pulls underneath his shoulder blade where he took a hit earlier. his body feels strangely swollen after practice—muscles tight and full and unpleasantly warm under skin that suddenly feels too small to sit comfortably in. his thighs ache where they press against the edge of the bench, palms still feeling vaguely raw from his gloves.
the conversation goes on, and he tries not to listen. realistically, these men would never get anywhere near you. he wouldn’t let them, but that’s besides the point. willingly giving this his attention would only lead to something he can’t take back, and he knows it.
“you got her number?”
“think i do. we were in the same freshie group.”
wonderful.
his tongue is pressing against the inside of his cheek, and his jaw is ticking. he swears if he bites down any harder that a tooth might shatter, but sunghoon does his best to keep his eyes trained on the screen in his hands.
someone says something else, but he doesn’t even remember what. he only remembers the feeling of his jaw hurting, the edge of his phone case digging into his palm, and the slow, annoying feeling of anger coursing through his veins.
it’s hot in here. sunghoon feels it all—anger, resentment, the guilt and embarrassment, too, because he really wants it to stop. he really, really needs it to. there’s something deeply unpleasant in having to listen to a group of people talk about you like this is all you are, that your face and body, no matter how gorgeous it may be, is your most interesting feature.
do these people know you the way he does?
they don’t. they never could.
park sunghoon’s throat suddenly feels dry in a way water won’t, can’t fix. his shoulders stay tense while his gaze drags over your messages and something inside him twists. it’s obvious that this was never supposed to become anything, and that a relationship built on a lie would crumble before he could begin enjoying it.
it’s just… one late-night call becomes another, then another, and another. somewhere between protein shakes and assignments and practice schedules, he moves everything aside for you, and realises he wants you more than anything he’s ever wanted in his life.
“could you guys just shut the fuck up?”
the words leave his mouth before he gets the chance to think about them. the social repercussions don’t even matter anymore, nor were they even factored in to begin with. his voice doesn’t come out loud, which somehow makes it worse—it stays low and level and entirely lacking in visible irritation, like he’s asking somebody to pass him a bottle instead of telling half the room to stop talking.
the effect is immediate, anyway.
conversations taper off unevenly until the entire room is quiet. somebody lets out a laugh that cuts itself short halfway through, and somewhere behind him, a locker closes gently.
sunghoon only realises he’s spoken after the silence reaches him, and suddenly, his own breathing sounds louder than before. his shoulders ease by a fraction and his fingers loosen around his phone, just enough for him to feel the imprint left across the centre of his palm from holding it too tightly.
nobody says a thing. sunghoon doesn’t even know who was speaking anymore. that detail doesn’t seem important now—not compared to the things that were said, and definitely not compared to what had slipped out of his own mouth immediately after.
park sunghoon sits in the locker room with sweat cooling against his skin, realising something he spent the next two weeks trying very hard to negotiate with.
he wants you.
slowly, surely, quietly, he wants you.
at some point, it felt easier not to think about; topped with all the things he already has to deal with, accepting this fact is not particularly beneficial for him.
fourteen days after that—today—he’s done with practice again, same old, same old; walking into locker rooms that are hyperaware of his existence, everyone treading on egg shells until he gets out of the place and into his car.
he knows people noticed. yeonjun had asked if he was alright on the walk over to the parking lot and tried unusually hard not to sound like he was asking. no grin nor stupid comment attached, it’s plain, awkward concern delivered badly enough that sunghoon knew it was real.
“you good?”
what the fuck is he supposed to say to that?
that he’d heard your voice three hours ago, spent the entire session replaying the shake in your voice, and wanted to rip his heart out of his chest?
that the only time he was so sure of someone, he’s already fucked it up?
it’s his fault that he couldn’t answer and instead settled on walking away. park sunghoon heard you on the phone three hours ago and knew he’d be thinking about it the entire session—but now that he’s actually getting into his car, on the way to see you, his heart is beginning to pound harder.
his shoes scrape quietly against the asphalt of the parking lot as he walks. his duffel drags his shoulder lower on one side, dark blue hoodie sleeves rolled up to his elbows—sunghoon’s hand reaches into his pocket automatically and wraps around his keys before he even gets to the car.
You: where are you? 20:08
Y/n: [Shared a location] 20:08
─────────────────────────
the text came at 7 in the evening. you spent the previous 3 hours wondering where it went wrong, recalling every word exchanged, every misunderstood conversation that you dismissed in the moment. it’s incredibly easy to move past things in the heat of the things, you realise—it just seems silly now, almost childish, that you let those things slip past you.
you left the house in a random zip-up, shorts riding up your thighs with every forward step you took. there’s an annoying little hill you need to climb to get to this park, obscured by dark green trees and stray cats that rub against your legs if you stand still for too long, and you’ll usually start panting by the 2 minute mark.
once you finally reach the top, it’s unmistakable. an old playground swing, a plastic slide, and a bench that sat directly behind the big, interactive structure modelled after a sunflower. your feet feel heavy as you move, slippers scratching against the concrete, and you accidentally kick a few pebbles as you walk.
this feels like a waste of your time. heeseung messaged around thirty minutes ago, and he’s still nowhere in sight—eventually, you’re hunched over the park bench table, hands in your hair, trying to get this nausea to alleviate itself.
so what if lee heeseung decided he wanted nothing to do with you? the magnitude at which this is affecting you is starting to seem ridiculous. you keep telling yourself that a boy shouldn’t matter this much, that talking means nothing, and that modern love is nothing but a cruel endeavour that you’re constantly gambling on. so what if you lose, you think, but the feeling of your heart spilling out of your ribs is pressing so deep into your heart that it’s killing you.
your fingers are pressing into the bridge of your nose again. the streetlamps feel warm over your head, slipping through your fingers when you run them over your face. you think you must look horrible right now, but so does everyone else—never mind that the occasional parkgoer jogs past and stares you down: that is what you choose to tell yourself.
some kid walks by with her mom, pointing at the slide, and it almost makes you laugh when she hesitates before saying ‘no’.
just as the thoughts begin to tone down, swirling less and less, you catch a familiar figure in your peripheral: tall, broad, sleeves bunched at the elbows and dark brown hair falling over his eyebrows, looking as tired and miserable as the day you saw him a week ago.
this can’t be real.
the yellow light washes over his face and bathes him in a warm, almost greenish light. the moment he steps into focus, you’re already on your way up—standing next to the bench, hands shaking like you can’t quite believe this is actually happening.
“y/n—”
three steps later, you’re already on your way out.
what follows is immediate: park sunghoon, tired, red eyes, lounging a big ass bag on his shoulder, jogging towards you with a stride so big that it almost scares you. you can’t bear to look at him like this, like he’s actually hurt over what he’s done, even if you don’t specifically know what it is yet.
everything’s blurry as you move. you can’t feel your stomach, and it took you more than a reasonable amount of effort just to turn away and start walking. you can hear him, faintly—sunghoon calling out your name, as familiar as every night before this one, as sweet and genuine as it had always been—but has it really, though?
“is this some fucking joke to you?”
your voice cracks on the very last word, embarrassingly enough. as if the tears running down your cheeks wasn’t enough shame to carry around, sunghoon has to hear you like this. vulnerable and hurt and wanting answers.
“y/n, please. just stop walking away from me,” he pleads, out of breath from how far he’s been trailing you. the downhill slope isn’t that far away from here, and you can see a few couples taking a night stroll—as if the universe insists on rubbing it in your tear-stained face. “let me explain.”
“what is there to explain?”
you weren’t stupid. it feels like a cruel insult that sunghoon thinks you even need an explanation; he was heeseung. you’d been calling, texting, falling for someone completely different, and the worst part is that it doesn’t even fucking matter in the way he thinks it does.
“i wanted to tell you,” sunghoon blurts out, and the moment it leaves his lips, your feet suddenly stop working. it’s like your heels are anchored to the ground by something invisible, urging you to turn around—everything in his voice screams for you to do just that, to face him, to see how hurt he is by the lie he chose to tell. “y/n, please.”
you can’t. you just can’t.
it’s incredibly corny. this whole scene just seems like a big fuck-you from the universe, dragged straight out of a drama, because god knows you were never deserving of something so beautiful and easy. love had to strangle it’s way out of your hands, somehow. it’s to a point where there’s people staring, whispering as they pass you two.
“you know what? i wouldn’t even have fucking cared, anyway.” you sighed, blinking to get your vision to clear up. “you didn’t even have to lie to me.”
sunghoon is stunned at that. his whole body feels cold, locked in place, and his heart’s pounding so hard that he can hear the blood rushing in his ears. by the time you eventually do turn around, his throat is already constricting, dry and tight, looking down at you—hand running through your hair, glassy eyes staring into his. the guilt weighs heavier now, sinking it’s claws into his neck, so deep that he can feel it nick his heart.
“what?”
he needs to rip it out.
sunghoon genuinely feels like his guts are going to spill out. your eyelashes are wet with tears and he can tell you’re trying your best not to burst into tears, and he hates himself for being the reason for it; he has to dig his fingers into his palms just so he can stop himself from reaching out for you.
selfishly, for a second, he lets himself memorise your face. he thinks it’ll be the last time he sees it. there’s something about you—even when your cheeks are red and your eyes are swollen with hurt, that he wants to see it all.
sunghoon wishes he could undo everything. perhaps, if he had just went up to you that friday night, underneath the stairs with his best smile and most polite greeting, he’d been able to hate himself a little less, and possibly not hurt you at all.
this is what he gets, isn’t it?
it’s a shame.
“i really liked you.” you sniffle. your eyes are deliberately avoiding his. sunghoon’s never leave your face. “heeseung or not, doesn’t even matter now, does it?”
for a second, sunghoon genuinely thinks he misheard you.
the streetlights blur, morphing into bright lines in your vision, and somebody laughs somewhere downhill. a bicycle rolls past, a dog barks behind you, and it is just unbearable how you have to focus on all these sounds just so you can distract yourself from the uneven breaths of your own body.
“i liked you too, y/n.”
sunghoon genuinely forgets how to breathe. his chest expands automatically, but the air never seems to reach his lungs, caught somewhere between his ribs and throat where everything suddenly feels too tight.
all this time, he thought he knew exactly how tonight would go. you’d tell him to fuck off, to stop following you, and he thought he would. it started off like that: the walking part, the not-being-able-to-look-at-him-without-crying. he prepared for it, every night, leading up to this one: imagined you laughing in his face, telling him to leave, to never call again, but this barely fits the mould.
every time he convinced himself that honesty could wait one more day because he needed more time, needed the timing to be better, needed to figure himself out first—all of it feels rotten, so useless and meaningless now.
you stand there with tears drying on your cheeks, eyes swollen and exhausted, and all he can think about is how much easier this could have been for you if he’d just been honest from the beginning. he should’ve never answered, nor should he have went with it when you started getting a little bolder. he should’ve never gone this far to feed his own selfishness.
park sunghoon doesn’t deserve to stand here and watch you cry over him.
“you could’ve told me.”
his fingers curl against his palms until his nails bite crescents into skin. he barely feels the sting. somehow, hearing you say it doesn’t feel relieving at all—not in the way he imagined it would, during all those nights where he let himself think about impossible things before forcing himself to sleep. he thought this moment, if it ever existed, would feel warm. he thought—maybe—there’d be this stupid sense of vindication buried underneath the guilt, a ugly selfish satisfaction that would prove he wasn’t completely insane for wanting you.
all he finds is more guilt, painted by a crystal clear picture of what could’ve been.
the image arrives all at once and it’s unbearable in how ordinary it is. walking up to you that first night instead of watching from a distance. introducing himself properly, and a few weeks later, he’s sitting across from you at some stupid coffee place after class. he’d be seeing his contact under his actual name and listening to you complain through his speakers without feeling his stomach drop every time you said “heeseung.” such painfully normal things that people do every day without thinking, and somehow they feel impossibly far away now, like he’d reached out and ruined them before they even had the chance to become memories.
his hand comes up to his face and presses hard against his mouth. you’re sniffling so much that your nose is beginning to redden. he notices the cuts on your lips, probably from biting down on them, and all he can see is you in the library, far away and out of reach.
“i should have told you,” he acknowledges. it doesn’t do anything to alleviate the pounding headache you have. “i thought that if you didn’t know—fuck, i don’t know. i thought you would’ve liked me better like that… if you didn’t know.”
“how the fuck does that make any fucking sense?”
for the first time today, you’re looking at him. his eyes are red around the edges, the skin underneath them looking darker than normal and his lashes look damp under the streetlights. there’s something almost unbearable about it, the way he looks more exhausted than guilty, like he’s been carrying this around for weeks and would be the one bearing most of the pain.
still, despite it all, you want to wipe the tears away.
“i wasn’t lying,” his lip trembles slightly, “when i said that everyone’s scared of me. that night—fuck, i saw you, y/n. i knew you wouldn’t look at me—”
“what the fuck? really, what the fuck?” you cut him off, voice tapering off into that high, disbelieving tone. “how—just how? how did you think this would turn out, sunghoon? did you think we’d live happily ever after when i—when we spent months talking like that?”
you’re breathing wrong. everything feels so wrong. all of this feels so impossibly fucking wrong. you need to go home.
he flinches at your response. your eyes burn with all the movement in your peripheral, and your chest tightens with every passing second. you laugh, and it sounds horrible—small, breathless, like the sight in front of you is simply too baffling to process properly.
sunghoon’s mouth opens, but nothing comes out. you stare at him, expecting something, anything, but the words refuse to make it past his throat.
“what the fuck is wrong with you, sunghoon?”
there is something painfully tragic about walking away from a good thing. honestly, if you tried hard enough, you could probably forgive him. you could pretend he never lied to you, and that everything he said after that first lie wasn’t a lie, either. you could pretend he was honest and truthful and all those good things, but the thing about pushing it down is that it always bubble back up eventually.
both things can be true: that it’ll always come back, and you’ll always believe that sunghoon could’ve been it.
“y/n—”
“don’t. just don’t fucking—don’t. don’t call me, don’t do anything. i can’t, i just can’t right now.”
you never really knew heeseung at all, now that you think about it. you remember being a freshman and watching him shoot hoops by the cafeteria one sunny tuesday morning—jiwon mentioned how cute he looked, and perhaps as some act of politeness between two newly introduced friends, said that the two of you would look good together. even now, you think that if heeseung had ended up being exactly like sunghoon, you still would’ve fallen.
but that would mean you never fell for heeseung at all, doesn’t it?
with sunghoon here, standing in front of you, all you see is the hardworking, ambitious, weirdly terrified boy you got to know. you see him in front of his computer thinking too hard, and you see him looking surprised that you smiled at him. it feels strangely dissonant that this will be the last time you get to stand this close to him, or that it’ll be the final time you hear his voice.
“you’re such a coward.”
you don’t know what he says after that, because you turn and walk away so quick that anything he mumbles next falls a step too short behind you. the words feel so bitter on your tongue, and you still taste it even as you walk past that one broken street lamp around fifteen feet away, lingering by the time you step into your apartment.
when you walk into your bedroom, you stay by the door a little longer, shoulder pressed against the wooden frame.
ironically enough, you left your phone behind. face down, still plugged to the wall.
then, almost as a final act in this depressing film, you slump over and slide to the floor, crying over something that shouldn’t matter as much as it does.
it takes you a while to crawl into bed.
you blame the exams. that’s definitely why you’re too exhausted to speak to jiwon, despite the multiple texts from three hours ago detailing your predicament. now that she’s practically begging for you to pick up, three hours later, you just can’t.
instead, you scroll. scroll and scroll and scroll, through chats and messages that have nothing to do with heeseung, now that you know the truth—and as you do, a message pops up at the bottom.
lee heeseung: Get home safely, Y/n. 21:09
lee heeseung: I’m sorry for everything 21:10
─────────────────────────
the sun rises another day. it spills into sunghoon’s room in familiar strips of gold, slipping through the blinds and cutting across the walls in uneven slants that make the dust visible. tiny particles drift through the light lazily, suspended in the air and blinding enough that he has to lift a hand over his eyes instinctively, staring through the gaps between his fingers and pretending, stupidly, that if he stays still long enough, he’ll somehow fall back asleep.
he doesn’t.
his shirt is still where he threw it last night, half across the room and gathering dust in the middle of the floor. his once-superbly-clean desk is a mess, in the same way his room is lately—never dirty enough to clean, yet tidy enough not to notice.
his notes are spread all over. he’s pretty sure he should’ve stapled and organized them a long, long time ago, but he honestly could not care anymore. there’s that charger hanging halfway off the edge of his bedside table, a half-empty glass collecting warmth from the morning air, and his hockey bag remains unopened by the door from last night’s practice. he finds it amazing that he still manages to attend—just spectacular that nobody can tell how terrible he’s feeling, and even more so, miraculous that he’s able to do his job the same.
and, his curtains. left open for september’s autumn, long after that quiet summer when he still had you to call.
park sunghoon spends a little longer staring at the window once his eyes stop hurting from the brightness. the sunlight shifts slowly over his sheets as the minutes go by, reaching his hands where they rest against his stomach, and warm enough that it still reminds him of you.
the first thought he has is that he’s being selfish.
it’s embarrassing, honestly, how little he’s done in a month and how exhausting it all still feels. all he does is wake up, lie here, go to practice, come back, and sleep. heeseung’s always got someone new over, jake and jay are physically incapable of doing anything quietly, and sunoo, jungwon, and riki are too afraid to ask why he never speaks at dinner anymore—not that he did much of that to begin with, anyway. he chooses not to believe them when they say he seemed happier when the sun stayed out longer.
a month is barely enough time to break a habit, but it’s long enough that nobody asks anymore. there were those few weeks back in july where he’d let a laugh slip in front of his brothers and didn’t feel immediately disgusted by the sound of it afterwards. he supposes you brought out that side of him—the one that doesn’t need to act all perfect and gorgeous and saintful. at some point, he even let himself eat a tub of ice cream because riki asked nicely enough for him to stay and watch a movie. it didn’t feel difficult then, of course.
yeonjun stopped trying to irritate him after a while, probably realising it wasn’t possible. now, he just avoids it out of pity instead, and sunghoon knows it. nobody says it out loud, but they all look at him differently these days; like he’s become quieter in a way they can’t quite fix, and they don’t know whether to drag him out of it or leave him there in this pit he’s chosen to bury himself in.
he shuts his eyes, and it doesn’t help. all sunghoon sees is that fucking library, and you, standing between metal shelving under the evening sun—squinting and pouting, warm cheeks and messy hair from running your fingers through it all day, and back then, sunghoon wanted nothing but to do the same. that stupid expression you made, pretending like your eyes weren’t watering from all the dusty books and the harsh light hitting your irises, too.
he sees himself telling you to sit on his side, your smile, and how he almost froze up then and there.
all the brains in the world and none of it did anything for him then, and even less now. he spent years believing everything had a formula—that if he worked hard enough, controlled enough, became enough, things would eventually make sense and fall into place. but there was nothing logical about wanting to sit in uncomfortable, sticky heat because it touched your skin first, or remembering the exact way your eyebrows moved when you were confused, or missing somebody so intensely that even morning light starts feeling like fate; there was nothing sensible in falling for someone that makes him act so unpredictably.
“listen, dude. you gotta get the fuck up.”
sunghoon doesn’t realise how badly his neck aches until he turns away from the window. the movement pulls uncomfortably down his shoulders, stiff from sleeping wrong and doing absolutely nothing for days that didn’t involve practice. to his right stands lee heeseung, leaning against the doorframe with one eyebrow raised, looking mildly offended by the fact that somebody could sleep until ten in the morning.
“this is pathetic, do you realise that?” he sighs, pushing himself off the frame and strolling into sunghoon’s room with that same easy, unaffected energy he’s always had. carefree in a way that feels irritating today, and familiar in a way that reminds him too much of you. for a brief second, sunghoon sees it—the appeal. why you looked at him first, and why it was easy to do so. “man. you don’t even run in the morning anymore.”
“get out,” sunghoon mumbles, rolling over onto his side. his skin is cold where it leaves the sunlight and the sheets feel warmer than they should, sending a brief chill down his spine. “i am not in the mood to deal with you.”
“deal with me?” heeseung lets out this dramatic breath of disbelief and sunghoon hears the familiar squeak of his desk chair protesting under sudden weight. wheels scrape softly against the floor before rolling closer and closer until heeseung’s annoyingly charismatic face enters his peripheral. “everyone’s been dealing with your moping, hoon. it gets obvious when it’s six instead of seven after, like, two days—”
“okay.”
“okay?” heeseung repeats immediately, eyebrows lifting. his elbow lands on the arm rest and his chin settles into his hand. “okay.”
sunghoon shuts his eyes. the silence feels like summer all over again.
“do you wanna tell me why the fuck you’re being all weird?”
heeseung’s voice softens slightly. not enough to make a big thing out of it, because god knows how bad sunghoon would freak out and punch him in the mouth for that—but it’s enough to show the concern building up over the past few weeks.
sunghoon opens his eyes again, and somehow, seeing and hearing it for himself only annoys him more. sure, he knows it’s ridiculous and childish and just unfair, but he can’t help himself.
heeseung shouldn’t be worried. nothing happened to him. he didn’t stand in the park and watch you walk away, and he didn’t spend a month replaying every conversation, trying to figure out which version of him you liked more—and he did not ruin anything.
he swallows and stares at the windows again, drifting away from heeseung’s face.
the sunlight’s moved further away.
“i’m fine,” sunghoon says—his voice comes out flatter than intended. regardless, he does nothing to make himself sound any more convincing, and even if he did, he knows heeseung would see right through it.
the chair squeaks again as his friend leans further back, an unconvincing scoff being the only thing that leaves his lips. a soft thud as the backrest hits the wall, sunghoon would’ve glared at him any other day—but now, he can’t seem to find the energy.
“y’know, for someone who spent years acting all emotionless,” heeseung mumbles under his breath, “you’re shit at pretending like you don’t have them.”
it’s a decibel too loud to be accidental. sunghoon can’t even get angry now, because he knows better. after all this time, he really does—he knows better than to get angry at anyone else but himself.
he doesn’t answer. heeseung watches him for a little longer, head tilting slightly as his eyes drift over sunghoon’s face, lingering around the redness in his eyes and the exhaustion dragging down his expression. there’s a brief moment where he looks like he wants to say something and thinks better of it.
“…you know, i still think what you did was insane. i still don’t get why you didn’t just tell her.”
sunghoon closes his eyes. he’s not trying to avoid it, believe him—he’s spent majority of his days holding the guilt against himself, on his shoulders, feeling it weigh down on his chest for days a time. he doesn’t necessarily disagree.
“you talked to someone for months, pretending to be somebody else, and expected that to work?”
sunghoon’s jaw almost shatters from how hard he’s clenching it. he imagined you saying those same words to him, at some point. your gentle smile behind his eyelids seem to be one of many things preventing him from beating the shit out of the guy.
lee heeseung notices it, and can’t help but sigh. “you looked happier, hoon. really.”
sunghoon wishes he just went back to sleep. he doesn’t know what good this is doing him, really—he’s aware of it. it’s lying everywhere, the proof scattered around like meaningless scraps: his reduced sleep, terrible appetite and unwillingness to see any girl that isn’t you.
he knows better than anyone how happy he was.
“didn’t know what it was at first,” he says. “thought you made it to the olympic lineup or something. shit’s no joke.”
he’s not even looking at sunghoon anymore. “i know it when i see it. checking your phone every five minutes, laughing more. then you came home looking like someone fucking died.”
heeseung scratches at the back of his neck, but sunghoon looks away before he can utter the last word.
“do i know her?”
“no.”
sunghoon’s answer is immediate. too quick not to raise his other eyebrow, apparently. heeseung notices, and sunghoon notices that heeseung notices—but both never look each other in the eye.
“…okay.” heeseung mutters. his eyes drift around the room instead, trying to keep themselves occupied, if only for the sake of not looking too long at his miserable, bed-ridden friend’s face. his fingers tap idly against the armrest once, twice, before stopping altogether.
“you’re making this way worse for me, heeseung,” sunghoon deadpans, hand coming up to rub at his eyes. the scene feels oddly intimate for someone who still doesn’t know half of what sunghoon’s done. “it’s getting on my nerves.”
“good.”
sunghoon shoots him a look. heeseung just smiles, soft and underpainted with concern that hurts him to even acknowledge. for all the effort sunghoon’s spent making himself difficult to read—for all the years of swallowing things whole and convincing himself that if nobody saw him, then nothing could really touch him—he’s still shocked that people notice when things go bad.
after a few, quiet minutes of sunghoon wishing for heeseung to vanish into thin air and heeseung’s incessant staring, he speaks again.
“…you going to sunoo’s thing this weekend?”
he completely forgot about that. sunghoon blinks slowly, the memories coming back to him now—he remembers, vividly, your voice on the phone, rambling about the stupid thing for five minutes.
you sounded ridiculously excited. obvious now why that was, it still feels just as bitter as it did back then. “what?”
he knows what. he doesn’t know why he’s acting like he doesn’t have a clue what heeseung’s saying.
“sunoo was freaking out yesterday,” he laughs to himself, head tipping back slightly as the chair rocks under him. one foot drags absentmindedly against the floor while his fingers hook around the edge of the armrest. “said he only needs two more people before he reaches the donation limit. i wonder how long the queue’s gonna be.”
sunghoon can vaguely predict where this conversation is going. his eyes narrow a little, and thinks he’ll genuinely kill lee heeseung if he even suggests going to that ridiculous event. if anybody came up and asked him for donations, he’d give it. fine. whatever. just not while publicly exchanging his dignity for it—
“you should go.”
of course.
sunghoon stares at him, blank-eyed with lips pressed together so tightly they almost disappear.
heeseung looks back for exactly half a second before exhaling through his nose, rolling himself backwards in the chair, spinning once and pushing himself off the wall with one foot.
“okay—listen. you need it, man. you’re acting like the love of your life just died, and shit, sitting around and waiting to stop missing her isn’t gonna fix anything.”
sunghoon lets out a quiet laugh through his nose. humourless, if anything. his hand drags slowly down his face, pressing hard enough over his eyes that little bursts of colour bloom behind his eyelids, like he could wipe the exhaustion—or the irritation—straight off his skin. “you don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“ah-ah,” heeseung immediately lifts a hand and wiggles his weirdly long index finger right in sunghoon’s face. nothing productive is going to come out of this conversation, sunghoon realises, so he just decides on shutting up for the rest of the conversation. “i know you keep acting like she already decided on hating you. it’s fine, y’know, if she does.”
heeseung sighs before slapping his palms against his thighs. he gets up in one, swift motion. “don’t you think she has every right to, sunghoon?”
his throat tightens.
“i—”
“shut up,” heeseung cuts him off instantly. “you’re such a control freak, it weirds me out. how did sooha even deal with all that?”
sunghoon is already pushing himself up from the bed. he will hang lee heeseung out to dry—upside down, in nothing but his boxers on this cold, dry autumn day.
though, by the time sunghoon actually manages to sit upright, heeseung’s already halfway out the door. with his hand still clasped around the metal doorknob:
“if she hates you, you should probably let her say that herself.”
the door shuts before sunghoon gets the final word.
he sits there, just for a moment. blanket pooled at the waist, room quiet except for a heater that doesn’t work very well. outside, there’s leaves scraping against the roof and sunghoon just stares at the closed door like it might open up again, with a completely different approach or words that won’t scare him the way heeseung’s did.
it does not.
─────────────────────────
you spent most of your summer waiting.
there’s something cruel about time. unstoppable, immovable, and somehow always aware of when you want it to move faster. it stretches itself thin when you need relief and collapses in on itself when you want more.
summer had always felt like that—golden and lazy and unbearably alive through the heat—but this year, it moved strangely, like someone had pulled all the warmth out and left only an afterglow.
your routine had gone to shit.
you slept at four in the morning, most days, and woke up at around eleven. lunch only happened when there was enough to get by in the fridge, and if your air-fryer was clean enough from the night before—jiwon often had to drag you by the ear to make that happen. half your laundry stays unfolded, because god knows where you disappear to in the middle of folding it, and the books from a month ago still stay.
there are hours spent doing nothing, and yet, the exhaustion lingers. stays in your bones, fusing with you, and refusing to leave.
the worst part isn’t even that you miss park sunghoon, either. it’s how often you reached for him, that being without him feels as significant as loss.
how ironic, considering you never had him to begin with.
you’re curled up on your couch, cheek squished up against the fabric and your knees tucked to your chest. oh jiwon is somewhere in this apartment with you—you’re not exactly sure where, but the soft banging of pots is enough to make a guesstimate.
“what’re you doing?” you yell, half-heartedly because you’re still aware enough to acknowlege your neighbours. “jiwon?”
she doesn’t respond. probably something about dinner, you think. the show on tv is loud enough for her voice to fade into the background, anyhow.
summer break ended some time ago—and with it went the warmth and heat and fuzziness that came with the man on the other end of the line. autumn arrives eventually, cruel in the way all inevitable things are, forcing you and everyone else to spend a little longer indoors because of the increasing cold. september is especially vicious; the air is sharper now, thinner, and you stop walking through that park altogether because every bench and every couple under those stupid yellow streetlamps reminds you too much of him.
for a guy that claimed to be so mundane, he sure takes up an absurd amount of your headspace—even now, even after more than a month of waiting and leaving and forcing yourself not to say things you wouldn’t be able to take back, he still lingers.
your hand still hovers over your phone after seeing something stupid online. you still walk past cute cafés and think he’d probably hate this place. you still watch movies and mentally bookmark scenes because you think he’d have too much fun analysing them with you and somehow, make the whole experience annoyingly enjoyable at the same time.
you still doubt yourself, and you still hear his voice afterwards—steady, certain, monotonous and so lovingly boring—pulling you back up before you spiral too far.
the silence fills your room like a slow-moving plague, settling into corners and underneath your blankets and against your walls until eventually, you start relying on old conversations to fall asleep.
you remember his laugh before his face, and you loved him before you saw his eyes. there’s something pathetic in that, you think, almost gullible—that after everything, after all the anger and humiliation and crying and weeks spent convincing yourself that this should not matter as much as it does—you still soften at the thought of him.
you hate that. you hate that he lied to you, and somehow, still ended up becoming so woven into parts of your life—enough for it to feel impossible to pull apart.
you hate it all, but never him.
“heeello?”
you blink before seeing jiwon’s legs standing right in your line of vision. blocking the subtitles, more like it.
she stares down at you from above with one eyebrow raised, afternoon light shining behind her head, casting her face into shadow in a way that feels unnecessarily threatening for someone holding an empty pot.
“what are you doing? get out of the way.” you squint, shifting ever so slightly—and completely uselessly—to get a full view of the text on screen. your head tilts one way, then the other, as though changing the angle will somehow let you see through her body.
she narrows her eyes and tilts her head, hair falling over her shoulder fluidly. she does that motion where she’s about to hit you with the pan, but you flinch hard enough for her to laugh and lower it down. “welcome back! have fun spacing out? i’ve been asking what you want for dinner, for like, five minutes.”
jiwon follows your line of sight and twists around, just enough to get a proper look at the tv, rolling her eyes before her mouth pulls strangely to one side.
“…you know you watched this last night, right?”
of course she knows that. cons of sharing a netflix account with your best friend, and co-habiting with her for the past month.
your eyes drift back to the screen and the episode progress bar, sitting near the end and there’s already that stupid little preview box hovering in the corner asking whether you want to continue to the next episode. you don’t remember a single thing that happened, and can’t find the energy to recall.
you let out a long sigh and prop yourself up properly against the sofa, blanket bunching around your waist. jiwon’s folding her arms now, a slight frown on her face, and you dislike it immensely.
“…what?”
she stares at you for another second before walking over and dropping onto the other side of the couch, pulling one leg up beneath herself.
“…okay,” she says slowly, looking at you in that way people do when they already know the answer. “are we gonna keep pretending you’re okay or am i finally allowed to ask? will you blow up on me again, or—”
“jiwon—”
“it’s fine, y’know,” she babbles on, immediately waving the hand holding the ladle, before circling around the coffee table. she drops down right next to you with enough force to make the cushions dip. pulling one leg underneath herself, she points dramatically to the apartment around her. “i can just stay here forever, cook forever, and clean forever. it’s alright!”
you stare at her, then glance at the pot, and finally, at the folded laundry sitting on the armchair.
you pinch at the bridge of your nose.
“…i didn’t ask you to do all that,” you mutter under your breath, eyes dropping back to the paused show. your fingers knead at the skin there once, twice, before your hand drops into your lap. you let out another sigh and lean your head back against the sofa. “i’m fine by myself—”
jiwon turns immediately. her eyebrows pull together, and her jaw almost goes rigid. “i do it because i care about you. don’t make me regret it.”
she’s already looking away afterwards, fiddling with the sleeve of her hoodie, and reaching over to adjust the blanket pooled around your legs.
your head hurts. the room is too quiet, again, without that show playing, or the music blasting on the home speakers.
how is it that the missing piece in your life is shaped exactly like park sunghoon?
summer. so useless, and yet, you were so alive.
“listen.” jiwon’s voice cuts through your thoughts. you turn, and she’s twisted sideways now, one leg tucked under herself and chin resting against her palm while her other hand reaches over to steal the remote. she clicks it twice before deciding against turning anything on again.
“about that thing this weekend—”
your jaw hangs. “are you kidding?”
jiwon’s eyes widen immediately. she sighs, both hands dragging down the sides of her face before slapping against the backrest of the couch.
“okay, i know we agreed to go together to the charity event, and all the different booths and shit like that, but my dad’s finally in town again, and i just—”
you wave your hand quickly, once before she can finish, eyes not leaving the screen as your fingers start picking at the seam of the blanket. “oh, yeah, no. i’ll just skip. it’s all good.”
jiwon turns properly this time. her forehead creases. “…what? what about the money?”
you shrug one shoulder and scratch absentmindedly at a loose thread near your knee. “it comes back. it’s all good. if it’s that big of a deal to you, ask your dad to apple pay me.”
jiwon stares at you for a second too long before setting the remote down, scooting across the couch in one smooth movement until her knee bumps against yours. she squints slightly, head tilting as she searches your face. “okay,” she says slowly, one hand reaching over to pinch the fabric over your thigh. “not funny.”
you squeal, and she just grumbles.
then, she nudges your knee with hers again. “but seriously,” she says, shoulders relaxing as she turns more towards you and props her elbow against the backrest, “you need to get the fuck outside.”
you let out a quiet laugh. “you’ve been stuck with me this entire time. we need to go outside.”
jiwon shakes her head immediately and sits up straighter, her fingers slipping off the blanket and flat against your forearm instead. “no,” she says. “that’s not what i mean.”
you look away, and she notices. of course, she notices.
her thumb taps once against your skin before she lets her hand drop.
“…i know you’re avoiding seeing him,” she mutters, eyes drifting briefly around the apartment—the dishes, the curtains that haven’t been opened properly all week, the same hoodie you’ve worn thrice in a row—before settling back on you. she presses her lips together and reaches over to smooth the blanket over your knee again. “but you’re throwing everything away for that.”
you don’t say a thing. you feel like a coward. you feel like a liar. you feel like a lot of things, but jiwon’s looking at you like you’re not.
“…you’ve been talking about that stupid fundraiser since february,” she continues. “you made me pay thirty dollars to get matched with strangers…. among other things. you’ll pay me for that, right?”
she realises, a second too late, that you’re not laughing.
you look away, eyes locked on something outside the window. you can’t really tell with how your vision begins to blur. she waits for a response, but when it becomes clear she isn’t getting one:
“you wanted to go.”
your hand comes up and presses against your mouth.
you remember sitting in the library during finals with your laptop open, and your notes everywhere and thinking about it between lectures. your brain would drift whenever revision got unbearable, and suddenly, you’d be imagining what you’d wear and whether heeseung would actually come, and if he’d be as nice as everybody said he was.
it felt harmless then. stupid and harmless. a little reward waiting at the end.
you remember texting jiwon about it. making jokes, pretending not to care.
but now, you remember another thing.
you remember sitting in the exact same library with someone only two feet away. you remember somebody asking if you’d eaten, and somebody telling you to stop being perfect. somebody remembering your schedule better than you did. somebody finding you in that secluded corner, where the world didn’t exist beyond it, if only for a few hours.
you remember leaving that library and not thinking about lee heeseung at all.
your thumb presses harder against your lip. you’ve been biting at a piece of dead skin on your cuticle unconsciously. “that’s embarrassing.”
jiwon frowns.
“…i don’t think i actually wanted him.”
she doesn’t interrupt.
you keep staring at the television instead, eyes tracing shapes that stopped moving minutes ago. your fingers keep smoothing over the blanket stretched across your lap, flattening the same crease over and over until the friction starts irritating your palms. eventually, your thumb catches on loose thread and you pick at it absentmindedly, winding it once around your finger before letting it snap back. “…i think i just liked wanting something. he was hot, yeah, and people liked him.”
“thought maybe…” you bite down on your bottom lip. “i don’t know. maybe if somebody like that liked me back, then that would mean something.”
everyone’s always told you that you had terrible luck.
you remember teachers saying things like that’s unfortunate and friends joking that your life always sounded a little too dramatic to be accidental. wrong place, wrong time—missing buses. getting sick before things you cared about, liking people that didn’t like you back. liking people too late. liking people wrong. liking people at all.
“proving that i’m not all that unlikeable...” you mumble. “but i’m just as unlucky as everyone says.”
it was never that serious to complain about. it mostly served it’s purpose as comedic relief in other people’s lives, but as one knows, after the age of sixteen—everything just seems self-deprecating instead of humorous.
“you like him.”
jiwon’s voice is slightly too quiet for it to be a declaration. she says it softly enough that you could pretend you didn’t hear, or so that you could roll your eyes and say obviously not and she’d just let you.
you try to think about all the reasons why you don’t, and why you can’t. you think about lying, about the trust, about the humiliation and about standing in the middle of the park, crying like that in front of someone who played you like a puppet.
and still, you do not say a thing.
“i think…” she starts quietly, eyes dropping to where your hands meet before lifting back to your face. “it doesn’t actually change anything. the one you like is still sunghoon, y/n. no amount of this—whatever this is that you’re doing—is going to change that.”
“you fell for who he was. the name was irrelevant, wasn’t it?”
jiwon watches you for a while after that, shoulders sinking further into the couch. she studies your face, one hand disappearing into the sleeve of her hoodie while the other stays resting over the blanket draped across your legs, fingers absentmindedly playing with yours.
she glances at the television once—the paused menu, your reflection sitting small and folded into yourself against all that dead blue light—and exhales quietly through her nose before shifting closer to you.
“can i say something else that might piss you off?”
you keep your eyes forward, rubbing your thumb over the edge of the blanket. “what?”
jiwon squints at you for a second before nodding once, slowly, like she’s 99% sure you will get pissed off anyway at the statement she’s going to make.
“okay. i think you’re being unfair—not to him, though. just yourself,” she says. “i’ve been watching you do this thing for a month now. you keep saying he’s bad for you.”
you look down. she notices, of course.
“maybe he is. probably. whatever,” jiwon mutters under her breath, trying to remember what point she was trying to make. “but i don’t think that’s why you’re cancelling on m—”
“you cancelled, by the way.”
“still. you’re just scared that all those feelings will come back, or that they’ll be completely gone, and it’s scary.” she’s looking forward now, too. she finds it harder to be serious when she’s looking at you in the eye. “it was real, right? everything?”
right.
you hum in acknowledgement, low and partially absent, eyes still fixed somewhere near the bottom corner of the television where the subtitles would usually sit. jiwon watches your face for another second too long, before taking it as permission to continue. honestly, she’s a little surprised you haven’t mauled her yet. a month ago, she would’ve gotten a cushion launched at her head by now.
“the more like you pretend he isn’t real, the more it’ll hurt,” she sighs. “you can forgive him, or don’t, i’m not gonna tell you what to do like we’re fifteen again. oh, that was a really bad time for both of us—ow!”
your fingers dart out before you can stop yourself, pinching the soft skin above her knee hard enough for her whole body to jolt sideways with a startled squeal. she swats uselessly at your hand, rubbing furiously at the spot through her sweatpants before shooting you the most deeply offended look she can manage.
“could you just listen to me for once?” she groans, collapsing dramatically into the couch cushions. “i’m trying really hard to be wise here.”
you roll your eyes, but the corner of your mouth betrays you anyway.
“there it is,” jiwon points immediately, grinning so wide it almost irritates you. “see? you’re capable of experiencing joy!”
“i’m about to experience violence.”
“that’s my girl!”
she laughs to herself before the smile gradually slips away again, replaced by something more serious. her fingers fold together in her lap, thumbs rubbing absentmindedly against each other as she stares down at them for a moment, gathering whatever was left of her courage. when she looks back up, there’s none of that usual teasing left on her face.
“look,” she sighs. “i’m not trying to convince you that what he did wasn’t awful, because it was. i wanted to punch him just from hearing about it, and i still kinda do.”
she wrinkles her nose. “but i also watched you spend almost your entire summer waiting for him to call. you kept pretending you were watching movies when you were really staring at your phone, and you even stopped walking through that park because every bench reminded you of him.”
your throat tightens.
“you don't have to forgive him,” she continues, shaking her head slowly, reaching over to brush a strand of hair away from your face. “honestly, maybe you never will. maybe you shouldn't. but i don't think hiding from the world is the same thing as moving on, y/n.”
you keep your eyes fixed on the ceiling, on the little crack running along the corner where the paint has started to peel. “what if i see him,” you mumble, barely louder than the hum of the fridge from the kitchen, “and i still want him?”
jiwon's expression doesn't change. she takes a moment before her mouth parts slightly, just enough to answer. “then you'll know.”
"and if i don't?"
she shrugs gently, her hand lingering over yours for another second, thumb brushing your knuckle once before it falls back into her lap. she looks almost sad when she says it. "then you'll know that, too."
the apartment falls quiet again. somewhere outside, a car door slams, and a few birds chirp before scattering into the clouds. someone's drilling something in the apartment above you. someone's yelling something in the street. the world keeps going, indifferent and loud, the way it always does when you seem to be
“okay.”
jiwon watches you for a second longer, like she's checking the word for cracks. she must not have found any, or perhaps a few too many to name, because she just lets it go.
─────────────────────────
by the time you reach campus, the fundraiser is already in full swing.
the entire quad has transformed overnight into something almost unrecognisable. white canopy tents stretch across the lawn in neat, uneven rows, their fabric flapping in the wind whenever the cold september breeze decides to pass through.
handmade banners hang crookedly above each stall, painted with far too much enthusiasm and not nearly enough artistic ability—bright acrylic letters bleeding into one another, beneath glitter and shiny lettering that catches the afternoon sun every time somebody walks past.
“come visit booth 6!” “free drinks at booth 52!” “stand a chance to win—”
somewhere off to your left, somebody is aggressively advertising homemade brownies through a megaphone that crackles every other sentence, while another group has somehow convinced the jazz society to play live beside the engineering department’s robotics display. the music overlaps with laughter, conversations, applause and the occasional groan from somebody losing money at one of the carnival games, until it all melts together into any introvert’s worst nightmare.
jiwon, as foretold, is busy smiling, shaking hands and pretending to enjoy the company of the stepfather she’s complained about for the better part of four years, leaving you to fend for yourself amongst a sea of strangers. you’re beginning to wonder if any of this was even worth not paying her the thirty dollars for bailing. you could’ve been at home instead, cocooned underneath your duvet with instant noodles balanced precariously on your stomach while you binged that stupid show she keeps interrupting halfway through every episode—but apparently you did not need to be “sixty dollars broker,” and allegedly, according to her, “exposure builds character.”
students drift through the walkways in slow, uneven currents, weaving around one another with paper cups warming their hands and tote bags slipping from tired shoulders. autumn has only just begun settling over campus, leaving enough warmth in the afternoon sun to coax everyone outside while the breeze nips at exposed skin, carrying with it the smell of caramel popcorn, burnt coffee, fried food and fresh paint that still hasn't completely dried on half the handmade signs.
every few steps, someone brushes your shoulder without meaning to, and another laughs so loudly it echoes between the buildings. the quad feels impossibly alive, like the entire student body had been holding its breath for weeks and finally remembered how to exhale.
you've just realised how long it'd been since you'd seen campus like this.
exam season had stripped everything bare. the library became the centre of everybody's universe, swallowing entire afternoons until the only sounds left were pages turning, keyboards clacking and chairs scraping softly against carpet. everyone looked permanently exhausted beneath fluorescent lighting, surviving almost exclusively on caffeine and blind optimism, and now they're outside again.
clubs are recruiting first-years with embarrassingly enthusiastic chants, and the fourth-year students are pretending they aren't equally interested in the free tote bags.
autumn seems to bring something different into the air. meanwhile, summer, as you've known it, was spent mostly indoors or at the corner store fifteen minutes from campus, where you'd stand in front of the instant noodle shelf for far longer than necessary before carrying the same cup outside to eat on the outdoor seating. there were a handful of evenings where you'd glance up every time a dark-haired guy walked past, stomach flipping before common sense caught up with you. there were even more where you caught yourself wondering whether park sunghoon had ever been here before, whether he'd ever stood in front of the same vending machine deciding between two drinks, whether he'd look out for you the same way you did.
every single time, you wanted to walk straight into incoming traffic for even entertaining the thought. it's ridiculous. he literally lives on campus.
you spend quite a bit of time walking around the place. the sun isn’t too brutal at this time of day, and for once, you don’t dread seeing a bunch of people you know—there’s moments where you make eye contact with an old friend, a new acquaintance or someone who’s friends with someone you know, and they wave like they’ve known you for years. your feet begin to hurt by the end of the hour, and when you look down, you realise you’re holding an overpriced sea salt latte, a bag of homemade cookies, and a doodle of you a second-year student made for $5.
there’s a few flyers in your bag, too. you don’t even remember being interested in crocheting, but alright. somewhere along the way, you’ve lost the map that some student union members handed you when you first walked in, and for fifteen blissful minutes, you convinced yourself that you’ve never been to this part of the quad before.
it works. for a while.
you’re patting your jeans down. perhaps you folded it or crumpled it together with receipts or other useless junk from the day, but it’s literally vanished. nevertheless, your feet are carrying you to unknown places, through thickening crowds and high-pitched laughter that feels impossible to distinguish which direction it originates from.
somebody almost knocks your latte out of your hand. you almost cuss him out, before he whispers a ‘sorry!’ and joins a snaking queue, spilling onto the footpath.
“my god.”
you’re back at sunoo’s booth. pastel pink, covered in ikea string lights that are certainly not suited for outdoor use, the banner above spelling exactly what you signed up for: soul searching.
it sways gently overhead, now slightly lopsided after surviving what looked like several hours of relentless traffic. whoever had decorated the booth this morning had given up on maintaining any sort of order—heart-shaped balloons floated at uneven heights, paper cupid arrows had started peeling away from the tent poles, and one of the volunteers was hurriedly taping another handwritten sign across the front of the table.
queue full! please scan the qr code to join the line! we'll text you when it's your turn ♡
"honestly," somebody behind you mutters as they walk by. "this is way better. nobody’s standing for two hours.”
“right? i’m hoping they move me to the front,” their friend responds. “i bought the early ones too… i feel so fucking desperate. at least we’re in the line at all.”
you glance towards the front, almost absentmindedly. they weren’t wrong—the line that had wrapped halfway around the quad earlier had disappeared entirely, replaced instead by clusters of students with phones in hand. they’re hopping around and comparing wait times while volunteers hurried between the very few tables available, trying to answer stupid questions before the next wave arrived.
you did pay for this. your latte’s gone warm, anyway, and the condensation is starting to drip down onto your sleeves. might as well find out whether your ticket's even still valid.
the qr code sits laminated against the edge of the registration table, surrounded by little hand-drawn hearts and stars that look suspiciously like sunoo's work. you fish your phone out of your tote, thumb hovering over the camera app for just a second before lifting it. you step closer to get a clearer view, tongue poking at your cheek—
"hold on.”
you glance up, blinking slowly until sunoo comes into focus. he’s dressed in all sorts of shades of pink, from hot to muted to pastel, and his cheeks have hearts face-painted onto them.
“y/n! you actually came!”
he breaks into a wide grin, so wide that it almost scares you. for a brief moment, you wonder if this is even the kim sunoo you know, considering he was never too worried for your attendance when the fundraiser was first brought up.
before you can even say hello, he's already leaning across the table, volunteer lanyard swinging forward as he peeks at the ticket confirmation on your screen. you hadn’t realised it’s already loaded, displaying the ‘early-bird’ status right at the top. in bold, like it wasn’t humiliating enough just being here.
“i paid, so…”
he circles around the table.
“exactly!” his finger points at your phone. “early bird. you’re lucky!”
you nod slowly, like you understand where this conversation’s about to go. truth be told, you don’t, so in order to hide the confusion, your eyes dart around to avoid his.
"…early-bird participants get priority once they join the queue.”
strange. the other laminated sign your eyes land on, which is pasted right behind sunoo’s head, conveniently says otherwise.
“it literally is.” sunoo declares, with such effortless confidence that you might’ve believed him if not for the piece of paper taped up behind him. he still wears that smile, his cheeks rounding in a way that makes it dangerously easy to nod along, right until one of the volunteers at the registration table slowly lifts his head and looks over.
he deadpans. “sunoo.”
“what?”
“…since when?”
kim sunoo doesn’t even bother turning around to answer his fellow volunteer. you suppose being the organiser has its perks, because he simply says, “since today! operational changes are needed, aren’t they?”
all the guy can do is sigh and rub at his temples.
“great!” sunoo beams, already uncapping a marker with his teeth before flicking the cap into his palm. he hunches over the clipboard, the tip squeaking furiously across the paper in quick, decisive strokes, barely pausing to breathe before thrusting it back against his chest. “congratulations, y/n!”
you narrow your eyes. “on what?”
“you’re next!” he tears a small ticket from the pad with a sharp riiiip, stamps it against the clipboard with far more force than necessary, then slides it into your hand like he’s finalising an important legal transaction.
“sunoo, there’s literally people waiting behind me.”
sunoo merely raises an eyebrow. he tilts his head, peering past your shoulder with enough curiosity that, against your better judgment, you glance back too.
you don’t know whether to laugh or cry.
a queue of complete strangers is, in fact, staring directly at the two of you. some look mildly confused, others openly entertained, but most are just pissed off. one guy even checks his phone, like he’s trying to figure out whether he’s somehow joined the wrong line, and how he, too, could join ‘priority-access’.
“huh."
when you turn back around, sunoo’s already smiling again, not a shred of shame anywhere on his face. “you’re making this up, aren’t y—”
“prove it.”
“okay, then.”
─────────────────────────
a volunteer pulls the canvas flap aside for you with an overly enthusiastic smile, hair sticking to his forehead from the (presumably) constant back and forth sunoo’s making him do. for such a small booth team, the place is surprisingly put-together, and the online queue isn’t glitching out the way other booth’s are. you had to admit that you were somewhat glad you came.
“good luck,” he whispers, to which you reply with a confused expression before walking in.
the noise disappears almost immediately.
the bustle outside dulls into a soft, muffled hum behind layers of canvas, leaving the tiny booth wrapped in an unexpected sort of quiet. sunlight filters through the cream-coloured fabric overhead, warming the little space in soft patches until everything inside glows honey-gold.
it smells faintly of vanilla and paper, with the lingering sweetness of somebody’s perfume clinging stubbornly to the air from the last pairing. you wonder where they went to after their five minutes of alone time—did they go to grab coffee? did he say something to piss her off, and she stormed out early? is that why sunoo’s giving you priority?
you stop just after the entrance.
“oh.”
it’s… actually kind of nice.
someone had gone through an embarrassing amount of effort decorating the place. ivy vines wind around the tent poles alongside more tiny string lights, and battery-powered candles flicker lazily in the centre of a small round table dressed with a cream linen cloth.
a little glass jar is overflowing with folded paper stars. it sits between two untouched bottles of water, and it almost makes you wonder how much money they poured into this thing, before you remember that they probably went over the donation limit a long, long time ago.
somebody had even scattered fake rose petals across the tabletop, though several had already drifted onto the flimsy plywood beneath the chairs.
there’s only two seats. complimentary seat cushion, too, also pink and plaid. you sigh, seeing how it was already squished flat from all the people sitting on it before you, but you make your way regardless. the amount of walking you’ve put yourself through has done no justice to your feet, anyway.
the first thing you notice is that whoever’s sitting across from you is going to bump your knees, unless he happens to be significantly shorter.
you don’t really mind it. the tent is only so big, and god knows how they even managed to squeeze a table through that narrow entrance. still, it’s enough to make you silently hope he isn’t particularly tall, either.
you let out a quiet breath through your nose.
beside the battery-operated candle sits a neat stack of laminated cards bound together by a stainless steel ring, each one printed with colourful lettering and tiny doodles tucked into the corners.
♡ conversation starters ♡
you already know this is going to be terrible. who the hell pitched this?
#5 what’s your most irrational fear?
too intimate.
your fingers flip through the stack, anyway. there’s an identical set resting on the opposite side of the table, presumably waiting for whoever draws the short straw across from you.
#8 if you could relive one day of your life, which would you choose?
too deep. nobody thought these through. you keep flipping, snorting under your breath every few cards.
#10 what’s your biggest regret?
#11 when did you last cry?
#12 do you fall for looks, or personality?
your smile fades before you realise it had even appeared at all. another prank by the universe, you suppose.
the cards settle back onto the table with a soft tap. your hands find their way to the armrests, tapping against the wood, anything to stop thinking about the guy you’re not supposed to be thinking about.
outside, somebody cheers loud enough for it to seep through the canvas walls, followed by another chorus of laughter that slowly dissolves back into the fundraiser’s usual chatter. you glance instinctively toward the entrance, expecting the fabric to move.
nothing. the chair opposite you remains empty, and no one’s walking through that tarp.
you check your phone. it’s been three minutes.
you’re drumming your fingers lightly against the edge of the table now, watching the fake candle flicker. the tiny plastic flame sways with every movement of the air-conditioning fan someone had hidden near the ceiling of the tent, convincing enough that you almost forget it isn’t real.
the things you do in pursuit of love, you think.
it’s almost funny, now that you’re sitting here.
you remember signing up for this thing with only one person in mind—someone you barely knew, someone you had no right to like because of all the missing pieces your imagination had so generously filled in. back then, this booth felt like a shortcut. maybe you’d sit across from lee heeseung, maybe he’d smile at you, maybe the universe would finally decide to do you one favour in this unlucky life of yours.
there was a point where you thought you knew your type. the kind of guy that seemed so easy to trip and fall on your face for. maybe it was that new year’s party, when you caught him standing at the front of the house with a cigarette between his fingers, the street light catching against his jaw while everyone else laughed somewhere behind you. maybe it was those tuesday mornings outside the cafeteria. maybe it was the words of everyone around you, but either way, you never really heard his voice, or stood close enough to know how he laughed, what he sounded like when he was tired, or whether he was a better listener than talker.
distance has a funny way of disguising itself as depth. you mistake wondering for understanding, admiration for affection, until one day you’ve built an entire person out of scattered glances and second-hand stories. maybe that was all the crush had ever been—a collection of assumptions, stitched together by not knowing enough.
perhaps, it was never about lee heeseung at all.
park sunghoon is a fucking headache. he lingers in every inconvenient corner of your life, occupying your thoughts long after he shattered your heart and broke your trust that summer night. it’s almost cruel how thoroughly he’s rooted himself into your memory—his voice still finds you before your own thoughts do, his quiet laugh still sneaks into your head whenever something stupid happens. you remember the thoughtful pauses before he’d answer your questions, the accidental sincerity he always seemed embarrassed by, and the unwavering certainty with which he’d tell you that you were capable of things you never believed you could do yourself.
despite the lies, the betrayal, despite everything. despite the way he looked at you that night, like he couldn’t bear to lose you, and still let you walk away—you realise that there isn’t a single part of you that wishes it had been lee heeseung from the beginning.
the canvas shifts.
at first, it’s nothing more than a shadow moving across the pale canvas, followed by the dull scrape of shoes against packed grass outside. somebody murmurs something—a volunteer, probably—and another voice answers too quietly for you to make out.
your heart’s beating out of your chest. the last time you felt like this, it was january first, and also three in the morning.
the flap rustles once before stilling again, as though whoever’s on the other side already regrets doing this. you let out a quiet laugh through your nose, watching the silhouette hesitate in the narrow entrance where the fading warmth of september collides with the dry chill of the portable air-conditioner humming somewhere overhead.
the afternoon sun outlines him first. he’s tall, broad, holding a bouquet of flowers in his right hand. he turns halfway around to mumble something behind him, and through the gap in the canvas, you catch a glimpse of someone suspiciously resembling sunoo. whatever he says earns him a sharp slap between the shoulder blades and an exaggerated shove forward, the bouquet wobbling dangerously in his grip before he manages to catch it against his chest.
your fingers are still tracing the laminated edge of one of the conversation cards when the canvas finally parts. he stumbles through the entrance, muttering what sounds like an embarrassed complaint under his breath, one hand instinctively reaching back to steady the flap before it swings shut behind him.
you only realise who he is when he looks up.
the sleeves are shoved up to his elbows like they always are, but he looks better than the last time you saw him—cleaner, less wrecked, like he’s actually been sleeping well now that you’re not around. his hair has grown out just enough to fall over his eyebrows, and despite everything, despite the month that’s wedged itself between the two of you, you remember every single feature on his face, and just how much you missed it.
that’s when you realise that a month and a half is nearly not enough time to forget.
for one impossible second, relief blooms before your brain catches up to your body.
the world seems like it’s flipping upside down, now. park sunghoon freezes, like he wasn’t expecting either; your pulse is slamming against your ribs so violently that you swear he must be able to hear it. you can hear your blood rushing in your ears by the time you stand up—chair screeching violently against the plywood as you shove yourself backwards, the legs offering some resistance before jerking free with your force.
your knees collide with the underside of the table hard enough to send the fake candle wobbling between the two of you. it’s tiny, plastic flame is flickering, almost mocking.
every instinct you have screams the same thing: leave.
sunghoon notices (of course he does), and something inside his expression crumbles just enough for you to feel like you’ve been stabbed in the heart.
his shoulder sinks by barely an inch, the hand which holds the bouquet to his stomach now dropping to his side. he doesn’t move any closer, too afraid to even breathe audibly, just standing by the entrance with the afternoon light outlining his familiar silhouette.
his eyes are soft, a gentle smile painted across his face, as though he’s trying to show you how much it hurts not seeing you for so long.
you’re just like how he remembers. golden light on your face, diffused now from the tent’s shade, bright eyes looking up at him the same way it did in the summer. perhaps it’s because of his dreams that this doesn’t feel as shocking as he’d thought it’d be—that one evening in the library between bookshelves replays like a highlight reel behind his eyelids, and in a way, he thinks it’s helped with his what little sleep he's managed to get recently.
and, in the same vein, he looks everything like the boy you've spent the last month trying to forget.
“…you.”
your voice is barely a whisper. sunghoon swallows, and his lips part once before closing again. you want to scream at him, maybe even punch him in the face. with that sad look on his face, you think he might even let you.
“y/n.”
you don’t hesitate. the moment sunghoon sees you grabbing your things, ready to turn around and leave—he speaks again, rushed with a tinge of desperation.
“please. five minutes, it’s all i need.”
what could he possibly say that would undo all of this?
park sunghoon bites down on his bottom lip, trying to stop it from trembling. you’re staring at him with glassy eyes, hands shaking from either anger or just pure despair, waiting for an answer that might not even fix anything at all.
your shoulders stay angled towards the exit, eyes not meeting his. you’re afraid that if you look at him properly, you'll remember everything all over again.
“i'm sorry, y/n.”
you should’ve left as soon as you saw that frame in the sun—as soon as your heart sank and your mind briefly flashed to sunghoon.
silence stretches between the two of you. you’re somewhat thankful for the loud noise outside that helps dampen it. the laughter sounds impossibly far away from where you stand.
“not because i got caught lying to you.” his fingers tighten around the bouquet, knuckles paling beneath flushed skin. “i think about it every day. it never leaves.”
your molars grind together until your temples start to pulse. the muscles in your jaw ache from holding back everything that wants to come spilling out, and you realise, belatedly, that you're digging your fingernails so deeply into the canvas strap of your tote that the fabric has started to wrinkle beneath your grip. you’re blinking the salt away, too, trying not to let it drip down your cheeks. “why did you do that to me, sunghoon?”
your voice comes out quieter than you intended. it’s nothing short of humiliating. sunghoon stares at you for a little while longer, and it really does feel like his heart’s being ripped out of his ribcage all over again. there’s nothing nice about seeing someone you love in tears, much less because of you.
“i didn't think it’d go far.” his voice is barely above a whisper now. “that’s not an excuse. i know it isn’t. i realised that really early on.”
his thumb catches on the edge of the brown paper wrapped around the flowers, smoothing the same crease over and over until it begins to tear.
“i just...” he laughs quietly through his nose, and it breaks somewhere in the middle. “i was terrified, y/n.”
your breath catches. you just can’t understand. every word from him feels like relief and a new betrayal all over again, and for a moment, you wonder how you’re still standing here. there’s half of you that feels glad that he cares enough to show up again—and another that never wants to see his pretty face again.
“the only lie i ever told you,” he continues, finally forcing himself to meet your eyes, “was that i was lee heeseung. everything else was real. all the calls, conversations, every second i spent listening to your voice.”
sunghoon says it like a confession. like an intimate secret he’s yet to admit to anyone else but you, because truly, he hasn’t. it’s stupid how long he’s allowed this to suffocate him.
“i was scared of how much i wanted you, and i let it go on, because it was the best thing that’s ever happened to me. i didn’t want to lose you, and i acted selfishly because of that.”
“you could’ve told me from the beginning.” your hand comes up instinctively, thumb dragging beneath your waterline before another tear has the chance to fall. you sniffle once, sharp and involuntary, and sunghoon feels it somewhere behind his ribs. “you could have. do you have any idea how humiliating that was?”
the words roll off your tongue before you can think twice. “i made myself look like a fucking idiot in front of you.”
sunghoon's breathing falters. his grip tightens around the bouquet until the brown paper crumples loudly in the silence, stems bending awkwardly beneath his fingers. he can't bring himself to look away from your face—not when your eyelashes are clumped together with tears, not when the skin beneath them has gone raw from how hard you're rubbing at it.
“i know.”
his voice barely survives the distance between you.
“every time i think about you,” he swallows hard, the muscles in his throat straining around the words. “i think about everything you trusted me with, and all i can remember is that i stood there and let you keep believing me.” his eyes fall to the floor for the briefest moment before finding yours again, impossibly guilty. “you deserved better than that.”
“i put you through so much,” park sunghoon adds, his voice so quiet you're forced to listen for it. “i was selfish. i convinced myself that if i told you the truth, i’d lose you, even if i deserved to.”
his thumb smooths absently over another crease in the bouquet's wrapping paper. “every day i waited after that, for the right time, for when it was easiest for me—it just got harder, and then it got impossible.”
he exhales shakily. “there was never going to be a good time. i knew that.”
you stare at him, at the bouquet he'd probably spent too long choosing. you imagine how out of place he must've looked picking those out, asking the store owner which ones would be good, knowing nothing about flowers, buying whatever was recommended to him without a second thought.
and then you're looking at the circles beneath his eyes—better now than they were before, but still there, still belonging to a boy who somehow looks exactly like the person you spent all summer missing, and the person who broke your heart in the very same breath.
“you could’ve told me,” you whisper again, the words catching somewhere behind your teeth. your fingers curl helplessly around the strap of your tote until the rough canvas digs into your palm. “you could’ve walked up to me that first night. i would’ve—”
another tear slips free before you can force the last word out. your breath catches violently in your chest, chin dropping toward your collarbone as a broken sob tears through you before you have the chance to swallow it back.
sunghoon moves before he thinks. the bouquet lands forgotten against the table with a muffled rustle, baby's breath spilling over the edge of the table as he closes the distance between you in two hurried strides. his hand comes up instinctively—halfway to your face, halfway to your shoulder, he doesn't even know anymore—before stopping inches from your face.
"...y/n."
sunghoon freezes. fingers trembling, not knowing if he's allowed to be this close to you again, not knowing if he gets to touch you just because you're crying. nevertheless, his hand curls slowly into a fist before falling uselessly back to his side.
your shoulders shake harder.
you clap a hand over your mouth as if that'll somehow muffle the sound, but it only turns each breath into something more desperate and more painful. tears slip between your fingers anyway, dripping onto the backs of your knuckles before disappearing into the sleeves of your top.
sunghoon feels sick. everything is telling him to touch you, to hold you, to do everything he can to rid you of the tears staining your face. wiping your tears away with his thumb and all, like how he’s imagined doing a hundred selfish times over the phone—to tell you it’s okay.
something’s siphoning all the air out of his lungs. "...i'm sorry," sunghoon whispers again, voice splintering under the weight of the words. "i’m sorry, y/n. please, don’t cry, please.”
there’s a tiny part of you that wants to lean into him. instead, you let out something between a laugh and another sob. you drag the heel of your palm beneath your eyes, every tear replaced by another before you can finish catching your breath. vision blurry as you stare down at sunghoon’s shoes, he shuts his eyes.
“i didn’t care,” you sigh. “i wouldn’t have cared.”
your ears don't catch the quiet sniffle that escapes sunghoon. his own vision has long since blurred, tears gathering stubbornly along his waterline until the fairy lights overhead fracture into soft, indistinct halos. he doesn't bother wiping them away, not when you're crying like this—not when every broken breath that leaves you sounds like something he's carved into your chest with his own hands.
“i fell for you, hoon.” you look up at him then, your eyes swollen and shining beneath the warm fairy lights strung across the ceiling of the booth. tears cling to your lashes, catching the light every time you blink. “you could’ve told me.” your voice cracks again, almost pleading. “you could have.”
the words seem to find every hollow place inside him.
his shoulders, already drawn painfully tight beneath the navy hoodie, sink another inch, the tension draining from them so suddenly he almost folds into himself. his hand, still hovering uncertainly between the two of you, curls instinctively before slowly uncurling again. this time, he doesn't stop.
fuck it.
park sunghoon’s touch brushes your cheek so lightly you barely feel them at first. gentle, like he doesn’t know quite how to handle you—warm and careful and everything you’ve ever needed.
his palm settles against the side of your face, thumb sweeping gently beneath your eye to catch the tear before it slips past your jaw. your skin burns beneath the touch, not because it hurts, but because you've missed it without ever knowing what it felt like—it's unbearably familiar for something entirely new.
you don’t mean to lean into him, but your body does it anyway.
for the smallest moment, your cheek rests against his palm, and the breath sunghoon lets out is so quiet that it almost disappears beneath the hum of the air-conditioner overhead. a sigh escapes him, almost as if he can’t believe how much he’s hurt you—and before you break into a sob again, you speak.
“maybe...” you whisper, voice shrinking beneath the weight of the thought—of park sunghoon and you, of that stupid new year's party, of library afternoons and late-night phone calls and every version of the future that never got the chance to exist. “maybe we’d be fine. maybe we’d be happy, if that’s what you even wanted—”
“it is.”
there isn’t a trace of hesitation.
sunghoon's thumb stills against your cheek as fresh tears spill over his own, his forehead dipping just enough that he's looking at you from beneath damp strands of dark hair.
“it’s all i’ve ever wanted,” he mutters. “you are all i’ve ever wanted.”
park sunghoon has never been a decisive person.
it sounds contradictory when you consider everything he's responsible for, but those decisions were never really decisions at all. hockey is straightforward once you've watched enough game tape, drilled the same movement until your muscles remember it better than your brain does, or spent enough hours on the ice for instinct to replace hesitation. there is always a coach standing behind the glass with a whistle around his neck, always someone older, better, more experienced to tell you where your feet should be and how to fix what you've done wrong. school isn't much different. people call him gifted, but sunghoon knows discipline has always done more for him than talent ever could. if you study enough, if you sacrifice enough sleep, if you repeat something often enough, eventually the answer reveals itself.
life has always rewarded certainty. show up, work harder, do better—and there is comfort in that. an almost mechanical predictability to it all, completely untouched by human emotion.
but you have never worked like that. this, whatever this is—it has never operated on that principle.
sunghoon has known he loves you for longer than he's been willing to admit it aloud. what he hasn't known—not for a single day since you walked away from him beneath that streetlamp—is whether seeing you again would heal the wound or rip it open all over. every version of the future he imagined ended differently: maybe you'd scream at him, maybe you'd ignore him. maybe you'd look at him with the same quiet disappointment that had followed him into every waking hour for the past month. there was no correct answer to memorize, no strategy to rehearse, and no amount of discipline capable of guaranteeing that he wouldn't lose you all over again.
he even tried searching for it.
three in the morning, phone balanced against his chest, he'd typed every variation of lied about my identity and fell in love that he could think of into reddit, reading through strangers' catastrophes until the sun came up. none of them sounded quite like his, and none of them ended with an answer worth believing. he’s pretty sure 75% are engagement bait.
there wasn't a guidebook for getting back the only girl he'd ever loved. there was, however, an annoyingly persistent lee heeseung.
his friend spent the better part of yesterday refusing to let him back out, talking over every pathetic excuse sunghoon came up with until there were none left to hide behind. sunoo only agreed to squeeze him into today's schedule after extracting the promise of unlimited access to his card for food deliveries over the next month, grinning so hard throughout the negotiation that sunghoon briefly considered leaving on principle alone. jake had sat through the entire story for the first time without interrupting once, only burying his face in his hands whenever the second-hand embarrassment became physically unbearable. jay, jungwon and riki had been considerably less diplomatic.
yes, he'd fucked up. spectacularly.
yes, there was every possibility you'd never want to look at him again.
no, none of them blamed you for it.
they still told him to come anyway. because if you were going to reject him, then he deserved to hear it from you—not from the version of you he'd spent the last month inventing inside his own head. park sunghoon is not every sure if he’ll ever move on from it, from you, though he sincerely hopes he doesn’t have to.
“i can’t—i can’t hate you, hoon. i tried so hard, and it never worked, so what do i do now?”
the words seems to knock the air from his lungs.
sunghoon's thumb stills against your cheek. even now, even after hearing the words, he can't let himself believe them immediately. his thick eyebrows draw together in quiet disbelief, lashes still damp, mouth parted around a breath that never quite leaves him.
“i think about you so much it hurts.” a laugh escapes you, exhausted more than amused, and you shake your head as tears gather at your chin. when you look up at him, the expression in your eyes drives something sharp straight through his chest. “i just don't know what to do.”
your fingers find his wrist without thinking, curling around it lightly. beneath your touch, his pulse stutters wildly, and sunghoon has the absurd, terrifying thought that if you hold him there any longer, you'll feel exactly how badly he's falling apart.
“i still want you,” you whisper. “so tell me, what do i do?”
sunghoon’s face crumples with relief, so sudden that it almost looks like pain. his shoulders shake before he even realises he's crying again. he presses his lips together, turning away for a second as a breathless, disbelieving laugh slips through his nose, and when he looks back at you, his eyes are wet and helpless and impossibly soft.
every sleepless night and every terrible decision has led park sunghoon here, standing in front of you and bracing for an ending that was never truly his to decide. you are the only thing he has ever looked at and thought, i might not get this back if i lose it, and that realization terrifies him more than failure ever could.
everything else feels survivable. the carefully constructed life he's spent years maintaining—he could lose all of it and eventually claw his way toward something new. he knows himself well enough to believe that, and well enough to know that you are different.
the mere thought of you turning around and walking away again is enough to hollow him out from the inside. it followed him into quiet rooms and sleepless mornings, into practices and lectures and every place he tries to forget you. for the first time in his life, there is something he cannot outwork, outthink, or outrun.
and still, even now, that something is standing here with tears on her face and her hand wrapped around his wrist, asking him what to do.
sunghoon’s wiping uselessly at his eyes. “i don't know,” he admits. “i don’t know what you’re supposed to do.”
your chest immediately drops. there’s that churning feeling again. you pick up on every movement of his, from the way his eyes never leave yours to how he can’t seem to speak up.
“i spent months trying to decide that for you, and look how that turned out,” another shaky breath leaves him, and his shoulders shudder with it. “if you want to yell at me, do it. if you want time, take it. if you wake up tomorrow and realize listening to me was a mistake, i’ll understand.”
sunghoon looks into your eyes. somewhere between the apologies and confessions, the distance between you has disappeared without either of you noticing. your knees almost brush, breaths mingling in the tiny booth, warm enough to fog the already close air between you. the fake candle flickers quietly in your peripheral, behind the abandoned bouquet and scattered conversation cards.
he blinks, just once, watching your eyes soften as they stare back at his. they never leave him, and they’re not searching for answers anymore.
“but if you're asking me what i want,” sunghoon mutters, taking a deep breath in. “i want you. i want you to let me stay, and i want it to be your decision.”
“you hurt me.” you swallow. “forgiving you doesn't magically make all of that disappear—but i’m tired. i’m really tired of being scared.”
“so this is my decision,” you step closer until the space between you disappears entirely. “stay.”
oh, park sunghoon is certain, now.
certainly, for the first time, he cares about someone other than himself, more than his stupid hockey games and ridiculous quizzes that he’d ace regardless if he studied or not—
certainly, the girl he loves is here, in front of him. her heart is in his hands and he’s trying not to crush it, because hurting her means hurting himself. she’s uncomplicated, and she’s beautiful, even in this kind of light, even with tears running down her face—looking at him like he’s all she’s ever asked for, despite everything he’s done.
certainly, he loves you.
all of you.
your arms find sunghoon’s waist with a familiarity that steals what little breath he has left. the movement is so instinctive neither of you seem to think too much about it. sunghoon's hand remains against your cheek for one lingering heartbeat, before his other joins it, cradling your face with impossible care, thumbs brushing absently beneath skin still warm from tears.
the space between you disappears altogether.
your arms slide further around his back, bunching the fabric of his hoodie between your fingers, the last of the tension leaves his body in one long, shaking breath. sunghoon’s own limbs slip around your shoulders, drawing you against his chest so gently it almost hurts, his chin resting lightly atop your head as though he’s afraid that if he lets go now, you’ll disappear all over again.
“i love you, y/n.”
the confession comes easier than he expected—true, almost painfully so, for far too long.
you tighten your hold around him, your cheek pressed against the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
“i love you, too, hoon.”
for a second, park sunghoon forgets how to breathe.
all those nights spent lying awake, replaying every conversation until sunrise—every version of this moment he'd imagined, every argument he'd had with himself, every impossible outcome he'd tried to prepare for—they dissolve so quietly that he almost doesn't notice them leaving.
the questions that had followed him for weeks no longer demand answers. the guilt is still there, the hurt is still there, and he knows neither of them will disappear overnight, of course—but for the first time in months, park sunghoon knows one thing for sure:
he does not care, and he will keep loving you despite it all.
─────────────────────────
the fundraiser slowly forgets about the two of you.
by the time you step out of the little booth, there’s an insanely long queue that won’t stop staring at you and sunghoon—a bouquet sits in the crease of your elbow, and the man by your side is smiling so wide that it’s borderline embarrassing. he might as well put a sign on your head.
the sun’s begun sinking lower behind the engineering building, bathing the pathways in that familiar honey-gold light that always seems to arrive when you and sunghoon are together. conversations swell around you as students drift from stall to stall with paper bags hanging from their wrists and half-melted ice cream in their hands. somewhere behind you, sunoo lets out an aggressively theatrical cheer before somebody—jungwon, if you remembered correctly—smacks him hard enough to shut him up.
neither of you acknowledge it.
park sunghoon’s hand finds yours instinctually. he’s not even looking at you to see if you’re fine with it, but it doesn’t matter anyway. your fingers intertwine with his, warm and steady and weirdly tight—you glance down and feel the heat rushing up your cheeks.
“…you know,” you mumble, watching your joined hands swing gently between you as you walk down the wide path. “i think this is technically our first date.”
sunghoon blinks. date? you? you and him? on a date?
the crowd has thinned out considerably, but when you glance back towards the familiar pink tent, the queue is somehow still moving. students continue drifting in and out of the little canvas booths, phones in hand as volunteers wave them forward one pair at a time. sunoo catches your eye from behind the registration table, arms folded dramatically across his chest as if he's personally responsible for the greatest love story in university history. you can't help but to smile, and sunoo notices immediately. with an exaggerated roll of his eyes, he flicks his wrist in a half-hearted shooing motion before waving the two of you away.
you laugh under your breath.
ahead of you, the fundraiser is slowly settling into the evening. a handful of student union members balance precariously on folding ladders, looping warm string lights from one streetlamp to the next until little pockets of golden light begin blooming across the walkways. conversations soften as the afternoon crowd disperses, replaced by the quieter rhythm of people lingering instead of rushing somewhere else. somebody nearby is packing away handmade jewellery while another stall is still desperately trying to sell the last of their brownies to anyone willing to make eye contact.
your hand is still in sunghoon's. neither of you talk.
“oh.”
you glance sideways. he’s staring ahead, eyebrows pinched together in the sort of concentration that seems excessive for something this simple.
you snort. “that’s all you have to say?”
“i'm thinking,” sunghoon murmurs, finally allowing himself a quiet chuckle. his thumb absently brushes against the back of your hand before he looks over at you. “does this mean i have to pretend i don't already know everything about you?”
“i wouldn't say everything...” you mumble, nudging his shoulder with yours before looking away a little too quickly. you don't have to see his face to know he's smiling. you can feel it somehow, in the way his gaze lingers a second too long, in the quiet that stretches between you while he leans ever so slightly closer, just enough that the warmth radiating from his hoodie brushes your arm.
“you blush really easily.”
“i do not!” your eyes widen, yet, still refusing to meet his.
“you're so pretty, y/n,” sunghoon says before he has the chance to psyche himself out of it. the compliment leaves him with such effortless certainty that it almost catches him off guard. “so cute when you're shy. blushing like that in front of me...” he continues, the corners of his mouth lifting into the smallest grin. “i don't think i've ever seen anything prettier.”
you squeeze his hand so hard he almost laughs again.
“god,” you mutter, finally daring a glance at him before immediately looking away again, cheeks burning beneath the string lights overhead. “you're still so annoying!”
the fundraiser eventually disappears behind you. after sunghoon’s insistence on sharing an overly-sweet milkshake, his hands are full with paper bags, filled to the brim with overpriced homemade desserts and a few too many keychains. neither of you remember who suggested leaving first—at some point, the booths become smaller in the distance, and the chatter fades into little more than background noise.
there isn’t really a destination. there doesn’t have to be, you both know that—but it helps with the conversation. it flows easier than any of you expect, familiar, curious and gentle in the same way it’s always been.
you stop by a convenience store because sunghoon insists you’re hungry. allegedly, your stomach rumbled on the walk here, so he rushes into the store so fast that there isn’t enough time to protest. the high-school part-timer stares at him weirdly as he wordlessly pays for both ramyeon cups, spending the next five minutes pretending not to hear you complaining about it.
you eat, anyway. sunghoon can’t help but take a picture, too. you almost hit him on the head for that.
an hour later, the walk to your apartment is slower than it needs to be. autumn has finally settled over the city, the breeze cool enough to make you tug your sleeves over your hands every few minutes. leaves skitter across the pavement whenever the wind picks up, collecting around your shoes before scattering around them again, and somewhere overhead the sky melts from gold into a dark, deep blue.
you pass through that same park—cyclists pass every now and then, bells chiming politely before disappearing further down the winding path, elderly couples taking a night stroll with plastic bags hooked around their fingers. the atmosphere is completely different now, though nothing tangible has really changed.
the two of you keep walking. sunghoon feels like he's going to explode from the amount of dessert you'd somehow convinced him to share with you, but the weight tugging at his shoulders feels lighter now. maybe it's because your hand is folded so naturally into his that neither of you have thought about letting go—or the fact that you managed to get rid of all those bags, thanks to him.
“it's nice to talk to you,” you murmur after a while, your gaze lingering on the river instead of him. the city stretches across the water in ribbons of gold and white, every reflection trembling with the movement of the current. “without the phone. easier to hear you.”
another breeze rolls against the river, cool enough to send little ripples across the water and lift loose strands of your hair across your face.
“uuuuhuh, i’m sure.” sunghoon smiles at you, easy-going and so reassuring it makes your pulse race. “keep pretending like we didn’t meet how we did.”
“the hell?”
you glance at him. all he does is squeeze your hand once—then, the corners of his mouth lift into that small, effortless smile.
your heart gives an embarrassingly obvious thump. you let out a laugh before you can stop yourself, ducking your head almost immediately as warmth rushes into your cheeks. “don’t look at me like that—”
“like what?”
sunghoon stops walking. your footsteps falter a beat too late.
your hands are still joined, the sudden halt tugging you backwards before you can catch yourself. you stumble lightly into his chest, the front of his hoodie brushing against your sleeves as his fingers tighten instinctively around yours to steady you. your free hand lands against the warmth of his ribs, and for one, disorienting moment, all you can hear is the wind behind you and the quiet hitch in his breathing.
sunghoon looks down. you're close enough now that the warm lights stretching across this dim path catch in his eyes, turning the dark brown almost amber beneath the glow. a strand of your hair has fallen across your cheek again, flowing in the breeze—and sunghoon, stupidly, reaches up without thinking.
his knuckles brush your skin first—then his fingertips. they slip carefully beneath the loose strand, tucking it behind your ear with a tenderness that makes your chest ache. it lingers for a moment longer than necessary, five seconds too much just to move a strand of hair away, and his thumb rests lightly against your temple as though he’s trying to memorise the shape of your face underneath his touch.
oh. you can’t tear your eyes off of him.
park sunghoon looks like someone you could know forever. a gaze so gentle that you’d think he’s known whoever he’s looking at for a thousand years—a touch so tender that it’s unbelievable that he’s never loved anyone else.
the smile tugging at the corners of his lips dissolves into something almost disbelieving. sunghoon’s forehead dips, just enough so that your face comes into full focus, and the space between you disappears disappears so gradually that neither of you seem to notice how your noses almost brush.
his breath ghosts over your lips. warm, nothing like the cold air that’s enveloping you both. sunghoon hesitates for a moment—even now, he wonders just what he’s done to deserve this. he wants you to choose, and you do.
closing the distance, your lips find his with all the gentleness of someone coming home after being gone for too long.
for one impossible, weightless moment, the whole world seems to narrow until it is nothing more than the warmth of your mouth against his. the quiet rush of wind rolling off your skin, your hand tightening ever so slightly around the fabric gathered at his chest—every sleepless night, every apology, every version of this moment he'd rehearsed alone in his room dissolves the instant you kiss him back.
park sunghoon's convinced nothing has ever felt this right.
you're soft against him, kissing him with the same quiet hesitation you've carried all evening, as though you're still afraid that pressing yourself any closer might shatter whatever fragile thing the two of you have only just managed to rebuild. meanwhile, sunghoon melts into it like he's been starving—he holds himself back for only a heartbeat before months of missed chances quietly unravel between you, his hand sliding around your waist with a tenderness so instinctive it almost startles him. he gathers you closer, careful enough to let you pull away whenever you want. you do not.
instead, your fingers slip from the front of his hoodie to the back of his neck, threading into the soft hair resting there. the movement draws the smallest, almost inaudible breath from him, and before he realises he's doing it, he's smiling into the kiss.
it’s contagious. you’re smiling now, too.
your lips part around a tiny, breathless laugh, and the sound is enough to make a smile form on his face. sunghoon leans in again without thinking, chasing another kiss, only for the movement to catch you off guard. you stumble back half a step, dragging him with you by the collar of his hoodie until the both of you have to force yourselves to stand properly.
your foreheads bump together as his arm tightens instinctively around your waist, trying to stop you from losing your balance.
“do you kiss all your girlfriends like this, sunghoon?”
“don’t piss me off,” his arm loosens from your waist for half a second, just enough for you to stumble before he catches you immediately, pulling you back against his chest with an annoyed sigh. “i don’t kiss anyone else.”
“i could’ve died right here. do you even care about me? should i just die right now?”
“i’m not even going to answer that, y/n.”
─────────────────────────
“who gave you my number?”
by the time the two of you find yourselves right outside your apartment building, the streets have grown quieter. most of the shops have already pulled their shutters halfway down, leaving only convenience stores and late-night cafés spilling warm light onto the pavement. the walk here had taken nearly an hour—your car is still parked at campus, but sunghoon promised to pay the overnight fee anyway. neither of you remember deciding to take the longer route back to your place, but every turn just seemed like another excuse to keep talking.
you stop right in front of your building. the path is uneven here, the road tilted upward; the automatic doors slide shut behind somebody leaving, and the chime hums softly before settling into silence again.
“sooha,” you smile. the blush that infects sunghoon’s face spreads like a wildfire—you’re the one teasing now, after an entire day of his antics. “you had a thing with her, i’m guessing?”
“well, i wouldn’t call it a thing,” sunghoon sighs, thumb rubbing against the back of yours. he swallows before looking at you again. “i’ll be honest with you—we were hooking up.”
he watches your expression carefully for a shift. anything that'll tell him you were upset, or livid—anything at all. he swore he wouldn't blame himself if you were. how would he have known that the love of his life would waltz right in thirty minutes after sooha's exit?
sunghoon adds on a little too quickly. “it was before you.”
“how long?” you ask, tilting your head. curiosity, it seems, but these are dangerous waters that sunghoon’s treading. based on past experiences, his partners (can he even call them that?) never took to well to a previous acquiantance.
sunghoon almost considers lying, just to make himself sound better, before deciding against it. he's never been too good at that anyway. “on and off. a few months, maybe. nothing that meant anything.”
he exhales through his nose, something between a laugh and a wince. “i know. i wasn't—i didn't handle it well. i never called it anything, and i never made her think it was anything, but i also never stopped it when i probably should have.” he pauses, “that’s my fault.”
it's such a sunghoon answer. blunt and completely unflattering to himself, a lack of an attempt to soften it into something easier to hear. you almost want to laugh at how little effort he puts into making himself look good, like it hasn't occurred to him that he could, and you’d never be able to prove otherwise.
you nod, trying to hold your laugh in at the sight of his face. he looks like he's just seen a ghost, no matter how much he tries to hide it—lips pursed together instinctively, eyes wide and scanning yours for any hint of anger. “okay. good to know.”
you give his hand a small squeeze before beginning to loosen your fingers from his, only enough to shift your grip more comfortably. “i appreciate the honesty.”
sunghoon keeps staring. “that's it?”
“were you expecting more questions, hoon?” you can't help but smile now, your free hand covering your mouth in an attempt to hide how adorable you find him. “i didn't know you back then. you were still staring at me weird from the stairs.”
“i was not staring,” sunghoon shakes his head, a stray strand of hair falling loose over his brow with the motion. “you were staring. i’m surprised heeseung didn't notice.”
your jaw drops, mouth falling open in mock offense. "excuse me?"
“whatever. it’s over now, right?” sunghoon sighs, dragging a hand down his face in dramatic disapproval, fingers pausing briefly over his eyes like he's shielding himself from the sight of your face. "not really trying to share you with him."
“you're so annoying!” you shove at his shoulder, and he barely rocks with it, solid where he's standing, biting back a grin like he's trying—badly—to look unaffected.
sunghoon's mouth curls into a smile that reaches his eyes—dark in this dim light. he's still taller than you despite standing a few steps higher, your face now level with his, close enough that you can count the individual strands of hair falling loose over his forehead.
his hair is still a mess from the wind, and from your fingers ruffling through the strands earlier—sticking up at odd angles he clearly hasn't bothered to fix, like it hadn't even occurred to him. his cheeks are still faintly red, yet to fully fade since you first touched his skin, and his ears are airbrushed with a soft pink he probably has no idea is visible.
you hope no one else has ever gotten to see it on him before.
it's quiet. no dogs this time, for some reason. it’s just the low hum of the streetlight above you, buzzing faintly, flickering once before steadying again. an occasional cricket announces its presence somewhere in the bushes lining the building, and beneath that, nothing. though, there’s just your own heartbeat, loud and unreasonable in your ears, and the sound of sunghoon breathing, slow and careful like he's trying not to disturb whatever this is.
sunghoon’s hand is still loosely wrapped around yours, thumb tracing an invisible circle over your knuckles—it’s not quite a habit yet, but close to being one, you can tell. you can feel the calluses along his palm, rough from what you assume is hockey, a strange and grounding kind of proof that this is real, that he's real, standing this close to you at almost midnight with his heart clearly in his throat.
and then, there’s you. even in this horrible, fluorescent lighting—the kind that makes everyone look a little sick—you look undeniably beautiful to him. almost glowing, or maybe he's just sleep-deprived enough that his eyes are playing tricks on him. either way, he thinks, quietly and with helplessness, that he has never wanted to kiss someone this badly in his entire life.
his gaze drops, just briefly, to your mouth. then back up, like he's asking permission before he's even said anything at all.
“can i kiss you, y/n?”
the question is so earnest it hurts. his voice is breathy, needy, everything that you could possibly ever need in a man right in front of you. you feel like if you fall for it—answer him right now, that your life ends here, because this is a trap, or a dream, or all of it at once.
you’re already leaning into him, tilting your head until your noses are brushing each other’s. sunghoon’s breathing so heavily that you feel it against your bottom lip, teasing, just asking for that final push.
one of his large hands settle at your waist. waiting. always waiting.
the kiss is slower than the last one. a little more desperate, maybe—you feel sunghoon’s large arms wrap around you again, tighter now, tongue swiping against your bottom lip, moving you as he pleases just so he can get the most of you.
you taste like him.
the thought’s driving him crazy. you've already confessed everything worth confessing tonight; now, there is only the quiet luxury of learning each other properly, without distance, without static, without the countdown of a call timer reminding either of you that morning would eventually come.
it’s messy in the way that two people are when they’re starving for each other. borderline greedy, too much tongue and then not enough at all, your hands running along the upper part of his back as you keep him anchored to you. sunghoon’s lips feel so perfect when they’re against yours, he genuinely believes that this is what he’s been chasing for all twenty-four years of his life.
every time one of you pulls back to breathe, the other closes the distance again without thinking, as though separating has become something your bodies no longer understand. your fingers wander instinctively over the broad line of his shoulders before settling against the back of his neck, keeping him close without ever needing to ask.
sunghoon’s hands remain anchored at your waist, warm through the fabric of your clothes, thumbs tracing absent little movements that make your pulse flutter for reasons you can't quite explain.
“not here, hoon—” you mumble against his lips before he pulls you right back in. so annoying. sunghoon’s lips crash into yours again, still just as curious, palm flat against the small of your back.
“hm?” the sound vibrates softly between you before he finally relents, resting his forehead against yours instead. one of his hands slides carefully along the curve of your side until it settles once more at the small of your back, holding you as though he'd forgotten any other way to stand. “...tell me where, then.”
you shake your head once, trying very unsuccessfully to compose yourself before meeting his eyes again.
you’re huffing, trying to catch your breath when your hands fall to his chest. the guy is looking at you with the most feverish smile, eyes narrowing because he knows he’s got you flustered.
“upstairs,” you murmur, barely louder than the evening breeze slipping between the apartment buildings. your fingers fist at his hoodie. “come upstairs.”
─────────────────────────
park sunghoon likes to think that he’s good at sex.
there’s nothing complicated about it, really. he knows he’s good at most things.
his body—he knows it’s the kind most people would kill for, the kind other men spend half their lives trying to build. of that, he’s well aware. hockey, school, laundry, cooking, smiling and talking as if nothing’s ever the matter. he’s reduced it to a science: technique, precision, mastery, painstakingly perfected.
the data is there. they scream, they cry out of sheer pleasure, they moan like no one else exists but him, but park sunghoon. he predicts it in the same way he knows he’ll get that perfect score, and make that one ‘lucky’ shot—it’s calculation in it’s most unsurprising form.
human bodies are scientific. their anatomy is roughly similar, so he knows if he moves just like this, whispers just like that, she’ll fold. she’ll crumble underneath him like it’s her first time ever sleeping with a man, clinging onto sunghoon like what he’s doing is some lost art among the modern male.
there’s significant amounts of advice online to tell him how to please a woman. it’s not rocket science applying these concepts in practice, as he’s done—and sure, it’s done himself favours. there were nights where sunghoon couldn’t believe that he’d ever quit hook ups, but soon realised that that’s just how his brain works: that that’s just what the dopamine rush whispers into your ears as you cum for the third consecutive time.
there is a nice predictability in sex. it’s instinct, and where there is instinct, there is nature and nature is almost always studied—even if it’s an utter waste of time, stress relief aside.
though, when he finds himself stumbling into your apartment, kicking off his shoes and slide his hoodie off his back while simultaneously trying to keep his lips on yours, he finds himself wanting time to slow itself down.
just something about you, he thinks. that look on your cute face, staring at him like you didn’t know what to do with the heat pooling between your legs; you stumble against him a few times while you both try to find your way to your bedroom, shoulders nudging against light switches and shoving a few chairs out of place. your laundry is still on the couch from this morning, you note—but when sunghoon puts his hand on your jaw, forcing you to look at him—the reminder fades completely.
“what am i going to do with you?” sunghoon grins, letting his ass fall to the edge of the bed. sitting up, his hoodie’s discarded somewhere by the entryway, and the only article of clothing left being his jeans. his hands roam your body—up and down, before looping around your waist and pulling you between his spread legs. “so pretty.”
you whimper when his hands begin sliding underneath your top. “can i, baby?”
it’s almost pathetic how fast you nod. your hands rest on his shoulders, eyes locked on the way he leans closer to your belly. sunghoon’s slender fingers move up your warm skin, now burning hot under his touch, and eventually, he lifts your shirt completely.
“you sure about this, y/n?” sunghoon looks up, pupils blown with his cheek resting against your bare stomach. “we can stop. whatever you wanna do—”
“n-no,” you sigh, watching sunghoon’s eyes blink up at you, so dazed. “i want you, hoon.”
he hums at your response, turning his head so his lips touch the skin of your belly. they’re still wet from your earlier kisses, pressing nice and slow until he reaches from your belly button to your ribcage. truthfully, sunghoon’s mind has already gone to mush at the mere scent of you: the sweat from the day and your perfume blending into one, the heat from your body, that he just can’t help but to start leaving hickeys along the exposed area.
“i’ll make you feel so good, y/n,” he mumbles against your skin. “but you gotta be good for me. you can do that, can’t you?”
oh. he’s that kind of guy.
something’s flipping in your stomach—simmering low, intense, nothing like you’ve ever felt before. you stare down at him, face visibly flushed from the way he’s touching you; your knees almost buckle upon hearing his voice, and sunghoon can’t help but let a chuckle out at that in between kisses.
“can’t hear you. speak up for me.”
you swallow, feeling sunghoon’s hands exploring further—until his thumbs are right on your nipples, bypassing your annoying bra, rubbing gentle circles, smiling up at you like he’s done nothing too crazy.
“y-yeah, i can,” your voice comes out a tad too soft for his liking, evidently, because his little grin fades into something more displeased.
sunghoon stands up instead, large hands hooking around the hem of your shirt and helping to pull it off of you. your arms point to the ceiling, naturally, letting the fabric part from you with a gasp—the cold air hits your skin, and the wet imprints of kisses on your stomach feel even icier now.
he moves back to your stomach, taking in your scent; it’s even more potent now when you’re bare like this. curiosity gets the better of him once his nose bumps against your bra, his hair nuzzling against your chest as one of his hands move to unclasp it. effortless.
“sunghoon, stop teasing,” you whine, watching him lean back. sunghoon pulls your bra off of you on one swift motion. it’s an understatement to say that you were pretty—just gorgeous when you’re naked in front of him like this.
he ignores you. asshole.
sunghoon’s fingers hook around your skirt next—not quite pulling it down just yet. then, almost as if you’ve done something wrong, he stands up.
you forget how huge he is for a second. when the dim warmth of your lamp hits him, you lose your breath completely. every muscle is highlighted in orange, the definition outlined by shadows that leave you wanting, and it’s like air is caught in your throat from how unfairly good he looks.
“i’ll ask again,” sunghoon mutters, hands back down to your waist, and then your hips, and then he’s flipping you over onto the mattress. “you’ll be good for me, won’t you?”
whatever. fuck it.
all sense of reasoning leaves your body at once. sunghoon cages you between his arms, staring into your eyes, and the look in them sends pure electricity through your veins. he looks hungry, thirsty, like he needed you right now or he’d die.
and still, he waits for an answer.
“i’ll be s-so good, hoonie, i promise.”
the nickname doesn’t leave a bad taste in his mouth anymore. it’s been a while since he’s heard it—but when it comes from you, god, it sounds like it’s dripping in honey and coaxing him into whatever trap you laid out for him.
“gonna fucking kill me,” he rasps, pulling away before pressing a kiss to your cheek, down to your jaw, then to the patch of skin underneath your earlobe. the feeling of his warm tongue sliding against your skin makes you shudder—combined with his fingers pressing into your back, feeling every inch of skin, savouring the feeling of you;
when sunghoon first walked in, he noticed how unbearably you your room was. decorated in posters of your favourite bands, little trinkets here and there that he has no clue how you keep organized. his eyes glazed over your desk, your laptop, your lamp, and everything that you chose to keep that would now remind him of you—right now, your legs are wrapped around his hips, heels digging into his ass while he grinds nice and slow against the warmth of your pussy—feeling right through your panties, skirt tossed somewhere in the corner of the room.
what was most interesting about your room was that mirror in the corner—perhaps he was a pervert for wondering, only for a moment, if you had ever touched yourself in front of that very reflection. he could imagine your legs spread in desperation, knuckles deep in yourself as you chased whatever high you terribly wanted.
did you think of anyone? did you get off to the sound of his voice? though, most importantly, would you let him ruin you in front of that little mirror of yours?
“can i take this off?” he whispers into your ear, hands roaming down from your neck and to the lace around your panties—you nod again, and the chuckle that escapes his lips only sends shivers down your spine.
your legs fall to the side of his thighs, leaving you bare and spread in front of his eyes. “what about you?”
sunghoon literally laughs in your face. “be patient, baby. haven’t even gotten you nice ‘n loose yet.”
your breath hitches at his vulgarity. the image pops up behind your eyelids: sunghoon’s long, pretty fingers buried somewhere deep in you, curled at the perfect angle and prodding at that one spot that makes you sees stars—how long would it take for him to get there? would he even know how to?
famous last words, as they say. it takes four minutes for sunghoon to have your thighs pinned to the mattress, three to have the tip of his index and middle fingers inside of you and two to get you whimpering like a hot, pathetic mess.
maybe just one to get you soaking his wrists.
“what’s wrong, baby?” sunghoon pouts. his eyes are glimmering in the dark, the tiny light left outside reflecting off his irises. in this atmosphere it just seems like a mockery. “too much for my pretty girl? she can’t seem to get enough, though.”
and then his eyes flick down to where you suck him in—glistening, disgustingly sloppy and wet where you take every inch like it was always meant to be yours. it’s times like these where you truly believe fate is real; because there’s just no way you were this close to going your entire life without this—without sunghoon’s fingers buried knuckle deep into you.
“h-hoon, ugh—fuck!” you squeal when he curls his fingers just right, and he just watches, an eyebrow raised like you were some intriguing specimen. just a body underneath his touch, poking and prodding and spreading you as wide as he can, as best as he can. everything he does seems to illicit some reaction from you, too amusing for him to stop. “please, gonna cum, i’m gonna cum, ngh—”
“so quick?” sunghoon sighs, kissing his teeth. “god, you’re so cute. must be too much, then?”
and then, he slows down. ripping your delicious orgasm right from your useless fingers.
“n-noooo,” you drawl, nails clawing into sunghoon’s veiny forearms as he nods slowly, expecting a coherent answer. what a mistake, as if you could even think straight right now. “it’s not—it’s not, fuck, i can take it.”
sunghoon chuckles, head tilting up just enough to get your pretty face in full view. “reaaally? need my permission to cum, too?”
your stomach flips at the way he says it—low and sultry and teasing, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. rearranging your guts with his hands alone, whispering these ridiculous things to you, expecting zero reactions. is he stupid? has he lost it?
“you trying to snap my fingers off? relax, baby. can’t have that.”
the humiliation washes over you rather quickly, but disappears just as fast when you feel every muscle in your body beginning to lock up. the words can’t even find themselves, too lost in your mushy brain—everything narrows down to the man with his hands between your legs, pumping his stupidly long fingers in n’ out, watching you lose every piece of sanity you have left.
“who’d have known. such a sensitive girl,” and his thumb brushes against your swollen clit with just enough pressure to have you twitching, but never to cross that final, potentially fatal line. “do you always cum this fast?”
sunghoon sighs dramatically. if you couldn’t see his face, you’d have assumed that he was irritated with you—but your eyes haven’t left his, nor the red in his cheeks and his slightly parted lips, groaning whenever you buck your hips against his palm, feeling the friction of your clit against his skin. they occasionally glance down at the tent in his pants, fighting against tight cloth to be freed, twitching and already forming a dark, wet patch where his tip would be.
“oh my god,” you moan, gripping tight around his wrists. there’s a part of you that just wants to sit up and grind against his hand yourself, but that’d be much too embarrassing to live with. “can’t—can’t, i j-jus… can’t, please, hoonie—”
the words ring a bell that he can’t quite recall, is what he would say if his memory was absolutely terrible. the man remembers exactly when and where you said those terrible, terrible things, under a streetlamp and in a park he had never seen before; so sure that he’d never see you again, and now, here you are, losing your mind and at his mercy.
“oh.” sunghoon grins. cocky little bastard. “you close? gonna make a mess on hoonie? c’mon, soak me. won’t stop ‘till you do.”
there’s something utterly perverted about him tonight. hoonie was never an exclusive nickname, of course—generic by all means. sooha had taken great pleasure moaning and whimpering that exact term a hundred-something nights ago, and sunghoon swears that he must’ve been in a completely different body then. wonders how he ever let the name reach his ears without gritting his teeth, but now that you’re here… it’s like a completely different world has opened before his eyes, and his cock has never, ever been harder.
how could he have fucked anyone else when you existed? how could you have slept with other people when he was right there? the selfish thought invades his sick brain as fast as he feels his cock swell up.
never-mind that. this is way more important—there comes a point during sex where all the pleasure folds in on itself and magnifies by tenfold, becoming it’s own force, taking over your nervous system—nothing matters. sunghoon doesn’t matter. your pride definitely does not matter.
so it’s not really your fault, is it? couldn’t possibly be, even if you’re sitting yourself up (with an unreasonable amount of effort) and grinding your hips against his large, calloused hands, and whining like a bitch in heat against his mouth. even less so now that sunghoon’s letting you—his breath is taken from him when your tongue slides against his, wet and soft and everything he needs to get that pretty cunt fluttering around his digits.
“my filthy girl,” he moans between kisses, his warm breath ghosting against your glossy lips. your arms are running up and down his shoulders and finding a place to stay anchored, and when they finally do, sunghoon doesn’t wince one bit when your nails dig in, out, and in again. “just look at you, fucking yourself stupid on my fingers.”
you don’t hear him. genuinely. it’s all buzzing and static and you feel yourself starting to shake from the hip up. you shudder when he flexes his fingers, and it’s like everything you’ve ever done has led to tonight, every choice, every mistake.
“h-hoonie, ‘m sorry—fuck, need more of you,” you press a searing kiss to his bottom lip, almost missing completely and letting your mouth fall open against his anyway. your breath feel like fire against his skin, and sunghoon can only groan when he feels your walls spasming around his slender fingers. “please, i’ll be so good.”
sunghoon does that same, amused grin on his face, just watching you pant underneath him. the expression only reminds you of that night: you in the kitchen, and him, watching you from the front door on new years eve.
the corner of his lips turn upwards and it’s nothing short of pure perversion—tongue poking at the inside of his cheek, face red with heat crawling up his neck, and an eyebrow cocked up. “are you actually begging me right now? while you’re riding my hand like this?”
you nod your head, frantic. of course you’re fucking begging. it’s been an entire lifetime of teasing and sunghoon’s still dangling the idea of fucking you in your face, just revelling in your visceral and absolutely humiliating reactions.
your mind’s going blank. every thought diverges into park sunghoon and every desire has his stupidly handsome face plastered onto it. your stomach’s so tense that it’s starting to hurt, and you feel lightheaded from how often your breath gets taken right from you—so close, and yet, still so far.
“yes, pleasepleaseplease, i—”
“god, you’re greedy,” sunghoon mumbles under his breath, using his free hand to push you backwards. your spine hits the mattress with a recoil, and the springs creak just enough to muffle the pathetic whine that slips off your lips. “just an ungrateful girl. fine, then.”
and then, there’s nothing. just that mind-numbing feeling of having your body be sent to heaven, only to be denied at the pearly gates.
your heart’s pounding at the sight of him: warm, glistening skin under the dimness of your lamp, chest heaving as he pulls his fingers out from your slick entrance—it feels increasingly, unbearably empty as he retracts his ridiculously long digits. sunghoon does nothing but enjoy the view, eyes glazing over the way your body twists and turns at his cruel punishment.
“come on. again.”
who does he think he is, really? you kiss and make up, and in the same day, he makes you beg for a little gratification? does he have any idea what he put you through? to be truthful, you could go on and on about how he doesn’t deserve any sort of control over you—
“please, hoonie. i’ll take everything—fuck, just fuck me already.”
fuck it. you don’t care. it doesn’t matter that park sunghoon is toying with you. you need him, you need all of him, you need every inch of skin that he’s willing to give and every word he’ll spit at you.
park sunghoon isn’t exactly inexperienced with sex. he knows that intimacy is one of man’s greatest discoveries, and it’s only natural that he participates in it. as one does. what’s not normal is that he’s never felt this before: this insatiable, lustful heat simmering in his core, making his cock twitch before it’s even been touched.
god, you look so perfect—spread bare beneath him with inner thighs soaked in your own juices, whining and pleading and begging for a taste of him, as if he wasn’t holding himself back already. you’re truly the greediest, just taking and taking even if he tries to take his time.
there’s blood lingering in his mouth and the metal feels sharp on his tongue, and still, he continues biting on his lip. sunghoon’s eyes never leave yours, hands coming down to unbuckle his belt with a single hand—the other pins your knees open, and while you squirm under the pressure, you never quite gain the courage to defy.
when sunghoon finally leans forward, the scent of him is enough to overwhelm your nervous system; he grunts when your arms wrap around his neck, and your nose nuzzles against his neck like it has nowhere else to go. a deep breath in and it’s like you’ve never felt more alive than now.
“this enough for you?”
he picks up on everything. from the way your eyes never stay on his for too long, to the way you twitch when he presses his briefs right against your cunt—your breathy moans in his ear as he leans in close, and how quickly you stain the spandex with your slick, mixing with his sticky pre.
“this should be fine, right? my girl can cum juuust like this.” sunghoon’s voice is the only thing cutting through the fog in your head. it’s spinning so much that gripping onto him is serving as the only anchor to your consciousness. your nails drag along this trapezius, sinking into the superficial skin, waiting for a reaction that never comes—instead, all he can offer is a mocking smile, fangs bare and taunting.
his hips are teasing. he moves them slow, taking his time with every drag of up and down, the fabric sliding between your pretty folds and swollen clit; there’s a brief second where he feels the tip of his cock slide into you through the barrier of clothing, only to slip free when he slides up again.
“so perfect,” sunghoon whispers into the conch of your ear—you don’t realise what he’s said until you feel his sharp teeth gliding against your helix, before he finally nips at it. “you’re so perfect, baby. made for me, aren’t you? can’t believe i almost let you go.”
sunghoon thinks about how ridiculous he must look right now—humping your poor cunt like he’s in heat, holding himself back for reasons beyond him, whispering these obscenely intimate things in your ears like he doesn’t want to fuck you right this second. the strain on his cock is getting too much; blood’s rushing down, he’s aching, and he doesn’t know how much longer he has left before he flips you over and has your ass slapping against his skin.
“hoon, fuck, i’m gonna cum,” you say, bucking your hips up just once. wrong move. “please, don’t fucking stop—it feels so good.” sunghoon’s head turns in your direction, nose brushing against your cheek before his mouth meets yours again. he doesn’t care that they don’t latch properly, nor that he’s practically drinking in your saliva, or that he’s gonna cum just from feeling the friction between your bodies. all sunghoon truly cares about is that you’re holding him like he’s all you truly need in this world.
“yeah? just from this?” sunghoon’s hand comes up to grip at your jaw, thumb and index pressing deep into the flesh of your cheeks. his body feels heavy on top of you, quick little movements doing the most to get you both over the edge—and though he still seems a little more composed than you, it all goes to shit when your fingers graze the sides of his ribs. “fuck—do it. cum for me, please, y/n—”
his hands run up your arms until his fingers are tracing your palms, slithering between your own, before finally interlacing. sunghoon’s pressing sweet kisses to your jawline as you moan into thin autumn air, feeling the vibrations of his groans against your throat; he moves at a frenzied pace, chasing friction that won’t ever compare to being buried tip to cervix, but it’s all he can get right now.
“i’m fucking cumming, hoon, oh my god—”
twenty seconds. twenty seconds is all he needs to have you gushing all over the spandex of his briefs, and twenty-five is all you need to chase his lips because you know you’ll scream if you don’t. perhaps around thirty for him to stop feeling like the room is spinning, and him along with it—your tongues meet and circle on another’s again, moans clashing between desperate attempts to slow down, and it’s only sixty for him to finally hook his thumbs around his boxers and shove them down his thighs.
thwap.
sunghoon’s heavy in a way you can’t say out loud. words get caught in your throat, with nothing but a pathetic hitch in your breath being audible. he’s so unbelievably pretty, flushed a deep red from the relentless teasing he’s put you through, serving as confirmation that he’s wanted this as much as you have.
he stares for a minute, catching his breath, before his hand reaches for you—spreading your folds wide between his fingers, watching it glisten under the orange light, almost sparkling if he could look close enough. the sheets below are soaked with you—a large, wet patch that’s darker compared to the rest of the pink duvet.
“thought about this pretty pussy for weeks,” sunghoon lets his saliva collect in the well of his tongue, before spitting a thick glob riiight onto your entrance. “and now you’re aaaall mine. aren’t you, baby?”
sunghoon looks up just as the name rolls off his tongue. you look absolutely wrecked, hair tangled in places where you didn’t even know it could get tangled—tear stains running down your face and highlighting the flush on your cheeks so well. your eyes are wide, caught between staring at his leaking cock and his expectant eyes, shifting between the two every now and then;
a reverent sigh leaves you when sunghoon begins pumping himself, nice and slow using his hand, spreading the pre all over his hardened length. sounds of wet slick echo through the room as he strokes, just enough to get himself wet, before his knees shift forward and he’s finally, finally letting himself touch you without a stupid barrier.
“gonna stuff this pussy full,” sunghoon hisses through his teeth. “pump you full of my cum, fuck, i can’t hold back anymore—” his right hand wraps around the base of his cock, the back of your knees brushing against his thighs as he pulls you flush against him. you’re still heaving by the time he taps his mushroom tip against your folds, running it along the wetness of it, once or twice before aligning himself with you.
“you’re so… annoying,” you huff, eyebrows pinched together, watching his jaw go slack at how warm you feel even from the outside. sunghoon’s stomach is in knots, anticipating the moment he finally sheathes himself all the way, how you’d probably claw at his skin from the sheer stretch—
and that’s exactly what you do.
“f-fuuuuck, hoon! it’s too—you’re too—”
park sunghoon is thick. so undeniably heavy and dizzying, pushing past your walls, and as much as you clench and squirm around him, they offer no real resistance. your pussy takes him in like it needs him—squelching when he bottoms out at last, big arms caging your relatively smaller head between them—all the air in your lungs feels like it’s being siphoned out.
who the fuck is this big? when was the last time you’ve had something this huge inside of you?
“o-oh my fucking god,” his eyes screw shut for one, weightless second, before they shoot back open. he stares down at where you two finally meet, your velvet walls fluttering around him so warmly, a desperate whimper clawing it’s way out of his throat that’s interrupted by a messy kiss.
“so perfect, baby, you’re so perfect,” he mumbles against your swollen lips, hips at a standstill because he plain refuses to move—convinced that he’ll cum as soon if he so much as shifts his weight. “wish you could see your face. so pretty when you’re taking me.”
“you’re… fucking… crazy,” you whisper against his mouth before your hands tangle in his hair; they bunch around the dark locks, pushing his lips against yours again, and he laughs between the sloppy attempts to lock your lips together—noses bump and his forehead thuds against yours. “just fuck me, please, hoon.”
“look at what you do to me,” he sighs, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. borderline addictive the way you wriggle underneath his touch, like you know his size would knock you out cold, but you still beg through small movements. “all your fault, isn’t it? and you keep asking for more. just a needy little slut for me, huh?”
and then his hips retract—pulling out halfway, your cunt still weeping from the reduced contact. he looks back down, hair falling over his forehead, marvelling at the way his cock glistens with you. so utterly filthy.
you whimper when you feel the emptiness. his veins slide against your gummy walls as he pulls out agonizingly slow. “don’t wanna hear you complaining tomorrow morning, then.”
sunghoon’s pace is slow at first. gentle, sweet thrusts that still manage to make you see stars—he’s too afraid to hurt you, too busy savouring in the sweet moans that sprinkle in his name every once in a while. he feels hot, every bone in his body begging for him to hurry and stuff you full of his cock—but how could he? you’re taking him so well just like this, and all he wants is to drag every second out longer, until he dies blissfully happy in this pussy of yours.
“fuck, mmngh—” and the man slams his lips against yours as his fingers find yours again. you wonder just how many times you’ve managed to kiss tonight, but the thought immediately wipes itself clean when he angles his hips so deliciously right that you feel him all the way in your throat.
“shit, i can’t—you’re too fucking big,” the sound of your breath shakes, too much for his brain to compute, and something primal claws at his sick brain until all he’s thinking about is folding your knees up and bullying your cunt ‘till it’s red. you moan into nothing, hands running over every hard-earned muscle in his back, eyes screwing shut because looking at him feels like a perverted form of self-torture. “fuck, you feel so good, hoonie.”
“yeah?” and sunghoon literally feels every thread of sanity snap when you say his name again. “fuck, look at me then—wanna see your pretty face.” your thighs shake with every slap of wet skin, his heavy body shifting the bed closer to the wall as he pounds and pounds and pounds. his hands move the damp strands of hair out of your eyes, ensuring the perfect, unobstructed view.
you mewl, all sweet and so coaxing when he presses an innocent kiss to your cheek. it’s wet and salty on his tongue, but sunghoon’s smiling so wide that you think he must’ve truly fucking lost it completely.
“want you harder, hoon—not enough, please,” you whisper against his mole. there’s just something in the way you’re batting your eyelashes at him that he thinks is sending his nervous system into overdrive, but it’s irrelevant now. your pleas sound like honey to his ears, but the one singular thought that keeps circling his mind is if you’ll be able to take him like that.
his hands slide back down, stopping right where your tits are—his thumb grazes the hardened bud before he begins to palm at the mound of flesh. “f-fuck—”
“god, can’t hold myself back anymore,” sunghoon’s nose nuzzles against your neck and he takes his time breathing in your scent. the smell of your shampoo lingers, now masked mostly by sweat and fading perfume, and it faintly reminds him of a familiar library where all he could focus on was you, you, you.
you, beautiful you. you who’s underneath him now, pleading with him to give you what you want—still so naive, still so unaware, asking for things you have no idea what to do with—you, who bats her eyelashes with a curiosity he doesn’t know how to address, not without showing you.
he licks a long stripe along your jaw, rutting into you a little faster now. sunghoon’s hands find their way to the sides of your head; rationality has long left him, and his brain’s all foggy with visions of you. he wonders if he could take you just as well on the counter, on the desk, or by the window, and he just gets needier.
he’s getting sloppy and his brain’s all fuzzy. he’s not even sure what the rush is; when there’s someone else in his bed, he almost always finds it easier to take his time. teasing, foreplay, whatever the fuck you wanted to call it—he realised that the reactions he got were much more visceral.
but now—god, he needs you to cum around his cock as soon as possible.
“f-fuck, ngh—pussy was made just for me,” he mutters under his breath, pushing himself up—he towers over you like this, lowlights bathing his skin in warmth all over again as his arms wander down to your waist, then your hips, and then to the back of your knees. “w-what’s wrong, hm? gotta speak up, baby. let me hear you. all that talking was just for show, huh?”
“f-fuuuuh—hoon, please, t-too much—”
“ah-ah, take it like the good girl you are,” his eyebrows knit together in focus, and a bead of sweat rolls down his face, down his chin and drips right onto the valley of your breasts. “y-yeaaah, see? just like that.”
you’re choking on a sob by the time he folds your knees up—brutal, to say the least. your tits get squished by your thighs as he pins your legs up, sunghoon’s rough fingers wound tight around the soft flesh, bullying his way into your poor cunt.
the sounds echoing through the room might as well be featured in a porno. your moans mix until it’s an amalgamation of yeses, gentle sobs, and sunghoon’s relentless teasing. every thrust knocks the wind out of you, your hands clawing at his wrists and leaving red streaks—but the pain barely even reaches him—the only thing on sunghoon’s mind is how gorgeous you look underneath him, taking every inch like it’s what you were born to do, moaning the name he spent so long hating;
“f-fuck, i love you, love fucking this pussy so much—” he hisses through his teeth, eyes zeroed on the way your eyes roll every time he buries himself to the hilt. your head tilts back, throat bobbing as you swallow back embarrassing moan after embarrassing moan—sunghoon’s making it difficult with the way he presses against your belly with one hand, the other holding your left thigh up. “shit, baby, you can be louder than that, can’t you?”
oh, fuck park sunghoon. fuck this stupidly huge cock drilling it’s way through you, and fuck this ridiculously gorgeous man who has you biting back screams, fuck everything, fuck how good you feel—your vision is clouding, stars exploding behind your eyelids every time you shut them, and all you can do is just sit and take it. “s-sunghoon, a-ah—slow down, i’m gonna fucking cum again—”
he kisses his teeth, now resorting to grinding his hips against yours. the angle is new, almost beautiful in it’s discovery. his hands are too curious, before settling on the fat of your ass, palming and fondling and treating it like his personal stress-toy until—
smack.
the moan you let out on contact is nothing short of humiliating. his palm smooths over the handprint, now blooming red right before his eyes, and your brain actually short-circuits for a second.
“fuck,” sunghoon laughs, mocking, rude and mean all in one. “you into that shit?”
the sting sends electricity through your body. sunghoon pulls his hips back just enough, before sliding back between your pretty folds so slow that it actually makes you gasp. every single time he pushes himself back in, it’s like you have to get used to it all over again—the stretch never becomes familiar, always melting your brain and forcing every coherent thought you have to mere nonsense.
“god, you’re such a fucking slut,” sunghoon’s head tilts back momentarily, his hair falling with the gravity and sending little drops of sweat down his neck and onto his back. his heart’s beating all wild now, cock aching for more friction, more force, more of you; so greedy and full of desire, bringing his hand up to land another harsh blow to your ass.
“a-ah—hoon!” you hiss, but you never really try to stop it. you squirm, hips jerking with every slap he decides to give you, but sunghoon knows your cunt tells a different tale: your pussy clenches around him so tight that it’s suffocating him, just begging for his load, and it’s driving him insane. “t-too rough, i can’t—slow down, fuck, you’re gonna break the bed in half—”
it’s true. the frame’s creaking upon each thrust, headboard slamming against the walls, but why would sunghoon care? fuck, he’ll buy you a whole new bedroom if he has to, so long as you just let him have you like this for a little longer.
“don’t give a shit, haa—i’ll buy you a new one, mm? fuck you again ‘till we break that one too. bet you’d want that, wouldn’t you?” he grins, and the corner of his lips turn up sharply when he sees how utterly fucked out you look. there’s this familiar expression he’s seen on other girls—when sunghoon proves to be too much for them to handle, and they end up tapping out—but it’s none of that on you. no matter how much you cry that you can’t take it, you cling onto him like the only thing you know, want, and need is him.
“answer me.”
and the coil in your stomach begins to tighten almost instantly—you don’t even realise that his hands have made it’s way up to your jaw, thumb and index pressing into the bone. a small squeal escapes your throat, and there it is again; that innocent look written all over your face, making sunghoon’s stomach do somersaults. his grip gets firmer with each passing second, before you finally manage to speak:
“y-yes, fuck, need it—i want it, pleasepleasepolease, sunghoon!”
it’s times like these were sunghoon really is convinced he’ll never quit sex. not when there’s a woman like you, with a pussy like this, with a voice so sweet that it makes his chest ache and his cock drip pre. it’s quite a confusing matter, actually, considering he’s never been one to talk too much during the act—that shit just leads nowhere, and feelings get confused by the time he comes down from his high, but god, he doesn’t think his mouth can stop at this rate, not when it’s you he’s buried in.
“yeaaah? gonna cream all over me, baby? make a mess all over this cock, come on.” sunghoon nods feverishly, both hands pinned to the undersides of your knees now, pushing you deeper and deeper into the mattress. your mind tries to catch up, but the pace at which he moves is too relentless for any real thought to form.
his hair falls over his face when he leans forward, just enough to press his full weight down on you. sunghoon’s washboard abs tense every time your nails claw at his chest and just thinking felt weirdly impossible now. your mind’s reduced to slush, ears ringing with wet smacks and constant grunts from the man above you. there’s an occasional moan that slips from him, to which he realises, far too quickly, turns you on more than you’d (probably) ever be willing to admit. mental note for the next time he decides to rearrange your guts, he supposes.
sunghoon glances down again. just for a moment. in the past twenty seconds that’ve passed, you both don’t realise how close you’ve got, damp foreheads pressed against each other in something sweet in the midst of all the roughness. his grunts have transformed into something else completely—now laced with need and breathy pleas, begging.
“there we go, yeah—cum on my cock, please, baby. i’m so fucking close—”
“i love you.”
the words almost kill him.
something seems to have snapped almost instantaneously. park sunghoon’s lips crash into yours with newfound fervor, and every muscle in his body seems to be operating on the sole purpose of getting you to come undone. he’s so fucking tired, truly—but the pain fades and all the soreness in his muscles from yesterday’s practice is irrelevant now.
“yeah? you love me?” his pussydrunk face is the only thing in view, a small gasp slipping when he feels you clench down on him. his hips begin to stutter, jerk, pace faltering. his eyes stare into yours through the gaps in his damp hair, waiting for an answer. “fuck, say it again—please.”
“i love you, sunghoon,” you whisper, almost sultry, your voice barely reaching his ears but ghosting against his lips anyway. “i-i love you—”
a starving man he proves to be. his lips lock with yours again, and this time, they never really leave. his tongue swirls around yours, drinking up every sound that you have to offer, still rutting into your cunt like he needs to fuck a whole new generation into you. your core tenses up so much that you think you’re gonna pass out from the impending orgasm—all sunghoon does is moan into your mouth, fingers intertwining with yours as he abuses your pussy with ruthless strokes.
“i love you, y/n,” the words are so sweet it makes your head spin. it doesn’t correlate at all with the obscene view beneath you, his soaked pelvis and your thighs pressed up against your stomach—your hole squelches with every roll, now much messier and haphazard, and the high is so close that you can almost taste it on the tip of your tongue. “that’s it, baby. let it out for me, just like that.”
so cruel.
“c-cumming, fuck, i’m gonna cum, hoon—”
a revelation comes to sunghoon as soon as your walls begin spasming around his length—sunghoon has never had sex this good. you get impossibly tighter, and your moans are broken up by your lungs trying to take in more air. you sob when it hits, almost blinding in it’s entirety as sunghoon continues fucking you through it, feeling how you soak him from the inside and how it gets disgustingly easy to pound into you when you’re this wet.
“fuuuck, o-oh my god,” a guttural sound claws it’s way out of his throat. his forehead dips again, lips still glossy and tasting just like you, entranced by the way your pretty lips part in a silent scream that ends as a loud gasp. “you’re so fucking tight when you cum, shit—”
sunghoon is gone. just chasing his own release, sloppy thrusts making your juices splurt everywhere; your moans amplify and you’re barely holding your sanity together by the time you come back from whatever plane of reality you decided to visit. his thumb digs into the dip behind your knees, still trying to push his cock deeper into you, tip grazing your cervix every now and then—god, it’s pure filth. you’re half convinced that you might have to take the stairs tomorrow if you want to avoid your upstairs neighbour.
humans are truly just animals. sunghoon proves just as much with how frantic he is to spill himself inside of you. truthfully, the thought is stirring him on more than he’d like to admit—which is kind of scary, if he thinks too long about it. it’s a shame that he’s incapable of that right now, because all he manages to babble is:
“please, y/n, can i? let me cum inside of you, please, please—shit, need to fill you up, wanna see it dripping out of you all fucking night, please.”
and you, as drunk on him as he is on you, nods like it’s all you’ve ever needed in life.
sunghoon’s hips snap against your ass, eyebrows knit in frustration and lips parted to let an animalistic groan out. you take it, all of it, from the way he kisses you like he wants to eat you up, to the way he thumbs at your clit because he just needs you to unravel with him again. selfish as he is, he can’t have this alone—not when you look so beautiful breaking.
it takes ten seconds for you to cum for the second time, and him, eleven. it’s all heat and lust and pure hunger condensing into one, singular moment, where he buries himself to the hilt and spills months worth of holding back.
your walls pulse around him. your clit throbs unapologetically under his restless thumb, still circling nice ‘n slow as if you weren’t already gasping for air as it is. his dick almost feels like it’s getting bigger, twitching as it shoots load after load, hot and thick as it paints every crevice.
god, what the fuck. sunghoon’s panting when he finally collapses on top of you, the soreness from yesterday creeping up on him—though he has reason to believe it may be more of your doing. his face buries itself into your neck, not before his hands finally let your thighs loose, dropping right next to his, and for a minute, the two of you simply lay there.
sunghoon breathes you in again, slow enough that the scent of you settles somewhere deep in his chest. your arms slip around his neck without hesitation, fingers disappearing into the soft hair at the nape of it while your lips find his forehead in small, absent kisses that feel less like affection and more like habit. he lets out a quiet sigh against your shoulder, eyes falling shut as warmth spreads through him in steady waves.
“you smell good today.”
he lets himself believe, just for now, that it can stay this way, though it is probably foolish. if he were being honest, every sensible part of him should still be waiting for the other shoe to drop, for you to wake up and realise you've chosen the wrong person, for the guilt he's carried around for months to finally become heavier than whatever it is you've found in him. even after all of it, all you’ve dragged each other through—you’re still here, trusting him with your body.
confusing, he thinks. you’re so confusing.
“hoon,” you mumble against his skin. he hums in response. “you’re being weird—oh my god. stop sniffing me, i’m getting ticklish.”
he hums against your skin before taking another deep breath in. “don’t care.”
before you, none of this would have unsettled him. there had been other people, other nights, other attempts at filling the empty spaces—and it had been good. he had learned very early that casual was easy to survive because it demanded so little of him—he could leave before morning and return to his life unchanged, carrying nothing home except the faint smell of someone else’s perfume and the relief of having avoided being known. it never bothered him. if anything, he preferred it that way.
“can we wait a little longer?”
“didn’t know you were into cockwarming. you’re sick in the head.” you sigh dramatically, earning a groan from sunghoon—he shifts his weight slightly, hissing when he feels you squeeze around him again.
“just give me a minute,” he answers. “need to remember my first with you. should we take a selfie?”
you fist at his hair and sunghoon winces. “fuck, i was just kidding.”
four in the morning.
the clock on your nightstand blinks the numbers back at you in soft, white light, stubborn and familiar. nine months ago, that hour belonged to a stranger's voice crackling through your speaker and a crush that felt enormous simply because it was all imagination.
you remember lying awake with your phone pressed against your cheek, convinced the boy on the other end of the line was someone else entirely, and now the room is quiet enough to hear the city breathing beyond the windows.
sunghoon shifts against you, cheek warm where it's pressed to your chest, his hair a soft mess beneath your fingers. when he tilts his head up, tiredness still clings to him around the edges of his eyes, but they find yours immediately, like they've learned the route by heart. there is something almost unfair about it—that the boy who once hid behind another person's name now looks at you with such terrifying honesty.
“can you get off of me now?”
sunghoon lifts his head just enough to look at you, cheek still resting against your chest, dark hair falling messily across his forehead. he considers the question with suspicious seriousness before leaning over to press another lazy kiss against your collarbone. “no.”
luck and fate. such intangible concepts, but the feeling creeps up on you regardless. the universe seems unusually generous now, which scares you—after everything that’s happened, after all the ways the two of you managed to hurt each other before finding your way back, it feels dangerous to believe that happiness could be this simple.
and still—something tells you that this feeling might be yours to keep, anyway, so long as you keep choosing for it to.
sunghoon shifts closer, his voice rough with impending sleep as he presses his face into the warmth beneath your jaw. “i love you, y/n.”
when your eyes flutter open the next morning, the blinds are only half-shut, thin ribbons of sunlight slipping through the gaps and painting pale gold across the floor. there's a t-shirt bunched around your waist that definitely wasn't there when you went to sleep, and your hair is sticking to your cheek in a way that immediately informs you that you’ve slept in way too long.
you stretch with a quiet groan, arms reaching above your head until your shoulders pop pleasantly, then roll onto your left side in search of the cooler side of the bed—but instead, you’re greeted by more warmth.
for a brief, sleepy second, you wonder if autumn has somehow changed its mind overnight. is it summer again?
but then, you see him.
park sunghoon is sprawled face-down across your mattress like somebody dropped him there and forgot to pick him back up. one arm is flung over the edge of the bed, the other trapped beneath your pillow, and his dark hair sticks out in every possible direction. sometime during the night, he'd apparently migrated until three-quarters of his body occupied your side of the bed while you clung to the remaining sliver.
his bare back is outlined by faint shadows of the morning, still unfairly sculpted while knocked out cold. it annoys you, just a little, but enough that you briefly consider stealing the blanket back out of spite.
instead, you stay where you are and watch him.
you watch the slow rise and fall of his ribs beneath your fingertips, the tiny hitch in his breathing every few breaths, and the way one hand twitches occasionally against the mattress as though he's still reaching for you in his sleep.
you lean forward until your lips brush the warmth of his shoulder—but the words you whisper there are too soft for him to hear.
“i love you too, park sunghoon.”
he sleeps through your confession, completely unaware of the smile that finds your face as you settle next to him again. your heart slows just a fraction, calming when your breathing unconsciously matches the rhythm of the man beside you.
time seems to slow itself down. the morning birds are quieter than usual, the grandmother across the street has spared the neighborhood her daily yelling, and when you look over at your calendar, there is nothing waiting for you there.
for a love this gentle, the universe has chosen to be unusually generous.
lucky you!
─────────────────────────
hoonie <3: [Attachment] 20:28
hoonie <3: I’ll be over after practice 20:28
hoonie <3: Yeonjun and Maki keep asking about you it’s starting to piss me off 20:29
hoonie <3: Also did you change my contact? 20:34
y/n: yes heeseung 20:40
y/n: oops i meant Park Sunghoon. my favourite boyfriend out of 10 20:40
if you're gonna break me in two ⋆ masterpost ⋆ do what you gotta do
GENRE + PAIRING ⋮ college au. ice hockey player!fratboy!sunghoon x fem!reader. PART 01 WC 29.3k
SYNOPSIS ⋮ you’ve been crushing on lee heeseung for most of your college life — long enough that you were beginning to crack. one blessed night, when a girl at a party slips you his number, it feels like fate finally taking pity on you. what follows is a slow, intoxicating unraveling — late-night calls, perfect pick-ups, subtle flirts you’d expect from a charming guy like him. so why is it that when you finally wave at him on campus, he looks genuinely confused?
CONTENT WARNINGS ⋮ explicit themes, includes smut so +18 only. themes of mental illness sex as a coping mechanism self esteem issues angst with happy ending miscommunication skinship physical intimacy inferiority complex featuring enhypen slowburn pining
AUTHOR'S NOTE ⋮ hi!! thank you so much for waiting on me. this fic was such an ambitious idea of mine that i had no idea if i would be able to pull it off.. but after 6 months of typing n gathering feedback from my wonderful friends (veevee, annabanana, and mona to my minju + many more) i was able to do just that <33 hoonyn have such a special place in my heart, even though i worked on other fics while fleshing out this one, this project always got me the most excited (and also the most frustrated lmfao). anyway!!!! i had to split it up into two because of the block limit... VERY SORRY about that it's like 52k ish total? i got lost in the plot and just enjoyed my time writing, so that's why...... i hope it lives up to your expectations! i love U aaallll enjoy the word vomit ++ taglist at the end of the fic <3 thank u and see u in part 2 veryy sooonnn
REBLOGS APPRECIATED ⋆ THANK YOU FOR READING
everyone always told you that you had terrible luck. this applied to most things: friendships, competitions, meeting a friend’s parents, even.
but love? oh, love was where it stung. this was somehow more painful than everything else, because while you could flaunt at least one instance where a friendship didn’t explode in your face, or a parent actually liked you, or you won a gold star—you could never say you hit it off with a guy, ever.
perhaps the men of this generation were simply too terrible for this to ever be a matter of luck. it felt more like a rigged casino: every bet placed in good faith, every hand played carefully, and still you walked away lighter, bled dry all the same.
you weren’t desperate. no. far from it. you did everything right. you waited, chose the boys who made you feel safe instead of reckless, who offered steadiness instead of the dizzy thrill everyone else swore by. you could say, with a quiet sense of pride, that you followed the rules and played it by the book. hell, even after all that, every guy’s true colours somehow emerged victorious by the end of it: they just want sex, sex, or sex.
the truth was that deep down, you didn’t want anything to do with it. even if it was indeed the sexiest, biggest, smartest guy on campus… there was only one guy you set your sights on. just one, with the light brown hair and charming smile, shooting hoops at the basketball court by the cafeteria—lee heeseung.
though, the problem was simple: you’d never actually talked to the guy. this could’ve been easily solved if you shared even one class, but of course, he’d signed up late—every elective already full, while you, being the good student you are, had locked your choices in the moment the portal opened.
the second solution, proposed by oh jiwon herself, was rejected the instant it left her mouth. you were sprawled in her dorm room on a normal saturday night—you, legs spread indecently across the tiny couch she’d smuggled past security in first year, and her, upside down on the bed, hair brushing the floor.
“why don’t you just bump into him and knock all his books down?” she muttered, teeth chomping down on a stack of (probably) expired bbq-xtra-hot chips.
oh, heeeell no. what the fuck was this? a poorly produced drama plotline?
“was he born yesterday?”
the third option, though, felt a little more… dignified. it came to you on a random thursday evening, when the rain felt a little too heavy and you were wishing that lee heeseung would swoop in and hold a $5 umbrella over your heads.
replaying the events of the day in your head as your boots sloshed in muddy puddles, kim sunoo’s annoyingly pretty face comes into view.
“the fundraiser’s gonna be so busy this year, gosh…”
yes. indeed, it will.
the annual fundraiser organised by the student relations club. you remembered being ridiculously excited for it last year—around the same time you’d first started noticing heeseung. after some careful “asking around”, you’d learned he was attending, too. and, as if the universe was personally apologising to you for your tragic love life: he was trying his luck at the blind date booth.
what a sweet guy. donating his hard-earned money to charity and putting himself out there? he had your heart in his hands, and you came to understand that his was the target of many others.
so, it was obvious what had to be done. you signed up the moment sunoo—thank the angels for him—let the information slip. it’s nothing short of fate that you shared an elective with him; it took a bit of coaxing and more than a few judgmental looks, but by that sunny wednesday afternoon, good had prevailed in the world.
it’s safe to say you did not get lee heeseung as your date. instead, you endured a miserable twenty-minute speed dinner listening to a stranger ramble about his league rank. ou’d never been more thoroughly turned off in your life.
but this year?
this year, it will be different.
─────────────────────────
the house smells like weed and alcohol, and also everything that you should not be doing on a thursday night. you got the call from jiwon in the middle of your assignment, head half buried in your hands as the glow from the laptop screen burned your retinas—it’s twelve midnight now, and you have class in eight hours, but the impending sleep deprivation still beats handing in sloppy work.
the house belongs to the frat heeseung’s in. sigma alpha eta, if you remembered correctly. it’s three stories tall, tacky, and reeks of soju and everything wrong with the male species. you’re not even sure if the place ever gets cleaned, but considering it’s full of rich mama’s boys, they’ve probably hired someone to deal with the mess for them.
“what the fuck is going on?”
oh jiwon’s staring at you like you’re the one who dragged her here. you scan the room for no one in particular (lie), and when you turn back—
she’s gone.
“who’s ready to party?!”
the dj is embarrassingly bad. like, physically painful to listen to. the bass is cranked up so high it rattles the floorboards, vibrating straight through your bones. you cringe, already picturing the culprit: some frat guy who bought a $100 mixing set off amazon last week and now calls himself “up and coming”.
everyone you know seems to be here. you’d brushed shoulders with ahn yunjin and danielle on the way in, only to watch them dart toward the porch with a joint already lit.
you snake your way through narrow hallways packed wall-to-wall—overlapping conversations, smoke blown straight into your face, bodies pressing in from every side as you aim for the kitchen. instead, you stumble into the living room. leather couches are occupied by unconscious adults—drunk, high, or some lethal combination of both—bathed in warm overhead light that all but promises brutal hangovers tomorrow.
it seems like the party started long before you got here. where the hell did your jiwon go, anyway?
your feet start to move again, carrying you mindlessly through the first floor—you cross the hallway, take a turn into another doorway, and finally stumble upon the kitchen; it’s less crowded, with fewer drunk people and comparably quiet in contrast to whatever’s waiting for you outside the threshold of that door. your eyes are hesitant, oddly enough, though you know why.
parties like this usually mean hookups. and when hookups are involved, lee heeseung is the first name that comes to mind. the guy’s practically a walking target—especially in his own frat house, swarming with every girl who’s been blessed enough to know the name.
this whole situation feels like a ticking time bomb. your chest tightens. how long before someone else gets to him? how long before you turn a corner and see his face buried in someone else’s neck? 10 minutes? 10 seconds?
“hellooooo!”
and as fast as the thoughts come, they go; head snapping toward the sound, locking onto oh fucking jiwon—standing there, smiling innocently, as if she hadn’t abandoned you to die in the crowd.
“where the fuck have you been?” you sigh, hands running through your hair, like you’d just spent a whole day looking for her. to be fair, time moves weirdly in places like this.
“refilling!” she hiccups. “see?” she tips her red cup to show a dubious mix of jack and coke.
she’s tipsy—no surprise there. jiwon’s always been a lightweight. still, she manages to wobble over and hop onto the marble island, scooting back until her legs dangle comfortably. she looks down at you with glassy, sparkly eyes.
“sooo… heeseung’s place, huh? didn’t know their frat was so fancy. they literally have wine older than my grandparents in here.”
you roll your eyes and drag a stool out from under the island. it screeches against the tile, making you wince, before you climb up onto it.
“you’ve been snooping in their alcohol?” you giggle, shaking your head in mock disapproval. you’ll have to look through it later, too. “you’re a shit guest.”
“guest is always right!” jiwon babbles, before abruptly sneezing. the action makes you flinch. “oh… sorry. anyways,”
you cross your arms, waiting. she’s halfway to blackout, but you humor her anyway.
“fundraiser!” she slurs. “heeseung’s in the pantry. think he’s lookin’ for chips. i dunno. he was with sunghoon, and then i ran into him while lookin’ for more soju—”
and it’s like the universe wants to show you how much it wants you to stay in this lifetime, as a form of divine mercy, or something similar to an apology, because lee heeseung slides the pantry door open and waltzes right out with chips tucked under his armpit, as he munches on something else. your eyes follow him, and so does everyone else’s, and naturally they trail towards the slightly shorter man behind him.
park sunghoon. the guy with the ridiculously sharp, thick eyebrows, a staring problem, and close to half of the campus’s female population wanting to lick his boots. there’s often two responses to the question ‘who’s the cutest guy on campus’, and many of your peers often utter one or the other: heeseung, or his colder counterpart, sunghoon.
you took an economics class with him last year, and thank god you didn’t hit the lottery and end up in the same group, because you’d heard… things. too many things. stories about him tearing into a girl’s work so viciously, she had to beg the professor to let her switch groups with sunoo (it’s strange, how he seemed to be in almost every class you took, now that you think about it).
you’d never talked to him, or anyone from that little group, really, aside from kim sunoo. you knew sim jaeyun was popular over in the engineering block; all brains and good looks, apparently. nishimura riki was another name you heard in passing—always surrounded by a crowd whenever he danced with his crew in some random corner with a giant mirror. as for jongseong and jungwon… you didn’t even want to think about the things people said. absolutely vile in nature.
it seems like the whole lot of them were heartthrobs, in every sense of the word.
it’s just… park sunghoon?
that guy didn’t deserve half the glowing reviews he got.
you were half convinced that if people had star ratings floating above their heads—complete with scrollable comments—he’d be inflating his own with burner emails.
park sunghoon. 5 stars. wow, this guy is sooooo hot and rich! — nothoon12345. he just looked like the kind of guy who did that kind of thing.
okay, maybe you were being a little harsh, considering you’d never actually spoken to him. still, it felt telling when even other men talked shit about him: apparently being both the most disliked and the most respected player on the ice hockey team was impressive enough to land him the captain title.
he walks a few steps behind heeseung, his own bag of chips in hand. you don’t realise you’re staring until his gaze snaps towards you as he passes—a look equal parts smug, disgusted, and painfully punchable.
“what the hell is that guy’s issue?”
“stop looking at him,” jiwon waves you off, swinging her feet. her heel accidentally thuds against the wood. “heeseung's right there.”
your eyes flick back to heeseung, now hovering near the front door, greeting the flood of people streaming in—tonight’s barely started, but somehow, you feel ten times heavier than when you walked in.
lee heeseung, leaning casually against the wall, all perfect teeth, perfect hair, perfectly charming face… and park sunghoon, just a step behind him, stiff, scanning the crowd until his gaze finally locks on you.
before you can tear your eyes away, he cocks his head and gives you a smile—all mockery, all challenge, like he just told a joke you’d never understand. you shift your weight on the stool, cross one leg over the other, but your eyes stay zeroed on him.
“i don’t like that sunghoon guy,” you mutter, dragging a hand through your hair and pretending to look elsewhere.
oh jiwon rolls her eyes, snorts, and leans her weight back on the counter. “you’d be surprised how many people wanna get in his pants—”
“don’t. talk. to. me. about. park. sunghoon’s. pants.” you snap, stabbing a finger toward her chest for emphasis—she giggles at the action, and you do, too. though your eyes flick back, just once, toward where he was.
but when you do, he’s gone. no sunghoon, no heeseung. just the occasional partygoer opening and closing doors, the sound barely registering to your ears through the shitty music.
“how have you not drank anything yet?”
“i literally just got here!”
────────────────────────
it’s one in the morning, and the party seems to be at it’s peak—there’s no one else coming through the front door, and it’s more packed than you could imagine; you’re leaning against the staircase with a cup swirling in your hands, only having taken two sips out of it. jiwon’s still next to you, chatting to a guy you’ve never seen before.
you look at him, then at her. unimpressive, if anything. you’re turning to look at your cup again and the feeling hits, sudden and sharp as it claws at your chest: you feel extremely out of place, even in a house full of people and possibility. people shove their way past you and you hold your cup tight to your chest as it happens. you barely hear anything with the laughter, chatter, and music all at once.
your eyes drift toward the window—yunjin’s with someone else; danielle must’ve left earlier. you scan the room again, half-heartedly looking for a familiar face to talk to—sunoo, maybe, even if the guy doesn’t really think you’re normal. or for park sunghoon, perhaps for some explanation as to why he’d looked at you like that earlier.
“looking for hee?”
that voice. too close. it sends shivers down your spine, every hair standing before your neck snaps to your left—jiwon’s gone, and so is that guy, instead replaced by a girl you know all too well.
she’s smiling at you with her lips curled in a way that makes your stomach drop—unsettling by its very nature. the lights strobe across her face, red and white, purple and blue, painting her in something eerie as her expression lingers, sharp and all-knowing.
“what the fuck do you want?”
she laughs softly, hands coming up to her face to cover her mouth like she’s some gentle, kind creature that’s come to save the day. kim sooha’s always been like that. ever since high school, ever since you’ve been bestowed the honour of knowing how ruthless she gets when she wants to be.
her hair falls over her face before she moves to tuck it behind her ear.
god, you want to slap her. some things never change, no matter how many years pass.
“you need to learn how to relax. you’ve been staring all night,” she sighs, leaning her back against the wall as she talks—like you two are friends, always have been—and that this is the most normal conversation ever. “you’re definitely looking for heeseung, aren’t you? i got a shortcut, if you’re interested.”
you don’t answer. you’ve learnt it’s best to shut your mouth instead of lie, because with girls like sooha, the snake always bites first.
your mind flashes, briefly, to the image of him again: light brown hair falling over his face, his genuine smile as people poured in from the front door, eyes squinting as he spots a good friend from a few feet away. your eyes had never truly left him, until you caught park sunghoon staring daggers at you right behind.
and, strangely, it’s never found him again since.
“listen, i have his number—it’ll save you a looot of trouble.”
you don’t realise you’ve turned away from her until you glance back. her smile widens as you meet her eyes—glinting with something dangerous, like this isn’t truly all there is to her offer.
kim sooha is not about goodwill and donating to charities. the charity would have to return her 110% before she could ever consider doing so; in this case, the charity seems to be you.
“what do you want?”
and it feels like you’ve just sold your soul to the damn devil with how bright her face gets. like a child on christmas morning, unwrapping a brand new toy. well—you suppose you’re a toy, too, in this.
she reaches into the back pocket of her jeans, the jingle of her phone charm barely cutting through the kendrick lamar song that’s causing the floor to vibrate. you wonder how long until someone calls the cops on this place—it’s too loud, too much, and you don’t even want to think about what the second and third floor looks like right now.
“one click, and i’ll send it to you.”
you scoff, breaking the eye contact to take a sip of the peach soju in your hands. you almost roll your eyes before remembering that this was sooha you were getting in bed with—one wrong move, and she’s retracting, and you’ll be left to awkward waves and stuttered hello’s at the fundraiser three months from now.
“my jacket’s upstairs, and i need you to get it.”
if you weren’t confused before, you definitely are now.
“your fucking jacket?” you repeat, and it almost comes out as a laugh. she doesn’t think it’s funny, though, because she’s quick to fire back a response:
“i don’t want to bump into whoever you’re gonna bump into. not in the mood. consider it a gift from me,” she pokes a finger at your collarbone, “to you.”
you flinch, her sharp nail making you stumble back, just a little. her eyebrows raise as you tilt your head towards the stairs, watching you glance up and towards the flight of stairs above your heads—there’s people moving up and down, and it just doesn’t click—why not someone else?
“so… are you doing it? don’t have time to sleep on—“
you chew on the lining of your cheek. something isn’t right. she’s looking at you like she doesn’t care if her jacket actually makes it back to her—all that matters is that you fall into whatever she’s setting up.
“fine. keep your fucking word when i get back down here.”
the smile that spreads across her face makes your heart drop straight to your ass. you don’t like this—not the feeling of being a step behind, not the way it feels like she’s holding something over you.
but… like she said. it’s not as if you have a whole day to sit on your ass and think it through.
“you should know by now. i always do,” she sings, voice lilting and smug, watching as you turn away and head for the stairs. “thank you, dear [name].”
you pause at the bottom, fingers curling tighter around your cup as you glance upward. bodies move through the hallways above—laughing, stumbling, disappearing into rooms that smell like sweat, alcohol and poor decisions. the music thumps faintly through the walls, distorted here, like a heartbeat that doesn’t belong to you.
your head feels light, almost dizzy, but you go anyway. one step. then another. your shoes stick slightly to the floor as you climb, each step feeling heavier than the last.
“this yours?”
your head cocks up, eyes locking onto a familiar face—park sunghoon, standing at the top of the staircase, with a leather jacket haphazardly folded into his hands. it looks expensive when it’s under this kind of light, and knowing sooha, it probably is.
“yup,” you say, the word coming out more clipped than you intend. reluctant, wary—but who the hell could blame you? the guy who’s been staring all psycho and weird, treating you like an out-of-earth entity is holding onto the one thing you need to finish this amazing deal. “thank you!”
he’s tall. towering. with you two steps below him, he’s giving himself a stiff neck just looking at you. his face gives nothing away—not surprise, barely any curiosity, perhaps slight irritation. more than anything, there’s that unreadable calm, like he’s not only three steps ahead of whatever this is, but also skies above it.
your arms reach out to grab it from him, but sunghoon’s quick to retract his hand. he dangles it in front of you, an eyebrow raised, still staring as if you were some kind of odd specimen—you blink a few times, waiting for him to say something, anything.
“i’d watch out if i were you.”
his voice is low, nearly lost beneath the bass thudding through the floor below. it’s flat enough that it barely registers as a voice at all.
but just why the hell is he telling you this? park sunghoon’s talking like he knows kim sooha personally.
really, if you had to pick between the two of you… you’d have to consider yourself the expert.
“o… kay?” you mouth, the word barely audible over the bass thrumming through the walls.
for a moment longer, he just looks at you, then lowers the jacket into your hands. you don’t manage to thank him, because you’re turning around before you can even utter another word.
nothing else matters right now. you’re praying that by the time you reach the bottom of the stairs, sooha will be there—phone in hand, ready to send those digits your way, just like she promised.
though, even if she isn’t, you’re not entirely sure what you’d do about it. there’s no backup plan. you’re definitely not asking sunoo—because you’re not an idiot with a weird obsession with lee heeseung (lie), and you’re not that desperate to talk to him (lie), enough to corner one of his closest friends and expose yourself completely (truth).
well… you guess you’ve already done so by poking around about the fundraiser, but his number is crossing the line. apparently.
you square your shoulders and keep walking, clinging to the thought that this will all be worth it once lee heeseung’s finally a button away, instead of thirty meters and 6 men apart.
“you’re quick with it,” sooha yells over the song playing, now a remix of some chainsmokers single. roses, a classic, which also means people are starting to get oddly energetic despite it reaching two in the morning.
you watch her eyes flick down to her phone, the screen lighting up her face as she brings it to her chest—typing, swiping, pausing just long enough to be irritating—until your own phone vibrates against the back pocket of your shorts.
“thanks a bunch, y/n.” she says lightly. “always so obedient.”
your jaw tightens. you don’t bother responding—just thrust the jacket into her abdomen, harder than necessary. kim sooha doesn’t take it personally, she never does. the flare of your nostrils, the way your fingers curl like you’re holding yourself back—that’s more than enough to make her night.
a sweet, disingenuous smile blooms across your face, as if to say: ‘no problem, bitch.’
she slips past you, shoulders barely brushing, already headed for the front door. just before she disappears, you catch it—the smudged eyeshadow, the eyeliner dragged unevenly beneath her eyes, foundation streaked down her cheeks like she hasn’t bothered to check herself in a mirror.
for a fraction of a second, you find yourself worrying—for her, and for yourself. you’ve never once seen sooha with makeup this (for lack of a better word) bad; she’s always immaculate, flawless, even if that bruises your ego to admit out loud.
which means there are only two possibilities: she’s just fucked someone and realised, far too late, what a mistake it was—or her heart has just been torn into a million tiny, irreparable pieces.
you don’t take much time to dwell on it, before you tear your eyes away from sooha’s figure slowly fading into the distance. her boots clack against the concrete pavement before it comes to a stop, and for a moment, she just stands—until a car pulls up and she ducks her head to fit into it.
what the hell was that?
the front door slams shut from someone else pulling it closed, the sound cutting clean through the music, and your head turns instinctively toward the staircase.
park sunghoon.
the second floor is quieter, stripped of the flashing colours and strobe lights below. in that softer, warmer glow, park sunghoon comes sharply into focus.
he’s leaning over the railing, forearms bearing his weight. an empty soju bottle hangs loosely from his hand, head bowed, expression obscured by shadow—almost like he’s staring straight down at you.
he’s annoyingly gorgeous. his side profile is so lethal that you think if not for his shitty attitude and tendency to stare at everyone sideways, he’d be a model.
you catch yourself wishing he’d just fuck off and do that instead.
your breath catches in your throat. you’re not really sure why—but your body makes the decisions for you tonight, thoughts of sunghoon quickly dissolving as fast as they invaded, feet carrying you toward the front door.
sleek wood and cold metal doorknobs in all their unassuming glory. it’s an exit. a way out of the noise, the lights, and the man upstairs who feels far too aware of your existence.
you move. fluid, deliberate, like this was always the plan.
sunghoon’s gaze tracks you as you slip through the crowd, hair brushing shoulders, bodies pressing in too close. the lights repaint you with every step—pink, purple, red—until you glance back once, just for a second, and the colours smear into something unreadable.
when you finally cross the threshold of the front door, your body is hit with cold wind; unsurprisingly, there’s scattered groups of people across the front yard, smoking and drinking in their quiet bubbles. you inhale the relatively cleaner air, deep, slow, until it settles in your lungs and you’re spared from the remnants of vape flavours and fruity alcohol.
the music dulls behind you, but the vibrations still reach your feet nonetheless.
you sigh, a hand dragging through your hair, before you make your way towards a stone pillar, only to lean your weight against it. you didn’t realise how quiet it could be, after almost two hours in that god forsaken party—the quiet chatter doesn’t make your head spin out here and the occasional laugh isn’t as annoying as the screams inside.
that’s when you see him.
lee heeseung—smoking—with that guy from engineering. jake sim.
the cigarette is pinched between his fingers, and he takes slow drags like it’s the only thing anchoring him to this messy, overgrown scene. jake’s rambling beside him, hands flying as he retells some story you can’t hear, and heeseung just nods along, offering the occasional laugh that reassures his friend that he finds it equally as funny.
everything feels slowed down. time is suspended. his hair slips into his eyes, and every now and then he shakes his head, a small, unconscious motion to clear his vision.
this is kind of creepy. you’re watching lee heeseung smoke at two in the morning from his front porch. you, a year ago, wouldn’t have believed this even if someone swore on it.
okay. that’s enough. you’re leaving—immediately.
but not before you bring your phone to your face—the blue light stings, almost burns your retinas. you blink hard once, twice, until the haze clears. your thumb swipes into your messages.
kim sooha has kept her word.
sooha (do not reply): +82-xx-xxxx-xxxx 01:53
sooha (do not reply): enjoy yourself! <3 01:53
bitch.
you add the contact while lee heeseung is still laughing in your peripheral vision, smoke curling into the dark, completely unaware that—through totally legitimate and ethical means—he’s now a button away.
─────────────────────────
park sunghoon was not interested in love.
this was, somehow, a known fact across campus.
anyone could guess by that stoic look on his face and that gigantic duffle bag he drags around everywhere, that the man couldn’t be paid a million dollars to be locked down—that’s what so little time and too many (non-romantic) commitments does to you.
mondays were the gym. tuesdays, practice. wednesdays, rest. thursdays, practice again. fridays, the gym, and a night run. saturdays and sundays, practice too. he was surprised he even had time to fit kim sooha into his schedule, though, it was not as often as she preferred.
okay, he admits it was just sex—but an hour or two once or twice a week was already cutting it close.
sunghoon was an ex-figure skater turned ice hockey player, so it was clear what the future held for him: he’s talented, rich, disciplined, a genius—the world was his oyster. everyone around him was in his court.
who would he be if he let someone make the rules for him?
you see: park sunghoon couldn’t be bothered with the girls throwing themselves at him, or the ones who acted shy. in his eyes, it all ended the same.
they wanted more. he couldn’t give more. he didn’t want to give more.
kim sooha was no different. of course she wasn’t—park sunghoon couldn’t deny it, because she fit the stereotype of every girl who’d ever wanted him: bashful, a little self-deprecating, and far too clingy.
at least he had been decent enough to tell her that sex was all it would ever be, and all he could afford to give. but what do you know (park sunghoon always knows), someone ends up wanting more.
the night of the party, around ten, sunghoon found himself holed up in his bedroom trying to finish up a paper before the house had started swarming with people. one moment he’s typing, fingers mashing away at his keyboard as the words flow flawlessly, perfectly, and his mind occasionally drifts to the grade he’d get for this assignment. nothing less than 100, of course. he wouldn’t expect anything less from himself.
“hoon!”
and his genius flow is disrupted by none other than jake, peeking his head from behind the doorway, with an idiotic smile painted across his glowing face.
“what do you want?” sunghoon mutters, head turning back to the screen of his laptop. jake sim’s prsesence usually meant the message wasn’t all that important—if it was, it’d be jungwon up here instead. “i’m busy.”
“sooha’s here,” he says. “she wants to see you.”
sunghoon kisses his teeth in annoyance, solely out of instinct, an action which jake pretends not to notice. it only irritates sunghoon even more, really—he’d rather jake just be honest with him, instead of pretending to be polite just for the sake of being polite. he knows better than anyone that all of his brothers hate when kim sooha is around, and that hiding it won’t convince park sunghoon otherwise.
for varying reasons.
he recalls that one dinner two weeks ago, when jay told sunghoon to ‘do a better job at shutting sooha up’. he could barely eat the rest of his food.
“please don’t send her up here. i’ll be downstairs soon,” and jake is almost ready to turn his pretty face right around and back downstairs to help set up the speakers, before sunghoon asks: “why is she even here?”
“hey, you’re the one fucking her, man.” jake shrugs, before he turns around for the final time. sunghoon’s face morphs into one of disgust, weirdly fast, even though the statement isn’t exactly false—still, it doesn’t stop him from wanting to crawl into a hole and die.
there’s something wrong with him. he can’t deny the sex was good, and yes, kim sooha was gorgeous… but commitment? staying? forever? that was different.
he remembers when yang jungwon had a girlfriend. those were not good times. definitely. the guy refused to leave his bedroom for two days after they broke it off—and sunghoon, as much as he cared for poor jungwon, couldn’t stop thinking about how two days meant two lifetimes of missed productivity.
just how much of an asshole could he be?
so, that’s precisely why he settles for sex. a dopamine hit to get himself off edge, so he’s ready to stretch himself thin all over again.
lee heeseung says it’s not healthy, but what the hell would he know? he’s too busy drowning in love letters, home-baked cookies, and instagram requests to understand why this is the best option out of any presented to him. the golden boy doesn’t know what he’s talking about—the only reason he even bothers giving advice is because of the one, maybe two girlfriends he had in first year, which he seems to think qualifies him as an expert in sweet, innocent, and healthy love.
park sunghoon doesn’t even have instagram. it’s a waste of time.
why the fuck doesn’t he get cookies, anyway? why don’t girls approach him just to talk, instead of trying to grind on his crotch at parties? why doesn’t he have someone sweet and steady, sitting in the stands and watching his games—wiping his tears when he plays like shit, or being the first one he looks for when he scores an amazing shot?
never mind the way he takes their hand and leads them upstairs. never mind how easily he leans into a stranger’s touch and lets himself pretend it means something. never mind that he’s learned to let names slip past him, unheard, while his gaze drifts instead to the shape of their lips.
never mind all of it.
he tells himself it’s circumstantial—something inevitable, something learnt. that he would be different, could be different, if the world around him didn’t demand this version of him in return.
lee heeseung gets to commit. he gets to feel it all—the highs, the warmth, the quiet safety of having someone stay, and he makes it out unscathed, unhurt. he gets to ground himself in knowing that she won’t walk out of that door when shit hits the fan, too—fuck, he doesn’t know anything at all.
footsteps thud from the hallway, but he knows it’s just jay and riki shifting furniture around—boards scraping, chairs sliding—enough to rattle the plaster on the walls. jake’s voice cuts through the mess, yelling at heeseung to find the extra loud speakers jungwon had “borrowed” for his own use. somewhere upstairs, sunoo’s probably napping, blissfully unaware of the chaos below.
sunghoon doesn’t mind. five people are more than enough to handle party prep, and he refuses to be dragged into it. the music, the clatter, the erratic shouts—it all feels like someone else’s life, a background noise he doesn’t need to claim.
instead, up here, he can focus on what matters: finishing his paper, keeping his head down, staying untangled in this mess that’s about to spill over the entire house in about an hour.
he leans back against the leather of his chair, shoulders finally relaxing, and lets his gaze wander over the room. the house smells like air freshener, a somewhat helpful idea proposed by riki, but the sharp tang in his nose makes him grit his teeth.
for the first time that evening, he almost smiles at the absurdity of it all, the chaos of his brothers trying to pull off another last-minute party. he knows it’ll all work out fine, and that this will be the talk of campus until it fizzles out in two weeks, but it’s still ridiculous how these people never learn to plan ahead.
he remembers the last party sigma alpha eta threw—someone broke a table, then went swimming naked in the pool. safe to say, jake and him had to track the culprit down the next morning and demand the funds to get it cleaned.
“hoonie?”
a soft click from the front door snaps him out of his thoughts.
he knows exactly who it is.
kim sooha. standing by the dark frame of his door, dressed in something that would’ve had him weak in the knees if he was some random horny loser—skirt smooth, tight against her skin, a leather jacket framing her small body. it’s too bad that he doesn’t give two shits, though.
“you’ve been avoiding me,” she announces, voice sharp yet playful, as if she owns the room that sunghoon’s made his. it irks him.
she leans against the doorframe, one hip jutting out, arms crossed with a face so smug that it makes him want to flip her off. “so, i came early. just to… check in.”
he looks back at the screen of his laptop, bright blue light shining in his face, and barely moves another muscle. “you know where the rules stand. i’m busy.”
“hoonie—“
“told you to stop calling me that.” sunghoon cuts her off, “i don’t need you checking on me, thanks. party’s not starting for another hour. maybe you can help them prep?”
the words land like a slap. sooha’s jaw tightens, but she forces a smile, refusing to let him see the way it stings.
she steps closer anyway, as if proximity can wear him down, break the walls that are already hardening—or climb over whatever’s already there.
“come on. it doesn’t have to be like this.” she tilts her head, letting her hair fall over one shoulder, “i’ve been asking you for weeks, hoon. i’ve always wanted—”
“no.” sunghoon exhales, forcefully slow, as if that’ll help him calm down. “i’ve been saying the same shit for weeks. you’re pushing me.”
she takes two steps closer, heels tapping against the shiny wood floor. the space between them closes as she leans over his desk, shadow casting over the dark oak. he feels like slamming his head into it—the bruise would be less painful than this, the sharp smell of her fruity perfume that sunghoon never bothered to register, but hates anyway now that it finally has.
he never thought he’d have to tell her that he hates the notes of citrus. it didn’t matter if she never stayed long enough to get the words out.
“hoonie,” sooha mumbles, hands bracing the surface of his table. “i thought we were getting somewhere.”
“even after i told you we weren’t?” sunghoon shifts his chair backwards, widening the gap just so he could feel like he wasn’t going to choke at the smell of her perfume. “know what? i’m done. can’t fucking draw any lines with you—“
“that’s it? we’re just—“
sunghoon’s jaw tightens, and he leans back slightly in his chair. “i said it was just sex. nothing more. if you’re begging for a hug and some kisses, go somewhere else.”
the silence hangs in the air, thick, impenetrable. for a minute, sunghoon wonders if he’s gone too far—sooha’s face falters, her sultry smile now replaced by lips that tremble before her teeth bite down on them. she nods once, slow, looking at park sunghoon like he’s driven a ten-foot pole straight through her chest, twisted it, and ripped it back out.
his eyes flick from his laptop screen to her irises. if one thing’s admirable about park sunghoon, is that if he was going to tear you to pieces, he’ll have the decency to look you in the eye.
at least, for that final word. it’s about as much emotion as he can manage.
“get out.”
so she does—nods slow, before turning on her heel, the sharp click of her shoes echoing once, twice, until it fades down the hallway.
the door shuts behind her with a quiet finality. sunghoon doesn’t watch it close.
the smell of sooha’s perfume lingers in the air, unwanted, and he feels petty for even trying to block it out. after all, they’ve shared a bed before, even if they skipped every prerequisite to get there—but it rarely ever felt worth it to him, if at all.
he’s had his fair share of women. he’s always prided himself on being honest about what he wants—in his mind, there’s nothing wrong with that, as long as everyone’s on the same page.
no promises, no expectations, yet it always ends the same way. someone always reaches for more pieces of him than he’s willing—or able—to give. pieces that have were never there to begin with.
jake tells him he’s lucky. says it with a laugh, like sunghoon should be grateful for the attention, the bodies, the ease of it all. heeseung tries to offer half-assed couch therapy, something about “opening up” and “not shutting people out,” advice sunghoon knows was pulled straight out of his ass—or worse, his tiktok feed.
god, if he wanted someone to tell him what was wrong with him, he’d just pay someone with a degree five hundred a session to do just that.
park sunghoon is not interested in love. park sunghoon is not interested in love. park sunghoon is not. interested. in. love.
it’s inefficient—unstructured, demanding, and prone to spilling into places it doesn’t belong. it asks for time he doesn’t have, space he’s already accounted for, pieces of him that are scheduled, measured, calculated and spent elsewhere, where it should be.
he repeats it like a mantra: no one is looking at him and realizing he’s absent more than he’s present—because sooner or later, they always want more, and he’s learnt that it’s better to draw the line early than to watch disappointment set in later.
this is mercy.
but to whom, he can’t answer.
─────────────────────────
you’re not very sure where you’re going with this.
there’s a list of problems so long it could double as a grocery store receipt:
one) how do you even explain that you got lee heeseung’s number, and
two) what excuse do you have to actually talk to him?
still, you’re laid in bed, the glow from your screen washing your face in harsh white light, painting the ceiling in sharp rectangles. your eyes squint, blinking against the burn, as if staring long enough might make this whole thing less terrifying.
it’s nearing four in the morning, and you’re fairly certain the party has been over for hours—probably everyone has stumbled home or collapsed on some couch somewhere, except for you, hovering in your room like a guilty ghost.
okay, no. these are excuses, and this is you overthinking, twisting your brain into knots. once you finally text that damn number kim sooha “gifted” you—reluctantly, no less—you’ll either regret it or… regret it. either way, there’s no turning back.
you: hiiiii
creep.
you: hi
ominous…
you: is this heeseung?
too direct.
this isn’t working. your thumb hovers over the screen, trembling slightly, and the numbers stare back at you like a puzzle you’re too tired to solve. maybe, if you stare long enough, they’ll rearrange themselves into an opening line that isn’t mortifying.
though, instead of the numbers moving, your thumb does.
“shit. shit, shit, shit—“
oh, yes, your butter fingers saved you the trouble of texting him: why don’t you just fucking call him, instead? like that’s so much better, real smooth of you.
riiing. riiing. riiing.
you barely have time to process before the line goes quiet.
the silence swallows you whole—your ears ring with it. it’s the kind of quiet that makes you question if you’ve suddenly lost all ability to hear.
oh my god. this is hell. you’re either died, or the world has ended, or some black hole just opened up in your room, because it’s too silent for it to be even remotely normal.
“hello?”
the voice on the other end of the line sounds sharp, clipped, like you’ve interrupted something important—or worse, like you’ve woken him up.
you can’t even fault him for it. it’s four in the morning, after the biggest party this term, and you’re an unknown number calling like you’ve lost your damn mind. still, it makes your heart twist a little.
“who is this?”
it’s not rude… not exactly. still, something in your chest sinks because you know what that tone usually means.
you have, roughly, three seconds to justify your existence before lee heeseung hangs up and you become another embarrassing almost in your own head.
maybe one.
“hi,” you mumble, and somehow almost stutter—if that’s even possible over the phone, with a single word—it comes out thin, fragile, and utterly useless.
the line goes quiet again, and you genuinely consider slamming your head into the wall just to feel something else other than the tiny voices evil-laughing in your head. “heeseung, right?”
more damn silence.
not the dead-line kind. it’s worse. it’s the thinking kind.
you picture him on the other end, phone held away from his ear, brow furrowed as he debates whether this is worth his time. unknown caller. 4 in the morning. zero context. and it’s some girl who can’t even say ‘hi’ right.
if you were him, you’d hang up. you’d block the number, move on, this becoming nothing but a blip in your already eventful life.
your grip tightens around your phone. “i—sorry,” you rush out, words tumbling over each other now that the dam’s broken. “this is probably really weird, i know. i wouldn’t usually call, i swear. i just—i got your number earlier and—”
“earlier?” he cuts in.
there’s something in his voice now—not annoyance. interest, maybe. a sprinkle of curiosity edged with suspicion that you weren’t exactly authorized to clear.
your pulse stutters. you should’ve consulted with jiwon before doing something as stupid as this—or sunoo. hell, even the neighbour next door. anyone would’ve been better than diving into this unprepared.
“yeah. tonight, at the party.” you say quickly, like saying it fast will make it make more sense. lee heeseung, pleaaaase be hungover. just this once. “you hosted, right? sigma alpha eta?”
“riiight,” he says slowly, like he’s testing the word on his tongue. “and who gave you my number?”
your stomach drops.
shit.
“uh,” you hesitate, immediately regretting it.
lying feels wrong. lying is wrong, actually, according to everyone ever—but the truth feels… way messier.
you weren’t going to hang kim sooha to dry—who knows what she’ll do to you? you can’t risk heeseung finding out the lengths you went to for some digits. besides, you practically played fetch with her.
“a friend,” you say finally, wearing a prideful grin on your face, as if anyone couldn’t have come up with that ridiculous excuse. “yep.”
“a friend,” he repeats, flatly, like he doesn’t believe a single thing coming out of your mouth. “what friend?”
you squeeze your eyes shut. god, this is going terribly. divert!
“look, if this is a bad time, i can hang up. i really didn’t mean to bother you, i just—”
“you already are,” he says, but there’s something off about it. his tired voice crackles, but it barely sounds angry. almost amused in nature.
you blink. “oh.”
there’s a heavy breath on the other end. you can hear it clearly, like he’s shifted positions, maybe sitting up now, or turning over in bed. definitely more awake than he was a minute ago.
gosh. you’re imagining bed-hair heeseung now. this isn’t good.
“you usually call people you don’t know at four in the morning?” he asks.
“no,” you respond immediately. “never. absolutely not. this is a first and hopefully, a last.”
that gets him—you can tell, even without seeing him. there’s a soft huff through the speaker, not quite a laugh, but close enough to make your chest flutter traitorously.
“so, i’m the trial run?”
you hesitate, then answer honestly, because at this point, what do you have left to lose? your dignity that’s already been thrown out the window and run over by a car?
“i wanted to talk to you.”
another pause. this one lingers, stretching just long enough to make your fingers tingle around your phone. strangely, it comforts you, the idea that he might hang up—that this could end cleanly right here, because you’ve (smartly, or accidentally) yet to tell him your name.
he’ll never have to know if he just—
“yeah?” he says, quieter now.
“yeah,” you echo, barely above a whisper.
something shifts. you can feel it, even through the line—the way he’s genuinely listening now, leaning into every word instead of brushing you off. your heart flutters, warmth blooming from somewhere in your chest (you can’t pinpoint it), and lee heeseung seems to be at the center of it all.
“well,” he says finally, voice way smoother now, like he’s got all the time in the world to offer you. “you’ve got my attention.”
“i do?” you ask, genuinely amazed by yourself. “you’re not hanging up?”
“do you want me to?”
“no,” the word slips out before you can stop it—soft, a little too quick, and much too honest to take back.
for a beat, there’s nothing, then a breath on the other end of the line—slow, deep—followed by a low sound that might be a laugh, or might just be him exhaling tension.
“yeah,” he murmurs. “i thought so.”
you roll onto your side, sheets whispering against your skin. the ceiling blurs above you, white and featureless, while the rest of the world stays asleep—unaware that something small yet irreversible is happening at four in the morning, right in this room, in your hands.
“so,” he says, “why’d you really call?”
your fingers tighten around your phone. your phone peels away from your cheek, and for a brief moment, you just stare at the glow of the screen, at his contact—*heeseung lee—*like it might blow up if you lie.
“well,” you mumble, chewing on the lining of your cheek. “i just wanted to introduce myself.”
“ah,” he says. there’s movement again, like he’s forcing himself to stay awake and hear you out. “did your… friend warn you i’m not friendly at this hour?”
you can almost picture him now. propped up against his headboard, hair a mess from sleep. his arm slipping under the hem of his shirt to scratch absentmindedly at an itch on his lower abdomen. knuckles rubbing hard at his eyes, chasing away the last stretch of drowsiness you interrupted—before you called, that is.
“i don’t think she mentioned that,” you say, a nervous smile tugging at your lips despite the fact that he can’t see it. your knees draw tighter to your chest, arms locking around them like you’re bracing for impact. it feels like there are insects beneath your skin—restless, frantic, crawling along the lining of your stomach. “she just said you wouldn’t hang up.”
“you trusted that?” his laugh filters through the speaker, low and unexpectedly warm, the sharpness from earlier dulled into something almost fond. “what if she gave you a fake?”
“then i guess i just woke up some random guy at four in the morning,” you say after a second, attempting nonchalance and failing spectacularly. “which would be… humiliating.”
“hm.” there’s movement on his end again—fabric shifting, a quiet thud like he’s moving around the room. god, you wish you knew what his room looked like. “so, you’d just apologize and hang up?”
“…literally what else would i do?”
there’s a pause before he speaks. you can almost hear him think out loud. “don’t know. try harder?”
the words are simple, but they settle heavy in your chest. what the hell does he mean by try harder?
“try harder?” you repeat, incredulous, a little astonished that the man you’ve dreamt up is a little different from what you’re hearing.
“yeah.” his voice lowers a fraction, losing the teasing edge and gaining something steadier. “if you wanted to talk to someone that bad, i’d hope you wouldn’t give up after one wrong number.”
your fingers curl tighter around your phone. “you don’t even know why i called.”
“don’t i, though?”
okay—what the fuck? you’ve moved somewhere closer to your window by now, staring at bright windows, counting the very few amount of people walking around at this hour downstairs. anything that’ll fill the silence between his words and your reply, which your brain has yet to compute.
do not call boys you like at four in the morning. note taken.
“anyway,” his voice sends a soothing relief through your body. “what’s your name?”
the question feels strangely intimate.
“why?” you deflect, suddenly hyper-aware of how exposed you are. there’s no going back from this—once he knows you’re you, it’s sealed.
you might have to discuss… alternative routes tomorrow. there is no way in god’s green earth that you’ll be able to face lee heeseung in those hallways once this is done.
“because,” he say purposefully slow, like he’s explaining things to a toddler. “if you went through the trouble of getting my number, i should at least know who i’m losing sleep over.”
“y/n.”
okay—flights to antarctica. a new name. a new identity is what you need right now, in order to combat the nerves in your body going into overdrive.
he goes quiet for slightly less than ten seconds—though you’re not exactly sure why you’re counting—and the quiet literally burns. it’s embarrassing to hear his breathing on the other end of the line, because what does it mean? is he disgusted? is he shocked? is he going to block you, or fall in love with you right now?
“it’s a pretty name,” he says. “haven’t heard it before.”
you’re fighting every urge in you to scream.
this feels oddly reminiscent of that middle school crush you had back when you were 13. it’s all butterflies and shaky hands, and even sweatier palms.
lee heeseung’s voice is silky smooth at this hour. exhaustion creeps up on him like it’s claiming his sleep debt, and you hear it in the tiny yawn that sounds through your speakers. you hoped that not holding your screen to your cheek would aid in the worry that he could hear your nervous breathing.
“well, we’ve never talked directly before, so…”
he hums in response. “well, it’s almost five.”
“trying to get rid of me?” you joke, and boy, does the post-flirt-humiliation hit—your eyes screw shut as you silently mutter a ’what the fuck?’.
he scoffs, “am i?” with the faintest trace of a smile in his voice. you can hear it well enough without the need to look at him—though that would be preferable—which only sends you further into a delusional spiral.
lee heeseung finds you funny.
you bite back a grin, pressing your lips into a thin line. your cheeks ache. you’re probably flushed tomato red from this conversation alone.
you stand up just to keep yourself busy. sittig still feels dangerous, like if you let your body settle, your mind will only follow.
the fear of focusing too much on him—on the way his voice dips at the end of certain words, on how easily he fills the quiet with that strangely confident tone—could be catastrophic.
your fingers trail along the edge of your desk, feeling the shallow nicks in the wood, the uneven varnish near the corner. you latch onto the smallest details: the coolness of the surface, the faint tremor in your hand.
anything to keep yourself grounded to the earth, in the very possible case that lee heeseung sends you into orbit.
on the other end, there’s the muted shift of fabric, like he’s rolling onto his side. you picture him staring at the ceiling, one arm tucked behind his head, the phone resting against his cheek.
“didn’t think you’d be the type to be so responsible.”
“one of us has to be,” he says easily. “you don’t sound like someone who keeps track of time, no?”
us.
the word slides into your chest and sits there, heavy and bright all at once.
us, us, us.
you hook a finger through the metal ring of the keychain hanging from your backpack and start spinning it slowly, watching the small charm catch the faint light from your desk lamp. “i absolutely do,” you protest, but the retort comes out thinner than intended.
“do you?” he presses, gentle but unrelenting. “you called me at four in the morning.”
“it wasn’t exactly planned,” you mutter.
“impulsive, then.”
there’s no judgment in his tone. he talks to you like you’re something intriguing under the lens of a microscope.
you cross your room in slow, restless steps, phone held up to chest-level as if the added distance will somehow steady you. the floor is cool beneath your feet. outside your window, the sky is beginning to pale, the darkness thinning into something bluish and uncertain.
“you picked up, though. you didn’t have to.”
the counter-argument is weak. there’s a brief pause before he admits, “yeah, so?”
“so, what does that say about you?”
your fingers still against the keychain. your feet stand still across from it, refusing to move until he says something to keep this seemingly empty conversation moving. there’s a short, succinct moment of quiet that makes you swallow.
and then—a breath. a faint exhale that sounds nothing like a laugh, but more acknowledgement than anything else.
“i make bad decisions before sunrise. i need my sleep,” he answers. “i got an early morning.”
huh. okay. your eyes are narrowing in suspicion before he can get the last word out. “how early?”
“early enough.”
you let it go, though the curiosity lingers. instead, you’re turning around to lean your weight back against your desk, pressing yourself against the solid wood edge, focusing on the cadence of his breathing. “you don’t sound tired anymore."
“that’s your fault.”
your pulse stutters. “mine?”
“hard to sleep when someone’s interrogating you.”
you huff out a quiet laugh, but your grip on the phone tightens. “i’m not interrogating you.”
“right.” the sound vibrates low through the speaker. you imagine him dragging a hand down his face, sitting up now, feet touching the floor. there’s a faint creak—wood under weight—followed by the soft scrape of something being nudged aside.
“i should probably end this,” he says after a moment, words slowed. “tomorrow’s going to be brutal.”
right—he’s crazy popular. probably has a lot going on.
you straighten instinctively. the conversation has shifted into its closing act without warning. “right, yeah. of course.”
“don’t stay up,” he adds, tone a smidge lighter, yet it doesn’t quite hide the undercurrent. “you’ll blame me when you miss your alarm.”
“bold of you to assume i’d admit that.”
“you wouldn’t,” he agrees easily. “you’d just call again. wake me up for the second time to complain, yeah?”
again.
“goodnight, heeseung,” you say before you can dissect the word further. any longer and you might’ve memorised the oxford definition for it.
a beat. you can hear a snicker on the other end of the line, but before you can say much, lee heeseung beats you to it.
“goodnight.”
the line disconnects. you remain standing in the corner of your room, keychain still looped around your finger. your heart’s drumming against your ribs as the early light creeps further across your walls.
your mind’s swirling again—it’s sending you further into that rabbit hole that looks a lot like heeseung’s perfect hair and charming smile.
note to self: call lee heeseung again. tomorrow. four in the morning.
─────────────────────────
the line goes dead.
the sun is barely peeking above the trees now, as if easing it’s way into the sky. he thinks it’ll be fully up by the time he finishes brushing his shower—and there’s that faint smell of citrus. again. disgusting.
a dull, faint thudding sound comes from downstairs. the sound of glasses clinking together reaches all the way up here; echoing in the dimly lit house.
it must be sunoo. making breakfast, he guesses.
there’s sunlight diffusing into the room, divided into slits by his white blinds that’ve all but stayed drawn throughout the night. skin’s sunken in under his eyes, partially, as a result of microsoft word creeping it’s way into his routine again—he supposes he should know better by now, but still. time is short.
his hands trail under his tank, scratching at a small itch under his chest. the metal hanging on the far wall catches the widening morning light, thin ribbons casting fragile shadows against white paint. a golden trophy sits dead centre on his dark oak bookshelf, polished to an almost obnoxious shine.
“fuck…” he groans, dragging both hands through his hair, fingers pressing against his scalp like he can physically push the night out of his system.
the strands fall back obediently, barely disturbed—as if exhaustion has weighed them into submission. there’s something irritating about that, too. like even his body refuses to reflect the fact that he was up until sunrise.
the weekend usually goes like this: brush. shower. dress. breakfast. run. shower. practice. assignments fit somewhere in between.
he begins to crawl out of his duvet. it’s cold—it always is when it’s this early into dawn. the wind kisses his skin like it’s reminding him of this fact, clinging to him as he drags his feet against the wood floor: slow, lazy shuffles until he actually manages to wake up.
open the door, down the hall, to the right. he passes by rooms, involuntarily listening to the muffled snores through wood as his feet carry him to the tiled room at the end of the hallway. the light in sunoo’s room casts shadows at his feet, peeking under the door, which confirms his suspicion: the waffle smell is coming from downstairs.
the door hits the wall with a soft thud. one perk about being the first one up is that the bathroom is almost always spotless.
his toothbrush sits in a black mug, along with six others. it’s a plain white, his name written in permanent marker at the handle. just in case a repeat of five months ago happened—nishimura riki, of course, making that mistake.
toothbrush in the mouth. bristles against teeth. back and forth, left and right, circles. gums. tongue. he stares at the stupid smiski figurine that jake left on the shelf just to give himself an excuse not to look at how tired he is.
and as he spits the mint paste out of his mouth—his phone vibrates against the marble counter. there’s water on his screen from putting it face down.
we2fuckincold🥶 (informal gc)
yeonjun (vice): good morning princesses 06:01
yeonjun (vice): rink opens at 6pm 06:02
yeonjun (vice): game’s coming up. do not be late or our dear captain will not be happy! 06:05
yeonjun (vice): can we all strive for a happy hoonie today 06:05
yeonjun (vice): also send ur fucking food logs bro @nicho 06:07
for fuck’s sake.
he groans, yanking the phone closer, tilting it to shake off the water droplets. the screen lights up his tired face in brief flashes of fluorescence, each message a reminder that the world outside this house has already started without him.
shower. breakfast. run. practice. the ritual is looping in his head, mechanical, familiar—but today, each step feels like it’s being forced through molasses. it’s definitely the microsoft word.
he squints against the glare, ignoring the faint taste of toothpaste still clinging to his tongue, scrolling past the ridiculous group chat chatter to land on the pinned schedule.
2027 training schedule.pdf
and at the top—his name, in bold, for everyone to remember, as if he hasn’t spent long enough drilling it into his team’s heads.
“captain: park sunghoon/vice captain: choi yeonjun”
sunghoon leans against the counter, elbows braced, letting the faint vibrations of the phone thrum through his fingers. the early sunlight, spilling in at an angle the shitty blinds can’t fully block, makes him want to shut his eyes and go back to bed—jungwon’s interior design choices continue to do him no favors.
he stares at the phone a moment longer, thumb hovering over the text threads he knows he should respond to. teasing from his fellow teammates that they know gets under his skin. stupid morning selfies that no one asked for, because the informal group chat is run by no one but the noisiest.
he showers. he’s downstairs. he’s shoving a spoonful of oats into his mouth, gulping down a protein smoothie like it’s water, and only then is he outside and tying his laces. it’s like he’s fucking teleporting around this place.
something feels off. he almost forgets his apple watch before crossing the threshold called sigma alpha beta’s front door. forty minutes later and the morning air is still damp with dew, the neighbourhood quiet save for the distant hum of traffic that hasn’t fully reached it’s potential yet.
the door shuts behind him with a click. heart rate: 93 bpm.
sunghoon begins his run like any other morning. the stretch of his limbs feels mechanical at first, the stiffness in his bones finally relenting after hours spent hunched over his laptop. he jogs in place, letting his blood move, allowing his muscles to remember their morning rhythm.
the street around him is quiet, edges softened by dawn—a stray leaf skitters across the sidewalk and the faint smell of a house’s breakfast drifts through the wind. everything is ordinary, almost painfully so, except for the faint pull in his chest.
god knows why.
a heavy sigh leaves him, curling into vapour the second it meets the cold. his calves are warm, ready to move, muscles primed for the first push forward—
bbrrr. bbrrr. brrrr.
choi fucking yeonjun.
“the hell?” he mutters, wrist lifting automatically as he taps the flashing green icon. “what the fuck do you want?”
there’s a small, sacred list of things that can truly get under park sunghoon’s skin. missed passes. sloppy drills. people who don’t keep their word. anyone who interrupts him. and now, apparently, choi yeonjun calling him at six-fifty in the morning, on a fucking sunday.
“are you on your period or something?” yeonjun’s voice comes through crisp and far too alive. “good morning, my honey bun.”
“stop bothering me.”
“how did you sleep, huh? why do you sound so angry? you usually save it for practice, in case you don’t remembe—”
the thought interrupts him so abruptly it almost throws off his breathing.
okay, to be fair, it was the assignments first. the blinking cursor, and the way microsoft word has this sick habit of stretching minutes into hours until the sky outside starts lightening without permission. he’d told himself he’d sleep right after submitting. just one more paragraph. one more edit. one more citation.
it sounded a lot like a random girl calling his phone at four in the morning. asking about lee heeseung, no less.
gravel crunches harder beneath his shoes as he picks up his pace without meaning to, breath sharpening on the exhale.
“i slept,” sunghoon says flatly, somehow. his eyes stay fixed on the long stretch of road before him.
he doesn’t bother to address that. not worth his time. “i’m running.”
a snort crackles through the tiny speaker. “yeah, no shit. i can hear you trying to outrun your personality.”
sunghoon rolls his eyes, though there’s no one there to see it. the park path stretches ahead, thin and empty, washed in early gold. right foot over the left, his stride perfect, pace never faltering. “why are you psychoanalysing me at seven in the morning?”
“it’s six fifty,” yeonjun corrects. he keeps running. “and it’s only cause you sound like you died yesterday.”
and just what the hell am i supposed to do about that, he thinks—it’s not his fault someone rang him in the middle of the night, asked for his best friend like it was urgent, like it mattered at all. it’s not his fault she ate up the remaining hours of sleep he’d planned to ration carefully. it’s not his fault she sounded so intent—so utterly determined—to talk to lee heeseung.
his jaw tightens slightly.
it’s also not his fault that she doesn’t know anything—who she was actually talking to. how easily she let the conversation stretch. how readily she laughed. how she filled silences that would’ve seemed suspicious to anyone else.
you’re so fucking naive. it makes him sick.
“are you trying to break a record right now?”
sunghoon glances down at his watch. his pace has increased by almost thirty seconds per kilometre.
what exactly was he supposed to do, anyway? interrupt her mid-laugh and tell her she’d reached the wrong person? tell her she’d misdialed and should try again? hand her off like a misplaced package?
park sunghoon tells himself he only kept the call going because it was easier, and that it was late—and most of all, it’ll only happen once.
that’s all.
“sunghoon.”
“what?”
“did you hit your head or something?”
sunghoon exhales sharply through his nose, pace steady, shoulders squared like they always are when he runs. unshakeable. “focus on your own head.”
yeonjun laughs. “wow. so cold. captain, your bedside manner is terrible.”
“goodbye, yeonjun.”
he ends the call before the vice captain can squeeze in another comment. silence rushes back in, thick and uninterrupted, save for the steady impact of rubber against pavement. sunghoon’s eyebrows knit together as he continues down the path, watching windows flicker to life in real time—one square of yellow, then another, then three in a row. the campus is waking up, unaware of the private absurdities that unfolded at the expense of park sunghoon’s rest.
and he wonders, briefly, if you slept soundly after that call.
if you rolled onto your side with a faint smile, phone still warm in your palm, thinking about lee heeseung.
or if he were the one you believed you were talking to, would it have sounded the same?
would you have laughed like that—would you have fallen for every word?
the thought is almost amusing.
perfect lee heeseung, who forgets half his deadlines. who shows up five minutes late with an apology grin that fixes everything. who doesn’t have to hold a locker room together or pretend his moods don’t exist. who can afford to be charming because nothing rests on his shoulders long enough to bruise. and still, you never fucking noticed the difference.
but the thing is this: park sunghoon might as well have his face plastered on billboards, because everyone around him knows—or thinks they do. they all see him. they’re all watching him.
a slightly clipped tone. a delayed response in the group chat. half a second too long between reps at practice. they notice. they always notice.
if he’s irritated, the team feels it. if he’s distracted, the drills get sloppy. if he’s quiet, the locker room gets tense. his mood isn’t just his—it’s contagious. spreading like hazardous, passionate wildfire. a fucking plague that everyone’s afraid to upset.
heeseung doesn’t need to think about that, does he?
heeseung doesn’t have thirty pairs of eyes scanning his expression the second he walks into the rink. doesn’t have rookies straightening their posture when he passes. he doesn’t have to calculate the weight of every word because one careless comment could echo for weeks.
how pathetic. sunghoon really has to stop throwing himself into self-deprecating chains of thought in the middle of his morning runs.
─────────────────────────
you move through the day like you’re on autopilot.
your alarming lack of errands feels like the source of your misery—nothing fills the time well enough. the clock drags its feet out of spite, each minute stretching thinner than the last, and there are simply not enough tiktoks in the world to scroll through until four in the morning.
…does it even have to be four in the morning?
you’re sprawled across the couch in your apartment, limbs loose, attention even looser. jiwon’s out tonight—dinner with that guy she met at sigma alpha eta—and you waved her off earlier with a distracted nod after sitting through a solid hour of her spiralling about how she’s “not sure if he’s the one.”
your fingers tapped impatiently against your phone while she twirled in front of you, once, twice, the fabric of her dress catching in the stale air of the living room. you were slumped against the backrest, head heavy in your palms, fighting sleep that had nothing to do with exhaustion and everything to do with boredom.
“i literally told you my opinion,” it escapes as a groan, your lashes fluttering shut before your head lands against the cushions. “if you’re just gonna keep going back to this dress, just wear this one.”
jiwon looked at you like you’d shot her in the chest. “you’re just so patient, aren’t you?”
your arm drifted lazily toward the glass table, fingers stretching for your phone like a dying man reaching for water. it’s barely out of reach, but somehow still too far.
you hook it toward you at last. the screen lights up: nothing. of course.
and then she continues to talk—something about silhouettes, about first impressions, about how boys apparently notice everything—but her voice dissolves into background noise. you nod when it feels appropriate. hum when she pauses, look over when she calls your name.
sorry, oh jiwon. you do not have the capacity to give a fuck right now—lee heeseung’s name is sitting on the top of your call log like a secret, ready to be shown off to the world.
“fine. i’ll just wear this—“
she leaves with her keys jingling down the hallway. you chew your lip like the short-lived guilt might manifest into an apology and hunt her down that corridor, but between you and literally anyone else?
it will be forgiven and forgotten when she returns tomorrow morning, you assume, only because there’s smuggled condoms in her purse—like she’s starring in some coming-of-age film.
the rest of the evening passes in a strange, slippery blur.
you’re cooking dinner at one point, staring absently at the stove while oil crackles in the pan, nearly burning the garlic because you drifted too far into your own head. later, you’re in the shower, steam clinging to your skin while you tilt your face away from the showerhead, replaying last night’s conversation in fragments—the way he laughed. the pause before he answered certain questions. the tone of his voice when he teased you.
you’re checking your phone again. this is definitely worse than that crush you had when you were thirteen.
─────────────────────────
a few miles away on campus soil, practice runs longer than it should. park sunghoon has sweat clinging to his skin, darkening the collar of his shirt, tracing the lines of muscle that took years to carve into something worth respecting. every movement feels marginally heavier than usual despite the near-flawless precision of his drills. his turns are clean. his stops sharp. his passes calculated.
still, there’s just something about today.
he pushes the team harder than usual. he tells himself it has nothing to do with your voice bouncing around in his head like an insufferable little ping-pong ball. absolutely nothing to do with the way you laughed at something he said at four in the morning.
it’s discipline. that’s all.
there’s hesitation in the juniors’ movements. it’s especially obvious in the way they avoid him—questions rerouted to choi yeonjun instead, who is currently preoccupied with his self-assigned duty of shooting nicholas with two pucks at once for reasons known only to him. sunghoon watches it unfold with a faint twitch of annoyance—he has to take off his helmet just to breathe right. sometimes, he genuinely wonders how yeonjun managed to snag vice captain.
eventually, though, the confusion climbs its way back to him like it always does. a hesitant shuffle. a cough. a poorly disguised glance in his direction.
“captain—”
his voice cuts through the rink’s cold air with surgical clarity. he explains every movement, every angle, every adjustment with mechanical perfection. there is no room for misunderstanding when he speaks. there rarely ever is when he’s this worked up.
by the time he gets back to sigma alpha eta, his muscles ache and his head feels heavier than it should—his skull weighing on his spine, every knot tightening in a body that was already rigid to begin with. even if he swears he warmed up enough, his gait still comes out stiff.
he heads straight for the bathroom after tossing his bag onto the floor, haphazardly by the doorframe of his room. the tiled floor is slightly slippery from someone else’s shower, much to his dismay.
he peels his clothes off, the overhead light catching the sheen of sweat still clinging to his skin. his gaze lingers, unintentional, over the familiar outline of his body—something he built, piece by piece, over years of repetition and restraint.
it’s taken him so long to get here.
park sunghoon turns slightly, glancing over his shoulder. his eyes squint at the subtle tints of blue and purple, an occasional yellow and familiar reds.
a faint bruise blooms along his back—noticeable enough to catch his attention, but still subtle enough to ignore. his thumb presses into it briefly. it doesn’t hurt much, sitting in a valley between his shoulder blade and the deep impression of his spine.
he doesn’t dwell. no time. there’s roughly ten minutes before his eyes have to shut and his cells get to work at repairing the strain he never fails to put himself through.
the shower is quick. burning hot water pelts his shoulders, steam gathering thick against the tiles as the tension in his body dulls into something manageable. afterward, he downs another protein shake, the grainy texture catching in his throat like it’s meant to fill more than just hunger.
then, the sheets rustle as he settles in. tonight feels cooler than usual, though that might have more to do with the window he left wide open—jake sim always made the habit of reminding him to, otherwise, it’d be too stuffy. the blinds sway with the wind, wood tapping lightly against the glass in a steady, hollow rhythm.
no assignments. class begins early tomorrow. park sunghoon needs all the energy he can get if he wants to maintain that stellar gpa of his—it’s reason enough to shut his screen off and reach for the charger without hesitation.
this is what most nights look like. the temperature shifts by a degree or two. the sounds outside change. the air moves differently. but if he squints, it’s all the same, really. park sunghoon—the captain, the leader, the one everyone watches—falls asleep the same way every night, staring at what he’s built.
his gaze drifts back, almost involuntarily, to his now-dimmed phone. the last item on his mental checklist has been crossed off, but the weight on his shoulders doesn’t lift. if anything, it settles deeper, heavier, as the thought of monday presses in.
there will be mondays for the rest of his life. obviously.
it’s sunday nights like this—quiet, cold, stretching endlessly before them—that serve as meaningless prologues that do nothing but make park sunghoon feel like the loneliest man in the world, at the top of the chain that he’s tried so desperately to scale.
his eyes shift to the wall instead. an attempt at distracting himself.
medals, trophies, certificates. plaques stacked where there’s no space left for more.
there’s boxes shoved beneath his bed, too. filled with the rest of it, or rather, everything that didn’t make the cut. almost all of it’s in there—wrinkled homework from the when he first learned how to write his name coherently, all the way to the year he left his hometown.
it’s taped shut with cheap, barely-there adhesive, the kind that curls at the edges if you look at it for too long. he’s almost certain his mother shoved it in the car, insisted he bring it with him to college—something about keeping memories close, about not forgetting where he came from. he can’t recall how else it would’ve ended up here, with him, haunting his conscience like a guilty ghost.
sunghoon plugs the cord in, the battery icon flashing obediently on the corner of his screen. that should be the end—
ding!
his jaw tightens. his tooth almost cracks from how hard he’s gritting them. it’s even more annoying, because his arm’s already bent over the table, ready to drop the device on his small night stand.
so god help him, if it’s choi yeonjun asking for the practice footage again, or sending another half-coherent voice note about formations he absolutely should have memorised by now—
ding!
sunghoon exhales sharply through his nose and retracts his hand. the attention-aware feature on his phone causes his screen to light up almost immediately, and despite the fact that he was just staring at it moments ago, it burns all the same.
unknown contact.
he doesn’t even need to see the name. sunghoon sees the call log from last night, ending at five in the morning, and immediately knows.
y/n l/n: day went great btw 01:21
y/n l/n: not a single yawn 01:21
he’s going to bed. he’s tired, and he’s not definitely past dealing with a girl who doesn’t even care that he doesn’t sound like lee heeseung—or at the very least, not enough to verify that it is indeed park sunghoon on the other end of the line.
y/n l/n: i know you said 4am but i have class at 8 tmr sooo 01:21
absolutely. fucking. not.
riiiiing. riiiing.
park sunghoon is not picking up the phone.
─────────────────────────
“and then?”
he lied.
there are a few things park sunghoon would never admit to anyone else. firstly, that he’s terrible at making his own coffee and still gets riki to do it for him. secondly, that he needs to hug his ridiculously large, sausage-shaped pillow to fall asleep, or he wakes up worse than usual.
and third—
that he’s genuinely listening to a random girl on the phone, without slipping in a quiet, so are you coming over or not? somewhere between her sentences.
it doesn’t feel like a decision. there’s something settling into place, clicking in his chest before he has a real chance to question his own intentions. the words come out easily, slipping off his tongue and past his lips like water, because that’s what this is—natural, for reasons beyond him.
sunghoon lies back with one arm tucked behind his head, the other holding his phone loosely against his cheek. moonlight spills into the room through the half-open blinds, stretching across his ceiling like it has nowhere else to go. he knows he should’ve closed them earlier, but the thought passes without consequence, dissolving somewhere between the moment your name lit up his screen and now.
his hair falls in soft streaks across his forehead, long since dried from the aggressive towel action he’d put himself through not even half an hour ago—something he refuses to think about too meticulously, especially not in relation to the notification that had pulled him back to his phone.
incoming call from y/n l/n.
there’s a dull ache pressing at his temples, insistent, like it’s trying to remind him of something he’s choosing to ignore. he knows better than this, he really does. in the same way he knows that you think he’s someone else entirely.
he breathes, slow and deep like it’ll undo all the knots in his muscles. it’s strange that it’s working now, compared to all the times where he got a sports massage after practice with no real effect, and he wonders—no matter how absurd it is—that if it’s your voice that’s making him so, so sleepy.
on the other end, you never hesitate. you answer him with a kind of ease he isn’t used to, words flowing like there’s nothing in the world worth holding back. there’s something almost intimate in it—not intentional, barely meaningful, but there all the same. like two people who have already decided, somewhere along the way, that they belong in each other’s space.
the thought comes uninvited.
is this what couples do?
it makes him want to shut his eyes and forget he ever had it.
your voice carries through the line with the same unfiltered simplicity that he’s already starting to recognize—light, animated despite the hour, spilling from one thought to the next with barely any pause. there’s a lack of calculation in the way you speak, a clear absence of consideration in what words were okay to say, and what details were appropriate to omit—in which there were none. you even told him about your ten minute doomscroll session on the toilet midway through biochemistry.
it fills the silence before it can exist. it’s not like he’s not used to the noise—he’s surrounded by idiots who can’t keep their mouth shut, and god, has he wished for years that everyone around him would just be quiet for at least ten minutes—but when your soft, sweet voice rings in his ears, he’s not even sure what he’s feeling.
the realistic part of him, however useless he may be now, knows that everything is a lie. there’s you, rambling to him solely because you think he is the man you have that miserable crush on, and then there’s him: feeding your delusions, for his own selfish intents, as if that makes him any less dumber than you.
you’re talking to him because you think he’s someone else. because you’ve attached yourself to a version of a person that doesn’t exist on this end of the line.
he lets it happen, anyway.
sunghoon shifts against his pillows and the mattress dips slightly beneath his weight. the room remains dim, lit faintly by the fluorescent lighting radiating from his screen, probably killing off all his melatonin receptors by now—the dull wash of streetlight slips in, occasionally cut off by a passing car through half-open blinds. the air moves lazily, wind brushing past his skin, cooling what little heat still lingers from his shower.
his responses lag. he lets you talk. it’s intentional at first, an easy excuse for something he can fall back on. you seemed like the type who didn’t need much prompting, anyway—your words come in soft bursts of laughter, half-finished thoughts and tangents that circle back around before he can fully follow them. it should be difficult to keep up with, but as with everything that’s occuring, it’s unknown to him why it isn’t.
somewhere along the way, it stops being passive. there’s things that he’s noticing that he doesn’t want to notice. hearing things that he never means to. it’s lodged into his brain that’s already fighting for more storage space—your tone that shifts when you’re about to say something embarrassing, or how you rush through it a little faster, before doubling back as if to justify it. there’s pauses that aren’t quite pauses, just brief breaths where he can almost picture you thinking, deciding whether to keep going or jump to the next part of your day.
he remembers that party. he remembers how your hair fell on your face, and in the moment, sunghoon thought you’d just be passing in his already busy life—he finds it extremely irritating that he can recall almost every mundane feature on your face as if you were the most beautiful girl he’d seen. that dress that you probably found deep in your dresser and didn’t bother to smooth out, or that cup in your hand that’s barely holding any liquor. you were there for someone, after all.
he stood at that stairwell, watching, as if you were someone he couldn’t approach. please—if lee heeseung wasn’t the one you already set your sights on, he bets he could have you in his bed that very night.
if only he hadn’t froze.
you’re not anyone meaningful to him. you’re not supposed to take up what precious space he has for himself, and yet, here you are, barging into his life like you demand his attention.
it’s not like he’s any better, honestly. he knows that much.
“i was wondering if i should call, y’know,” you mumble through his phone’s speaker. he raises an eyebrow, as if you could see it. “it’s really late. don’t you have class tomorrow, too?”
“i do,” sunghoon sighs. he makes a conscious effort to stop himself from sharing which. “all day.”
unknown to park sunghoon, you’re lying upside down on your pink duvet, hair falling over the edge of your bed. you’re acting like you have no real responsibilities or hour long classes tomorrow morning, and that energy is somehow infecting him, too.
his grip around the phone shifts, thumb brushing absentmindedly along the edge of his thick case. the thought of telling you who he really is comes and goes without fully forming, though the feeling that claws at his ribs is quieter than guilt. it’s not sharp enough for him to address just yet.
you say something. he doesn’t catch all of it, only the way your laughter follows right after. sunghoon almost thinks you must love hearing your own voice with how giggly you are.
nevertheless, it pulls something out of him before it can be stopped. a response—low and tired in nature, slipping into the conversation as if he didn’t spend the past ten minutes wondering if anything he’ll say will give him away.
and still, you respond, picking it up without hesitation, folding his words into yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“i didn’t even realise the time until i checked my phone,” you lie. “i’m sorry if you were just kidding yesterday… and didn’t want me to actually call. i wasn’t sure.”
“it’s fine, really.” sunghoon murmurs, voice low and threaded with sleep. “but you really should’ve called earlier. i’m about to knock out.”
there’s a soft scoff on your end, fabric shifting faintly. sunghoon’s ears pick that up, too. “you picked up anyway, didn’t you?”
he doesn’t respond to that, and the silence continues. it’s not empty or uncomfortable, filled with something else that simmers under his skin. he lets it stay.
you don’t push, instead humming like you’ve already moved on. you talk more about your day, admitting to things that you probably shouldn’t, voice drifting back into that easy rhythm that makes him want to turn over and shut his eyes for the night. “i kept checking my phone like something interesting would happen today, but…”
“nothing did?” he asks, eyes half-lidded—his eyelashes feel heavier now.
“wellll…” you drag out the word slightly, a hint of a smile tucked into it, like sunghoon couldn’t already hear the teeth in your voice. “i’m telling you about my day now, so i guess it all worked out.”
he exhales softly. his finger comes up to his face to rub at his nose, and he sniffles before responding, “that’s a really low bar.”
“i’m being honest,” you admit, voice dipping just slightly, unaware of the cliff you’re driving yourself off of. “you seem like someone who’s always busy.”
he supposes, in a sense, he is. just not in a lee heeseung way. “i’m not that busy.”
there’s a hint of disbelief in your laugh that fades quickly. it gives way to something more curious, and all it does is ease the conversation into something quieter and more fluid. your voice lowers as words blend together, and sunghoon finds his shoulders caving into his chest.
he shifts against the pillows, letting the weight of the night settle into his tired limbs. you wrap around him like a thread pulling taut—he doesn’t need to respond immediately; the words coming from you are enough to fill spaces he’s left behind.
sunghoon blinks slowly. “you’ve got me wrong.”
“yeah, now that i think about it,” you whisper. “i don’t think i know enough to be right.”
park sunghoon rarely gets nervous, if ever. there were a few times in fifth grade that he’d gotten a tummy ache before going up on stage, or in middle school when he had to give a presentation on the cultural history of korean calligraphy. he supposes the habit just vanished, because by the time he turned sixteen and played in his first hockey match, it never manifested again.
there’s a relief that comes with finding your coping mechanism. sunghoon never really examined why he would feel like throwing up before getting in front of a bunch of strangers, but he understood, even if on a very basic level, that hockey took that away from him—it’s the smooth slide of his skates against ice that tends to narrow down the world to just him, where nothing and no one else matters.
he’s not exactly sure why that is; reflection wasn’t really his thing. he knew it when his teacher would set him aside from other kids and ask ’how are things at home?’, to which he had no answers.
as long as it works, right?
still, it’s here now. that feeling of his heart dropping straight through his mattress, and his stomach churning something that refuses to let him speak.
“i feel like i’ve just been yapping,” you say. you aren’t wrong. it’s barely your fault, though he can’t really tell you that.
sunghoon swallows, throat dry and constricting around nothing. the grip he has on his phone tightens momentarily before easing again, his gaze darting around the room like he’s searching desperately for answers that’ll magically manifest.
he could say something. he should. something vague would be good. easy to follow up with, or be mysterious about. slightly personal so you don’t pry too much, that doesn’t let this tip any further than it already has.
and yet—the words don’t come. it barely makes it past his throat.
sunghoon exhales and the sound is almost lost against the line. “it’s getting late.”
it’s been ’getting late’ for the past two hours. his voice sounds worn, and he blames no one but himself—for letting his schedule fall apart like this, and still picking up the phone anyway.
and you, being the unsuspecting, naive girl you are—humming softly as if to tell him you understand. “yeah, i guess so.”
park sunghoon tears his screen away from the warmth of his cheek. only now does he realise how long it’s truly been; the absence of his warm device and the presence of cold wind hitting his face helps him remember how absurd this is.
he looks at the duration of the call, now barely over two hours.
the number sits there, steady and indifferent, as if it doesn’t account for the way time had slipped past him without resistance. as if it doesn’t mean anything at all.
for a moment, he just stares at it, his thoughts lagging behind the reality of it. two hours of listening, of responding, of letting himself exist in something that shouldn’t have been this easy.
this should end here.
sunghoon brings the phone back to his ear, the warmth returning in a way that feels almost deceptive now. he blinks once, twice, before clearing his throat. “goodnight, y/n.”
“goodnight, heeseung.”
the line cuts. sunghoon lies still in his white sheets, the duvet crinkling softly beneath his weight—though it feels heavier than it should, like it’s dragging him deeper into the earth. he stares blankly into the space above him, eyes fixed on nothing, as if he can’t quite register the way the room seems to close in, inch by inch.
outside, the world goes on, completely unaware.
cars pass. lights flicker somewhere beyond his window. time moves the way it always does—steady, indifferent to him, and for a fleeting moment, he wishes he wasn’t in this body.
the thought comes quietly, almost absurd in its simplicity. the thought that he could step out of himself and into someone else—someone forgettable, someone ordinary—someone who doesn’t carry the weight of expectation so tightly wound around his chest. he imagines it briefly, the ease of it: letting tomorrow belong to someone else.
letting the responsibilities, the precision, the constant awareness slip from his grasp for just a day.
just once where he doesn’t have to move like he knows exactly what he’s doing, or carry himself like someone people look up to—like someone who has everything under control, when the truth is that he’s no different from anyone else. just one fucking day is all he asks.
it was nice—the two hours sunghoon got to pretend like he wasn’t sunghoon. he could say it was almost natural, which only unsettles him even more.
he shifts slightly against his sheets, and the loud rustle only anchors him further into the reality he’s in. he blinks slowly before letting his eyelids shut, and almost as if to say ‘you’re never living this down’, your face appears right behind them.
here you are, reconstructed behind his shut eyes like you’re something worth remembering—it's your perfect hair. your eyes that dulled the lights strobing in your face. that dress that looked weirdly good on you.
this is so fucking frustrating.
─────────────────────────
you only see kim sunoo once a week. there’s careful planning that goes behind the days leading up to psychology of mass media—it’s the only hour you can get any intel, if at all, due to the convenient fact that sunoo likes to be the first to leave and last to arrive.
in reality, it’s just you showing up earlier than necessary, and lingering a little longer than you should in hopes that you’ll catch sunoo again.
you have one question. just one. he won’t mind, would he?
the lecture hall is still half-empty when you slip in, and the fluorescent lights actually burn—rows of seats stretching out in that familiar, uninspired gradient of grey and black. there are a few scattered groups that have already settled in, most of them slumped over their desks with jackets thrown over their heads. the sound of keyboard clicking echoes, bouncing off the sterile walls, and you do your best to tune it out.
it takes two minutes for kim sunoo to walk in, beige tote slung over his shoulder, stride light and easy—he always looked put together despite the hour. there were times you considered if he was a vampire, considering how he never looks tired, but the thought never sticks long enough to matter.
he slides into his usual seat without much ceremony, setting his bag beside him before pulling out his macbook. there’s a faint glow of white casts over his face, highlighting the smoothness of his skin, and it feels ridiculous—that split second when you feel a little jealous of him.
fifty five minutes left.
you move before you can think too hard about it, because you already know how that ends. your sneakers thud softly against the carpeted floor as you make your way down the steps, gaze flickering briefly around the room—not because there’s anything to actually be wary of, but because it feels like there should be.
as if anyone here could read your mind, and as if they’d even care enough to judge you for it. the thought lingers in the back of your mind all the same.
you slow just a fraction as you near his row, like the sensible part of your brain’s giving you one last chance to turn around and act like the normal girl who doesn’t care that much. there’d be some grace in taking that empty seat behind him and pretending like the thought of snooping around lee heeseung’s love life never crossed your mind at all—but it has to happen, and unless the gift of time travel is suddenly bestowed upon you, your ass is about to meet the plastic chair beneath you.
the chair creaks softly under your weight, the sound swallowed almost immediately by the low hum of the room. everyone’s blissfully unaware of the humiliation you’re about to put yourself through, though it somehow makes your courage muster a little easier.
“you’re staring at me.”
sunoo’s voice is monotonous. he doesn’t bother to spare you a look, because in truth, he doesn’t need to turn his head to see the way you’re burning holes through his.
“i’m not.”
he scoffs, though he means nothing spiteful of it. as much as he hates to admit, you were one of the nicer seatmates he had this year. “you are.”
“okay, well,” you begin, hands coming up from under the long, laminated wooden desk in front of you. you press them together, like that’d make things less awkward—your fingers fidget just for the sake of doing something other than staring at sunoo. “i was thinking—”
“about me?” kim sunoo smiles, still not looking at you. the corner of his lip is lifted up in something similar to genuine amusement, but it does nothing to help the embarrassment that’s stabbing at your nerves. “you’re blunt, [name].”
“ha ha,” you mock. sunoo can’t help but giggle at that. “the posters. outside. i saw them.”
ah. he sees what this is about.
soul searching ✦ booth 35, level 1, outside block A
friday, 10th september 2026, 1pm-8pm
❤︎ love life in shambles? wanna meet new people? come visit our booth to find your perfect match!
❤︎ a quick questionnaire, a curated pairing—one conversation might change everything. rumour has it that the first person you meet… might just be the one.
for early bird tickets, scan here!
the promotional poster that you stumbled upon was one of many pasted across campus. there were a few that jiwon mumbled to you about this morning, over the phone, and while you can’t exactly recall the exact details of the conversation, you just know it made her reconsider attending. it was obvious in the way she kept asking, ‘should i?’ followed by ‘i don’t know, maybe i should’, circled back with ‘i’ll think about it’.
it was for, roughly, five seconds that you wondered just how many girls would be lining up for it as well. you remember standing there a little longer than necessary, eyes skimming over the bold lettering like it was supposed to mean more than it did. the paper had been slightly wrinkled at the edges, tape barely holding it against the wall like it had been put up in a rush—but it was bright, unapologetically pink, and you almost grimaced at the thought of other people stopping to stare at it the same way you did.
you’d already decided you were going to go.
scanned the qr code right then and there, shamelessly, in the middle of the hallway on the way here—thumb hovering for less than a second before pressing submit, like hesitation would somehow make it worse.
the soulmate part, though—that stuck, unfortunately. it clung in a way that was irritatingly persistent, like gum pressed into the grooves of your thoughts. not because you believed it, necessarily, but because it was the kind of idea that refused to leave once it had somewhere to sit.
“so…. details?” you ask, a bright and inviting smile plastered onto your cheeks. “is heeseung going for sure? how does it even work?”
kim sunoo shrugs, typing briefly into his laptop before looking at you. “it’s a fundraiser booth. students sign up and get paired at random. i think, like, five seniors found their husbands here a few years back, and it’s been a myth ever since.”
you blink. “wait—so the first person you meet thing, that’s real? the soulmate shit?”
“yeah. haven’t you seen how many campus couples made it because of us? it’s really weird.”
soulmates. it’s all bullshit.
people talked about fate like it was something clean and predictable, like they didn’t sit behind the steering wheel of their own life. it’s as if someone or something invisible was guiding them—like there was a line drawn somewhere out there with your name on it, waiting for you to follow it without question until it led you to the right person.
you’ve never experienced it that way. if anything, your history with relationships feels like the opposite: bad timing, poor judgement, moments that almost worked until they didn’t. near misses are dressed up as something meaningful, but conversations fizzle out just when they start to feel like they might matter.
nothing stayed. nothing was ever meant to. you, having a soulmate—in that sense—it felt extremely unlikely.
it isn’t in a dramatic, self-pitying way—it’s the same way you understand that most things in life don’t fall neatly into place without sustained effort and consistency. relationships aren’t something pre-built that you stumble into, perfectly right and accommodating despite yourself, and they’re definitely not something you keep just because the universe decided you should.
couples will look you in the eye and tell you they’re meant to be, like it was written somewhere long before they ever met, but they barely talk about the parts where they almost walked away, or the moments where instinct told them to leave and they didn’t. the hesitation. the doubt. the very real option of not choosing each other.
fate, soul ties, forever. there are a lot of excuses people make when they don’t want to admit their own fault in something. it’s easier to dress things up as something inevitable than to acknowledge the effort it took to keep it going—or the moments where it almost didn’t.
do people just like pretending that they don’t have a say in what they do?
sunoo pauses, shifting his dark hair from his eyes before glancing at you. “do you think it’s cringey? saeri told me to remove that part of the poster… but i didn’t. it’s the charm of our booth, i think.”
“i don’t think so,” you lie, adrenaline humming through your veins. it is kind of corny, but who would admit that to him—kim sunoo probably doesn’t need more people hating on his poor slogan choices, and the more you act like it was a wise move, the better the chance you get paired with heeseung once he realizes you signed up. “i think it’s… uhm, plausible.”
anything but asking him directly, though.
“anyway,” sunoo glances back at his screen. microsoft word fills the entire monitor with graphs and figures you’re sure are from jiwon’s econ class. “i think everyone’s coming, except sunghoon. that guy…”
you raise an eyebrow. this is the first you’ve heard of him since that party two weeks ago—at this point, he almost feels like a hallucination. “sunghoon? what’s his deal?”
“he’s not a relationship guy. i think he knows it’d be a waste of time to sign up and make the girl feel like shit for five minutes straight,” sunoo sighs, leaning into his palm as if this were the harsh reality he’s learned to accept. “he cares, but has no idea how to show it. he’s like a three year old.”
you nod slowly, like you understand. you don’t.
though, something’s happening in your body that’s reminiscent of sunday night. it’s that odd, simmering sensation—proof. it flickers at the edge of your mind like a fuzzy memory, echoing that same low, lingering pull that sat right in the centre of your sternum.
sunoo’s cheek leans back into his palm, his eyes following professor choi’s figure that’s just strolled in. it’s your queue to shut the hell up and start preparing your materials for class, but it sets something else off.
you try, briefly, to chase it. to trace it back, to link it to something tangible and real and concrete. a face, a voice, a moment that would justify the way it settles into you so easily, but it slips through your fingers just as quickly, dissolving before it can really take shape.
“i see,” you hum. “well, i’ll come. don’t worr—”
“i wasn’t worried.”
“okay, then.”
─────────────────────────
the text comes while he’s brushing his teeth. his hair’s a mess as he stares into himself, eyes flicking down to the sink where some of his toothpaste’s fallen off his toothbrush—your voice is replaying in his head like a sick alarm, though he knows that it’s only because he’d hung up the phone only two hours ago.
sunghoon found himself silently praying that practice was cancelled. it was unlike him; the way he lingered in his sheets and had to take a deep breath before getting up. he dragged himself to the bathroom, hand swiping at the towel rack outside the door—hoping that he didn’t take jake’s by mistake, and begging (to whom?) that he wouldn’t need to use it.
snu hockey boys ’26 ⛸️🏒
yeonjun: practice is cancelled 06:32
yeonjun: coach has an emergency but pls send your food logs by 2200. whoever misses = double ur distance tmr 06:32
yeonjun: rink is still open tho 06:32
he took one good look at his to-do list this morning and resolved that he was going to the library. he’s fully convinced that if he lets his assignments pile up any more, his professors will start to think he’s slipping. god forbid—as if the boy hasn’t gotten less than a a in years.
we2fuckincold🥶 (informal gc)
nicho: guys pls stop eating by the benches too the janitors r gonna beat us :( 06:45
yeonjun: u guys cant fucking control yourselves can you 06:56
park sunghoon moves through the early dawn like he usually does, except that he walks right past the folded jersey and duffle bag already sitting on his desk. he lets himself slouch a little as he walks downstairs; the tiredness is already seeping in despite the constant self-correction.
it’s going to be a long day of cramming if he wants to get anything done, clearly—so he decides on unplugging his laptop charger, folding it neatly into the small zipper of his backpack, and leaving the house without his running shoes packed.
he’s still stretching when he hears the shuffle of footsteps outside. it’s too early for any one of his brothers to be up—on weekdays like this, park sunghoon was always the first to get moving, followed by jay in another hour.
it’s only six. nobody else gets up at six.
sunghoon reaches for the strap of his backpack as he makes his way towards the door—slightly ajar, swaying faintly with the draft, about to shut itself. it’s only when he’s a step away from the frame that he catches sight of lee heeseung walking past.
lee heeseung doesn’t get up until eleven.
reaching for the metal knob, sunghoon pulls back the door with more force than he’d like to admit, only to see heeseung—already at the top of the stairs, leaning lazily against the railing like the early hour means nothing—plaid boxers slung low on his hips, hair flattened in odd directions, and the faint imprint of wrinkled sheets still pressed into his back.
he just watches. doesn’t want to ask. the answer is already written across heeseung’s body in fading purples and reds, scattered along his neck and arms, threaded between the pale, healed superficiality of old scars.
instead, park sunghoon makes his way towards the stairs as well, with a backpack slung over his shoulder and an undeniable tiredness in his bones. he passes his dear friend before making his way down the flight of wood steps, feet thudding against the floor, eyes occasionally glancing towards the big entryway before him.
there’s a girl by the front door, half-crouched as she slips her shoes back on. her hair is messy in an unmistakable way, fingers combing through it as she balances herself against the wall using her other hand. she doesn’t look up, too preoccupied with fixing herself—it’s the last thing on her mind, and all she wants is to fit her heel into the mary janes she’s got sitting outside.
she pulls the metal handle, and looks back up at lee heeseung. nothing else is said, not even a wave, nor does he dismiss her presence—he just watches her warm smile curve up.
it feels like he’s walked in on something intimate. heeseung has a faint smirk that sunghoon was never able to wear when sooha was around, no matter how satisfied she made him feel, and he’s wearing that look of comfortable, guilt-free laziness that he recognises in the mirror every morning, after he hangs up on you.
─────────────────────────
sunghoon walks into the library like he owns it. professional poker face and all, heading straight for that seat by the windows that aren’t facing east, so the sun doesn’t burn his face off. just how he likes it.
the air-conditioning hits his skin and the lights above him are bright enough to sting. it’s enough to keep him awake for the next few hours, combined with the warm black coffee swishing around in his tumbler as he takes his time setting his stuff down.
a few stares and silent whispers are expected as he passes by the busier sections. he takes his usual seat—not many people know about it, due to the fact that it’s shoved so far away in isolation, miles from the bathroom and entrance, but park sunghoon appreciates this fact. nobody is around to stare at him sideways while he does his work, and there won’t be any eyes that refuse to leave his when he finally looks up.
the large, wood-laminate six-seat table was completely empty, and spotless. no coffee stains or broken sockets, and completely cut off from student civilization.
he settles into a bright orange chair by the window, where his face is obstructed by a large pillar—the sun warms his hands up as they pull his laptop out, already booted up from the night before, on the microsoft word home screen.
he groans when he sees at least three empty documents, all of which he meant to start yesterday. of course, that was the plan prior to your call, and sunghoon swore he’d at least try to multitask, if only not to feel the guilt later on. it’s obvious that he can’t do that anymore.
his slender fingers slide over the touchpad, navigating to his most urgent assignment for economics.
the cursor blinks at the top of his toolbar—it’s waiting for him to click something, anything, and he almost does. it circles around the add text box and darts away again, to open chrome. park sunghoon is staring at his screen like it’s a foreign, alien-sent object.
once upon a time, this would’ve sufficed. a quiet corner, an uninterrupted day, and his laptop on full-charge. work and productivity comes easily to someone as hard-working as him, and when there’s nothing else competing for his attention. compartmentalization is an incredibly common skill, but sunghoon is different, in the sense that he could live two separate lives in a single day, if need be.
though, these days, concentration feels far rarer than he’d like to admit.
the sound of soft, carpeted footsteps approaching barely registers in his ears. he’s too focused reading over the same one line he’s written—his name and student id number—to shift his eyes elsewhere.
his peers pass through this section all the time. not many, but enough for it not to be alarming. this was still a public space, after all.
his eyes remain fixed on the screen as he reaches for his tumbler, taking a slow sip of coffee. outside, the sky is finally brightening into that familiar golden, instead of a depressing, cold blue. few students pass by the large glass panels, some in clusters and others alone.
this is simple enough. all he has to do is write. sunghoon has the brains for this, the attention span, and overall capability to complete this useless assignment—so he adjusts himself further into the chair and begins skimming through the brief for what feels like the tenth time since it’s released. it’s all market trends, consumer psychology, something about forecasting models by the time the words begin to blur together.
the caffeine isn’t circulating fast enough. he reaches, sips again, and draws a deep breath in through his nose. halfway through his second paragraph, a chair thuds quietly against the carpeted floor, before the faintest “shit” is heard.
libraries are full of idiots. nobody can even drag a chair out properly anymore, apparently. now that the sound has derailed his train of thought, sunghoon can’t help but to flick his dark brown irises up, locking right onto you.
for a second, he genuinely wonders if his sleep deprivation has evolved into hallucinations.
of all the tables and empty seats scattered across four. fucking. floors.
park sunghoon’s grip tightens slightly around his black, metal rimmed tumbler, an action you thankfully do not notice. this corner of the library is so damn meaningless to him—but now that you’re here, it’s like this is all he’ll ever remember, all he’ll ever associate with the place.
the moment of recognition doesn’t last very long. surprisingly, it doesn’t send panic through his bloodstream, nor does it get his heart bursting out of his chest—though, he can still feel it pounding a little harder—instead, it’s just vague acknowledgement written all over that pretty face of yours, reserved for familiar faces.
park sunghoon. hockey captain guy. heeseung’s friend, the one who unintentionally stared at you sideways that one friday night (that he’ll never forget).
“oh.”
the tension binding his shoulders tight is loosened, just a fraction. the tiny sound leaves your mouth quietly, though it sounds nothing like shock, and it’s more to yourself than to him.
“hope you don’t mind if i—”
sunghoon’s response comes out rougher than intended. “no.”
you smile in response, and god, sunghoon wants to fucking drive a ten foot pole into his chest at the sight of your cheeks puffing up. there’s a faint flush on your cheeks from walking in the morning sun, and he notices a few blemishes on your skin as the sun almost blinds you—he can tell it’s getting into your eyes because you’re squinting. “you can sit here.”
you almost choke by the time sunghoon realises what he’s just said. “what?”
“it’s hot on that side.”
there’s three chairs on his side of the long, dark side of the table. it’s oddly poetic how he’s sat in the dark and you’re standing across from him, bathed in that golden sun like it’s your rightful place, and how he can’t help but have you next to him, even now, even selfishly.
fortunately, you save him the humiliation of walking away or just planting your ass down in the sun. you circle around the table, keychains on your backpack jingling as you do, and pull out the plastic chair two seats away from him.
perfect. it’s enough distance for him to pretend like you’re not even there. your gaze flickers between him in the corner of your eye, to the span of other empty seats in front of you. why the hell are you even here?
there’s a moment where he thinks you’re going to change your mind, get up, and walk away without looking back. it’s mostly due to the fact that you haven’t even set your things down yet, organised your stationery or even took out your sleek, plastic-shielded macbook. sitting next to park sunghoon when there was an entire eight-seat table like, ten feet away made most people nervous.
and still, when he turns (or merely pretends to by reaching for his tumbler again), he realises you’re far from nervous, and instead very confused.
your eyebrows are still raised in slight confusion, and you’re scrambling to find a pen you lost somewhere deep in your bag. flecks of dust float in the air, and one lands right on the top of your head—shining so beautifully in this terribly congested space, warmth bouncing off the dull carpet and reflecting back onto your face, dusting your skin like it knows how exactly to make him weak.
you don’t notice, but he does. park sunghoon is noticing everything, and for suddenly, painfully, and very unpredictably, he realises why people write songs about these kinds of feelings.
“do you need something?”
god, you’re so pretty. your eyebrows lift slightly, out of genuine curiosity (or perhaps concern, with the way sunghoon is staring at you… he can’t find a fault), and those lips of yours look so effortlessly perfect, soft, a faint sheen veiling it thanks to the lip-balm chained to your backpack zipper.
“no.”
and it’s like he’s slammed the door on you again.
again?
you’re not sure why you dwell on it too much, actually. most of the evening is spent staring at blank documents, because this module unfortunately included math, and for some odd reason, lee heeseung was always good at math despite being an arts major. he’d know what to do, and for a good minute you wonder if you should just call him right now.
you pause for a moment before your attention slips away from him again. turning back to your bag, hands still searching for something you apparently cannot find, your fingers moving with growing frustration through compartments that seem to hold everything except what you actually want.
sunghoon should probably mind his own business now, yet instead, he’s glancing over your shoulder and at your empty document.
he turns back to his laptop, slightly, or pretends to, lifting his tumbler just enough to give himself something to look at that isn’t you. in doing so he finally catches the full spread of your movement as you settle in, pulling your laptop out, then your charger, then your pencil case, then a small pouch that seems to contain an entire separate ecosystem of items, all of which you organise with a kind of quiet determination that feels oddly intimate to witness.
your brow furrows as you dig deeper into your bag, hand disappearing and reappearing empty more than once, and he notices the way your mouth presses into a line of mild frustration that never fully escalates into anything outright upset, just plastered there as an expression of someone mildly inconvenienced by their own decisions.
somewhere between your second and third attempt at finding whatever it is you’re looking for, your phone appears in your hand, screen lighting up briefly before you unlock it. sunghoon’s attention shifts almost against his will because the movement is too familiar now, even to him, with something he shouldn’t be aware of.
your thumb hesitates over the contacts screen. lee heeseung.
his eyes are beginning to strain with how hard he’s trying to make himself appear unsuspicious. you hover over his contact, before looking back up at your empty document, and then down again. hesitantly you settle for resting your phone atop the mahogany, letting the screen darken on the words ‘lee heeseung’, then typing your very first words.
the mistake on your screen comes predictably. that’s not to say sunghoon thought you were stupid—it’s only honest for him to say many people messed up the way you did. careless, happens when you haven’t spent the days prior drilling these kinds of theorems into your head. his eyes were starting to hurt, squinting, trying to see how to help you.
the guilt creeps up on him, unexpectedly. he just can’t.
it’s unfortunate that sunghoon already knows exactly what he’d do if he were sitting right next to you, looking over your shoulder properly instead of pretending not to while still catching every mistake you make.
unfortunate that the assignment in front of him is something he could finish in less than an hour if he actually tried, something so mindless it doesn’t even deserve the amount of attention he’s currently refusing to give it, and yet he keeps sitting there anyway as if the decision is more complicated than it actually is.
“swap your x and y values.”
sunghoon has never in his life packed his things so quickly. he’s already moving before he fully processes what he’s done.
his chair scrapes back lightly against the carpet as he gathers his things in motions so quick it almost feels automatic—laptop closing before his assignment is anywhere near complete, tumbler shoved into his bag without care for whether it spills or not.
you’re still looking at him when he straightens, your brows drawn together slightly as you glance down at your screen again, scrolling back to where you left off.
your expression only changes the moment you realise what he said was correct. the mistake is exactly what he pointed out, sitting there so obviously wrong now that it feels almost insulting that you didn’t see it earlier.
sunghoon slings his bag over his shoulder too quickly, the strap wrong-side up, before he quickly settles it in place. he doesn’t look at you directly again, even though he can feel your attention still on him.
there is no explanation he can give that wouldn’t make it worse. no version of this situation exists where staying longer feels safer than leaving immediately, because the longer he sits here, the more likely it becomes that something small will slip.
you will notice. it may be something in the way he speaks or pauses or breathes that does not belong to heeseung at all. he knows you will put it together, because these are things he notices about you, unwillingly.
so, he leaves.
sunghoon’s footsteps are steady as he moves between tables, fiddling with his car keys between his slender fingers—until he reaches the aisle where the library opens up toward the exit.
only then does he allow himself one brief glance back.
you’re looking at him, still. like you haven’t decided whether you’re supposed to stop or keep watching, eyes slightly wider than they were a moment ago, as if you’re still catching up to the fact that he actually spoke, actually stood up, and actually left without giving you anything close to an explanation.
it’s not like he owed you one, anyway. right?
there’s a faint crease between your brows now, nothing like frustration, instead softened into something that makes his heart twist and do all sorts of things against his ribs. it’s not an exaggeration to say that he’s never felt such a feeling, and it’s even more of an understatement when he says it scares him.
he almost trips over his jeans when he crosses the threshold of the library, out into the pavement and in front of the carpark.
sunghoon needs to go home. he needs to get his shit together and go to practice, like how he’s always done in the months before this, and how he’ll continue to do—and yet, god knows why he can’t even drive out of the lot, instead he’s glued to his seat with his feet planted on the mat like it’ll kill him if he stepped on the gas pedal.
sunghoon is already outside the library by the time he’s back in his own body, aware that he’s moving.
the air hits him colder than expected. sharp against skin still warmed by the inside of the building, and for a moment he just stands there, half between steps, like his body has forgotten what it was supposed to do next. the carpark stretches out in front of him in clean, repetitive lines, familiar enough that it should be automatic, but nothing about his movements feels familiar anymore.
“fuck—“
sunghoon almost trips when he steps down the last curb, not because he isn’t paying attention, but because his body is slightly ahead of his thoughts and neither of them are aligned with anything resembling control. he corrects himself quickly, hand tightening briefly around the strap of his bag, and continues forward in a way that would look normal to anyone watching from a distance.
sunghoon’s car is where it always is. he gets in, sits his ass down, and doesn’t move.
the engine is not on yet, keys resting in his hand without being inserted, and his foot stays planted on the mat as if there is some unspoken rule that says starting the car will make something irreversible happen. he stares at the steering wheel for a long time without really seeing it, jaw set in a way that suggests focus but is really just restraint.
that look on your face is so easy to remember. park sunghoon knows he has to tell you, if there’s any chance—any at all—that he gets to look at you like that again.
a curse, truly, because now he knows what it feels like to be so close to you, to have such a feeling strike him so deep, lodging itself in his chest; whenever your face pops up uninvited in his peripheral, or in his daydreams, or on his cell. almost humiliating and actively consuming his sick brain.
the honesty might not even make you stay, and it probably will not make the confession noble—it feels ridiculous to him, almost absurd, because the only thing keeping him tethered to his car mat is the replay of your face in his mind: so painfully uncomplicated that he can’t stand the thought of touching it with borrowed hands and stolen time.
he can still picture the way you looked at him across that table, brows faintly drawn together in confusion, not because you were intimidated or nervous or trying to figure out if sunghoon was really as the rumours say, but because you genuinely did not understand why he had stood up and left.
no expectant eyes, no carefulness, barely any fear. frowned when you were confused and smiled when something amused you, all with the kind of ease that feels so natural on you that he doubts you even notice it yourself. it is the sort of thing most people take for granted, he thinks. the sort of thing people are lucky enough to have for so long that they stop recognizing it as freedom.
sunghoon only notices because he does not have it.
hockey captain, top student, dependable, intimidating, disciplined, the guy could make his own dictionary with the obnoxious amount of adverbs attached to his image. almost every room he walks into seems to demand something from him before he even opens his mouth, and somewhere along the way he stopped questioning it. teammates watch his reactions before deciding how to react themselves. juniors reroute questions through other people because they are too nervous to ask him directly. professors talk to him like they actually have expectations—classmates wait for him to know the answer. even the fraternity treats him like a fixed object, something solid and predictable that will always be exactly where it is supposed to be.
then, there’s you. all perfect hair and soft lips and weirdly adorable frustration carved onto your face, sitting beside him with a pen between your fingers with the other hand on your keyboard. your entire life is on the verge of spilling out your mouth whenever you talk, completely unaware of how rare it looks from where he stands, saying things because you want to say them—because it’s funny, even if it’s meaningless, even if it contributes nothing of value to the conversation.
you call when you miss him, you laugh at his unintentionally self-deprecating humour, you ask questions when you don’t know. you get sad, you cry on the phone, and you get so ridiculously angry about such trivial matters, that he can’t help but smile at his screen.
for one brief, stupid, and careless moment in that library, sunghoon thinks he wanted to stay because you were pretty.
the thought survives all of five seconds. pretty girls are not exactly rare, but the feeling stirring in his chest and the warmth spreading through his body definitely is.
barely any of it has to do with the curve of your smile or the sunlight caught in your hair. instead, it had everything to do with the feeling of being around you, the uncomplicated nature of it all, and the subtle identity crisis where he did not have to be a captain, student, impressive or disciplined.
you will probably leave him, he thinks. the only other option seemed much too cruel, even for him, stripping that choice from you.
You: can we meet up? 12:34
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ever since you moved into your apartment, you’ve been trying to build a routine—something efficient and optimal, taking up the least amount of time and effort, while maximizing the amount of tasks done.
the first few weeks were horrible—every small decision felt disproportionate and too time-consuming. there’s ten minutes you could’ve used to get ready for bed that you spent cooking dinner, which you should’ve made prior to leaving the house, bla bla bla. you knew it was bad when the sequence after unlocking your door alone was enough to irritate you: whether to eat first or shower, how long to wait before brushing your teeth so you wouldn’t scrub your enamel off. it was stupid, the amount of thought you poured into things that were supposed to be automatic, but you couldn’t help it. everything had to fall into place in this busy life of yours and serve it’s rightful purpose.
there were too many small decisions like that. too many things to get right.
maybe that’s why this feels so off. because there’s nothing to figure out, and no reason for it to happen so often.
there’s no adjustment period, no careful slotting of time or reshuffling of habits. he just fits into the spaces you’ve already made. it’s incredibly mundane and underwhelming in the way it happens.
for now, heeseung calls you almost every damn night, and you feel weirdly normal about it.
it starts on a random thursday. then it’s saturday, then monday, then tuesday. somewhere along the way, it stops being a coincidence or convenience.
by wednesday, you’re calling him to help you pick out an outfit for a department event, holding up different tops to your mirror like he can somehow see through the line. you’re describing the colours, the cut, every minute detail, assuming his imagination could keep up with your rambling.
on thursday, you’re complaining about how much you hate psych, words spilling faster than you can filter them. by the time friday rolls around, he’s the one calling—something about needing help with an assignment, though it diverges quickly into him venting about a useless groupmate in his behavioural economics class.
it morphs into something consistent, though, still strange regardless.
you could’ve sworn lee heeseung took his electives in art culture this year. yet, with the way he’s talking about stock markets and all rationality being lost on the modern day consumer, it sounds like he’s well-versed with the contents.
“you ate an entire block of cheese for dinner?” he repeats back to you. now that you’ve retold the entire process of cooking dinner, down to the amount of parmesan cheese you used, hearing it repeated back to you makes it sound a little insane. “you couldn’t just salt it?”
“are you judging me?” you giggle, turning over in your sheets. the fabric twists with you, cool against your skin and your joints protest almost immediately—your right shoulder’s starting to cramp from how long you’ve been hunched over on your side.
you let out a quiet sigh into the air. “it was a better choice. tasted good, so… i don’t see any problem.”
there’s a pause on his end. you fidget as you wait—picking at your cuticles, long overgrown and in desperate need of a maintenance check, even cracking your knuckles just to fill the silence.
“i think that’s the issue,” he huffs. your shoulders finally relax at the sound of him—lacking any true judgment despite his words.
there’s faint rustling that crackles through your device, and for a minute, you imagine how he must look like right now: laid up in bed in some old jersey, shorts barely hanging onto his hips from how lazy he is to tie the drawstrings tighter. the night’s winding down and you’re still here, with him, like this is an absolute must-do before your eyes shut.
and the routine must repeat tomorrow, of course. not that you’re complaining.
the rest of the conversation flows without much resistance. lee heeseung talks about his afternoon run that seemed to piss him off a great deal, because he got a call from choi yeonjun—something about being five minutes late to the gym and how he’s clearly not committed.
“oh. you’re friends with him? isn’t he in a completely different department from you, though?” you mumble, hoping that it doesn’t come off as blunt—you very well could have missed this detail in your earlier conversations. *“*how do you guys get to the point of going to the gym together?”
“he’s been bothering me ever since freshman year.” heeseung responds, “seriously. i don’t know how i haven’t strangled him yet.”
you chew on your bottom lip, searching for a response. the silence stretches just a little too long, and something about it starts to itch—like you’ve asked the wrong question and you’re pushing somewhere you shouldn’t.
“ah,” you say finally. “i see… he’s really popular, so i’m not surprised.”
“yeah, he is. it gets annoying as fuck when he brings his girls to lunch…” heeseung mutters under his breath—you’re toying with the string of your hoodie, if only to make yourself feel less awkward. there’s another long and excruciating pause before you finally decide to push the conversation in another direction:
“are you going to that fundraiser?” your voice comes out softer than intended. you can only hope that heeseung doesn’t make you repeat yourself. “sunoo’s… one. you know.”
“sunoo’s one…” he repeats back to you, slower. the concept almost sounds abstract to him. “no. not my thing.”
not his thing.
you’re back to fiddling with your fingers again. suddenly, the drawstring of your sweats seems more interesting than anything else you can hear from the other end of the line.
his voice fizzles out. you hear him, yes—his tired, monotonous voice crackling through the speaker reaches your ears and lands straight in your stomach. between short breaths and awkward pauses, you hyperfocus on the wind howling past your thin curtains.
“oh,” you manage after a moment. the word escapes weakly, scratching at your throat before you clear it up. “thought you were. my bad.”
you don’t realise how sweat-slicked your palms are until your phone almost slips from your hand. you turn over in bed, just to save your eyeballs from the sting of streetlights hanging outside your window—it’s almost three in the morning, and despite that dreadful fact, cars are still honking like they own the neighbourhood.
“are you?” heeseung asks. “probably, huh?”
“shut up,” you laugh. “what’s that supposed to mean?”
a quiet huff escapes through the line. your free hand traces the hem of your blanket, now tangled between your legs, serving no real purpose.
“it just sounds like something you’d be into.” heeseung states without a hint of laughter or a smile. “trying new things, even if they’re childish and embarrassing.”
“well—”
“it’s not a bad thing.”
you don’t respond immediately. a soft hum of acknowledgment is heard through the device—it’s barely triumphant or teasing—like he understands the reasoning behind why you’re throwing yourself out there, unknowingly, to him.
you roll onto your back again, tucking your arm over your belly. the cotton’s cold from the absence of your body against it, pillows still damp from your wet hair and impatient self; phone pressed awkwardly against your cheek, the heat almost battles that of sunday mornings.
speaking of, you haven’t experienced in it’s entirety for the past few weeks.
“why don’t you try it, then? it could be fun.” you murmur, eyes screwing shut at the instant the words rolled off your tongue. “sorry. you don’t have to… if you find it weird.”
his laugh makes your heart rate stutter, then spike.
it’s sweet. genuine. warm and unrehearsed in it’s charm, filling the dimness of your room and settling right under your ribs. your face burns up like you’ve just swallowed something hot, and the heat blooms right in your abdomen and crawls up your neck ridiculously fast.
“relationships aren’t my thing.”
lee heeseung says it like it’s already been decided—something fixed and immovable, written in bold or carved into a rock somewhere far beyond him. existing outside of his control, predetermined, and he’s made peace with it—it’s simply the way things are—though the heavy sigh that follows betrays him, outlined faintly with something that sounds nothing like acceptance.
the past few weeks have unfolded into something more than they should’ve. conversations stretching deeper than expected, softening and melting into quiet teasing that feels almost familiar, like you’ve known each other your entire lives.
“really?” your lips can’t help but to curl slightly upward. “you’ve never dated?”
“never had time for that. i’m not the best with affection. people talk to me like they’re scared of me, that kind of thing. even at that stupid party, i just drank by myself upstairs.”
perhaps your memory is failing you, then.
it’s strange, in hindsight, how most of your attention that night had never really stayed where it was supposed to. you remember the first few times you saw lee heeseung—his best friend following shortly after—and your gaze always seemed to lag behind who you claimed to like.
just how did those two end up together?
your seniors used to tell you to look forward to college. new place, new faces, new prospects—like the world finally opens up and hands you options you didn’t know you had. one day, you’re trapped in a classroom from seven to six; the next, you’re weaving through a campus that doesn’t know you yet, trying to decide who you get to be in it.
lee heeseung made it easy to know. he was the kind of person people noticed without trying. effortless in a way that felt almost unfair—hair falling exactly how it should, skin catching the light like it was always meant to. you’d pass by his friend group and hear him before you saw him, laughter loud and uncontained, a basketball tucked under his arm like it never knew how else to store itself. he fit into everything so naturally that it almost felt like the world was his and his alone.
it made sense to like him. and even then, your attention seemed to stray—slipping quietly and slowly just past him.
sunghoon hangs behind like it pained him to be around other people. always a little removed and distant enough to not involve himself in the conversation but not to turn around and walk away unnoticed; broad shoulders angling themselves slightly away, eyes flicking over other people like it physically pained him to see other humans.
it’s small, useless things. the way he’d shift his weight from one foot to the other when conversations dragged on and he was tired of it. his hands would stay tucked into his pockets like he didn’t know what to do with them otherwise. watching more than he spoke, like he was just slightly out of sync with everyone else.
you’ve only ever seen him laugh once*.* it was weirdly off-timed and the rest of his friends laughed only three seconds later. you wondered if all of heeseung’s friends were as strange as that, or if it was just him.
it’s weird, actually. thinking about it now, you realise you remember more about park sunghoon than you should for someone you never consciously paid attention to. his name seemed to be the last piece to his mysterious identity, no thanks to oh jiwon.
“i’m sure that’s not true.”
“it is,” he says. “i try to stay, but things don’t work out. rarely ever do.”
you raise an eyebrow. “work out? so you almost dated?”
“i show up. i do what i’m supposed to. it just stops feeling like something i want to be in after a while.”
“so you just dip?” you question.
“not all at once. i get scared. i pull back and i cancel things that i already fought to fit into my schedule,” he pauses. “i say it’s nothing. they don’t press much after that.”
you hum. the line goes quiet for a few seconds. you’re trying hard not to bombard him with every invasive question on your mind: who’s your most recent girlfriend? how long ago was the relationship? why do you run away?
he continues regardless.
“people get frustrated with me,” he mutters. “i can’t even handle my own emotions. i run from my issues and go on pre-workout to deal with my baggage. nobody sane does that shit.”
“heeseung—”
the name slips from your tongue like a mistake. you bite down on your bottom lip as if that would stop the words from echoing into his ears, somewhere, miles away.
“you’re the only girl that doesn’t treat me like that. i still don’t get it.”
just where did all these thoughts come from? there's weeks of conversations that stretched until midnight. unfiltered words that you silently agreed to keep between you two. your heart’s begun to match the rhythm of his voice, unintentionally, from the moment he picks up the phone to the second he cuts the line. somewhere between your first call to now, you’ve gotten to know him—it’s exactly why you can’t blame the confusion bubbling in your head or the pit in your stomach that only seems to sink deeper.
“aren’t you scared of me, too?”
and here you were, thinking that the answer was abundantly clear. he cuts himself off when you want to start rambling. he finishes your sentences when you’re falling asleep. he asks what ridiculous, unhealthy dish you cook up for dinner every single day without fail—so why does he still sound like that?
you shift slightly against your sheets, phone pressed a little tighter to your ear as if proximity could make sense of it. “i don’t get it,” you admit quietly. “why would anyone be scared of you?”
there’s a pause on the other end. it doesn’t feel empty. things rarely ever do when you’re on the phone with him; it feels more like he’s weighing whether to answer honestly, soften the blow or leave it alone entirely. “this is what i mean, [name].”
you frown. there’s a shuffle of feet upstairs, thudding against your ceiling, which momentarily distracts you. it’s almost four in the morning and nothing feels any clearer than it did ten minutes ago. “what?”
“you don’t care,” he continues. “simple.”
he doesn’t bother to explain further. he hasn’t bothered to say much at all, actually—not in a way that should make sense to you or anyone that knows the name heeseung. still, you understand it anyway, in that vague, unspoken way that two people manage to do, where language feels slightly too slow for what’s already being felt, and too shallow to tell the other person what you really mean.
there’s a hollow kind of discomfort sitting low in your stomach. you’ve learned by now that this is usually a warning sign, even if you don’t always know what it’s warning you about.
you’ve never had particularly good luck with these things, anyway. whatever invisible logic governs timing, people, attachment—it has never seemed especially fond of you.
you exhale softly, pulling your blanket higher over your shoulder, as if that might settle something internally. your gaze drifts to the empty space beside you, unoccupied, waiting in a way that feels louder than it should at this hour.
“what don’t i care about?”
your voice comes out as a whisper, unintentionally. the sound barely makes it past your lips, weak and soft like it’s embarrassing that you even thought about saying it and just plain humiliating that you let it out. either way, heeseung’s answering it seconds later.
“what people say about me,” he sighs, “i like it better like that.”
you don’t really know what he means by that—your hair scratches against the cold, crisp pillowcase under your head as you turn over anxiously. lee heeseung was very known, yes, but the way the words land just feels so… odd.
sniffling when he speaks again, the responses that follow never reaches your ears.
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finals week has made you it’s bitch.
there’s something almost childish in how irritable you get in the days leading up to exams. you’ve never learnt to move past it, and soon enough, the people around you eventually adapted to the sensitive storm that is you, minimally three days before a major paper.
three rules:
one) do not disrupt y/n l/n’s naps;
two) do not text, call, or approach first, and
do not ask how studying is going. the answer is never changing: it’s bad, i’m going to fail, my life is over.
okay, to be fair, these rules were not as strict as they sound. most of the time, people are already cooped up in study rooms and occupied with their own revision—clearly much too busy to talk to anyone else, much less you. so, when your entire friend group goes awol, you do nothing but let it happen.
though, there is just one person that remains.
lee heeseung, sounding entirely too relaxed over the phone with a blender going somewhere in the background, because he’s making his second protein shake of the day. he doesn’t sound very… worried about the approaching three-hour exam.
your feet are folded together, criss-cross on your office chair as you hunch over your desk. your room is pitch dark, save for the bright, white light radiating from your study lamp—sprawled over the surface of your cheap table is rewritten notes, scribbled equations and the occasional bible verse (for good measure).
“you sound upset,” he says.
“oh, do i, now?”
you almost drop your phone at that. you’ve been silently panicking for the last forty minutes without realising you’ve been breathing like that, and talking like this. you’ve spent even more time, close to five hours on this laptop that’s crying for you to shut it down, on lectures that you should’ve watched weeks back.
there’s a pause on his end, something shifting in the background—cupboard, blender stopping, maybe him leaning against the counter—and when he speaks again, it’s slower. “which one are you on?”
“twenty,” you say.
“how many left?”
“twelve,” you admit, already hating how it sounds when spoken out loud. somehow, all hope seems lost when you utter that forsaken number, despite it being (very) obviously displayed on the top left of your screen for the past few hours. “…fuck.”
this morning felt like hell. you’re sure your eye-bags have magically darkened themselves in the past few hours, and for a minute, you grimace at the thought of having to show up to school like that every damn day, all because you’re too tired to seem put together. breakfast was skipped, which was unfortunate, cause the guilt of preparing a heavy lunch only made the stress worse. heavy eyelids blinking open, slow, regretful for every delayed hour of sleep—limbs still tangled in cold sheets like it physically pained you to leave.
the sun bled through your blinds, warm over your ankles and blinding you through your eyelashes. you walked around the house in nothing but your underwear, even forgetting your slippers under the bedframe; there was only one thing on your mind. that much stayed consistent today, with the only variable factor being lee heeseung on the phone.
you didn’t think he’d call. schedules do that.
“it’s manageable,” his voice crackles through the speaker, and then there’s the sound of a cupboard slamming shut, along with the soft shuffling of… something. you actually consider hanging up on him, just for a brief moment. “how many topics?”
to be honest, you’d half-expected heeseung to tease you. laugh, even. maybe even tell you to stop being so dramatic, to answer his texts, and that he doesn’t understand why you’re freaking out over a dumb test—but here you are, and here he is, telling you that you have it figured out.
“four. it’s over,” you answer flatly, staring at the lecture list like if you looked hard enough another topic might spontaneously disappear. “it’s actually so over.”
“it’s not, y/n.”
heeseung’s voice stays annoyingly level. the speaker crackles with something that sounds like a spoon scraping against plastic and the jealousy almost gives you whiplash. he’s making a fucking protein shake while you’re stuck here memorising lecture slides on two-times speed and slowly developing permanent neck damage.
“you said your paper’s next tuesday. if there’s four topics left and you stop rewriting things you already know, you’ll finish tonight and still have time to revise.”
your head hits the table before you even realize you’ve moved. forehead pressed into paper, warm skin sticking slightly against cheap ink and printer sheets, you let yourself rot there dramatically. with your phone right beside your face, his voice sounds clearer than before—too clear, actually—and it feels vaguely humiliating, how quickly your chest warms when he talks like this.
you let out a long breath instead of responding, eyes drifting downward toward the floor beneath your desk. there’s crumpled paper scattered near your chair. a few sticky notes had missed the bin entirely and ended up attached to the outside of it instead, clinging there stubbornly like even they didn’t want to commit to failure.
he’s talking like he knows you.
“how’d you know—”
heeseung cuts you off with little trouble. “you’ve told me. pretty sure you can cut some lectures out, since you’ve been learning them for the past few weeks.”
you don’t answer. you narrow your eyes at his response, because who the hell is that observant? he doesn’t even need to confirm your schedule anymore—he just talks and cuts you off, knowing he’s completely right, because he listens that intently—but god.
he has no idea how warm that makes you feel.
on the other end of the line, heeseung walks back upstairs with his phone trapped awkwardly between his cheek and shoulder, head tilted enough that his neck would probably hurt later. his laptop balances in one hand, tumbler in the other, and his steps slow unconsciously as your breathing filters through the speaker.
his room looks exactly the same as always.
his duffel is already packed for practice tonight despite being excused for finals week. the afternoon sun catches against the medals mounted along his wall and reflects across his desk in strips of gold, schedule taped beside his wardrobe. his calendar is updated three weeks in advance, with a single day blocked out for the day you end your exams.
his eyes drift over the reminders stuck to his wall, and he’s reminded of it—the reason why he decided he was still going to practice today.
studying isn’t enough, clearly, if he’s still on the phone with you.
he already decided that he’d wait. finals week meant distance. finals week meant no showing up unexpectedly and no making this worse than he already has. finals week meant letting you breathe and not letting himself confuse temporary loneliness for something else, and finals week also meant not sinking deeper into you.
it’s just two weeks.
two weeks, and then, he’ll tell you.
“do you think i’ll do okay?” you mumble, so soft that you almost don’t hear yourself. it’s so quiet that you can hear the exact moment his fingers stop clicking against his keyboard, and so intense that the second he answers, your heart begins to pound.
“yeah. i know you will.”
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you don’t think much of it when you tell heeseung where you’ll be tomorrow, or rather, today. truthfully, you haven’t been thinking much at all lately—unless you count the thirty-second ponder about lunch options earlier this morning.
finals week does something deeply unfortunate to people. everybody becomes uglier in small, socially acceptable ways, because everyone around you just… gets it. hair goes unwashed for an extra day, clothes repeat twice, thrice in a row, and eyebags sink further in with no substantial effort to conceal them. entire friend groups, including yours, quickly dissolve into delayed replies and weak promises to hang out after exams, because who the hell wants a mass social gathering after four all-nighters?
your room starts becoming unbearable by day four. there’s something fundamentally wrong with spending twelve hours in one place—any longer and you might’ve begun associating your digital lock chime with impending doom.
the second you sit at your desk, your chest tightens automatically. it’sm like your brain immediately morphs the cute wallpaper around you into blank rows of seats, and your ears only hear mindless scribbling, despite the cheerful music blasting through your headphones.
by the time noon comes around, you’ve scarfed down every grain of rice from your takeout container—dragging your feet and will to live through your apartment, searching for your purse before leaving.
it’s wednesday. the sun is shining on you, warm and consequentially irritating as the sweat begins to pill on your temples. they roll down your cheek in fat beads, and it almost serves as motivation for you to get your ass into that library as soon as possible.
your macbook is pressed against your side, tote slipping down your shoulders every few minutes, only to be caught by the crevice of your elbow. there’s an iced coffee from last night, standing in for your mid-day snack; and, as if you hadn’t eaten just an hour ago, your stomach rumbles in defeat.
the library doors open as you stomp against the carpeted sensors. the cold air hits your face hard enough that you nearly stop walking, but you settle for a deep, relieving sigh before turning left and speed-walking down those winding corridors built out of metal shelving.
your body already knows where to go now—past the noisier floors, up the stairs, away from printers and bathrooms and groups of students pretending to study while giggling about their situationships at full volume. roughly fifty-six seconds later, your consciousness kicks back in full gear, and you’re dumping your things down onto a familiar table before immediately realizing that you forgot your fucking charger.
“are you fucking—”
oh, well. problem for future you. worse comes to worst, you’ll scare some freshman away with your horrendous, sleepless eyes and unusually wide smile and steal theirs.
libraries distort time as well as they force you to keep track of it. hours behave well in the quieter corners, but if you’re somehow in urgent need of completing an assignment, they start speeding themselves up. it’s exactly why you’re chanting mantras to yourself now: studying isn’t urgent at all. this exam will not kill me! yes! i already know everything there is to know!
afternoon becomes evening rather quickly. suddenly, your water bottle is empty, your iced coffee splits into two separate layers of cloudy water and room temperature caffeine, and the light crawls across the carpet so much that your chair is no longer in the same patch of sun you sat down in.
you stopped checking the time thirty minutes ago. notes multiply, hair becomes tangled at the back of your neck, and your spine hurts. you spent forty minutes writing notes on a lecture, not realizing it’s a replay.
sometime later, when your legs are beginning to feel like tv static, movement catches in your peripheral and your eyes lift automatically before your brain even has a chance to catch up.
“sunghoon?”
my god. just stand up and run into his arms, why don’t you?
his reaction comes a fraction of a second later. despite the prior brain lag, you’re suddenly thinking about his face—sunghoon looks different outside of wherever you usually see him. less assembled, with a ridiculously large hoodie hanging loose around his frame, which only makes him look even bigger from where you’re sitting; there’s shadows beneath his eyes that soften his face unexpectedly.
his hair looks horrible. his sweatpants are dragging against the floor, too. sunghoon looks exhausted, and his gaze hangs low, until you call out for him, that is.
the corners of your lips curl upward before you even realise it’s happening. his expression doesn’t change much, but the faint raise of his thick eyebrows tells you enough. his eyes flick toward the empty chairs around you, and you almost assume that you weirded him out—great, he’ll walk away now—but all sunghoon does is return a soft, supposedly meaningless smile in your direction.
there’s that brief moment, where people who know each other silently debate whether acknowledging the other’s presence is necessary in public—and then he gives you a small nod, right before he takes his laptop out and sits right in front of it.
two seats away from you. like last week. if you hadn’t met the man before, you would’ve thought he wanted to kill you with a face like that. eyebrows knit together in frustration, typing furiously at his keyboard like it owed him twenty bands, tapping his foot against the carpet like he was thinking about something deathly important.
cute—wait, what the fuck, said you, around fifteen times over in the past two hours.
you become aware of him in entirely useless ways. he drinks water without looking away from his screen, sometimes even types with one hand as the other holds that tumbler to his lips. he cracks his knuckles at every given opportunity, and his fingers hover over the keyboard occasionally when he thinks. you leave for more coffee, come back, go to the bathroom, and he’s literally still there.
at one point, you look up because your neck hurts, and caught yourself stretching. fucking stretching, left to right, just for an excuse to get a full view of his side profile. in that tiny, meaningless moment, you witnessed him rub his eyes and immediately return back to typing his unfinished methods section.
it’s strangely comforting that park sunghoon is there for you to look at. oddly. it helps with the whole ‘i’m the only one in this universe, it’s all a simulation’ delirium.
regardless, at around six, the words on your screen are beginning to morph into one big demonic face, and every letter on your keyboard just resembles an egyptian hieroglyphic. words are decorative, english is just a bunch of made up gibberish, and you need to get out of this plastic seat before you melt into it—so after rereading the same paragraph four times, absorbing nothing (shocker), your eyes begin to ache and decide: changing tasks will fix all these worldly pains you have.
the ‘changing tasks’ arrives in the form of a reference nook your professor mentioned. standing, stretching, you’re doing it all before disappearing into the shelves.
it’s warmer here than it is at the tables, somehow. perhaps it’s the way the sun is setting now, and it’s getting all in your eyes and in your hair, just like it did this morning. though, when you turn towards the closest, wide-set window, your breath almost gets taken away at the blend of pinks and oranges that colour the sky.
you see this sunset almost every day. still, it doesn’t take any of the beauty away.
dust catches in the overhead light, paling in comparison to the golden hue that the light is bathing the room in—the smell of old books penetrates your nose in a way that makes you think about middle school. you drag your fingers across rows of spines, reading titles under your breath, stepping slower in each aisle because your brain refuses to remember the author’s name. you bet sunghoon doesn’t struggle with things like that.
“behavioural psychology… where the fuck even is that?”
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following a mini mental breakdown, park sunghoon’s brain decides not to accomodate a single molecule of information until he gets up and got his blood moving.
there was only so much economics and statistics a person could consume before words stopped behaving like language and started looking like numbers flipped around. his screen brightness had been lowered twice, and his coffee had gone cold sometime around four—the sleeves of his hoodie were pushed halfway up his forearms and there was a faint imprint from resting his cheek against his knuckles for too long, which he finds immensely humiliating.
he closes the document, opens it again, reads the same words over and over, and realises he won’t get anything done like this; so his eyes leave the screen for the first time in twenty minutes and settle automatically on the empty seat in his peripheral.
his head back turns so fast that he almost curses at himself.
and, to make things extra embarrassing, his mind starts to weigh the odds of whether you’re about to leave, or if you’re just gone for another break. scanning your side of the desk, taking in your untouched water bottle, open laptop and tangled wired headphones—you’re somewhere nearby, a conclusion he unwillingly comes to.
sunghoon’s fingers drum once against the tumbler before he remembers there was a book he wanted earlier. or needed. something vaguely related to an assignment he’d been putting off. either way, he stands, pushes in his chair halfway, and makes his way into the shelves.
it really does feel different in here. the high-pitched clacking of mechanical keyboards is muffled, almost muted behind these thick walls of books, where light filters in through strips and catches every speck of dust floating around. he turns once, twice, passing business ethics—until he finally reaches behavioural psychology, and stops dead in his tracks.
it’s not even about the book. if he remembered correctly, the one he was looking for’s two floors down, but this—here, in front of him, on this floor, was you.
sunghoon ducks into the next aisle like he’s guilty. he presses his back lightly against the endcap of the shelf, as though the solid structure might help him reset whatever just short-circuited in his brain.
this is ridiculous. he’s in a library. on a weekday. trying to study. and yet, somehow, his entire nervous system has decided that walking in a straight line is suddenly the most difficult thing in the world.
he exhales, before trying to occupy himself by looking for something similar to what he’s studying for another module. he stands still for a second longer than necessary, fingertips running against this one book which he can’t bother to know the name of, and all it does is feel like a weak alibi.
business psychology is a popular section. lots of students with sunghoon’s major share modules, hence, explaining why the other book he’s pretending to need isn’t even here. it also explains why the fuck his eyes keep gravitating towards you, through tall-enough gaps, locked on your concentrated face and frustrated pout.
every interruption in his life, somehow, becomes framed with you. a horizontal slit between two rows of books, a deliberate architectural hesitation, tall enough to fit even the thickest and tallest of publications out there—and you, existing between it.
it’s closer than before, not in distance but in clarity. the kind of proximity that does not require physical reduction to feel intimate. the light falls differently here, angled through a window he cannot fully see, softening the edge of everything it touches—your tip of your nose, the ends of your hair, and the faint movement of your hand as you adjust your page.
you look so beautiful. nothing has changed. he knew it when he saw you sitting in front of him today, he knew it when you walked into this place last week, and he knew it when he saw you at that party, wearing a dress that seemed so inclined to his attention and a smile that made all the flashing colours pale in comparison.
and, most of all, he knows it now. a fool he is, for thinking that these feelings would fade.
sunghoon tries to locate himself properly in the task he came for—something about organisational theory, a phenomenon he can usually reduce into clean frameworks and exam-ready structure. his hand has been resting against the spine of the book for the past twenty seconds, fingers curled just enough to suggest intent, but nothing in him is actually compelling the pull.
the thought arrives with a sharpness that feels almost physical, like pressure behind the ribs.
park sunghoon wishes he could redo college from the start. not in the abstract, as nostalgia or regret type thing, instead with specificity—clean edits to timing, tone, and presence. a revision pass on himself. one that would let him stand a few steps closer to you now, without feeling like the distance between yourselves is self-inflicted.
his thumb shifts minutely along the book’s spine. the motion is absent-minded, almost mechanical.
once you know who he really is—strip away whatever version of him you’ve only seen in passing corridors and half-glances at the long oak table—will you stop looking for him?
fuck. he doesn’t even care enough to stop looking at you. hair falling over your face, your lips blowing air to get the tiny, annoying strands to stop itching your nose.
selfish. selfish, selfish, selfish. that’s all he is.
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august meant summer.
the sun is unforgiving, blazing hot rays beating down on your back as sweat trickles down your shoulder blades—everything about today seemed relentless, exam included. around you, people are already decomposing the paper in clusters: comparing answers, laughing too loudly, swearing they’re finished in voices that sound almost celebratory. someone says question 47 was impossible. someone else says it was free marks. you keep walking.
there’s that feeling when you finally press submit on a paper. not relief exactly—more like your body forgetting what to do after operating at full capacity for too long. to be truthful, there were multiple times where you thought you were fucked throughout the exam, and then you’d look at the bottom of your screen and see: 21 out of 80 questions saved.
you really, sincerely thought handing in that empty thing was better than typing whatever you studied. no matter how hard you worked these past few weeks, there was always that irritating, sly little voice whispering into your ear that it was for nothing. that all those late nights, colour-coded notes, skipped breaks and panic-induced productivity spurts would collapse into one single, defining moment that you were never going to catch up.
somewhere around the second hour—after your eyes started blurring and the timer at the corner of the screen felt less like a clock and more like a countdown to execution—you broke. quietly, of course. you had enough tact not to lose your shit in front of a hundred other students in the same venue.
you understood less than you thought. you should’ve started earlier. you’re embarrassing yourself.
you just stared at question 22 for three minutes straight and felt your throat tighten because suddenly, everything became impossible at once. reading felt impossible. thinking felt impossible. even moving your cursor felt weirdly impossible. you literally just bought it yesterday, because you were convinced the one you always use would die.
fuck everything, you thought, until some other voice started talking to you—in that calm, gentle demeanour that you’ve gotten used to over months. low and amused in tone when he said, “why’re you so hard on yourself, y/n?”
last night, he was on the phone with you. you remember lying flat on your bed with your notes open but untouched, your lamp the only thing still awake in your room. coffee wasn’t doing it, or maybe it was just the fact that it was your sixth cup today; he’d called later than usual, and somehow the conversation drifted away from exams, and shifted more toward your incessant need to be perfect, despite and in spite of the circumstances.
“what do you mean?”
moonlight spilling in through thin curtains, the thrum of public transport and dogs taking late-night walks with owners who talk too loud on the phone. no one knew where you were, no one cared what you were doing, but it didn’t matter. he knew. he cared.
you don’t even remember how the conversation got there, either. was it some joke about failing? one too many of those were made, now that you think about it. it wasn’t even self-pitying, either—all casual in the way that people talk, repeating the same thing enough times that it sounds like truth—but then he went quiet and said, “you talk like you’ve already decided on fucking it up.”
you remember laughing. whatever, because what do you do when someone says something so accurate? what the hell do you say when someone sees right **through you?
“i just have bad luck in these things.”
he laughed. fucking laughed. it was this short, incredulous breath through his nose like he couldn’t decide whether to be annoyed or amused. “you study all day, every day, and act surprised when you know the material.”
you frowned automatically. “well—”
“no,” he interrupted. “you’re smart. hard working. you’re trying, and i don’t think you should dismiss those efforts.”
“but—”
“i have to get back to work,” he breathed into the phone. his voice dropped slightly at the end, words softened by distance and whatever position he’d shifted into. you could hear movement through the phone—the subtle crackle of fabric, the hollow acoustics of a room that sounded emptier than yours. “get some sleep before your exam. goodnight.”
no good-lucks, no you’ll-do-wells, no last minute reassurance that would only soothe your nerves for ten minutes before you’d spiral again. last night, it had seemed cruel. not in the obvious sense—he wasn’t mean nor dismissive—but there was something irritatingly unsympathetic about the way he refused to give in to you. you’d left that call mildly offended, convinced he was sick of hearing you talk like that. sick of your catastrophizing, sick of your weird habit of turning every achievement into an exception and every mistake into evidence. sick of you.
yet, now, walking towards your car with the heat sitting heavy against your skin and your student id still peeking out the pocket of your jeans, it seemed more like belief.
in you, that is. almost as if that you doing terribly had never come across his mind, occurring as a possibility.
you recall staring at your ceiling, phone falling face flat to your mattress, face flushed with embarassment and annoyance that only seemed to erupt when it came to late replies and slightly off-sounding tones. it’s almost exclusive to him—you were never that great at reading rooms, after all.
your car keys twirl around your index finger, a different spring in your step now that the bitter taste of last night has dissolved completely. you’ll call him tonight, later, maybe once your foot crosses the threshold known as your front door, or once you step into the car. you’ll tell him about the exam, about how there was a moment where you genuinely considered submitting half a paper because, somehow, failing after trying felt more humiliating than failing without trying.
you’ll tell him that his stupidly calm voice somehow survived twelve hours and a three-hour exam. that while you were sitting there spiralling and preparing to abandon the entire thing, you remembered the way he said it—like he knew, understood, and reached for you when you abandoned yourself.
you’re already halfway through mentally composing the conversation when movement ahead catches your attention. someone’s walking towards you from the opposite direction, feet dragging against concrete in a way that would usually annoy, but instead of diverting your attention to the phone in your pocket—you look up.
you recognize him immediately. lee heeseung.
weirdly enough, you haven’t seen him up close around campus for the past three months. you assumed it was probably because he was just that busy—you’d seen his figure in the distance, but by the time you caught up, he’d be gone. there were tons of excuses that he made up on the phone, too, earlier into your relationship: personal projects, mostly, though the details were always lacking.
perfect hair. perfect face. perfect stride. even now, people notice him as he walks past. conversations soften for half a second, eyes lifting instinctively and following his pace before returning to wherever they were before. heeseung moves through it without acknowledging anything, shoulders relaxed, expression neutral, looking exactly like someone who’s long stopped recognizing attention as something unusual.
you straighten automatically, lifting your hand, almost waving, but not quite yet. heeseung doesn’t even need to see it in motion for him to look right into your eyes.
his expression shifts—something adjacent to confusion, an eyebrow raised as if to say, where do i know you from?
pairing ˚୨୧⋆｡ ₊° park sunghoon x f!reader ── .✦ smut (mdni!), fluff, rom-com, angst, slowburn kinda, college!au, friends to lovers ft. yn's roommate!jake & sunghoon's roomate!jay wc ꩜⊹✎ᝰ.ᐟ 24k
synopsis ୭ ⁺₊✧ the universe has a funny way of working. some people find their fate in poetry, in the stars, or in the grand, sweeping moments of life. you? you find yours in the form of park sunghoon—a boy you keep running into in the most unfortunate ways possible. like how he threw a football straight into your face and broke your nose. or when he got way too drunk at a party and threw up all over your shoes. or that time he somehow managed to blow up an entire science experiment all over you. in other words—the few accidental times the universe tries to tell you that park sunghoon is your fate…and the one time you finally listened (and maybe fate had less to do with a broken nose and more to do with the way he looks at you like you’re his favorite accident).
warnings ꩜｡⊹ ࣪ ˖ sunghoon is DOWNBAD, clumsy & awkward as hell // he YEARNS & LONGS, a drama queen // alcohol consumption // mild cursing // hoon is also a self sabotager // jayhoon bromance is real // sunghoon has one sided mental beef against jake for sum reason LOL ˗ˏˋ nsfw tags ᝰ.ᐟ virgin!sunghoon x experienced!reader, lowkey sub/switch!sunghoon, unprotected sex (dont do it pls!!!), oral sex (f receiving), riding, fingering, squirting, dry humping, hoon has a praise kink for sure, breast play, handjob, hair pulling, dirty talk, masturbation (he does it while he munches whoops), roughish sex, creampie
°˖➴ .ᐟ addie ── OK so i'd like to start off with saying last i checked this fic had 15k words...and then suddenly it has 24k... idk what happened honestly . but i ended up LOVING writing this sunghoon bc in my eyes he's a hot, clumsy dork <3 this is my first time ever writing smut so i am so so sorry if it sucks absolute booty hole bc it truly had me spinning in circles...i have so much respect for smut authors bc damn . anyways i hope u guys like, pls let me know what u think & also ty ronnie per usual for beta reading & encouraging me to explore out of my comfort zone heh. HOPE U ALL ENJOY :')
THEY SAY YOU NEVER FORGET YOUR FIRST. your first kiss. your first failing grade. your first crush. your first pet’s name. for park sunghoon? he’ll never forget the first time he met you.
and honestly? he kind of wishes he could.
scratch that—he desperately wishes he could. then he wishes he could self-implode. then, he wishes he could rewind time and never agree to play catch with jay in the first place.
not to be dramatic or anything. but if you had been responsible for sending a football flying at full speed straight into someone’s face, you’d probably want to self-implode too.
and that’s exactly what happens.
it’s a quiet day. a peaceful one, almost. the kind of the day that feels soft around the edges, where nothing’s too bright, too loud, or too complicated. the one that almost makes sunghoon feel like simply a background character in the movie of his own life, which he doesn’t entirely mind either.
sunghoon’s morning starts like most of his mornings do—half productive, half running on pure autopilot. he wakes up to his alarm on time (a small miracle), beats jay to their shared bathroom before he can claim it for his thirty minute long skincare routine (a big miracle), and grabs a granola bar from the kitchen cabinet. said cabinet, by the way, is home to an endlessly growing collection of half-eaten snacks—chips that have gone soft, instant ramen cups with weird flavors no one remembers buying, and a mystery jar of peanut butter that’s been there since move in day.
sunghoon pays half attention in his 9AM statistics lecture (which is about as much as anyone can ask from him on a monday morning), and manages to grab his favorite sandwich from the café before they run out for the day. the café lady even remembers his name this time (although she calls him ‘sungoon’, which he lets slide because she gives him extra pickles).
it’s all wonderfully, boringly normal.
and for sunghoon, that’s saying something.
because his life isn’t exactly filled with chaos—he’s not that guy. but he does have a habit of stumbling into moments that feel like they were written by a sitcom writer and he’s the character created solely for the purpose of comedic relief.
like the time he ran into and tripped over the campus mascot in front of an entire basketball game. or the time he waved back at someone who wasn’t waving at him and then had to commit to pretending he actually did know them. or the time he tried to flirt with a girl at a bookstore and accidentally knocked over an entire table of self-help books on himself.
you get the idea.
still, today feels normal. stable, predictable.
until jay shows up.
jay appears in sunghoon’s peripheral vision exactly how sunghoon predicted he would—hair sticking up in three different directions, wearing an oversized hoodie that may or may not be his sleep shirt, a cup of iced coffee in one hand even though it’s four in the afternoon and, for some reason, a football in the other.
sunghoon blinks up at him from his table in the campus courtyard. there’s an empty sandwich container on one side of him, a half-finished math sheet on the other, and that quiet kind of peace that only comes when you’re okay with the world not doing anything particularly interesting.
jay park ruins that peace immediately.
“what’s that for?” sunghoon asks, nodding at the football in jay’s right hand.
jay shrugs, sipping his coffee before putting it down next to sunghoon’s empty sandwich container. “found it on my way here. thought it’d be fun.”
fun.
sunghoon raises an eyebrow. that’s a bold word coming from jay—jay park, a business major who considers waking up before noon an accomplishment and whose idea of cardio is sprinting into lecture late.
still, sunghoon doesn’t judge. he’s learned his lesson about athletic optimism. the summer he was nine, he tried out for the neighborhood little league baseball team with nothing but poor hand-eye coordination and a dream. one swing, one very unlucky coach, and one black eye later, and sunghoon retired early from all things sports related.
which should’ve been foreshadowing in itself.
sunghoon’s first mistake is catching the football when jay tosses it at him. his second is not immediately throwing it back and walking away.
because somehow, between the caffeine in jay’s bloodstream and sunghoon’s chronic inability to say no to stupid ideas—five minutes later they’re standing on opposite sides of the courtyard, tossing the football lazily back and forth.
and it becomes easy, repetitive. jay’s talking about something mid-throw, probably the new band he’s into or some conspiracy theory about the campus squirrels. but sunghoon’s not really listening, not really. he’s too focused on the rhythm. catch, step, throw. catch, step, throw. it’s almost meditative.
until it isn’t.
because somewhere across the courtyard that smells like grass and cheap coffee, laughter suddenly carries through the air—a bright, unfamiliar kind of laugh that feels like home anyways and that makes sunghoon’s head instinctively turn.
and in that same half-second, jay’s voice calls out.
“yo, heads up!”
sunghoon turns back just in time to see the football not in his own hands anymore.
and it’s definitely not heading towards jay either.
it’s heading towards you.
and before he could do anything about it—the ball collides with your face with an impact so loud that the entire school might as well have witnessed it.
“oh my god,” jay whispers.
“oh my god,” sunghoon repeats under his breath.
“oh my god,” you’re gasping, clutching your nose and stumbling back before you can catch yourself, your butt hitting the grass.
sunghoon’s stunned for a second, arms halfway raised, eyes flickering between you and jay and the football. he runs through a mental list of things that could maybe, possibly, reverse the entire past twenty minutes of the disaster that is his life (spoiler: there aren’t any).
and then he’s moving before he even realizes it, jogging over with wide eyes and a growing pit of dread in his stomach.
“oh my god—are you okay? did i—shit—is your nose broken?” the words fall out of his mouth in one frantic breath as he crouches beside you.
you hand is still pressed against your face as you blink up at the figure above you, your vision disorientated.
and when your eyes finally focus—the face that greets you is devastatingly pretty.
which would be fine under any other circumstance. except for the fact that this is the face of a man who literally just assaulted you via sports equipment.
and unfortunately for sunghoon, the face that greets him is just as devastatingly pretty.
which would also be fine…under any other circumstance.
because sunghoon’s luck with girls isn’t terrible…technically. he’s had his fair share of crushes that lasted two weeks but ended in radio silence. he knows how to flirt when he needs to, knows how to make a girl laugh, knows what kind of compliment lands without sounding weird. he’s even good at the little things—opening doors, letting the girl have the booth side of the table, texting back on time but not too soon, pretending to like matcha even though it tastes like grass to him.
the problem is never getting their attention. he’s grown up around enough of his mom’s friends cooing at him during dinner parties—‘your son is so handsome!’ ‘what did you eat during your pregnancy to get a face like that?’— that he’s well aware he’s got at least one thing working in his favor. so no, getting attention isn’t the issue.
it’s keeping it.
because sunghoon is the kind of guy who accidentally ghosts first. not on purpose, he just forgets. he gets too caught up in assignments, or chores, or reorganizing his t-shirt collection by color again (even though it’s really only three colors: black, white, and a slightly lighter black). he’s terrible at balancing the whole dating thing and college thing and not knocking over self-help book displays in public thing.
and now, apparently, not breaking someone’s nose.
but right now, looking at you—bloodied nose, wide eyes, planted in wet grass and probably mildly concussed—sunghoon can’t think about any of that.
because, somehow, even like this, maybe even especially like this, he thinks you’re the prettiest person he’s ever seen.
which is horrifying.
sunghoon wants to dig a hole right then and there and crawl inside. maybe build a small underground home, maybe live out the rest of his days as a mole person.
“i—i’m so sorry. i swear, it was an accident—he—jay was supposed to catch it—”
that’s when jay conveniently shows up right behind him, a hand lifting up in betrayal, “bro, you looked away—”
“i was distracted—”
“by what?”
sunghoon freezes. his brain short-circuits, because the answer is, unfortunately, you.
he opens his mouth. freezes. clears his throat. tries again. “by…a…bird?”
you finally speak up from your spot on the ground, your head going back and forth at the two bickering guys through your watery eyes, “…a bird.”
“yeah,” sunghoon says, shrugging like this is an everyday conversation. “it was…really big.”
there’s a slight beat of silence where even jay looks like he feels pity for his best friend. then, you squint at him, tilting your head slightly.
“wait—” you start, voice still a little nasally. “you look familiar. have we met before?”
sunghoon stiffens. his entire life flashes before his eyes.
have you met before? god, please not the self-help book incident. or worse—not the person he accidentally waved to thinking it was someone he knew.
he feels his stomach drop. maybe it’s neither. maybe it’s both.
and maybe he should just crawl into the earth now and never come back up.
“that would be park sunghoon,” a new voice cuts in.
you turn your head towards the sound, relief instantly washing over your face when you see the tall boy approaching—baseball cap on backwards, plastic cup of boba in one hand, and a very mild look of concern on his face.
“jake.”
“y/n.” jake’s eyes flick to the scene in front of him: you, still clutching your nose; sunghoon, crouched nearby with a look only a guilty perpetrator could possess; and jay, standing behind him and sipping his coffee like he’s getting free entertainment (and he is).
“…i leave you alone for two minutes,” jake starts flatly, “and you’ve already managed to get injured by my friends.”
“accidentally injured,” jay corrects pointedly and very much unhelpfully.
jake ignores him. “he lives in our building, that’s probably where you’ve seen him.” he then gestures vaguely to both sunghoon and jay with the drink in his hand. “they both do. down the hall from us.”
he reaches down and helps you to your feet in one smooth pull, steadying you by the elbow before turning to the boys. “y/n, meet sunghoon and jay—two of my closest friends since high school, unfortunately. and also unfortunately, our neighbors.”
then he glances back at the pair, who now stand side by side in an awkward pose of guilt and discomfort. “and sunghoon and jay, meet y/n—my new roommate. remember? i told you guys she transferred here a few days ago. i was coming over to introduce you guys but…looks like you beat me to it.”
sunghoon makes a noise. not a normal human noise. a noise that lands somewhere between a startled choke, squeak, and what he thinks a goose being lightly stepped on would sound like.
because no—he absolutely does not remember jake telling him this. because jake definitely mentioned it, but probably in the middle of a league match when sunghoon was functioning at ten percent brain capacity, half-listening while trying not to die in-game for the fifteenth time:
“new roommate, got it,” he had probably replied at the time, while actually registering none of it.
and now here you are. in front of him. because of course the universe would make you one of his closest friend’s roommate. of course the prettiest girl he’s ever accidentally assaulted with a football now lives ten doors down.
he hovers, like he wants to say something else—maybe something smooth so you think he’s charming, maybe an actual apology so you think he’s not an asshole with awful coordination. but his brain offers him nothing but static.
he opens his mouth. closes it. opens it again. nothing.
he’s spiraling. he wants to evaporate. he wants to scream. but instead of doing any of these things, sunghoon does what any rational, socially competent person would do.
he sticks out his hand. straight. stiff. right in front of you. doesn’t say a word.
you blink. you glance down at it. then back up at him. you squint your eyes past the vision of your other hand still clutching your face, looking at him as if trying to puzzle something together.
still, with your free hand, you eventually reach forward and give his a small, polite shake. his palm is warm, a little clammy, and you’re pretty sure you can feel him holding his breath the entire time.
“nice to meet you, park sunghoon,” your voice small but with something else.
the way his full name rolls off your tongue is smooth, deliberate. just on the edge of playful, but there’s something else beneath it. he can’t tell if it’s sarcasm or sincerity. maybe both. maybe you’re the kind of person who could ruin him with a smile and then apologize while doing it.
either way, it sticks. because it shouldn’t sound like that. like a challenge. like a secret he’s suddenly desperate to learn. and the worst part of it all? he likes it.
and for a second, everything else is tuned out—the sound of the commotion around campus, the breeze rustling the leaves around him, even jay’s straw scraping against the remaining ice in his cup—all sunghoon can focus on is the faint curve of your lips when you say his name. it hits him somewhere low in his gut. strange and foreign and sweet. sweet in a way that could be addicting if sunghoon isn’t careful.
and honestly, he’s not good with things that make him feel like this. because, sunghoon? sunghoon is far from careful. he’s clumsy in life—can’t keep his balance, can’t hold his composure, can’t even throw a football without committing mild assault.
and now he can’t think straight either.
“—and jay,” you nod towards jay, who lifts his now empty coffee cup in a small wave, “but i think i should probably go to the clinic or something.”
jake nudges you gently, which snaps sunghoon out of whatever trance he was sinking into, “yeah. let’s get you checked out before you lose your nose.”
and because sunghoon is sunghoon and definitely not a rational, socially competent person—the best he could manage is a crooked, lopsided smile and a stiff little wave as you turn to go.
you start walking, jake talking quietly beside you, but before you’re too far away, you glance back over your shoulder. and it’s quick, half a second at most—but sunghoons catches it.
a faint smile. the faintest. and he can’t tell if it’s teasing, curious, or dangerous. maybe all three.
either way, it stays with him and he freezes, watching you disappear around the corner, his heartbeat now annoyingly loud in his chest. and he doesn’t know what to think of it. because, again, sunghoon’s luck with girls isn’t terrible…technically. he just doesn’t think he’s ever felt this before. but, to be fair, it’s not everyday you accidentally potentially break the nose of the prettiest-girl-you’ve-seen-turned-neighbor before.
“that…was amazing.” jay breaks sunghoon out of his mental spiral, nudging sunghoon’s arm with his own elbow, smirking.
sunghoon doesn’t answer. he’s too busy replaying every second in his head—the way your hand felt, the way you said his name, the way you threw that half-smile over your shoulder.
and somehow, some way, sunghoon’s wonderfully boring day had accidentally become something else entirely.
and that was the first time park sunghoon sees you.
the second time he sees you, he almost forgets about the entire football fiasco, honestly.
not because it’s anything personal against you. god, no.
but because he remembers something his therapist once said. something about how, apparently, if a memory is painful enough, sometimes the best thing to do is just…repress it. file it away. pretend it never happened altogether.
which, in hindsight, is probably, most definitely, not the best way to handle one’s crippling emotions. especially not crippling emotions involving a girl who looks like the kind of person that keeps you up at night after only exchanging a solid ten (10) words.
but to be fair, sunghoon’s therapist is also a twenty-something year old business major who listens to ‘character development’ podcasts every morning and calls it experience.
so yeah. his therapist is jay park.
which explains why the memory of meeting you now lives in the deepest and darkest corners of sunghoon’s mind—right between the mascot-tripping incident and the little league baseball trauma.
but again—sunghoon has the chronic inability to say no. especially to jay. and you’d think, after years of friendship, he’d know better.
he does not.
which is how he ends up here—standing in the middle of a frat house that’s definitely seen better days, clutching a red solo cup filled with what jay insists is just ginger ale, and silently wondering how to sneak out without anyone noticing.
because parties were never really sunghoon’s thing.
not only because he’s a self-proclaimed introvert. but because they usually involve three things: 1) loud music that usually consists of mediocre 2000s pop songs all mashed up together by a frat brother whose side gig is dj-ing, 2) sticky floors from mysterious substances that he refuses to think about, and 3) some guy named ni-ki who, for reasons unknown to science, keeps losing his left shoe at every function and makes it everyone else’s problem.
or all of the above. usually all of the above.
but now sunghoon’s too many sips deep into his maybe-not-ginger-ale mystery drink, with the floorboards vibrating underneath him, and the crowd of bodies around him moving in an off-beat rhythm to some one direction song.
he also thinks the room might be spinning, but he’s not sure if that’s from the strobing lights flickering across the ceiling or because he accidentally downed half of whatever this drink actually is. he should probably stop. he should definitely stop.
but before he can even gather his thoughts to make any semi-rational decision a semi-drunk person could make, jay shows up and slaps him on the shoulder with the force of a man who’s had one too many more than sunghoon has.
“dude,” jay shouts over the music, leaning in and nodding his head toward the other end of the room. “don’t look now, but—”
which is precisely the kind of sentence that makes sunghoon immediately look now.
and there you are.
you’re across the room, leaning casually against the wall, laughing at whatever jake just said beside you. your head’s tilted back, cup in hand, a strand of hair falling over your face, and sunghoon nearly forgets to breathe.
and you’re wearing exactly what’s going to keep him up tonight. and so, of course, he doesn’t know what to do about it.
sunghoon’s pretty sure the air conditioning in this place stopped working about an hour ago, but the room suddenly feels suffocating, sweat prickling at the back of his neck and the crowd blurs into a backdrop, the music fading to a distance. all he can see is the curve of your mouth when you laugh—fully, invitingly, the kind that pulls a low heat to his gut—and the way your fingers twist a loose strand of hair absentmindedly, completely unaware of how it draws him in.
it’s not fair. you’re supposed to be a one-time occurrence. the one-time girl he accidentally maimed with a football and might awkwardly bump into while checking mail or when he comes over to visit jake—not someone who looks like she belongs in every dream he’s going to have for the next six months.
and sunghoon hasn’t even had a real first kiss, technically—unless you count that tragedy of spin-the-bottle in the tenth grade where he accidentally bit a girl’s lip and left her mortified and bloody—but all of the sudden, his mind floods with foreign, forbidden thoughts he really shouldn’t entertain. thoughts of closing the distance, backing you against that wall, his hands on your waist, how your lips would part under his, the faint taste of whatever you’re drinking mixing with his, your laughter turning into something heavier, needier. the way your body might arch into him, the soft gasps you’d make if his mouth trailed lower—god, it’s wrong, it’s too much, and sunghoon tries his hardest to veer his thoughts elsewhere.
but because sunghoon is everything except subtle, jay follows his line of sight and smirks immediately.
“oh god,” jay warns, but the intrigued look on his face says otherwise. “you’re thinking about going over there, aren’t you?”
sunghoon freezes before subtly rolling his eyes, running a hand through his hair, “i just—i should apologize. right? like, properly. you know, be mature about it.”
jay gives a look despite the a playful tone in his slurred voice, “i’m just saying. she might walk away with a new broken bone if you do.”
sunghoon exhales, straightens up, takes a gulp of his drink and coughs from the burn—yeah, definitely not ginger ale. “statistically, lightning can’t strike twice.”
jay blinks. “how the hell are you quoting statistics while drunk?”
“because i’m not,” sunghoon says pointedly, slapping his own cheek once as if that’ll magically sober him up. and he thinks he’s at least…fifty percent sober. hopefully. “see? totally fine.”
he doesn’t stick around to hear whatever jay’s response is—because the second he notices jake disappearing into the kitchen, he’s already weaving through the crowd, heart pounding, brain screaming at him to turn around, and feet doing exactly the opposite.
you notice him before he even reaches you. there’s a flicker of surprise on your face, but it fades just as quickly—shifting into something that looks like amusement. like you were expecting this. like you’d been waiting for him to show up eventually.
“the park sunghoon,” you say once he’s close enough to hear you over the music. and when he is, the space between you feels heavy—maybe it’s from the heat of the room, maybe from the scent of alcohol and sweat. maybe from something else entirely. “i didn’t take you as a party person.”
sunghoon freezes mid-step.
because he thought he knew what he was going to say to you once he got here. maybe something clever, maybe something smooth. but your tone—the teasing ease of it, the way his name sounds in your mouth—it throws him off completely.
his fingers tighten around his cup and he takes another sip, pretending to look casual and not because he suddenly has no idea what to do with his hands. then he lets out a laugh—nervous, stupid, a little too loud.
“i’m usually not,” he manages, trying to sound smooth as he leans a shoulder against the wall beside you. “but jay can be persuasive.”
a small smirk plays at the corner of your lips. “mmm. and the drink?”
sunghoon follows your gaze down to the red solo cup in his hand.
“jay told me it was ginger ale.”
you don’t say anything for a second. then, you let out another hum, reaching out before he can react and taking the cup straight from his hands.
you take a slow sip, your eyes trained on his own over the rim of his cup. it’s deliberate. it’s long. it’s dangerous. and he feels every. second. of it.
you lower the cup, swallow, then make a face. “yeah. definitely not ginger ale.”
sunghoon laughs, sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck. “yeah, figures.”
a teasing smile tugs at your lips, “do you do everything jay tells you to?”
his eyes widen immediately. “what? no! no—no, definitely not.”
“uh huh,” you glance past him to where jay’s pretending not to watch the two of you from across the room. very badly. “did he tell you to come over here?”
sunghoon turns, spots jay’s unsubtle wave, and groans. “no, actually. i came over all on my own, i’ll have you know.”
“oh yeah?” you tilt your head, stepping just a little closer—close enough for him to catch the faint citrus of your perfume. “and why’s that, sunghoon?”
he opens his mouth, ready with something about apologizing again, but the words stall.
because here you are. up close. and you’re a little overwhelming—eyes steady, posture loose, smile daring. he thinks he can feel his pulse in his ears.
“because…uh—” sunghoon stops, clears his throat, then smirks, trying to look steadier than his heart feels. “i figured if i’m gonna cause another accident tonight, i should probably make sure it’s worth it.”
you laugh, and he swears it’s louder than the music, “smooth recovery.”
“i’m a fast learner.”
“from jay?”
he grins. “definitely not.”
and the way you smile at that—the slow, curious curve of it—makes him realize he’s in trouble. the kind of trouble he doesn’t exactly want to walk away from.
there’s a beat where neither of you say anything. the music continues to thump all around him, the lights flash across your face in a dizzy rhythm that makes sunghoon’s stomach flip, and you’re standing close enough now that he can smell the faint scent of your citrus perfume and feel the heat from your arm whenever you shift slightly closer to hear him over the music.
and god, it’s suddenly very, very hard to think straight again.
he clears his throat. “anyway. i, uh—i wanted to apologize too. properly, you know. for your nose. for ruining your face—i mean, not that your face is ruined! it’s a great face. a perfect face. or, maybe not perfect-perfect, but y’know, structurally sound—”
sunghoon stops. he thinks he’s never hated himself, alcohol, and maybe a little bit of jay more than he does in this moment.
you stare at him for a long second, lips pressed together like you’re biting back a laugh. then, slowly, the teasing smirk on your face softens into something warmer, something he doesn’t quite know what to do with.
“sunghoon,” you say, his name coming out softer this time. “how about we just start over?”
the noise of the party tunes out again. it’s like the world narrowed down to just you, him, and the faint sound of ‘has anyone seen my left shoe?’ somewhere in the background.
“yeah,” sunghoon nods a little, nervous and hopeful all at once, his mouth twitching into an awkward smile. “yeah, i’d really like that.”
and then the conversation lulls into something easy after that. something comfortable. he manages to land a joke that makes you laugh, he learns your major, how you ended up as jake’s roommate—which spirals into a story about being cousins with his last roommate, lee heeseung, who graduated last semester and now moved onto bigger and better things in the adult world. and by bigger and better, we mean he graduated with a biology degree but now works for a music label and spends all his time obsessing over his co-worker-turned-girlfriend.
and everything feels good. it’s casual. it’s normal.
sunghoon feels like he’s floating—like he’s actually managing to exist around you without saying anything stupid about bones or noses or facial structures.
everything is just fine.
until it suddenly isn’t.
because when you turn away to refill your cup, sunghoon straightens up from the wall and blinks. once, twice. the lights all smear together in red and gold and blue. the floor tilts, or maybe he does. either way, his vision sways, just a little, and he can feel his pulse pounding in his head.
and that’s when it hits him.
oh. oh no.
sunghoon is drunk.
the realization hits him at the same moment you turn back towards him.
your hair catches the light as you move, and your lips part—he can see you saying something, your mouth forming the beginning of a smile—but all sunghoon can focus on is trying his very best to look composed. his fingers dig into the side of the table next to him, the room ripples, the floor hums under his feet.
he blinks hard. again. and again, like that’s somehow going to stop the slow spin that’s started in his vision. it doesn’t. his heartbeat trips over itself. there’s too much heat in the room, too much sound pressing at the back of his skull, too much you in front of him.
“would you want to—i don’t know, maybe one day—”
sunghoon doesn’t hear the rest of your sentence. because suddenly his entire body stiffens. the nausea rises sharp and fast, his breath catches, and his face drops. and you barely have a second to register his expression before he’s leaning forward when—
it happens.
the end to park sunghoon’s dignity.
the music doesn’t stop. the lights don’t even flicker. but for sunghoon, the world falls completely silent as he realizes, in a slow motion way that only seem to exist in horror movies, that he’s just thrown up all over your shoes.
you stare down at your shoes, blinking.
sunghoon stares down at your shoes, horrified.
the silence between you stretches, thick and terrible. somewhere in the background, one direction is still playing, jay is shaking his head in a kind of not-surprised disappointment, and someone trips over a single, abandoned left shoe.
“oh my god,” sunghoon whispers, voice small and hoarse as he stares at the pile of him now covering your shoes. “oh my god.”
he then looks up at you, all glassy-eyed and pale, half-drunk but one hundred percent mortified, “i am so sorry—i swear, i didn’t—your shoes—”
you look down at your shoes again, then back at him, and then close your eyes slowly, not saying anything.
“—i promise i’m not like this normally,” he blurts out, words slurring together. “i—oh my god, i’m so sorry—”
sunghoon sways slightly where he stands, still holding the table for balance, his face stuck in the kind of panic that belongs to someone who’s guilty.
jake appears just in time, two cups in hand, stopping dead in his tracks when he sees the scene in front of him.
“…what the hell,” jake says flatly, eyes darting between you, your shoes, and the man responsible.
and sunghoon can’t even look up. his hand is still clamped over his mouth, palm slightly damp, stomach twisting, throat burning, and mind praying that everyone else around them is drunk enough to ignore the situation.
he risks a glance. immediate regret.
your shoes, the mess, the smell, the whole awful, lingering reality of what he’s done. the sight alone is enough to make sunghoon sway again. his brain, fuzzy and slow, still tries to find the words to form an apology that’s at least fifty percent not pathetic.
you then inhale. “yeah,” you say finally, your voice weirdly calm for someone whose shoes had just been absolutely ruined. “i…i think i’m just gonna go home.”
your voice is quiet, barely above the music, but somehow, it cuts through everything. the pounding bass. the off key singing of the crowd. the ringing in sunghoon’s ears. it’s all he can hear.
jake sighs, glancing between the two of you. “yeah. yeah, that’s probably smart. let’s go.”
he gives sunghoon a pitying look—the kind you give a guy when you’re stuck in between both sides of a battle—before turning to guide you toward the door.
sunghoon still doesn’t move. he just stands there, stuck, heartbeat hammering behind his ribs, in his head, everywhere. his mouth opens like he might say something—apologize again, call out your name, beg the floor to swallow him whole. but nothing comes out.
so he just watches. watches the back of your head disappear into the crowd. watches jake’s hand settle lightly on your shoulder. watches the door close behind you.
he exhales slowly, dragging a hand down his face when jay appears beside him. he’s holding a now half-empty cup, the look on his face somewhere between pity and amusement.
“…i told you you were drunk.”
sunghoon pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezing shut, “jay.”
“yeah?”
“shut up.”
jay doesn’t. instead, he hums, “and i told you not to come over.”
sunghoon thunks his head against the wall behind him, “jay.”
“yeah?”
“please stop talking.”
and that was the second time park sunghoon sees you.
the next and third time sunghoon sees you, he knows it’s coming.
sunghoon knew he was going to see you because he’s an observant guy. yes, he sits in the back of class and only speaks when spoken to, but he notices the little things.
like how the guy two seats to his left keeps a family-sized bag of hot cheetos inside his backpack and thinks no one notices. or how the girl in the third row plays papa’s freezeria on her laptop every single lecture, unbothered by the fact that the professor is talking about reaction mechanisms right in front of her.
and how the new girl—the pretty one who showed up one random day with the shiny hair and the voice that always knows the right answers—always gets there five minutes early and sits in the first row. aka, you.
sunghoon has always noticed you.
so yeah, he knew he was going to see you today. chemistry lab is predictable like that. but he didn’t think it was going to be like this—you coming in late, hair slightly frazzled but still somehow shiny, breath just a little uneven from probably speed walking across campus, cheeks warm with the rush of someone running late, eyes scanning the room for an open seat.
because you are never late. but the universe has a weird sense of humor sometimes. and today, it decided to silence your morning alarm all on its own (you smacked it in your sleep and gave yourself twenty-too-many-minutes of snooze time), cut off your shower halfway through rinsing out your conditioner, and let the vending machine eat your last dollar without giving you your granola bar.
so the sight of you hesitating in the doorway makes the entire energy of the room shift just a little for sunghoon. he watches you mumble a quiet apology to your professor before your eyes quickly scan the room for an empty seat. and then his heart stalls for one horrifying second.
because he swears he can hear the universe laughing. laughing at the fact that the only seat available in the entire room…just so happens to be the one next to park sunghoon.
sunghoon, who immediately pretends to be incredibly invested in the periodic table projected on the side wall.
sunghoon, who is currently praying that someone will miraculously volunteer as tribute and take the empty chair beside him out of nowhere. no one does.
sunghoon, who tries his very best to quietly will himself invisible (he has never succeeded at this before. he does not succeed now).
your eyes land on the seat. then on him. and your expression does this tiny thing—something between oh! and oh…and something else that sunghoon cannot, and probably should not, interpret for the sake of his emotional stability.
then, with a small flash of hesitation and what seems like acceptance, you make your way over.
“hey…sunghoon,” you say, voice soft but steady as you pull out the chair.
sunghoon turns his head just slightly, offering you a nervous half smile that feels about three seconds away from collapsing into a full panic.
“hey,” he manages, voice a little too quiet, a little too soft. you slide into the seat, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, and the faint citrus scent of you hits him like déjà vu and disaster rolled into one. and because it completely throws him off, he doesn’t even realize what he says next until the words are already out, “so how was your weekend?”
and then he freezes.
so do you. you are mid-bag-unzip. there is a soft still in the air as his words hang in between you two. how was your weekend.
the weekend where he vomited all over you.
sunghoon looks away and mentally slams his head into the table. maybe you didn’t hear him. or maybe he’s hallucinating and didn’t actually say that. or maybe he did actually say that and you’ll pretend it didn’t happen out of pity for him.
none of that happens.
because, eventually, you turn to him fully, a small smile on your face as you casually shrug, “oh, it was good!”
sunghoon stops for a second. he stares. okay. okay, good. maybe we’re safe. maybe this is forgiveness, maybe this is grace.
“—until i had to throw away my favorite pair of shoes.”
and there. it. is.
sunghoon thinks he dies. just a little. or a lot, internally. his eyes shut, his fingers gripping the pen in his hand so hard he swears the plastic actually creaks.
“yeah, um. that’s…fair,” he says back, but it comes out more like a croak. “listen, i’m really—”
“it’s really okay, sunghoon,” your voice interrupts as you tap your pen on the notebook, the tone light and casual and teasing—not at all the sound of someone who recently got assaulted by the same guy twice in the past week. “i mean, i think you just really owe me now, though.”
sunghoon’s eyes snap open. he glances over to look you and—
you don’t look mad. you don’t sound mad. if anything, you look…amused, really. and the tilt in your voice just now sounded almost fond, even. which is objectively worse for sunghoon’s emotional well-being.
sunghoon tries to speak. tries to be cool, collected, charming, normal. tries to ignore the fact that the pretty new girl with shiny hair that usually sits five rows ahead of him is currently still talking to him after he messed up with her twice.
“i—yeah—yes. absolutely. i will. i promise—”
and sunghoon literally does not know what he’s promising, nor does his mind give him the chance to find the words before the professor’s voice cuts through the room, “alright everyone. today’s experiment will be done in pairs. your partner will be the person you’re currently sharing a lab bench with.”
there’s a beat of silence.
because, again, the universe has a very weird sense of humor.
then, a soft inhale. and sunghoon isn’t even entirely sure if it came from him or from you. could be both.
“…so,” you start, turning slightly toward him just enough that your shoulder brushes his, “lab partners?”
and approximately within the next two seconds, park sunghoon goes through all five stages of grief:
denial — no. surely not. she means across the lab bench. diagonally. someone else. fate would never be this cruel to me.
anger — this is jay’s fault. it’s always jay’s fault. why did he convince me to go to that party. why does alcohol exist. this is all jay’s fault.
bargaining — if the universe lets me get through this without causing any physical harm, i will donate to charity. i will recycle properly. i will stop ignoring mom’s text messages.
depression — i am going to die. right here. in a room that smells faintly of citrus (you), acetone (lab), and sweat (me).
acceptance — okay. okay. we got this. we persevere.
sunghoon swallows. clears his throat, once, then twice. but his voice still cracks like a thirteen year old boy when he turns to you, “lab partners.”
you give a small smile. it’s not mocking, it’s not pitying. just…warm. like you know exactly how nervous he is. like you know how sorry he is. like you aren’t holding the past two disasters against him at all. and sunghoon will take it. he’ll take whatever he can get.
you both stand and begin gathering equipment from the front bench—beakers, pipettes, safety goggles that look like they were designed by someone who has never seen a human face in their entire life.
so when sunghoon returns to the table and tries to put them on, it’s all a tragic scene—the strap catches, the goggles twist, his hair gets stuck. and through it all, you watch with a smile playing at your lips, but you don’t laugh. instead, you step closer, simply tilting your head.
“here,” you murmur, your voice gentle in a way that makes something inside sunghoon want to claw at his own skin. your hands lift, slow and careful, fingers sliding lightly into his hair as you adjust the straps behind his head.
“bend down a bit,” you say, struggling to reach his height, and sunghoon does what he’s told. you finish adjusting the goggles, smoothing down a strand of hair near his temple before your fingers linger for a brief second. the moment is light. short. harmless. but still long enough for sunghoon.
“thanks,” he says in a voice that isn’t really a voice. it’s low and careful, like if he speaks too loud the moment will shatter.
because you’re still close. close enough that he can feel your own warmth. close enough that if he tilted his head forward just a fraction, his lips would be right near your own. and he is trying so hard not to focus on that. he miserably fails.
all he can focus on is your breathing—soft and a little uneven, like you’re not totally unaffected either, which would be insane, because this is you and this is him and the universe should not allow him to have this much hope. that would be cruel.
but then your eyes flick up to meet his, and the world gets quiet for a second, like someone hit pause on everything except the two of you.
sunghoon swallows hard. his eyes dart elsewhere, anywhere, but then it hits him.
it hits him abruptly and mortifyingly, with the force of a preteen revelation:
there’s the subtle sheen of sweat tracing the line of your collarbone, where the lab’s humid heat has your skin glistening just enough to draw his eye to the hollow of your throat, where you’re wearing the tiniest necklace he has ever seen in his life.
and somehow that is the most scandalous thing he has ever encountered.
because it sits there, tiny and delicate and soft—and he thinks back to the way you spoke to him at the party. the way your eyes didn’t back down from his, the way his name sounded from your mouth the first time he met you. like you knew exactly what you were doing.
you are everything but delicate. and something about that contrast, the softness laced with boldness, the gentle curve edged with something sharp—makes something in sunghoon go frighteningly, beautifully still. because sunghoon realizes he want more.
and not just in that casual, lab-partner-who-lives-ten-doors-down-and-occasionally-asks-to-borrow-sugar way. but in the remember-your-favorite-snack-and-stock-the-pantry-with-it, memorize-your-handwriting, learn-your-schedule-by-heart, hold-your-face-in-my-hands-and-finally-know-what-you-taste-like kind of way. the kind where he’d trace the line of your jaw just to feel your pulse quicken under his touch, where late-night texts turn into confessions whispered into the dark, where the world narrows to just the heat of your breath mingling with his, close enough that one right move could unravel everything else.
park sunghoon is 22 years old but his brain reacts to this realization like he is eleven, standing at the edge of the community pool and realizing that girls have collarbones and the world will never, ever be the same. his ears go hot. his heart beats faster. he looks away.
“no problem,” you clear your throat, stepping back, smoothing down your skirt with your palms. your voice is light again, controlled. but there’s a little curve at the corner of your mouth—like you know.
and somehow, everything after that falls into a quiet, simple, routine. because, in theory, the experiment is simple. measure, mix, heat, observe. nothing that a normal college student with half a functioning brain shouldn’t be able to handle.
which is precisely the issue. because the second sunghoon thinks he’s in the clear, the second sunghoon thinks he can maybe, possibly, start a normal conversation with you, maybe even pretend like the past two incidents never even happened—
you lean slightly over the lab bench, shifting slightly when the edge of your sweater brushes against his wrist. and that’s all it takes.
sunghoon forgets everything he just told himself.
“okay,” you tap your fingers playfully against the table. “we just need ten millimeters of solution A.”
“right,” sunghoon says, nodding immediately.
sunghoon says this with confidence.
sunghoon does not know what solution A is.
his hands are still steady though, surprisingly. he reaches for a beaker, a dropper, a labeled bottle.
“careful,” you say softly, fingers brushing his wrist as you help guide the pipette from one bottle to the other. sunghoon tries to ignore it. he really, really tries. he then looks at you, and you’re already looking at him.
“you’re really focused,” you tease with a small smirk, an eyebrow lifting.
“yeah,” he says without thinking. but he’s focused on you. not the beaker. not the measurement. and most definitely not the very important instruction that says pour ten millimeters and not thirty.
so when he pours—it’s too much. way too much. there’s a hiss, a bubble, a foaming roar before sunghoon could stop it even if he wanted to.
“wait—no that’s too—” you start, but it’s too late. and all sunghoon can do is stand there, and watch. watch as the reaction is already shooting upward, a fountain of foaming mixed colors exploding straight into the air before dropping right back down and directly—
on you.
all over you. from your hair to your eyelashes to your lips to your sweater to the floor.
the entire room goes silent. sunghoon swears he can hear 1) the way the professor closes her eyes slowly, like she’s lived this exact nightmare seven semesters in a row, and 2) someone in the front of class whisper a small, “holy shit.”
and sunghoon is frozen in horror. completely, absolutely, done. wishing death upon himself. his soul leaves his body, watches from the ceiling, and considers not returning.
you blink. foam slides down your cheek in slow motion. “okay..,” you say, very calmly, as though you saw this coming from a mile away and yet still trying to process what happened. “..cool. of course.”
“i—i am so—” sunghoon’s voice breaks as he inhales a heavy breath, the words tumbling before he even knows what he’s apologizing for this time. the explosion? or maybe still the throw-up? the almost-broken-nose moment? “i don’t even know how that—”
you hold a hand up, stopping him mid-sentence. a blob of foam falls from your face.
“sunghoon,” you deadpan, eyes slowly opening. and your expression says it all—not annoyed, not surprised, not even disappointed. just the acceptance of fate. and sunghoon mentally accepts the fact that maybe he should not be allowed within ten feet of you.
“i know,” you sigh, voice strangely gentle for someone covered head to toe in chemicals and is the current center of attention in a room full of people, “and it’s okay.”
sunghoon squeezes his eyes shut. there is nothing he can say. no apology that will undo the last ten minutes, the last few days, the last entire week. no sentence in any human language that can fix this.
maybe this is punishment for that one time he ghosted a girl because she used too many laughing emojis. maybe this is karma coming back. maybe someone hired a witch to curse him. maybe it was jay. honestly, it was probably jay.
your voice breaks him out of his downwards spiral, “i think i need to…go wash this out.”
and because sunghoon is sunghoon and a man powered entirely of panic, impulse, and bad luck—he moves before he thinks. his hands are already tugging his own hoodie over his head, the hem catching awkwardly on his shirt, his hair going everywhere, and earbuds (why did he put his earbuds in his pocket) flying out and clattering to the floor.
but then he’s holding the hoodie out in front of him.
just…holding it. straight armed. eyes avoiding yours and trained on the material in front of him.
and you just stand there, foam still dripping, but now staring at the hoodie. then back at him.
“sunghoon—”
“just take it,” he blurts, his cheeks flushed pink and voice embarrassingly earnest. “please. before the chemicals…seep…or—spread? i don’t know—”
and sunghoon has no idea what happens when lab foam dries on skin. he just knows it sounds bad and cannot, and will not, be the reason you get third degree chemical burns.
but when you take the hoodie from his hands, a small thank you on your lips, you look at him with something soft, something understanding, something that looks real, and not tossed out of politeness or pity. something that makes sunghoon’s heart want to beat straight out of his ribcage.
and when you come back a few minutes after, sunghoon thinks he’s ready.
he is not ready.
because, see, sunghoon did not think ahead (he has never once thought ahead, historically speaking), and therefore he did not anticipate the sheer consequences of his own actions playing out. of him handing you his hoodie. of you actually wearing his hoodie.
but there you are.
and it swallows you whole. the sleeves bunched slightly at your wrists so they don’t slip past your fingers. the hem hits right at the end of your skirt. the collar sits a little wide and off-center because the hoodie is well-loved, and because sunghoon studies in it, because he sleeps in it, and because he chews on the drawstring when he’s stressed—so one string is short and the other is stupidly long, uneven in the exact way only his hoodie is uneven.
your hair is pulled up now, strands slightly damp from the sink, your cheeks pink from your attempt of scrubbing mysterious chemicals off, and you look like you belong in it.
sunghoon’s body has a reaction that can only be described as malfunctioning. his breath catches in his throat, his pulse jumps, and that foreign feeling of something coiling tight and low in his gut comes back, heating spreading uninvited, unwelcomed, but definitely undeniable.
because you look good. and soft and warm and heartbreakingly casual. like you’ve worn his clothes a thousand times before. like you will wear his clothes a thousand more.
and definitely like something sunghoon could be stupid about for the rest of his life. like there is a universe—maybe just slightly left of this one—where this is normal. where you wash your face at his bathroom sink and steal his clothes on purpose and drink the orange juice from his fridge without asking.
and he would let you. every single time.
so yes, the third time sunghoon sees you—he knows it’s coming. he just didn’t expect to want it this time.
“so let me get this straight,” jay leans over the table with the wide eyes of someone who already heard the story (he did) and is simply here just to see his friend in agony (he is), “…you blew her up?”
sunghoon peers his eyes from across the courtyard table, nearly scoffing, “no, i didn’t blow y/n up.”
“so…you blew up all over her?”
sunghoon throws his hands up exasperatedly, gesturing to his still very intact self, “well, evidently not!”
“okay…so,” jay draws his voice out, slow and unimpressed, dragging the fork through his lunch, “…what did you blow up?”
“why—” sunghoon drags a hand down his face, “—is everyone saying i blew something up?”
jay looks straight at him, chews on his pasta, and does not answer. instead, he pulls out his phone.
“because,” he scrolls through the screen once before turning the screen up to sunghoon, “of this text i got from jake saying ‘sunghoon blew up y/n. eye roll emoji.’”
sunghoon stares. blinks, then stares again.
traitor.
“i blew up our science experiment,” sunghoon mutters through a sigh, pinching his nose like the memory physically hurts him. “all. over. her.”
jay pauses mid-bite. lets it sink in. then—
“oh god,” he bursts into full laughter, “all over her?”
sunghoon ignores him. rolls his eyes.
“jay, it was so bad,” he groans, burying his face into both hands now. “i don’t even know what happened. she was so close to me and her hand brushed mine and it’s like my brain just—” he then looks up and claps his hands together dramatically. “—stopped.”
jay doesn’t say anything.
sunghoon, however and unfortunately, continues.
“and then it gets worse, jay.”
there’s a long beat. jay gives sunghoon a look that tells him there’s no possible way it could get worse. but, once again, because the universe has a weird sense of humor, sunghoon’s existence is living proof that it always will get worse.
jay takes another bite before he nods solemnly, as if gearing up for what’s coming. “alright, lay it on me. what’s next, what else could possibly have happ—”
but jay doesn’t finish.
because at that exact moment—you walk into the courtyard. hair still pulled into a loose ponytail, the sunlight catching in your face like the sun only came out today to make sure you’re seen by the rest of the world, a smile on your face as you walk besides jake.
but none of that matters.
because you’re still wearing sunghoon’s hoodie. his hoodie. and he can’t take his eyes off you. you look like you got dressed in his bedroom. you look like you belong in his bedroom.
sunghoon stops breathing. from beside him, jay also freezes.
“…isn’t that…your hoodie?” his chewing slows down to a a stop, voice going flat. then, just for dramatic effect, “…on y/n?”
sunghoon does not look away. in fact, he’s full on staring. stares like a man witnessing both the holiest and worst moment of his entire life.
“that, jay—” sunghoon says, voice low, hollow, and utterly destroyed, “—is exactly how it gets worse.”
jay looks at you—completely swallowed by the hoodie, laughing lightly at something jake says, fingers tugging absentmindedly at the drawstring.
he looks back at sunghoon and squints.
“…this is bad,” jay starts slowly, nodding as if he totally knows what’s going on but definitely doesn’t, “because…?”
sunghoon turns to him with a look, “BECAUSE, JAY. SHE’S WEARING MY HOODIE. and it makes me—” he gestures weakly, helplessly, and vaguely to himself— “feel things.”
and that’s when jay sets down his fork very gently, the realization hitting him in real time, “oh my god, you like her.”
sunghoon doesn’t respond. he just closes his eyes, inhaling slowly, trying to remember the exact breathing pattern his therapist (again, jay) recommended for moments of emotional crisis (four counts in, six counts out, something like that)—which, by the way, he is strongly considering firing him now because none of his advice ever helps in the moment.
because yes. sunghoon does like you.
he likes you. he likes the way your laugh sounds just a little breathier when you’re trying to not show you think something is funny. he likes the way you talk like you’re choosing your words on purpose, but never too carefully. he likes that you didn’t freak out on him when he, multiple times, was the direct cause of your suffering. he likes the way you look at him like he’s not the complete wreck he is. he likes that you’re kind, but not in a soft, fragile way. kind like you’re aware and like you choose to be.
he likes you, and the only times he has ever interacted with you, he’s probably taken another two years off your lifespan.
sunghoon, by all known definitions, should never interact with you ever again.
“oh wow,” jay continues, laughing now, breathless, delighted, and the worst therapist-slash-best-friend in the world. “no, dude. you totally do. you have a crush on the girl you’re, like—” he holds his fingers up half an inch apart, “—this close to actually killing.”
sunghoon slams his palm on the table and immediately regrets it because it rattles and now people are looking, “shut up, jay.”
jay raises both his hands in surrender, but the smirk on his face says he’s not surrendering at all.
“no, like—think about it,” he presses, leaning in closer. “that’s probably why you keep messing up. you’re nervous around her. like, elementary playground crush behavior. you’re basically pulling her pigtails.”
sunghoon stares at him, horrified. “jay. let’s not compare this to elementary school kids please.”
jay shrugs, picking his fork back up and goes back to twirling his pasta like this is a regular tuesday and not a life-changing-revelation for sunghoon.
“whatever,” sunghoon continues, voice deflated, shoulders sinking, “it doesn’t matter anyway. it’s not like she feels the same way. especially after i—” he pauses and gestures vaguely to the lingering memory of disasters that has defined his existence lately. “all of that.”
he doesn’t specify which disaster. he doesn’t need to. jay knows. you know. the world knows. God definitely knows.
sunghoon rubs a hand over his face, voice growing quieter, smaller. “i should just stop. stop talking to her. stop trying. just…distance myself or something.”
that’s when jay’s fork freezes mid-air. he sets it down and looks at sunghoon like he just suggested he run off to the mountains and join a cult.
“okay. woah. relax, drama queen. absolutely not.”
sunghoon blinks. jay picks his fork back up and points it at him with the authority of something who has never once been correct but speaks confidently anyway.
“first of all, please never say the words distance myself ever again. you sound like an awful romance-novel-series-turned-movie-franchise.”
sunghoon glares weakly from across the table. “i’m being serious, jay. she probably hates me. or worse—” he has to swallow because the next words taste bitter, like something he never wanted to even consider but could be highly likely, “—she’s probably, like, i don’t know—into jake. or something.”
and jay actually physically recoils. his whole upper body leans backwards like someone just threw a raw fish at him and he has to grab the edge of the table to prevent himself from falling back.
he then furrows his brows at sunghoon, eyes squinting, “you’re joking, right?”
sunghoon doesn’t answer. because he is, surely, not joking.
jay looks over his shoulder to where you’re standing across the courtyard—still smiling, hair still catching sunlight, still wearing sunghoon’s hoodie—then looks back at sunghoon with the expression of someone witnessing unprecedented levels of stupidity.
“sunghoon,” he says carefully, slowly, “y/n looks like the kind of person who probably color codes her google calendar and knows the exact expiration date of every condiment in her fridge. and jake—” his thumb points vaguely behind him, “—jake once microwaved a fork because he thought it would make his food taste warmer. the entire reason why we don’t live with him.”
sunghoon just stares. jay nods to himself, like there’s no possible argument to this. “trust me. i don’t think y/n would want to choose that life.”
sunghoon opens his mouth to argue—because at least warmer meals by microwaved-metal sound better than an almost broken nose by football—but then his gaze flicks over jay’s shoulder.
“jay. stop. talking.”
and jay isn’t even talking anymore, but he shuts his mouth anyways. he goes still. sunghoon goes still. then, sunghoon’s eyes widen a fraction, the smallest warning signal.
because you’re coming over. you’re walking across the courtyard next to jake, food in hand, and waving over at the two boys, completely unaware of the quarter-life-crisis occurring only a few feet away.
sunghoon keeps his face still, but his posture changes slightly. he pulls his shoulders back, takes a deep breath, straightens out the water bottle sitting in front of him for absolutely no reason.
“hey,” jake calls out, slapping jay lightly on the back as he drops into the seat next to him, “mind if we join?”
you’re already sliding into the empty spot next to sunghoon, easy, natural, like it’s just what you do. like this is normal. like sitting beside him is just…your place.
“’course not,” sunghoon mutters, politely, evenly, eyes fixed on absolutely anything else that isn’t you. the water bottle, the condensation, the way the light hits the plastic. fascinating stuff, really.
you shift, just a little—knees angled toward him, shoulder brushing close enough that he can feel your warmth, not touching, but enough to notice the space between you.
“hey,” you say. it’s small, soft, casual. it’s nothing dramatic, but yet, sunghoon feels it like someone tugged a string from somewhere deep within his ribs.
he doesn’t look up, just nods.
“hey.” it’s neutral, nothing to analyze, nothing to misunderstand.
if you’re weren’t paying attention, you wouldn’t think anything of it. but here’s the thing, you are paying attention. so you offer him a faint smile, the kind that’s quiet, doesn’t demand anything, just acknowledgement.
and sunghoon sees it. his chest goes painfully warm. because he wants to look back. wants to return it. wants to ask how are you in a way that means i’ve been thinking about you and not just saying it to make small talk.
he wants to tell you he keeps replaying the sound of your laugh in his head and wants to say something stupid and honest and reckless like i hope the hoodie’s okay. actually, please just keep it. forever. i don’t want it back.
but instead, he focuses harder on anything and everything else around him. the way jake’s enthusiastically talking to jay about something with his hands. the wrinkled label on the water bottle. jay’s pasta, now stale and definitely cold. everything he doesn’t care about. because, right now, looking at the one thing he does care about feels too dangerous for himself.
and you notice. not in the dramatic why-are-you-avoiding-me kind of way, but in the micro-shift in your posture. the way your smile lingers for half a second longer than it should, like you were waiting for something. the way your fingers tap the edge of the table a few times. the way you let out a small exhale through your nose.
“—thinking just something small at our apartment,” jake’s voice finally cuts in, bright and loud. he’s gesturing big enough to knock jay over if he wanted to. “drinks, music—maybe ni-ki can dj if he doesn’t lose his shoe again.”
jay groans. “one, he is not dj-ing. last time was a one direction blender remix from hell. and two, ni-ki will never not lose his shoe.”
you laugh at that, the sound light, amused, genuine. and sunghoon swears his chest has never felt more tight.
jake continues, eyes wide and excited, “anyways—you guys are coming. this weekend. both of you. no excuses.”
sunghoon nods once, quick and automatic. “yeah. sure.”
your head tilts at that, just slightly—a tiny furrow in your brow, like you can sense something in the air is different.
and sunghoon tries his best to pretend he doesn’t notice. tries to pretend that the sudden distance between you isn’t something he’s actively building with his own hands. but it feels awful.
because he knows what he’s doing. doing the exact thing jay told him not to do—the easy thing. pulling back, shrinking, playing it safe. as if safety has ever saved him from anything.
he swallows hard. his jaw clenches. the collar of his shirt suddenly feels too hot, too tight. but the conversation keeps moving around him anyways—jake rambling about playlists, jay complaining about how he’s going to be forced to help clean afterwards—voices blended together into one long, meaningless sound.
meanwhile, sunghoon is somewhere else entirely. somewhere between panic and longing and the quiet awareness of his own undoing. he finally risks a glance, quick and careful, but just enough to look at you. and you’re already looking back at jake now, laughing gently, the kind that sunghoon could definitely get used to, but—
your fingers still tap against the table. your leg bounces next to his, as if in anticipation, as if aware.
and sunghoon’s chest aches in a way he can’t explain. not to himself. and definitely not to you.
the next time sunghoon sees you, he swears it’s not his fault.
at least, he’d like to think so. but statistically speaking—and sunghoon knows his statistics—it probably was his fault anyways.
the parking lot is nearly empty, close to sunset hour—that small time in between where the sky is barely turning colors and everything looks a little softer around the edges, the campus quieting down in the way it only is when all classes have ended for the week and everyone’s going home.
sunghoon’s already halfway through the lot, keys dangling from hand, backpack slung lazily over one shoulder. and he’s so close. dangerously, blissfully close to freedom. to going home, collapsing onto the couch, arguing with jay over takeout before inevitably eating cereal and playing league until his eyes dry out. so, yes, almost free.
almost able to pretend today didn’t happen. almost able to pretend he didn’t, once again, cause minor emotional and physical harm to the girl who has done nothing but exist and be moderately nice to him.
he unlocks his car, swings the back door open, tosses his backpack in with a soft thud. and then—he looks up.
and he sees you.
you’re a little ways across the lot—just far enough that sunghoon could pretend he didn’t notice you if he were a stronger man (he is not), but still close enough to see his hoodie’s sleeves pushed up to your elbows, a frown on your face as your phone is pressed to your ear, and the hood of your car propped open.
sunghoon watches as you pop your head back into your car and turn the key back into the ignition again and again and again—
to no avail. the car stays dead.
sunghoon hesitates. he internally debates. argues with himself for, like, three whole minutes.
he could leave. he could absolutely leave. you haven’t seen him yet. he could get in his car, drive away, go home, take a nice, warm shower even though it has weak water pressure, eat cereal over the sink, and pretend he never witnessed anything.
but instead, he stands there. like an idiot. staring across the parking lot with the look of someone who’s fighting with only himself.
don’t go. she definitely thinks you’re a curse.
go. she’s wearing your hoodie.
don’t go. what if you break the car somehow.
go. now. before she calls roadside assistance and meets a guy who’s better at life than you. or worse, jake.
don’t go. you’re supposed to be distancing. that’s the plan. that’s the safe thing. the smart thing, the—
you look up.
and when your eyes meet his, your expression softens, breaking into something comforting and relieved. like you’re glad to see him. you lift your hand and give a small wave.
and that’s it. that’s the end of sunghoon’s entire distancing plan.
he sighs.
fine. he is going.
he is a moth and you’re the closest open flame and he will simply have to deal with the consequences later.
his feet start to move before the rest of him agrees to it, shoulders stiff, posture trying very hard to look normal and calm and definitely not like he just had a full internal monologue breakdown. you give him a smile when he’s close enough—bright, easy, familiar, somehow—and sunghoon has to physically look away for a beat to reorient his mental wellbeing.
“car won’t start?” he says, even though he definitely already knows the answer.
you let out a breath, the sound coming out like a laugh as if the situation is somehow funny instead of deeply annoying. “yeah. i think the battery’s dead. or the universe hates me specifically. either one.”
sunghoon’s lips twitch because he’s sure if the universe hates anyone specifically, it’s him. “could be both.”
your smile widens as you look up at him, “definitely both.”
there’s a short pause that falls between you two for a second before you speak up again, “i tried calling the roadside people but it keeps going straight to voicemail, which feels pretty ironic.”
“i’m pretty sure roadside assistance is a scam anyways,” he says, shrugging as he tucks his hands deep into his pockets. “i think they just nap in trucks and hope people give up.”
you laugh at that, fully this time, and it’s even softer, warmer, like the joke wasn’t even that funny but you like the way he said it. and sunghoon is ridiculously glad his hands are in his pockets now, because his fingers twitch at the sound.
and park sunghoon is not a car guy. not even a little bit. he failed his driver’s license test twice. and not even the driving part—he failed the written part. both times. he still has to google which side his gas tank is on. and he’s pretty sure his car is two years due for an oil change.
so what he does next is absolutely logical, because sunghoon is not touching your car with a ten foot pole. what he does is what any rational, non-car expert, guy with a raging crush and a fully functioning car would do in this situation:
“do you…want a ride home?” he offers, though it comes out more like a question to himself.
your lips part just slightly. surprise flickers across your face—and then something else. something unreadable. something that feels like a soft yes. “really? you don’t mind?”
sunghoon nods—casual, casual, very casual—despite the fact that his heart is jumping around in his ribcage at the thought of you sitting in his passenger seat.
“i mean…” he clears his throat, eyes down to the ground just to avoid yours. “we literally live down the hall from one other. i wouldn’t exactly be able to sleep peacefully knowing you got stranded in a parking lot.”
your smile widens a bit more, real and grateful, as you fidget with the ends of the hoodie now. “okay,” you say. “yeah. i’d really appreciate that.”
and that’s how sunghoon finds himself walking you to his car—unlocking the passenger door for you like he was raised by parents who taught him manners (he was) and how to fall in love too fast (he does).
he gets in on his side, starts the car, and the radio is too loud, so he turns it down. then it’s too quiet, so he turns it up again. then regrets everything.
but he starts driving anyways, silence falling in between the two of you. he grips the steering wheel like it’s the only thing keeping him alive, and he clears his throat just to have something to do.
the engine hums, the sky slowly going from pink to orange around you two, but the one and only thing sunghoon can perceive is your presence in his hoodie in his car.
you look out the window, watching the campus buildings pass. “i always forget how pretty it gets around this time,” you murmur, suddenly breaking him out of his own thoughts.
sunghoon glances at you before focusing on the road again. “yeah,” he says, a little small. “it kind of sneaks up on you.”
you smile, not looking away from the window. and then suddenly, “you strike me as a sunset person.”
sunghoon stills and blinks, keeping his eyes trained on the road. “a what?”
“like…you seem like someone who appreciates that kind of stuff,” you explain, glancing slightly at him. “sunsets. late-night convenience store runs. peeling fruit the slow way. that kind of person.”
sunghoon opens his mouth. then closes it, because he does not know what to do with that sentence.
“i..i guess?” he tries, trying very hard not to panic at the idea of someone, namely you, having thoughts about him. “well, you seem like a…sunrise person.”
you turn to look at him fully now, and you laugh under your breath, “i’m definitely not a morning person.”
“no. not morning,” he says, shaking his head a little. he turns right at a stop sign, his hand loose on the wheel now, almost relaxed. almost. “just…the feeling of starting fresh.”
you don’t say anything right away. you just look at him, eyes trained to the side of his face, as if you’re trying to figure something out.
and sunghoon nearly drives into a parked prius, but he hopes you don’t notice that.
you look back out your window, but your smile stays, “that was weirdly poetic of you, park sunghoon.”
sunghoon swallows hard, but his grip loosens some more. the quiet settles again after that, but now it’s different. lighter, easier. you start talking about the small things, nothing earth-shattering, but something comfortable. something about the terrible on-campus breakfast, the vending machine that stole your dollar this morning, how jake broke your coffee machine after two uses. but the whole time—sunghoon can’t help but think.
think how maybe in another universe, this is normal.
maybe in another universe, you’re always in his passenger seat at the end of the day. maybe he drives you home not out of chance, but because it’s routine. because you’re just in each other’s lives. because this is what you do. because he knows what songs you like to play when you’re tired and which stores you stop at on the way home and how you hum when you think about what you want to eat for dinner.
maybe in another universe, he didn’t meet you by accidentally hitting you in the face with a football. maybe in that universe, he’s…normal. not whatever this is—this mess of nerves and second guesses and catastrophes that only ever seem to happen to him whenever he’s with you.
maybe in that universe, he meets you at one of jake’s parties he throws too often. maybe you’re laughing at something someone said, holding a red cup and leaning against the counter, and sunghoon sees you from across the room the way people see things they were always meant to find.
maybe he walks over—all steady and confident—and says something easy, something light, something that makes your smile bloom slowly and softly at him. not out of politeness, not out of pity because he threw up all over you. just because you want to.
maybe in that universe, he gets the girl. but this is not that universe.
and when the car rolls to a stop outside the building, sunghoon still finds himself walking you to your door.
because of course he does. because he wants to. because he doesn’t know how not to.
you stop in front of your apartment, keys already halfway in the door, and turn to him, meeting his eyes fully.
“thank you,” you say, and the look in your eyes is soft. honest. and something else, something sunghoon can’t quite place and, frankly, is afraid to. “for the ride—” and then you look down, fingers toying with the drawstring of the hoodie, like it means something you don’t have words for just yet, “—and the hoodie.”
and as sunghoon looks at you in the quiet of the hallway—just you, him, the flicker of the dying lightbulb a few doors down, and the pure warmth he feels around you—he thinks there’s a version of this moment where he says it all.
where he doesn’t swallow everything down, doesn’t mistake silence for safety. where he tells you he hasn’t stopped thinking about you since the first time you laughed in his direction, that the sound of it still sits in his chest. where he admits that every stupid mistake, every clumsy accident, somehow only pulled him closer.
but instead, this version has him standing still, heart in his throat, pretending that wanting you quietly is the same as not wanting you at all.
so he just nods.
“yeah. of course.”
you smile one more time, soft and unsure, lingering just a beat too long—like you’re waiting for him to say something else, or maybe trying to find the courage to say something yourself.
but then you turn, hand halfway reaching to the door handle, and pause. your fingers hover mid-air. the hallway hums with nothing but silence and the heaviness of everything left unsaid between you two.
sunghoon straightens instinctively, caught off guard by the stillness that follows.
you turn back to him. “can i—” your voice comes quieter this time, hesitant in a new way he hasn’t heard before. “—can i ask you something?”
sunghoon blinks, his throat suddenly dry. “uh…yeah. of course. what’s up?”
“we’re cool, right?” you ask, eyes wide and searching his face. “like…we’re friends?”
and the words hit harder than they should. sunghoon does not know how to answer that. because how exactly does he even define what this is? a one-sided crush? forced proximity? neighbors-turned-accidental-victim-and-perpetrator-turned-friends?
“um—yeah,” he finally says, hand rubbing the back of his neck. “i’d say so.”
you study him for a long second, lips parting like you’re testing to see whether he’s lying. “okay. i just…didn’t know if i did something wrong. you seemed a little off earlier, at lunch.” and your laugh that follows is small, nervous, the kind people use to soften a truth. “and i overthink sometimes, so…yeah.”
sunghoon’s heart twists sharply at that. you, overthinking. you, worrying if you’d done something wrong when he’s the one building the wall between you.
“no,” he blurts before he can stop himself. it comes out too fast, too honest, but he keeps going anyways. “no, you didn’t do anything.” he clears his throat, a bubble of nerves rising too fast. “i just…wasn’t feeling great. long day, you know? classes and…exploding chemicals and stuff,” he exhales, the corner of his mouth twitching.
your shoulders relax, the worry written all over your face fading into something gentler and amused. “okay,” you say with a nod, your smile returning. “just wanted to make sure. friends, then?”
the word stings again, but sunghoon forces a smile anyways. “friends.”
you grin—wide and bright—and it makes something in his chest go weightless and heavy all at once. because, sunghoon realizes, not for the first time, this is what he likes about you, maybe. that you’re not all sharp edges and confidence like he thought. you’re also warmth and thoughtfulness and awkward timing, the kind of person who checks in even when you don’t have to. just because you want to, and just because you mean it.
“i’ll see you tomorrow then?” you say, hand going back to unlock your door. “at the party?”
sunghoon nods. “wouldn’t wanna miss it.”
you look back and smile at him one more time before slipping inside, the door closing gently behind you. sunghoon stands there for a moment, clinging to the warmth of your presence still in the air, lungs tight, and heart somewhere between the pavement of the parking lot and the memory of seeing you for the first time that day in the courtyard.
and he thinks—not for the first time, and definitely not for the last—
in this universe? he is truly, utterly, deeply doomed.
“so you’re really not coming?”
jay’s already standing by the door, shoes on, dressed in what he considers casual party attire, which means a wrinkled overshirt that might be clean, with a white shirt under that definitely isn’t, and jeans he absolutely pulled off the back of his desk chair. his keys jingle in his hand as he leans against the door frame, waiting for sunghoon to fold.
“yes, jay. i’m staying.” sunghoon doesn’t even look up from the couch, eyes trained on the random documentary that he found on the nature channel playing in front of him. “and frankly, you can’t make me go.”
jay lets out a huff. “jake could. and he will. we literally live ten feet away, he’ll drag you by your ankles if he has to.”
“then tell him i’m sick,” sunghoon mutters back, slouching deeper into the couch like he’s trying to merge with it. “like the flu or something.”
jay’s laugh that comes after is a loud, disbelieving, ha.
“that’s so bull. you only ever get sick for two reasons,” he holds up two fingers. “one, when you drink too much, and two, when you get that suspicious ass chinese takeout i keep telling you to stop ordering.”
sunghoon finally looks up from the tv to glare at him. for a second, it looks like he might get up—stand his ground, be a grown man, assert dominance or whatever the sunghoon equivalent is to that.
he doesn’t.
he just grabs the nearest couch pillow and launches it in jay’s direction with zero aim, zero strategy, and zero strength.
jay looks at the pillow. then at sunghoon. “wow,” he says flatly before tossing it back onto the far end of the couch.
“okay, fine,” jay continues, a mix of amusement and pity in his tone, “but you’re really gonna sit here on a saturday night—” he cranes his neck toward the tv, brows furrowing, “—watching a documentary about…dinosaur extinction?”
“dinosaurs are cool,” sunghoon says, eyes narrowing in defense. “plus, i’m tired.”
“no,” jay crosses his arms. “you’re lying.”
sunghoon then lets out a sigh through his nose, because—yeah, he is. but he doesn’t let jay know that. because what he wants to say is that he’s exhausted, but not in the way that sleep can fix. the kind of exhaustion that comes from thinking too much and saying too little. from the drive home yesterday that replayed in his head so vividly he’s starting to remember it like a movie he’ll never get to rewatch. from the realization that every time you smile, something inside him shifts a little, softly, painfully, and permanently.
and that terrifies him. because sunghoon has never been that guy. not the one who gets the girl, not the one who says the right thing at the right time. he’s the background character—the one who holds the door, smiles too late, apologizes too much.
so no, he can’t go to that party. he can’t stand in a crowded room watching you light up the way you do—laughing at something someone else will say, someone else’s story, someone else’s joke, someone who isn’t actively avoiding you for your own good—reminding him of all the ways he can’t have you.
jay stares for a beat longer, studying him like he’s about to bring up the topic sunghoon’s been avoiding all day and night—but he doesn’t. he just exhales, slow and knowing, and reaches for the door. “fine. i’ll tell jake you caught the plague or something.”
and after jay leaves, sunghoon’s not sure how much time passes. the apartment settles into that kind of quiet that lets you hear the hum of the fridge, the faint tick of the clock in the hallway that jay insists adds ambience, the low static of the tv playing in front of him.
sunghoon is still on the couch, now half under a blanket he stole from jay’s room, his eyes fixed on the screen, where a cgi triceratops is doing something probably scientifically inaccurate. but it doesn’t matter anyways because he hasn’t been paying attention for the past forty minutes. because his mind is somewhere else. it’s been somewhere else since you shut your door one night ago, wearing his hoodie and smiling at him like he hadn’t spent the whole day overthinking about you.
and he tells himself—again, again, and again—that this distance thing is good. smart. necessary. that the safest point between your two paths is the one where he never hurts you again. where he removes himself before he ruins something that could’ve been easy, simple, normal.
and sunghoon almost believes it, too.
until his phone buzzes.
it buzzes once, and it’s quick and sharp, yet cuts through his silence. he glances at the coffee table and stares at it. he almost doesn’t want to pick it up, as if he knows who it is and is avoiding the inevitable.
but he reaches for it anyway.
Y/N (11:15PM) :
hii sunghoon
and his heart drops. he stares at the screen. doesn’t type. doesn’t move. his thumb hovers just above the message box just as his phone buzzes again in his hand:
Y/N (11:16PM) :
jay told me you weren’t feeling well :( i hope everything’s ok
sunghoon inhales sharply through his nose. his jaw tightens. because, no, nothing’s okay with sunghoon. not really. not the kind of ‘not okay’ that he could exactly explain to you, though. it’s not a headache or a fever or whatever lie jay came up with. somewhere more like the ache of wanting something he’s convinced he shouldn’t. something that looks a lot like you.
his brain starts the war almost instantly.
don’t answer. you’re supposed to be distancing, remember? this is the plan.
don’t be an asshole. just say thanks. be normal for once in your life.
sunghoon groans quietly, head hitting back against the couch as he presses the heel of his hand to his forehead.
then your third text lights up the screen.
Y/N (11:18PM) :
do you want me to bring anything?
and sunghoon’s brain short circuits completely.
yes. you. here. now.
you standing in his doorway, wearing his hoodie again like it’s the most natural, normal thing in the world. you filling the apartment with that quiet warmth you seem to carry everywhere. you sitting beside him on this stupid couch watching stupid documentaries with him until stupid hours of the night.
but because he can’t exactly put that feeling into logical words, he instead stares at his screen for a little too long, fighting with the part of him that’s screaming to stop pretending he doesn’t care.
he stares long enough at your words that the screen dims, and he has to tap it once just to see your name again.
his thumb twitches—hovering, shaking—because a part of him wants to break the rules he set for himself. wants to answer you. wants to let himself want you.
but he doesn’t.
he shuts his phone off, flips it back down on the table, and pushes it away like it’s the devil himself. his throat burns, his chest hurts. he leans back into the couch, closing his eyes, and exhales—slow, heavy, resigned.
because if he answers, he’ll just want more again. and wanting has never ended well for sunghoon. so he tells himself you’re just being kind, that this is what you do because this is who you are. you care, you reach out, you text first. you say things like hope you’re okay and ask if he needs anything because you ask everyone that. because you’re a friend.
sunghoon sinks deeper into the couch, trying his best to breathe through the tightness that refuses to leave. the clock ticks, the documentary plays, the phone stays face down.
and just when sunghoon finally feels himself settle—
the front door slams open.
“—OKAY. first of all, you’re coming to this party. and second of all, you’re so stupid.”
jake storms in at full volume, the door slamming shut behind him with the force of someone who has no respect for privacy and apparently door hinges. he’s flushed—cheeks pink, eyes bright, hair a mess, which means he definitely pregamed his own party.
sunghoon jolts upright so fast he nearly falls off the couch. “jesus christ—”
but jake is already toeing off his shoes like he lives here, marching across the living room like a man on a mission, and unfortunately for sunghoon, that mission is him.
“dude,” jake says, pointing at him like an accusation, “what the hell is wrong with you?”
sunghoon groans, dragging a hand down his face. this is jay’s fault. this is all jay’s fault. it’s always jay’s fault. jay never locks the door and this is the consequence for sunghoon not checking. this is karma. this is the plague he supposedly caught. he’s never lying again.
“so tell me why jay said you’re sick,” jake even air quotes it. “‘sick.’”
a beat.
“which is a lie, by the way.”
sunghoon glares weakly. “why does everyone just casually know the conditions under which i get sick?”
“because,” jake raises a finger, counting, “one, you only get sick when you drink too much—”
sunghoon mutters, “oh my god—”
“and two—” jake continues, louder, a second finger in sunghoon’s face, “—when you get chinese food from that cursed corner place i keep telling you not to order from. so unless you did either of those tonight, which you didn’t—because they only take venmo and i checked your venmo transactions—”
“why the fuck are you checking my venmo transacti—”
“—you’re not sick.” jake finishes triumphantly.
“you, jay, and i need to have a conversation about boundaries,” sunghoon deadpans at the boy in front of him.
“don’t deflect,” jake snaps at him. “you’re avoiding the question.”
sunghoon slumps back into the couch cushions, silently praying for death. or a sinkhole. or spontaneous combustion. he’s not picky, really.
“i’ll just go to the next one, okay?” he mutters from his spot. “it’s no big deal.”
and jake gives him a look that says he’s offended. like, genuinely offended.
“it is a big deal,” jake squints, marching a few steps closer. “you’re not skipping this just to avoid y/n. what are you, twelve?”
sunghoon instantly shoots upright again, a look betrayal on his face, “i—what, who said anything about—”
“jay.”
sunghoon shuts his eyes. exhales. counts to three.
jay is fired. jay is beyond fired. he is never telling jay anything ever again.
“and also, i just know you,” jake continues, pacing the living room like this is an intervention sunghoon is now apparently a part of. “you can’t keep doing this. moping around, feeling sorry for yourself just because you made a few minor accidents.”
“a few major—”
“—yes, sunghoon. a few minor ones,” jake says, waving a casual hand through the air. “just go to the party, talk to her, apologize. kiss and make up—actually, don’t do that one unless the vibe is right—but you get my point. just don’t sit here doing this sad boy act and torturing yourself.”
sunghoon narrows his eyes at him, because he forgets—he always forgets—how stupidly well jake knows him.
jake, who once sat with sunghoon on the curb after a failed calculus final and talked him out of dropping out entirely by buying him a churro and saying, ‘your brain just had a lag.’
jake, who memorized sunghoon’s stress tells by sophomore year of highschool—right thumb tapping: anxious; left thumb tapping: spiraling.
jake, who once dragged him out of bed at 2AM because he ‘felt in his soul’ that sunghoon needed fresh air and a convenience store slushie.
jake, who has known every single crush sunghoon’s ever had—most of whom sunghoon barely even realized were crushes until jake said something.
so yeah. of course jake sees right through him.
sunghoon looks away, jaw tight. eventually, he lets out a sigh, “jake, it’s not that simple.”
“sure it is,” jake stops, hands on his hips. “you just make it complicated.”
sunghoon looks up then, and his expression isn’t defensive. just resigned—the kind that comes from trying too hard to convince yourself you don’t care that there’s no way you could go back now.
“i’m not going,” he says finally. “end of story.”
and for a moment, jake looks like he might argue again, brows drawn together, mouth opening. but then he stops. his mouth shuts and something soft flashes in his eyes. he lets out an exhale.
“fine,” he turns to the door, already putting his shoes on. “stay here. be mysterious and tortured or whatever.”
sunghoon doesn’t reply. he just watches the glow of the tv flicker across the living room—tiny prehistoric creatures moving across the screen, narrator droning on.
and right as jake is about to leave, he pauses. “oh, by the way—” he adds casually. “she was asking about you.”
sunghoon freezes. his heart does something absolutely violent and traitorous inside his chest.
jake then glances over his shoulder, “she was looking for you, actually,”
and that’s it. that’s the crack in sunghoon’s entire resolve.
because logic means nothing when it comes to you. because distance means absolutely nothing when you’re still thinking about him. and restraint? restraint dies instantly because he can already see it—you, at that party, somewhere in the crowd, wearing something that’s definitely going to make sunghoon stop breathing, holding a drink and smiling at someone who could be him, but isn’t.
jake opens the door. “see you there, yeah?”
sunghoon didn’t really know what the plan was. not really, anyways.
but here he is.
the music’s too loud, the lighting’s too low, tinted red in that way that makes everyone look vaguely better but slightly untrustworthy, and everything smells faintly of fruit punch, cheap beer, and body spray. there’s a sticky patch on the floor that catches the sole of his shoe everytime he shifts his weight, and someone spilled an entire drink near the door but everyone’s pretending they don’t see it.
and now sunghoon’s standing in the corner, yet again, red solo cup in hand, the deja vu washing over from last time. he’s already warm—cheeks flushed from the multiple shots jake forced into his hand the moment he arrived, calling them ‘celebration shots’ for finally showing up. jake took three. jay took one, immediately regretted it, but took a second one anyways. sunghoon took two and was rudely reminded him and alcohol don’t like one another.
now he’s approximately three minutes into a conversation with a classmate whose name he absolutely does not remember but is pretending he does because lying feels easier than admitting he forgot. the poor guy is saying something about his econ midterm, but the words wash over sunghoon like static. because even while nodding politely, even through the chaos of the environment, sunghoon’s eyes find you.
of course they do.
you’re across the room by the couch, cup in hand, laughing at something someone just said. your head tilts back a little, your mouth curves in that way that knocks the air straight out of his lungs. it’s the kind of laugh that makes strangers look your way without knowing why. the kind of laugh that gets stuck in his head for days after.
and, of course, you look good.
unfairly good.
your hair soft under the shifting lights, your cheeks glowing, your sweater hanging just right on your frame. there’s something about you—always something—that makes you look like a secret sunghoon wants to keep, a discovery he wants no one else to find, something he wants to learn slowly, quietly, intimately.
he swallows hard. looks away. then looks back again, because he can’t not.
and then, almost as if you can feel that he’s staring—you glance up. your eyes scan the room lazily, drifting over faces and shoulders and the mess of people. until they land on him.
your expression softens. surprised, but warm. a small, easy smile curves onto your lips—one that says oh, you came, and something else he’s too scared to interpret.
and sunghoon, because he’s sunghoon, and a complete, absolute idiot—panics.
he panics and turns away. pretends to be very interested in the contents of his red solo cup that he knows isn’t even close to edible. nods along to whatever econ-related nonsense the guy in front of him is saying like it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever heard.
and he doesn’t see it—but you frown slightly. doesn’t see the way your smile falters, something uncertain flickering across your face. doesn’t see the slight confusion in your eyes before you turn back to your group.
and that’s how it starts. the night spins on just like that—full of almosts and not quites and hesitation.
you find him in the kitchen a little bit later. he’s pouring something that looks just as inedible as before into his cup, and you smile when he notices you.
“hey—i’m glad you made it, you feeling better?”
but sunghoon startles like you’ve caught him doing something wrong. he steps back too quickly, nearly bumping the counter, muttering something along the lines of ‘yeah—i’m okay, fine—’ before he excuses himself to find jay.
later, you end next to him in the circle when jake—who’s already too many shots in—suggests a game of truth or dare. you sit, knee brushing sunghoon’s for a second, before he abruptly stands up, mumbling about needing more ice in his cup before disappearing into the crowd.
and then it keeps happening. you’re mid-conversation with jay and jake, laughing at something ridiculous they just said, when your eyes move across the room, as if your body can’t help but instinctively search for him. when you finally find him again—leaning against the wall across the room, phone in hand, eyes meeting his for a brief second—his gaze darts immediately back down to his phone as if nothing just happened.
you start to notice it—the way he never stays in the same place as you for long, the way he keeps his shoulders angled away from you, the way his smile turns tight and fades when you step too close. the way his eyes flash with something heavy and unspoken before he drags them away from you as if touching you would be dangerous.
you try to tell yourself you’re imagining it, that maybe he’s tired, that it’s the alcohol or the lighting or ni-ki’s loud karaoke or anything else.
your chest feels tight. the air feels heavier than it should. jay is rambling about unplugging the karaoke machine before ni-ki loses his voice, jake is doubled over laughing, red cup in hand that you should definitely take away from him, but none of it feels right anymore.
and it’s ridiculous, really. because you shouldn’t care this much. because, technically, sunghoon is no one to you. just a boy you met recently. a boy who happened to be decent-looking—very, very, decent-looking. who happened to be clumsy in a way that drew you in instead of away. who happened to be your neighbor. your roommate’s best friend. a guy with pretty hands and a nervous laugh and a tendency to panic whenever you tried to flirt with him on purpose.
and, honestly—at first it was fun.
because you’re not oblivious. you’re not dense. you noticed the way he got nervous around you. you saw the way his eyes widened the first time you ever said his full name, the way his breath caught when you leaned in, the way his hands shook the tiniest bit when you wore his hoodie.
and god, you liked it. you liked getting a reaction out of him. liked watching the way he came undone so easily around you.
but now? now that same boy won’t even look at you?
it feels worse than it should. worse than you want it to. worse than anything he’s done so far—and that includes accidentally assaulting you three times.
you tell yourself it’s fine. that it doesn’t matter. that you’re overthinking again, like you always do.
you laugh at something jake says. you clink your cup against jay’s and take another sip just to have something to do ith your hands. you smile, chat, pretend nothing’s wrong.
but then, from the corner of your eye, you see it.
the way sunghoon’s head turns when you laugh, just barely. the way his gaze flickers toward you for a second too long. the way his jaw tightens before he looks away again like he saw something he shouldn’t have.
and that’s when something inside you snaps. the ache shifts sharply, into something close to frustration, confusion and something hot behind your ribs that makes your drink taste too bitter and makes the room feel too loud.
you set your drink down on the table next to you, too hard. it spills over the rim. you don’t even care.
because what is this? what is he doing? and why does it sting so much?
jay says something to you—something that makes jake laugh again a little too loudly, but you barely hum in response, eyes already scanning the room again.
you find him again, now closer to the back hallway, talking to someone you don’t recognize. he looks uncomfortable, like he almost always does, but there’s something else tonight. something distant.
and you’re done trying to figure it out.
you held back, you didn’t push. you swallowed your pride enough to ask him point-blank if you were even friends. you tried to read him, tried to be patient, tried to be understanding.
and now he’s avoiding you? after he’s the one who kept messing up? after he offered you his hoodie? after he drove you home? after everything?
you feel heat bubble in your throat, not from embarrassment, but something closer to hurt. something that feels too close to rejection from someone you barely even know.
you’re done. you’re done wondering. done overthinking. done waiting for him to make the first move.
so before you can talk yourself out of it, your feet are already moving. through the crowd, past the couch, past jay’s raised eyebrows, jake’s knowing smirk, and ni-ki’s off-key singing.
and when you finally get to him, he barely has a second to react before your hand catches his wrist and you’re pulling him into the dim hallway of the apartment that leads to where the bedrooms are.
it’s quieter here, the thumping bass of the music fading into a distant pulse behind him, like a heartbeat finally slowing down—unlike his own. the air is cooler, laced with the faint scent of spilled beer you’re going to lose your mind over in the morning and whatever cheap air freshener jake sprayed earlier—but it’s still a relief from the chaotic swirl of bodies and flashing lights in the living room.
sunghoon stumbles a little as you tug him along, finally stopping with a soft thump when his back hits the wall. he’s trapped—stuck against the peeling wallpaper and your hand still wrapped tightly around his wrist. his eyes widen, the look on his face equal parts confusion, surprise, and something else, something that makes your stomach flip.
“so are you going to tell me why you’re ignoring me?” your voice comes out sharper than you intended, raw with the sting of it all—the silence, the distance, the hurt flashing in your eyes as you watch him falter.
sunghoon’s mouth opens, then closes, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard. his cheeks are flushed pink under the dim lighting, and you can’t tell if it’s from the shots he knocked back earlier with jay and jake or from the way you’re standing so close.
“i—i’m…” he’s stammering, his voice low, almost like a whisper stuck in throat, like he’s afraid the words will shatter everything between you. “i don’t—”
“because first of all,” you step closer, “you tell me we’re fine, we’re friends, we’re cool, that i didn’t do anything wrong—”
his eyes flicker in panic. breath stutters, chest rising too fast.
“—and then you ignore my texts. completely avoid me. won’t even look at me. in my own apartment.” you exhale sharply. “i’m confused, sunghoon.”
and for a moment, neither of you move. the music muffled now, just an echo behind you, and the hallway feels too quiet. too intimate, too charged, like the world narrowed down to just the two of you. you loosen your grip on his wrist, but you don’t drop it. and he doesn’t pull away. he just looks at you like he’s bracing for impact. then, he swallows hard, “i—it’s not like i want to—”
“...okay,” you cut in but your voice is softer, steadier, “then what is it?”
you watch as sunghoon takes a breath as if to ground himself before he starts, “it’s just—i…” and suddenly his words tumble, trip, collapse over themself. “i don’t know. i just keep messing up. everytime. like the football, the shoes, the lab, probably somehow your car breaking down had something to do with me, literally everything—”
“sunghoon—”
“—and it’s like my body just glitches around you or something,” he blurts, running a hand through his hair. “i get nervous, then do something stupid, then you get hurt, and then i feel like an idiot—” his voice cracks and he has to take a breather before continuing again, “and i don’t know how to get myself to stop screwing up around you. i don’t know how to just be normal. not with you.”
his eyes drop. shoulders tense. he looks like he hates himself for saying any of that out loud.
you don’t say anything. you just look at him, studying the way his cheeks glow that soft pink, the slight part of his lips as he breathes unevenly, the way he looks at you with that raw, boyish vulnerability and nerves.
and then your anger melts into something else. something warmer, deeper, something that understands. something that makes the frustration soften and something that tugs at your chest.
you step closer, close enough to feel the heat rolling off of him, close enough that he sucks in a breath like you just touched him even though you didn’t. a small smile makes its way to your face as you tilt your head to meet his eyes fully. your eyes flicker down his face—along the cut of his jaw, the curve of his mouth, the way he swallows hard under your gaze.
“okay then…just stop messing up,” you whisper, lips quirking just the tiniest bit. your tone is lighter now, teasing, like it’s the simplest solution in the world.
sunghoon blinks at you. once, then twice. because you say that as if it’s easy. as if your simple existence being just mere inches away doesn’t set every nerve inside his being on fire. as if his heart isn’t pounding so loud and wild that he’s convinced you can hear it, drowning out the rest of the party around you. as if you’re not looking at him with your glossy eyes and lips, so close to his own, that he doesn’t know if he should kiss you or melt into the ground.
but none of that matters.
because you decide for him.
because the silence is too thick, too charged, and you can’t take it anymore. so before you can even think to stop yourself—
you lean in and close the distance, your lips brushing his in a hesitant, soft way that sends a jolt through you both. and it’s cautious at first, like testing the waters, and sunghoon genuinely believes he’s in a fever dream for a second. but then his hands suddenly find your waist and pull you in closer, and it shifts into so much more.
his lips move against yours with a newfound urgency, one hand sliding up to cup your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek. his back hits the wall again with the sudden motion, but he doesn’t care. in fact, in this moment, nothing else matters to sunghoon right now.
because you’re deepening the kiss, tasting the faint bitterness of beer on him, mixed with something sweeter, something unmistakably sunghoon, something that pulls you into a quicker, messier rhythm. a low groan escapes his throat, vibrating against your mouth, and it only fuels you further. you break apart for a breath, but only for a second before your lips crash into his again, your hands fisting in his hoodie as you push him harder against the wall. his fingers dig into your hips, pulling you flush against him until the heat between you becomes nearly unbearable.
“come on,” you murmur against his lips, your voice breathless as you grab his wrist again, but this time you tug him toward the first door in the hallway—your room—and push it open with your free hand.
the door clicks shut behind sunghoon, and he barely has a moment to take in the surroundings—dimly lit by the small lamp on the nightstand beside your bed, a string of lights laced along the headboard, a stack of annotated books piled on your desk, and a row of succulents perched on the windowsill. it’s all so warm, so utterly you.
that’s all he manages to register within the first 0.5 seconds of entering your room. because you don’t hesitate. your lips crash into his again, more fervent now, hungry, backing him hard against the door until the frame digs into his back but he doesn’t even care.
sunghoon kisses you like he’s terrified it’ll end if he stops—too much tongue at first, then not enough, teeth clashing in the mix because he tilts wrong, nose bumping yours, a startled little huff escaping him when you nip his bottom lip and he doesn’t know whether to pull back or chase harder. his hands are everywhere and nowhere—gripping your waist tight, then loosening like he’s scared he’ll bruise you, then wandering up your back and fisting your sweater like it’s the only thing keeping him on earth.
it’s sloppy, breathless, desperate in a way only a kiss can be when the person has waited twenty two years and repressed every memory that came before it. his rhythm falters with every push and pull, chasing your mouth when you pull for air, making these soft, involuntary sounds—half-whimper, half-groan—that he’ll probably overthink about later.
“park sunghoon,” you whisper against his swollen lips, pulling back just enough that he instinctively follows, chasing, eyes still closed, and completely, utterly, wrecked. your hands knot in his hoodie, “am i your first kiss?”
sunghoon’s eyes flutter open, hazy and dark with pure want as he looks down at you. “yeah—well, n—” the rest dies when your drag your teeth over his lower lip, slow and deliberate. a broken, needy sound tears out of him and his hips jerk forward involuntarily, “—no. yes? i think.”
“you think?” your hands slide into his hair, nails scraping lightly, and tug just enough to tip his head back. the soft thud of his back hitting the door again doesn’t even register—his arms only tighten around you, fingers everywhere like he’s trying to memorize your exact shape through fabric. “tell me.”
“technically—” he starts, voice cracking. “there was this girl in tenth grade—”
you cut him off again with your tongue this time, licking into his mouth slow and filthy, and whatever story he had dies against your lips. he makes another helpless noise, raw and surprised, and tries to copy the motion. his nose bumps yours again, his grip on your hips stutter, and every time he thinks he found the rhythm, you change it, and he whimpers like it hurts. it’s all messy, desperate, and perfect.
one of his hands slides down—hesitant, then sudden—and cups the back of your thigh. he lifts it experimentally, and when you immediately hook your leg around his waist he groans like he’s been punched. you smirk against him, giving him credit for the confidence you didn’t think he had in him as he pulls you flush against his body.
“—spin the bottle,” he manages to gasp out when you trail your mouth along his jaw now, nipping at the skin here and there. he tilts his head back, offering more as his eyes flutter closed again, a soft moan on his lips. “i bit her lip and she bled—”
you giggle softly against his jaw, teeth grazing the sharp line of it, and he shudders so violently his knees almost buckle. his voice is strained now, another small gasp cracking from his throat when you roll your hips once, the friction going straight to his core. “—and my therapist told me to repress traumatic memories so i don’t count it.”
you freeze and pull back slightly, lifting an eyebrow as amusement flickers in your eyes despite the heat pooling in your core. “your therapist?”
sunghoon’s eyes are half-lidded, pupils blown wide, mouth swollen and red and still chasing yours. “uh. yeah. jay. jay is my therapist.”
your lips twitch, a small laugh bubbling out before you can catch it. god.
“fuck. you’re so cute,” you murmur, and the sound of your laugh seems to snap the last thread of any and all restraint sunghoon had left. you crash your mouth back into his the same second he surges forwards, kissing you like he’s drowning and you’re his oxygen, like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded at this point. you’re already moving, tugging the front of his hoodie, walking backward, pulling him with you step by stumbling step across the room.
he follows without question, hands roaming everywhere all at once—up your back, into your hair, down to your ass like he can’t decide what he wants to hold onto most. his mouth never leaves yours, swallowing every soft noise you make, and every time you nip his lip he makes that same desperate little sound and tries to kiss your harder, deeper, messier.
your legs hit the edge of the bed first, and you tumble backwards with a small thud. sunghoon stays standing at the foot of the bed, chest heaving, lips parted and shiny, hair a mess. his eyes rake over you—lips swollen, hair fanned across your pillow, that infuriating, knowing smirk still clinging to your mouth like you already know exactly what you look like sprawled out waiting for him.
and god, sunghoon thought he knew what living felt like. he thought he was pretty damn accomplished already—decent grades, a color-coded closet, the occasional victory when he plays league with the guys. but this? sunghoon just stares, like this sight of you like this is a religious experience he’s not worthy of.
he’s never felt more alive.
you prop yourself up on your elbows, tilt your head, and your smirk widens.
“gonna keep me waiting, park sunghoon?”
you tease, an eyebrow arched as sunghoon shakes his head frantically in an almost comical, desperate no. he scrambles forward like a man possessed, knees sinking into the mattress before his weight is on you just right, one thigh easily slotting between yours as he leans down to capture your lips again. his hands shove under your sweater, palms hot and trembling against your ribs, thumbs brushing the underside of your bra like he’s afraid to go higher but dying to.
your hands roam up his back under his shirt, light enough to raise goosebumps, but hard enough to make him arch and grind down with a muffled, broken moan that vibrates straight into your mouth. his mouth trails everywhere, hot and open against your neck, tasting the cool metal of that stupidly delicate necklace, teeth nipping in that perfect, impossible way that hitches your breath and makes you wonder how the hell this could be his first time doing this.
his thigh presses firmer, rough denim rough against your bare skin where your skirt has slightly ridden up, and you can’t help it—you roll up into him, shameless, chasing the pressure, hips circling slow and needy—not sure what you’re after, just something, anything, to relieve the rising ache.
and that makes sunghoon freeze. just for a split second—his mouth hovering over your collarbone, breath ragged and uneven against your skin. you feel it right away, the faint tremor in his hands where they’re gripping your hips, the way his body tenses against yours. he pulls back slightly, just enough to meet your eyes—his own wide, pupils blown but laced with something else—uncertainty and pure, raw, nerves that make your heart twist.
“wait,” he breathes, voice low and rough. his forehead drops to yours, nose brushing, lips so close you can feel the ghost of them against yours, “i…i don’t know what i’m doing.”
and it’s the way the confession spills out. the way it sounds so vulnerable, jagged edges and all. the way his cheeks burn a deeper red that starts to creep down his neck. the way his fingers flex against your sides, like he’s afraid to let you go but equally afraid to keep touching.
the way his eyes hit you—with desire so thick it aches in your core, tangled with that boyish charm that only makes him so much more endearing, more real. you tilt your head up, your hands softening where they clutch his shoulders.
“sunghoon,” you whisper, voice soft but steady, thumb tracing a slow circle onto his hoodie. “that’s okay. we can stop, or we can keep going. whatever you’re comfortable with.”
and sunghoon swallows hard. every nerve he owns is screaming—your body soft and there beneath him, the way your legs are hooked around his waist, it’s all overwhelming, intoxicating, like he’s edged too close to the sun and has absolutely no intention of backing away. and sunghoon’s never been here before, never had anyone look at him like this. but he’s also never felt this way about anyone before. and that’s what makes his heart slam against his ribs.
his eyes drop to your lips before flickering back up. “yeah?” it’s barely a word, more like a pure plea, and god, the vulnerability in it tugs at you harder.
“yeah,” you lean in, brushing your mouth against his in a feather-light touch, not quite a kiss, but just enough to make him chase it. his breath hitches, hands sliding up your waist under your sweater again, hesitant but warmer now, like your words unlocked something for him.
“i just—i really like you, y/n,” his words are so soft and quiet you almost think you made it up. “—and i really don’t want to mess this up. more than i have.” his hands shake slightly on your waist, thumbs rubbing gentle circles over your skin as the confession hangs there between you like something holy and obscene at the same time.
you lean up and give him a full kiss this time, soft, gentle, and reassuring, then smile against him, shifting your hips just enough against him to draw a sharp inhale from him. “you won’t, hoon,” you whisper, nipping at his lower lip, tugging it gently between your own until he groans. “trust me, you’re not going anywhere.” you fingers weave back into his hair, guiding him back down as you capture his lips again—slower this time, letting him set the pace even as you arch up to meet him.
and sunghoon melts into it, his tongue shyly tracing your lips until you part for him, letting him in with a soft sigh that goes straight to his core. his hands gain confidence, sliding up your sides, palms warm and slightly calloused as they explore the curve of your ribs, stopping just shy of your bra like he’s silently asking for permission. you nod into the kiss, arching your body into his hands, and he exhales like he’s been holding that breath for years. fingers shove your sweater up and off in one frantic motion, and the cool air hits your skin the same second his mouth does—and it’s hot, open, starving against your throat.
your hands go down to the ends of his hoodie, dragging the material up his chest yourself, nails raking over his abs, feeling them tense under your touch. “off,” you mumble into his mouth.
sunghoon doesn’t hesitate—he takes it off so fast and clumsily, in park sunghoon fashion, that he almost elbows himself in the face but that doesn’t matter. it’s tossed blindly into the corner of your room before he’s back, chest pressing against you, skin already boiling hot.
his lips find your throat again, this time sucking a small mark just below your jaw, harder than before, teeth scraping, tongue soothing, and when he pulls back to check your face, there’s still that flicker of hesitation, like he’s waiting for you to tell him no.
“this okay?” he murmurs against the bruise he just left, voice wrecked, his hips rolling down experimentally—a slow, grinding press that has you gasping, thighs tightening around him, the rough drag of his pants over your bare thighs sending a fresh wave of heat pooling low in your belly. sunghoon’s breath catches—sharp and audible—like he’s just discovered something forbidden, his eyes flicking down to where your bodies connect, then back up to your face, searching, pleading.
you can’t answer with words. you just arch up even more, grinding your heat against the now obvious length of him, and the broken moan that rips out of his throat is unholy. he starts to move a little faster, barely holding it together as he chases the way you’re arched off the bed. his hands brace on either side of your head, arms trembling faintly from the effort of holding himself up, caging you in the best kind of trap.
you nod, biting your lip to stifle back a moan, your hands sliding down his sides with a firm press. “yeah, just like that,” you whisper, voice laced with encouragement that makes his pupils go wider. “keep going, just feel me.”
he follows your lead, eyes locked on yours, lips parted in awe as he follows your rhythm. “fuck,” he breathes, forehead dropping to yours again. another roll, deeper this time, heavier, his hardening length unmistakable through his jeans, pressing right where you need it, drawing a whimper from your throat. “like this?”
“yes, perfect, hoon,” you let out, rewarding him with a tilt of your hips that has him cursing again under his breath, his movements faltering for a second before he steadies himself again. “use your hands, baby. touch me. here.” you take one of his palms and guide it between your bodies and beneath your bra, molding his broad hand over your breast and squeezing it lightly with your own fingers laced over his.
sunghoon’s eyes darken to near black as he stares at his hand on you like it’s a miracle. the hesitation flickers again—he bites his lip hard, eyes darting to yours for that final green light. you nod, arching into his touch and removing your own hand before he finally moves, thumb circling slowly at first, then bolder, pinching lightly until you gasp his name, “sunghoon—yes, harder.”
he obeys instantly, rolling the bud between his fingers while kneading with a confidence that borders on desperate. the sensation releases another moan from you, this time loud enough that he clamps his free hand over your mouth instinctively, his eyes blown in a panic.
“shh—people might—” but you don’t let him finish.
you take his thumb between your lips, sucking it without any hesitation that leaves him choking on a sound that’s half-moan, half-whine, hips now jerking erratically against yours. his hand falls away, replaced by his mouth crashing into yours—messy, all teeth and tongue, swallowing your moans as he grinds harder, faster, the rough drag of fabric and heat coiling tight between you until you’re both chasing that edge, breathless and lost.
sunghoon should be embarrassed, really. the only one coherent thought left rattling around his skull is:
he’s about to cum in his pants like a goddamn middle-schooler and there’s not a single thing he can do to stop it.
he can’t stop the obscene sounds spilling from his mouth, his gut feels like it’s on fire in the best way possible, and he’s jerking his body against your soaked heat like it’s trying to fight its way through the pathetic fabric. it’s his first time with a girl, and he might not even make it to the first time part at this point.
“skirt. push it up,” you pant against his lips, and he does, fumbling his fingers to fully hike the fabric to your waist, exposing the thin barrier of your underwear. his hand hovers there, burning over your thigh, inches from where you’re aching and soaked for him. “touch me, hoon,” you urge, not waiting to take his wrist and press his palm right over your wet core, letting him feel the way you’re absolutely dripping through the lace.
sunghoon’s entire body locks at the sensation, eyes in shock, lips shiny and swollen as he stares down at you, chest heaving. “i—fuck, you’re…wet.” the word comes out slowly, almost disbelieving. his fingers flex, tracing the outline of you through the thin fabric. your mouth drops open slightly at the sensation as you buck up into his hand with a sharp whine, nodding.
“yeah, for you, hoon. now rub, like—” you move his fingers for him, showing the motion—slow, firm circles over your clit that already have your legs trembling, eyes fluttering closed at the feeling. he easily takes over after two strokes, copying perfectly, his touch turning slick as he presses firmer, learning your body like it’s his new religion. “oh god—yes, right there, don’t stop—”
and he definitely isn’t planning on it. sunghoon’s mesmerized, forehead pressed to your shoulder now, watching his own hand work between your legs like it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen. his hips keep grinding, chasing his own friction clumsily against your soft thigh, breaths coming in hot gasps against your skin.
“sunghoon—fuck,” you whimper, the praise spilling out as his thumb finds that perfect rhythm on your clit, circles tightening, faster now, the slick sounds filling the room obscenely. he groans like it’s the hottest thing he’s ever heard, his free hand clamped on the headboard above you to steady himself.
“am i—is this good?” his words come out cracked and rough, raw desperation threading through it as he presses two fingers experimentally against your entrance through the soaked fabric, feeling you flutter and pulse for him. his hips grind down harder in response to your every twitch, the bulge in his jeans now straining, hot and insistent against your thigh. sunghoon’s unraveling—muscles tense, cheeks flushed, abdomen flexing with every roll—but those big, pleading eyes keep flicking up to yours constantly, almost as if begging for reassurance, for you to keep leading him through this fire.
“perfect, baby. so, so good,” you choke out, your hand shooting down to cover his, guiding his fingers to slip right under the edge of your underwear now. “inside—now. curl them up, like this.” you demonstrate with his hand, pushing one long finger past your folds, then two. and he slides in so easily, your arousal coating him instantly. the stretch burns sweetly, and you both moan—his a broken, addicting sound that sends a vibration straight through you.
sunghoon stops again, buried to the knuckles, eyes staring down at where he’s disappearing inside you. “holy shit,” his voice is wrecked, feeling the way you clench instantly around him. “you’re so—tight—fuck, i can feel you—” his fingers twitch inside you, curling just like you showed him, brushing that one spot that makes your eyes roll back instantly.
“right there. right there, hoon. please—” you cry out, back arching off the bed, nails raking down his bare back hard enough that it stings but he doesn’t care. your words give him the confidence to move—gentle thrusts at first, scissoring his fingers gently, learning the slick glide of you around him, then bolder, fast, his thumb never leaving your clit. the dual sensation has you seeing white, the pleasure coiling violently tight in your core, breaths coming in sobs now.
his forehead drops to yours, noses bumping, lips brushing yours in frantic, open-mouthed kisses that are more shared air than anything. “tell me—fuck, tell me what else,” he’s panting against your mouth, his free hand moving from the headboard to palm your breast fully, rolling your nipple between his fingers. “want to make you—cum—please, show me how—”
and that plea—raw, ruined, his—snaps the coil.
you shatter—walls clamping down hard on his fingers that they stutter inside you, your orgasm rushing through in sudden waves before you could see it coming. “sunghoon—yes, yes, yes—” your cries muffle into his shoulder, thighs shaking uncontrollably, gushing over his hand in a rush that soaks his fingers, his wrist, the sheets beneath you.
sunghoon whines, all high and uneven as he watches you come undone on his fingers, squeezing him like you’re trying to keep him inside forever. his hips jerk forward in messy, desperate snaps against your thigh, cock leaking steadily through his boxers now, chasing friction he’s too wrecked to control. he doesn’t stop—he can’t stop—pumping you through it, thumb grinding ruthless circles over your swollen clit until you’re twitching, oversensitive, thighs clamping around his wrist like a trap, a broken sob ripping out of you that sounds like his name and mercy all at once.
only when your body limps, boneless and gasping, does he ease his fingers out—slow, deliberate, eyes locked on the way your slick coats him, strings of it clinging to his skin as he holds them up to the dim light. his breath stutters at the sight of his glistening fingers, dripping with just pure you. “did i—fuck, did i do that?”
he doesn’t wait for an answer. brings them to his mouth and sucks them clean with a filthy, broken groan that vibrates straight to your spent clit, making your body jerk again even as you’re still coming down. his tongue swirls, greedy, eyes fluttering shut like he’s tasting heaven and hell at once.
you’re ruined—face flushed, lips bitten raw, hair stuck to your forehead with sweat—but that smirk still clings. you grab his wrist, yank him down hard, and crash your mouth to his, tasting yourself on his tongue—a little salty, a little sweet, but all filthy. “we’re not done,” you murmur, wrecked and hungry, hands already fumbling for his pants. “off—now.”
sunghoon nods frantically, hips lifting just enough to help you shove the material down his legs, boxers tented obscenely, a dark stain already blooming in the front. before he can even process, you hook your fingers in the waistband and drag them down too, freeing him and—fuck. he’s thick, flushed a deep red and curving up toward his stomach, already twitching under your gaze untouched.
he immediately tries to hide his face in your neck, mortified. “don’t—don’t stare like that.”
you giggle, low and filthy, wrapping your hand around him without warning—one firm stroke from base to tip, thumb swiping through the bead of pre-cum leaking from his slit, spreading it down his length in a slick glide.he immediately bucks into your fist with a choked sob, one hand clutching your shoulder, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise.
“baby, you’re gorgeous,” the words drip off your tongue like honey or poison but sunghoon doesn’t know the difference at this point. your thumb swipes over his silt again, and sunghoon has to shut his eyes to restrain himself from finishing all over your fingers right then and there. “feel how hard you are for me? fucking dripping.”
another stroke—tighter, faster—and his head slams against the pillow next to your head, throat bared, a high, desperate whine tearing out of him.
“touch yourself,” you order, guiding his trembling hand to wrap around yours. “show me how you do it when you think about me.”
sunghoon’s eyes snap to yours, wide and scandalized, breath picking up. “w—what? i—fuck, i don’t—” but his hand moves anyways, wrapping around yours where you stroke him, guiding you together—slow twists at the head, then long pulls back to his base. he’s so responsive, every drag pulling more and more. more moans from his throat, more precum from his tip, leaking steadily over your knuckles.
“good boy,” you praise, and he preens, chest puffing slightly, a desperate whimper spilling out as his free hand braces the headboard above you again for leverage.
“faster—” you tighten your grip, speeding up, and he follows your lead flawlessly, both your hands working him in brutal sync until he’s babbling nonsense pleas mixed in with your name like a prayer he’s too far gone to control.
then you feel him twitch, once and hard, and you stop cold, releasing him. sunghoon almost pouts at the sudden, aching void—the sharp denial hitting like a punch, but you’re already shifting, too fast to let him dwell.
“not yet—i want your mouth first,” you murmur, sitting up and shoving at his chest until he’s forced back on his heels between your spread thighs, cock bobbing heavy and desperate, flushed dark and leaking. his gaze drops—your face, your bitten lips, then lower to where you’re still exposed, folds swollen and glistening, lace shoved aside and ruined, dripping with the mess he made of you. “get off the bed. on your knees, hoon. want you to taste me.”
he drops instantly—knees thudding against the floor at the foot of the bed, hands grabbing your thighs and yanking you to the edge so fast the mattress springs groan. his face is inches from your core now, breath punching out hot and frantic over your sensitive skin, making you twitch.
he swallows hard at the sight. “i—you need to…show me please,” he’s nearly begging, his voice raspy yet so earnest that it makes your heart stutter at the sight.
you thread your fingers in his hair, guide his mouth forward, pressing his lips to your inner thigh first, letting him kiss and lick small, gentle patterns up toward where you’re aching. “start slow, baby,” you breathe, thighs trembling. “kiss it, then tongue—flat and wide.”
he obeys like it’s the only thing he was born to do.
lips brush your folds—hesitant, reverent—then his tongue comes out, one broad, filthy lick from your entrance to your clit that punches the air out of your lungs. you immediately roll your hips into his face shamelessly.
“fuck—yes—just like that—suck my clit now—”
and sunghoon doesn’t need to be told twice. he devours you—nose bumping your mound, tongue sloppy and urgent, latching onto your clit with a perfect amount of greed that it pulls a small scream from your throat. he’s messy—chin slick, eyes glassy as he glances up through his lashes for approval, moaning into you every time you tug his hair like he’s on the receiving end.
“mmph—good?” he mumbles into you, the vibration nearly sending you over, and then—without waiting—he sinks one long finger back inside you, curls it hard, and starts pumping like you taught him.
“oh my god—sunghoon, fuck—yes—”
your ankles lock behind his head, heels digging into his back, and you ride his face without shame—hips rolling, grinding, fucking yourself on his tongue while he devours you, thriving on every gasp, every quiver, tongue delving deep, lips sucking with starvation. like it’s his last meal and his punishment and his salvation all at once.
sunghoon’s free hand then drops between his own legs —wraps around his aching cock and starts stroking in frantic, sloppy pulls, hips thrusting into his fist in time with the way you’re riding his face. pre-cum drips onto the floor, splattering the wood, and he doesn’t even care—just moans into your cunt like a broken thing, eyes rolling back every time you clench around his finger.
you force yourself up on shaking elbows just to look at the view.
sunghoon on his knees, hair wrecked from your hands, face buried between your thighs, skin slick with sweat that catches in the dim light, mouth shiny with you, pumping his cock recklessly—and those dark, glassy eyes flicking up through wet lashes, begging for approval even as his tongue fucks you into oblivion.
the sight alone almost ends you.
so you decide you’re going to ruin him. and he’s going to thank you for it.
“hoon—fuck—come here,” you haul him up by the hair until his mouth slams into yours, slick with your release, tasting like salt and sin. you feel the heavy, slick weight of his cock pressing against your thigh, twitching wildly with need.
you shove him back with a teasing palm to his chest—flip him in one sharp twist—and he goes down easy, hitting the mattress with a small grunt, eyes huge and black as he puts together what’s about to happen. you straddle him in a heartbeat later, knees digging into the sheets on either side of his hips, hovering just high enough that your soaked heat brushes the flushed head of him—once, twice—drawing a needy, high-pitched whine that rips straight from his chest.
his cock lines up perfectly—throbbing, veins bulging, slick with both of you—and he bites his lip bloody trying to hold back the whimper, hands shaking violently where they clamp your waist for dear life. “wait—shit—i don’t have a condom—”
“sunghoon,” you shoot, voice raw and impatient, already lifting your hips to torture him at your entrance, sinking down just enough to swallow his tip in tight, wet heat. “i really don’t fucking care right now.”
his head slams back against the headboard with a thud, a raw moan tearing free as his hips jerk up involuntarily, trying to bury himself deeper.
“just wanna make you feel good, yeah?”
he nods wildly, eyes pleading—utterly lost, wrecked, and completely yours. “please—fuck, yes please—”
you don’t wait any longer. you drop, sinking down fully in one brutal, merciless move. and the stretch—the sweet, burning stretch of him splitting you open has you both gasping, the pent up tension that’s piled up for days finally shattering into a pure ecstasy that has you blinded.
he fills you to the brim, thick and pulsing, every inch dragging against your clenching walls as you bottom out, your hips now flush against his. you can’t make sense of it—how he’s stretching you impossibly wide, the burn delicious and overwhelming all at once, your body fluttering around him in desperate adjustment. his head snaps back against your headboard again, his throat exposed and veins bulging as he can’t stop the deep moans coming from his chest, hands clamping onto your hips—bruising, possessive, the only way to keep himself grounded.
you collapse forward, forehead to his, breaths mingling in hot, frantic pants. his eyes are squeezed shut, lashes wet against his pinked cheeks, lips opening and closing from the pure pleasure, “oh my god—you’re…fuck you’re—so tight—” the words tumble out, his hips twitching up, chasing the sensation, making you both gasp at the jolt.
“shh—stay still,” you whisper as best as you can, hands holding his face to force his glassy eyes open. and you have to collect yourself for a second. because park sunghoon is a vision—lips swollen red, pupils dark and blown, sweat trickling down his temple. “breathe, hoon.” you clench around him deliberately, and he tries his hardest not to snap immediately, his cock throbbing deep inside you.
“c—can’t—it’s too much—gonna—” his voice cracks, hands scrabbling at your waist, dragging you down harder even as his thighs shake violently under you, every muscle rigid, restraint shattering second by second. he’s pulsing inside you, fighting with everything he has not to cum, teeth gritted, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes because it’s too good, too perfect, too much.
you lift your hips carefully, just an inch, then sink back down, slow, torturous, letting him feel every slick of you swallowing him whole. “fuck—yes—” his eyes roll back, mouth falling open on a silent moan, his hips bucking up to meet you halfway on their own, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing loud and filthy. “tell me—fuck, tell me if it feels good—”
“perfect, baby. you feel perfect,” you gasp immediately, voice trembling as you finally start moving—hands braced on his sweat-slick chest, nails carving red lines into his skin. “just like this—harder now, hold my hips—help me—”
and he does—fingers pressing as he hauls you down onto his cock as he suddenly slams up, meeting your movements in brutal, punishing thrusts that turn the air filthy, wet slaps echoing, obscene, and unrelenting. the bed starts to creak in protest beneath you, the string lights on your headboard blurring into hazy streaks as the pleasure turns into tears stinging your eyes.
“hoon, yes, yes—faster,” your voice breaks into sobs, head tipping back, spine arching so hard your breasts shove up into his face.
he absolutely loses it.
he’s seventy percent sure he’s blacked out—the rest of him drowning in the symphony of your broken whines, the way your pussy sucks him in like it’s starving, the intoxicating sensation of you around him—every wet clench, every flutter squeezing him. but he’s still determined, feral with it, a man suddenly possessed—one hand flying up to palm one of your breasts hard, rolling the nipple rough enough between his fingers to draw a small yelp from you, the other shoving between your bodies to rub messy, perfect circles over your swollen clit.
“s—so tight—fuck, so mine,” he chokes out, voice breaking on every thrust. “mine, mine, mine—fuck—please say—”
his thrusts turn erratic, sloppy, with a new found determination as he chases his release, eyes locked on where he splits you open—you stretched around him, white slick coating his thighs, his balls, every inch of skin where you two collide.
“yours,” you moan, nails digging further into his chest. “been yours ever since you hit me in the fucking face, baby.”
and that does it. sunghoon just breaks.
back arching off the bed, whole body spasming, a strangled cry of your name tearing from his throat as as you feel him cum hard, his cock pulsing and swelling impossibly thicker inside you, the harsh and hot spurts filling you up quickly. the heat of it, the throb, the way he jerks inside you shatters you instantly after.
your second orgasm hits you with a sob against his mouth, clamping down viciously around him, milking him dry as you gush—violent, soaking pulses that drench his cock, his lap, the sheets, everything in a hot, filthy flood that leaves you shaking, blinded, ruined.
you collapse together—boneless, shuddering wrecks tangled in the sweat damp sheets that now cling to your skin. his arms wrap around you, pulling you flush against his chest, his cock still twitching deep inside as the aftershock ripples through you both. the room spins softly in the dim glow of your lights, the only sounds the distant party you both forgot about and your breathes mingling in a ragged harmony—his chest heaving against yours, heartbeats syncing in a frantic yet slowing pattern.
sunghoon buries his face in the crook of your neck, lips brushing sloppy, uncoordinated kisses, trying his best to catch his breath, each exhale hot against your skin.
“did i—was that okay? are you hurt anywhere?” voice small, vulnerable again despite the literal fact that he’s still buried deep inside you, his release leaking warm and sticky down your thighs, pooling beneath you in an intimate, filthy reminder. his hand moves to stroke your back gently, tracing the curves of your body as if mapping every inch for damage.
you giggle against him, the sound exhausted yet euphoric, vibrating through your chest as you lift his chin with a single finger, tilting his flushed face to yours. the kiss is soft, slow, lingering—tongues lazy and unhurried, a stark contrast to a few minutes ago, tasting all like salt and sex. “hoon, i think you ruined me,” you murmur against his lips, half-teasing, half-serious, your voice strained from the moans he pulled from you.
he lets out a small, relieved laugh, warm and genuine as his hands stay gentle on your back, thumbs circling soothing patterns over your damp skin. you shift slowly, lifting off him with ease, both of you exhaling in a sharp unison at the sudden emptiness.
you don’t pull away far, nestling into his side, draping a leg over his thigh as he tugs your crumpled up blanket over you both. his arm curls around your shoulders, his fingers tracing lazy swirls along your arm, the touch sweet and affectionate.
“ruined you, huh?” he echos after a beat, voice muffled as he presses a kiss to your temple, lips curving into a shy grin against your hair. “is that…good ruined or bad ruined? because if it’s bad, i swear i’ll make it up to you—after i make up for your nose. and shoes. and clothes. i’ve got a lifetime supply of apologies, honestly.”
you snort softly, cuddling closer into his neck, inhaling the comfort and warmth radiating off of him as your fingers dance lightly over his chest. “good ruined, idiot. like, the kind where i might not be able to physically get up tomorrow. so now you owe me at least breakfast in bed.”
“deal.” sunghoon chuckles, the sound vibrating through you both, his free hand slipping under the blanket to find yours, lacing your fingers in a loose, effortless hold. “pancakes? or—wait, do you even like pancakes? god, i don’t even know that yet. we should probably fix that before i ruin you again.”
you tilt your head up, eyes narrowing playfully before a small smirk tugs at the corners of your lips, “baby, is that your way of asking me out?”
his laugh melts into a groan as he buries his face into your hair again, arms tightening around you as he pulls you impossibly closer, bodies fitting perfectly together, “keep calling me baby like that and we’re skipping the pancake date—i’m just gonna ruin you all over again.”
your grin widens as you lift a brow at him, a mix of teasing and challenge written all over your face. then, your hand begins its slow, deliberate descent, fingers trailing a lazy path down his chest, over the ridges of his abs, your eyes watching his adam’s apple bob with a hard swallow, his breath catching in anticipation as your hand moves lower and lower.
you part your lips just enough, voice laced sweetly with promise: “deal, baby.”
and after that night, everything kind of falls into an abnormally normal rhythm.
sunghoon did get you pancakes—because he’s a man of promises.
but not until after he ruined you a second time, because, well…he’s a man of promises.
he eventually makes up for the other accidents too. he starts knocking on your door at 8:03AM every morning—two coffees balancing in one hand, a paper bag of something warm in the other, hoodie string still uneven but now on a different hoodie because he let you keep that other one. he starts showing up—after class to drive you home with him, in your texts to ask you which cereal he should buy for the week, in your kitchen, handing you clean dishes while pretending not to stare at the way you hum along to whatever song is playing.
he starts showing up in parts of your life where you didn't even know he was missing but now that he’s here, you never want to go back.
and through it all, sunghoon learns you. he learns that you can’t drink iced coffee without stirring it exactly three times first, that you sometimes talk in your sleep, that you always pick the m&ms out of trail mix, that you hate parallel parking but love late night drives, that you laugh with your whole face, and that someway, somehow, between the pancakes and drives and mornings and the softness—you’ve managed to carve out a permanent place in his life without either of you really meaning to.
so yeah. everything becomes accidentally abnormal after that night.
sunghoon still wakes up on time like he always does—but now he gets ready faster, just so he can walk ten doors down the hall and meet you before class.
you still sit next to him in chemistry, but now your hand is slyly trailing up his thigh under the bench table while he’s trying (and desperately failing) to measure 25 milliliters of sodium hydroxide without shaking.
when you’re at his apartment, curled up together on the couch, jay walks by and gives sunghoon a look that says finally.
when he’s at your apartment, head resting in your lap, jake walks by and gives you the same look.
it’s all wonderfully, beautifully, accidentally abnormal. which, for you and sunghoon, feels just right.
so, yeah—they say you never forget your firsts.
your first love, your first kiss, your first time.
for park sunghoon? he’ll never forget the first time he met you.
and honestly?
he kind of really hopes he never will.
꩜｡⊹ ࣪ ˖ ty all again if u made it to the end <3 mwahmwahmwah
i love how sunghoon just casually self inflicts his own angst like dude she wants u bad and ur just avoiding her bc u somehow convinced urself that she hates u when shes NEVER done anything to indicate that oh im so gone for loser overthinker hoon
Ego is a crazy thing and you shattering Park Sunghoon’s just makes him more determined to ruin your indifference and reclaim his pride, even if it means losing his mind in the process.
Or the one where Sunghoon can’t wrap his head around the fact that you just wanna fuck.
nsfw warnings ── SMUT, unprotected sex, oral (f rec), face sitting, cum eating, insane power dynamics, desperate sunghoon is the best sunghoon. he’s cocky as fuck, someone humble him. bisexual!sunghoon x nonchalant!reader
word count ── 4.7k
Sunghoon was used to being the prize, matter of fact—he was. As the university's bicon bi-icon he was accustomed to the hushed whispers in the lecture halls and the way people—regardless of gender because they knew he swung both ways—practically tripped over themselves to catch his eye.
Sunghoon was well aware that his beauty was a universal language, he moved through the halls with a cold grace that acted like a magnet for everyone in his orbit. He wasn't picky about the attention either, whether it was the girls in the quad rushing to shove their numbers in his jacket pocket or the boys in the locker room staring at all his glory, Sunghoon drank in their collective thirst with a quiet greed.
He enjoyed the way eyes lingered on the line of his jaw and the curve of his shoulders, absolutely relishing the fact that he was the ultimate prize in every room. He had spent years letting people project their fantasies onto him, taking what he wanted and leaving them wanting more and he was perfectly content being the untouchable standard that no one could actually reach.
The man was perfect—top of his class, a star athlete and a face like that?
So imagine his utter confusion when he brought you back to his dorm after some party, he already had the script written in his head. He'd fucked you into oblivion, with precise movements and be devastatingly thorough, so he’d leave you a shaking and totally breathless mess beneath him. He had fully expected to wake up with you draped over him, perhaps already asking what this meant or clinging to his arm as he tried to get to his eight o’clock class. He was even prepared to be gracious about it, maybe buy you coffee before gently explaining he wasn't looking for anything serious.
But when the sun hit his pillow the next morning and the space beside him was cold. With no note, not even the lingering scent of your perfume, just a neatly made side of the bed and a closed door, Sunghoon didn’t know how to react.
After that came the ghosting.
One week became two and when two became three, Sunghoon found himself checking his phone during practice, scowling at the screen when he saw zero notifications from you. He'd see you in the quad, laughing with your friends and you'd give him this breezy nod as if he hadn't spent four hours exploring every inch of your body twenty one days, six hours, twenty minutes and twelve seconds ago. It was driving him insane, you hadn’t just bruised his ego, you being all blasé had sent him into a full scale identity crisis.
He was sitting in the library, trying really hard to think about anything other than you, when his phone finally buzzed and his heart actually thudded against his ribs.
Y/n: hey. u free tonight? we should link again💋
Sunghoon stared at the screen, willing his irritation to subside. Not even a "How are you?" or a "Sorry I've been MIA." You were just directly requesting for his body, as if he were a some kind of high end vending machine.
He typed back immediately, his thumbs flying across the screen with suppressed fury.
Sunghoon: That's it? three weeks of silence and you just want to ‘link again’?
Your reply came back almost instantly but all it did was make his blood boil even hotter.
Y/n: lol yeah. what can i say? you know how to fuck. my place at 10?
Sunghoon stood up so abruptly his chair screeched against the linoleum floor and drew annoyed looks from the nearby students but he didn't care. He was the most sought after man on campus and you were treating him like a convenient late night snack.
He told himself he should text you back no and protect his dignity by telling you he wasn't interested in being your booty call. But even as he told himself that, he was already packing his bag as his mind racing with the need to get you alone again and it wasn’t just because he wanted to fuck, he was now hellbent on making you look at him as more than just a good time. He wanted to break that casual, indifferent armor of yours until you were the one begging for a second date.
Or at least, that's what he told himself as he drove toward your dorm, his heart hammering with both wounded pride and an inconvenient hunger.
Sunghoon knew his pride was a dangerous thing but at this point his delusion might have been working overtime. As he took the stairs to your apartment two at a time, he adjusted the collar of his shirt and had managed to convince himself that he had cracked the code. She’s not indifferent—he concluded, you were playing a high stakes game of hard to get, you obviously just wanted him to work for it. Fine then. He'd play along but he'd win by making this night so earth shattering that you'd be making him breakfast in the morning.
He had a whole plan, which involved taking his sweet time with you, being romantic in a way that only really special people got to see. He was going to go heavy on the eye contact and sweet words just cause he wanted to see you crumble.
But the second he walked through your door, the plan practically disintegrated. You didn't even give him time for a "How was your day?" or a lingering gaze because you were on him immediately, with your hands already pulling at his belt and your lips kissing down his neck hungry and focused. He tried to reclaim the narrative, pushing you back against your bed to eat you out, too keen on showing you a level of devotion that would force a confession out of you.
He only managed to get his tongue on you for four minutes before you were hauling him back up, you clearly didn't want the slow build—you truly just wanted fuck.
Before he could protest, you somehow had him flat on his back on your bed. You straddled him, tossing your head back in a giggle before guiding his thick and already leaking cock inside your dripping cunt in one stuttering motion. Sunghoon let out a sound that sounded like he was choking, his head hit the pillow as he felt your tight heat sucking him in.
He looked up at you, expecting to see the usual worship every other girl or boy would be giving him by now, he expected the flushed cheeks with the wide eyed adoration he received from everyone else. But your eyes weren't really searching his for a connection, you were looking past him or down at where your bodies joined, with your face all intense and concentrated. You were too focused on the stretch of him filling you up and the way you could make yourself cum by bouncing on him so expertly.
He felt like an object. A very, very expensive tool being used for your personal satisfaction, like…a dildo.
"Look at me," he almost pleaded, his hands flying to your waist to try and slow your manic pace. "Come on, look at me."
You barely glanced down, letting out a huffed breath of a moan as you picked up the speed. Your pussy was incredible, gripping him so tight as you went down and spasming around his tip when you came back up with every downward thrust, it was already making him tilt dangerously close to his limit. His hips began to buck instinctively, attempting to meet your movements as he fought a losing battle against his own pleasure.
He was so conflicted he felt like he was splitting in two. On one hand, this was the best sex of his life—again, your body was a masterpiece and the way you moved was driving him toward an humiliatingly fast orgasm. On the other hand, the silence in the room that was only getting broken by the wet sounds of your squelching pussy and your heavy breathing mix with some occasional moans, was driving him mad.
Why don't you like me? the thought screamed in his head as he felt his cum beginning to stir. I'm Sunghoon. Everyone wants me. Why am I just a body to you?
He gripped your hips tighter cause he knew he was at the very edge and as he finally began to spill inside you, he let out a frustrated growl. He was cumming harder than he ever had, completely ruined by you once again but he couldn’t even enjoy it because he knew with a sinking certainty that as soon as he caught his breath, you'd be pointing him towards the door.
You shifted above him and looked down at your joined bodies, watching as the evidence of his orgasm pulsed out of your cunt and slicked your thighs.
You finally looked at his face and pouted at him. "I didn't even get to cum," you muttered, more to yourself than to him but then your eyes flicked to his like you just got them to focus. "Can I sit on your face?"
Normally, that would have been a hard line for him. The logic of his perfect persona dictated a certain level of decorum and the thought of eating his own cum out of your pussy was something he would have considered beneath him—a massive no in any other scenario. But as he looked at you and he saw the indifference in your expression, the way you were already preparing to stand up and end the night, like you were fine either way, that sent a surge of pathetic desperation crashing over him.
He didn't want to leave, he wanted to stay with you, he wanted you to need him, to realize that no one else could satisfy you like this, that no one was like him. He was one of one.
Without a single word of protest, Sunghoon reached up and used his large hands to manhandle you with a sudden urgency, he gripped your waist and pulled you off him cock with a squelch and down the length of his body until your stuffed heat was hovering directly over his mouth.
You let out a startled giggle as he settled you firmly against his face. The sound cut through his pride like a knife but he didn't care, by now he was too far gone.
He dove in with a fervor that was borderline manic, not minding the mess or the taste. The man just wanted to hear you moan his name instead of looking at him like a stranger. His tongue moved with so much focus, swirling it through the creaminess and the slick of your pussy, he was intent on erasing that pout and replacing it with the kind of broken screams that would prove he finally had a hold on you. He used his hands to spread you wide, his thumbs digging into your hips as he worked, worshiping the very part of you that treated him like an afterthought.
When your moans started bouncing off the walls of your room, his pride started to swell again, it was exactly what he had been fighting for. As you gripped his hair and your back arched when he latched his lips on your clit to suck it into his mouth, he felt that familiar confidence starting to return. He was doing it, he was breaking through that cool exterior of yours, making you lose control the way everyone else did for him.
But then, in the heat of your approaching orgasm, you let out a breathless sob. "Ah—Sungmin! Sungmin, right there!"
Sunghoon froze, lips stopping and all, just laying there for a beat with his lips just an inch from your pussy, he was struggling to process the name that definitely didn't belong to him.
Sungmin? He didn't even know a Sungmin.
He slowly pulled back even further, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he looked up at you. You were blinking down at him, your eyes glazed with lingering pleasure, looking almost confused by the sudden halt in his ministrations.
"What?" you asked in an airy voice. "Why'd you stop? That was so gooood."
Sunghoon's brow furrowed more he didn't just feel used like a dildo now—he felt completely anonymous.
He suddenly moved and shifted you once again, pushing you down his body so you landed between his legs, before he sat up to look right at you with wounded disbelief. "Who the fuck is Sungmin?"
Your eyes widened in a way that let him know you weren’t just fucking with him, you genuinely thought his name was Sungmin. "Oh…you—No way! Is that not your name?" You laughed right in his face.
"No," he answered slowly with anger and real hurt in his voice. "That is absolutely not my name."
He leaned in closer, his nose almost touching yours, his dark eyes searching your face for even a hint that you were joking. But you just looked back at him with that same casual, slightly bored curiosity.
"This is the second time we’re hooking up," he hissed, his grip tightening just a fraction. "I literally spent the last three weeks wondering why you weren't calling me and you're telling me you don't even know who I am? You don't know my name?"
The fact that the most popular guy on campus was currently having an existential crisis over a booty call didn't seem to faze you. In fact it was like you didn’t know he was the most perfect popular guy in your school. You just tilted your head. "I thought it started with an s. At least I was right?" You offered weakly.
"It's Sunghoon," he snapped. "My name is Sunghoon." He suddenly shifted away from you, throwing his legs over the bed as the wind was completely knocked out of his sails. He looked at you, his eyes shimmering with a vulnerability he hadn't shown anyone since his primary school days. The rejection was now existential and there was no saving him.
"Why don't you like me?" he asked, hoping you didn’t hear the way his voice cracked. He sounded less like the campus heartthrob everyone knew and more like a bewildered boy who had just been told his favorite toy wasn't actually his.
You reached out, your hand trailing down his neck. "What are you talking about? Of course I like you. I like that dick. It's easily the best I've had all year."
"No!" He flinched, batting your hand away and scrambling backward until his back hit the headboard. "Don't...don't touch me. Not if that's all it is." He wrapped his arms around his chest, looking genuinely pained. "Why don't you like me...as a person? Like, as Sunghoon?"
You finally sat up properly, pushing your hair back to giving him a look of unfiltered honesty. "Oh. Well, to be totally fair, I don't really know you that well."
"Well, no fucking shit! Because you ghosted me for three straight weeks after our first time!" he burst out, his voice rising in pitch. "I waited for a text. I was checking my phone every ten fucking minutes. I even walked past your building coincidentally three times in one day and you just...you didn't care!"
You let out an amused laugh and stood up, reaching for your discarded hoodie. "What did you actually expect? Honestly?" You pulled the sweater over your head, looking at him with an arched brow. "Let me guess. You wanted me to be the clingy girl, didn't you? You wanted to wake up and find me in your kitchen making you breakfast and looking at you like you're a god, just so you could get a nice little ego boost before you kicked me out to go to practice?"
Sunghoon opened his mouth to defend himself but his face flushed an embarrassed crimson. "I...I mean..." He stammered, the truth catching in his throat. "Yes! But—no! I mean, not just that!"
He looked away with his shoulders slumping. He couldn't even lie to himself anymore or look you in the eye. He had wanted the validation of your obsession but instead, he'd ended up obsessed with the fact that you didn't have any for him.
"I just wanted you to remember me," he muttered quietly, looking so deflated it was almost cute. "Is it really that much to ask for you to know the guy who’s making you cum?"
"Oh please. Making me cum is a stretch." You rolled your eyes at the wash he gasped. "No! Don’t do that. Your attitude threw me off today. That’s all. I don’t need you to tell me, I know I am a good lay."
"Whatever, bro."
Bro?
You stood over him, silhouetted by the dim light of the bedroom and leaned in close enough to see the real panic in his dark eyes. "Admit it," you said, "You only care this much because for the first time in your life, you're the one being looked past. It's driving you crazy that you can't have me hooked on you the way you want."
The silence stretched thin and his pride battled with the dangerous reality of the last three weeks, until he finally snapped.
"Fine! Yes!" The confession came spilling out of him in a desperate rush. "It drives me insane. I've spent every goddamn day wondering why I wasn't enough to make you want to stay. I don't know what it is about you—if it's the way you look at me or the way you actually don't—but I have never felt like this."
He reached out and curled his fingers into the fabric of your hoodie, to hold you there and make you hear him out. "I'm Park fucking Sunghoon," he whispered but it sounded like a plea. "People literally line up just to look at me and here I am, practically begging for a crumb of your attention. It's fucking humiliating. So please...just stop treating me like an object. Stop treating me like I'm just a body you can call up when you're bored or horny."
He looked up at you and all you saw was someone utterly wrecked. "Talk to me. Ask me a question. Ask about my day. Tell me your favorite color. You can’t just have me leave this room thinking that if I disappeared tomorrow, you'd just find some other guy with an 's' name to replace me."
You let out a low laugh and crawled back over his legs with a hungry kind of grace. "Well," you whispered, closing in until your lips brushed against his heated ear, "maybe you're just going to have to fuck your feelings into me, Sunghoon."
His breath caught at the sound of his name, his actual name finally leaving your mouth. You reached down, wrapping your hand around his soft length and started palming him with a soft touch until he was straining against your hand, thick and pulsing with a newfound grit.
Sunghoon looked up at you with so much desperate devastation, as if he was completely stripped of his usual arrogance. It was the most pathetic he had ever looked and ironically to you, it was the most attractive thing about him.
"You know," you admitted, your voice thick with sudden heat as you guided his tip to your entrance, "seeing you like this...so this ruined over me...it might be the first real thing I actually like about you."
A jolt of something dark and possessive ran in his gaze at your words. You began to sink yourself onto his cock again, the stretch making your eyes flutter shut while he tore your hoodie off you but you didn't get to find your rhythm.
Before you could even settle your weight, Sunghoon's hands shot out like lightning and gripped your waist with an unforgiving force. With something close to an animalistic growl, he flipped you over and your back hit the mattress with a heavy thud that knocked the air from your lungs. He didn't give you a second to recover, he was between your thighs instantly, his body was a nearly suffocating weight as he drove himself into you with a punishing thrust.
"You're a such a bitch," he snapped, sounding completely unhinged as he started pounding into your pussy. He was done being composed and rational, this was straight up anger fueled by three weeks of bruised ego.
He gripped your wrists and pinned them above your head, his hips slamming against yours so hard your headboard rattled against the wall. "Who the fuck is Sungmin anyway?" he hissed, his thrusts becoming even more frantic, more desperate to mark you. "Is he better than this? Does he fuck you this good? Call me his fucking name again while I'm pounding this pussy, I dare you."
You couldn't even get a coherent word out, your was head tossing back and forth against the pillow as your breath came in short sputters. Your brain had turned into complete mush, just entirely focused on the way his cock was ruthlessly bullying its way into your pussy. It felt like he was trying to reach your very soul with every bottoming out thrust, determined to leave a mark that no guy or anyone else could ever erase.
He adjusted your position mid stroke, pushing your legs up until your knees were pinned beside your ears and he was crushing you into a mating press. The shift in angle sent him even deeper inside you and had his cock hitting a spot that made your toes curl and your vision go white.
Sunghoon seemed to have lost his grip on reality entirely. As he pounded into you, his eyes were blown wide and hazy before he started mumbling to himself like a man possessed.
"What the fuck do you mean you don't like me?"
"I'm Park Sunghoon. I'm the Park Sunghoon. You have to like me...everyone fucking likes me. It's supposed to be easy."
His movements were unruly, from both his athleticism and now his ego driven desperation. He reached down between your bodies, making space for his thumb to find your swollen clit and begin to rub it with an unending pressure that synched with the pace he set with his hips.
The double assault was too much and you started trembling violently, the pleasure turning into something so sharp it almost felt like pain. "S-Sunghoon...oh fuck," you sobbed, hot tears finally spilling over as your body began to break under him, making you dig your nails into his back. It was too good—so good it was damn near terrifying.
"Shit, Sunghoon! Sunghoon—Fuck! It’s so deep!" you cried out, your voice finally catching on his actual name, over and over again.
Hearing you scream his name with that much genuine pleasure seemed to flip a switch in him and he responded with a groan, his pace becoming even more eager. "That's it," his sweat was dripping onto your chest as he looked down at your fucked out face.
"Say my name again. Forget everyone else. Just me. You're going to remember this name for the rest of your life."
Sunghoon felt you hit that special peak when the internal muscles of your pussy clamped down on him and you squirted a little, the wetness slicked his thighs but he didn’t let up. Driven by a crazed desire to be the only thing on your mind, he shifted again, leaning back with your legs over his broad shoulders so you were completely open and vulnerable, where you were pinned beneath his heavy body.
He thrusted back in, his thick cock finding that perfect angle again. You started screaming as your head was thrashing against the sheets as well cause you felt yourself teetering right on the edge of you cumming. "I'm close—Right there, Sunghoon! Please, I'm so close!"
But suddenly, the frantic pounding stopped and you seemed to think you’d gone deaf when the sounds stopped before you realize he’d slowed down his movements to an agonizing crawl, transitioning into a slow grind right against your most sensitive parts. He stayed deep inside you, rotating his hips in a way that kept the pressure constant but denied you the friction you needed to actually fall over the edge. You started shaking again, your hands clutching and slapping at his forearms while you begged him to keep going. "No, no, no—Sunghoon, don't stop! Please!"
He looked down at you, his face flushed and his eyes dark with a possessive kind of power.
"Say you like me," he commanded in a steady voice, despite his own labored breathing.
"What?" you gasped, your mind spinning.
"Say you like me or you aren't cumming," he repeated, his hips giving you one more delicious slow roll against your internal sweet spot. "Say you like Park Sunghoon. Not just my dick. Say you like me."
By this point, you're completely delirious and the sensory deprivation of the delayed orgasm is making you sob. You were sobbing and your whole body was vibrating with the need for release. You'd say anything to make him move again.
"I like you! I like you, Sunghoon, I swear!" you cried out, the words tumbling out in a broken rush. "I like everything about you, please just—just let me cum!"
The validation hit him like a drug, he knew you’re probably just cock drunk but that didn’t stop the triumphant smirk that pulled at his lips when he finally resumed his brutal strokes. He didn’t hold back now, hammering into you with everything he had and in no time, he had you screaming his name as you squirted your juices all over his cock, your body arching off the bed in a violent, shrill climax.
Sunghoon watched you cum as his ego was finally fed by the sight of you completely ruined by him, he let out a groan and pulled out, his own cum hitting you hot and thick across your stomach. He collapsed beside you, chest heaving, looking at you with the gaze of a man who finally thinks he's won.
Sunghoon was still glowing from your frantic confession, his heart finally settling into a steady but prideful thrum. He had done it. He'd broken the code.
"My favorite color is blue," you said randomly in an airy and exhausted voice while you stared up at the ceiling.
Sunghoon's head snapped toward you, a boyish expression spreading across his face. He felt a surge of warmth that had nothing to do with the sex. You were finally talking to him, you were actually giving him a piece of yourself, however small.
"Blue," he repeated, committing it to memory like it was the most important piece of data he'd ever acquired. "Okay. That's good to know. We should go on a date this Saturday."
He was practically beaming, already planning the most perfect, over the top date in history to ensure you never ghosted him again.
He reached out to touch your cheek, in an uncharacteristically tender manner.
You let out a mischievous giggle that made his stomach flip. "Okay, Sung—"
You cut yourself off, letting the syllable hang in the air for a painfully dramatic second. Sunghoon felt his entire body stiffen, he swore his heart stopped beating and he felt the familiar prickle of panic rising in his chest. His eyes searched yours, losing his mind over the fact that you’d forgotten his name again, wondering if you were about to shatter his heart all over again.
Hoon? Or...Min
"—hoon," you finished, a playful smirk dancing on your lips.
Sunghoon let out a long breath of relief, his shoulders slumping as he realized you were just teasing him. He rolled his eyes, a huffed laugh escaping him as he pulled you into his side, tucking your head under his chin. "You're a brat," he muttered, though there was no heat in it. "A complete brat. But you're going on that date with me and I'm going to make sure you never forget my name again."
"Mm. We’ll see." You teased
"Please stop that."
nene’s note ── i was fully cackling when i was typing this cause not sunghoon in his kokomi teruhashi era. i’ve had shit wifi/network all weekend so i haven’t been able to complete any of my smaus😔 and i know i said i wouldn’t post but im sure you guys are used to my little white lies by now! enjoyyyyy, you know i love feedback!💋
You’re rich, entitled, and on vacation with your sister in some exclusive hotel resort, where staff is meant to serve you—not speak to you, or stare at you, and definitely not put their hands on you. Too bad the hotel’s bellhop doesn’t care how rich you are…or how loud you get when he puts you in your place.
minors do not interact
pairing ── sunghoon x afab reader
wc ── 12k
content tags/warnings ── power imbalance, class difference, brat taming, degradation & praise, rough behavior, strong language, emotional manipulation, dubious consent undertones, entitlement, light humiliation, alcohol mention, rude behavior, reverse slut shaming.
nene’s note ── consider this my comeback after getting my account deleted and going on a short hiatus. i can’t believe i haven’t posted any work since JULY, i’m soooo sorry, forgive me and enjoy 💕
nsfw tags under the cut
oral sex (m!receiving and f!receiving), fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, rough sex, overstimulation (light), edging (implied), begging, dirty talk, degradation kink, praise kink, possessive dirty talk, squirting, cumshot, light restraint, hair pulling, pussy slapping, consensual power imbalance, mutual fixation. let me know if i missed any.
The headache forming behind your eyes could be because of many things right now—the car is too warm, your heels are way too tight, and also your sister’s bright and unrelenting voice has been clawing at your nerves since you both got in the car this morning.
Outside the tinted windshield you watch the gates of your family’s private airstrip slide open with the kind of smooth efficiency only money can buy, and the sleek shape of the jet comes into view, shining beneath the mid day sun.
"You're going to love it," Dani says, adjusting her sunglasses, she’s said that six times already. "The spa, the food, the water—God, you haven't even seen blue water until you've been to Bali. I swear."
You don't respond, she seems to be forgetting you’ve already been there before.
You cross one leg over the other, staring straight ahead, and pretending you’re not even there.
"Don't be like that," she adds, her voice laced with practiced patience. "This trip is supposed to help. It's for you."
That last part makes you laugh, very humorlessly. "I didn't ask for help."
"No, but everyone around you is tired of you being a miserable bitch, so here we are."
You turn your head just enough to glance at her, her hair is freshly blown out, her designer tote is next to her, and you can catch the glint of thr diamond studs in her ears. Your sister is undoubtedly perfect, effortlessly so.
"Sorry my bad mood's ruining your aesthetic."
"Oh, please." She waves you off like a fly. "You've been impossible lately. And not in your usual, high maintenance, spoiled brat way. This is new. This is dark. And as your big sister, I need to do something about it."
The car slows to a stop beside the jet, and even through your irritation, you notice the way the ground crew moves with precision, bags already being offloaded, a bottle of chilled champagne waiting just beyond the open cabin door.
"You need a reset," Dani continues. "Some sun. Some tequila. And someone with nice hands to put you out of your fucking misery."
You arch a brow. "So this is a sex vacation now?"
"If I have anything to say about it—yes."
The door clicks open, and the humid air rushes in, heavy with jet fuel and heat. You smooth your skirt, step out onto the tarmac, and inhale the scent of luxury like you think it might actually calm you down.
It doesn't.
Even the jet doesn’t calm you down, even the promise of five star everything waiting for you in Bali, doesn’t calm you down.
It’s like no matter how far you fly, you're still going to be you—spoiled, irritable and restless you. And if Dani thinks this trip is going to ‘fix’ you, she's in for a long ass week.
The jet's interior is cool and pristine, all cream leather and polished brass, exactly like you remember it from last month. You barely glance at the steward offering champagne, you just wave him off and sink into your usual seat by the window, crossing your arms as Dani settles in right across from you.
And she's still talking. "You know the problem, right?" she says, kicking off her heels and immediately curling up. "You've got this...thing about control. About standards. You act like you're allergic to normal men."
"I am." You deadpan
"No, baby. You're allergic to effort. Daddy spoils us too much—yes. But you think anyone without a trust fund is beneath you."
You say nothing, because she's not even wrong. Your father has never denied you anything. From private schools to designer wardrobes and cars you barely drive, even property you don’t spare a glance at for years. There's nothing you want that you can't have with a single call—except maybe a man who's not a complete fucking disappointment.
Every eligible guy in your social circle is the same. High bred, well mannered and utterly and completely soulless, devoid even. You've dated heirs to fortunes, sons of politicians, future CEOs, and they all feel like copy paste versions of your father's friends, that is cold, predictable and so boring in bed, if you ever make it that far.
"You could at least try slumming it once," Dani says, picking at her cuticle. "Date a bartender. A barista. A fucking dog walker. Just to feel something."
You scoff. "Is that why I saw the doorman sneaking out of your bedroom this morning?"
She shrugs, so unapologetic. "He was hot. And he had this thing he could do with his tongue—anyway, we're not talking about me. We're talking about you and your miserable, sexless, lonely little existence."
You glare at her, but she's already looking out the window, unfazed by your stare.
"You need to let loose. Just once. Stop acting like the world's going to end if someone who works for a living makes you cum."
You don't even dignify her with a response, because to you it's not about sex—not really. It's more about control, maybe status and standards, sure. You've been raised to expect a certain level of everything, especially from men. So the world can suck your dick cause you don't want some random nobody touching you, and you definitely don't need some vacation fling messing with your head.
But as the jet starts to taxi and you catch your reflection in the glass, you start to wonder about what Dani has been preaching about, what it might feel like to be wanted for something other than your last name?
You focus on the hum of the engines instead, it's steady and surprisingly soothing in a way. You're not sure when Dani stopped talking, maybe somewhere over the ocean, but the silence is welcome. You lean your head against the cool window and stare out at endless blue sky, the kind that stretches forever without offering anything new in sight.
After a moment, you start to drift and all you can think is—God, if one more person tells me to live a little, I might actually scream.
You don't want this vacation, in all honesty you'd rather be at home right now but Dani had always had a way of pulling things out of you. Your eyelids start growing heavy and you sink deeper into the seat, the leather soft and familiar beneath your cheek. Just before you fall asleep, you think—Let's get this over with.
A chime followed by a clear, polite voice filtering through the intercom is what wakes you hours later.
"Ms. Y/N, Ms. Dani—we've just landed. Welcome to Bali, Indonesia."
You stir a little, blinking to adjust your eyes to the light. The atmosphere outside the jet has changed, it's warmer now, more golden too, like the kind of tropical sun people usually only see on resort brochures.
"OH MY GOD." Dani's squeal shatters the quiet and bounces off the cabin walls. "We're HERE!"
You wince.
"Jesus Christ," you mutter, rubbing your temples.
"Bali, baby!" She's already unbuckling her seatbelt, half out of her seat. "Ugh, you're going to love it. White sand beaches, poolside cocktails, and hot locals who've never heard of our father—dare I say perfection."
You close your eyes again for half a second, trying to hold onto that fleeting quiet before reality sets in.
Too late cause the door is already opening and the heat rushes in instantly, you make your way to the jet's steps and are immediately met with the sight of the resorts staff waiting below, their uniforms are crisp and their posture is too perfect. Some of them are already lifting your luggage into the back of a black SUV.
The heat hits you like a wall, as you step off the jet, a rush of tropical air rolls over your skin, it's thick and heavy with salt and sun. You pause at the bottom of the steps, sunglasses sliding into place, and take a very slow breath.
It's beautiful, sure. Bali always is, but to you it's just another vacation in another resort and another week of pretending to unwind surrounded by smiling staff and endless attention from people calling you Miss Y/N.
Dani, meanwhile, is glowing.
"Thank you so much!" she chirps to the steward behind you, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "Seriously, you've been amazing."
He beams at her, clearly appreciative of her warmness.
You count the sound of your heels clicking across the tarmac, watching as three staff members rush forward to greet you. One of them offers chilled towels on a silver tray, the other hands Dani a flower lei with a wide smile.
"Welcome to Bali, Miss Dani, Miss Y/N."
"Oh my God, how cute is this?" Dani giggles, looping the lei around her neck. "Thank you."
You accept yours with a nod, but no smile and no warmth. Just a flick of your fingers as someone relieves you of your bag and guides you toward the waiting SUV.
Dani, ever gracious, pauses to thank every person in sight. She's always been charming and easily likable, the type of woman who can make strangers feel seen with just a glance.
You've never been that girl, cause where Dani is light, you are cool steel—composed, distant and impossible to impress, you've heard the comparisons your whole life. Why can't you be more like your sister? She's so sweet. So warm. So easy to love.
As far as you're concerned, Dani's friendliness is performative and as much as you love your sister you can see the mask she's wearing, it's just like yours, maybe in a different color.
"I cannot wait for you to see this hotel," she says, sliding into the seat beside you. "Seriously. The view from the pool alone could make you believe in God."
For someone who's been all over the world, she has the same excitement for each place, even though she's been there before.
You stretch out your legs and glance out the window, letting her voice fade into the background. The city rushes past in lush green blur, yet all you feel is the familiar pressure in your chest.
Everyone expects something from you. Dani wants you to relax, your father wants you to behave and the world wants you to smile and say thank you.
The drive from the airport to the hotel is short, winding through narrow roads flanked by palm trees and flowers in full bloom. Dani's still talking, going on about cocktails and a spa day, but your gaze is fixed on the horizon, with your jaw tight.
You've barely said a word since boarding the SUV.
"You could at least try to have fun," she says eventually growing tired of you ignoring her, her voice is light but pointed now. "I mean, not everyone gets flown to paradise just to sulk in designer sunglasses."
You stiffen uncomfortably at her words but you don’t respond.
"Seriously, Y/N. Most girls would kill to have our life. The money. The wardrobe. The freedom."
You turn to her slowly.
"Freedom?" you echo, watching her lift her shoulder in a shrug, she must think her honesty is being helpful.
"You act like you're in prison when you've never had to lift a finger for anything. You could have any guy you want, any life you want—but you're so wrapped up in your own misery, it's like you don't even know what you want."
There it is, that fucking sting. You know she doesn't mean to hurt you, but she does. Maybe that's the problem, isn't it? You don't know what you want, not in any way that matters, the world you live in has never allowed you to figure it out without judgment.
Your brain can’t help but interpret her words as an attack, but you can’t show that you’re hurt so you lash out in retaliation.
"You know what, Dani?" you snap, voice as icy as you can conjure. "Maybe I don't want your idea of fun. Maybe I don't want to 'fuck a bartender' just to feel something, or parade around like some pathetic airhead socialite looking for attention."
Her eyes widen. "Y/N—"
"No, really. Just stop. I don't need your armchair therapy or your backhanded concern. This trip wasn't my idea."
She stares at you, regret and pain flickering over her face immediately, she clearly didn’t mean to upset you. "I'm sorry," she says quietly. "I didn't mean—"
The car is already pulling into the circular driveway of the resort, sleek and pristine, all marble and fountains and soft lit lanterns. Uniformed staff step forward, ready to open the door for you, but you don’t wait.
Before the car even fully stops, you throw open the door yourself, your heels hitting the pavement hard.
You don't look back at her once.
Your heels strike the marble floor of the lobby with sharp steps, each one echoing off the high ceilings like alarm bells.
Staff scramble to greet you, bowing slightly, offering cool towels and murmuring polite welcomes, but you don't so much as glance their way.
You hear Dani's footsteps somewhere behind you, but you don't care. Someone moves into step beside you.
"Welcome to the beautiful Mandapa, Miss Y/N," a woman says smoothly. Her voice is calm and practiced, with the kind of warmth that's designed to placate even the most difficult guests. "My name is Dewi. I'll be personally assisting you during your stay with us."
You don't answer but she doesn’t even falter. "Your suite is ready. We've ensured full ocean views, as requested, and pre stocked the room with your preferred amenities—Chateau Margaux 1787, still and sparkling water, and fresh fruit flown in this morning."
You blink once behind your sunglasses at her unique efficiency. She's keeping up despite the clear storm in your posture and the speed of your walk. Your silence should dare her to stumble, but she doesn't.
She leads you to the private elevator with a poised smile, keycard already in hand, and steps aside to let you enter first.
"You'll be on the top floor with your sister, of course," she continues, tapping the card and pressing the button for one of the two penthouse suites. "Your bags are being taken care of, and a bellhop will be up with them in just a few minutes."
The elevator dings.
She opens the door to the suite, and the scent of fresh flowers and ocean air fills your nose immediately. It's stunning with long and wide glass windows, silk curtains rippling subtly in the breeze, a private pool just beyond the patio doors.
"Should you need anything," Dewi says, stepping back with perfect grace, "please don't hesitate to call. We're here to make your stay exceptional."
You nod, just once.
"Your bags will arrive shortly." She says then leaves with a curt bow. You pull off your heels and make your way to the balcony, crossing your arms and staring out at the turquoise water.
Your catch your reflection staring back in the glass off to the side.
Difficult.
You've heard that word your whole life.
Dani said it last night, you're so difficult to please, Y/N. Your father's associates murmur it behind your back at gala dinners, the younger one, the difficult one. Even the tabloids love it, heiress Y/N L/N, notoriously difficult, seen storming out of another charity event in Milan.
You're not difficult, yes you’re not easy but isn’t that better? That you’re not easy to please or manipulate? Maybe that’s why you’re always angry, because no one bothers to find out why you're this way. No one's ever actually tried.
The doorbell chimes a sharp and crisp sound. You turn, sighing, letting your eyes flutter shut for just a moment before crossing the room and opening the door.
You don't even look at whoever is standing there. "Finally," you mutter, stepping aside and leaving the door wide open, making no move to help or offer of thanks.
Whoever he is, he's quiet while pushing in the large black luggage cart stacked high with your designer suitcases, your custom garment boxes, the massive Louis Vuitton trunk Dani insisted was too much but you brought anyway.
He's careful you think, until you hear a soft thud that makes you whip your head around, just in time to see one of your vintage hat boxes tip from the top of the pile and hit the floor with a muted, sickening sound.
Your mouth falls open in a gasp.
"Are you fucking kidding me?!" you snap, stalking toward him. "Do you even know what that is? That's vintage Dior, you fucking dumbass!"
You scoop it up, inspecting it frantically, eyes narrowed like you might actually commit murder if there's even the tiniest scratch on it. There isn’t, so you finally look up at him and meet his eyes. He stands there tall and silent with his hair pushed back, and seemingly completely unbothered by your outburst.
His gaze flicks to yours and he doesn’t even look the least bit sorry, on the contrary he looks…amused? You’re too angry to decipher whatever emotion is on his face right now, clutching the hatbox like it’s a wounded animal.
"I sincerely apologize, Miss," he says, voice even with his tone betraying nothing. "But I implore you—please refrain from using such words with the staff."
Your spine straightens ever so slowly, your fingers tighten around the box. "Excuse me?"
You blink, absolutely stunned, you’re certain you must’ve misheard him, but then he doesn’t waver.
"Please," he says again, "do not speak to the hotel staff in that manner."
You're silent for a beat cause you can’t believe your ears and the audacity of this fucking bellhop. "Who the fuck do you think you are?"
He barely flinches at your screeching, just stands there with his hands on the luggage cart and his eyes on yours, maddeningly calm.
"We aim to cultivate a respectful relationship between guests and staff here," he replies smoothly, "and I won't allow the people under my supervision to be spoken to like that."
The words are like a slap like across your face. Under his supervision?
You clench your jaw, trying desperately to quench the heat rising behind your eyes from pure rage. "You're just a fucking bellhop." You hiss the words out, venom dripping from every syllable, clearly in an attempt to degrade him in some way.
You can’t believe he’s still managing to meet your glare without any form of hesitation. "That I am," he says coolly.
You're absolutely seething now. "I'm going to get you fired."
It's not an empty threat, you’ve gotten people fired for less, but there’s something in the way he’s looking at you, like he doesn’t care and that’s what’s enraging you the most.
You don't even know when you start pacing and muttering insults to yourself the moment he shut the door, fueled purely by adrenaline and your pride that’s been wounded.
"Who the fuck does he think he is? A bellhop. A fucking bellhop lecturing me."
You snatch a bottle of water off the minibar, nearly breaking the cap trying to open it. "I'm not wrong. I'm a fucking heiress. I don't get talked to like that. I don't get corrected."
You pace faster, heat simmering under your skin. "The sheer audacity—I should ruin his life."
A knock at the door comes sharp and polite. You whip around, eyes narrowing as you march towards it.
"Dani," you hiss, yanking the door open and lock eyes with her calm ones, she’s looking too at ease with not even a single strand of her perfectly blown out hair out of place and there’s an older man standing next to her in a crisp suit.
And just behind him, him. The fucking bellhop, the sight of him makes the tension inside you snaplike a rubber band stretched too tight.
Dani's voice is light as she speaks, almost condescending even, as if you were a toddler about to throw a tantrum. "Y/N, sweetheart, this is Mr Lew—the hotel's general manager. He came personally to apologize for any inconvenience earlier."
You say nothing, you stay staring at the bellhop and sense Mr Lew step forward with his hands clasped.
"Miss Y/L/N, I want to extend my sincerest apologies on behalf of our staff. This is Mr. Park Sunghoon—one of our senior bellhops. He's been reminded of the appropriate conduct with our valued guests."
You blink at his words. Reminded? He's being let off with a warning?
The bellhop—Sunghoon's expression is, bored, like he can't be bothered with this drama, as though this whole situation is a waste of his precious time.
"I trust there won't be any further issues," the manager adds with a tight smile, but it does nothing cause your pride and your temper—they’re both boiling over.
You're speechless, because the bellhop wasn’t looking at before but now that he is, it’s not just bored anymore, it’s dismissive. Like you're a bratty little problem that isn't even worth his breath.
Does he know who you are?
"I want to hear it from him."
Dani makes a sound that seems like a groan but also a sigh, "Y/N," she warns, voice low. "Please. Can we not—"
"No," you snap, eyes never leaving the bellhop. "He insulted me. He can apologize properly."
Mr Lew clears his throat awkwardly. Mr Park Sunghoon doesn't flinch, but you see the tightening of his jaw and the way his hands flex briefly behind his back.
"I'm waiting," you say smiling.
"Y/N, God," Dani mutters, massaging her temple.
You ignore her, because this is between you and him now. His voice is low, so low you almost don’t hear the words coming out of his mouth, his jaw is clenched so tight you're surprised it doesn't crack.
"I apologize for my earlier conduct, Miss Y/L/N." It's entirely empty, robotic even and it makes your smile widen.
"That's better," you purr, just to watch in satisfaction the flicker of rage in his eyes again.
Dani claps her hands together sharply. "Great! That's settled. Let's all move on with our lives, shall we?" She turns to the manager, giving him a look that begs for this to end.
He nods hastily, already retreating. "If you need anything else, Miss Y/L/N, please don't hesitate—"
"Actually," you cheerily cut in, strolling over to the minibar with dramatic flair, picking up the wine bottle and holding it up like evidence at a crime scene.
"No glasses," you say flatly. "Am I meant to drink straight from the bottle?"
Dani's fourth or fifth groan of the conversation is audible behind you. "Oh my god, seriously?"
You glance over your shoulder, "I'm just saying. It's basic hospitality." You turn to Mr Lew again, smile sugary sweet.
"Send someone up with glasses."
"Actually no, send him."
His eyes narrow, but he doesn't speak.
Mr Lew glances nervously between you and Dani. "Of course, Miss Y/L/N."
Dani gives you a long look, it’s exasperated and she's probably given you the same look a million times since childhood, but she turns to leave anyway, with the two men in tow.
The goes quiet again once they're gone, the silence might be the sweetest sound in the world. You drop to the couch with a kitty like stretch, toes flexing against the plush carpet and you can feel the satisfaction blooming in your chest like a fire being fanned. Dani's face red with embarrassment and pinched with frustration lingers in your mind, you almost laugh to yourself.
She always thinks she can swoop in and smooth things over, always assumes you'll cave because she's the "responsible one." It's honestly insane how she hasn’t learnt that you don't bend for her, or anyone even.
And certainly not for some fucking bellhop.
Your lips curl when you remember the look on Sunghoon's face as he forced those words out. So flat and begrudging, so carefully restrained. You could practically see the muscle twitching in his jaw as he tried to choke it down, and it thrilled you. There's something so incredibly intoxicating about men like him—the ones who think they can stand taller than you, talk down to you, dismiss you like you're just another spoiled brat. You love nothing more than taking that condescension flipping it on its head and watching them squirm when they realize you're untouchable.
You've done it before. At restaurants, boutiques, flights, honestly anywhere someone dared to test the boundaries of your patience or treat you as anything less than royalty. You've perfected it into an art, the stare that makes people quake, the voice that sharpens, the carefully chosen words that remind them exactly who you are and what they owe you.
And Sunghoon is no damn exception.
You shift on the couch, resting your chin on your hand, letting your mind wander to the inevitable moment when he knocks again. He has no choice but to face you again and bring you what you want like the servant he is. The thought makes you warm all over as you can already picture the scene, him standing there, stiff with the tray in hand, burning with a quiet fury he can't show.
You draw out the anticipation, tapping your fingers lazily against your knee, reveling in the quiet power pulsing through you. You don't just like putting people in their place, you thrive on it in a sick way. Watching someone as stoic as Sunghoon bend, even just slightly feeds something deep in you, something close to a hunger that never really dies down.
When the knock finally comes, you don't jump. You don't even move at first, you sit there smiling to yourself, letting the sound echo once more through the room before you rise, deliberately slow, smoothing the hem of your dress as though you're preparing for a performance.
You open the door to see him standing there in his pressed uniform, tray balanced carefully in his hand, two gleaming glasses set perfectly on it. You lean against the doorframe, smile spreading slow and deliberate.
"Took you long enough."
You speak sharply before even letting him step past the threshold, perched against the doorframe with your chin title high and your tone as haughty as the curve of your mouth.
"Here are the glasses you requested," he says, ignoring your words like they bounce off his skin without so much as leaving a mark. He looks toward the tray balanced effortlessly in his hand. "May I come in to set them down?"
You hate that he asks to that, that he doesn't presume or stumble, he doesn't bend to your sharpness. You want him so flustered and shaken, even burning red with humiliation. Instead, he's so steady, it has your teeth clenched.
"Fine." You shift aside with an annoyed flick of your hand, giving him entrance like you're the queen of some throne room instead of just another spoiled girl in a Balinese hotel suite.
He walks in with that same maddening precision as before, every step of his is measured, his posture is flawless. He sets the tray down on the marble counter without a single clink, as if even the glassware obeys him.
"I apologize again for earlier," he says simply when he straightens, hands folded in front of him, eyes fixed straight ahead. And then, as if that closes the matter entirely, he moves to leave.
The sound of his retreating footsteps moving past you sparks something ugly in your chest. The sheer gall of him—walking in here, dropping his stupid little tray, throwing you a half hearted apology like it's a bone meant to pacify you, and then just leaving.
No.
Absolutely not.
Your hand moves before you even think it through. One delicate push against the rim of the nearest glass and it tips off the edge, letting gravity do the rest. The shatter is absolutely exquisite, the crystal colliding with the floor in a violent crash that tears through the silence, echoing through the suite like a gun being fired.
It stops him cold.
You see his spine stiffen mid step, a pause in the rhythm of his departure. He turns his head slowly, just enough to glance back over his shoulder, and when your eyes lock, you feel the air in the room shift.
Anger moves through the calm mask on his face, just a second too quick for him to catch as his nostrils flare, and your lips curl into a smile.
"Oops," you purr, not even trying to feign innocence. "Guess you'll have to clean that up, won't you?"
You sit back on the armrest of the sofa, watching him like a cat who’s finally cornered her prey.
He stares at the broken glass for a long time, lips pressed into a tight line.
"I'll call housekeeping to come clean this up." He says and literally every syllable is weighed down with a withering amount of restraint.
He thinks he can sidestep you, thinks he can hold his dignity intact and walk out untouched and you’ll let him.
You tilt your head, lashes batting as you lace your voice with a false sweetness. "Call someone? To deal with this little mess?" You press a finger to your mouth in mock thought, intentionally looking at the scattered glass on the floor.
"That seems rather unnecessary, don’t you think? I'm sure a broom and dustpan are tucked away somewhere in the bathroom. Why bother another poor staff member when you're already right here?"
You’re so sure you can pinpoint exactly when his composure wavers, there’s a faint twitch in his fingers where they are by his sides, his shoulders square tighter, almost preparing for your provocation.
And God, it thrills you.
Was it even about the glass? No. It’s about the dynamic, it’s the delicious reminder that you can demand, prod, even push all you want and men like him will either bend or break.
You let the silence stretch, your smile curling down wicked at the corners. "Go on then," you add softly, almost a coo. "Don't be shy. Show me how well you can clean up after me."
The scrape of the broom against tile echoes from the bathroom, followed by the soft clatter of plastic as he returns with a dustpan. You can’t help but watch him.
The crisp uniform does so little to hide the way his shoulders fill out the jacket so perfectly, tapering into a trim waist. His sleeves strain slightly at his forearms as he kneels to sweep the shards into a neat pile,
His sharp jawline, high cheekbones, lips pressed firm in concentration. His hair, parted just slightly, looks like it should be styled for an editorial photoshoot, not tucked under the title of bellhop.
He is, infuriatingly, handsome.
It makes Dani’s words creep back into your mind uninvited, “You could at least try slumming it once.”
“Date a bartender. A barista. A fucking dog walker. Just to feel something.”
A bellhop?
The thought makes your stomach turn, you’re an heiress for crying out loud. Men like him aren't options, they're furniture at best. But something still stirs in your chest as you watch the clean line of his throat shift when he swallows, the way his fingers curl steady around the broom handle.
If—if—you were ever to debase yourself, to let someone beneath you touch you in such a way, he wouldn't be the worst choice. You'd never, of course. But still.
The cryptic words slip past your lips before you can stop them. "You'd be a good fuck...if you weren't such an asshole."
The broom in his hands stills, his head lifting slowly, dark eyes snapping to yours, sharp enough to cut.
"Excuse me?" His tone is measured, but it drops low and edged and that makes a little heat prickle at the back of your neck.
You smile attempting to be smug, maybe as unbothered as him too. "I said, if I fucked lowlifes, you'd be one of them."
The corner of his mouth twitches—Is that a smile? He lets out a low chuckle, the sound dark and amused, and leans just slightly on the broom handle.
"You?" His drags his eyes slowly over you, as though he's peeling back layers you never granted him permission to see. "You wouldn't last a minute."
Your head snaps toward him, offense flaring hot in your chest.
"What the fuck do you mean by that?"
The question leaves your lips before you can rein it in, because how dare he suggest—
"I've seen a hundred of you," Sunghoon says flatly, like he's reciting a fact and not an opinion. His eyes don't waver as he sweeps the last shards of the broken glass into the pan, then stands with a deliberate slowness, meeting your eyes head on. "Bratty little heiresses who've never been touched by a real man before. Sheltered. Pampered. Trust fund babies with too much money and too little experience."
The words strike like open handed slaps, each one way harsher than the last, you almost think you don't deserve it.
There's the tiniest hint of a smirk curling at his lips. "If I were to fuck you..." He starts. "...I'd permanently change your views on sex."
Your stomach twists, molten heat licking its way down your spine like lava, but your pride surges higher, choking the reaction in your throat.
"Too bad," he adds with mock sympathy, wiping his palms slowly on a folded cloth. "You don't fuck lowlifes."
He flings your words back at you, the echo of your own insult and you have to admit it lands deep.
He makes no effort to even wait for you to respond, not even the courtesy of a glance back as he walks to the door. His hand closes around the handle and for a fleeting moment you're frozen, watching the shape of his back, the frustrating calm in every line of his body.
Like somehow he gets the last word, like he decides when this ends.
Your anger clouds your senses and the second glass is in your hand before you even think, and then it's flying, shattering against the wall inches from his head, the sound sharp enough to slice through the quiet. Shards rain down onto the carpet.
"You can't walk out on me!" Your voice rips from your throat, hysterical and shrill enough that it shocks even you. "Do you hear me? You do not get to walk out on me!"
It's bratty, you know but you don't care—because it's the truth. For once, someone is refusing to bend to you and it makes something inside you splinter with fury.
The glass shattering so close to his head and missing him just by a few centimeters doesn’t seem to faze him.
He just stands there, shoulders rising and falling with one long breath, before tilting his head to look at you. The look he gives you isn’t even fear or anger, it’s an assessing stare, similar to watching a spoiled child thrash on the floor of a toy store and it only makes you want to scream louder.
You watch his hand slip from the door handle and his whole body turn to face you. You can see his patience fraying.
"Miss," he says with an even voice, "refrain from any form of violence against the staff. Once was enough."
The words are like a warning wrapped in civility, and it actually makes you stagger back a step. Not from fear but from the sheer audacity of him correcting you. Again.
"You think you know me?" you snap, a hysterical laugh bubbling out. "You think I've never been fucked before? Please. I've been with men who—who know exactly what to do with me. Men who could break you in half and—"
His amused laugh cuts you off in a way that almost feels like a slap. "Sure you have, pretty thing." He drawls, you watch his gaze drag down your body again before snapping back up to your eyes.
The mockery in it makes your whole face burn, a mix of humiliation and something you refuse to acknowledge with a name.
His words are so condescending but so smooth and the look in his eyes—God, he doesn’t even believe you.
You feel yourself shudder as your voice raises. "I have! Been fucked good. Men who—"
"—kissed your hand goodnight and tucked you in?" he interrupts, tilting his head like he's actually curious. "Or men who got you drunk at some fundraiser and left you unsatisfied in the back of daddy’s car?"
You open your mouth to fire back, but he steps forward
"Y-you don't know anything about me," you bite out, voice wavering despite yourself.
"I know enough. You wouldn't be screaming at me like this if any of those men you're so proud of had actually fucked you good."
It hits like a punch, the breath caught in your throat and when he sees you can't think of anything to say, when you just stand there shaking with rage, he chuckles under his breath and shakes his head.
"Didn't think so."
Your lips are parted with the half formed comeback you can't even drag to your tongue, he's closer now, too close even. His shadow falls over you, his height swallowing your whole frame.
"Shaking," he murmurs smugly. "But not walking away. Not calling for security. Not throwing another glass."
"I'm not—"
"You are." He shamelessly looks you over. "You're seething, ready to claw my eyes out. And yet...here you stand. Letting me read you like a book."
Your nails bite crescents into your palms, you hate this fucking bellhop, you hate that he's right, you hate the warmth pooling in your stomach with every word of his.
He’s so close now that if you leaned up even just half an inch you’d be kissing the goddamn bellhop. What the fuck is happening? Why do you want to lean up? Why do you actually lean up? Just slightly that you almost kiss him only that he pulls back at the last moment, your breath goes uneven, shame biting at your ribs.
"Unbelievable." His grin cuts you open. "I'm insulting you, tearing you apart—and you're trying to kiss me?"
"I wasn't—"
"You were." He leans in again, deliberately close, his lips ghosting the edge of your cheek before pulling away once more. "You wanted me to."
Your chest heaves, words stammering. "You're—you're fucking delusional—"
"Oh, princess," he croons, wicked, "if anyone here is delusional, it's you. Standing there, pretending you don't want the same man you just called a lowlife to put you in your place."
"Pathetic. All that privilege, that attitude, at the end of the day you're nothing but a fucking brat begging for attention."
"Truly pathetic, Miss Y/n" he says it so slowly you know he’s savoring speaking to you like this.
"All you have to do is ask. Three little words. Please fuck me."
The audacity of him, the way the syllables drip off his tongue, they sound like something you swore you'd never let infect you.
"Never," you say through your teeth.
He shrugs. "Then this is over." He turns, walking back to the door as if your fury, as if your very existence in that moment means nothing to him.
It breaks you open, because all of a sudden, it isn’t just him you’re fighting. It's Dani's voice echoing about getting laid in your skull again. It's your father's looming shadow, the man who raised you to believe every inch of the world was beneath your feet, who would probably disown you if he knew you were even thinking about begging a fucking bellhop.
It's the tens and twenties of glossy, empty faces of men in your circle. Polished trust fund sons with limp handshakes and even colder beds. Not one of them ever able to make you feel this humiliated and alive.
Your pride screams no, it really does. Every part of your upbringing shrieks to slam the door behind him, call Dani, demand another glass of wine and a new bellhop who'll bow low and never look you in the eye.
But your body— it fucking body betrays you. Your thighs press together, making you burn up with something that feels like desire in disguise.
And before you can stop yourself or have thoughts of rethinking your decision, the words are spilling out of you, completely broken around your pride.
"Please..." Your throat almost closes on the word. You swallow hard, force the rest out. "...fuck me."
The silence that follows is so unbearable, you start to feel regret blooming in your stomach. The weight of it claws at you from inside, hot and humiliating, like you've just set fire to the perfect little cage you've always kept yourself in.
"There she is," Sunghoon says, savoring it, dragging the sound of victory out slow. "I knew I could break you."
You fully expect him to gloat, maybe even grin with pride but he doesn’t, he just studies you before speaking again once he’s right in front of you. "Get on your knees."
You scoff instantly and an ugly laugh bursts right out of you. "You've lost your fucking mind."
Something in you makes you think he’s not going to argue or even repeat himself and he doesn’t, he keeps looking at you, steadily, in the silence of the room like he has all the time in the world just to watch you unravel.
The longer he waits, the hotter your skin burns. The more impossible it feels to stand there with your arms crossed, pretending you don't understand exactly what he's doing to you.
You feel your heart pounding in your ears and then you move, slowly like you’re resisting ever more, you lower yourself. Your knees press against the plush carpet, your chin is tipped high, in an attempt to hold onto the scraps of your dignity, but you're kneeling all the same.
"You're fucking stunning, you know that?"
The words slam into you harder than his insults ever did. Fucking Stunning? A gasp leaves your lips before you can stop it, your eyes widen and you feel your chest tighten a little at the warmth in his tone. It completely disarms you and now you feel exposed.
In this position your face to face with his crotch and you can’t stop yourself from looking at it. There’s the thick line of his cock straining against the front of his slacks. It looks heavy and your stomach twist at the knowledge that it’s for you. Is it the sight of you on your knees for him?
"Do you want to touch me?" His voice dips lower.
You’re staring and you hate it, you hate the heat you feel between your legs, your hands even twitch like they want to reach for him.
You nod and your hand moves, fingers brushing the sharp line of his zipper. The heat radiates through the fabric, thick and undeniable. Somehow, you’re not at all shocked—of course you're not. A bellhop with this much arrogance, this much calm command, couldn't possibly have a small dick.
In fact if he had turned out to be small, you would’ve felt within your rights to slap him across his beautiful face.
Your fingertips trace the length of him, tentative at first, then bolder when he doesn't stop you. The shape alone makes your stomach flip, your thighs press tighter together.
"Mm." His voice rumbles above you, almost warning. "You're sure you want this?"
You look up, your pride wanting to roll your eyes, your body betraying you with the way you nod too fast.
"I'm not gonna be gentle." His gaze is steady, unblinking, like he's promising something brutal.
You nod again, feeling a bit of shame at how easily you fold.
His smirk seems so satisfied. "Then take me out."
The commanding words hang so heavy in the air, so electric. Your fingers fumble at his belt, the quiet jingle of metal almost as loud as your heartbeat in your ears. His eyes don’t leave your face as you drag the zipper down, the heat of him pressing against your palm through the last thin barrier of his briefs.
You slip one hand past the waistband of them, the other one shyly tugs at them. He’s heavy, really heavy and hardening further with every beat of your pulse.
He tilts his head, watching you intently. "There you go," he murmurs. "That's it. Touch me like you've been dying to since I walked in."
Your cheeks burn, you even want to deny it, to spit something cruel, but your hand gives you away, stroking him now that you’ve managed to get his cock out fully.
His hand closes around your wrist firmly, you think he’s about to move you off him but he doesn’t, he tilts your chin up instead, making you meet his eyes.
"Open."
You shock even yourself with how easily you obey, the smile on his face is enough to let you know he thinks there isn’t a thought behind your eyes.
"There we go." His thumb drags across your lower lip, then he presses the head of his cock against your tongue. "That's better. Obedience truly does suit you, angel."
The praise sinks in so deep, it fills out a space you had no idea you had. Something desperate and very foreign grows inside you. You want more—you want him to want more.
You sink forward, reckless, your mouth stretching wide as you take more of his cock in. It's intoxicating, you already feel drunk on the taste of him on your tongue. You push yourself too quickly, driven by the near crippling urge to prove yourself, to make him happy, to be good for him.
You want him to praise you but all you get in return is a laugh, "Woah, woah," Sunghoon drawls, fingers flexing in your hair trying to halt your frantic pace. "Slow down. It's not a straw, princess."
The embarrassment you feel only makes you cling to him tighter.
"Eager little thing," he teases, rocking his hips just enough to feel your throat twitch around him. "Rich girls don't usually try this hard. You trying to impress me, hm?"
His words sting a little, but his hand guiding your head feels like gravity itself—you can't fight it, you don’t bother.
He slides his hand up the back of your head, fingers threaded in the roots of your hair like a leash. "Breathe through your nose. Slow and don't fucking gag." He teaches you, each word as authoritative as the last.
He guides you gently, pushing you, titling your head and in return your lips around his cock that’s not dripping with your saliva and his precum. Your pride melts under his instructions, the obedience tastes oddly sweet. You want him to like it.
When he lets out a low moan, you’re one hundred percent sure is involuntary—it hits you like touching a live wire. You whimper a little, and he freezes, eyes halfway closed, the sound in his chest turning amused.
"Oh?" he says, you can hear the smile in his voice. "You have a praise kink, princess?"
Your mouth keeps eagerly working around him, desperate for another moan. You make a small, dumb noise that’s just pure curiosity before pulling your mouth from him. "W-what's that?" you force out between wet breathes.
"Poor thing," he murmurs, amusement folding into something else. "So clueless." His fingers tighten slightly at the base of your skull. "Keep sucking. You’re doing so good."
You immediately wrap your lips around him again, you don’t expect the sting of a slap on your cheek but you also don’t expect to like it so much. "Come on. You can open up wider for me."
"That's it," he grunts, and the praise is an unexpected drug, it's so addictive. "Daddy's little heiress. On her knees, sucking the goddamn bellhop's cock."
You whine at his words, thinking of what your father would think, but the taste of him on your tongue and trailing into your throat knocks all the thoughts out of your mind.
"Oh—Shit. You tryna make me cum, doll?" He asks through a laugh, you don't even realize he's moved his shoe clad foot between your legs, you don't even know what in you makes you think to hump it—but you do. Your panties are so wet as you start to slide your pussy back and forth on his perfectly polished shoe.
"Such a perfect cock whore." You're a mess now, tears on your cheeks and drool on your chin. "So messy. You're humping my shoe?"
"I'm close, angel." he warns. "Keep going. Down your throat."
"Fuck."
You continue, swallowing around the thickness of his cock, tasting him, tasting your own surrender too. The shame is a hot cloak you wear like a crown as you work to give him what he needs, sucking and licking the best you can.
He pulls free with a soft curse, pumping his cock in his hand and moaning through his clenched teeth. You kneel there completely unsure of what's coming but utterly mesmerized by the view above you. When you feel the hot wetness of his cum splattering across your face, the first sound you makes is a raw gasp, from outrage.
But he keeps going and the first sound you make is a raw, involuntary gasp from outrage and shock, you even start to splutter cause his cum seems to be endless hitting your face—over your eyelids, your lips and even your hair. He's moaning through it and your mouth is open around nothing, your throat raw from taking his cock all while his cum is beading and running down your chin, warm and humiliating. You feel the world narrowing to the slick weight on your skin and the frantic beat of your heart.
You're ready to scream at him, feeling so much anger at the audacity of him to use you like that but his voice cuts through to you, uncompromising like there's no room for options. "Say 'Thank you Sunghoon, for giving me your cum.'"
"Say it," he orders, not shouting but with that same quiet authority that demolished your defenses earlier.
"What?" You try to spit, to shout, your eyes even scan for anything you can throw at him again. How dare he? Your brain scrambles—father, reputation, Dani's ridiculous grin, the glittering life you would never, ever let be public like this. Your pride immediately claws up your throat, how dare he make you beg for that?How dare you even want it?
He leans forward just enough so you can't ignore him since he's right in front of you, his breath ghosts across your cheek. "Say thank you, Sunghoon," he says, one finger tilting your chin up so you have no choice but to lock eyes with him. "Say, 'Thank you, Sunghoon, for giving me your cum.'"
Everything inside you splits, part of you wants to vomit the taste of the words from the back of your throat, part of you wants to melt into his command and never come up for air. You picture your father's face, the hush of a gala, the way your name is always spoken like a thing on a pedestal. You tell yourself you won't be reduced. You're not that kind of girl. You don't say thank you for such disgusting things but somehow your lips move, they tremble with humiliation so hot it's licking at reason.
"Thank you," you croak, the word nearly swallowed by the wetness on your chin. Your throat is rough and raw with the sound. "Thank you, Sunghoon, for giving me your cum."
He watches you, eyes dark and almost fond, as if this admission is some small, private trophy. The corner of his mouth quirks, you can see the satisfied, almost amused softness in it that makes your stomach drop and your pulse stutter like you just took one long, fatal step.
"Good girl," he breathes, there's no tenderness, it's only the kind of praise that pins you further beneath him. For a beat you're left with nothing but the burn of shame and the ridiculous but undeniable ache that's thrummed through you since he first spoke.
You wanted to be untouchable, you somehow still want to believe you’re above this. But the salt on your skin, the sound of your own voice so obedient and ashamed, proves otherwise. And even as outrage sinks hot behind your ribs, another, quieter thing settles in, something similar to a dangerous, aching satisfaction that you'll be ashamed to admit later.
He slowly sits on the edge of the mattress, one knee splayed, that long lean silhouette that’s hard to look away from. One hand is stroking his cock so deliberately, you can feel the strokes in your teeth almost and you can’t help but notice that he’s stayed hard, absolutely no sign of softening even with the amount of cum put on your face. The sound of him stroking himself is obscene in the quiet room, a mix of your saliva and his arousal, you kneel there watching him—a punctuation to your humiliation.
"Take your clothes off," he says in a way that feels like a law.
You do it immediately because you asked for this, you begged for it even, because you're suddenly dizzy with want and shame braided together. You shrug your top off first, the designer fabric slips off your skin so easily, like silk against your skin. You tease, purposely slow, letting the garment slide just enough to leave the ridge of your bra visible, then yank it over your head with a practiced little toss, all in an attempt to regain some semblance of control in this situation.
Your skirt is off next, you unfasten the zipper at the side and hope he doesn’t notice you’re hands are shaking, hip cocked like some caricature of seduction until you step out of it and the hem pools around your ankles. For a breath you consider keeping your bra on, to leave something private for yourself but your pride pushes you to an audacious, maybe even childish move—you take the bra off fling it at him, a wet, careless arc meant to be sexy and defiant at once, like his cum isn’t smeared on your face right now.
He catches it without effort though, one hand snapping out as if catching cigarette ash. His laugh is a low thing, amused and sharp. He dangles it in his fingers by the straps like it's an afterthought, and the way his eyes rake you from head to toe makes your skin flare with heat.
"Expensive?" he asks, voice edged with mock curiosity. "Worth the price tag?"
"Of course," you croak, and the word comes out thin, embarrassed and true. "Expensive for the likes of you, probably."
He snorts, amused. "You still think you can degrade me? I love that, really. All that pride intact like the bellhop's cum isn't caking in your hair." He tucks the bra under his thigh like a trophy and pats the mattress on the space behind. "You gonna get on bed? Or you wanna give me a cost breakdown of every piece of clothing you just took off?"
Your obedience tastes like relief now, so you walk up to the edge of the mattress and raise your knee to lean on it. Your knees dip into the mattress, the soft spring cool against your skin. He watches your face and you know he can see the uncertainty in your eyes, what position am I meant to be in?
He chuckles at your cluelessness, "Need me to position you too?" The way he says it, makes you feel like the spoiled child you've always been, having everything done for you.
"What position did the men that fucked you so good have you in then?" He teases, moving closer and grabbing you by your neck, leaning in so close you think he's about to kiss you, but instead he shoves your face into the mattress. Your palms flatten and clutch at the sheets. Oh, this position?
It's so degrading, his palm smooths down your bareback, pushing you to arch deeper, your panty clad ass high in the air. "There," he says caressing you all over, "Don't you look pretty like this? Messy."
"Stretch out your arms," he orders, the slightest bark of impatience. "And don't move unless I tell you to."
The bed is a stage and you're undoubtedly the performer stripped bare. You press your palms flat to the sheets and lift your chin, waiting for him to decide exactly how much of you he will take and how much of yourself you'll surrender in return. He huffs a low, predatory laugh and rises from the edge of the bed, stepping behind you. Your hands press against the sheets instinctively as he hovers, and for a moment the energy in the room crushes the last shred of your pride. How much pride can you possibly have in this position?
"Stay still," he murmurs, noticing you're fidgeting, the arms he told you to keep stretched out are shifting between curling against your face and obeying his order. You feel his hands glide over your hips, gripping, thumbs brushing along the sensitive swell of your ass. "I said stay still, princess."
You feel his breath against your cunt, the only thing separating his mouth from where you're absolutely aching is your soaked lace panty, you press your chest to the sheets in anticipation. Your back arches even further and you have no idea how you manage to contain your whimper when you feel him kiss your clit, he laughs at your pathetic reaction, hooking his fingers in the waistband of your panties, pulling them down so slowly you're sure he's trying to torture you.
"Wonder what has you this wet, angel." He says when the last fabric of your clothing is left bunched up at your bent knees. That cry that's been lodged at the back of your throat, tears out when he suddenly spread your cheeks apart and latches his lips to your dripping pussy, "Oh!"
He groans low and hot, almost at the taste of you, his fingers tangling in your hair at the nape of your neck as he leans fully into you. You don't know why you expected the first few seconds to be him giving you tender flicks of his tongue, there's nothing like that present—he is immediately eating your pussy, tongue pushing in, sucking on your clit so deliciously. You can't help the way your palms smack against the mattress, "Fuck! N-No!" You scream, reaching back, trying to push at his head, but he just grabs it and pins it to your back.
Your feet start to kick, it's too much. Every sloppy, messy move of his lips and tongue drags you closer to surrender.
"Now who knew bratty heiress tasted this good?" He says against you, voice muffled against your stupidly soaked folds. The words alone make you shiver, your thighs tightening reflexively, and the sensation of him damn near making out with your pussy is so intense, so consuming, that every rational thought falls away. You're reduced to gasps, moans, little whimpers, all the control you'd barely managed to cling to evaporating with every lick and suck of his mouth in your sensitive pussy.
You feel the hand groping the flesh of your ass lift but you don’t expect the hand to come right back down your cheek. He just spanked me, you think. "You’re not staying very still, you know?" "Not very obedient. What me to stop?" He says, mouth completely off you now. "No! I’m so—Please don’t." You can barely even get the words out but he gets the message anyway.
"Then stay still."
You choke out a noise, something between a whimper and a plea, and it only makes him laugh against your skin, where he kisses the curve of your ass. The power he wields is intoxicating, and the humiliation of being owned and reduced to pure sensation? You’re absolutely drunk on it.
Your back suddenly hits the mattress and it takes you a minute to realize he's flipped you over, he's hovering over you now, you whimper when his fingers twist at your erect nipple, "These real? Or you payed for them?" You gasp at the question, why would he think that? Is it a compliment?
"They're real." You mumble and he hums, "Big perfect titties. Aren't you a lucky girl?" He says as he dips his head between your thighs again, fingers active now. His thumb rubs at your clit and he grunts when you try to close your legs, he uses his other hand to keep you open.
His index finger rubs at your opening and you bristle, he pushes it in and sucks your clit into his mouth, it feels like a most welcome invasion. His one finger has you feeling so full already with how thick it is, you tremble when his finger dips upwards to that particular spot you could never quite reach on your own.
"See, now I don't believe you about all those guys you claim you fucked." "Look how you're clenching on just one finger, angel."
You're dizzy with embarrassment, you can't help it, you don't even realize you're tilting your hips up greedily searching for more. Through your blurry vision you see his head dip again, you mewl when his tongue laps at your swollen clit, mixed with the sensation of his finger hitting just right—you’re embarrassed by how fast you’re about to cum.
"I—I’m gon c—Ah!" Where are your damn words? Why are you so suddenly so speechless?
If he hears your jumbled words, he doesn’t care, in fact he seems to ignore everything else right now, his only focus is your cunt, he’s lapping away, switching between insane licks against your clit and sucking it into his mouth, all while his one finger is about to push you over the edge.
If he feels your hands tugging him closer and pushing him away at the same time, he doesn’t care. But right when you’re on the edge, about to tip over into what you know will be an explosive orgasm, all sensations completely disappear.
"No! Why?!"
He moves his body, hand pumping his hardened cock as he leans over you, "All that shit you said to me, and you think I’m gonna let you cum that easily." "Aren’t you delusional."
You open your mouth to say something but he taps his heavy dick in your sensitive clit, "D—Don’t do that!"
He laughs at your reaction but damn sure doesn’t listen, he does it again and again and again, then he dips the bulbous head into your clenching hole. It’s like he’s giving you a taste of everything and nothing at the same time.
A few more taps at your clit before he dips back in again, deeper this time. He pulls out at thrusts up, sliding himself along your wet folds, his tip rubs at your clit in a way that has you screaming and begging. "Please! Please! Sung—."
"Shh. Your pussy’s so damn tight."
"I’m not even in yet."
Yet doesn’t last much long cause the next dip inside your cunt, isn’t shallow like you expect, he thrusts half of his length into you and if you’re being honest, it’s bigger than any other dick you’ve had. "F—Fuck! It’s so big!"
"Shit. You’re sure you’re not a virgin, angel? You’re gripping me so tight."
"You sure you can take me?" There’s an uncertainty in his voice now, a wave probably brought on by how tight your pussy is clenching around him, it’s obvious you don’t know what to do with it, or yourself.
"Yes! Yes! I can take you. Please!"
He thrusts the rest of his length into you, "So full! So full!"
"Look at you. Daddy’s perfect princess. Taking cock like a champ." He breathes the words out as his hands find the backs of your knees, pushing them up so you’re folded perfectly in half. The change in angle does something, his thrusts hit different like this and you can’t stop yourself from digging your perfect acrylic nails into his biceps.
That’s when you realize he’s still fully dressed, his pants are pulled down just enough that they don’t get in the way him fucking you silly. His white shirt is still on and you have no choice but you tug at it desperately, so suddenly aware of how bare you are, spread open and folded in half, taking cock like a champ.
He keeps pushing until your knees are at your shoulders, you feel so helpless like this. He’s found a steady pace now, slow deep thrusts that have you feeling every inch of him, every vein that runs along the sides of his thick shaft.
"Ngh, feels so good!"
"Yeah? You ever been fucked this good?" He asks, eyes glued to your face, when you shake your head no, he seems unsatisfied and responds with a particularly rough thrust, "Words."
"No! N—Never been fucked this good!"
"Yeah, that’s right."
His speed has picked up now but it’s steady all the same. The sounds are humiliating, you can hear the squelchy wetness of your pussy each time he pushes into you with that unrelenting pace. His hand moves to your hair, pulling your head down so you’re forced to look at the way your pussy takes him, you can see your walls gripping his cock and you immediately close your eyes.
"Open your fucking eyes."
You almost shake your head no but something tells you if you do he’ll stop and you’re so close to cumming that you open your eyes and look. It’s an obscene sight, you can see exactly how he’s stretching out your little pussy.
"There we go. Pretty uh?"
You wonder how he’s barely moaning, if you weren’t going stupid on his cock, you’d almost be insecure from his lack of a reaction to your body. Is he not enjoying this?
Your thoughts quickly fly out the window when he lets out a mina of his own "Fuck, you like that?" His voice borders on the edge of a whimper that makes you wonder if he’s close too. His hand leaves where he has you folded and finds your clit again. "I’m gonna cum!"
"Yes! Yes! Yes!"
"F—Faster Please!"
This time he’s the one listening to you, throwing his head back in a moan as his pace increases. You’re so dizzy, you’re a hundred percent sure you’re drooling out the side of your mouth, it’s just too good.
When your orgasm finally hits, it’s life changing, for a second your mind drifts back to how he said he’d permanently change your views on sex. Mission accomplished, you think. Your whole body is trembling like the orgasm itself is too big for your frame.
"Oh my God! Right there!"
Something in you had expected that he’d fuck you right through your orgasm, but he pulls out suddenly and just when you’re about to whine his fingers come down harshly against your cunt, he’s slapping your pussy and your thrashing against his hold.
Before you can even think to predict his next move, two fingers push inside you, immediately hitting that dizzying spot inside you, "Oh shit!" You scream as he fingers you roughly.
"Wait! Wait!" Your hands scramble to push his away but all that earns you is three sharp slaps to your clit and that’s all it really takes—his fingers prodding against you and the slaps against your cunt and you’re cummimg harder than you ever thought possible.
It’s evident in the wetness that gushes out of you, coating his sleeve folded at his elbow. But that doesn’t stop him, his head dips down catching the essence of your cum in his mouth, "Mm. So fucking sweet." He mumbles against you before pulling back and the next you feel is his cock stretching you out again.
"Ah! It’s too much!"
"Is it? I’m so close, angel." "Don’t I deserve to cum too?"
You nod immediately, you want him to cum too, you really do.
"That’s right. Gonna use your tight little cunt to jerk myself off." And that he does, hand in your hair, dragging you back and forth on his cock. "Agh." You hear him grunt before he pulls out, hand frantically tugging and stroking at himself. His head is thrown back and you just think he looks so beautiful, lower lip bitten as his cum coats your stomach and breasts.
"Fuck yeah."
You feel like a canvas of his own, his cum covers almost every surface he’s had access to. Your chest is heaving as he pulls away, a satisfied hum sounds from his throat. He sits back on his heels, eyes moving down your body with so much lazy arrogance that you feel your skin prickle. His hand finds your jaw, thumb swiping across your swollen bottom lip as his mouth curves into a smirk.
"You should probably shower," he taunts, a smile tugging at his lips, maybe the joke is the mess he’s made of you. "Can't have the staff walking in on an esteemed guest like this."
He stands with unhurried movements, adjusting his shirt, tucking it back into his pants. The sight of him putting himself back together while you're sprawled out and completely undone makes something painful gnaw at your stomach.
Is he about to leave?
"Wait," you say, your voice thin and breathless, the word coming out before you even think too much about it. "Where are you going?"
He pauses half way to the door, tilting his head just enough to look over his shoulder at you. The smirk returns, wider this time, as he straightens his cuffs. "What?" he drawls. "You wanna cuddle?"
You stiffen at the teasing edge in his voice, but your silence really betrays you. His amusement deepens, a quiet chuckle spilling out as he leans against the doorframe. "Didn't take you for the clingy type, princess."
You glare at him, but the effect is ruined by the faint tremor in your lips. No way you’re about to cry, why? Because the bellhop didn’t give you aftercare?
He notices the look in your eyes and you swear you see his eyes soften just a little, but it’s not enough to be called kind, it just stings.
"I do have a job, you know?" he says finally, gesturing toward the hallway with a faint shrug. "I actually work here. Bellhop, remember?"
You don't answer, you just keep watching him like maybe if you stay quiet long enough, he'll change his mind and come back, he doesn’t, he reaches for the handle instead and panic curls tighter in your chest.
"You're just gonna leave?" you manage to whisper, your voice cracking at the end.
He glances back once more, eyes catching yours, there's something that feels like a promise in them. His lips twitch again, this time into something smaller.
"Don't worry," he says, voice low and assured. "I know your room number."
You’re not sure why, but the words really do assure you, and as you watch him walk out the door, you’re so certain he’ll come back. It settles you in a kind of fucked up way. Your mind even drifts back to Dani’s words again, "Date a bartender. A barista. A fucking dog walker. Just to feel something."
You have a new one for her to add to her list. Fuck a bellhop.
To everyone else, you’re Jake’s girlfriend and picture of innocence—soft spoken, always with a smile, the type to bake cookies and kiss him goodbye on the cheek. His friends are sure he’s not getting what he needs, and they don’t hold back their advice for him to cheat, flirt, find someone who’ll actually put out. Jake doesn’t even bother correcting them, cause not only are they wrong, they’re wildly off the mark.
nsfw warnings: SMUT, toxic male friendship dynamics, back-talking, gaslighting, multiple rounds of sex, overstimulation, oral (m & f receiving), creampie, fingering, light breathplay, praise kink, mild degradation, anal play (established dynamic), light powerplay, hair pulling, dirty talk, cockwarming, light possessiveness, squirting, soft dom/sub elements, and begging.
wc ── 7.9k
Jake Sim is...hard to explain.
If you ask around, you'll hear a thousand different versions. Jake Sim is hot. Jake Sim is an asshole. Jake Sim is the sweetest guy you'll ever meet. Jake Sim is the guy who'll flirt with you all night, fuck you into the mattress, and then forget your name before the sun even rises. Jake Sim is a player, a charmer, he's the guy everyone warns everyone about always a little too late.
And to be honest? they're not exactly wrong. Jake is the kind of guy who makes a mess just to see if someone else will clean it up. The kind who smiles like he knows all the answers to everything and doesn't care to share them. Jake's never had to try hard for anything—not attention, not girls, not the kind of casual popularity that clings to people like him for no reason other than sheer gravity.
He floats through life on charm and instinct, making trouble look too effortless.
Well, not until you.
You never belonged in Jake's world, like not even a little bit. You didn't chase parties or post thirst traps. You weren't loud, or flashy, or easy to figure out. But you were soft spoken and self contained, always in those oversized knit sweaters and delicate little necklaces. You said "pardon?" instead of "what," and you never once looked at Jake like you wanted anything from him. In fact you never looked at him at all.
Maybe that's why he couldn't stop staring, because you didn't orbit around him like everyone else did. You truly just existed in your own world and you didn't give a toss that he was attractive in the way that made people act stupid. You were genuinely kind, irritatingly kind Jake would say, and it made him feel like a walking glitch in your perfect little universe.
He was the kind to ghost girls. You were the kind to remember everyone's birthdays. He blew off midterms sometimes. You sent people your notes when you noticed they weren't in class.
You weren't his type in any sense and he sure as hell wasn't yours. But that didn't stop him from going after you anyway.
It didn't stop the way he'd linger outside the library when he knew you were in there, with his eyes low and his fingers twitching. It didn't stop him from getting your number from someone he'd never even spoken to in his life but he saw them speak to you once and that was enough for him. It didn't stop whatever this became—this quietly consuming, slow burn kind of obsession that made Jake Sim, the most unserious, nonchalant boy in the world, go dead serious when it came to you.
So dead serious that he made you his girlfriend quicker than you could think to even consider saying no, and goddamn if you didn't love him and the intensity of it all too.
The promise ring he asked you to be his girlfriend with was the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen. You remember how red in the face he was, a little awkward too, holding out a tiny velvet box.
You'd slipped it on without hesitation, and now it lives on your finger, always warm from your skin and twirled endlessly whenever you're anxious or shy or thinking a little too hard. Jake watches you do it sometimes when you're talking to him, or even when you're not. It makes his chest tight in the best way possible.
You're still not officially living with him. But your things are everywhere, all over his apartment. Your makeup clutters the edge of his bathroom sin, your slippers sit beside his sneakers at the front door, your clothes even hang in his closet, slowly but surely taking over, and your lacey panties end up in his laundry pile more often than not—a discovery Jake reacts to every time like it's Christmas morning.
He swears he loves it, all of it, all of you.
He loves the way you hum to yourself when you cook, loves how you taste everything off the spoon and make him do the same thing. He loves waking up to the smell of something sweet in the oven, loves hearing you sing along to songs you think he can't hear from the other room. He loves the softness you bring into his space, it’s like his whole apartment exhales when you're in it.
And right now, he's trying not to smile like an idiot as you leave the tray of cookies fresh from the oven on the coffee table for him and his friends, they’re still warm and rich with the scent of vanilla and browned butter. The boys dive in immediately, tearing into them like they've been starving all day.
"Dude," Sunghoon mumbles with his mouth full. "What does she put in these?"
"Crack," Heeseung says, reaching for another. "Crack cocaine, I’m so damn sure."
Jake just smirks, watching you tidy up in the kitchen with your hair pulled back, phone in hand before heading toward the living room again, eyes already on him.
"I'm heading to the mall with my friends," you tell him sweetly, swinging your purse over your shoulder and leaning down to kiss one cheek, then the other. "Don't eat all the cookies before I get back." You tell them even though you know it’ll all be gone by the time you’re back.
Jake smiles up at you. "No promises."
You glance at the guys. "Enjoy, boys."
"Thanks, sweetheart," Sunghoon replies automatically, and Heeseung raises his cookie in salute.
The door to the apartment shuts behind you and the silence gets loaded.
Jake barely has time to reach for another cookie before Heeseung squints at him over the edge of his glass and says, "Okay but like...how often do you jerk off?"
Jake blinks. "What?"
"You know," Heeseung gestures vaguely. "When she's not around. Or even when she is. Like, how bad's the drought?"
Jake frowns. "What are you even—"
"Come on dude. She bakes, she cleans, she kisses your cheeks like a fucking disney character," Sunghoon says, shaking his head like he's genuinely concerned. "And she's got you wearing a promise ring, bro. Be serious."
Jake raises an eyebrow.
"She's your girlfriend, not your chastity coach," Heeseung adds, mouth full. "It's okay to like her, man. Be whipped or whatever, but every guy's got needs." He does air quotes with his fingers at whipped.
"Exactly," Sunghoon nods. "You're telling us you haven't cracked once? Eight months and she's still playing house instead of playing with your dick?"
Jake laughs.
It's low and easy as he tosses a cookie up in air, catching it in his mouth like he doesn't have a care in the world. "You guys don't know what the fuck you're talking about."
"Oh, come on—"
He doesn't let them finish.
Just shrugs, wipes a crumb off his jeans, and leans back against the couch cushions with that same frustratingly calm grin. Not confirming anything or denying either and definitely not offering a damn thing more.
And maybe that's what gets them most. Sunghoon is about to continue with his drilling but the apartment door bangs open and Jay barrels in like he was trying to break the door open.
"I had to park three fucking blocks away—why are there so many delivery trucks on your str—" He stops question when he spots the half empty cookie tray and Jake's face. "Ah. What’s going on?"
Heeseung and Sunghoon exchange a look that says perfect timing.
Sunghoon jerks a thumb toward Jake. "We're staging an intervention. Lover boy here claims he hasn't touched himself for eight months because little miss betty boop apparently doesn't—"
"Dude," Jake warns, voice flat.
Heeseung dives in anyway. "We're just saying every guy's got needs, and she's not exactly—" he twirls a hand, searching for a polite word and failing—"open access."
Jay slumps into the couch slowly, suddenly wary. "Okay, first? Why is this our business? Second, she literally did my laundry when I was half dead with the flu last month. She's an angel—"
"Exactly," Sunghoon interrupts, irritated that Jay isn't backing him. "She's too angelic. Jake's basically wasting away. I know a girl who wouldn't care that you’re taken—she'll rock your fucking world, no strings."
Jay's eyebrows shoot up. "Bro, are you actually telling him to cheat? That's fucked up."
Heeseung waves him off. "Look, pastor Jay, spare us the sermon. We’re being practical."
Jay crosses his arms. "Practical? Or fucking sleazy?"
Sunghoon's jaw tics. "Fine, keep your halo. I'm trying to help our boy here."
"Help?" Jay snorts. "You're insinuating his girlfriend's a prude and pushing him toward some side piece because you can't fathom a relationship that isn't twenty-four/seven fucking."
Heeseung lets out a low laugh. "Prude? She's sweet, yeah—but let's be real, she's a little stuck-up. Bet she makes him say please and thank you before he even—"
"Enough."
His voice isn't loud, but it's close to lethal and it make the room still. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, eyes locked on Heeseung. "Don't talk about my girlfriend like that."
The silence is as thick as caramel.
Heeseung opens his mouth, thinks better of it and just shrugs instead. Sunghoon raises both hands in a mock surrender. "All right, all right. We're just looking out for you, man."
Jake sits back, expression unmoving except for the tight belt of muscle along his jaw. "Appreciate the concern but drop it."
Jay exhales, tension easing from his shoulders as he snags a cookie. "Cool. Crisis averted. Let's talk about literally anything else—basketball, stocks, the weather—"
But the mood has unfortunately shifted too far. Under the warm scent of sugar and butter, something colder threads the air, like a line drawn or a warning given.
Jake breaks off a crumb, flicks it onto the tray, and doesn't say another word.
The hangout's pretty much dead, even though they try to shift the conversation, try to joke but nothing lands. Not with Jake sitting there, stiff as a statue, jaw tight, barely looking up. Heeseung's chewing slower, the cookies don't taste as good anymore, and Sunghoon keeps checking his phone like there's somewhere else he needs to be.
Because there is.
Anywhere but here that’s for sure.
Jake's not even yelling, but does he have to? The way he's gone quiet should be enough. He's not laughing at their dumb jokes, not biting back with sarcasm like usual. He’s just sitting there on his own couch like he doesn't even recognize it.
Jay finally clears his throat. "Uh...I should probably get going. Early shift tomorrow."
Heeseung stands. "Yeah. Same." He doesn’t even have a job.
Sunghoon mumbles something about traffic, already halfway to the door. No one says it, but they all feel it, feel the vibe shot and Jake's silence holding the smoking gun.
Jay lingers a little longer near the door. He glances back, eyes softer than before. "Hey...sorry, man. I’m sure they didn't mean for it to go there."
Jake doesn't look at him. Just rubs the heel of his palm into one eye. "Yeah. Whatever."
Jay nods once and doesn't push. The door clicks shut behind them, and Jake's left alone in the quiet. He slumps back on the couch, eyes drifting to the half empty cookie tray on the coffee table.
You made those for them.
And they still had the audacity to talk about you like that. To reduce you to some outdated stereotype of some sweet, doting, sexless girlfriend he must clearly be suffering through.
The door creaks open a moment later, and you waltz bouncing with happiness, arms overflowing with shopping bags. You toe off your shoes at the door, grin still plastered on your face as you make your way inside, the scent of your perfume trailing behind you like sunshine.
"Babyyy," you call out cheerfully. "You will not believe the sale I hit today."
You find him on the couch, slouched deep into the cushions, hoodie up, face shadowed by the TV glow and a silence that immediately makes you feel like something is wrong.
Your grin falters. "Jake?"
He turns his head toward you, offers a weak smile that’s just a twitch of his lips, not the real one that crinkles his eyes and melts your stomach.
You pause at the edge of the couch, looking at him, then the table, at the cookie tray that’s half full. There’s not a crumb in sight on the cushions or floor, which is odd because the boys always devour them like wolves.
Your heart sinks a little.
Something is wrong.
Without a word, you gently set your shopping bags down and crawl into his lap, settling your weight carefully over him, but his hands stay limp at his sides. He doesn't even tuck them around your waist like he always does. Doesn't nose into your neck or murmur a "missed you."
You touch his face, frown deepening. "Jakey..." you whisper, brushing his hair off his forehead. "Talk to me. What happened? You were fine when I left."
He shrugs once and his eyes stay distant, so you lean in and kiss his cheek, then the other, then his forehead, then the corner of his mouth but still nothing.
You press a soft slow kiss to his lips and his eyes flutter shut for a second.
He finally breathes out a sigh at that, like you've loosened something that was wrapped too tight in his chest.
"Just..." he mumbles, pulling you in by the waist now, finally holding you, finally here with you. "Some stupid shit with the boys."
You lean your forehead against his. "Hmm…what kind of stupid?"
He shakes his head, exhaling through his nose, jaw still ticking. "Doesn't matter."
"It matters if it makes this face," you say, gently pinching his pout. "Talk to me, baby."
He sighs again, but this time it's softer and a little less bitter. For a second, he just holds you, arms snug around your waist, your fingers in his hair, the scent of fresh cookies and the ghost of something ugly lingering in the air between you.
But at least you're here now and he’s already starting to feel better.
"They were just..." He swallows, jaw clenched. "Saying shit. About you. About us."
You pull back just a little, just enough to look into his eyes, head tilting softly. "Like what?"
He doesn't answer at first, he just presses his lips together like the words taste unpleasant on his tongue.
"That you're too sweet," he says finally. "Too innocent. That I must be struggling. That I'm not getting...what I need." He can't even say the rest while looking at you so his gaze drops to your collarbone. "Sunghoon even suggested that I should cheat. That he knew some girl who wouldn't care if I had a girlfriend."
“Jay was different though, he wasn’t having any of it.”
Your breath stutters just a little, but it’s enough that he notices and enough that it makes his stomach drop.
There it is—your face crumpling, it’s not dramatic, it’s like your heart folded in on itself for a second, and you're working quickly to iron it flat again.
Jake hates himself for putting that look there.
But then—God, your smile. It comes immediately after and it’s soft and unshaken.
"That's really shitty," you say, brushing your thumb across his cheekbone. "But it doesn't matter what they think."
Jake's eyes flick up, searching yours for any signs of insincerity.
"You know that's not true," you continue. "Right?"
He nods, slowly. "Of course I do."
"Then that's all that matters," you whisper. You lean in and kiss his forehead again, warm and reassuring. "Maybe you just need to reevaluate your little bro club. Pick the ones who don't suggest cheating on your girlfriend over cookies she baked for them."
Jake exhales a breath of a laugh, tension starting to ease from his shoulders.
You smile again, a little sly this time. "Honestly, I always liked Jay more than the rest, anyway."
Jake huffs through his nose. "Yeah?"
You nod. "He defended my honor. What a man."
Jake finally smiles, real and wide and completely helpless. "I love you."
"I know, baby. I love you too." You kiss the corner of his mouth. "Now help me carry in all my bags. I got new panties." You say and push off him and that shuts him up fast, he’s already standing and following you into the bedroom like a possessed man, with eyes that gleam and hands that twitch, absolutely thrilled to see what you spent his money on.
You're already pulling out bags, giggling as you place each one on the bed like a dramatic little fashion show.
"Okay, ready?" you ask, grinning as you kneel on the mattress, surrounded by tissue paper, paper bags and receipts.
He flops down beside you, eyes wide, nodding like this is the first time you’ve done this, it’s not.
You hold up a dainty little silk top. "Cute, right?"
"That’s so hot, princess."
Followed by a miniskirt. "Too short?"
"No such thing."
He leans back on the bed, hands behind his head, watching you with an easy smile as you sift through your shopping bags, showing him more of what you got. He doesn't even bother hiding how proud he is watching you flaunt everything you bought.
You hold up a cute little white dress next. "This one was kinda expensive..."
Jake hums, eyes raking over you. "Worth every cent if you're wearing it."
You snort, but you're smiling as you slip it over your head. You smooth the fabric down and twirl once. "Do I look like someone's sugar baby?"
"You are someone's sugar baby," Jake grins, "you just cook too well for it to be obvious."
You giggle, tugging the hem down before sighing. "Okay, I'm not about to stain this with lipstick or lotion—hold on."
You casually peel the dress back off and toss it onto a nearby chair, standing fully naked in front of him without a second thought.
He lets his gaze drag slowly down your body, the same way it always does when you’re naked in his presence, so lazy but heated and familiar. Like he knows every inch of you by heart and never gets tired of seeing it.
"C'mere," he says, voice so deep, you already know what’s on his mind and you barely take a step before he's already got his hands on your waist, pulling you into his lap so he can have you straddling him, arms wrapping around his neck, and he just leans in, pressing his face into your skin, right at the curve of your neck.
"You always smell so fucking good," he tells you, lips brushing your collarbone. "And you're warm."
"I'm always warm," you murmur, threading your fingers through his hair.
He grins into your skin. "Yeah. Especially when you're on top of me like this, titties in my face and everything."
His lips trail along your collarbone, soft and slow, and his hands stay steady at your waist, thumbs pressing into the dip of your back, holding you in place
You sigh when he kisses your neck, just below your ear, and he feels the way your body softens in his lap, you're melting just for him.
He nips your jaw, then lower, moving his mouth down your throat, so warm and unhurried, open mouthed kisses skating down your chest until he reaches one of your breasts, wrapping his lips around it with a low groan like he's finally getting something he's been craving all day.
You arch into him instinctively, fingers curling in his hair as his tongue swirls around your nipple—lazy at first, then firmer and hungrier.
"Jake," you whisper, breath catching a little.
He hums against you, sucking slow and deep, one hand sliding up to cup the other side, thumb circling with the same rhythm his mouth sets.
Your hips shift without meaning to grind down unto him, and he catches that too, cock already hard beneath you.
"I’m so fucking in love with you," he mumbles into your skin, kissing across your chest to the other side.
His mouth stays wrapped tightly around your nipple, sucking on it so hard you moan a little, then he continues trailing wet kisses over your chest, his lips drag down your sternum before slipping one of his hands between your thighs. He's lazy about it at first, tracing idle circles against the inside of your thigh, like he's in no rush, or like he doesn't already feel how warm and wet you are sitting right on top of him.
You shift your hips, needing more, trying to grind down on him, but Jake just smiles against your skin. "Getting needy already, baby?" he murmurs, moving your panties to the side with two fingers, knuckles brushing deliberately light against your folds, teasing. "You're already wet," he mutters, almost to himself. His thumb grazes just barely over your clit, featherlight. "You know what that does to me?"
You whine and he grins like he's won something. But then his grin falters when you grab his wrist and hold it still.
Your voice is soft. "Jake."
He glances up at you.
"Stop teasing."
Before he can say anything back, you push firmly at his chest with both hands and he lets you. Lets himself fall back onto the mattress with a small gasp of surprise that turns into a breathless laugh.
"Shit," he laughs under his breath, one arm behind his head now, the other resting on your thigh. "You don't even let me pretend I'm in control anymore, huh?"
You raise a brow as you settle over him properly, your hands moving down his torso, nails dragging just enough to make him tense.
He bites his lip, eyes flicking between yours and your mouth, already drunk on the way you’re naked above him and so sure of what you want.
Jake's always had game. He's had his fun, knew what it meant to chase and win. But with you? With you, it's never been a game.
Your palm works him over his cock through his sweats, slow and deliberate, your thumb catching the outline of him through the fabric just right, and Jake's head tips back into the pillow with a strangled sound, breath hitching like he absolutely cannot help it.
"F–fuck," he whimpers, hips twitching up into your hand. "I love you. I'm so in love with you."
You lean down, nuzzling your nose against his cheek, voice soft and syrupy as you coo, "Yeah? You love me, Jakey?"
He nods fast, his chest rising and falling hard beneath you, completely gone for you already, and you hum sweetly like you're proud of him, almost like you're indulging a boy who's trying so hard to be good.
You tug at the waistband of his sweatpants, just enough to free his cock, and he lifts his hips obediently, still panting.
And when you finally pull him out, your eyes widen.
"Oh my god," you gasp, like you haven't seen him a hundred times before.
Jake lets out a breathless laugh, flushed and glowing with affection. "You do that every time," he grins.
You wrap your hand around him, giving one firm, languid stroke, eyes still fixed in reverence. "It shocks me every time."
Jake groans, both hands flying up to grip your hips now cause he needs to hold on to something, as if the worship in your voice is just as dangerous as your touch.
"Baby," he breathes, already dizzy, "please..."
His hands tighten on your hips. "My heart," he says, breathless but steady, "can you sit on it for me?"
Your brows lift in teasing surprise. "You asking nicely now?"
He leans up, kisses the swell of your breast before dragging his mouth to your neck. "Please," he murmurs against your skin.
You giggle, glancing down between your bodies where he's hard and leaking pre cum against your stomach. You drag your fingers over his tip and grin when he twitches. "Jakey, I don't know...it's so big. Not sure I can take it."
He lets out a full bodied groan and his hands shoot up to cover his face like your words physically broke something in him. "Fuck—don't say that."
You laugh, warm and wicked, and reach down to line him up with your pussy.
He peeks through his fingers at you, eyes dark and glassy. "You know what that does to me."
You lean in, kiss his jaw and whisper, "I do, baby." Slowly sinking yourself down on his cock, and Jake's mouth falls open around a gasp so needy it makes your stomach flip.
All his confidence and playboy charm melts into raw want for you. And you know he wouldn't trade it for anything else in the world, so when you settle fully on him with you clit nearly brushing his pubic bone, you gasp at the stretch like it's brand new, even though he's been inside you more times than you can count.
Jake watches with blown pupils, biting down on a groan as your walls flutter around him. You're breathless, clutching his shoulders, eyes glazed and already starting to tremble from how deep in your cunt he hits.
But it's still you who says it first, voice all sweet, whiny, and almost demanding. "Please fuck me, Jakey."
That’s truly all he needs and he doesn’t even hesitate, his hands lock under your thighs and he drives his cock up into you, fucking you from below with a pace so sharp it knocks the air from your lungs. The slap of skin on skin fills the room instantly, his hips pistoning up into yours like he's making up for every second he ever spent apart from you.
You cry out, nails digging into his shoulders, clinging to him as your head tips back. “Oh!—Just like that, baby!”
"You take me so well," he pants, staring up at you with so much love and adoration. "Always do. So fucking good for me."
You can't even answer cause with every snap of his hips, your body jerking helplessly every time he hits that spot inside you just right and you're jus too far gone, moaning as your thighs start to tremble,
Your moans get higher, needier, and Jake just holds you tighter, fucking you harder like he knows you're getting close. “Ah—Shit! I love this pussy—I love you.”
And the you whimper his name in that high pitched tone, he already knows what’s coming.
"Jake...Jake, please..." He groans, lifting his whole body and head to kiss you through it, breath hot and desperate against your mouth.
His hand slips between your bodies without thinking too much, fingers finding that sensitive little clit and the moment he starts rubbing tight, practiced circles into it, your whole body jolts, your hips stutter as well as your breath.
"Jake—" you cry out, the sound thin and wrecked as your orgasm nears.
"I've got you," he says, voice husky and strained as he keeps thrusting up into you. "Come on, baby. Cum for me."
Your eyes roll back, mouth falling open as your walls clamp down hard around his cock. You never had a shot, not with his cock so deep and thick inside you, not with his fingers rubbing so deliciously at your clit.
Your orgasm slams into you with a force that makes your back arch and your nails dig into his shoulders, shaking as pleasure floods your veins. “Oh my—F-Fuck! Jake! I’m cumming! I’m cumming for you!”
You're moaning his name like it's the only word you know, clenching around him so tight he practically growls.
"Fuck—you're so tight—" Jake's hands grip your hips, fingers digging in. "Gonna cum, baby—gonna fill you up—"
He snaps his hips up one, two, three more times before burying himself deep with a sharp gasp, thick ropes of cum spilling inside you as he lets out a low, trembling groan against your shoulder. “Just like that, take it baby.”
His whole body tenses, as he continues to fuck his cum deeper into your pussy, before melting beneath you and wrapping his arms around your waist cause he needs to come back to earth.
You sit there on his cock, fucked out with your body is still twitching from aftershocks, then he sits up presses a soft kiss to your collarbone and speaks, almost dazed, "I love you. You know that right?."
Your chest heaves just like his as you try to catch your breath as well, your skin is dewy and flushed, thighs still trembling slightly where they cradle his hips. Jake lies beneath you, hair stuck to his forehead and completely ruined and glowing in the aftermath.
His cock stays buried inside you, still thick but it’s starting soften and warm from his and your cum.
Jake's eyes are barely open when you start to move again, just with slow and lazy rolls of your hips, like you're testing him, like you already miss the stretch. His eyes snap up to meet yours, wide and glassy.
"Baby..." he rasps, voice rough with the tail end of his orgasm. "Again?"
You nod, bottom lip between your teeth, hands planted firmly on his chest as you grind your hips just right. He twitches inside you, not fully hard yet again, but your walls squeeze around him like you're coaxing him back to life.
"Need you hard again, baby." You whisper, a little whine slipping into your voice. "Want more."
Jake actually groans but his hands flying to your waist regardless, it’s not to stop you, it’s to anchor himself.
"You're insatiable," he mutters, head dropping back on the pillow. "You know that?"
You giggle breathlessly, grinding down again. "But you like it, don’t you?"
He laughs, weak but wrecked, already feeling himself swell inside you again. "Fuck, of course I do, you know I do."
He’s already giving in, letting you use him, letting you move how you want, letting you chase what you need. Because you always take what you want from him and Jake fucking lives for it.
His finger squeeze your waist as your hips keep rocking against him, slow but hungry and so greedy, so fucking sweet about it, whining for more when he's still soft and sensitive. It has his head spinning.
"God, you're gonna kill me," he groans, voice low and shaky.
But you just smile down at him, hips grinding insistently, eyes all sparkly with mischief and need.
That's what does it.
He sits up with a sudden growl and grabs your thighs, flipping you onto your back in one smooth quick motion that makes you squeal and giggle. Before you can protest, he's sliding your leg up, hooking it over his shoulder and settling between your thighs again, his cock already twitching back to life as it presses against your slick pussy.
"Since you don't know when to stop..." he mutters, leaning over you, forehead pressed to yours, breath hot against your lips, "guess I'll have to fuck it out of you."
You gasp, fingers digging into his arms as he ruts forward slowly, stretching you out and you're still so wet and swollen around him from your first orgasm that he slips right back in. A shaky moan tumbles from your lips as he bottoms out, and Jake watches your face melt with satisfaction.
"There she is," he breathes, cupping your jaw. "Always so ready for me."
You try to sass him, you open your mouth with something smug, but then he draws his hips back and slams back in deep, and all you can do is cry out and clutch at his arms. “Jake! Fuck!”
He grins. "Yeah? You like that, baby?"
With your leg slung over his shoulder, every thrust drives his cock in at a perfect, punishing angle, he’s so deep it punches the air from your lungs, makes your head tilt back and your fingers claw down his back.
"Yes Jake—"
He groans low at the sound of his name from your lips, fucking in harder and rougher now, one hand gripping your thigh, the other pressing down beside your head.
"Fuck, baby," he pants, voice wrecked and breathless. "You feel so good—so tight, still?"
You're barely holding on, moaning so high and needy with your eyes fluttering. "Because I want you all the time," you whisper, drunk on the stretch and the rhythm of him. "Wanna fuck all the time."
Jake curses, a deep groan rumbling from his chest. "That's fucking insane," he gasps, his hips jerking for a moment. "You're—Fuck."
You hold him tighter, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as your leg slips from his grip, both feet now planted flat so you can rock up to meet every thrust. Your mouths meet in a messy kiss, full of panting breaths and whispered "I love you"s between the moans as he fucks you into the sheets.
You gasp, "Oh baby, please don't stop," he just nods frantically, already lost in you all over again.
His thrusts slow as he feels your body start to tighten again, that telltale tremble of both your orgasms building. You're gasping his name, legs shaking on either side of his hips, hands gripping at his arms so hard he’s sure you’re gonna leave marks.
"That's it, baby," he pants, breath hot against your cheek as he presses his forehead to yours. "You gonna cum for me again? I can feel it—fuck, you're squeezing me so tight—"
Your nails dig into his shoulders and your voice breaks. "Jake—Jake—I'm—"
He doesn't let up his thrust, he continues to fuck his cock into your cunt deeper and faster. "Make you cum for me. Let me feel it."
Your back arches, mouth falling open in a soundless cry, and then it hits again and your whole body jolts as you gush your release around him, warmth flooding between your legs. Jake groans, deep and raw, watching you as it happens.
"Holy shit, baby—look at you," he breathes, eyes glued to where your bodies meet. His fingers slip down instinctively, sliding through the mess of cum and squirt and pushing two inside you with ease, curling them so deep, you jerk under him, overstimulated, crying out, but he's grinning like he's the one being worshipped.
"Yeah baby," he rasps, fucking his fingers into your cunt so fast and deep, he's coaxing out every last tremble, every aftershock. "You're so fucking perfect—fuck, I love when you do that."
You're whining, twitching beneath him, but not stopping him either and he knows you won't, especially when you don't even pause to catch your breath. You're already pushing up, hands slipping against his sweat-slick skin, eyes glassy and blown wide with lust.
"Baby—" he starts, but you're pushing him on his back again and wrapping your mouth around his cock in one desperate and hungry motion.
Jake chokes on a moan, his head falling back with a thud against the pillow. "F—fuck, baby..."
You're still shaking from your own orgasm, but your mouth sucks him so good with your lips stretched wide and your eyes fluttering shut as you take his cock deeper in your throat that tightens around him. He's still wet from you, slick and throbbing on your tongue, and the mix of it all makes your head spin.
"Jesus—shit," Jake growls, both hands fisting in your hair as he begins thrusting into your throat, fast and controlled, his hips twitching as he groans through his teeth.
"You're—fuck—you're gonna make me cum," he breathes, voice strained, eyes locked on the obscene sight of you between his legs with your cheeks hollowed, looking so fucking pretty even now.
You hum around him, fingers digging into his thighs for balance, tears prickling at your lashes as he hits the back of your throat again and again. He swears under his breath, tightening his grip in your hair, one hand cupping the back of your head as he starts to move a little rougher, chasing that high you're dragging out of him like it's yours.
"Fuck—just like that—don't stop—don't—"
"Y/n—Baby." He groans, jerking into your mouth as he cums hard, hips stuttering, holding your head down on him while he spills down your throat.
His hands fall away, and you finally pull back, swallowing his cum with a soft gasp. Your lips are swollen and your cheeks are flushed but you're smiling up at him cause to you, you've done nothing out of the ordinary.
"Holy shit," he whispers, grinning up as you flop half on top of him and on the bed.
His skin is warm, still damp from sweat, and his voice is soft and sweet when he starts talking.
"We should go to the farmer's market tomorrow," he says through breaths, turning his face toward you with a sleepy smile. "Get that jelly you like. Maybe brunch after...or just come back and stay in bed all day."
You hum in agreement, eyes half-lidded as you turn to face him. "Mhm. That sounds perfect."
He's still talking, "We could also check out that new restaurant you wanted to try—" Then he feels your leg slides over his, bare skin gliding against his thigh as you spread yourself open beside him. His voice stutters, pauses, but he doesn't think much of it until your hand finds his.
Still speaking so sweetly, like he doesn't even notice what's happening, Jake continues, "And maybe get stuff for dinner too. We could try that new reci—"
You take his hand and slowly guide it down your stomach, between your thighs...but instead of stopping on your pussy like he expects, you slide his fingers just a little further back.
He stops talking and his brows knit. "Wait..." he breathes, lifting himself onto one elbow to look down at where you're gently positioning him, not quite shy, but quiet.
"Oh?" His voice lifts a little, soft and surprised, fingers frozen in place.
"Here?" he asks, tilting his head, eyes searching your face.
You nod, biting your lip, pupils wide, cheeks heated, just the tiniest bit nervous but far more excited. Jake's heart patters at the sight.
He blinks, then lets out the softest, most reverent little, "Fuck," as his fingers twitch against your hole.
He goes still for a second before glancing down at you with a lazy smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Jake huffs a soft laugh, rubbing his fingers gently where you've placed him. "You really want that again?"
Your lips part in a quiet sigh. "Mhm. Haven't stopped thinking about it."
He grunts in his throat, already adjusting his position to hover over you, his hand still between your thighs. "God, baby...you're unbelievable."
"Please," you whisper.
Jake leans down, kissing your neck with a grin. "Okay, baby."
Jake does exactly what you ask without question, without teasing this time, without dragging it out. Just the steady glide of his fingers, slick with you, working your hole open with practiced care. He knows what you like now. Knows how to curve them just right, how much pressure to apply, when to slow down and when to ruin you.
You're shaking under him, body arching, fists gripping at the sheets. Your eyes flutter back and your mouth falls open but no real words are coming out, just breathy, broken sounds that melt into helpless little moans.
"Fuck, princess," Jake breathes, watching your face like he's obsessed. "Look at you."
You're drooling and you don't even care. Your brain's gone soft and syrupy, babbling nonsense, hiccupping between whines. "So full...s'too good, Jake— I—"
"You can," he murmurs, curling his fingers deeper. "You asked for it, baby."
You whimper hard at that, thighs squeezing around his hand.
Jake leans down, kissing your jaw, your ear, whispering all the filth you crave like praise. "My pretty girl. So greedy for me, huh? Couldn't even wait. Got your fill twice and now you want more."
"Need it," you mewl, "need you— please, please—"
"You have me," he says, voice thick devout as he strokes his own cock back to life, and pushes it in your hole just enough to have you gasping again, moaning as your body clenches hard around his cock.
His thrusts start slow, so deep into you and deliberate, loving the way you squeeze around him and trying not to lose it too fast. Every push forward is a grind of his hips and a filthy exhale against your skin.
But then he hears that sweet little whine you make and he feels your fingers dig into his back, he loses all his patience.
"That's it, baby," His voice is shaking. "Doing so good."
Then his pace starts to speed up, his hips snap harder and sharper. Each thrust makes the pressure mount, your breath hitching as your body rocks forward with every stroke. He holds you firmly, one hand pressing into the mattress, the other one at your hip—dragging you down so his cock can slide deeper and deeper into your ass.
The drag of him against your walls is so intense, even his hips are starting to jerk erratically in their movements, his body slick with sweat, every nerve in him frayed and completely on fire, but he doesn't stop. He can't. Not when you're shaking like this beneath him with tears in your eyes from how good he’s fucking you, so good that you're clawing at him.
He's already come twice and his body sore and overstimulated, but none of it matters cause he has to make you cum one time.
"C'mon, princess," he pants into your neck, his voice is bordering on a little whimper now, "need you to cum for me—give it to me, yeah?"
You nod, your fingers digging into his back. "Jake—I'm—I'm close—"
"I know," he says, sliding a hand between your bodies, thumb immediately circling your clit just the way he knows you like it as he continues to fuck your ass faster and harder, his rhythm never faltering even when his whole body twitches from the overstimulation.
"Fuck—!" you cry out, eyes squeezing shut, thighs locking around him.
Jake moans when he feels you start to clench again, the grip of your body making him curse into your skin. "That's it. Just like that. Be good for me, baby—cum for me."
Your body listens to him and you cum so hard and loud, you’re nearly sobbing through it, your whole body shaking as you gush your release around him again.
Jake groans like he's in pain and pleasure all at once, overstimulated out of his mind but still working his thumb through your orgasm, riding it out with you, whispering, "That's my girl. So good for me. So good."
He's trembling too, face buried in your neck, still inside you, still twitching, but all he cares about is the way you're still falling apart in his arms.
"You've got one more in you," Jake whispers, lips brushing your cheek. "I know you do. Be good for me, baby. Just one more, yeah?"
You're still shaking with how hard your third orgasm just rocked you, but you nod, because you know he knows exactly how to touch you that’ll have that fourth orgasm he wants dragged it out of you.
"You know," he says, lips curling into something darker, "the guys still think you're some sweet little thing who doesn't even let me touch her."
Your eyes snap open.
"They really think I'm suffering over here. Poor Jake, dating the world's most innocent girl," he chuckles in your ear, his fingers pressing harder, cock thrusting faster and faster just the way you need. "Wonder what they'd say if they saw you like this."
"Jake—" you gasp, nails raking down his back. "Don't— don't say that—"
"Why not?" he groans, barely holding on himself. "Look at you. Fucking soaked for me. Begging me to fuck your ass. Taking my cock like this—over and over."
You're gone, completely unraveling under him with your hips bucking, your back arching and a scream caught in your throat as you fall apart, wet and messy and uncontrollable.
Jake watches it all with a dark, fucked out smile, his lips on your cheek as he whispers, "Yeah...real fucking innocent, huh?" His words slam into you like a wave. You arch off the bed, fingers tangling in the sheets, mouth falling open in an enraptured cry.
"Fuck!" you sob, hips bucking involuntarily around his hand and his cock. "Oh god—Jake—"
You're shuddering and everything going white at the edges, and then you cum again, for the fourth time. You squirt around his fingers and cock again, every muscle spasming as you cry out his name again and again, lost in the release.
Jake drops his mouth right where you’re squirting so he can get some into his mouth and suck down on your clit, to guide you through each quaking wave. One of his hands trails back to finger your ass while the other one strokes his cock until he cums into the sheets.
“Yes baby—Oh shit!”
His tongue keeps tracing delicate patterns over your clit and your whole pussy that keep you teetering on the edge even as you ride out your climax before pulling back and looking down at you.
When you look up at him, he looks like he’s on the verge of passing out, then he drapes himself over you, chest slick against yours, breath heavy and shallow as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck.
"Baby..." he starts, boneless and spent. "You're insane."
You giggle, tracing lazy circles along the curve of his spine, still catching your own breath.
He gave you everything, held you down and pulled you apart until your body trembled under his, until he had nothing left to give. And now he's here, lips brushing your collarbone with every exhale, trying to hang on to consciousness.
"We should try double penetration." You say, running your fingers through his hair and feeling his body stiffen at your words as his head lifts slightly to look into your eyes.
"What?"
You grin. "You know. Your cock and a dildo. Just once."
Jake's eyes flutter close and open again, the look he gives you is somewhere between bewilderment and disbelief. His mouth opens like maybe he wants to say something, but doesn't even know where to start.
"Princess," he breathes, collapsing back down on top of you with a dramatic groan. "You might actually kill me one day."
You hum sweetly, threading your fingers through his damp hair. "You'd like it."
"I know I would. That's the problem." He grins against your skin. "Let me survive tonight first."
You laugh, soft and warm beneath him, already thinking about which toy you'll pick and feeling his breathing go even.
He falls asleep like that, with his arms wrapped around you, utterly spent, murmuring something about needing to train for you like it's a sport. And as you run your fingers through his hair, smiling to yourself, one thing's crystal clear.
Jake's friends have no idea just how completely undone he is by you.
nene’s note ── who wants a boyfriend like jake? MEEEEE!!!!
… pwp (porn without plot), sub!jake x dom!reader, very subtle brat!jake, edging, mommy kink, petnames (baby, jakey, ikeu), implied overstim at the end hoho... 875 words & not proofread #wdlm
under the cut!
“please, please, please.”
it’s the only phrase jake seems to be able to get out, because he’s uttered it twelve times within the past five minutes alone. it’s hard for him to say anything else when your hand is moving so painfully slow that he has to blink back tears.
“you can take it, baby. ask for it nicely and i pinky promise i’ll let you cum.”
jake’s stomach tenses, his fingers gripping his shirt to the point the fabric wrinkles. he’s been holding it above his navel for the past fifteen minutes while your hand moves up and down on his slick cock. it’s so good, it’s so good, it’s so good—
“fuck, fuck, mommy—‘m gonna cum!” he squeaks out, the name falling naturally from his swollen lips. it’s so natural, in fact, that it makes him freeze. he opens his teary eyes to meet yours, but you’re already grinning in that way that tells him he’s fucked.
“mommy?”
“shut up,” he groans, tipping his head back against the headboard. your laugh makes his spine tingle and a rush of heat travel its way from his stomach to his cock. it twitches in your hand, oozing precum to make the slide easier on your hand. “please, just… keep going.”
“ask me nicely.”
“i did—“ jake knows arguing gets him nowhere. he sighs, his lips curling downward into a frown. jake pushes his hips forward into your hand, licking his lips. “please, let me cum. i’ll be real good, i promise.” his voice cracks halfway and you know he’s two strokes away from finishing.
“no, do it like before.” his brows kiss together in confusion while his glassy eyes search for some sort of meaning to it in your face. “c’mon. call me mommy.”
his cheeks were previously a pale pink shade from the heat rising in his body, but now they’d become a vibrant shade of red. he opens and closes his mouth like a fish before pressing his lips together tightly and whining. “you can’t be serious—f-fuck!”
“dead serious. go on, jakey.”
he knows you take pleasure in his embarrassment. who wouldn’t with the way the flush spreads to his ears, his lips purse together, and his eyes look at you like he’s pleading for mercy. he swallows, his adam’s apple bobbing as if it were trying to show off all the hickey’s you’d left on and around it.
“… don’t make me, baby.” he whispered it so softly, so sweetly, that you almost consider giving in.
but where’s the fun in that?
“i can do this all day, baby. can you?” his lips part to let out a strained moan when your hand speeds up. the slick noises of his cock are so audible it brings him shame. his head hangs, forcing him to watch as his abs contract violently from the pleasure and his cock bobs like its trying to escape your hand.
“baby, ple… oh, fuck.” jake’s head tips back and his brows pinch together. he’s devastatingly beautiful when he’s trying not to give in. “fuck, just…”
your hand slows to almost a stop, making him groan in frustration. how can you be so cruel? he wants it so bad, so bad the tears in his eyes collect at his waterline. oh, this is the best part—his lips begin to curve downward into a frown like it’ll help him hold back tears any better, the bottom one trembling. he sniffles once, twice, then whimpers. as if on cue, the tears fly down his rosy cheeks. some drip straight down to soak his shirt, others follow the route down his chin and to his neck. he’s so pretty you almost let him finish.
almost. your hand resumes its previous speed. he resumes his previous babbling. “please, i cant, i cant, i—oh, shit.”
“it’s only one word, ikeu. you can do it, can’t you?” the encouragement along with the pure need vibrating through his body is enough to make him nod dumbly, his nose tip reddening like a bunny.
“mommy, please. please, please, lemme cum, ‘m so good—fuck, fuck, oh!” he gasps, almost doubling over when you don’t stop. his hand grips your wrist so hard it might leave bruises. after all, he’s just a big strong man who lets you dumb him down.
“‘s so good… mmm—‘m gonna cum. please, can i? f-fuck!” his words are starting to slur together, his saliva pooling at the tip of his tongue. his eyes shut tightly, his hand leaving your wrist to grip the sheets.
“go ahead, baby.” it’s all he needs to hear to spill over your hand.
“mo-mommy, fuck—!” his cum dribbles over his slit, running down the side of his cock and onto the back of your hand. it happens so quickly, he doesn’t know when it started. a loud moan escapes him involuntarily, his jaw goes slack, and his head lolls back against the headboard. he doesn’t have much to give, but he gives all that he has.
he pants, his shaky hand reaching out to weakly grip yours. it’s a complete turn around from his earlier grip, like he’s now tamed. “s-stop, no more…”
“you can give me another.”
jake blinks dazedly. he’s in for a treat, isn’t he?
a/n: blair where were you!!! you all cry out in unison… i Was schooling. and then i lost the energy to write. and then bts went on tour and im ovulating… ALSO im not a mommy kink person but for some reason sub ikeu w a mommy kink speaks to me. originally i wrote this for jungkook so ntm… Jungkook i miss u.
did anyone else see that one sub!koo tiktok…. no? Ok!
pairing. snake hybrid heeseung x female bunny hybrid reader
genre. hybrid AU, dubcon/noncon elements(don’t read if that makes you uncomfortable. thanks.), hybrid physician/gynecology specialist heeseung, explicit smut, M/F, one shot
warnings. profanity, medical terminology and malpractice, hybrid terminology, infertility discussion, snake venom use(comparable to hallucinogenics/aphrodisiacs), manipulation, smut warnings under cut. minors DNI.
“There’s a small problem, nothing to panic over. But Doctor Jack’s wife has gone into labor. He will not be able to treat you today.”
“B-but! Dr. Jack has been handling my special situation from the beginning! I can’t go through this without him.”
The sheep hybrid nurse sighs, fiddling with her white curled locks. “Listen, I know it seems scary but Dr. Lee is very skilled with Bunny’s! He’s studied your breed all of his time at one of the top Hybrid schools in all of the country!”
“Dr. Lee?? What? I’ve never met him before.” You fret, glancing around the office in a panic.
“He is a very close colleague of Dr. Jack’s, in fact they studied together! You see, it’s been a hectic week here at the facility and Doctor had to pull some strings to find this last minute coverage. That’s how much he cares about you as a patient!” She smiles much too large, nodding frantically. “Dr. Jack asked me to warn you ahead of time, due to Dr. Lee’s subgender..”
“What? Why? Is he not a hare? Why would Dr. Jack recommend a hybrid different of my own?!”
“Now now honey, he is a professional. Before hybrids we are professionals. Look at me! I’m half sheep and you have no complaints.” She sasses, propping a hand on her hip. “Dr. Lee is a lovely man, he’s a hit every time he covers for Dr. Jack!”
“What is he??” You frown, growing annoyed with how evasive she’s being.
Folding her hands over her stomach, her nose twitches. “King Cobra I believe is what he’s said before—“
“WHAT?! A SNAKE!” Getting up from the chair you’d been patiently waiting on, you reach for your overnight bag. “Absolutely not! Not even a prey breed! But a Goddamn snake!”
“Calm down!” She barks, pushing your shoulders to sit back down. “You know how hard Dr. Jack worked to squeeze an appointment in for you! Don’t be so ungrateful, he can’t control when his wife’s water breaks!”
“I can’t have a snake examining me! He’ll try to eat me!” You shout. Dragging your fingers roughly down your fluffed ears. “I—I refuse.”
“Dr. Jack has no open availability for the next 6 months. If you skip the appointment then we’ll have to keep you on fertility medication.”
“But it’s—it’s making me sick, I vomit every time I try to eat. And I feel nauseous all day, there’s nothing else I can try?” You plead, desperate to get out of this office.
“I can’t prescribe anything, only Dr. Lee can.. after examining you. Now, I know you haven’t experienced a first heat yet, and at your age this is a highly unusual occurrence. Dr. Jack has never seen a case as severe as yours..” she laments, frowning to one side. “Trust me when I say that Dr. Lee is an amazing man, and he’d never risk his license to eat a damn bunny hybrid.”
Tears well up in your eyes, slumping into the office chair you’ve spent many hours in before. Sharing your fears and worries.
What if you never find a mate? What if you’re not able to produce a kit? No buck hybrid would ever see you as worthy of pairing with if you can’t even birth him one child, let alone multiple..
“He won’t hurt you, Dr. Lee is nothing but a professional.” She rubs your shoulder. “He’s been waiting too long now.. your attitude is dragging this day on more than necessary.”
“Okay, I.. I’ll see him.”
“There there bunny, you should be proud of yourself.” Passing you a gown to change into, she nods. “Predator prejudice is such a dated mindset. I’m surprised someone in their 20s still behaves this way.”
Pft, you glare at her. Snatching the gown from her and blowing your ears away from your face. “I’ll send the Doctor in now, remember to be a nice bunny. You can put that on after the Doctors gone over your chart.”
Bowing out, she turns and leaves the room. The walls feel closer in the second she leaves. It had already taken you years to accept a Buck hybrid for a physician, but searching high and low for a Doe in your area had led you down empty roads. The chances of finding a female rabbit hybrid within a 50 mile radius of you seemed more impossible than finding a needle in a haystack.
And so you met with Dr. Jack when you were of age to begin experiencing your first heat. When the time never came, your mother encouraged you to seek help. Drilling into your head how important it is that you find a mate one day to grow old with, and that no respectable Buck would be interested in a barren host.
After postponing the use of medication for the past few years, you finally caved, at your wits end. The infertility meds hadn’t agreed with you, and landing this appointment had already taken months as is. None of the therapy sessions, heat inducing medication, diet changes, lifestyle changes, even the use of various tools for masturbation.. none had made a difference. Now you sit here in Dr. Jack’s office once again, hopeful and fearing.
A snake hybrid, a king cobra of all types. What in the world could Dr. Jack be thinking to associate with the likes of a ruthless predator of that caliber?! And why, why would he allow him to assist one of his most difficult patients!
The door creaks as it slowly moves open and a shiny pair of leather loafers step foot inside. The scent of him travels fast, smokey and herby, carrying traces of sage and bergamot. It’s the scent of a predator, lacking any softness, nothing similar to Dr. Jack’s warm cotton and dewy flower field aroma.
Without lifting your head to look at him, you watch as his legs walk past you rounding the desk in front of you. The slacks he wears have no wrinkle in sight, lined and ironed to a crisp. His lab coat cinches at his trim waist, widening up his broad upper back and shoulders, and his hair.. his full thick head of hair hides any indication of scales, tapering off into his collared shirt. From the back he seems almost.. harmless, attractive even. Exactly as a predator would love to be perceived by a prey..
Blinking, you watch from underneath your eyelashes as he sits in Dr. Jack’s chair, smiling tight-lipped to not show his teeth. He’s trying to not scare you, opening his large glossy eyes wide and full to appear less intimidating.
“It’s so lovely to meet you! Thank you for allowing me to conduct your visit with us today.” He continues to softly smile. Gathering the folder set out for him, he begins to dive into your personal information.
“You don’t work here..” you grumble. Tugging the end of one of your eyes into your mouth to suck on. An anxious habit, no matter how embarrassing it is to do at your age. The equivalent of a human sucking on their thumb, really.
“I often cover for Dr. Jack.” He corrects you, eyebrows furrowing as he reads over your file. “Would rather hear from you than read over all of this medical terminology. So, what seems to be the problem with the fertility medication you’ve been prescribed?”
“Can’t you just read my file?” You mumble, looking away. The tip of your ear now covered with drool, matting your fur down. “Dr. Jack had me log my symptoms everyday in the hybrid app portal.”
“Ah, I see I see.” Shoving his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He turns toward the computer perched on the corner of the desk. Logging in and filling out your information to pull up your logs. “Throwing up, lack of sleep, nausea. Hmm.”
“I can’t take these pills anymore, they make me feel awful.” Alternating to your other ear, you suck at your fur more aggressively. Growing more exhausted by the second of his strong scent that sets off your fight or flight instinct. Filling your mind with urgency to leave, get yourself as far away as possible from danger.
“There is really no need for you to be so nervous.” He speaks softly without tearing his eyes away from the computer screen. Dark snake eyes obviously hidden under a pair of gray contacts to soften his appearance.
“Do you always hide your scales?” You brazenly ask. Noticing how well his button up sits against his throat leaving none of the sides or back of his neck visible. And the gloves he wears.. white gloves, obviously to conceal whatever scales may cover his hand.
Dr. Lee’s cheek dimples with a smile, continuing to keep his lips sealed shut. He turns to look at you, folding his hands beneath his chin. “No. Nurse Chops was gracious enough to warn me of your concerns before I entered. I figured I could ease your anxiety if I covered up a bit.”
“W-why would you want to work with prey hybrids? Aren’t you worried that you’ll—“
“I was raised by preys, a pack of deer hybrids in fact. Have never attacked or hunted any type of prey. You know, your environment really does alter the outcome of your beliefs and mindset. I’ve always wanted to help the preys, learn to coexist.” He informs you. Slowly opening his mouth up wider to reveal his set of fangs. Sharp and long, pearly white as if they’ve never been tainted with blood.
Deer?? How could deer possibly take in a King Cobra..
“My mother and father were hunted, human hunters from what I was told. I had been tucked away in my nest when the deer hybrids stumbled upon me..” picking up on your apprehension he continues to overshare. “Perhaps if you know more about me, this will feel easier. We have a lot of tests to run today.”
“You studied prey to help us?” You question wearily, releasing your ear from your mouth.
“To help all of us. Our kinds, hybrids, we’re constantly being exploited, hunted, killed. For the better of all of our breeds, we need to help each other.” He firmly nods, smiling with teeth. His contacts shift as he blinks, peaks of yellow iris appearing behind his glasses. His gloved hands rest on the desk, and broad shoulders stand pronounced even while sat down.
The realization that minutes have passed without being attacked begins to settle. You sit up, smoothing down your ears, reaching for the gown on your lap to clutch at. “How can you help me? What do you know about bunny infertility?”
Dr. Lee’s gaze drags down your body for a flash of a second. Returning to your petrified face. “I have quite a bit of experience with rabbit and bunny hybrids. Men and women in fact, some may say your breed is my specialty.”
Saliva drips from his teeth, sealing his mouth shut with a smile. He discreetly swallows, stealing another look at your crossed ankles. Your small hands trembling and pinching the hospital gown material in your lap.
Of all the Doe’s he’s ever encountered, you sure are the prettiest. His tongue only salivates more as his gaze returns to your face, you pouty lips and button nose. Fluffy ears flattened against your head as you appear deep in thought.
“What do you think then Doctor? Am I a hopeless cause?” You ask in a whiny tone. Bottom lip jutting out so sadly. He has to grip his thighs together to stop a rush of blood from reaching the area between his thighs too fast. You seemed much more difficult at first, a challenge, he can’t stand a challenge.
“Not at all, bunny.” He smiles again. His sharp teeth even seem less frightening beneath his sparkling eyes and overall handsome features. “From what I have read here, Dr. Jack has instructed me to thoroughly examine you today.”
“Should I change now Dr. Lee?” You ask quietly, lifting the gown to your chest.
“Call me Heeseung, if that’s okay with you bunny. We’re going to be working very closely today, I want you to feel as comfortable with me as you can.” Adjusting his glasses, he stands up and moves around the desk. Sitting perched on the edge with his legs crossing at his ankles in front of you. “Why don’t you go behind that curtain there and get changed, we’ll get you set up on the examination chair.”
Nerves continue to skyrocket through your body even after shutting the curtain. The last view of Dr. Lee.. or Heeseung as he informed you, left you gasping for air. His broad frame turned away from you, his back muscles shifting and flexing under his shirt as he removed his lab coat.
Dr. Jack’s office always maintained a cool temperature, too cold at times even. Keeping his private sectors of work space and examination room connected added to the extra high co-pays his clinic charges. The vials, test tubes, and various medications organized in the room required light and cool temperatures. He explained once as you shivered on the examination table, eyes jumping around the room nervously.
“Knock knock?” Dr. Lee calls from the other side of the drape. His expensive leather shoes tapping against the linoleum floor.
“Yes, uhm, ready.”
Hardly ready as the drape drags open, the rings attaching to the ceiling clink together and he smiles with no teeth. Now changed into a large cover up, he remains covered up from neck down to his hands. “Let’s check your vitals first, shall we?”
That’s normal, exactly how Dr. Jack begins. Taking a magnified look inside of your ears, your throat, checking your reflexes with a knock against your knee.
It’s only when he begins to reach inside of the back of your hospital gown that you freak out. Breathing faster, digging your fingers into the cushion of the table beneath you. The metal of his stethoscope presses against your upper back, shivering through your skin.
“Go ahead and take a deep breath.” He whispers by your ear, listening to your rapid beating heart. “You’re very nervous, aren’t you?”
Pressing his free palm to your chest, he breathes in deep for you to follow him. Slowly dragging the air out of his nostrils, he nods and moves the stethoscope around to listen again. “Your hearts beating so fast, I must really make you uncomfortable.”
“N-no, it’s not that..” you shudder. Stomach swooping this close to him, his cheek nearly brushing against yours.
“I understand.” Another soft and reassuring smile fails to soothe your fear. He shuts your gown, taking down notes. “Everything seems normal, I’ll have you lay back now.”
Dr. Jack’s never gotten this far in your physical exams. That’s why today was so important to you, and now a snake hybrid.. ugh. Cursing to yourself you shift to press your back against the table, staring at the stirrups with fear. “Should I put my legs here?”
“I’ll help you.” He nods, sitting down on a rolling seat. The snap of vinyl gloves jerking you to look up. Too distracted by your position to notice that he swapped them out. “According to your files, you’ve not experienced your first heat yet?”
“Yes, Doctor..” you swallow. Forced into a seated position as he adjusts the table. Grabbing one of your ankles to place in a stirrup.
“Heeseung.” He grins, setting your other leg into place. “That’s highly unusual for a Doe of your age.”
“I’ve been told.” You mutter annoyed. Only having heard numerous times how odd it is.
“Do you produce slick?” He asks, relaxed as if this is his job. Because it is, and you have to remind yourself every 5 seconds that this attractive snake hybrid is just doing his job.
“I.. no, I don’t believe I do.”
Without glancing at you once, he continues to scribble down notes. Turning away to open up a cabinet. “I’ll be using lubricant to open you up.”
“Open me up?! What do you mean??” You stiffen, wide-eyed. He turns back to face you, setting down a bottle of clear thick fluid on a tray next to him.
“For the examination, you scheduled this appointment as a gyno visit.” He states, as if it should be obvious. Once again making you realize how weird you’re being.
This. is. his. job.
“Righ, uhm. That’s what Dr. Jack originally had recommended for me.”
“Are you sexually active?” Picking up his clipboard once again, he checks off different boxes.
“Not at the moment.”
“But you have been?”
“Yes, Doctor.”
“Have your sexual experiences been painful?”
“Wh-what?”
Heeseung raises his eyebrows, peering up at you. “Without producing slick I’d assume vaginal penetration wasn’t very pleasant?”
“Oh, uhm.” Shrugging, you nod. “Hurt a little, I guess.”
“Was your partner large?”
His question makes your head feel fuzzy, chest itchy, having to look away from him before you can muster up an answer. “Not really.”
“How big would you say? 5 inches? Was he fully hard.”
“Uhm, I don’t remember. It’s been a few months.” You whisper, reaching to play with your fingers. “We used lube.”
“And it still hurt? Was that your first time?” His head tilts, eyes squinting.
“No Doctor..”
Heeseung hums, adding extra notes. “And still no heat.. highly peculiar. I’m going to have to open you up and see if something could be blocking the passageway for your slick. It’s highly uncommon but I have read of hybrids with an extra flesh of muscle, tightens up the cervix.”
“Like.. inside?” You asked through clenched teeth. Knowing better than to ask a professional gynecologist such a stupid question. Sighing and shutting your eyes, you try to relax, nodding. “Okay.”
“Do you need to use the restroom before we get started?” The sound of antibacterial soap squishes between his gloved fingers. Dry off with a paper towel before turning back around.
“I’m fine.”
“Don’t worry about needing to pee if you can’t control your bladder. It’s quite common to orgasm or release fluid while being examined.” He smiles too nicely. Dragging himself closer between your parted legs. His hands reach for the end of your gown, folding it up. Shooting your eyes open to stare at the brightly lit ceiling, you can only hope he can’t hear your heart beating out of your chest at a manic pace.
“Do you not grow hair?” He asks, bending in closer.
“Huh?!”
“You have no hair.” He says flatly. Glove hands landing softly on your inner thighs. “Or did you remove the hair yourself?”
“Oh, I.. I did it.” You speak shyly, wishing you could cover your face. It’s nothing to be embarrassed of and you know that, but you can’t stop yourself from feeling overwhelmed. The Doctor’s hands feel large and warm on your inner thighs even through the material of his vinyl gloves. Knowing you’re fully exposed to him awakens a sensation of heat in your stomach, clenching your eyes shut to ignore it.
“Do you orgasm, bunny?” Dr. Lee’s tone deepens, huskier. Clearing his throat as he softly pets the soft skin lining your thighs.
“N-no, I’ve tried. I don’t know, I-I think I’m broken Doctor.” You can’t stop a whimper from ending your sentence. Biting down on your lip, you try to not breathe through your nose. His smells stronger now, all around you, dizzying even.
“You’re not broken bunny..” he practically coo’s. Smiling from ear to ear, he sucks in a deep breath through his nose. “And I’m going to take care of everything for you, don’t you worry those pretty fluffy ears.”
The closer his fingers trail to your outer folds, the more you struggle to not squirm. Clutching your hands together to stop your hips from rising. His slicked fingers drag down the smooth skin covering your vulva, slowly stroking up and down to coat all of your core with lube. “Gosh, you’re really pretty everywhere bunny..”
“Doctor.. I feel..” squinting your eyes open at the lights over your head, you have to shut them closed immediately. The blur above you, spinning the texture of the wall in your line of sight.
“Relax relax,” he hushes you, pushing your vulva spread open with his thumbs. The sounds of a hiss follows, sucking at the backs of his teeth. “My my my bunny, you are lovely. I was really hoping for a virgin, but you’re so tight.” He whistles, licking across his sharp fangs as he inspects your clenched hole. An unusually dry sight of flesh.
“My head.. I can’t keep m-my eyes open.”
“My scents too powerful for a small little prey like you.” He smirks, pulling your labia folds apart. “I’m going to need to open you up really good before we can complete this examination.”
Powerful is an understatement, the more turned on he grows, the more his aroma weakens you. Limp and glued to the table, you struggle to keep your eyes halfway open. “W-will it hurt?”
“No baby, I’d never hurt you.” Dragging the split end of his tongue across his upper lip, he begins to smear lube between your folds. Skirting his digits across your clit, all but missing your entrance that stays locked up tight. “Dr. Lee’s going to make you feel so good.”
The burning itch in your stomach rides up to your chest, breathing out heavier and faster. He works at massaging and caressing your labia, gently stroking the flesh around your clit. “Have to get you nice and wet first, wet enough to open up this pussy.”
“I feel weird, Doctor.” You pant fearfully, shutting your eyes to relieve yourself of the bright lights. “Hot.”
“That’s good darling, that’s a great sign. You let Dr. Lee handle this, I’ll have you pissing out an orgasm across this floor in no time.” Sweat lines his brow as he begins to build up speed with ease. Tracing his digits between your lubricated folds until they begin to swell with blood. A pleased click of his tongue resounds and he pinches your clit between two of his fingers. Slowly rubbing your cunt with one hand as he begins to work on your bundle of nerves, hitting each one with his soft expert motions.
“Dr. Lee! T-that feels—different!” You croon, legs shaking.
Sucking at his bottom lip, he can’t break his focus away from stimulating your clit. Holding your folds apart to watch your hole for even a small sign of opening up. He pinches and massages, working your hardened nub from side to side until you finally relax. “Fuck.” He whispers, hungrily licking at his mouth. “I’m going to stretch you out now.”
“Wh-what??” You ask almost deliriously. Had he not already started?!
The tip of his finger presses to your budding entrance. Lightly applying pressure to see if you’ll give and let him in. Success shouts in his mind as he glides in to his first knuckle, only one finger but it’s enough to make his head spin. Cocks aching inside of the confines of his snug fitted slacks. He has to bite down on his teeth to stop himself from yelling out at the way your cunt sucks around just the tip of one of his digits.
“Relax for me.” Shoving his free hand higher, he presses against your stomach just beneath your navel. Adding the weight of his thick palm to keep your lower back in place as he begins to glide the rest of his digit inside of you. There’s no way you’ll be able to take one of his cocks like this, let alone two.
Glancing over his shoulder at the tray by his side, he eyes the shiny dilator he set out. A little extra help won’t hurt. “You’re so tight, bunny.” He has to mention it again. Growing frustrated and hornier by the second. His finger fully fits inside of you, experimentally pressing against your soft warm walls. “I’m going to have to dilate you.”
“Dr. Lee, please..” you sigh, head spinning. The scent of bergamot burning through each of your senses. The taste of a snake hybrid seeping down your throat.
Freeing his finger, he picks up the tool to prepare it. Using nearly half of the bottle of lube to cover his hands and the dilator, he turns back to observe your cunt. Gleaming shiny and swelled up, perfect for taking cock.
“This won’t hurt if you just relax, bunny. Listen to what I say, alright?” The tip of the dilator eases inside of you without a problem. Thinner than the Doctor’s finger, if not the same size. He sucks in wet breath, relieving his tongue of the saliva that won’t stop pooling. “Good job, so proud of you bun. You’re making Dr. Lee soo happy.” A more sadistic smile stretches the bottom half of his face. Pushing the devices button to expand inside of you.
The push against your insides has you arching up with a shout, clutching onto the sides of the table. “N-no! Pull it o-out!” You cry. Toes pointing out stiffly, unable to remove your legs from the stirrups keeping you held in place. “Heeseung!”
“Come on bunny, don’t let me down now.” He says gruffly, bending closer to look inside of you with the dilator now fully expanded. The sound of a ragged breath covered in saliva emits from beneath your gown. And the Doctor's broad shoulders shake, reaching two of his digits inside of the tool to measure how open you are.
“Please Dr. Lee! Please take it o-out!” You beg again, full on crying now. No amount of lube could have prepared you for the stretch of the dilator, not after only one finger to prep you. Jerking your hips up shoots a tinge of pain up your spine, falling back down with a wail. “Please!”
Grunting as he squeezes a third finger inside, Heeseung drags his tongue across his mouth. Pushing back and snapping off his gloves. He shoots up from the chair to grab your neck, baring his teeth. “Bunny.” He bites out, the collar of his shirt loosened and unbuttoned. Silver and black scales on display lining the sides of his throat. “What happened to my good and well behaved little prey? Have you gained confidence that I won’t eat you alive so easily?”
Ripping off his glasses, he tosses them aside, blinking away the gray contacts hiding his viscous serpent eyes. “Now, we can continue to play nice,” squeezing your neck, he drags the back of his scaled hand down your soft cheek. “Or we can play my way.”
Innate and instinctive alarm to protect yourself goes off, throwing your head back to scream. “Help!! HELP!!”
Dr. Lee rolls his eyes, slapping his heavy palm over your mouth. “Fine. I gave you a choice.”
His yellow iris expands, taking over the whites of his eyes. Unleashing his sharp fangs, his long split tongue snaps and slithers before your face. Cracking akin to a whip to instill how threatening he is to your existence. Tears drip out onto his hand, screaming and shoving at his chest. The snake hybrid dominates without effort, keeping your neck held down effortlessly as he grabs your jaw and forces your mouth open.
Thick wads of what appears to be saliva dribbles and rolls off the tips of his tongue into your mouth. Incinerating your flesh the second it meets your lips and continues to pour out filling your mouth up.
Poison. Fucking snake venom.
The burning hits your throat, scolding hot, acidic, leaving numbness behind. The last thought you’re able to process before the venom seeps into your veins is death. Death at the hands of a predator that outsmarted you, tale as old as time. The predator trapping the stupid bunny hybrid, feeding off of you as no more than a snack.
Lavving at his lips, he smiles and pats your cheeks. Panting for breath as he takes in your blissed out drugged expression. “Now, where were we, bunny?”
Quietly humming, he releases the dilator, whistling at the way your cunt gapes now. “Let’s get back to business, shall we darling?” He unties your hospital gown, throwing it aside to reveal your breast. Sucking at his teeth and cupping them, he nods to himself. “Such a shame, such a gorgeous prey, and you’ve never known the joys of cumming on a cock.” Biting on one of your nipples, he works on licking and sucking until it rubs stiffly against the roof of his mouth. Alternate to the other after some minutes. “You can trust that Dr. Lee has a 100% success rate.”
Standing before you, he throws off his cover up, slowly unbuttoning his top to show off his built chest and shoulders. “I saw the way you were looking at me bunny, you prey are all the same. So helpless and pitiful, but still desperate to be loved and taken.”
“D-doctor..” you say, out of body. Floating on a cloud, reaching forward to grab his bare chest for something to hold on to, fearing now that you may fly away.
“My sweet delicate bunny.” He grins arrogantly, lifting your hands up to his mouth. Dragging his forked tongue between your fingers, kissing at your knuckles. “Let me take care of everything.”
Pushing you to lay back again, he smooths your hair out of your face. Softly dragging his fingers through your ears. “Love how fluffy you are.”
Dr. Lee’s hands travel down your shoulders, chest, pinching your breast on the way down past your waist and stomach. He smooths over your hips, cupping and squeezing, lowering his palms to your outer thighs. “Bet your bunny tails frantically twitching, so excited.”
“Nnnghh..” you drowsily groan, dropping your head to watch him move to your side and cup your cunt. His other hand returning to the bottom of your stomach.
“Nice and relaxed, pretty.” Gliding his digits between your lubricated folds, he taps at your entrance. Teasing and circling around your hole fluttering under his fingertips. “That’s it.”
Easing three of his digits inside of you, he begins to thrust inside of your pussy with less tenacity. Less worried about any pain you could feel with his venom racing through your veins. He pumps his fingers in and out of you with no goal other than to feel your cunt clamp around him. To pour a mess of arousal out onto this hospital floor. “Come on.” Gritting his teeth, he turns to watch your awestruck face. Panting weakly, eyes rolling up and back to look at him. The silent desperation to break through that roadblock that’s been in your way. To bring down all of your fears and inhibitions, every insecurity.
God he wants to fuck you, to ruin your pussy and mind. Leave you so damaged that no other hybrid will ever be enough.
There’s no prey in the world Heeseung’s ever come across that he can’t fuck and destroy. More determined to take you to an ultimate high given your special case, disorder, whatever the fuck it may be. “Still so tight.” He licks at his lips, thirsty for a taste.
That same rapid fire of heat exploding from your stomach hits the surface and boils over. Tipping your head back to let out a moan, you feel blinded by the white lights above, the cold heat melting down your face. And for the first time the release you’ve seeked for years finally hits. Thick fingers jab at your cervix, pushing roughly against a spongy spot inside of you over and over again. Wetness trickles out and Heeseung’s eyes burst open wide in awe.
“D-doctor! Oh m-my God!” You cry. Dropping your mouth in silent disbelief. His hand shoves down from your stomach, slapping at your clit.
“Let it go baby, let it all go.” He grunts, forearm jerking madly. “Fucking dripping.”
Everything you’ve dreamt of since starting this journey dissolves, freeing your body of tension and worry. A coil breaks free from your gut, pushing up past your chest and you scream out in pleasure. Toes curling as your hips shoot up and slick flies out around the Doctor’s fingers.
“Ahh!” The pleasures too much, sucking your stomach in as you collapse. Shaking your head from side to side and Heeseung doesn’t let up. Pressing his bicep onto your stomach he lodges you in place, continuing to fuck your cunt open until every last drop of your orgasm drenches his shirt and leaves the floor freshly mopped over.
It’s as if a sprinkler has set off inside of you, and Dr. Lee couldn’t be more proud. Smiling large and maniacally as he retracts his fingers and pats your cunt lovingly. “I knew my bunny could do it.”
“D-doctor, I feel.. f-feel,” you stutter, lips trembling. “Hot.”
“That’s your heat my love. You’re ready to be properly bred and mated now.” Unbuttoning the rest of his shirt, he wipes off his arms and chest of sweat and slick, throwing the soaked garment aside before turning to his seat to roll between your thighs. “You’ve opened up quite nicely.”
The venom shouldn’t numb you for too long, no longer than 15 minutes. Just enough to get you to this point of pleasure, too struck by each new sensation and feeling to fully understand how wrong this is. That no doctor should ever behave this way with a patient.
“My h-heat?” You ask, sounding hopeful. Pouty with your tear stained cheeks and wide shining eyes. Your eyebrows twist together as you look down at him, full of concern. “I’m in heat?”
Licking at his now very plump and pink lips, he eagerly nods. Laying his palms on your upper thighs to knead and squeeze at. “Highly common for bunny hybrids to experience their first heat during a prey attack. You see, fear and pleasure go hand in hand. You Doe’s love to play the victim especially, bouncing around with your little fluffed tails taunting us..”
He hoists your hips up higher suddenly, sliding one of his hands beneath your ass to tweak and ruffle the ball of fur at the top of your perky buttcheeks. “I need to taste you to make sure nothing’s wrong with your slick now.”
“T-taste?” You flinch. Shivering from your tail up your spine. Dragging your gaze across Dr. Lee’s blushing cheeks, his sweat slickened skin, and his hung open mouth. The tips of his tongue slithering between his teeth as he watches you.
“It’s been too long now for you to go through your first heat, we must take every precaution.” He convinces you, chin tilted in as he gazes upon your frightened face. The thrill of the hunt and control over your mind tickles through his cock. Twitching inside of his slacks again as a reminder to hurry the hell up. “No Hare will mate a rotted Doe.”
Lifting your hands to your face to bite your nails, you nod and agree for him to do whatever examinations he needs to. Anything to ensure you’re not some defunct hybrid, that you are worthy of being mated..
“This won’t hurt one bit.” His tongue flickers out, igniting that same heat in your stomach from before. Now more intense as you really take the time to look over the scales adorning Dr. Lee’s biceps, partially trailing over his collarbone and chest. His tight stomach rising and flexing with each ragged breath he takes. The way his pants cling to his thighs like a second skin in his seated position. A large bulge suffocating right in the middle between his hips.
Lowering his nose to your mound, he slowly drags the tip across while keeping his eyes directed upwards to watch you. His long tongue dragging down between your folds. Slowly slithering between as he groans against your cunt and sends vibrations through your lower half.
“H-how do I taste?” You ask curiously. Hypnotized by his thin sharp black iris.
The sound of metal clinking distracts you for a second as he releases your legs from the stirrups. Hooking under your knees to throw them onto his shoulders, he pushes forward and thrusts the tip of his tongue at your entrance. Pulling back to lick across his glistening lips and slicked coated chin.
“Tastes like dinner.” He winks. Setting off your worry once again before diving in. Long tongue wriggling through your clamped hole, lapping at the sides as he sinks in deep.
“D-doctor!..”
The length of his tongue reaches deep inside past your inner walls. Flicking the tips against your cervix as he begins to collect venom at the back of his throat to coat the inside of your cunt with. Mimicking an aphrodisiac to heighten your sex drive, making you more than desperate for cock. Knowing your head will clear up soon, he has to take extra measures to keep you drunk for his cocks.
Slurping the slick that dollops onto his bottom lip, he pulls back to gently trace between your folds. Slowly building up to firmer licks, running right over your swollen bud. “A-ahh, Dr. L-lee!” You puff breathily. The heat squeezing in your belly, tensing through your limbs.
“Come on bunny, call me Heeseung.” Slowly licking across his lips, he glances up at you. His heavy gaze full of darkness and sin. “Wanna hear you moaning and screaming my name.”
“H-heeseung.” You nod quickly. Breathing hard enough for your breasts to rise and fall rapidly.
“Feeling good?” Pursing his lips together, he kisses up your inner thighs. Never shifting his heated gaze away from yours. Latching his mouth back onto your clit, he keeps his intense gaze on your weakened one. Sucking one of his fingers inside of his mouth, he spits out more venom. Popping it free to circle over your wrinkled little rim.
“Heeseung!” You jolt up. Clutching onto the table's arm rests. “Th-that’s my—“
“Need to open you up here too bunny.” Kissing your swollen clit, he drags his puffy lips down. Sucking at your hole as his finger teases your rim. Lathering his venom around to relax your muscles. “Have to make sure nothings wrong down here.”
“In m-my—“
“Your pretty little asshole.” He says shamelessly. Slurping the slick mixed with his venom from your hole. Dipping his sporked tongue in and out over and over again as he teases your rim. The tip of his finger pushing down on your taut wrinkled skin, allowing himself to dip in just past his fingernail.
Wrinkling your face together, you try to nod. Convinced that the Doctor only has your best interest in mind. The odd discomfort between your buttcheeks fades away, falling to the pleasure building inside of you. The smooth wetness of his long tongue, how it flicks and tickles inside of you. His chilling gaze, keeping you on the edge of fear and desire. The combination lifts your hips from the table, softly rutting your clit against his tongue as he returns to wrap around your bundle of nerves.
“H-hee—“ moaning raggedly, you grip onto the chair's arms harder. Digging your nails in as he ruthlessly sucks, sneaking his digit inside of your asshole as pleasure takes over your face. Eyes rolled back leaving nothing but whites behind, mouth hung open panting and shaking.
“Yeah.” He blows across your wet cunt. Finger curling up inside of your extra tight hole, suctioning wet and hot around his digit. “Let go bunny, stop holding yourself back.” He soothers, returning to work on your clit as he squeezes in another finger.
“Ah!” Reaching down to scratch your fingers through his hair, you grasp tightly. Yanking tufts between your hands through his fervent licks. Heeseung slides his tongue all the way back in, using his other hand to rub your clit as he wiggles through. Waving his tongue against your wall, he thrusts inside of your ass simultaneously. All of it too much, racing you to the brink of over sensitivity.
Let go.
Stop holding yourself back.
The replay of his raspy voice melds into the wet sounds gushing from your core. Thighs shaking around his head as you scream out and roughly pull at his scalp. He sucks and laps at all of your squirting slick, jabbing his fingers inside of your ass faster and harder. His face drenched in your release, and still dragging his tongue through your sensitive folds.
“D-doc—Heeseung! Please no! H-hurts! S’too much!” You whine, pulling at his hair with all of the energy you have left. Body drained of life from your orgasm, like a pool of jelly as you struggle to tighten your fists.
Lapping your pussy clean, he grunts, lifting his intense piercing eyes back to yours. “You’re fucking delectable, darling. I could really eat you up.”
Shining his fangs at you, his tongue drags across them, popping his fingers out of your ass to suck on. Gliding up and down each one slowly as he moans and watches your distraught overstimulated gaze. Drawn into his hypnotic scent, dangerous words, alluring aura.
If this is the way you die, you can’t help to think it’s one hell of a way to go..
“A little more,” he mutters, shoving your thighs open to set you back on the stirrups. “Stay just like that bunny.” Cupping your hips, he aims your asshole up higher. Still so small and shyly wrinkled up beneath your swollen pussy, making him salivate as he lowers his face and drags his nose across your rim.
“Nnghh.. noo, d-don’t, not there.” You mewl, turning your face away while still watching his every move from the corner of your eye.
Adding more spit and venom, he glides three digits inside with a bit of struggle. Gritting his teeth imagining one of his cock in place of his fingers. There’s no way any of those tiny dick useless Hare’s you’ve fucked before have ever been in here. “You’re really doing so good, can’t be more proud of you right now.” He says roughly, his voice more strained. Hissing as he uses his strength to push his fingers apart inside of you. “F-fuck, bunny.”
His soft words and the sensual feeling coming from his fingers has your head spinning. This shouldn’t feel so good, right? Why does it feel so good? You can’t stop yourself from moaning, bringing your hand to your both to bite on your palm. You croon, lower back arching, riding on the size of his digits stretched apart inside of your ass.
“You like it deep.” He hums throatily. Eyes growing wide as he focuses on your rim opening up for him, dropping another wad of spit inside. “You feel so fucking good, baby.”
Heeseung’s tongue creeps between his fingers, furrowing his eyebrows as he dips in for a taste. Your cunt couldn’t have been sweeter, but your ass, assuming you’re still untouched.. it’s damn near holy. Spurting saliva around his tongue as he drags in and out like a mad man, desperate to feel your insides one way or another. His predatory instinct screams to take a bite, sink his teeth into the meaty flesh of your ass. Lashing his tongue at the inside of your asshole, he pulls free and shouts. “Need to be inside of you right now.”
Sweat accumulates on your chest despite the cool temperature, throttled into your first heat with the assistance of snake venom, you can’t comprehend most of what the Doctor’s been mumbling. Going on and on about how delicious your slick is, how tight you’ll squeeze his cocks.
Cocks being the keyword you should really catch onto. “Dr. Lee, I feel d-dizzy.” Rubbing over your face, you brush down to your chest. Palming across your hardened nipples back and forth. “And hot, all over. Especially here.”
Reaching between your thighs, you smooth down past your mound. Hissing as you rubs over your clit, still hard and inflamed with blood.
“Does it hurt?” He asks coyly, knowing full well you’ve lost yourself to your own primal instincts. Craving to be filled with something, even if you continue to have any doubts. “Does it hurt? My sweet bunny.” He coo’s, placing his hand over yours. The heat radiating off of your body melting his skin. “Do you need me to make you feel better?”
“Please.. please, h-help me..”
Heeseung can taste the venom dripping from his fangs, fighting himself to not roll his eyes every time you beg for his help. God if only you could see how helpless you are, how pathetic and easy to capture you are. Handing yourself over to your predator on a fucking silver platter, you’re the best type of hybrid, his favorite.
“I’ll do more than that.” He mumbles quietly under his breath, locking your legs back into the stirrups. Taking a step back, he finally unbuckles his belt, sighing as he unzips his slacks and his cocks can breathe at last. Sticky and hot inside of his boxers where precum had leaked onto every once dry area. “This shouldn’t hurt too much, bunny. One last exam to make sure you’re ready to be mated..”
Dr. Lee’s chest and stomach muscles flex as he works to discard his bottoms. His veiny hands moving slowly, squeezing his eyes shut and tucking in his lip as he peels away his boxers. The sight of his fully bare figure jolts something inside of your stomach. Squeezing out a wad of slick that drips onto the floor, you whimper and shake your legs to get out of the chair. “D-doctor! No!”
Dropping and kicking off his boxers with a groan, he grabs onto his shafts using both hands. The sight before you is absolutely obscene, horrifying even. Thick hands circle and stroke his cocks, dropping his head back and grunting. “One last test, then you’ll be all done with this.”
Dr. Lee eyes you dripping hole, slick dribbling down past your rim onto the floor. Pouring down like rain droplets as they land in a puddle beneath your ass. He growls, reaching for your hips to haul your lower half almost off of the edge of the table, setting you into the perfect position.
“A-ah! Doctor!” The vinyl material of the examination chair burns against your skin. Sticking to you the more you sweat. Peering at his face nervously, your shaking hands reach out to grab onto something, his chest, shoulders. Anything to assure you that this is real, a snake hybrid stands before you fully nude; tracing his eyes down your body to the heated flesh between your legs.
Tugging on his cocks a few more times, he grits his teeth. Lowering his nose to your scent gland, his nostrils drag up and down, emitting more of his smokey scent to calm you. Tempted to bite you, leave some type of mark along your delicate throat, he nips at your skin. Lapping the sore area before you can complain. “Tastes so good everywhere, don’t you bunny.”
Lining his lengths up to your holes, he licks up your jaw to your ear. Kissing and mumbling sweet words to calm your choked staggered breaths. “Don’t forget, you’re made for this.”
Nothing could have prepared you for the first prod of his tips pushing against your holes. No amount of stretching you, licking you, fucking you with his tongue and fingers. The Doctor’s thick width burns as his cockheads press forward to penetrate past your tight holes. None of the Hare’s you’d been with in the past could compare to even half of one of his dicks, let alone two.
A string of curses drips from his mouth, huffing against your cheek as he presses his forehead to yours. “Open up for me darling, let me in. Be a good bunny.”
Continuing to slowly push himself inside of you, he watches the tears slowly pour from your pure harmless eyes. So soft and sweet, gentle. Your fluffy ears framing your face so innocently, he can’t stop himself. Dragging his fingers through your furry ears, he pulls on them playfully. Smirking at the gasp you let out, the way your eyes roll up for a moment. Tugging again he forces his cockhead past your rim and cunt, grinding his teeth together.
“Gonna fill you up so good, bunny.” Heeseung drags the tip of one of your ears to his lips, sucking on it the same way you had done earlier. Eyes fluttering shut as he pushes in inch by slow inch. Cradled by the sound of your cries and whimpers, how your breathing stops whenever he sucks on your fluffy ear; coating your fur with his saliva. Leaving the trail on his scent stuck on you permanently, from your blood infiltrated by his venom. To your womb soon to be filled with his cum.
The snap of taut stretched skin around his lower cock jerks his hips forward. Halting to suck deep breaths in through his nose. His hands drop down to your arms, squeezing as he maneuvers them beneath you to wrap you up in a tight hug. The size of his body crushes you in, stuffed to the brim with his dicks filling your ass and pussy. The Doctor circles his hips, savoring the way your holes clamp around him, burying his last inch into the hilt.
“Heeseung,” you pant, drowsy eyes flickering up. Reaching between your bodies, you rub over the bulge pushing out under your navel. The fat tip of his cock pressing against your insides so deep, you have to feel it to believe it. Mouth dropping in awe as you trace the shape of him, reaching lower to drag your fingers around his size probing through the flesh of your stomach. “Feel you, r-right here.”
“Fuck.” The euphoric high look on your face can only come from getting fucked. His hips twitch, sucking on the drool inside of his mouth to concentrate on anything other than how much you're squeezing around him. How he can feel your dainty fingers jerking him off through the skin lining the bottom of your stomach.
Forcing himself to calm down with deep breaths, he tries to let you get used to the painful throbbing inside of your ass. Tries to let you get used to his fat girth filling up your cunt, slowly pushing himself side to side to accommodate you tight holes for himself. A dull ache rips throughout his pelvis, climbing up to his stomach in a coiling spiral, and he can’t stop himself anymore. Gathering your chest to press snuggly against his, he pulls your back off the chair. Thrusting out only a few inches before burying his lengths in deep. “A-agh!”
Dr. Lee can feel it, the way your asshole grips around him trying to push him out while your tight pussy sucks against him. The difference stirs heat up to his chest, pulling out a few more inches before plummeting forward again. Losing his sense with that second thrust, he savors these last fleeting minutes inside of you for the first time. Eyes rolling back as he draws out to the tip and begins to ruthlessly fuck you.
The scream you let out only encourages his hips, slamming forward faster. Hurting at first to be taken so roughly, fucked in your ass for the first time, but your heat takes over after a minute more of push and pull. The resistance he was met with disappearing as he sheathes each inch inside of your holes without falter. The more he made you take it, the better it felt to be fucked with abandon.
The beating of his heart pounded against your chest, rocking you down onto his lengths. Against the chair, ramming his hips between your trapped opened legs with free will. Reaching one of your hands around his neck, you squeeze at his nape, scratching your nails down his scales. Screaming through your gritted teeth as he somehow fucks you even faster.
“Heeseung!” Rubbing your fingers over the shape of his cock bulging through your stomach, you cry out. Dropping your face into his neck to further intoxicate yourself with his hedonistic scent.
The build up of something hot and mind numbing spills over inside of you, clenching down on him from your ass to your pussy; you try to kick free. Squirting around his cock fucking inside of your cunt past your orgasm, slicks rains down onto his thighs, by his feet. Spraying your aroused scent all over the hospital room.
“S-stop!” You whine despairingly. Digging your nails into the back of his neck. Dragging your other arm around him to scratch down his spine as he continues to fuck through your gripping over sensitivity. “Dr. Lee! H-hurts! Please!”
The only sounds entering Heeseung’s head right now are his snake, lashing at him to fuck, breed, claim. Take take and take some more. Loud moans and pained gasps play around him as he fucks into you animalistically, unsure if they’re coming from you. Maybe a mixture of your pleasure, too drunk off of his own need to overpower you, he thrust in deep.
Reaching back to unclasp your legs and throw your thighs up against you, he slams forward. Cock burying to the hilt, locking his biceps under the pits of your knees. Bending you in half as he chases his orgasm and more of your slick dribbles out, shooting at his stomach and balls. They clap wet and loud against the top of your ass, nearly hanging off of his cocks with how far he’s pulled you off of the table.
“Doctor!” You sob into his neck, another orgasm ripping free from your body. He locks around your back, crushing you to his body in a full mating press. The look in his eyes near demonic as he raises up and stands straight, throwing your ass and pussy down onto his cocks. The resounding clap of wet skin on skin pounds throughout the room, bouncing off these sanitized hospital walls. And he fucks into youbat a deranged pace, led by the sound of your breath growing shallow, the silent cries that struggle to exit your dried up scratchy throat.
“F-fuck!” He squeezes out through trembling lips. Laying you against the table once his thighs begin to burn. He buries inside once, twice, thrusts growing sloppy as he captures your mouth with his plump lips and lets out a howled scream.
The swell of his knots shoots your tired eyes wide open. Irises shaking as your eyes well up with tears and the pain of being stretched to accept his knot pushing against your abused holes erupts through your body. Struggling to breath with his mouth latched to yours, tongue slithering past your tonsils.
“There you go..” he looks down. Forehead covered with a thick gleam of sweat. His handsome features reddened, hair a mess from all of your pulling. Grinding his cocks inside of you, he shivers and twitches as cum flows out and stuffs you from both ends. “All better now, bunny.”
Dr. Lee’s shoulders continue to tremble, gripping your waist so tight, nails cutting into your skin. Both of his cock stay locked in place, knots fully expanded inside of both of your holes.
“Heeseung?”
Bright yellow eyes snap up to your face, his sharp teeth chatter, and he loudly swallows. The fear you felt before completely disintegrates, only worried now that he’ll leave.. never to be seen again.
“Are you going to kill me now?” You ask almost pitifully. Frowning, you clutch your hands to your chest. Too ashamed to look down at the area you’re still connected.
“No, bunny, never.” He smiles, peeling his hands off your stomach to cup your cheeks. “I’m going to mate you.”
A new fear of the abomination growing in your stomach arises, shaking your head. “We can’t!”
“Shhh shhh.” Wiping away your tears, he kisses the tip of your nose. Gently dragging his lips lower to graze your bitten over pout. Circling his hips, he roughly digs into your waist for leverage to push his knots in deeper. “Dr. Lee will take care of everything.”
genre. college AU, nerdy Heeseung, crack, one shot, pwop, total filth
warnings. profanity, y/n is a meanie, wrestling.., strength/muscle kink, body descriptions, fictional fiction. smut warnings under cut. minors DNI.
wc. 6.3k+
now playing. go big or go home//enhypen
a/n. this is a rework of my nct fic Beatbox that I’ve been asked to make an enha version of a few times. enjoy!
smut warnings. switching, oral, grappling(headlocks, chokeholds, thigh crushing, full nelson, pinning, etc), degradation, competitive rough sex, breeding, spit, use of ‘bambi’, submission
———————-
‘If you fail your political history course, I have to sit you out for the upcoming season.’
“Who even studies this shit.” The sheet filled with requirements to continue competing with your varsity wrestling team wrinkles between your fingers.
Three of your courses blared at you, circled with vibrant red sharpie to add more threat behind your coaches words.
‘If you don’t pick up your fucking slack asap, say goodbye to competing in the championship finals.’
No amount of kicking at your locker and swinging your backpack around on your way to class assisted in relieving any of your frustration.
If only you had a dick, fat chance any guy on the boys wrestling team had to worry about their grades. Everyone knew the dean favored his beloved male athletes, bragged and boasted about across states through various top leading universities.
“A tutor.” You murmur, rolling your eyes. Reprimanded and put on time-out until you have at the least found a tutor. Either miss out on one of the biggest tournaments in the upcoming weeks, or get your ass a tutor to help you pass your mid-terms.
Someone smart, obviously, a full fledged nerd with their nose buried in a book.
Hmm, no, not Jake… he hadn’t even made top of your class last year.
Definitely not that pervert Jongseong that got caught behind the bleachers jerking off..
Glancing around, you begin to weigh your options.
Sunghoon, he’s a brain, but he still had tape holding his glasses together after you snapped them in half two months ago. His fault for getting in your way and making you late to practice.
A peachy pink blonde head of hair and a pile of books masking your potential essential nerd grabs your eye.
The communist manifesto hovers before his face, allowing you enough of a view of thin rimmed silver lenses and eyebrows furrowed deep in concentration. Sneakily you move over to the closest seat near him, silently rejoicing when you spot a pocket protector sitting on his chest.
Perfect.
“Hey hey, you a new transfer?”
The boy next to you appears horrified, offended with his jaw hung loose. Large doe eyes more pronounced behind bifocal frames. He splutters, licking at his pouted bow-shaped lips. “I’ve been in this class all year! You transferred into my grade, 10 years ago!”
“Huh?” You shrug, prodding the inside of your cheek in thought. “Really? Weird.”
“Y-yo-you have to be joking!”
“Anyway,” you flick his chin, smirking. “I need a tutor.”
The boy before you grows more indignant, fumbling to set a bookmark in place and fully turn to face you.
“Why would I help you?!” He scoffs, pushing his glasses higher up the bridge of his nose. “You pulled down my pants at our 8th grade dance! In front of the entire school!”
“That was you?!”
“And then you poured punch on me! And told everyone I pissed myself!” He stammers, tapping one of his loafers with each shake of his leg.
“There’s no way that was you!” You giggle, waving him off. “That was this dork Hee—“
“Heeseung!” He hisses, ripping off his glasses to fix you with a steely look. “Me!”
“Oh my god?? Heedeungie??” You snort, reaching out to glide a finger down his jaw and pinch his full cheek. “What happened to that cute lisp you had?.”
Heeseung rustles, smacking your hand away with his lips angrily pursed together. Appearing more and more perturbed by everything you say. “Don’t touch me!”
Letting out a sarcastic filled coo you lean in closer, pinching at his chin between 2 fingers to look at you. “Aw, did I upset you Bambi boy?”
His eyelids push so far back that you’re surprised when his eyes stay put, expecting for them to fall out and bounce on his notebook. “What did you just call me?” He says incredulously, grasping onto your wrist tightly. “Don’t call me that!”
“Damn, this nerd has some strength,” you cringe, shaking him off. Weakly punching at his arm only to feel overtaken with disbelief again, digging a finger in as you pout and wonder why he feels so firm. Too firm for a nerd..
“I said stop touching me!” He glowers, forcefully ripping your arm away. “Go away! I do not want to help you in any way!”
“Aw come onnnn, pleaseeee little Bambi?”
“Stop calling me that!” He hisses, inching closer to speak sternly. “Why do you keep calling me that?!”
Smoothing a few digits through his hair, you trace down to his war. Tugging on it and tilting your head with a smirk. “You even act like a cute little deer, the perfect prey for a good hunt. Can’t even hide those big pretty innocent eyes full of fear.”
“Listen,” he snaps before your face, nearly chopping your nose in the process. “I am not going to tutor you! and stop calling me a weak little deer!”
Hope seems lost until you notice a crimson flush spiking up from his nape. Heeseung’s gaze bounces, clearing his throat as he reaches for his book. Faint shades of pink burn at his cheeks, reaching up to the corners of his nose.
“Aww, you like it!” You laugh, scooting closer for your leg to drape over his. “Hear me out Bambi baby- if you help me out, I’ll help you out.”
“I don’t need nor want your help.” He mutters, refusing to meet your stare any longer. Aware of the blush taking over his face destroying the facade he continues on with.
“That’s not true, and you know how I know that?”
Sighing, his chin dips in, frustrated by his curious subconscious. “How.”
“Because I’m the predator, and you are the prey.” You say snarkily, shifting your leg to slot between his. Digging an elbow into his side and breaking into a round of giggles at the sight of his lips parting open letting out a quiet breathy moan.
“Listen, Bambi boy, my coach is up my ass about finding a tutor. Just swing by at the end of practice so I can tell him someone with a 4.0 gpa has agreed to help me.” You plead, squeezing at his arm again with confusion. “Why do you feel like that?”
Heeseung throws a hissy fit, shimmying out of your grip once again while snarling in a much too cute way for you to take seriously. “No! Now go away you damn cretin!”
“Hear me out!” You grunt, rolling your eyes. “I know the captain of the football team gives you a swirly every Monday morning.”
Heeseung’s jaw drops yet again, beginning to hate himself for not just getting up and moving away. Too afraid that one slight movement could have his raging hard-on rubbing against your calve between his thighs. Starting to find one of your bullies attractive had to make him sick in the head somehow. “Why do you know that?! You just asked me if I transferred!”
“Uh.. selective memory.” You shrug, playing it off with a wide smile. “Anyway, what if I can get him to stop?”
His ears perk up at that, flitting a shifty gaze your way. “You can’t.”
“Oh, trust me, I can. He’s wanted me to suck his dick since the first day of Uni.” You nod mischievously, wiggling your eyebrows.
Heeseung slumps deeper into his seat, contemplating how late those damn swirlies make him for class, having to rush to lecture after rinsing and restyling his hair. “You know, toilet water is terrible for a fried bleached scalp.”
“My hair is not fried!” He barks, nose scrunching up adorably in irritation.
“You’re right, it looks great..” you note, testing a silky tuft of locks between two fingers with a rough pull. “Kind of weird for a nerd to care this much about his looks though..”
Heeseung jerks away, glaring at you for mocking him. “Applying for internships has been hard..”
“Ahh, well the pink or whatever, looks great on you at least!” Giving him a thumbs up, you invade his space once again. “So, how about it? No more toilet diving if you tutor me??”
He sighs again, expression full of thought as he pouts and aggressively taps at the end of his pen.
“Fine.” His shoulders drop, feeling tense and uncomfortable by the proximity you’ve kept up for much for too long at his side now. Not missing the way your fingers kneaded at his bicep earlier or the intrigued ‘hmm’ tickling at the back of your throat.
“Great! Come by the gym at 4!”
———————-
Heeseung trudges toward the gym hall, retelling the memories of his first year when Jay had convinced him to join him and peep on the girls wrestling team practice from behind the bleachers.
His throat dries, regretting every life decision he’s ever made as he steps inside and spots you choking another girl down onto the ground under your armpit. Deeply swallowing, he settles at the corner of the bleachers uncomfortably. Unable to even pretend that he’s not fascinated by the way you grunt and scream like a wild animal with a mouthguard in as you throttle your opponent down.
Heeseung hates the way he has to tug at his collar, clearing his throat while blinking away to calm his excitement. This was all Jay’s fault, always going on about how hot wrestling porn is, especially when the girl in the video starts off strong only to lose and get annihilated by a huge cock.
‘I’ve never wanted anything more.’ His friend said while peering through small open spaces from behind a set of bleachers. ‘Look at that one.’
Jay nudges his chin in your direction, grappling down your opponent with a shout and slamming your fists on your chests like a beast. ‘Bet she would be so fun to fucking ruin.’
Heeseung hates that his friend was right. Even now as he watches you jump up from the ground showing off your flexibility with a cocky grin; he can’t help but think about it. How exhilarating and hot it would be to experience you trying to take him down. Fight him with that same smile stretching your mouth in a crass way, disgusting how full of yourself you are. The way you walk around thinking you’re hot shit and no one can touch you.
Too deep in his head and fantasies, Heeseung manages to miss you walking right up to him. Shaking out of his thoughts as you let out a boisterous obnoxious laugh and point at his lap.
“Are you seriously fucking hard from watching me practice!?” You shout out much too loud, humiliating him as your teammates all glance over and begin to laugh.
“Ugh. Fucking nerds are all the same.” Your friend taunts passing by on her way to the locker room. “Just like that other loser Jongseong that thinks we can’t hear him busting a nut behind the bleachers.”
Punching at his shoulder, you laugh more, clutching your stomach and wiping at tears before they can run down your cheeks. “That’s so cute Bambi boy, you wanna wrestle me or something?”
Heeseung’s mouth opens. Opening and slams shut repeatedly at a loss for words as he drags a heated gaze over your sweat soaked uniform. Spending too much time admiring the fold that’s formed between your thighs, wedged up nicely between your…
“Dude, what the fuck? Quit staring at my vag like that.” You punch him again, whistling for your coach to come over and meet your ‘tutor’.
Heeseung jumps up, standing by your side with false confidence. “Maybe I do!”
“What was that now, Bambi?”
“Stop calling me that!” He huffs, balling up his fist. “I could wrestle you, and I bet that I can even beat you.”
“Excuse me?!” You snort, fixing him with amused wide eyes. “Are you serious right now?”
“I am.” He says, nodding and pursing his lips to appear tough. “If you pass your mid-term, then you owe me a match.”
Nerves rise fast as your coach approaches, spluttering, too stunned to think over what he’s said. “You have a thing for girls beating your ass?”
Heeseung’s nose twitches, eyes thinning as he shoves against your side. “We have a deal or what?”
“Fine!” You panic, rushed to answer while waving at your coach. “I got a tutor!”
Between fake smiles and quickly falsifying study sessions, you end up actually taking on tutoring lessons. Successfully scoring Heeseung a match with one of the best wrestlers on the team.
———————-
“Why do you have a wrestling mat in your basement?” Heeseung asks one day, following you through your house to the second room you have taken over for practice purposes.
“The better to wrestle you with.” You wink, nudging his side. “I’m studying hard just to whoop your cute Bambi ass.”
“What happens if I lose?” Heeseung questions, cracking his toes against the wrestling mat laid out in your basement.
“What do you mean ‘what if?’, you still think you have even the slightest chance to beat me?” You sneer. Too cocky for your own good as you squat with your legs stretched to loosen your hips. Predicting you will need the extra help if things go as you’ve planned.
Heeseung’s gaze shifts, bouncing around the room he’s helped you study in over the past couple of weeks. Toying with the zipper cool against his throat as he realizes how ridiculous this situation is.
“Listen, I don’t think this is a good idea.” He reiterates, briskly eyeing the loose sweats hiding what he assumes is your spandex wrestling uniform.
“It’s okay to lose, Bambi boy.“ You wink, standing up to discard the zip-up hoodie covering up a skin-tight fitted one piece. Snug in all the right places that make his throat visibly bob the second he spots your smooth skin. Lathered in lotion you noticed he seemed to enjoy the scent of the last time you wore it during a study session.
“I’ll go easy on you.” With a coy smile you shove down your bottoms just enough to give him peeks of your naked hips. The majority of the lycra fabric has bunched up, riding up your ass in a lewd way that causes Heeseung to clear his throat, averting his focus to the ground.
“I truly have no idea how you passed your mid-term.” Heeseung rolls his eyes, stretching back his shoulders as he reaches to unzip his sweater.
The prideful grin bunching your cheeks slowly falls apart, drooping comically the more he unveils planes of flesh; sculpted and carved to perfection from long hours spent lifting weights.
Heeseung lets his jacket slip down his arms, standing proud with a blank face as your jaw hangs. It takes more restraint than he imagined to control the twitch pinching at his mouth, avoiding the intense stare tracing from his lengthy throat, pronounced Adam’s apple, broad shoulders and thick chest trapped between bulging biceps.
“What the fuck.” You announce, breathlessly. “What the fuck dude?!”
Heeseung shrugs, breaking into a smile that scrunches his nose, pushing his glasses up higher between his eyebrows. “You’ll go easy on me, right?”
Heeseung’s buff. A fucking buff nerd that’s never once mentioned that he took up absorbing protein shakes like water and bulking up at the gym after long days filled with studying and schoolwork.
“Hey.” He pushes your chin to shut your mouth before your tongue can loll out like a thirsty dog. “Try not to look so shocked, it’s kind of rude.”
“Why—” you gulp, finally snapping out of it enough to toe off your sweats and kick them aside. “Why the fuck are you this yolked?!”
Heeseung shrugs, unzipping his bottoms to further make you shrivel, lowering his jeans to show off the tiniest pair of spandex shorts. They dig into his upper thigh, cutting at the flexed muscle framing the thick shape between.
“Oh come on!”
He chuckles, bending over to strip the rest of his clothing off. Balling up his outfit to throw aside, he stands straight in all his glory. Cut and ripped leading up to a soft face, sharp jawline and doe eyes, pouting much too cutely for that build.
“You’re fucking with me.” You utter, cleaning off imaginary drool from your chin.
“Not yet..” Heeseung cocks a brow, cracking his neck side to side. “I got tired of not fighting back, so I started working out.”
He shrugs, done explaining more when he recalls that you are one of the many who tormented him over the years. Making fun of him without care, invisible to you unless it was to pick on him.
“That makes sense.” You murmur to yourself, kicking out your legs before settling in a lowered stance. Fully prepared to take down your larger opponent. “Guess I won’t be taking it very easy on you after all.”
“Won’t you spare me?” He smirks, bending at his knees with his arms lifted to grab you and tackle you down.
Heeseung gulps to contain his nerves, thankful for the shadow falling on his glasses beneath the dim lighting fanned throughout the room. His throats already began to dry, flitting over your breasts obscenely squeezed out, shoved together creating perfect perky fat mounds ready to be choked between his fingers.
Time to size up your competitor goes to complete shit. Heeseung’s grown beyond comprehension, larger than you ever recall seeing him. Corded muscles strain up his thighs to narrow hips and a tight little waist dipping in such an absurd way. His frame widens ridiculously at his chest, more ridiculous than the situation you’ve put yourself in as a mere joke.
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.
Licking at your lips, you begin to circle him, following suit as he mimics your motions.
Inhaling a deep breath, you meet his gaze, lowering your chin for intimidation. “Hey, Heeseung.”
“Huh?”
You almost feel sorry attacking his weak spot by throwing him off. It’s playing dirty, but you know there’s no better way to get him plastered on his back. Tackled down onto the mat with your face buried in his chest, Heeseung lets out a gust of air. Caught off guard as you ram him down in one fell swoop.
He grunts, the back of his head bouncing off the mat; realizing he should have suffered itchy burning eyeballs and opted for contact lenses today.
“Amateur,” you groan, tethering his forearms together. Each muscle lining your back screams. Flexing as you attempt to take control by slotting your hips against his. “Shouldn’t be s-so cocky—“
Heeseung growls, huffing out another breath to blow his bangs off of his forehead. Jerking his hips up to jostle your weight to the side brings on instant regret, muffling a curse by locking his lips. His cock fattens, searing heat pulses from the tip of his length to his navel.
“F-fuck,” you grit, pressing harder onto his crossed arms until his chest caves. “Playing dirty won’t help you win.”
Heeseung’s breath lodges, clenching the backs of his teeth as he bends his knees. His heels dig into the mat, hoisting up with more force until you topple over and lose your balance, fast as he escapes your grip and grabs onto your shoulders and plants your back flat.
“Playing dirty?” He asks, seductively licking at his front teeth.
Heeseung circles your thighs, pushing them open to space an area for himself between your legs. He hovers near your lips, glasses slipping lower, just above the tip of his nose. “Like you distracting me with your entire ass out? What the fuck are you even wearing, huh?”
“Get off of me!” You say with clamped teeth, only bringing amusement to his face as his biceps bracket your head. “This is a normal uniform!”
“Yeah,” he laughs, using the end of your nose to set his glasses back into place. His hips roll, a focused control freezing your lower half down as his knees burn against the mat, turning sticky with moisture secreting. “A normal uniform for some slut doing wrestling porn. That’s what this is for you, isn’t it?”
He finishes the question with a pointed grind, cock nestled against your clothed core further burying the material of your suit between your folds. “Between the two of us, you know who lacks brains here.”
Heeseung’s gaze darkens, lowering closer until his bottom lip runs between the seam of your mouth. Fitting together deliciously, wet from sweat gathering on both of your upper lips and saliva clinging to the tips of your tongues.
He can feel it, hot and humid against his groin. Your pussy spreading over his shorts, clit incessantly rubbing on your suit with each little shift.
“Ugh, f-fucking nerd.” Squeezing your eyes shut, you struggle by jostling your lower half as much as you can. Barely fazing him as he licks down your chin, forming a trail of drool down to the middle of your neck hollowing in for him to lap at. The sweat pooled there tastes savory at first, hit by a bitter aftertaste from the alcohol in your scented lotion. Fitting for you, sour and sweet as you’ve acted with him.
“Call me a nerd again.” He pushes up, causing your eyebrows to twist as his chest pumps out. Pecs hard as a rock, nipples pointed like icicles despite the heat gathering between your bodies. “See what happens.”
“Oooh, s-so scared,” you choke, Heeseung grabbing onto your throat when you try to sit up and shove him off. “I’ll break your glasses, see how tough you f-feel.”
Your taunting only eggs him on, ferociously pushing his side against your inner thigh until your centers fully exposed for him to press three digits against your exposed folds. Gliding up to pinch your suit around your clit until your feet slip and you kick at the mat.
“Get this wet for a fucking nerd huh?” He jeers, rolling your bundle of nerves under the damp fabric. “Maybe that’s why you bullied me, wanted me to fuck that bratty better-than-you attitude out of you.”
All you can do is struggle, attempting to dislodge your throat from his menacing hold, only seeping his fingers further into the veins rapidly pulsating up the sides of your neck.
“If only it had been the other way around.” He goes on mocking, blurring over your clit faster and faster until you’re coughing between trapped moans. “Imagine if I bullied you. Getting your revenge on me years later by cornering me and fucking me until I’m incapable or forming a sentence.”
His speech lands on muted ears, passing through a thick fog of arousal that clogs up your senses. Too focused on how thick and veiny his forearm looks. The veins rippling upward toward his meaty bicep shout at you, pumping full of anger with each flick of his wrist.
“You’re right, I got hard watching you practice.” He confesses, turning his hips for you to feel his chubbed up girth against your inner thigh. “Wanna know why?”
Gurgling escapes you, licking at the roof of your mouth to suppress another embarrassing sound from passing. He laughs, sharp teeth gleaming as they catch the light. “Because..”
Gathering the seat of your bottoms, he tugs at the material with a balled up fist. Ripping roughly at it to make you writhe and squeal in pain, burning against your clit with each pull. “This is why, to see you like this. So fucking full of yourself, but you can’t even pass a stupid test without a nerds help.”
Mesmerized by your folds swelling up around your suit, Heeseung’s waist bends in, momentarily forgetting about his grip on your neck; just enough to give you leeway to push up on your elbows and regain control.
It’s easy to pin Heeseung down again, startling him with power he wished to assume you lack. He curses when you fling him down roughly and mount his chest. Gathering fistfuls of his sweaty peachy pink locks, you rip at his scalp until he’s whining. Elongated neck arched back releasing an obscene moan between his pretty pink lips. Ragged breath spills from your chest, working hard to maneuver forward until your inner thighs clap against his cheeks. Slotting your suit aside too fast for Heeseung to even let out a gasp of surprise.
Smashing your core down against his mouth sends a hiss flying out of you, grinding down hard despite the ridges of his teeth scraping along your clit. He muffles, flailing beneath you, glasses fogged up with slick and heat radiating from your lower half. A relieved laugh sounds, nodding as you work to crush your thighs around him to a suffocating point.
“Bambi boy talks tough—“ you grit, gyrating against his tongue until he groans. Losing your train of thought once again when his tongue curves, applying pressure against your entrance until you give. Loosening up and relaxing enough to push through. “Fuck.”
Heeseung can’t complain, even as he struggles to breathe through his nose, stuffed full of your clit rubbing incessantly against him. He’s crazed, determined to stretch his jaw until it breaks under your unforgiving thrusts.
Behind your back his knees bend, angling his hips up to fuck at nothing but air. Desperate as he slaps a merciless grip on your ass, repeating it until you get the message to ride his tongue.
Securing one hand on his head, you pull harder, using the hold to control your motions. His tongue wiggling between your walls while passing vibrating grunts, raspy broken whimpers. The unexpected slap you deliver between his thighs has him coughing, choking and screaming finding it impossible to swallow a long enough breath.
“Little B-bambi boy can’t even handle f-fighting a girl can he?” You scramble to taunt him, whimpering as he manages to dislodge his tongue and suck on your clit. Spreading your ass apart to have your hole pulse open against his chin as he uses every inch of his face to rub and flick. Messy, fucking disgusting with a pleased gleam hiding under splattered lenses.
Heeseung’s teeth nip, lapping side to side on your clit before he wraps his lips again. A mean suck and nimble digits digging in too close to your rim have you toppling forward. A shouted moan expelling as you whine and bounce down to fully release your orgasm on his chin and neck.
White haze takes over the room, brain spinning too much to process being manhandled onto your back. Only between a coughed whimper do you come down, blinking up to find Heeseung above you. Grasping your ankles above your head with a devilish smirk playing at his lips.
“You think I give up that easily? That was child’s play.” He taunts, pushing hard abdominal muscles against your exposed puffy cunt. Rough and grating as he passes from the thin line of dark hair trailing from beneath his navel to inside of his shorts. A silent gasp emits as he grinds against your ass, hoisted off the mat the more he tests your flexibility, continuing to push and push until you’re folded in half.
Lazily you blink, reaching between your upper halves to scrape at his chest. Tweaking and pinching at one of his hardened nipples. With clenched teeth he takes advantage of your drunk-like post orgasmic state, releasing an ankle and replacing his hold with a hard bite. Sharp canine teeth sink near your tendon, shaking his head to make you shout and whimper louder. Free hand making use of your moment of weakness to release his erect length.
“Know what mean girls like you need?” He says between licking at teeth marks left behind on your ankle. Stroking to the tip of his length as he directs himself between your dripping wet folds. Sliding up and down for you to go crosseyed, stupid dumb just from feeling how fucking thick and wide he is.
“B-bambi, you’re s-so—“
He doesn’t give you a chance to say more, penetrating with one fluid practiced motion. Years of masturbating and studying porn only served to build up his knowledge. Practicing what he learned with any girl who would give him the opportunity at science camp over the last few summers.
“Thick fucking cock to shut you up.” Finishing his sentence with a choked growl, he grinds, adding emphasis by giving you each inch.
The moan that rips from your chest says it all.
Full, so full. Thick, so fucking thick.
He’s bigger than any popular jerk you’ve fucked at frat parties. Obscenely stretching you out, split open and so unbelievably full.
“Aww.” He attempts to mock, unable to stop himself from pressing in balls deep. Pressed deep enough for coarse dark hairs to scratch against your clit in the position. Folded in half and dwarfed beneath his massive size, both of his hands snake around your ankles, using his rocking hips to aid the push he gives. Your calves surround you, burning up the backs of your thighs from tight tendons working overtime.
“Weak. Nothing but a hole to take my cock.” Regaining some semblance at the visual of tears beginning to pour freely down your cheeks, Heeseung arches back, burying his knees into the mat to hit your hard with a pointed thrust.
Pinning you down with every muscle straining in his arms, he fills you to the brim. Cock too thick, nestling past any squeeze you give, any push the muscles inside of you use to suffocate his length.
“Don’t s-stop,” you choke, eyeing where he continues to dive in and out. His cock glistens coated in thick amounts of wetness, globs of it stuck on the patch of hair at the base. Wet, filthy and so fucking wet everywhere.
“So fucking greedy, full of cock and still you want more?” He spits, licking at saliva dribbling down his chin. “Want me to fill you up? Breed you like nothing but a stupid little cum dump.”
“Uh huh..” no amount of humiliation burning up your chest can deny how good it feels. Unwilling to even struggle or bother to get away from his hips pummeling forward. Hiccups and coughed sobs assist the rapid nod you give him, too overwhelmed to even picture how much Heeseung can give you.
He wishes he could laugh, but you feel too good, too perfect. The tip of his length catches on your convulsing hole with each draw back. It’s too much for you to even look at, witnessing the tip protruding the skin covering your mound. Feeling deeper than what you can even actually see, as if his cock can reach the back of your throat with each and every thrust he gives you.
“Pl-please Seungie..” you babble, worrying your bottom lip. Fingers twitching for something, finding his shoulders to weakly scratch at and drag down to the cut his bicep muscle creates along his arm. “I-inside, please..”
Heeseung groans, circling his hips in a more meticulous manner. Cock dragging against your wet walls in a way that sends your toes curling. Legs trembling, nearly ripping free of his hold when he hits you just right, cockhead kissing your cervix with ease; hitting the perfect angle each time.
“Nnghh… Pleasepleasepleaseplease.”
Maintaining his hold to keep you bent in half somehow, Heeseung fucks faster. Ruthless and harsh, encouraged by your babbling and whines. Thrust after thrust harder than the previous, ripping his chest and abdominal muscles to appear carved out of stone with all the more vigor he utilizes to fuck you like you need and beg for.
“Ahhh…fuck!” Heeseung’s voice comes out strangled, using every bit of his strength to keep fucking you even as you lock up around him. Gripping a powerful orgasm around his cock, the pressure, push and pull almost forcing his cock to slip out. Gushed around, so wet and sloppy, spilling release down to his balls.
Despite your shrieks, he only manages to go even faster. Blurry above you as he pounds through your orgasm, gritting and panting similar to one of your opponents by the end of a long match. Rumbling from deep within his chest as he meets your eyes. Fogged up glasses drop down the bridge of his nose, tightening up when you find his blown out pupils.
Heeseung cums, cums hard. Cock thrumming violently with each hot drop of release bursting free, filling you up and up until he has to curse. Removing his hold as his broad shoulders tremble, absorbing the heat between your bodies through tremors rolling up his tense back muscles.
That’s enough, you think, rolling away in search of a towel to wipe yourself with. Whining when your hip lets out a nasty crack. You knew that pre-stretch would be needed, but not this much.
“Where do you think you’re going?” A lowered voice asks. Shivering up your spine as you whimper, burning where your wet thighs rub against the mat feebly attempting to crawl away.
“N-no no m-more..”
Heeseung laughs, worse than an evil villain from any movie or show. Slow to walk on his knees over your pathetic excuse of getting away. He hauls your arms back, clicking his tongue with a breathless chuckle. “This will teach you to fuck with nerds.”
Burying back inside of you aches more than you can comprehend. Imagining your brain exploding and spilling out of your ears as he rolls down. Cock sunk in to the hilt, gushing out the release he just filled you with. His size too much for you to hold both in, slick, wet, and so fucking loud with each draw back and slap of his hips.
“Heeseung!” It’s your first time wailing out his full name. Not missing a beat as he picks up the pace, his chest falls against your back knocking air out of your lungs. More determined to ruin you on his cock again. Make you regret the day you first saw him and made the worst decision to fuck with him.
“Where’s your cute Bambi boy now?” He asks against your ear, watching your eyes roll back into your head. Biting at your jaw, he reaches around, budging his bicep against your chin. Hips snap brutally into you, pulling you into a death inducing chokehold roughly. He pulls harder, making your chest shove out and waist dip in until you’re bent far back, slapping one hand against the mat.
“You give up?!” He grunts against your cheek, jostling your throat with a shake of his arm. Tongue hanging out panting, you reach for his wrist, scurrying to hold onto anything you can.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
A quiet cry and suppressed choke follows your palm smacking the mat with repeated motion. In disbelief by the sound of grunts, flesh clapping against flesh, popping wet and nasty with each smooth glide of Heeseung’s cock filling you up without losing any speed.
“Fuck.” His eyes squeeze shut, stomach muscles contracting with each unforgiving thrust further dragging you up the mat. Chasing after his next release, Heeseung runs for the victory by throwing his other arm around your neck, tightening the pull of the headlock. Groaning by how much wetter you get, purging out more and more arousal with every pulse of his bicep against your jaw.
“That’s right.” He starts, blinking away sweat that won’t stop raining down, getting trapped in his dark eyelashes. “Never forget how you let a nerd beat you.”
Another weak tap and pinch on his wrist has you cumming. Arching high enough to nearly make him lose his rhythmic pace. Using powerful thigh muscles to push up and hit you with thrusts hard enough to have your heart beating out past your chest.
Slam after merciless slam turns messy, hips swerving pushing past your cunt gripping and milking for him to cum again. Give you the warm load to keep inside this time, greedily squeezing around him for another.
The squeaky cracked moan Heeseung lets out has your eyes rolling to the side, pleased that even after all of his tough talk. That you can still weaken him somehow.
Tapping on his forearm finally gives you a chance to take deep breaths, only to be plastered by his limp dead weight collapsing onto you.
“So,” Heeseung breathes raggedly. Wet chest heavily panting against your back. He bites at your nape, hoisting your chin up with his forearm perched under your jaw. “What’s my prize?”
“Ugh..” nothing more than a lazy response pours out of you. Continuing to reel and shiver under the weight melting you down into the ruined mat covered in every type of bodily fluid. “Whatever.”
If not for the chokehold around your throat, you’d knock out in less than a second. Thoroughly fucked and ran through by the same nerd that you once picked on and made cry for a laugh. The irony doing more to make your gut curl in with renewed arousal as you lock up around him.
“What was that? Whatever, huh?” He has the audacity to let out a fake chuckle, rumbling at the top of your spine. Free arm reaching down to push between your connected lower halves as he lifts to create space. “In that case..”
Heeseung’s index finger slips past bruises forming on your backside. Teasing as he pushes between your ass and traces your puckered rim. He pops free from your ruined hole, kissing at the backs of his teeth as a pool of cum bubbles out; settling in the shape of a perfect triangle at the top of your squished together thighs.
Prodding at your hole, he bites away a smile when you squirm and whimper. Looking over your shoulder to give him a look full of excitement and fear. He meets your gaze with maniacal thrill, pushing his bowed lips together to create a faucet for a thick wad of spit to pour out, landing directly on your ass to be smeared around.
young, dumb, and full of.. (l. hs, p. sh, s. jy, p. js)
pairing. female reader x heeseung x sunghoon x jake x jay
genre. what in the hentai is this? AU, I don’t know either, multiple partners, M/F, she works hard for the money, pwop
warnings. cnc(do not read if that makes you uncomfortable. thanks.), explicit smut.. pure filth, profanity, 🎥 and we’re rolling- in public, y/n is a famous pcorn star, hyung line are all pretty terrible, nct side characters, smut warnings under cut. minors DNI.
wc. 8000+
a/n. thank you for 10,000+ followers🩷
smut warnings. it’s porn- literally, it’s supposed to be unrealistic, dom hyung line, chikan(hyung line taking advantage of a sweet little angel on a train, that’s basically it), use of ‘little one/princess/slut/whore/baby’ etc, degradation, groping, fondling, forced handjob, fingering, breast play/torture, mind break, manhandling, spitting, oral, double penetration, anal(going in dry), choking, hair pulling, crying, rough sex, unprotected sex, cum shots galore. enjoy.
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“Pigtails?”
Scrunching your face up, you yawn as you get a look at the minimal makeup on your skin. A little brush of mascara, lipgloss that could appear to be merely chapstick, and a light wash of tint to awaken your tired appearance at this hour.
“Don’t I look a bit..”
“Young?” The stylist behind you cackles, nodding to the call sheet on her vanity. “Did you not read about today’s concept?”
“You know I never bother with looking over those anymore, just do what the boss tells me to do.”
Speaking of- Jaemin shows up right on time with coffee in hand to wake you up for today’s shoot.
“Drink up, you’re going to need it.” He warns mischievously.
“Oh great, is it that time of the month already?” Aggressively stirring your iced cold brew to melt together, you reach for the call sheet. “Another gangbang?”
“You know it.” He hums, waving over your appearance. “Anyway can add some fake braces? She’s supposed to be really innocent and virginal.”
“I could but they may not last through deep throating.” The stylist quips, adding ribbons to your pigtails.
“Who’s working with me today?”
“New guys.” Jaemin leans against the vanity, nodding toward the entrance. “They should be arriving soon, Johnny hand-picked them himself.”
“New guys for a group scene?” You frown.
“They’re no amateurs, and they’ve been killing it with the streams.” He lets you know, diverting his attention to the door opening. “Here they come.”
Four new guys, great. These group shoots can be hard enough with your experienced costars, why the fuck would Johnny choose amateurs for this.
“Guys, over here!” Jaemin shouts, motioning for the four confused men to approach.
Ah the nerves radiating off of them could induce a damn panic attack. Just great. The shortest of the bunch breaks out into a wide smile, dragging his palms down his hips to absorb the sweat that’s collected on them.
“Good to see you again guys,” Jaemin waves, peering over their clothing. “You know, I was going to have you fitted but what you all have on right now could work perfectly for this shoot. If you’re okay with getting a little messy?”
They shrug and nod, taking in what each is wearing. “I would have tried a little more if I had known..”
“No no this is perfect.” Jaemin snaps, waving over the four. “This is even better than my original idea. The four of you look like hooligans.. menaces to society.”
“Oh that’s great.” The one with the big smile chuckles nervously, heavy Australian adding charm along with the continuous way he bounces on the balls of his feet. “We’re the bad boys in town.”
“That’s right, and the star of the show,” he turns back to face you, proudly framing your face to display a prize. “She’s the good girl, never been kissed, hasn’t ever taken a cock.” Peering over his shoulder, he winks at them. “Which we all know is a fucking lie.”
“Jaemin.” You whine, adjusting the robe that’s been slipping from your shoulders. “So the new boys are here to cause trouble?”
Their ears perk up faster than dogs when a can of food gets cracked open. Four alert eyes widen, throats bobbing up and down. “There’s that look, we have some fans here I see.” Jaemin chides. “You’re all familiar with the legend then.”
“Uhh,” mumbled sounds and a few whispered ‘yeah’s meld between the four, shifting their gazes away.
“Don’t be shy, you’ll be getting to know each other from the inside out soon.” He winks again, motioning for them to step closer.
“You’re so vulgar.” You sneer, pinching his exposed bicep.
“Are you not the one with a golden dick award for most impressive anal gape sitting on your coffee table?”
“Right next to my starlet of the year.” You smirk, returning your attention to the four newcomers forcing their nervous smiles to not chatter.
“Nice to meet you guys, welcome to the team.”
“I’m Jake,” that smooth accent comes out more confidently now, despite the tremble racking down the hand that he holds out for you. “It’s an honor to have this opportunity to film with you.”
“I like him, he’s respectful.” Shaking Jake’s hand, you ignore the ‘for now’ Jaemin whispers. Turning to the next who introduces himself at Jay, more quiet and cold when he bows with his hands clenched behind his back.
“Sunghoon.” A sharp smile follows, bowing his head before taking your hand. “Very excited to work with you.”
The last of the group holds the most intense eye-contact, sleek gaze carrying a silent confidence as he takes your hand and lays a kiss against your knuckles. “My name's Heeseung, really hope we get to work more together in the future.”
“Wow, must be my lucky day.” You flirt calmly, scanning them up and down. “Maybe Johnny knew what he was doing.”
“Yeah, Heeseung here hit 500 million viewers on stream last week.”
“Wow that’s a lot.” You say surprised, taking time to look him up and down. “You must be giving them something worth watching.”
“All of them do really good in the polls too.” Jaemin continues, pulling on a hat that he insists on wearing while filming and directing. “Should be a really good video outcome, I think our audience is ready for some fresh meat. Specifically to watch you get pounded by some new blood.”
“Look up vulgarity sometime.” Rolling your eyes, you lean back in the makeup chair. “Should I get dressed now?”
“Yeah, let’s get this going soon. Don’t want to lose light and have to make it look less authentic.” Whispering to the stylist, he instructs to keep your school uniform a bit unrealistic, slutty. This is porn afterall.
“Boys, come with me. We all have to earn our stripes here unless you’re the one taking cock.” Ordering the new group to follow him to set, you smile and wave them off. The tallest one, Heeseung, pursing his lips at you before heading off.
“He’s trouble.” The stylist says with raised eyebrows.
“You know the rule, no fucking outside of work.” You sigh, moving to the rack of clothes to be fitted.
“And I know those rules get broken around here.”
Brushing off that comment, you adjust the plaid skirt hugging your waist tightly, dragging out a pair of white cotton panties. The look is supposed to be innocent of course, even if the skirts far too short to cover up the bottom half of your ass. Leaving the top buttons of your blouse open to show-off cleavage, you pull on knee high socks and loafers. It’s the typical naive sweet innocent school girl look- perfect for this scenario.
“You got a real bus for this?” Entering the set , you fix the backpack straps on your shoulders, walking up to Jaemin. “Talk about budget.”
“We’re big time now, and also it was the cheaper option.” He notes, messing with the camera lens. “Building an entire set would have wasted time.”
“Alright, what’s the rundown?”
“Right,” he stands up straight, fixing his cap again. “Come here guys.”
The four stand up and huddle together, most trying to avoid looking at you. “Obviously we’re filming a chikan scene, so don’t worry about acting much. I just need you to fuck. We want cock sucking, a lot of groping, cover her mouth.” Motioning to you, he cups your jaw to use you as a prop. “I expect you to cum multiple times too, on her face, tits, ass, panties, make a fucking mess alright?”
Panic fills their faces as they nod along. You’ve become more than used to this after working under Jaemin’s directions for the past year. “I’ll have to intervene once in a while to change your positions for certain shots, we like to get some up close point of view ones. The viewers really love that, but for the most part I want you to do your thing.”
Letting you go, he directs where you’ll start off outside of the bus. “You’ll see her standing alone on the platform looking clueless, headphones on, playing on her phone, completely dumb and oblivious to her surroundings. That’s when you’ll set the plan in motion,” he points at Heeseung, fingers snapping. “You, the big one, you’ll be the ringleader. You’ll see her first, and tell your buddies that this is your conquest today. That’s when you’ll corner her on the bus and start harassing her, threatening her to succumb.”
Sunghoon hides a pout fast when Heeseung gets chosen. “We all get to fuck her right?”
“Of course.” Jaemin assures. “And don’t hesitate to stick it in her ass, use the fuck out of her. I want a lot of footage for this one.”
“If I can’t speak up I’ll pinch you to stop.” You add, knowing they’ve gone over the rules and do’s and don’ts with Johnny before being allowed to participate in one of his productions.
“Yeah, she’s a pro.” Jaemin, being the proud director he is, flicks your chin. “No one in this industry can take cock like our little princess.”
“Well, when you put it that way, I can accept your vulgarity.” Doing a quick spin on your foot, you bounce excitedly. “I’m ready to go, oh and I’m all prepped too so don’t focus on foreplay too much.”
“We won’t be having a closed set today either, the extras will be coming in just a minute here so try not to focus on them. Concentrate on the scene, I want it to feel really raw and gritty. We’re here to make a depraved masterpiece, got it?”
Heeseung claps his hands, nodding, shooting a thumbs up at the director. “Won’t let you down.”
“Good, because if you do,” Jaemin grins manically, stepping back to get behind the camera. “Those contracts will be altered.”
It must be so nerve wracking to be a male performer entering the adult industry. All you had to do was fuck your boss on camera and you were the companies new starlet by the next week.. but then again, you’re being sold for much more than just your body. It’s all about the face, the moans, the pretty way you cry, how many dicks can be stuffed inside of one of your holes. Even the pigtails currently styled in your hair can make or break a scene. Whereas a man is simply viable for his giant cock- their careers in this world hold more longevity even if their pay hardly compares to yours.
Luckily you’ll never have to experience that, all you have to do is ride cock and look good enough to make horny losers cum off that alone.
“Let’s get some shots of you first.” Jaemin instructs, filming you walking around with your favorite playlist turned on. Carelessly twirling your hair around your index finger as you walk back and forth in front of the bus doors and place one foot in-front of the other to walk along a painted line.
“Pose right there, a little concern in the face.”
Furrowing your eyebrows, you peer over your shoulder as if a group of feral young barbaric men are ready to eat you up when they see you turn and reveal the bare backs of your thighs. White cotton underwear tucked beautifully between your ass. The four onlookers watch you work, already building up a sweat off the way you taunt and tease the camera alone.
“We’re really doing this.” Jay mutters, stealing a sneaking look at Jake next to him. The other dryly swallows, adjusting his dick to press against his stomach under his belt.
“I really wanna fuck her.”
Sunghoon says lowly behind his hand, doing his best to ignore the extras that walk onto set. Harder to ignore when he estimates more than 30 men have entered the small area.
“Let’s do our best, can’t be too different from jerking off on live in front of millions of strangers.” Heeseung encourages his friends, having met them when joining the streaming company a year ago that called for attractive young men desperate to make good and fast money.
“Hee’s right, this is our big break.” Jake adds, straightening up when Jaemin points at the four of them.
“Enter from over there and make your way to the platform.” Yelling loudly, he gets everyone on set in order before calling out ACTION!
It’s time to turn it on, what you’re really known for. Connecting with the camera in a way that allows your fans to feel like they’re the ones getting to fuck you. That’s what they love about you, what keeps them coming back to your videos when they need a quick nut.
It helps that Johnny insists on only hiring attractive men to participate in his videos. Who doesn’t love to watch good looking people fuck? That’s why you made it a priority to audition for his company above any other.
It’s hard not to get excited when you can feel four sets of eyes watching you, following each and every small step you take waiting for the bus to arrive. Each of them are too good looking in such unique ways. Jake has that eager to please smile, bright eyes that look ready to grant you any wish. Jay with that sharp jawline, straight nose and dark lethal gaze, terrifying how one look from him could scorch your feet to the ground. Sunghoon, clearly the perfect one, not a single minuscule flaw on his gorgeous face, built as if he came straight from a Ken doll manufacturing company(but well equipped with Ken’s missing part).
And Heeseung, the one with looks that could kill. Quickly you lock eyes with him before twisting away and anxiously swallowing. The short memory of his soft lifts grazing your knuckles tingles up your spine, thighs tightly pressing together where you stand recalling the way he peered up at you. That indescribable look behind his eyes that made your gut coil, spiked fear and a rush of arousal all at once. Of course he’d be appointed the main, his energy alone could get you on your knees faster before he could even finish bellowing out the order to do so.
It’s fitting how exhilarated and uneasy you feel, perfect to build up what’s about to happen as soon as you enter this bus.
The four boys appear on camera looking exactly the way Jaemin envisioned. A group of delinquents decked down from head to toe in baggy clothes, worn hoodies, ripped jeans, bulky shoes covered in scuff marks from running around and eating shit off a skateboard. They look ready to get up to no good, emphasized by the way Heeseung nudges into Sunghoon’s side and nods toward your unaware figure. His chin tipping in to whisper and signal for Jay and Jake to follow their lead.
From a viewers standpoint, this is the norm. An average after school activity of illegal reckless teenage behavior. Because this is such a busy route at this hour, more than easy to get away with murder in broad daylight amongst a full cart.
Motioning to his friends, they make their way to get behind you. The headphones in your ears keep you clueless to the scheming taking place only a couple of steps away. Two men barricade your sides as you enter ahead of the rush onto the bus, ushered to the furthest back corner as too many pile in and force their weight to fit in, rather suffer the time squished together than wait longer for another ride.
Jake and Jay manage to stay by your side despite the pushing and shoving to enter, keeping a close position next to you with their arms reaching up to grab onto the metal bars nearby. Sunghoon speaks silently with one look, shoulder to shoulder with Heeseung where they stand in front of you blocking your view of the rest of the occupants. It’s perfect on screen, a successful trap to leave you with no way to escape.
The fear written all over your face only amplifies how terrifying all of this is for you. Grasping the straps of your backpack tight enough to leave indentations against the insides of your fingers, nibbling your bottom lip with your gaze trained on the pairs of shoes facing you. Swarmed by the scent of hair gel, cologne, minty mouthwash each time Jake breathes against your ear. It’s torturous to wait for the cart to fill up with each of them taking in your appearance, nodding in approval to each other that you’ll do just fine right now. A birds eye view gets the perfect shot of how small you look surrounded by them, helpless, a little prey counting down the seconds for your predators to pounce.
The shift of the cart has you stumbling forward, cheek crashing against Sunghoon’s chest in front of you. His tongue clicks disapprovingly, shoving your shoulders back to launch you into Jake’s chest who took the opportunity to stand in your place. Further suffocating you between their warm worn down clothing.
“You should be careful little one.” His accent sounds huskier whispering against your earlobe, hands finding your waist to hold you in place.
“Ah-it’s okay,” you attempt to shimmy away, gripped tighter to not let you budge.
“Stay your pretty little ass right there.” He says shortly, wrapping an arm around your torso to press you flat against him, his other hand rushing down to bunch the side of your skirt together. “Do you know how dangerous it is for you to be walking around like this by yourself?”
“You’re lucky we ended up on here with you.” Jay’s deep tone speaks quietly from your side, moving close to place his palm under Jake’s arm. “Imagine some of these old motherfuckers had gotten to you first and taken advantage of you.”
“He’s right.” Jake huffs against your ear, lips smoothing down to your earlobe. “Count your lucky stars that it will be us using you however we please instead.”
The same hinted at panic that had been worrying your face implodes, opening your mouth wide to call out for help only for Sunghoon’s palm to slap down and cut you off. “Don’t even fucking think about it.”
The muffled cry for help still manages to make it far enough for the hidden microphones set up around you to catch, something the viewers will really enjoy as your struggle begins.
Jake squeezes in even closer somehow, breathing right into your ear as he scratches down your upper thigh. “I’m a big fan.” He whispers extra quietly, eyelids low. “Can’t wait to cum inside of you.”
Fuck. It’s a good thing Sunghoon has a grip hard enough to leave fingerprint marks behind over the lower half of your face. Having to wrinkle your eyes shut to stop them from rolling up, you’d moan given the chance. Risking this moment on the clock to admit that only makes the wetness trickling from your cunt rush out faster. Panties completely soaked through before you’ve even been properly touched.
“I don’t know.” Jay chuckles softly, grazing his palm lower to cup between your clenched thighs. “I think she seriously can’t wait for us to use her.”
“Is that right?” Sunghoon glares at you viscously. “Here I thought we found ourselves a nice innocent little virgin. What type of virgin gets wet from this, huh?”
“Nah, she’s soaking.” Lifting his hand up between your bodies, Jay shows off how glossy you’ve left his palm, further setting in how humiliated you should feel right now.
“What a darling angel.” Jake remarks, nibbling your earlobe between his plump lips. “Only a virgin could get that wet so easily. We’ve barely started with you.”
Sunghoon’s palm loosens off your mouth, dragging an index finger down the middle of your lips. “If you scream, I’ll make sure you never make another sound again. Got it?” He smiles, charming and handsome, but the sadistic tone he speaks in can hardly go unnoticed. Softly nodding, you whimper when Jake digs his blunt nails into your upper thigh, dragging them up to scratch at the hem of your pantyline.
“Don’t be so mean,” he laughs raspily. “We can play nice if she cooperates. You’ll be a good girl for us right sweetie?”
Heeseung clears his throat, grabbing onto Sunghoon’s shoulder to tug him closer and whisper something. The same dark observant gaze traces over your face as his lips move, no doubt issuing orders as the leader of the crew. Nodding, Sunghoon reaches for his phone, angling the camera at your face before you can look away. “Let’s see that pretty smile.”
“You heard him.” Jay says annoyed, clutching your jaw to force you to look ahead. The sight of sharp teeth behind the phone twist your gut, wondering if he’ll leave bite marks behind to admire tomorrow when you roll out of bed after no doubt using half of the day to recover. “Give us a smile.”
“So cute baby.” Jake hums, dragging his fingers under your panties.
“That’s a face I won’t forget anytime soon.” Sunghoon says menacingly, turning the phone around to display the photo. “None of us will.”
The silent threat is meant to keep your tongue hidden, lips trembling as you take in the distraught look on your face. Jake smiling over your shoulder, Jay leaning in with his nose dug into your cheek allowing his sharp jawline to shine.
“That’s a good girl.”
“Bet you’re always on time for class, never tardy.” Jake adds onto Jay’s commentary. The three of them throw out more degrading words as Heeseung stands guard with his arms crossed over his chest, stoic expression unwavering.
“All these books.” Sunghoon grins, spilling your belongings from the backpack they managed to remove from your shoulders along with the embroidered uniform blazer you had on. “Real studious huh? Top of your class and shit.”
“Hope that means you’re a fast learner.”
Jake maneuvers you to face Jay, dipping his hand deeper inside of your underwear to cup your cunt. “Fuck you’re seriously dripping.”
Muffled whimpers escape under Jay’s burning gaze, sandwiched between the two making fast to feel up your body. The undone buttons give easy access to pop the rest free, one ripping off and hitting one of the cameras like a pingpong.
“That’s a money shot.” Jaemin whispers from his chair, chin in hand while focusing on the scene unfolding. Johnny was right, these new guys hardly needed any type of assistance.
“Can’t believe you can even fit these inside of that uniform.” Jay licks at his lips, rolling your flimsy bra down under your breasts to release your naked chest.
“Please don’t—“
“Shut the fuck up.” Sunghoon laughs breathily. “I don’t care how fucking cute you sound begging. Don’t make a God damn scene.”
“Don’t be shy baby.” Jay nearly salivates, slowly ducking forward with his eyes trained on your face. Pleased by the tears that have begun to well up at the rims. “These fat tits deserve to be seen.”
Soft lips wrap around one of your nipples, biting down roughly until it fully hardens. Jay’s mouth switches back and forth between your breasts, pinching and rolling whichever stiffened little bud his mouth can’t occupy. “Fuck you’re shaking so much.” He mumbles, continuing to assault your tits until the soft wrinkled flesh around your nipples swell. The stimulation shooting waves down to your knees until they lock and you fully slump back against Jake.
“Think she’s gonna cum from this alone.” He speaks up from behind you, amazed by the amount of wet arousal filling up his palm. “Fuck, I need to get inside this pussy.”
Biting down on your shoulder, his chest buries against your back to keep you held up. Freeing himself from the confines of his baggy jeans enough to get them just beneath his ass. He drags your ruined panties to one side, bending at his knees to shove his length against your swollen folds. “Holy fuck.”
“Don’t fuck her without me.” Jay murmurs, mouth too busy leaving teeth marks and bruises on your chest.
“N-no please!” You shriek as Jake ruts against your cunt, hard cock spreading your chubbed folds open. The glide seamless thanks to the amount of slick pouring from your hole.
“That’s it.” Sunghoon grits loudly, bringing his palm back over your mouth. “Clearly you can’t listen for shit. You know what that makes you?”
“A bad girl.” Jake moans all too pleased, humping against your backside to fully soak his cock with your juices. The head smashing against the front of your underwear, stretching out the worn down cotton material with each rough push.
“And do you know what happens to bad little whores like you?” Jay kneads your chest, spitting at your breasts until they gleam with saliva. “They get fucked, hard.”
“N-need to fuck her right now.” Jake whines, holding down a hiss by biting down on the back of your neck.
“Then fuck her already.” Sunghoon growls quietly, grabbing your hand to rub up and down the thick bulge protruding from his sweats. “We don’t have all day.”
“Keep these on.” Jay whispers heavily, yanking on the sides of your underwear until they stretch painfully and cut into your skin, pushing out the fleshy meat to shape the curves of your ass.
A camera angled beneath your bodies captures everything perfectly, from Jay’s hand sweeping between your thighs to glide Jake’s length between your folds, to the aggressive way he hauls one of your legs up for easier access, visibly digging the tips of his fingers into your sensitive flesh.
“Oh fuckkk,” prodding the tip of his cock inside, Jake’s neck loosens letting out a long-winded groan. Eyes clenched shut as he inches in and Sunghoon maintains fierce eye contact with you, hiding a smile when your tears break and roll down to dampen his hand.
“Tighter than a fucking virgin.”
“Is she?” Sunghoon questions, leaning in closer to whisper. “Can’t wait to ruin your tight pretty cunt.”
Gripping onto your wrist harder, he forces your hand up and down over his bulge. The three of them close in on you until you feel like you can no longer breathe without inhaling their musky scents. Sweat mixes with the cologne and body wash clinging to their skin, each of them taking long showers to scrub down clean and smooth before their debut shoot. “The harder you try to put up a fight..” he hisses, unleashing his fully aroused length. “The harder I get.”
“It’s so fucking cute how you keep whining.” Jake agrees, building up a rhythm, hip bones crashing against your ass. “Seriously, I was so nervous.” He speaks extra quietly into your ear, panting short breaths between each word. “But you’re so fucking hot I’m losing my mind.”
The desperation dripping off his tongue causes your knees to buckle, gripping Jay’s chest with your free hand as Sunghoon’s much larger one forces you to wrap around his stiffened girth. Thick heated up flesh swipes back and forth against your palm, jerked forward by Jake’s eager thrust. The whole scene screams delinquent horny young men, as dark the whole scenario is supposed to come across, you can already sense a hit being made. Streams exploding, purchases breaking numbers, the four becoming regulars on future sets that could easily become highly favored by fans.
Hands swarm from your ass to your chest, Jay’s mouth working mercilessly until your breast look pained enough to burst. The nipples ramrod hard, bitten over, skin swollen and puffy around. With an all too pleased gleam passing his gaze, he reaches between your thighs to tease your hardened nub. Using the same effort to raise you onto your toes, digging deep into the cute faux-leather loafer with one leg dangling in the air hooked over his flexed arm.
“You’re seriously such a whore.” He hisses, expertly grazing your clit between two digits. “Getting off to this, aren’t you?
“Uh-huh—“ you manage to mumble dumbly. Rocked back and forth onto Jake’s fat girth. Sunghoon controlling the way you jerk him off, and Jay torturing your clit into a frenzy. The heat budding from between your thighs rises, coiling from your gut to your sternum, chest caving in.
“Cut cut!” Jaemin screams out loud abruptly, instructing everyone to stay put. “I need a good shot of this.”
Controlling the camera above your head, he works the crane to get closer. The shot aimed at the dead look behind your eyes, the typical dumb porn slut look. Only yours is special, what you’re most known for. The eye contact you manage to grab the viewer with through the camera, almost as if you’ve caught a peeping Tom. But instead of appearing angry or upset, you welcome them into this fantasy, living out every perverse sensation and need. This is the shot that breaks the third wall, removes any sense of guilt and reminds you that this is just porn and you should absolutely be getting off right now.
“Rolling!” He howls out, focused on the screen that’s zoned in on your sultry lust-filled gaze. The enjoyment behind the corners of you tweaked up lips, the tip of your tongue dragging across your teeth. Neck arched back allowing Sunghoon’s to grip around your throat, his palm starkly large and veiny in contrast to your delicate décolleté. It’s perfect and beautiful on screen, but really the best view for Heeseung.
Watching on this entire time, he could rip out his tongue by now. Suffering the more he waits and waits and waits. Balled up fist hidden inside the sleeves of his hoodie to keep a cool and calm stature. He knows it will be worth the wait after all this anticipation. Johnny had said when they finished all the paperwork and finalized contracts that most likely his first scene would be with you. Standing here now made it all so surreal, washing his mouth with spit the heavier his tongue grows, in disbelief at the display before him.
It’s a new feeling to get hard watching over his friends have their way with a girl he knows they’ve all beat off to numerous times. None too shy to drop links in the group chat to videos they deemed great for a fast stroke sesh, your face often appeared.
The same face fighting back pleasured moans, forcing your forehead to wrinkle together and scrunch your nose in disgust as tears roll down your cheeks. If he even accidentally brushed his dick up against something right now he’s sure he’d spill over and ruin his briefs.
“Taking cock real good for a virgin aren’t you?” Jay smirks, pushing a finger in alongside Jake to stretch your hole open further. “He looks ready to explode back there.” Wasting no time to add another finger, he jokingly nods to his friend behind you. Tongue lolled out, slobbering over his chin like some starved animal. He thrusts deep, feeding you each inch of his big cock. “I’m going in, cover her mouth good.” He mumbles, chin pointed at Sunghoon.
The taller agrees, dipping his index and middle finger in past your lips. “Hope your mouth’s better than this shit handjob.”
Stretching his digits out as much as he can inside of you, he grunts and pulls out, using the wetness clinging to his skin to coat his cock. “Relax.” He hisses softly, gripping around the middle of his length to force the tip in past your filled hole. The prodding has you kicking off the floor, foot dangling in the air with gurgled yelps emitting around Sunghoon’s fingers.
The position Jay’s managed to get you in makes the glide less painful, giving your entrance a few jabs before finally popping the tip of his cock inside. Wrinkles dig into the skin around his eyes as he passes along his friend's slippery length. The two releasing deep guttural groans when the tips meet inside of you.
“Jesus fucking Christ.” Jake moans out raggedly, sounding torn by the grip that blankets around him with Jay’s cock nudged up against his. They move in opposite motions, Jay pulling out whenever Jake thrusts back in, the friction budding against your inner walls pinching at a tense heat in your stomach. Wrapping your lips around the fingers in your mouth to cut off a scream, you suck, hand lazily continued to be dragged by Sunghoon’s grip. His deep breaths resonate from your side, not as desperate as Jake’s blowing into your ear, but loud enough to pick up on.
“G-gonna cum.” Sunghoon says behind pursed lips, stripping your hand off his size to force his cock between you and Jay. “On her panties.”
“God damn.” Jay wouldn’t believe it given any other moment, not being the first time he’s ever fucked with the same girl his friends have. Kissing the backs of his teeth, he slows down to blink the blur away from his eyes and watch as Sunghoon tugs at his cock roughly, white strings shooting out onto your mound and the base of his own length.
It should be gross to feel his friend’s warm gooey cum drip down to his balls as he bends his knees to throw you up and down on his and Jake’s swollen members, but he can’t deny the way his sack tightens up. Eyes rolling back letting out a howl that would without a doubt grab everyone’s attention on a full train in reality.
“Fuck—I’m cumming, I’m fucking cumming.” Jay groans, deep and rumbled. Wrapping his arms around your shoulders for better leverage to really make these last few sloppy thrusts count. Each aim of his slimy wet cock more frantic than the last, the friction of Jake’s size rubbing along the underside of his making his head spin faster. Between the grip on your waist from behind, you get bounced between the two of them. Hole stretched impossibly wide, ripping at the hair lining Jay’s nape to calm your need to shout.
Their ministrations are ruthless, running after sweet release in tandem, unbothered by the muffled shrieks emitting from beneath Sunghoon’s hand.
Jake’s garbled uh-uhn-uh’s puffing against your ear twists through your brain, eyes rolled back desperately dying to get out a scream. Another wave of hot pleasure spills as your resistance shatters and you lick at Sunghoon’s palm, finally letting out a high-pitched scream.
“Take it.” Jay growls huskily, pumping his cock in deep despite Jake’s whining. He slams in one more time, shoving his seed deep enough inside to paint your cervix with the mess.
Slapping at his chest, Jake shoves him away with one hand, fully taking advantage when his length slips out and he has complete free range to go wild inside your pussy. The little pained sounds he’d been letting out turn gruff, belting your waist to drag you up and down his size. The slip and slide on and off his cock even easier with Jay’s load coating him. He pants harshly along the column of your throat, letting out a shattered shout when the first flick of hot tongue laps against the underside of his size.
“Oh shit.” He simpers between grinding teeth. Jay looks up, from between your thighs, tongue dragging aimlessly from your clit to the thick girth burying inside your stretched hole. Sweat and wet slick meld together down his nose, lips dripping with a bit of his own release as he kisses along your pussy folds angrily wrapped around Jake’s cock.
“Shitshit—I’m gonna—c-cum,” he stutters, trembling against your back. The grip on your waist loosening as he topples over.
“Move.” Sunghoon sounds near demonic, throwing an arm around your waist to snatch you away from the two. Ripping you off Jake’s length too fast, cum pours down your inner thighs, hole rapidly convulsing open. “Shhh, shut the fuck up.”
His reputation of being mouthy on stream precedes him, shoving you down onto your knees roughly between curses. “You wanna get caught acting like a fucking whore?”
“Nuh—no,” you shake, giant watery eyes blinking up pleadingly. Biting down harshly, his jaw twitches, resisting the urge to crumble and drag you back up. No one’s made a proper mess of your pretty face yet, and he’s not one to disappoint.
“Didn’t think so.” Pushing his sweats lower, he strokes his length back to full hardness. Sliding the width down the middle of your face, slapping the meat against your cheek until your mouth pops open. “Gonna fuck your little virgin ass.” He grins, popping the tip in and out between your parted lips. “So you better get me all nice and wet, or it’s going to hurt you real bad baby.” Resting the weight of his cock between your lips, he reaches for your pigtails to pull on. Using them like handlebars to hold onto and feed his cock in and out. Pulling the strands of hair between his digits each time your teeth barely scrape along his size.
Subtly reaching beneath yourself to glide the plug free from your hole, you agree to whatever he keeps spewing on about. Lapping up every inch, spitting out globs of messy saliva with a pained expression as if it disgusts you to do as he says. Half torn by your attraction to each of them and by how immoral and wrong this is all supposed to be.
“Never sucked a dick in your life have you?” He spits, looping under your arms to pull you onto your feet. Pressing the center of your chest against a pole, it’s clear for anyone watching at home in the future now that you can easily be seen by the other train occupants. It’s not as if you’re aiming to win an Oscar for best motion picture, maybe an Adult Video nomination for best gangbang at best.
“Nice and open for me.” He huffs against your ear, all of this being picked up by the microphones hidden around. Jaemin would have their horny fanboying edited out later before final production. “Exactly how I like it.”
The shot of the fat tip of his reddened girth testing your rim would make anyone cum by this point if they haven’t. Despite prepping yourself prior to entering the set, he’s big, as expected based on Johnny’s hiring requirements. The bulbous cockhead burns, splitting past your asshole, gripping onto the back of your waist to further arch your ass out. He hisses the whole way watching with intense burning focus as you suck in every last inch.
Hiding his face away against your shoulder, he blinks in a rush, chest trembling against your spine. “Fuck, you’re seriously so tight.”
To mess with him, you subtly circle your hips. Eager to see if he’s all talk after cussing you out to shut up over and over again. “Come in, give me that dick. Ruin my hole.”
Sunghoon has to bite down on his lip to not let out the most pathetic moan. Clutching your waist tightly as he draws out to the tip and repeats the same motion. “Keep talking like that..” he mumbles, going in faster with each thrust. “I’ll seriously never let you walk again.”
“Yeah? Then do it.” Bending lower, the sight before him becomes even more obscene. Plaid skirt flipped all the way up. Ruined white cotton panties stretched out to one side. Cock throbbing pink with raging veins burying inside of your ass.
“Nasty fuck hole.” He growls, slapping your exposed buttcheek. “Fucking whore taking all of it.”
The way you bend completely, ass up in the air for him to use makes his stomach twist. Muscles twitching under his shirt as his hips crash down and your backside ripples upon impact. He can’t pretend that the most revisited window living amongst his incognito tabs isn’t your first on-screen anal. Allegedly the first time you’d ever taken it up the ass, he even has his favorite timestamps memorized for those days he needs to get off in less than 10 minutes. Clasping onto your buttcheeks, he pulls them further apart and slowly sinks in deeper.
Exactly like that part at 13 minutes and 37 seconds when the camera zoomed in on your obscenely stretched out rim, only better because his dick looks so good buried deep inside of your ass.
“Get up.” He rumbles lowly, arms wrapping over your chest. The sudden impact of his hips slamming against you cutting off your breath. Using one of his arms to circle your head, he traps your neck in a firm chokehold. Ramming his dick in deep, the glide in and out smooth with precum bursting from his tip. The warm heat gripped around him mind boggling, more euphoric because he’s been here in fantasies. He’s fucked this ass in place of his palm, but the real thing could only ruin him forever.
“Fuckfuck.” Sunghoon grits thinking about it. Bicep flexing large and cutting off your breathing the tighter he coils around your throat. Cock twitching between your ass cheeks as release pours out, most of it dripping out past his size onto the backs of your thighs, landing in loud plopping puddles on the floor. He has to bite down on your jawline to stop himself from fanboying over getting to fuck your ass. In disbelief after months of jerking off to a handful of his favorite go-to videos that you just so happened to star in(not that he watched his collection 50 more times this week alone). The chance to work with you again in the future can’t be ruined by a moment of weakness, no matter how victorious he feels right now.
“You tighten up so good around my cock.” Licking up to your ear, he cups the sides of your ass to squeeze and bury his fingers into the fleshy meat. Drawing out slowly, inch by painful inch gliding out torturously. “Sucked me dry little one.”
“Fuck man, I’m getting hard again.” Jake laughs, eyeing the bulge forming inside of his jeans.
“Too bad.” Heeseung pushes off one of the poles, arms that had been snuggly crossed on his chest falling to his sides. “Want you all to myself now.” He mostly mouths, making it hard to hear with the message that’s for your ears only. “Come here.”
Pulling your arms to wrap over his shoulders, you strain to grasp onto him, tingling from head to toe with pleasure. The remaining three make more space by creating a wall with their bodies to block any curious eyes, mostly having forgotten that they’re supposed to be acting.
Rule number one: No kissing on the lips. Ever. Can lead to termination.
He gulps, thumbs swiping over the wet and dry tears on your cheeks. It’s not an outlandish or weird rule, of course not. But he can’t ignore how pouty and inviting your mouth looks right now. Glossy with spit, inflamed from taking Sunghoon’s massive width.
He really takes a good minute or longer to touch over your stomach, hands snaking underneath your unbuttoned top. Kneading and squeezing at your soft skin, tracing down to your hips to caress over how round and supple your ass feels in his hands, spilling out between his digits.
There’s nothing to say between the two of you, essentially strangers about to fuck for the first time after taking 3 dicks. You still have to hold back a smile, tucking your chin in when he hauls you closer and squats down to capture your thighs. Exerting more strength than he appears able to and catching you off guard, setting your arms to cling tightly behind his neck. Not many would be bold enough to sink your weight down onto their dick to ride for the first time. The confidence radiating off of him reignites your initial excitement, still heavily trickling wetness.
As much as he wants to throw you up and down his length with nothing to hold him back, he needs to see the moment his cock pushes inside of you. Gently resting your back against the carts wall, he pulls back just enough to direct the tip of his length between your drenched folds. He’s never seen it so angrily engorged, full of blood, veins visibly beating. But he’s waited long enough for this. Pushing lower, he dips in, slit kissing just past your entrance.
“Oh—“ whispering under his breath, he blinks furiously. Tucking his bottom lip in to bite down on. Cockhead gleaming back at him coated with your wet slick. It’s too good already to feel the heat emitting from your cunt, taut skin sucking around him ready to never let go.
“Please.” You whine out, face so fucked out with your head rolling against the wall. Tugging at his hair, you softly moan. “Put it in.”
Fuck.
That’s really all it takes to snap his tenacity in half. He slams forward, hips jolting against yours. A vigorous speed breaking out, hammering his cock in deep. Heeseung grunts wildly, keeping the backs of your knees hooked over his biceps for leverage as he fucks into you without abandon. The once impassive unreadable look on his face morphing to an animalistic rabid one. Eyebrows dripping with sweat, eyes large and fierce, lips pulled back tight bringing out a sharp jawline and cheekbones.
The moans you let out only drive him to fuck into you more violently, filling you with each inch of his thick long cock. He crushes you in, lungs squished by your legs being completely folded. The position allowing him to hit balls deep. The clap of his sack loudly slapping against your gaped asshole, booming off the compacted space around you.
It’s the right angle for the tip to bulge just beneath your navel. Taking a step back from the wall he firmly cups your ass. Fingers digging in hard to keep up his pace, the clapping bounce slapping against his hips and thighs loud, roaring thunderously through the bus. The guys behind him watch on, swallowing to quench their drying throats. It’s so pornographic, the muffled whimpers coming from your mouth buried against Heeseung’s chest. The loud claps of skin meeting skin. The thick wet cock stretching your hole open wide, and the recoil your ass gives with each unrelenting thrust.
“Yes! Fuck!” He groans out too loud, head tossed back. The muscles lining his arms burning with effort. Each squat clenching his ass. “Such. A. Good. Little. Fucking. Slut.”
Each word gets shouted out with a rough jab of his hips, accompanied by your stinging ass smacking against him. He stills, teeth gritted, face covered with sweat. It’s the hardest release he’s had in a long time, not recalling cumming this hard since edging himself for 3 hours during a lonely thunderstorm.
The warm release spills out with your slick, having weakly cum at some point mid-thrust. You scrambled to hold on tight, fearful of losing balance and falling the faster he kept going somehow. Only slowing down to press his cock inside of you one more time before pulling out fully.
It’s a perfect shot to finish off, held over the camera on full display with loads of semen dripping down your inner thighs, pussy lips engorged and wrecked. It’s the climax anyone paying to watch would dream of. To get a close up look at your spread apart legs as Heeseung holds your weight up off the ground with shaking arms. The orgasm still sending shockwaves through his limbs, weakening the last bit of strength he has left.
“AND CUT!” Jaemin’s voice bellows, shoving through the extras that make their way to exit the set. “That was great! You guys did an awesome job.”
Heeseung securely hoists your thighs around his waist, slumping back onto a now emptied seat to catch his breath. “I know uh, aftercare is against the rules..” he mumbles softly by your ear, lightly tracing up your spine. “But is there anything you need me to do?”
“I’ll handle this.” The assistant Jaemin had hired recently, Chenle, rushes over with clean towels and a robe in hand. “You can go off and get cleaned up now.”
Still half-asleep against his chest you try to nod, in dire need of a hot bath to soak in and soothe your limbs after being stretched out in all kinds of directions. Heeseung does his best to help you get back on your feet and get yours arms inside of the robe, taking one of the towels to clean himself off before gathering his bottoms.
“Was nice to meet you, I really hope we’ll be able to work together again in the future.” Near future he wants to emphasize, maybe even his next shoot if he can be so lucky. A solo scene involving only the two of you ideally. Then he could really impress you..
“I’m sure we will.” You smile sleepily, wrapping an arm around Chenle’s shoulders to hold yourself up. “Real soon.”
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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.
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."
summary — Sunghoon is good at exactly two things: gaming and being ridiculously, unbelievably hot. Nothing matters to him more than leading the school's esports team to victory at regionals this year, but a certain summer course is getting in the way of all his practice time. Luckily, he thinks he's found himself the cheat code to an easy A and a clear schedule: you, a project partner so easily flustered by his presence that you'll happily take on all the work.
18+ mdni ⚠︎ smut with plot, humour, very mild angst, college au, slowburn, sunghoon pov, in which his face card is the only thing saving him, valorant, e-sports, gaming terms used, toxic gaming culture, emotional manipulation, morally grey characters, misogynistic themes & language, extremely possessive!sunghoon, objectification, sex as an apology, corruption kink, loss of virginity, virgin!reader, dom!Hoon, verbal consent, size kink, big dick hoon (couldn't help myself sorry), big dick=big ego, begging, multiple smut scenes, multiple positions, multiple orgasms, handjobs, fingering, p in v, unprotected sex (pull-out method), oral (f receiving), rough sex, hair pulling, light choking, scratching, slapping, spanking, heavy praise kink, light degradation, please guys do not lose your virginity like this
FEAT. hyung line as roomies
wc — 30.7k
a/n — ah, what a treat it was to return to my comp sci major sunghoon roots. i love writing about losers and uh... i kinda went insane with this one. this is inspired by a comment left by @m-hypen on my other fic ♡ takes place in the same au but this is entirely a standalone. i might make more for the rest of the hyung line eventually? but we’ll see. happy reading!
"Sunghoon!"
Headshot, headshot, assist—that's all that's being processed when the front door bursts open hard enough to rattle the empty energy drink cans on Sunghoon's desk. He doesn't blink, even as one of them falls over, rolling around on the floor. He doesn't even stop to think about the remaining drop left in the can that's probably leaking onto the carpet somewhere.
"Sunghoon, get your ass out here!"
He's in game mode, and nobody stops him when he's like that. Not even his roommates, whose approaching footsteps he fails to register. The only thing that matters is the screen in front of him as he lines up his next shot, just waiting for the remaining enemy teammate to peek around the corner. His prey is right there. Right behind that wall. All they have to do is walk into his trap.
Just peek already, you little pussy bitch—
"Sunghoon!"
He yelps when a hand clamps on his shoulder. His arm jerks, aim twitching, and the enemy peeks at that very moment, landing a clean headshot on him. His teammates start cursing at him in the voice chat. A lovely, overlapping chorus of "kill yourself" and "delete the game" as if he hadn't carried them for the past two rounds.
Sunghoon mutes the mic and pulls his headphones down around his neck, glaring behind him at Heeseung, who is practically dragging him up from his seat. He tries to yank his arm away, but then another pair of hands is hauling him out of his seat. He directs his glare back at Jay.
"What the f—"
"Don't act surprised. I literally told you we needed your help an hour ago. It's your fault for queueing a ranked game," Jay states, patting his shoulder. Sunghoon is now on his feet, blinking at him. Annoyed, but... ultimately unable to argue back, given he had ignored all his texts.
"Can't you just get Jake or something?" He mutters.
Jay is already leaving his bedroom, and Heeseung nudges him forward, forcing him to follow. Sunghoon rolls his eyes, a heavy sigh escaping him. He moves with begrudging footsteps out into the hallway.
"It's a four-man job. Turns out my grandma's coffee table is heavy as shit."
"Your grandma's coffee table...?"
He's not exaggerating. The thing is solid oak—masterfully crafted, intricately carved, and so extremely fucking heavy that by the time they've wrestled it through the front door, all four of them go down, collapsing to the couch. Jake, already muttering something about needing a drink, Heeseung describing his physical decline in real time, and Jay, heaving in silence.
Sunghoon sinks into the cushions, and his vision blurs, wondering which is more to blame for it: the summer heat or the fact that he's been skipping the gym to play ranked and living off microwave ramen for the past few weeks. His headset is still around his neck, and he can hear his teammates losing without him. He doesn't care. He can't feel his arms.
"Fuck, I'm gonna feel that in my back for weeks," Heeseung announces to the ceiling, then his head lifts, "but look at that—really ties the place together, right?"
He gestures to the room. Sunghoon's eyes glaze over the sight. Bare white walls, curtainless windows, a TV that sits directly on the floor, and a trash bag in the corner full of takeout containers and red solo cups—and of course, now, the beautiful table, sticking out like a sore thumb amid the room's college-boy barrenness.
"We've lived here a whole year now," Sunghoon starts between breaths, not enough energy in him to glare at his roommates. "Not once has any one of us said, 'Oh no, where will I put my cup of coffee?'"
"Who says we have to use it for coffee?"
He blinks. He doesn't know when Jake left the room, but he's now returning with a six-pack of beer, setting it down on the new table. He cracks one open immediately, settling next to him on the couch.
"My grandma's downsizing." Jay reaches forward, patting the table's surface with genuine affection. "She gave it to us for free. You don't say no to a free coffee table."
"Well, it looks stupid." Sunghoon folds his arms, "Really helps the whole we have nothing aesthetic."
"Come on. We're adults now." Heeseung perks up, "Adults have coffee tables. It's about presentation. Besides, I heard chicks dig it. Something about owning real furniture and bed frames just does it for them."
"None of us are bringing girls home," Sunghoon starts, looking at each of them. He sees Jake's mouth open to protest, "And no, your weird situationship does not count."
"Maybe that's 'cause we didn't have a coffee table before," Jay shrugs.
"Yeah, tell the ladies all about your grandma's furniture. I'm sure they'll start lining up the block."
Sunghoon feels a headache starting behind his left eye, and when he hears the game end through his headset at his shoulders, he rips the device from his neck, shoving it to the cushion at his side.
"Shitty ass game," He mutters.
A sweat had gathered at his brow, and he now moves to wipe it as he's reaching for a beer, cracking it open and taking a large gulp like it's water.
"Rough match?"
"Nah. Would've been an easy match," Sunghoon replies, groaning, "Just stressed. Coach has been pressuring me, plus there's that stupid course I have to retake this semester."
"Tough life being Captain of the E-sports team, huh?" Heeseung jokes, "Or what is it you were called that one time? The school's biggest virgin?"
Captain of the E-sports team. A title Heeseung delivers like a punchline. Most people do. Sunghoon, on the other hand, wears it with pride, and had long since stopped trying to explain himself—both the fact that being the best player in the whole school is a legitimate accomplishment, and the fact that he is not a virgin. Effectively explaining either of those things would require Heeseung to actually care, which he doesn't.
Sunghoon had spent his whole life refining his skills for that sort of recognition. He shoots with precision and wins. He reads his opponents to filth, predicting their every move, and annihilates them with ease. He plays Valorant at a level that makes his teammates worship him like a god, and the enemy team start inventing new slurs to type in the chat. That is to say, he was very, very good at it. And very serious about it.
It's precisely why he doesn't have time for moving coffee tables. Or sitting around like this. Or—
His phone buzzes.
His is summer course. Right.
The one he'd failed last semester, that his academic advisor had gently but firmly informed him he needed to retake if he wanted to graduate on time. He'd registered for it in a fog of dismissive irritation back in March, figuring it would be easy enough. And then the syllabus had dropped with the word group project, and he'd been assigned a project partner who had emailed him four times before the first week of classes had even ended, asking about meeting up weeks before the deliverable due dates.
He reaches for his phone, scrolling through the feed of missed notifications from you: One shared document link, more than a couple missed messages, and—he squints—a voice memo. Who the fuck sends voice memos about code?
"Is that the project partner you keep complaining about?" Heeseung leans over his shoulder, snatching the phone away, "She sends voice memos. How adorable. Don't tell me you're ignoring those?"
"Give it back."
He doesn't; instead, he hits play, raising the volume to the max so the whole room can hear it.
"Hey, Sunghoon. How are you? Um... I'm here at the library now. I know we agreed to meet at three o'clock, but I got here a little early," he hears you laugh a bit nervously through the speaker. You have one of those that's just a little too sweet, a little too apologetic for no reason in particular. "I booked a study room, so text me when you're here. And... that's all for now. Bye, Sunghoon."
The boys sit there in silence. Glaring in disbelief at their friend.
"Oh my god," Heeseung groans, "Sweet Jesus, your partner sounds like this, and you've been ignoring her?"
Jay snatched the phone, glaring at it, then glaring at Sunghoon, "She sounds like an angel. What the fuck is wrong with you? Like, medically. What kind of mental illness does a guy have to have to end up like this?"
"That's the long-term psychological damage of being a Valorant player," Jake scoffs, and Sunghoon rolls his eyes.
"Play it again," Heeseung demands, and Jay rewinds it a bit, just to hear the breathing and that nervous little laugh through the speaker, a smile forming on his lips, "Is she cute? She sounds cute. She's got the voice. You know the one that some girls have, that makes you think about what other noises they could—"
"I don't know. I haven't even met her—yet." Sunghoon snatches the device back, "She's annoying. She sends like twenty messages a day."
"Twenty messages a day," Heeseung looks at him, "From a girl who sounds like she whimpers when she's nervous. You know what I'd do with twenty messages a day? I'd be jacking off to the typing indicators."
"That's disgusting. Keep that shit to yourself."
"What's disgusting is you having a girl sending you personalized audio content, saying your name like that, and choosing to ignore it."
"Bet he's got it all in a folder somewhere," Jay snorts, "Keeps it hidden away, playing on loop while he queues ranked. Jacks off between rounds."
"I've never even listened to any of these," Sunghoon says flatly, "She sends so many. Seriously. She's like an organized freak. The kind who start projects early and shit."
"Oh, so she's one of those girls?" Jake grins, "super nervous, apologizes for nothing... You know the type?"
"I don't." Sunghoon deadpans, feeling like his friend is about to start describing a porno category rather than an actual person, given the smirk on his face.
"The type that acts all innocent and sweet on the surface," Heeseung nudges him, "you know what they say about them, right? That they're total freaks in bed. Shit, if a girl like that booked me a study room I'd—"
"Actually finish your degree and graduate?" Jake offers.
"I'd graduate with honours."
"She's probably been waiting in the library for how long, now?" Jay shakes his head, "She got there early. Early. She's probably sitting there with her little notes and highlighters and her 'bye Sunghoon' voice, checking her phone every thirty seconds, and you're here drinking beer and complaining."
Today. The meeting was today. He checks the time—forty minutes ago.
"Shit," Sunghoon's on his feet, sprinting towards his room, "Shit, shit, shit."
He starts digging around for his backpack in his room, under piles of laundry, and nearly trips on the can he forgot to pick up on his floor.
"Guys, the library!" he calls out in a panic, "I'm supposed to be at the library. I need a ride. Now. Jay?"
"Not my problem."
"Jake?"
"Nope."
Sunghoon grabs his bag and stumbles back to the living room, bracing himself against the doorframe. Heeseung is already looking at him with that slow, insufferable smile, sprawled on the couch like he's been waiting for this exact moment.
"I dunno," Heeseung says, stretching his arms over his head with a theatrical groan. "I'm feeling pretty tired. That table was heavy."
"I helped."
"You complained the whole time."
"I did not—"
"And you kept voice memos hidden from me. From all of us. That's a betrayal of household trust."
"I didn't hide anything. You're just a nosy degenerate." Sunghoon's grip tightens on the doorframe. "Are you driving me or not?"
"Hm." Heeseung taps his chin. "Maybe if you ask me nicely..."
Sunghoon takes a breath. Swallows his pride.
"Heeseung." He says through gritted teeth, "Can you please drive me?"
"Ah, I like the sound of that." Heeseung pushes off the couch and brushes past him with infuriating slowness. "Fine. But you owe me. I wanna hear more of cute-girl's voice notes, so be nice to her."
"Okay. Whatever, you fucking pervert." Sunghoon scoffs, watching him snag his keys off the hook by the door. "Just drive."
The library's fairly empty. It's expected, given it's the middle of summer on a weekend, but it's still jarring as ever to walk past empty tables where people would go to war to get a spot during finals season. And, for the first time in a while, he's thankful to be in an air-conditioned building.
"Hi Sunghoon!" you greet him as soon as he enters the room, seemingly startled by the suddenness of his arrival. He watches you for a moment, how your back straightens, and your immediate, almost rehearsed smile.
She's got the voice. Heeseung's words ring in his mind as he takes you in, you know the one that some girls have, that makes you think about what other noises they could—
"Hi," he answers, slipping into the seat next to you, "Sorry for making you wait. Roommate stuff. Had to move a coffee table. Very adult."
You laugh a little too quickly, and he notes the way your hands tremble in your lap. He also notes the way you refuse to meet his eyes.
"That's okay," you glance towards your phone, which was still face-up with its messages open. You fumble with it, tucking it away. "I was just worried maybe, like, you got lost or something."
Lost? He has to resist the urge to scoff. He's late, and instead of being upset, you decided to make up lousy excuses for him.
He looks you up and down again. You're cute, like you sounded over the phone. A nervous-looking mess. The type of thing his roommates would call endearing. Sunghoon, on the other hand, finds it frustratingly pathetic.
"So." You're already turning your laptop to face him, "I've been working on the backend structure. I commented everything, so it should be pretty straightforward. Here's the API setup, and the database schema..."
You click through files as you talk, your voice picking up speed, and he doesn't listen. He tries to. He swears, he does. But his eyes instead follow your posture, and how you sit uptight, spine straight. Your hands fumble around, twitching like you can't keep them still, and your knees bounce under the desk like a nervous habit.
Good god, you look like you'll crumble to pieces any moment. He can feel a headache creeping up on him already. It's exhausting just looking at you.
"...What do you think?"
"Huh?" He blinks, taking in whatever you're pointing to on your screen. You're looking at him all bright-eyed and earnest, as if his opinion would add any sort of valuable insight here. "I... think it looks good. You did well."
"Really?"
"Yeah, I mean," he shrugs, "Why do you sound so surprised?"
His question catches you off guard. He suspected it would, that's why he asked it. Not that he was trying to prod around in your anxious little head. Just that you seemed predictable. Now he knows you are.
"I just..." You're tapping the desk now. "I wanted it to be up to your standards. I didn't want to disappoint you."
"My standards?" He repeats. Then, unexpectedly, he laughs. Not at you—well, maybe a little at you. But mostly at the absurdity of the most competent person in the room, asking for his approval. "You're something else, you know that?"
You blink. "What does that—?"
"Here," He's still smiling. The headache from earlier has faded. He's not sure when. "Let me show you what you're working with."
He opens his laptop and spins it toward you. His frontend code sits there in all its tragic glory—bare bones, placeholder text, a CSS file with plenty of questionable styling decisions. Your take it all in, and for a split second, you forget to hide the horrified expression on your face.
"See? Trash. Actual garbage. I don't even show up to class. I'm not the guy whose 'standards' you should be worried about. Besides..." He leans back. "You're probably the best student in the whole class."
"I'm sure I'm not," you say, almost bashful, brushing it off as if it were a compliment. It wasn't. He was stating a fact. But you're too self-deprecating to know the difference, he supposes. "And your code isn't trash—"
"It is. We both know it's ass. You don't have to be polite."
"It's... disorganized. And a little rushed..." You hesitate, "Were you busy with something—?"
"Oh my god, you have no idea," he tilts his head back, a sigh of frustration leaving him almost immediately. "Regionals. Scrims every night. Coach breathing down my neck. I'm pretty sure I heard someone call for a flank in my dream last night, and I don't even think I was asleep. Or maybe that was just my roommates fucking with me again..."
You nod along as if you understand, though you definitely don't. You probably don't even know what half those words mean, but you're listening, and for some reason, that's less annoying than it was ten minutes ago.
"Anyway. I know it's rough. But like I said. Don't worry your head over anything else. I'll get to it, I swear."
"I'm not worried. I trust you. We still have another week, so it's not like it's last-minute. We just need to clean up some things here," You nod sweetly, then angle the screen toward him and lean in, your shoulder nearly brushing his. "The class labelling in the HTML is messing with the CSS styling. If you restructure the divs here, it should resolve most of the layout issues. And then here..."
You start explaining—specificity, nesting, the cascade. Your voice is steady now, in your element. You point at the screen with a capped highlighter like a tiny lecturer. He catches maybe sixty percent of it.
What he catches more of is your instinctive forgiveness. He shows up an hour late with half-done work that looks like a middle schooler's first project, and you're already pivoting to reassurance mode. It's okay. It's a good start. We can fix it.
It's spineless. A little sad, honestly.
It's also nice. You're a nice person. No bite, no sarcasm, no passive-aggressiveness, just pure, unearned kindness.
He sighs, leaning back in his chair, settling in as you continue. He makes himself comfortable as best he can in his plastic library chair, and subconsciously, his legs spread, his knee drifting outward until it presses against yours under the table.
It wasn't intentional, and he's about to mutter a quick apology and draw his leg back, but then you pause completely. Your mouth is still half-open around whatever you were about to say, but nothing comes out. Your eyes drop to the table. Your fingers freeze over the trackpad.
He notices. He absolutely notices all of it. The way you swallow, the way your lip trembles trying to find your next word, the way you glance at him from the side in a panic, checking to see his reaction.
She gets flustered when I touch her, he thinks, filing the thought away like data, interesting.
He doesn't move his knee. Doesn't say anything or make any sort of face. He just watches you scramble, suddenly feeling a lot less bored than he'd felt a few seconds ago.
"I—" You shake your head, a tiny, almost imperceptible movement. "Sorry, what was I—the bullet points. Right. I'll email you."
You clear your throat. Find your place in your notes again, though your hands are fumbling slightly, your crisp efficiency gone. You're scrambling to recover, to be useful again, to reassert the order you're using as a crutch.
"Anyway," you manage, "That's everything from my end. We're in good shape."
You're already packing up. The laptop closed with a decisive click. Highlighters swept into your bag in a single motion. Notebook stacked on top. The organized girl, reassembling her armour. Trying to pretend the last thirty seconds didn't happen.
"You in a hurry?" He has to hold back a teasing grin as you scramble for your words.
"No! I mean—yeah. Just. Gotta go, so... yeah. See you next week. Or something."
"Yeah. Or something."
He doesn't move. He's thinking about the bus. The long, slow route across campus. The forty-minute wait. Maybe Jay will pick up if he calls. Maybe Heeseung will text him something unhelpful, like walk it builds character.
You're standing, bag over your shoulder, then you pause, noticing he hasn't gotten up. "You're staying?"
"Hm? Just deciding if I want to beg my roommates for a ride, or suck it up and take the bus."
"Oh..." you adjust the strap of your bag, watching him thoughtfully.
Your hand is already at the door, ready to go. But you don't. Your mouth hangs open slightly, hesitating on your next word.
"Do you maybe want a ride? I have my car. If you want."
He looks at you. Still shrinking yourself. Still avoiding direct eye contact. And you're offering him a ride he didn't ask for. You're offering favours for him—a stranger you don't know. He files that fact away, too.
"Yeah." He stands, slinging his bag over one shoulder. "A ride would be great, actually."
You smile like he's the one doing you a favour, and he smiles back. Not for the same reason. Just because he's feeling really fucking lucky that his project partner is this nice to him.
What a stupid, stupid idea. Really, what on earth were you thinking? Having him, of all people, in your car? In your passenger seat?
Park Sunghoon. You'd read the name about a hundred times in email threads and shared documents. Now that same man is here, in your car, looking out the window with his jawline catching the late afternoon light like it's trying to blind you. Your blood pressure is rising by the second, trying to keep your focus on the road, while your heart threatens to beat out of your chest.
Admittedly, you were annoyed at first. You'd spend an hour in the library, checking your phone, re-reading the room booking confirmation, composing and deleting increasingly pathetic messages. Hey, just checking in! No rush!
You even practiced in your head the polite-but-firm speech you'd planned to deliver. It's a new thing you've been trying to do where you don't let people walk all over you—where you set boundaries and explain that your time is valuable.
Then he'd walked in.
To call him hot would be an understatement. That man right there is not simply hot. Hot is a word for attractive people who still seem human. Sunghoon, on the other hand, looks like someone photoshopped a male model into your web programming course as a prank.
His hair is dark and slightly messy, like he just rolled out of bed and somehow falls perfectly into place. His jawline, so sharp it could kill you, and when he flashed that dimpled smile at you—that lazy, unbothered, gorgeous smile—your brain had performed a full system shutdown.
You don't offer people rides. You don't even like having your friends in your car. You get stressed by the thought of someone else in your space, watching you drive, listening to your playlist. And now he's in the passenger seat of your car, looking so gorgeous that you're wondering if he's even real, and you're freaking the fuck out.
His knee bounces idly as he stares out the window, and your eyes snag on the movement—the way his hand, large and sprawled out, rests loose on his knee. You snap your gaze back to the road.
Deep breaths, you tell yourself, sparing him another glance from the corner of your eye. Stop thinking about weird stuff. Stop being weird. Just make conversation or something.
"So," you manage, and the fact that you manage to say it while sounding almost normal is a small victory. "You said you were busy? With, like, a summer internship or something?"
"Nah." He's still looking out the window, nodding his head slowly to the music. You don't even know what song you have playing. The sound of your own thoughts is too loud for you to notice, but a warmth floods your cheeks at the mere idea that he's enjoying your music. "E-sports. I'm on the school team. We've got regionals coming up."
You blink.
E-sports. You suppose it makes sense. He is in computer science, like you. Most guys in your program are into the whole video gaming thing. It's just hard to imagine him as one of them.
You try to picture it in your head: The E-sports team. A group of socially awkward loners who sit in darkened rooms with headsets, shouting at each other. And then there’s Sunghoon who, beneath the old hoodie and messy hair, looks like he's one photoshoot away from a skincare campaign.
"That's—" You search for the right word. "Cool. I didn't realize the school had an E-sports team."
"Most people don't." He shrugs, glancing over at you. "It's not exactly a spectator sport. But we're good. Made regionals last season. Coach says if we podium this year, we might actually get real funding."
He says it less with arrogance, and more in that matter-of-fact tone he seems to always have. There's something about the way he doesn't perform humility or pride, how he states his truth and moves on. It seems easy. You admire that. You also find it deeply unfair that his voice is making you feel all sorts of things while he's just... talking.
"What game?" you ask.
"Valorant. The shooter. With the agents and the abilities?" He glances at you. "You've heard of it?"
"Oh! My younger cousin plays." You think back, laughing a little at the recollection of the time he made you download it to your laptop. "I'm terrible at it. Like, genuinely embarrassingly bad. I panic and shoot at the floor."
He laughs. It's a real laugh, short and surprised, and a heat creeps to your cheeks. "Everyone's bad at first. It's all just practice."
"Right. Practice." You're smiling now, "I'll add it to my schedule. Between the project and avoiding my parents' calls."
"Your parents?"
"Strict. They mean well, but..." You shake your head, letting your words trail off.
You feel the weight of his stare, a soft hum leaving his lips. The intersection ahead goes yellow. You slow to a stop, grateful for the excuse to look away from him.
"So." You pivot, "E-sports. You must be practicing a lot then, right?"
"It's a lot of pressure," he says, and his voice has shifted slightly. Less casual. His brows scrunch together, and he's looking out the window again, passing streetlights catching the angles of his sharp, beautiful profile. "Coach says if we don't podium, our funding might get cut. Again. So I've been practicing nonstop. Scrims every night. VOD reviews."
Scrims. VOD reviews. Words that do not exist in your vocabulary, but you nod your head along like you understand. You think you get the idea, anyway.
"And then there's this course." He gestures vaguely at you, at the car, at everything. "This bullshit that I have to retake it."
"You failed web programming?"
"I was carrying the team through the playoffs. Sacrificed my homework for practice." He rubs the back of his neck, and your eyes track the shift of his shoulder, the way his fingers press into the muscle there, the brief glimpse of his collarbone where his hoodie shifts. You look away before he catches you staring. "Didn't think I'd end up failing, but. Here we are."
You think about his half-finished frontend. The skeleton components. The CSS file, full of god knows what. He'd shown it to you with the sheepish shrug of someone who knew exactly how bad it was and hated it. He hadn't tried to convince you it was better than it looked.
"But it's okay. It's worth it to make it to regionals." He's smiling to himself, "I'll fucking destroy those losers. They won't know what hit them."
You laugh, but he doesn't. You realize it's not a joke very quickly, and so you clear your throat instead.
"And I'll get my work done, of course," he tips his head towards you, his posture shifting. "Can't guarantee my portion will be as good as yours. But you can blame it on me in the group review doc."
"I'm sure you'll do great," you hear yourself say. "Not just the project. The tournament, too."
He turns to look at you. The late afternoon light catches the side of his face, and you have to force your eyes back to the road.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." You clear your throat. "I mean, I don't know anything about E-sports. But you're the captain, right?"
"Yeah."
"So you must be good. Like, actually good."
He doesn't answer right away. When you glance over, he's not looking at the road—he's looking at you, head tilted slightly, like he's trying to figure you out.
"I am. I'm the best player on the team." He says it with that matter-of-fact tone again.
You pull up to his place. It's a student housing unit—one of those rundown ones that nobody cares about enough to fix up. Someone inside is yelling, the way guys yell when they're playing video games. You shift into park.
"Thanks," he says, unbuckling his seatbelt. "For the ride. And for... You know. Not being pissed about the code. Or the being late thing."
"It's fine," you smile. "Really. Don't worry about it."
He pauses with his hand on the door. Looks at you. There's something in his expression you can't read, the hint of a smile that you think might be lazy amusement, though you're not sure what he's amused by.
He stops. Shakes his head slightly. "See you soon?"
"Yeah! I'll send the invite. And the notes."
He smiles. That damn smile. And then he's gone, walking up the path to his door, and you're sitting in your parked car with your heart doing something stupid in your chest.
You watch him disappear inside.
You're warm all over, and there's no good reason for it either. All he did was sit there and talk to you like a normal person, and yet you're here, feeling a deeply humiliating sort of heat forming in your lower stomach the more you think about it.
Through the front window, you can see movement—someone on a couch, the blue glow of a TV. His roommates, probably. You wonder if he'll tell them about you. You wonder if they even know you exist.
Then you realize you're still parked outside his apartment, staring at his front door like a creep, and you pull away from the curb.
You have to drive all the way back to campus. It's a route you know by heart, familiar enough that your brain has permission to drift. And drift it does—back to the study room, the way he'd leaned back in his chair, the way his knee had pressed against yours. You'd frozen. Completely, mortifyingly frozen. You'd forgotten your own sentence and stammered through the recovery.
And then he'd smiled at you in the car. And now you're smiling.
You're smiling at a red light with no one else in the car, like an idiot, and you can't stop.
It's late, past two in the morning, and the place has gone quiet—Heeseung retreated to his room hours ago, Jake's been dead to the world the moment he got home from his summer job, and Jay's probably doomscrolling, given the amount of Instagram reels he keeps sending to the roommates group chat. The only light is the fridge, a dull white glow illuminating Sunghoon’s tired gaze.
Sunghoon stands in front of it, scanning the contents inside, none of it looking particularly enticing, but he just lost a ranked game, and he needs to eat his feelings.
Leftover takeout. Someone's half-eaten burrito. A case of energy drinks. He grabs a container that looks decent enough—day-old noodles, probably Jay’s because nobody else in the house bothers to cook. Deciding that dealing with the aftermath of stealing his food is a problem for tomorrow, he shoves it in the microwave.
"Sup."
The floorboards creak behind him, and Sunghoon turns around to glare. Heeseung. Of course.
The microwave beeps, and Sunghoon grabs the container, shoving his chopsticks around. It’s still cold in the center.
"Why do you always choose to enter the kitchen when I'm here?"
"Because we run on the same sleepless schedule," Heeseung moves to the sink, waterbottle held under the faucet and turns on the tap. His hair is a disaster, his shirt inside-out, and he watches Sunghoon eat Jay’s leftover noodles straight from the container, too lazy to comment on it. "And 'cause I wanna hear about your little library date. Was she cute?"
"Not a date."
"She drove you home. So it clearly went well." He turns off the tap and fastens the cap back on the plastic bottle. "Were you nice to her?"
"I was nice."
"You better have been. Most women would've called you a loser for being a grown ass man with no driver's license."
"Whatever."
"No, not whatever. I can't believe you." Heeseung points the water bottle at him, frowning, "I can't believe what I'm hearing. She waited an hour for you. Then she gave you a ride home.”
"I know. Real nice of her, right?"
"Too nice of her." Heeseung stares at him, watching him shove noodles into his mouth. "Jay's right. We really should do a scan of your brain. Admit you to a psych ward or some shit."
He doesn't want to talk about it. He doesn't want to think about it. But his brain, unhelpfully, is already thinking about it.
The project. He should really start working on the project. That's the thought he keeps trying to hold onto. Not because he actually wants to do it, but because of you.
You'd been kind. Genuinely kind. You'd asked about regionals like you gave a single shit. You'd nodded along while he talked about Valorant, even though you don't understand any of it.
Then there was his code—his shitty ass code that he knew was trash, that you knew was trash, too. There was no lecture. No guilt trip. Not even a hint of disdain. You just showed him how to fix it. Carefully explained it, even sent him an email after with an organized bullet-point list of all the steps he needed to implement.
An angel. That's what you are. Or a doormat. It’s the same thing, in his mind.
A worse person would take advantage of that, wouldn't they?
His phone buzzes on the counter: One new email. An attachment. Then a second notification—a voice memo.
Heeseung's eyes immediately drop to the screen.
"Is that her?"
"Can you not—?"
Heeseung snatches the phone. Again. Sunghoon is too tired to fight him.
"She sent you another voice memo. At 2am." Heeseung's thumb hovers over the play button. "You know what girls send voice memos at 2am for, right?"
He's grinning as he presses play, and Sunghoon digs his chopsticks further into his noodles, ignoring his crude commentary.
"Hi, Sunghoon. Um. Okay, so I was thinking about earlier—about the whole esports thing, and how stressed you seemed about the tournament? And I just... I had some extra time, so I finished up the code. It wasn’t a big deal, really. Only took a few hours.” There’s a nervous laugh, then a pause like you’d forgotten your next words, “Hopefully, this helps? So you can focus on practice and not have to worry about the project on top of everything else… yeah. Just. Let me know if you have questions. I'm always happy to help. Okay. This is getting long. Sorry. Bye, Sunghoon.”
Heeseung sets the phone down on the counter, the movement slow and careful, like he’d just handled a sacred artifact.
"Dude."
"I know."
"This is insane."
"I know."
"You've got a girl doing all your work for you. At two in the morning. Because you mentioned you were stressed about a Valorant tournament. Said she’s always happy to help."
"I said I know. She's nice. Now leave me alone."
"No, I don't think you understand. Do you even realize what this is?" Heeseung is pacing now, the kitchen too small for his indignation. "This is the literal definition of pretty privilege. You literally just sit there, and she’s doing things for you—Holy shit, it's like when Jake was doing some hot chick's homework for an entire semester 'cause he was begging for a crumb of pussy—"
"Jake was manipulated." Sunghoon sets his leftovers down. "I'm not manipulating anyone. I didn't even—I never asked for this."
"Yeah." Heeseung stops pacing and looks at him. "But you could've. That's the fucked up part. You could ask her to come over right now and do your dirty laundry, and she'd say yes. She'd probably bring her own detergent."
Sunghoon wants to retort that, but... You would, wouldn't you? He drags two hands down his face, sighing as his roommate's mouth continues to run.
"Life's so unfair." Heeseung throws his hands up. "I send a girl one message. One. And she leaves me on read for three days. You ignore a girl for a week, and she's doing your homework, giving you rides home, and sending you audio porn. What is wrong with the world?"
Sunghoon's looking at his phone.
He should type something. Thanks, maybe. Or sorry—sorry you’re doing his work at 2am, sorry he didn't do it himself, sorry he's probably going to keep disappointing you. His thumb hovers over the keyboard.
thanks. you didn't have to do that.
Deletes it.
seriously thank you. i owe you.
Deletes it.
He pockets his phone and walks past Heeseung, leaving the leftovers container behind.
"Where are you going?"
"Bed."
"You're not going to respond? You're just going to leave her on read?" He half-calls out, "You're really gonna act like you're not interested at all?"
He shuts his door. Sits on the edge of his bed, the room dark except for the blue glow of his monitor in sleep mode and with a heavy sigh, he opens the voice recorder. A hand runs through his hair, and he clears his throat, feeling like an idiot. Then he presses record.
"Hey. Got your email. Thanks. You seriously didn't have to do that." A pause. He doesn't know how to end these things. Your voice memos always ended with ‘bye Sunghoon,’ all soft and hesitant-sounding, but he thinks something like that would just sound awkward in his own voice. He then realizes he’s still recording and stammers, "I'll—yeah. I'll make it up to you. Goodnight."
He hits send before he can delete it and stares at it for longer than he should.
Girls like that shit, right? The whole voice memo thing. He's not sure. He just felt like you deserve a little more than a thank-you text for doing his work for him.
He tosses his phone onto his nightstand and lies back on his bed, long limbs stretched out from a long day of doing mostly nothing (apart from moving that damn coffee table).
His brain, unhelpfully, drifts back to the library. The way you'd frozen when his knee touched yours. The way you'd stammered through the rest of your sentence and then offered him a ride anyway. The way you'd looked at him in the car, wide-eyed and nervous. It's been a while since he'd seen anyone look at him like that.
Not that he's inexperienced with women—unlike what his roommates' constant teasing would imply. It's a lack of interest, something he had discovered about himself in high school with his first whopping three-month-long relationship. He'd gotten bored of her in the first month, and when she asked him to choose “me, or your stupid game,” it really wasn’t a difficult choice to make.
Then there was the odd fling here and there in his first year of college. Again, never lasted long. He didn't have the time or energy to commit. In his defence, he was upfront about his intentions. It's not his fault they never listened.
He stopped bothering after that. Girls are drama. They get clingy and weird. They pout and whine over not getting enough attention, trying to drag him away from his game. That shit is annoying. And he doesn't put up with annoying shit.
A part of him wonders if you'd be the same. You're cute, but insecure. The type to get attached too quickly, he'd assume. But you also listened when he talked about his game. You did his code so he could practice more and asked for nothing in return. That's maybe the most supportive any woman has ever been of his future E-sports career.
You could probably ask her to come over right now and do your dirty laundry, and she'd say yes.
He scoffs at Heeseung's voice in his head. Then, a much crueller thought enters his mind:
I could probably get her to do the whole project, too.
It's sharp and invasive—so much so that he's rolling over with a groan, burying his face into the pillows.
Sunghoon's a lot of things. A shitty project partner being somewhere near the top of that list, but he is not a freeloading whore.
He'll be grateful and move on. He'll do his work, he'll win regionals, and when the semester is done, he'll never see your face again.
Sunghoon did not, in fact, do his work.
He tried to—if opening up an empty file and staring at it for five minutes before queuing another ranked Valorant game counts as trying.
Bless your heart, you even sent him reminders. Texts of encouragement with little smiley faces, offers to help, to which he replied with empty promises. Don't worry, I'm working on it tomorrow. I've got it. All good.
All of that, until he woke up the next week with a calendar notification:
deliverable 2 meeting today
It's a weekday, which means Jay took his car to work. Which means he has to take the bus to the library. Which means he won't have time to string something together at the last minute for when he's supposed to meet you.
Sunghoon: can we meet at my place?
Sunghoon: got no ride today
You: sure :)
He grins at the text. Perfect. That's perfect. All he has to do is sit down, write some bullshit, and hope that you offer to fix it—which he's sure you will. You're nice like that. You're understanding.
But then he's at his computer, and he's looking at the Valorant icon in the corner of his home screen. And then he's queuing another game. Then another. And another... and—
The doorbell rings.
Hours. He'd just spent hours playing instead of doing his work like a fucking idiot. And now he's in the middle of a ranked game, clutching up another round.
"Heeseung!" He yells, "Get the door!"
No response. Of course, there's no response.
Luckily, the last remaining enemy peeks, and he finishes the round with another win. With that, he's sprinting to the door. Swings it wide open. A wave of muggy outdoor air hits him, the summer sun beaming down, and you're there smiling slightly, hands gripping the strap of your bag. He doesn't have time to process you.
"Come in," he gestures, sprinting back towards his room. He calls out over his shoulder, "Sorry, I'm in a game. Ranked. Can't leave. Make yourself at home."
He's sliding back into his seat, and your footsteps follow tentatively behind him.
“Ranked?”
“Like, if I leave, I’ll be penalized and lose ranked points.”
“Ah.”
You stand behind him, a polite distance away, still gripping your bag. You shift your weight where you stand, squinting at the screen.
"I'll be done soon, don't worry. These guys are easy."
"Okay..." You sound a little confused, leaning over his shoulder, watching him move through the map.
Somehow, the feeling of your eyes on him as he plays feels like a power boost. And something in him feels the urge to show off just a little bit. You watch him easily take out two enemies with precision, and he smiles, cockily.
"Told you. Easy."
A voice perks up in the lobby chat. The enemy team. "Reported for aimbotting. This is fucking bullshit."
Sunghoon presses the button on his mic to talk, "Nah. I'm just better."
The voice on the other end proceeds to start cussing him out, mouth close enough to the mic that it cuts out every few words, calling him every slur and cuss word under the sun and from the corner of his eye, he sees your face drop in horror. He mutes himself for a second.
"It's just trash talk. Don't worry. Happens all the time."
"All the time?"
“Gaming culture. It’s not for the weak.”
He gets another headshot, and another voice joins in, "Yo, asshole, how does it feel being a basement-dwelling, virgin?"
"Wouldn't know.” Sunghoon quickly unmutes again, firing back, “Why don't you tell me about it?"
A third voice, "Don't bother with him. This guy probably jerks off to his own highlight clips. I guarantee he's never felt the touch of a woman."
Sunghoon's about to respond, but then you're leaning forward in one confident stride.
"Oh? You guarantee that?"
The mic picks up your voice loud and clear, and the lobby explodes. Both the enemy team and his own.
"NO WAY."
“WHO IS THAT?"
"Bro has a whole woman in his room, and he's playing Valorant right now."
"She sounds hot as fuck."
"Dude, I'll forfeit if you get her to moan in the mic."
"Can we get a whimper if we win the next round?" His teammate says.
“Fuck off,” He says immediately, glancing over at you. You’re shifting your weight, your arms around yourself, looking incredibly embarrassed, but you’re grinning proudly. He grins right back, unable to resist the urge to rub this moment in on every other loser in the lobby. “She’s a little busy under the desk right now.”
Your eyes go wide at the implication, and the voice chat explodes.
“WHAT THE FUCK DOES HE MEAN BY—”
The whole lobby talks over each other, and when he gets his final shot, VICTORY printed across his screen, he leans back in his chair.
"Anyway, she’s waiting for me," He glances over at you, his voice terribly smug, and you visibly embarrassed. "Later incels."
The post-game stats load, and finally, there is silence in his headset. He lets it fall to his neck, still grinning.
"Sorry." You start, "I didn't mean to—"
"Sorry?" He raises a brow, "Sorry for what? That was badass. You just destroyed them. Now those guys have to cope with losing and being bitchless. They're gonna be crying over it for the next year, at least."
"Well... good. They deserve it." You say a little proudly, watching him report the guy who called him slurs for bullying. "I don't understand. How can people get so mad over a game?"
"Sore losers," he says simply, "they're mad because they're bad."
"Or they're mad because you're really good," you offer a smile, "I didn't see you miss a single shot. How is that possible?"
He opens his mouth to answer, but the words don't come. Instead, he’s blinking, really taking you in for a moment, because if his eyes don’t deceive him, you actually seem… impressed. Genuine admiration. The kind he only gets from his teammates and other losers in game.
"Practice," he starts, letting his gaze drop, taking you in. The skirt that rides up your thighs, your hands clasped in your lap, and those wide, attentive eyes of yours. "Years of aim training. Game sense. Good instincts."
Something stirs in him, and suddenly he’s thinking about how good you’d look underneath him, making that same wide-eyed expression for an entirely different reason. How nervous that little voice of yours would sound making other kinds of noises for him, what you’d actually look like if you were under his desk on your knees.
You'd give in so easy.
“Anyone can learn it.” He finally says, the intensity of his gaze half-wiped, replaced with something more polite. “It just takes dedication."
"I'm a lost cause with this stuff. Trust me," you laugh, "Anyway. We should probably get to the project."
Ah. The project.
The thing he has nothing to show for on his end because he didn't do anything.
“There's a lot more ground we have to cover this time. There are a lot more features that need to be implemented this time and..."
You ramble on as you seat yourself at the edge of his bed, opening up your bag, and Sunghoon gulps.
He could rip off the band-aid and admit it right now. "Sorry, I'm an idiot, and I played ranked instead of doing my work, but I'll get it done in the next week, I swear."
But you already did his work last week. Already spent a whole week sending him reminders and sending sweet little voice notes—all of which he'd responded to with empty promises. He swears he never meant for those promises to become empty. He planned on doing his work. He just... didn't.
Instinctively, he stands, and mid-sentence, he's placing his headset on your head, adjusting it. You freeze up like last time, and look up at him with the most helpless gaze, all train of thought just gone. His train of thought is rather lost, too, if he's being honest.
"Better idea," he says, "What if I teach you how to play?"
"But—"
"You defended my honour in a Valorant lobby. That kind of bravery deserves a reward.” He pulls out his chair for you, "Sit."
You hesitate. He can see the war happening behind your eyes—the good, responsible side of you trying to fight the flustered one that wishes to give in.
"Just one game. For me?" He reaches out and nudges your shoulder. He lets the touch linger a second longer than it needs to, and he watches your breath hitch.
"Just one.”
The gaming chair swallows your frame, and he pushes it in, hovering just a little too close as he leans over you. He puts you in practice mode to start.
"Alright. Basics first. This is how you move." He guides your hand to the keyboard, his fingers deliberately brushing yours. "WASD. Forward, left, back, right. You know that already?"
You nod weakly, moving around, not quite with ease, but at least you know how to do it. He laughs a little at the jerky movements, and your flustered demeanour from him being this close. He's enjoying this.
"Good. Now shooting." His hand covers yours on the mouse. "Left click. Aim for the head."
The bot appears. You click. Miss entirely. Click again. Hit the shoulder.
"See? You're already better than half my ranked teammates."
"Don't make fun of me."
"I'm not, I swear."
He lets you get comfortable with the practice range. You're clumsy but getting the hang of it, your movements less awkward, your aim less panicked. By the time he queues you into a real match—comms and text chat both disabled, he's not having a repeat of earlier—you're at least facing the right direction.
He drags a chair from the kitchen and sits next to you.
"Real game now. Real players. They're going to be better than the bots."
The first few rounds are rough. You die early in the first. Then the second. By the fourth round, you've done exactly zero damage, and the enemy team is up 3-1. Your teammates are probably flaming you. He's glad he muted them before the round started.
"See? I told you I'm terrible."
"No talking. Just play."
Round five. Your teammates are dropping around you. It's a disaster—your teammates rushed in too soon, leaving you behind. And then it's just you. One versus two.
"Stay behind the corner," Sunghoon says, his voice low near your ear. "Wait for them to come to you."
"But our team is supposed to be attacking, right?"
"Yeah, but these players are stupid. They're playing too aggressively. They'll come to you."
His hand lands on your shoulder, and your hands are trembling slightly on the keyboard.
"Keep your crosshair at head level. Right there."
He adjusts your mouse, and you nod. In your ears, you hear footsteps. Then, the enemy peeks. You click. The headshot sound is unmistakable—a clean, crisp dink that echoes through the headphones. One enemy down. Pings explode from your dead teammates.
"Holy shit!" Sunghoon leans forward, grinning. "Look at that! You got a headshot!"
"I—I did?"
"You did. One tap. Clean as hell," he's beaming, "Now, don't lose focus yet. One more to go."
You're staring at the screen like you can't quite believe it. Your hands are still trembling, but you're smiling now—a real smile, wide and bright and unguarded.
Though you don’t have time to celebrate, because a body shot hits from behind you, not enough to kill you, but enough that you scream. You move behind the wall, frantically moving the mouse around.
"Don't panic. They're coming to you. Just wait—"
The enemy appears, and you click, your bullets spraying clumsily, and by some miracle, you outlive them with barely any health left—but you won. You won the 1v2.
"That's my girl!" He's grinning wide, "You're a natural, you see that?"
You play terribly the rest of the game, but your team locks in, their hope reignited by your clutch up, and carries you to a win. VICTORY. It appears in big letters across your screen.
You take off the headset, your smile unwavering, your cheeks warm. "That was... actually kind of fun."
"See? Told you."
"I still mostly did nothing."
"You won. Stop being humble." He nudges your shoulder, allowing the touch to linger. "Most people don't win their first game. Bet I can help you win your second, too."
"Sunghoon." You laugh, gently moving his arm away as he tries to queue another game. "We have to do the project."
"We can do that another time."
"We can do this another time. We need to work."
"Do we really need to?"
"Yes."
He pauses a moment. A beat of silence passes, and your gaze lingers on him.
"Sunghoon," you say again, gently, carefully. Like you already understand where this is going, "If your work is a little messy like last time, I don't mind. I just want to make sure we're on the same page."
"I just..."
He looks at you. Still in his chair, still wearing his headset around your neck now, and the way you're looking at him—half-flustered, half-stubborn, trying so hard to be responsible and even going so far as to push back—makes him realize he'll have to try harder than he thought to distract you.
"I just think with you, it's always: Project this. Project that. You work so hard. You know it's okay to relax sometimes, right?"
"I—"
"You know what your problem is? You worry too much. Whenever I see you, you're always worrying. What's up with that?"
He leans back in his chair, arms folded over his chest. Your eyes follow them, how his biceps strain in his shirt, and his knee bumps yours. He stays watchful, analyzing the way your breathing picks up. The way your eyes go wide again.
"I don't know... I've always been..." you manage, shaking your head, "My parents were strict growing up, so..."
"I don't see your parents anywhere."
"Right. I know it's silly, but sometimes it's like I still hear them in my head," you laugh nervously, avoiding his gaze, "it was always study, study, study. No fun, no friends, no boys—"
"No boys?"
All of a sudden, it clicks for him. The shyness. The stuttering. The way you'd frozen in the library when his knee touched yours—not just flustered, but genuinely short-circuited, like your brain had no protocol for what to do. The way you'd offered him a ride, even though you could barely look at him. The way you'd defended him in voice chat, fierce and uncalculated, with no idea of the attention it would bring.
It all makes sense now. Every single thing.
You're not just anxious or sheltered. You're completely, profoundly inexperienced. He's likely the first guy who's ever been this close to you—and you’re here, in his room, wearing his headset. Every reaction you've had, every flush and stammer and nervous laugh, it's all because you've never done this before.
He smiles, enjoying the thought more than he should. A lot more.
"No boys," he repeats, and his voice comes out slow and deliberate. "What does that mean, exactly?"
"It means no boys. Like." You're flustered already, and he hasn't even moved. "No dating. My parents were really strict about it, and I just—I never really—"
"Never really what?"
He knows exactly what you're trying to say. He just wants to hear you try to say it.
"Never really... dated?" he offers, tilting his head. "Never really had a boyfriend?"
You shake your head, barely a movement.
"Never really..." He lets the pause stretch. Watches you squirm. "...anything?"
You can't manage another word, so you don't speak. You don't have to. The silence speaks for itself.
"You've never done anything?"
The question hangs in the air. He watches you process it—the implication, and how you can’t hide from it.
"Never even been kissed?"
"No." There it is. The confession, small and brave. "It's embarrassing. I know. I never really—"
"It's cute, actually."
You look at him, wordless. Maybe he should feel bad. He should feel guilty for prying this out of you, for enjoying how uncomfortable you are and filing all of this away as useful information. Some distant, rational part of his brain knows that. Instead, he's thinking about how nobody has ever touched you. How he’s the first one now to have been close enough to see you all flustered and vulnerable and completely unguarded.
His hand finds your knee. It's innocent enough, not drifting any higher than above it, his thumb moving in slow circles, and he watches in real time as your mind goes completely blank.
He's going to kiss you. Honestly, he knew he was going to kiss you the moment he understood what "no boys" meant, and while part of him is still trying to distract you from the project by getting you all hot and bothered like this, another part of him wants to do it just because he can. Just because you're there, in his chair, looking at him like that, reacting to his touch like this. That kind of power is a drug. It only makes him want to see just how far he can push you.
"Sunghoon," Your voice comes out thin, breathless. Your hand flutters up, not pushing him away, just hovering, like you're not sure what to do with it. "The project. We really need to—"
"The project." He says it flat, like the word itself is a chore. "The project will be fine. It'll get done. Right?"
He tilts his head, lets the implication hang there: You did the last one. You'll do this one, too.
Your mouth opens, but whatever argument you'd prepared dissolves the second his hand moves. It slides up from your knee to the edge of your skirt, his fingers tracing the hem where it brushes your thigh, and you go absolutely still beneath his touch.
"You look cute today, by the way." His voice is low, and his eyes look you up and down. "I like this."
He toys with the hem of the fabric, his knuckle grazing bare skin. Your thighs press together involuntarily, and he catches it. The movement. The sharp little inhale. The way your hands grip the armrests, fingers curling into them.
A sound escapes your throat, something small and embarrassing. A whimper you clearly didn't mean to make. His eyes flick up to your face. Your lips are parted, and you're looking at him like you've forgotten how words work.
"That's it," he murmurs, "You'll be good for me, right?"
Your eyes drop to his lips. You nod. It's a tiny, helpless movement, and the last of your resistance crumbles.
His free hand comes up to cup your chin, tilting your face toward his. He's close enough now to feel your breath, shallow and uneven. Close enough to know that no one has ever touched you like this before, and you're terrified, but you're not pulling away.
He leans in, slowly inching forward, closer and closer and—
"Sunghoon!" The door bursts open, "Have you seen my charger? I think..."
Heeseung's voice trails off as he takes in the sight. You. Sunghoon. The proximity between you. His hand on your thigh. Valorant open on his PC.
"Well, well, well..." he grins, leaning against the doorframe, "do my eyes deceive me, or is that a girl? In your bedroom? Sitting on your throne?"
"Leave."
"And you're making the poor thing play your stupid game. That's no way to treat a lady," he gestures around, then looks to you, "You. Don't tell me you're pretending to be impressed by his KDA ratio?"
You shrink under his gaze, looking like you wished to flee any second.
"Listen, I get it.” He raises his hands in surrender, “He's a good-looking guy. But his personality?" He shakes his head, "He’s a walking red flag. And not in the hot bad boy way. In like, a discord-moderating, redditor way."
"Seriously, get out."
Sunghoon is on his feet now, jaw tight. But you're already up, already grabbing your bag, already not looking at anyone.
"Actually, I should go."
"You don't have to—"
"I'll see you soon." The words tumble out.
You duck past Heeseung, out of the bedroom, into the hall. Your footsteps go fast—past the living room where the coffee table sits in all its carved, solid-oak glory.
Heeseung follows you as far as the hallway, leaning against the wall with the lazy confidence of someone who knows he ruined something, but has no idea what.
"Wait!" he calls after you. "Before you leave, what do you think of the coffee table? Real craftsmanship, right?"
The front door slams. Hard enough to rattle the empty energy drink cans still scattered on Sunghoon's desk.
Heeseung turns back to the bedroom doorway, where Sunghoon is standing rigid, hands at his sides.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Sunghoon spits.
"Me? What's wrong with you?" He strides on into his room, taking his lost phone charger from the port near his bedside. The one he took yesterday without asking, "You steal my shit, you get cockblocked. Sorry."
"You know that was my project partner, right?"
"I know who it was." Heeseung wraps the cord around his hand, watching Sunghoon with an expression that's sharper than before. "The one with the voice. The one who did your work at two in the morning. I guess now she comes over to stroke your ego too, huh?"
"I was this close to—"
"This close to what?" Heeseung quips, raising a brow. "Finish the sentence."
"This close to... to taking her mind off of worrying. She's a chronic worrier. It's annoying. It's..." his voice trails off.
Silence. Sunghoon notices the look in his roommate’s eyes: disapproving, doubtful.
"You know what I think?" Heeseung says slowly, "I think you're getting a little too comfortable with the amount of kindness she gives you."
"I don't know what you mean."
“The walls are thin, and I’m nosy. I know what I heard,” he scoffs, heading toward the door. "You’re pushing your luck. And trying to tongue your project partner so she can do your work for you is a new low. Even for you."
Sunghoon then gapes at the offensive, downright defamatory implications his roommate is making towards him.
"I didn't—" Heeseung leaves before he can defend himself. And Sunghoon stumbles to the hallway, calling out after him. "I didn't do anything wrong!"
Sunghoon slams the door shut on him, taking a second to breathe. There's a ping on his phone. A new voice note. He clicks it immediately, your voice rushed, the sound of your car running in the background.
"Hey Sunghoon. Sorry for leaving like that. I got kinda nervous when your roommate walked in. But I had a really good time with the game! And with you. And... oh, and about deliverable 2." You pause, then a sigh escapes you—heavy, but hesitant. "I've thought about it, and I know your tournament is coming up really soon, so I don't mind taking it off your hands. Anyway, goodbye for now, Sunghoon."
Sunghoon sinks into his gaming chair. Relief morphs into glee, a short laugh escaping him. He can’t believe it. He can’t believe you.
Whatever guilt Heeseung was trying to make him feel fades instantly—easily. Too easily.
He queues another game.
The basement is quiet. Still. Peaceful. Just Sunghoon, the ironing board, and his team jersey, steam hissing in the silence.
His gamer tag stares up at him from the back of the jersey, crisp and clean. Tomorrow he'll be wearing it on stage. Tomorrow it's game time. Tomorrow, he's locked the fuck in, with his team at his side and everyone there to watch him take that victory.
He's in the zone. Has been all night. Showered, prepped, head clear. No distractions. No thoughts about the final project deliverable due next week that he definitely hasn't started, or thoughts about Heeseung's accusations, or thoughts about you, and your wide eyes, and the way you looked at his lips right before—Nope. He’s not thinking about it.
The basement door groans open, followed by footsteps. Sunghoon doesn't bother turning around. He knows it’s Jay, judging by the heaviness of the tread, and because he’s the only one of them who regularly uses the washer instead of letting clothes pile up until they smell.
"Game's tomorrow?"
"Yep." Steam hisses. Sunghoon runs the iron along a sleeve. "You're still driving me, right?"
There’s a pause. Too long a pause. Sunghoon turns. Jay's standing by the washer, suddenly fascinated by the lint trap.
"Jay."
"Huh?"
"The tournament," Sunghoon says it slower this time, the iron forgotten in his hand. "The thing I gave you the date for a month ago. The thing you swore you'd drive me to. Ringing any bells?"
"Right, right." Jay shuts the washer door. Doesn't meet his eyes. "Well."
"Jay."
"Thing is," Jay scrubs the back of his neck, "my grandma's moving. Already told my mom I'd help tomorrow morning."
“Dude.” Sunghoon blinks, gaping at him, "You promised me first."
"Sorry, man. Grandma over you."
"I gave you a month's notice."
"And my grandma gave me twenty-two years of birthday money." Jay shrugs, already turning toward the stairs. "Can't put a price on that."
Sunghoon sets the iron down with a little more force than necessary. "You could've said something before tonight."
"It's not the end of the world. Just take the bus."
"It's an hour drive. Longer by bus. On a Sunday. That's—"
"Tough luck."
"Jay." Sunghoon's voice sharpens. "This is the biggest day of my—"
But Jay's already halfway up, and the basement door clicks shut behind him. The washing machine hums into the silence. Sunghoon stares at the empty staircase.
The bus is not an option. Absolutely not. He didn't grind all season to show up to regionals late, all sweaty from sprinting across a transit terminal because the Sunday schedule runs once every forty-five minutes if he's lucky.
And his teammates? He could squeeze into someone's car, knee to chest, listening to them argue about team comps and whose mom packed snacks. He'd rather walk.
But… there is another option.
Someone who's given him a ride before. Someone who is always happy to help. Someone who did his code, who defended him in a Valorant voice chat, who can't resist him, no matter how many times he's proven himself incompetent.
He pulls out his phone.
It seems like a shitty thing to do. He knows that. But, it's mutually beneficial, isn't it? He gets a favour, you get to see him. It's a win-win, really.
Besides, it's not like he's only calling for the ride. He genuinely does like the idea of you there, front row, cheering his name. Watching him destroy the enemy team live instead of from his bedroom. You'd get all confused, trying to follow the game, and then he'd win, and you'd be proud even though you don't really understand what you're proud of and—hell, maybe he'd finally get to give you that kiss. Maybe more.
It's been on his mind too much lately. Your eager, parted lips, your thigh tense beneath his touch, the way you leaned into it like a good little plaything. Always so desperate to please—you'd make him feel like a real champion, wouldn't you? All nervous and untouched and entirely his. His prize, his to guide, his to take.
It's a perverse fantasy. It's also not entirely impossible. Though, he shakes his head at himself, not erasing the thought, but putting it back on the shelf.
The ride. That's the priority now. Having a pretty girl at his arm is just a bonus.
You press submit.
Deliverable two, done. Your portion, pristine, commented, tested, and complete. His portion—the portion you told yourself you wouldn't do—also complete. Also entirely yours.
You close the laptop and sit there in the dark of your dorm room.
This is getting out of hand. You know it is. It's been out of hand, actually, ever since the library and the first deliverable that you fixed—the thing you should’ve never done in the first place but did anyway.
He didn't do his work again, and this time he didn't even try to pretend otherwise. He just looked at you with those eyes, said ‘It will be fine,’ and you let the subject drop because his hand was on your thigh, your brain had stopped working, and the only thing on your mind was not wanting to let him down.
But what about him letting you down? It’s happened twice now. Not enough times to call it a pattern of behaviour yet, but enough to imply something about his character and where his priorities lie. He's unreliable. Lazy. Probably manipulative, if your best friend's theories are true. That's not the kind of guy you want. That's not the kind of guy anyone should want. You should be furious, actually. You should send him a firm email. You should stand your ground.
He’s hot, though, your brain unhelpfully reminds you. Stupidly, impossibly hot, and he almost kissed you—you think. Sometimes you replay it in your head, and you're certain of it. Other times, you wonder if you imagined the leaning in, the pause, and the way his voice dropped when he said you'll be good for me, right?
You sigh, hand twitching against your thigh. When you close your eyes, it's like you can still feel him touching you there. Every time you think about it, your whole body goes hot, and you think about it a lot—not just about what happened but what could've happened if his roommate hadn't walked in. You can't even keep track of the amount of times you've lied awake, drenched in your own sweat, thighs pressed together, just thinking about his hand slipping further up your skirt and relieving you of the torturous, wound-up feeling that's had you in a chokehold all summer.
Your phone buzzes.
Incoming video call: Sunghoon
You stare at the screen, still recovering from your fantasy. It takes you a minute to actually process that it is, in fact, him calling you and not a figment of your imagination. He's never called you before. Not once. All summer, it's been voice memos and texts and the occasional thumbs-up emoji.
It rings again, and you fumble reaching for it, nearly dropping it on the floor. You pick up, and as soon as you see the FaceTime video loading, you click to turn off your camera.
Your eyes are glued to the screen as you take in the sight of him. He's lying in bed, his hoodie pulled up over his head, shadows cutting across his jaw, and his hair falls over his eyes. You're almost pissed at the fact that someone can look that good so casually.
"Hey." His voice comes through your earbuds low and rough, and it travels down your spine. Your whole body shivers.
"Hi," you manage, small and a little breathless.
"How's my girl doing?"
My girl. That's the second time he's called you that. The first was during the game, when you landed the headshot. You'd assumed it was adrenaline, or a reflex. Something guys said to their duo partners, like "my man" or "my guy". But he's not gaming now. He's in bed. Talking to you.
"I'm good—fine." You swallow. "What about—?"
"Can I see you?"
"See me?" You glance down at yourself. Old t-shirt. Not a trace of makeup. Yeah. That's not happening. "I'm in bed. It's dark. There's nothing to see, so..."
"Hm," he sighs, and you hear the rustling of fabric as he adjusts himself. "Too bad."
"What's up?" You're trying to sound normal, clearing your throat, "Why'd you call?"
"Just wanted to chat."
His free hand finds the drawstring of his hoodie, twisting it idly around one finger. Your eyes follow the movement, staring at the veins, the size of his hand, the length of his fingers and—you drag your eyes back to his face.
"About?"
"You free tomorrow?"
He shifts again, and the camera jostles, this time a light groan escaping him.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow you have—nothing. You have absolutely nothing. And even if you did have something, you'd still say you have nothing because it's him who's asking. Your heart skips a beat, a stupid smile breaking on your face.
"Yes," you say, immediately trying to downplay the eagerness in your voice. "Yeah, I'm free. Why?"
"And you can drive?"
"Sure. Why—?"
"Good." He ignores the question again. "Then I'm taking you out."
Your heart does a full stop. "Where?"
"Surprise.” He smiles. “Just wear something cute, m'kay?"
Wear something cute.
What does that mean exactly? Cute how? Cute like a dress? Or is a dress too much? Maybe a skirt. He said he liked your skirt last week. He toyed with the hem and said I like this and you made a sound you're still embarrassed to remember.
"Sleep well," he then says, breaking the long, silent pause with a slight chuckle, "See ya."
And before you can get another word in, he's gone. The reflection of yourself stares back at you in the darkened screen.
Maybe you should call him back and ask what 'cute' means. What kind of 'cute'? Dinner cute? Coffee cute? Hanging out at his house, cute? But after a long time of staring at his contact, debating how to even ask, you decide it's too late.
You shower, scrubbing every inch of yourself. Exfoliate. Shave—you shave everything—carefully, methodically, in places you don't normally bother with because usually you're thinking "who's going to see?" But if his hand travels further than it did last time, you do not want to be stuck in your own head worrying about it, so you do it just in case. Just to be prepared.
Then you stand in front of your closet for forty minutes trying on everything you own, trying to decide what feels like too much, and what feels like not enough. You don't know.
Eventually, you settle. A skirt you usually avoid because it rides up your thighs too much. A top that's nice without trying too hard. You look at yourself in the mirror. You feel pretty. Normally, you feel clean, or presentable, or fine. But today, you feel pretty.
It's a dangerous feeling. You're getting dressed up for a boy who hasn't done a single assignment all summer. You're shaving your legs for him when technically you're still not sure what "taking you out" implies. But your heart is racing, and your cheeks are warm, and you find yourself smiling at your reflection in the mirror like an idiot, anyway.
So what if you dressed up for him? You're allowed to feel pretty. You're allowed to want him. You're allowed to hope.
You're shaking when you pull up to his place. Not visibly, at least, as you’re gripping the steering wheel hard enough to hide it.
You’ve been talking to yourself under your breath for the last three blocks. Be normal. Be cool. Which would be a lot easier to do if this weren't the first time a boy had asked to "take you out" and you’ve been alone with your own anxious thoughts for so long now that you're starting to dwell on what that might mean again.
Dinner, maybe? The thought simultaneously makes your heart flutter and your stomach churn. You're so nervous, you're not sure you could hold down any food. What if he asks why you're not eating—?
You're getting ahead of yourself. Maybe he's right. You do worry too much. You don't even know where you're going yet, and you're already jumping to conclusions.
Predictably, you're early. Of course you are. You'd left your dorm with an extra twenty minutes because you couldn't stand to pace around your room anymore, and now you're pulling up at the curb feeling like an idiot. But, to your surprise, he's already waiting on the porch.
He spots your car before you even have time to honk, jogging down the steps, and you roll down the window, smiling bright and stupid and probably too eager. Then...
Then your eyes drop to his chest.
The jersey. The school's E-sports team jersey, to be precise. You know what it looks like because you've stalked the team's Instagram page about a hundred times just to stare at the photos of him on there until they were permanently burned into your retinas forever.
"Hey," he says, pulling open the passenger door. "Right on time."
"Hi," you swallow, smiling politely. "What are you wearing?"
"Team gear." He slides into the seat, dropping his bag at his feet. "Regionals are today. Didn't I tell you?"
Your blood runs cold.
No. No, he did not. He said I'm taking you out. He said to wear something cute. He said it was a surprise.
"Regionals," you repeat. "Right. The tournament."
"Yeah. It's at the convention centre. About an hour drive." He's buckling his seatbelt, "Coach said we could bring anyone we want. Figured I should bring my number one supporter, right?"
So it's not a date. Not at all what you were thinking when he called you late at night with his voice all low and asking if you were available—asking if you could drive.
Still, you smile. You smile because even if your heart has sunk into your stomach, you know it's your own fault for thinking this would be anything more than it was.
And, well, this matters to him. This is the thing he's been neglecting the project for. The thing he told you he’d been practicing for, talking about it in the car that first day you met him. He’s choosing to bring you to his thing. That alone must mean something... right?
"That sounds fun," you say, and the words feel like they belong to someone else. "I've never been to an E-sports thing before."
"You'll love it. You'll finally see me play for real. Not just some ranked lobby."
"Yeah." Your smile starts to hurt your cheeks. It strains and fails to reach your eyes. "Can't wait."
The drive is an hour. You spend most of it listening. He talks about the bracket, the teams they're facing, and some enemy team player who's been trash-talking him online. He talks about comps and strats and something called a meta. You nod, you smile. You ask questions. You try to seem engaged.
In a way, you are a little. Not because you care about the game, but because it's hard not to feel warm in the face when you see him like this. He's barely able to sit still in the passenger seat, gesturing with his hands, more animated than you've ever seen him, smirking with the kind of confidence you'd expect a star player to have. This is his thing. This is what he's good at. He invited you.
That has to mean something—you're certain of it now. Even if it's not what you thought. Even if you spent an hour getting ready, shaving everywhere and trying on countless different outfits just to sit in a convention centre folding chair.
You glance down at your skirt and your pretty top. All that effort you put into looking like you hadn't put in effort now feels wasted.
Maybe people dress up nice for these things, you tell yourself. You've never been to an E-sports tournament, so you wouldn't know.
At least, that's what you tell yourself, refusing to believe that he chose those words on purpose, knowing how they'd come across, knowing how they'd affect you.
"You look pretty, by the way."
Your head snaps toward him. He's looking out the window, and the words slipped out of him so casually that you almost don't catch it. Your heart furiously pounds in your chest, all doubt in your mind momentarily forgotten.
"You too." The words tumble out before your brain can catch up, and immediately you want to grab them and shove them back in your mouth. You too? "I mean—you look good. The jersey. It suits you."
There's a hint of a smile on his lips, and yours tug into one too—something small and hopeful.
You keep driving, trying to focus less on the quiet ache in your chest and more on the fact that he is here right now, in your car, bringing you into his world.
The convention center is freezing, the kind of cold that seeps through your thin top and settles into your bones. The air conditioning is blasting, likely to prepare for the body heat of the crowd that'll pack this place in a few hours. But right now, it's just you and a handful of other early arrivals and staff members scattered across folding chairs, listening to the distant sound of someone testing a microphone.
He didn't introduce you to his team. Didn't even glance back. Just pointed at the front row and said, "Sit there," and then he was gone—swallowed by a cluster of matching jerseys and equipment bags. You'd stood there for a moment, awkward, watching him disappear, arms wrapped around yourself against the cold.
That was hours ago. Hours in a hard plastic chair, scrolling through every app on your phone until you'd seen every post, every story, every notification that wasn't there. You got up once to buy an iced coffee from the convention center cafe—watery, gone in ten minutes. It did nothing to quiet the growling in your stomach.
You're cold. You're hungry. You're bored. You're wearing a skirt and a cute top in a convention centre full of strangers who smell like they don't shower, and you feel stupid. So, so stupid. But when he jogs over to you, twenty minutes before the tournament starts, everything brightens. Like you're not freezing to death where you sit. Like it all makes sense now, why, against your better judgment, you decided to stay.
He's got his headset looped around his neck, and his eyes have that focused, sharp kind of intensity you witnessed the first time you saw him play in his bedroom. He carries himself like he’s already won. It’s the kind of easy confidence—or arrogance, rather—that others would call obnoxious. To you, however, it’s captivating.
"Hey!" He squeezes your shoulder, just once. The warmth of his hand cuts through the chill. "Still awake?"
You blink up at him, smiling before you can stop yourself. Your head is foggy from too much fluorescent light and not enough food, but suddenly none of that registers.
"Barely.” You laugh, “But still alive. What about you?"
"I’m ready." He grins, that cocky, unbothered grin. "More than ready, knowing that you're here."
Your breath catches. Stupid. It's such a small thing yet the warmth that blooms in your chest catches you off guard, and for a moment you forget about the miserable afternoon you've just had. You just smile back at him, helplessly.
"Don't get too sleepy. I want to hear you cheer. Loud."
"I will." You say without hesitation.
"Good."
He flashes you one last smile, and then he's gone, slipping back toward the stage. You call after him, "Good luck!" He doesn't turn around. Just raises a hand in acknowledgment.
You sink back into your chair, still smiling, still warm from the brief press of his fingers on your shoulder. It's pathetic, honestly. You know it's pathetic. One touch, one sentence, and suddenly the hours of waiting and the overpriced coffee and the cold that's still seeping through your clothes don't feel like such a big deal anymore.
When the tournament starts, you come to realize you know a lot less about this game than you thought. There's a lot of terminology that flies past your head. Strategies you don’t understand. Names you don’t recognize. But you know enough that you understand when his team is winning, and when he's the last one alive on his team, wiping out the enemy team like they're nothing, and you definitely understand why the crowd cheers loudly when he clutches a 1v5.
They win. Easily. It’s not even close, and when the final round ends and the casters are screaming, and his teammates are out of their chairs—you're on your feet too. Clapping until your hands sting. Cheering, though you're certain you'll lose your voice for it.
He finds you the moment his team filters off the stage. One second you're standing alone, scanning the crowd of jerseys; the next, his hand is at your waist, fingers curling against the fabric of your top, pulling you into his side like it's the most natural thing in the world. Like he's done it a hundred times. His palm is warm through the thin material, his thumb pressed just above your hip, and he's wearing the world's biggest grin.
The hall is chaos—people talking in every direction, the music playing too loudly, a coach yelling something across the room. You can't really hear what he's saying, just the rumble of his voice near your ear, the occasional word breaking through: ...killed it... ...see that clutch?... You nod, smiling, hyperaware of the heat of his hand and the way his fingers tighten whenever someone jostles past. He steers you toward his teammates with that grip on your waist, guiding you through the crowd like you're an extension of his victory.
The other boys are clapping him on the back, shouting over each other. Every time someone congratulates him, his hand flexes against your hip—not quite pulling you closer, but not letting you drift either.
"...You good with sushi?"
"Hm?" You furrow your brows, not quite catching his words still.
"Post-game celebration. Coach is treating us," he leans in right next to your ear this time, his words a little clearer. He grabs your arm. "Let's go."
The sushi place is in a strip mall across the parking lot from the convention centre. Laminated menus, lighting that's too bright for a celebration, and employees who look like they're regretting every life choice that led them to this shift. The sheer amount of noise coming from the table doesn't help.
The team has been going around making speeches—thanking the coach, thanking their friends, thanking Sunghoon, their number one captain and player. He soaks it up like a sponge, leaning back in his chair with the ease of a star player who knows he killed it. The table goes a little quieter when it’s finally his turn.
"I'd like to thank my team, of course, for putting their best foot forward. Coach, for keeping us in line. But most importantly..." He turns to you. His arm slides from the back of your chair to your shoulders. "I'd like to thank this one right here. For the support. For cheering me on louder than anyone." He squeezes your shoulder. "You made my life a hell of a lot easier this semester."
Easier.
You're not sure why that choice of words doesn't sit right. Maybe because it felt too cold, or detached. He could've said you made his life better, brighter, happier… and maybe you're reading too much into it. You’re probably overthinking it and jumping to conclusions that aren’t there, like you always do. But easier implies convenience, nothing else, and you don’t really like the way that makes you feel.
He's being nice, you tell yourself. He’s thanking you in front of everyone. It's a good thing.
"Oh, and I got you something." He reaches into his bag and pulls out a jersey. Identical to his own. "My spare jersey. Since you know. I couldn't have done it without you."
You take it, the fabric stiff and unfamiliar in your hands. You open your mouth to say something—thank you, maybe, or you didn't have to—but nothing comes out.
"Put it on."
You do, and the shirt swallows your frame, the hem only a few centimetres above where your skirt ends. His gamertag is printed in bold letters on the back, and on you, it feels like a brand—a mark of his claim. You hold your breath, too overwhelmed by the scent of him, and your stomach does that flipping thing it always seems to when he gives you crumbs of affection like this, except this time with a newfound heaviness resting uncomfortably somewhere within you.
"Looks good," He hums, pleased, nodding to the rest of his team, "Right guys?"
The team cheers, someone whistling while the guy sitting next to him claps his back, and he takes it all in with pride, while you look down at your lap.
"Hey. Don't be shy." He leans in, voice dropping just for you. His knee bumps yours under the table. "I meant it. You do look pretty today."
The heaviness lifts. Just a little. Just enough to put on your brave face again, and the wait staff starts serving up whatever platters they ordered earlier. The boys descend like hawks, piling their dishes high, chopsticks clacking. Two of them fight over the remaining spicy salmon rolls, and someone orders another round of sake; meanwhile, Sunghoon is already talking about the next tournament.
You stare at your plate.
You were hungry earlier. Starving, actually—your stomach had been growling through the final matches, but now you just poke at a piece of nigiri with your chopsticks, turning it over and over, watching the rice fall apart.
This isn't exactly what you had in mind when he said he was taking you out… but he thanked you in front of the team. Gave you a jersey. Called you pretty. And his knee keeps bumping yours under the table, making an embarrassing flush creep to your cheeks every time.
He wants you here. That should be enough. That should make you happy. So why do you still feel so hollow?
"Excuse me," a voice appears behind you both. You and Sunghoon turn to face him. "I'm with the school paper. Mind if I grab a few quotes?"
A guy with a press badge and a notebook is standing beside the table. You'd seen him earlier, sitting in the same section near the front as you. Reserved seating. It makes sense. Regionals are a big deal for your school; this is probably the most interesting story they've had in years.
"Yeah, sure."
"Just a few questions about the match. The clutch in finals—what was going through your head?"
"Oh. Easy. I locked the fuck in," he breaks into a smug grin.
Sunghoon talks about game sense. Instincts. Reading the enemy. The reporter scribbles notes, asks a few more questions. Asks about his training schedule, the responsibilities of being the team captain, and the pressure.
You continue to poke at your food, assuming none of it involves you, until he glances at you.
"And I see your girlfriend is here. How does it feel to have that kind of support showing up for you?"
Your heart skips. Sunghoon glances at you, but his gaze isn't nearly as panicked as your own
"Oh. She's not my girlfriend." He says it casually. Like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Like the idea had never even occurred to him.
Suddenly, the table is a little quieter, like everyone had hushed their conversations just to overhear. Feeling the weight of everyone's eyes, your fingers tremble around your chopsticks.
"Ah." The reporter looks at you—the jersey, the arm around your shoulder—then offers an apologetic smile, "Sorry, I just assumed—"
"She's more like..." He tilts his head, considering. "My lucky charm."
Lucky charm. Not a girlfriend. Not a friend. Not even my project partner, who gave me a ride here and did all my work for me. A lucky charm. Something you carry around for good fortune and toss in a drawer when you no longer need it.
"Or maybe," he starts again, "She's like my prize. You know, you win the tournament, you get the trophy. She's kind of both. Good luck and a good reward. You know what I mean?"
You hear a snicker from across the table, and he laughs too. He laughs. His arm is still around your shoulder, heavy and warm, and his thumb is tracing idle circles against your sleeve like nothing is wrong. Like he didn't just reduce you to an object in front of a reporter and his whole team.
"I'm just teasing. But, really, the closer I keep her, the easier my life becomes. So, you asked how it feels, right? I'd say it feels pretty damn good," he pulls you closer for a second, giving your shoulder another squeeze, "I was telling the whole team earlier. It's all thanks to her."
"Wait, so she's single?" One of his teammates leans over, "Dude, you've been gatekeeping her all night—"
"Fuck off." He snaps, turning back to the reporter, "Next question."
The interview fades to background noise.
Lucky charm. You want to laugh. Or maybe cry.
As if luck had anything to do with it. The only reason he's here, celebrating, getting interviewed, is because of the labour, time and energy that you freely offered him like a fool. And now he's calling it luck.
You sit there in your seat, his arm heavy around you like he owns you. You realize only then that it means nothing. Absolutely nothing.
You slide out from under it. "Bathroom," you murmur, already on your feet.
He doesn't look up. His hand drops to the back of the empty chair without pause, and the reporter is already asking the next question.
You walk toward the door, and the bell chimes as you leave.
The parking lot is hot. The heat, humid and suffocating, rises off the asphalt, and the air feels thick in your lungs. Your car is at the far end. Too far away, you think, as you make your way. You walk fast, the jersey still hanging off your shoulders, and it feels like the weight of it is slowing you down. You hate that you're still wearing it.
Behind you, the restaurant door opens, and heavy footsteps follow. "Hey! Hey, wait up—"
You don't wait. Obviously. But he catches up very easily, hand on your shoulder to halt your frantic steps.
"What's going on?" He catches up, slightly out of breath. "You just left. What gives?"
You spin around. "I'm a lucky charm? A prize?"
"What?" His expression shifts—not guilty, but confused. Like he genuinely doesn't understand. He takes a moment to gather himself. "Yeah. Like, it's a compliment. Like, I'm lucky to have you here with me. I mean, what did you want me to say? Project partner? Female friend?"
"Listen." Your voice is shaking. "I'm happy for you. You won. Congratulations. But I want to go home now."
"But why? We were having fun, right? And the team loves you—"
"No." You cut him off. "Your team loves you."
"Yeah, and you're with me."
"I'm with you?" The words catch in your throat. "What is that supposed to mean?"
Your heart thuds, watching him carefully. You hold your breath, hoping—desperately, pathetically—to hear something other than a lucky charm this time. Something meaningful. Something more.
"It means..." his voice is careful, processing every word in his head before he decides to say it, "You're wearing a shirt with my name on it, and I'll be the one taking you home after—"
A laugh escapes you. Not because any of this is entertaining, but because you truly cannot fathom how that is the best response he could come up with.
"You're taking me home?"
"You know what I mean."
"Sunghoon." Your voice drops. The frustration is bleeding out, leaving something softer behind. Something that hurts more. Your hands are trembling. "You told me to wear something cute. You said you were taking me out."
"So that's it?" He asks. You don’t know when he moved closer, or how you allowed him to, but suddenly his hand is at your shoulder again. He rubs it as if to comfort you, and his words tumble out, a little more frantic than he usually sounds, "You wanna go out? We can go out. We can go out right now. Just tell me where you want to go. I'll take you—”
"We aren't going anywhere." You say a little firmer this time, brushing his hand away. "I'm leaving."
You walk toward your car, but he doesn't relent. He came here with you, and his ride is standing in front of him, keys in hand, about to disappear. He can't let that happen.
"Wait."
He grabs your arm, his hand warm and familiar. You hate that it still makes your breath catch.
"Please." His voice is different now. Lower. The arrogance is gone—or maybe just hidden. "Don't go. I'm sorry. Okay?"
"Sorry for what?"
"For..." He runs a hand through his hair. "Calling you a lucky charm? And not taking you on a date? Whatever I did. Just… don't leave me here. Please."
"You don't even know what you're apologizing for," You hiss, your hand curling tighter around your car keys.
"Yeah. Because I'm confused." He tries, "I was being nice all night. I gave you the jersey. I don't know what I did wrong, so tell me. I'll do whatever you want. I'll fix it."
"Sunghoon," you frown, taking in a breath. You're going to do it. This is the moment where you stand your ground. "I am not some doll that exists to give you free rides whenever you want. Or do all your work. Or sit through your gaming tournaments and make you look good in front of your teammates."
"You're not—" his brows furrow, "That's not what you are."
"Then what am I?"
You try to step back, but your back meets your car door.
Now you're cornered, and he still hasn't answered. Instead, his hand comes up. Hesitant, not quite sure if he's allowed, or if it's the right choice to make currently in the heat of the moment, but he does it regardless. His fingers brush your jaw, featherlight, just tracing it and his thumb settles under your chin. Everything else around you ceases to exist.
"Tell me what you want me to say." His voice is rough, and he tilts your face up, "What do you want from me? I don't understand what you want."
"Sunghoon—"
"I keep thinking about last week," He exhales, something between a laugh and a breath. His other hand finds your hip, fingers curling into the fabric of the jersey. "What we never got to finish. I know you think about it too."
His forehead nearly touches yours. His thumb still rests under your chin, holding you in place, and his eyes drop to your lips.
"One last time," he asks, "What do you want?"
You realize he's doing it again. The thing where you try to talk about something serious—the project, the way he's been treating you—and weaponizes his irresistibility against you. You wonder if he even realizes that he's doing it.
Regardless, you can’t help how you stare. He's just so... beautiful. So incredibly irresistible. The warm press of his body, caging yours to the car. The intense look in his eyes. His height, and how he towers over you. It's too much.
"You know what I want,” your voice comes out smaller than you intended.
There it is. The part where you give in. You always do. How could you not? You’re just a girl, caged between the hottest man you've ever seen and your car door.
Your eyes drop to his lips.
"That's all you had to say," he murmurs.
He kisses you. Your first kiss. It's not gentle. It's hungry, desperate, his hand sliding into your hair, his body pressing against yours. Your brain shuts off entirely. Your hands come up to his chest, and instead of pushing him away like you should, you're gripping his jersey, pulling him closer. You have no idea what you're doing, but the feeling of his tongue in your mouth and his hands all over you has you whimpering under his touch, melting into his arms.
"You're with me." He says against your lips, rough and unrelenting. "Stay here with me."
His hand slides from your hip to the car door behind you.
"Let me make it up to you. I'll treat you so well. I promise."
Your whole body is trembling. He's so close and so warm, and you've wanted this for weeks and—fuck, who are you kidding?
The back seat of your car is cramped, but he doesn't seem to mind. He's above you, his body a warm weight, kissing you, worshipping you with his tongue and his mouth, kissing along your neck. He takes his time, letting you get familiar with the shape of him atop you, his hard cock pressed against your thigh through his pants.
You're embarrassed with the amount of slick between your legs and how your skirt has ridden up all the way at your hips to reveal it all. If you thought you could ever try to hide what he does to you before, you certainly can’t do it now.
"Look at you," he murmurs against your mouth. His fingers find the hem of the jersey—his jersey. "You look so good in this. So fucking good."
You can't speak. Your voice is gone. His hand slides up your thigh, pushing the jersey higher. Then he pauses. Looks down. A slow grin spreads across his face. His hand traces over your underwear, smooth skin separated by thin fabric.
"You prepped for this?" Your face burns. "All this?" His fingers thumb the lace edge of your panties, "For me?"
"I didn't—I wasn't—"
"You were expecting something." His voice is teasing. "Weren't you? All dressed up. All smooth." He kisses your throat. "Fuck, that's so cute."
A sound escapes you—a whimper you didn't mean to make—and he chuckles, the vibration of it travelling down your neck. His hand is still on your thigh, thumb tracing idle circles against bare skin just above the hem of your skirt. You can feel the heat of his palm, the way his fingers splay wide like he's claiming territory. Your hips shift without permission, angling toward him, chasing the pressure he isn't giving you.
Then his hand retreats. Slides back to your waist. His lips capture yours in another open-mouthed kiss, and you make a frustrated little sound against his mouth—half protest, half plea. Your fingers wrap around his wrist and guide it back down, pressing his palm right where you need it, your thighs parting in invitation.
“Hm?” He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyebrows raised, lips still slick. There's genuine surprise underneath his evident amusement. "You want—?"
“More.”
The word comes out sounding more certain than you expected. His expression flickers, both taken aback and deeply, thoroughly pleased, then his hand resumes its position, palm pressing flat against the lace of your underwear. He doesn't slip beneath the fabric, rubbing only slow, deliberate circles over it, letting the friction build until your hips are rolling into his touch.
It's a lot. The pressure, the heat, the way he watches your face the whole time like he's studying you. You're so sensitive that even just his hand over fabric has your breath catching in your throat.
"Like that?" he murmurs.
You nod, not trusting your voice. Your fingers curl into the fabric of his sleeve, holding on.
"I've never—"
"I know." There's a teasing lilt to his voice, his lips curving against your throat. He likes this. Likes the way you're coming apart beneath him, all trembling and flushed and brand-new. His fingers don't slow. "You want to stop?"
It's a dare. He already knows the answer. His thumb presses down just a little harder, drawing another broken sound from your lips.
"No." The word is torn from your throat too fast.
Stopping is actually the opposite of what you want. You've been dreaming of his touch all summer. Even if he's a complete asshole, he's a beautiful asshole, and the ache between your thighs knows where its priorities lie.
"Yeah?" His voice drops, words brushing against your ear, "Then tell me what you want."
"Sunghoon..." you trail off, his thumb still circling your clit over your underwear, "I don't know. Just touch me more, please."
“Begging already?” He smiles against your mouth, and then his hand slides back down, dipping beneath the waistband of your panties. His fingers are warm as they brush through your slick folds, gathering the wetness that's been building since he first kissed you. He doesn't push in yet—he circles your entrance lazily, teasing, letting you feel the pressure without the invasion. "You're too good to me."
It's been a while since he's done any of this, but he's always been good with his hands. It’s like facing an opponent: The technique is muscle memory, and the strategy is played by ear. He just has to watch you, learn your weaknesses, and exploit them until he wins. Though when it comes to you, he's learning that you're weak to pretty much everything he does, watching your lips part and your brows scrunch together without his fingers even inside you yet.
“So wet. So worked up. You really wanted this, didn't you?" he whispers, "Don't worry. I've got you."
He pushes one finger inside you—slow, deliberate, sinking deep until his knuckle presses against your entrance. Your back arches, a sharp gasp escaping your throat, and he watches your face as he curls that finger, searching, finding the spot that makes your eyes flutter shut.
"That's it," he breathes. "That's my girl."
He adds a second finger, stretching you, and the wet, slick sound of your body accepting him fills the foggy car. He pumps them in and out, his thumb pressing circles against your clit, and you feel yourself clenching around him, your hips rolling to meet his rhythm. Your hands grip his shoulders, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer.
"Feels good?" His voice is in your ear, low and rough. You nod, unable to respond. Breath catching in your throat because you can barely breathe, think or do anything coherent. "Is this all you wanted? Needy girl just wanted my attention?"
In the midst of the fog, it catches your eye again. His cock, hard and untouched in his pants. You want to see him. All of him. And you reach out for the waistband, desperate to feel the weight of him in your hands.
"Wanna touch you, too," you manage, and his fingers slow inside you for a moment.
"Yeah?" He grins, watching you pull the waistband down and palm him through his boxers. He just watches you fumble around, looking up with that awestruck, wide-eyed gaze. "You sure?"
You pull him free anyway. And then you stop, staring for what you're sure is way too long. Because he's—well. He's big. Not that you have any real-life experience to compare him to, but still. It didn't take a genius to figure out that he's impossibly, unfairly big. So much that it makes you wonder if the universe just decided to give him everything: the face, the hands, the voice, and now this. Maybe you should've expected that the literal embodiment of the genetic lottery would have a pornstar cock.
"What's the matter?" He laughs, propping himself up on one elbow to get a better view of your face. "Nervous?"
“No.” You swallow, still staring. "You're just really—"
"Big?" He says it for you, clearly enjoying himself. "Yeah. I know."
The bigger the dick, the bigger the ego, huh?
You watch him grin down at you, and you really do want to pretend like you're not affected by it, but it's actually kind of terrifying and a lot more than you bargained for.
“Don’t think about that right now,” He takes his free hand and encloses it around yours, around him, not showing you how to do it. Just guiding you. “I’m enjoying this.”
Your fingers are gentle and trembling and completely unsure, but he doesn't mind. He takes in the sight, watching you try to please him with your hand while you fall apart on his fingers. You clench around him as he presses inside, finding the right spot that makes your eyes roll back, and you can't help the cry that leaves your parted lips.
"That’s it," he murmurs. "Good girl. Just let go."
You unravel around his fingers, back arching off the leather seat, and he has to press his free hand flat across your hipbones to keep you from bucking against his palm. Your thighs clamp around his wrist, trembling, and his name, broken and breathless, catches in your throat. It’s the most beautiful sound he's ever heard you make. He watches it happen, watches your mouth fall open, and your lashes flutter, watches the tension seize through your body and then release, all at once, around his fingers.
When you come back to yourself, you're still gripping him. Your fingers are wrapped around his cock, loose now, your palm slick with the precome that's gathered at the tip. He's still hard and aching. His breathing is ragged, his chest heaving, and for a long moment, he doesn't move—just stares down at the way your hand looks wrapped around him, your delicate fingers against the flushed, heavy weight of his length. Then his jaw tightens, and his hand closes over yours, repositioning your grip.
"Like this," he guides you, pumping your hand up and down his shaft. He tries to show you the rhythm, the pressure, the speed. And to your credit, you're trying. You are. And if he were in the mood to be a little more patient, he'd let you play with him. But currently, he doesn't have it in himself to torture himself any longer.
He closes his fist around yours, harder. Then he's moving, fucking into your hand with short, desperate thrusts. The sound of it fills the cramped car, skin on skin, his hips snapping forward in a rhythm that's too fast, too ragged to be anything but pure need. You watch him, still dazed from your own release, still sprawled across the back seat with your skirt bunched at your waist and his jersey twisted around your torso. Your chest rises and falls with shallow breaths, and your eyes—wide, glassy, utterly fixed on where his cock slides through your palm—are the only thing he can look at.
"Fuck, look at you," he groans. His head drops forward, hair falling into his eyes, but he forces himself to keep watching his length disappear and reappear through your grip. "All spread out for me. My cute little reward. My prize. All mine."
His rhythm breaks. His hips stutter, and then he's spilling across the jersey with a low, broken groan, something primal and possessive curling in his gut at the sight. You lie there, still catching your breath, wearing his name and his release.
He braces himself above you, breathing hard. His forehead nearly touches yours. The windows are fogged opaque, sealing you both inside this cramped, humid quiet.
Your skirt is bunched at your hips. The jersey is twisted around your torso, damp and clinging to your sweat. You don't move. Don't speak. Just lie there beneath him, wearing the evidence of what just happened, still recovering.
He exhales, long and slow, and his eyes trace over you.
"Shit," he breathes, sounding almost in awe. "You're really something, you know that?"
You don't answer. You're still catching your breath, floating somewhere between the high and the slow, creeping return of reality.
He doesn't notice. He's too busy looking at you and the jersey he's made a mess of—at the way you're sprawled beneath him with something between satisfaction and wonder. All of his doing.
"So," he murmurs, propping himself up on one elbow. His free hand traces a lazy line down your arm. "You forgive me?"
"Hm?" Your eyes finally meet his, blinking up.
"The tournament. The project. The stuff I said. Or did." He presses his lips to your jaw, peppering kisses until he meets the shell of your ear. His thumb draws a slow circle on your hip. "You're not still mad, right?"
Your chest rises and falls, not quite finding the words just yet.
"Because I meant what I said. You're with me. This—" he gestures between you, "—this thing we have. I like this."
His eyes are on you—his unfairly beautiful eyes.
It would be so easy to forget the whole night ever happened. Your hands twitch where you hold onto him, warm and solid, and the part of you that's still deeply infatuated with the sight of him like this wants so badly to pull him back down and discover all the other ways he could take you to heaven and back.
But then you look down at the jersey. His jersey. At the stain already drying on the fabric. He'd marked his territory and tried to present it to you as a gift, and you think the worst part of it all is that he really, truly does believe it's something to be grateful for.
He presses a kiss to your forehead, and you close your eyes. Your throat tightens. For a moment, you almost let it go. You almost fall back in.
"Also, like... you’ll still drive me back, right?"
Your eyes snap open.
You glare up at him. At his perfect, oblivious face. At the faint smile still lingering at the corner of his mouth. He's still braced above you, still warm, still inside the afterglow you were both supposed to be sharing. And for a moment, you wonder who’s more stupid: him or you.
"Get out."
He lifts his head, "Huh?"
"Get out of my car."
"We just—hold on," He pushes himself up, still dazed. "I made you—you literally just—"
"You made me cum. Great job." You shove at his chest until his back hits the door, and he fumbles with his pants. "You’re still an asshole. Now get out of my face."
"You're kicking me out?" He gapes, "You can’t do that to me.”
"There's a bus stop nearby."
Your hand reaches for the door behind him, shoving him out, and he stumbles onto the asphalt. His brows furrow.
"I'm not taking the fucking bus."
"Not my problem." You yank the jersey over your head. Ball it up. Throw it at his chest, and he catches it on reflex—his own name, crumpled, damp, ruined. "Find your own way home."
You slam the door and climb into the driver's seat, ignoring the way he pleads outside the window, knocking on the glass. He's frantic, still recovering from the whiplash, but you don't stop.
You start the engine and back out of the parking spot, speeding away and in the rearview mirror, he's still standing there. Jersey in one hand, watching you disappear.
The ride back to your dorm is quiet. Radio off. Just you and your thoughts, the sun bleeding orange across the horizon.
People always say your first kiss is supposed to be special or that your first time is supposed to mean something. Meanwhile, your first kiss was followed by getting fingered in the backseat of your car in a strip mall parking lot with a boy who treats you like trash, wearing his cum-stained E-sports jersey.
It's a tale as old as time: a girl who doesn't know any better gives everything to a boy who couldn't care less. Maybe you should feel used or ashamed. Maybe it should feel wrong, or cheap, or degrading. Yet, it doesn't really. Because honestly? You'd wanted it all summer. His hands on you, his voice in your ear, touching you in places you've never been touched before. It wasn't special. It wasn't romantic. But it was yours, and you took it.
There is a heaviness in your chest. You can't deny that. But there is something else that shines brighter, that courses through your veins, head to toe.
Satisfied. You feel satisfied. A little giddy, even.
Park Sunghoon. Brilliant esports player. Terrible project partner—and terrible person, really. But fuck, if he wasn't good with his hands. And body. And words. And face.
You grin to yourself at the memory of it all, free of the anxiety that used to cripple you every time you thought of him. All those hours you'd spent wondering what he thought of you, if he liked you back. You don't give a shit what he thinks anymore.
He debated for a while who to call. Not Jay, obviously. Jay would take one look at the crumpled fabric in his hand and drive in the opposite direction. He could've called Jake—Jake wouldn't judge him for his sexual failures, given his pathetic history with women, but Jake would certainly judge everything else about the situation. Also, there’s no way he would drive an hour out on a whim just to pick him up.
That left Heeseung. The one most likely to actually pick up, only because he’s a nosy little shit and he'll absolutely never let Sunghoon live it down.
Sunghoon finds himself sitting in the passenger seat, jersey crumpled in his lap, staring out the window, and Heeseung takes a loud, dramatic sniff.
"You smell like jizz." He glances at the jersey. "The fuck did you do with that?"
"None of your business."
"None of my business, my ass." Heeseung pulls out of the lot. "I'm doing you a big favour. Think I deserve to know."
"I don't get it. I mean, I don't get her. I was doing everything right. I gave her the jersey. I told the team I couldn't have won without her. I made her feel good. Really good. Like, screaming-my-name kind of good." He pauses. "Not to brag. But I blew her fucking mind. And then suddenly it's 'get out of my car,' and she throws the jersey at my chest and drives off."
He turns to Heeseung, genuinely bewildered. "What am I missing?"
"Let me get this straight," Heeseung changes lanes. Checks his blind spot. "She drove you to your game? On top of all the project shit she did for you?"
"She wanted to."
"Did she?"
"...Well, she wanted to see me." He folds his arms, "She had a good time. So I don't get the problem—"
"Sunghoon. Dude." Heeseung sighs, "The whole seduction manipulation thing you're trying to do? It only works if you're hot and smart enough to pull it off. You're just hot."
"I'm not manipulating her."
"Sure you're not."
"I'm not. I'm just trying to keep her happy. Which, judging by how hard she came, I thought I was doing my job right."
Heeseung snorts. "Your job?"
"What?"
"You're treating her like a resource. Like a side quest. Keep her happy, get the rewards. She's a human being, not an NPC, dumbass."
"That's not—" The denial dies halfway out of his mouth. Sunghoon stops, brows furrowing at his roommate's words. "That's not what she is. No, she's nice to me. Like, genuinely nice." The corner of his lip tugs, almost involuntary. "She's fun to be around. Laughs at my jokes. She listens when I talk about Valorant. She has this look, like she's all impressed, even though she probably doesn't understand any of it. And man, you should've seen the way she cheered for me. It was like... the best feeling in the world."
He stops a moment, sighing, the memory of you beneath him in the car resurfacing itself. You, falling apart for him.
"She's cute," he says, and the words feels a little too innocent for what he actually means, but he probably shouldn't say anything more in front of Heeseung anyways. "She's really cute."
He stops. Blinks. His own words catch up to him, and suddenly the inside of the car feels very small.
Suddenly, he feels warm. These days, he always seems to feel that way when he thinks about you. It's annoying. It's distracting. It's—
"Hold the fuck on." The car comes to a screeching halt at a red light, and Heeseung turns. "You like her."
"What?" It comes out too fast. "Yeah, right. You know I don't do dating. Or any of that bullshit. It's a waste of—"
"I didn't ask if you wanted to marry her. I asked if you liked her."
Sunghoon looks out the window, streetlights passing.
He thinks about you. Your laugh, your smile, the voice notes you always leave and how he sometimes finds himself listening to them late at night when he has nothing better to do. He thinks about the way you looked in the crowd, sitting there for him. The way you always show up when he needs you and let him treat you like trash.
For a while, he told himself he was only getting close to you for convenience. Though there’s nothing convenient about the jittery feeling in his stomach right now, is there? He shoves it back down.
"No," he folds his arms. "Obviously no."
Heeseung gives him a long look. A very long look. Then he turns back to the road.
"Then stop bothering the poor girl and do your damn project."
Heeseung turns up the radio. The highway hums beneath them.
Sunghoon stays silent. The jitteriness in his stomach fades into something new. Something that aches. A terrible feeling—an awful one. He wonders how you might feel right now. Worse than him, he's sure.
"I will," he suddenly says. "I'll stop."
He'll do his work. He'll make things right. And next time, when you inevitably come back around, he'll apologize properly.
Sunghoon opens the project folder. Stares at the empty files, the frontend he never built. The CSS that's still mostly placeholder comments.
This should be easy. He'd always told himself I could pass this class in my sleep if I actually tried. But now he's trying, and his brain is a blank wall.
He types a line, deletes it, types again. Wrong syntax. The error at the bottom of the screen glares red and refuses to explain itself. He opens google, checks Stack Overflow, which presents and answer he doesn't understand. He copies the code anyway, slots it in, and five more errors bloom where one used to be.
This is bad. Severely bad. If he fails this course again, his GPA risks dropping below the minimum threshold for athletic eligibility. No GPA, no team. No team, no playing next season. And if Sunghoon can’t play next season, the team loses the tournament, and they lose funding. No funding means the program folds, which means he can kiss his E-sports career goodbye.
His hand twitches toward his phone. It's become a reflex now—reach for you the moment something goes wrong, except now you won’t help him. Because he fucked that up and asked for too much too quickly and made you feel used. And now he’s stuck, watching the errors keep piling up, knowing the deadline is three days away.
Leave the poor girl alone.
He grabs his phone anyway.
He can't do it without you. He doesn't know the syntax, doesn't know the structure. You were always there, filling the gaps, smoothing the edges, making it look easy. And he let you. He counted on it. He counted on you, and he didn't even realize it until you were gone.
He needs you. He opens your chat and looks at his messages. Still unanswered. Still unread.
Sunghoon: hey. i'm sorry.
Sunghoon: i know you're mad but
Sunghoon: idk how to do this without you
sent three days ago
Sunghoon: hey
Sunghoon: i don’t wanna bother you again
Sunghoon: but i really am trying
Sunghoon: and im stuck
Sunghoon: please
sent two days ago
"Hey. It's me. I don't know if you're listening to these anymore." He clears his throat, eyes on the timer of the voice recording. He’s sent a lot of these over the past few days, and he’s long since stopped hoping you’ll respond. He treats it almost like a confessional instead. "I'm sorry. For everything. I really am. I tried to do the project. Like, actually tried. And I can't. I don't know how. I never went to class, and I never—I know it's all my fault. And that I've dug my own grave. Just... I hope you know I'm trying. And..."
A long silence. The recording meter ticks.
"...I miss you—fuck. Sorry. Just. Yeah. Sorry"
He hits send, immediately shoving the device aside and burying his face in his hands. He keeps telling himself he doesn't want to bother you. That he can figure this out on his own. That he should leave you alone. But the cursor's still blinking on an empty file, and his phone's still dark, and the lie is getting harder to hold onto every time he reaches for it. He needs you.
Sunghoon waits outside the lecture hall.
He's never even been to this building before, even had to look up the room number, the time, and the building itself. But now he’s there, leaning against the wall, hood pulled over his head, arms crossed, watching the doors like he's holding an angle. Students trickle out in pairs and clusters. He scans every face.
Then he sees you.
You're near the back of the crowd, and you're not alone. Some guy is walking beside you—boring and forgettable. He's leaning in as you talk, nodding at whatever you're saying, and smiling at you, and Sunghoon wants to call him pathetic, but you're smiling back at the guy. His jaw tightens.
You haven't noticed him yet. You're still talking, gesturing with one hand, your bag slung over your shoulder, looking strangely relaxed. You never looked like that with him. He only knows you as the flustered girl who froze in the library when he knee touched yours. You, who melted into his touch in the backseat of his car. Not... this.
The guy says something, and you laugh, making Sunghoon's fingers dig into his own arm.
Then your eyes sweep the hall, landing on him. You hold for half a second before immediately looking away, starting to walk faster. You brush past him like he doesn’t exist, but Sunghoon’s already pushing himself off the wall, falling into step beside you.
"Hey." His hood falls back over his shoulders. "Can we talk?"
"I have somewhere to be."
"Five minutes. Please."
"Pretty sure she said no," The other guy frowns, then looks at you. "Everything okay? You know him?"
"She's my project partner," Sunghoon practically seethes, not looking at him. His eyes are on you. "Now leave us alone."
"Think that's up to her to decide—"
"She's with me." Sunghoon's voice is flat and final. "Right?"
You stop walking. Your shoulders square and you turn to face him, chin lifting, and for a split second, there's something almost amused flickering at the corner of your mouth. Like you'd been expecting this. Still, your eyes are cold, your jaw set. You’re pissed. He’s never seen you truly, completely pissed. You always hid it beneath a smile.
"It's fine," you say to the guy, your voice calm. "I'll catch up with you later."
The guy hesitates. Looks at Sunghoon, then back at you. He's probably weighing his options, and Sunghoon watches him do the math in real time.
"Yeah. Okay." He scoffs, walking off, "Later."
Sunghoon turns back to you immediately, his jaw still tight from watching that guy disappear around the corner.
"Who was that?"
"Classmate." You say it flat. You’re already walking again, your pace hurried.
"Yeah, right." He scoffs, falling into step beside you. "Does he know that? That he's just a classmate?"
"Why does it matter to you?"
"You're ignoring my messages." He avoids the question.
"Okay." You don't slow down. Don't even glance at him. "And?"
"And I'm kind of desperate here," His voice is rising now, frustration bleeding through the cracks. "I've been trying to reach you for days. I need your help."
You stop at the stairwell door, hand on the push bar, and finally, you look at him. Your expression is unreadable, but there's something almost pitying in the tilt of your head.
"You always need things, don't you?"
He blinks, and you're already pushing through the door, your footsteps echoing up the concrete stairwell. He hesitates for half a second, one hand braced against the doorframe, watching you climb, and then he's following, the door slamming shut behind him.
"You're greedy, Sunghoon. I've already given you so much."
"I know." His own footsteps fall heavy behind yours. "I know I don't deserve anything."
"Then stop wasting my time." You snap back.
You shove through the fire door at the top of the stairs, and suddenly you're both outside—the heat hitting him like a wall after the stale cool of the lecture hall, sunlight glaring off the sidewalk. You cut across the quad, weaving between clusters of students without slowing, and he stays on your heels like a shadow. You know he’s there, but you keep walking. Past the fountain. Past the library.
By the time you reach your dorm building, you're both breathing harder from the pace, and when you push through the glass doors into the air-conditioned lobby, he slips through behind you. Slowly, you turn.
"Why are you still following me?" Your frown cuts deep, brows furrowed. "Seriously, this is stalker behaviour."
Sunghoon doesn't flinch. Doesn't even have the decency to look ashamed.
"I won't leave until you help me."
"I dare you to tell that to campus security." You retort, chin tilted up, eyes locked on his.
Then you exhale through your nose, sharp and dismissive, and turn on your heel toward the elevator. You jab the call button with your thumb, harder than necessary.
"I dare you to call campus security." Suddenly, he stands beside you, hands in his pockets, shoulder nearly brushing yours, a ghost of that infuriating smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You won't."
The elevator dings, soft and cheerful, utterly indifferent to the tension coiled in the tiny space between your bodies. He steps in and stands close enough that you catch the familiar scent of him, and the doors slide shut, sealing you both inside.
"Because you don't scare me," you say, prodding a finger at his chest. He glances down at it, then back up at you, eyebrow raised. "You're like a whiny little toddler. Throwing a tantrum just because I won't give you what you want this time."
He doesn't step back. If anything, he leans into the prod, just slightly, letting your finger press into the fabric of his hoodie.
"Please," he says, and his voice has shifted—lower, stripped of the smirk. "The project is due in three days. None of my code works. I tried. I actually tried. I wanted to do better. But I don't know how to do this. I never learned, because you were always—"
"Always doing it for you." You stare at the elevator doors. "Yeah. I know."
"I'm sorry, okay? I know I fucked up. The tournament. The jersey. The lucky charm thing. All of it." He huffs, a short, humourless laugh at his own expense. "It wasn't very feminist of me. I shouldn't have treated you like an object, or something."
"No." Your voice is flat. "You shouldn't have."
The elevator dings, and you step out fast, keys already in your hand. Still, he's right behind you. His footsteps fall heavy on the carpet, matching your pace, refusing to give you even a stride of distance.
"Stop following me." You say again, firmer this time.
"I told you I won't."
"Well, you can cry in the hallway, then. I'm not dealing with this." You reach your door, and the keys jingle sharply as you slot them into the lock, missing the first time because your hands are not quite steady. You twist the knob and slip inside, already rolling your eyes, already swinging the door shut. "Bye—"
His hand catches it. Palm flat against the wood, fingers curling around the edge, arm braced. The door stops dead, half-open, and you're left gripping the handle on your side.
You stare at his hand. Then at him.
He pushes, though not very hard, and he steps through the gap, his body filling the frame and then clearing it. The door clicks shut behind him, and he leans back against it, his chest rising and falling with breaths that are just a little too fast to hide, like he’s equally as shocked as you are that he just forced himself inside your dorm room.
Your keys are still in your hand. Your knuckles are white around them, and you back up a few steps. Your chest is rising and falling to match his now, and the room feels suddenly very, very small.
“Listen, I just want to—”
"Get the fuck out of my room, or I swear to god I will actually call security."
"What do you want from me?" His voice comes out raw, louder than he meant. He pushes off the door, one step forward, then stops himself. "I apologized. I've tried to do my work. I'm trying to make things right. You want me to get on my knees and beg? 'Cause I will. I'll fucking do it."
"Sunghoon—"
He drops.
The movement is sudden and unceremonious. His knees hit the carpet with a dull thud, and for a second, he just stays there, head bowed, hair falling forward into his eyes, probably in need of a haircut. Then he looks up at you from the floor, hands clasped together.
"Please." His voice cracks. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."
You stare down at him, distraught. A little horrified. Kind of cringing to yourself, honestly. And for a moment, you just watch him apologize over and over again. He mutters the same things he texted you about already. Missing you. Wanting to be better. Wanting to fix things. Needing to pass the class.
You drop your keys on your bedside table. The clatter breaks the rhythm of his apologies, and he goes silent. His head lifts, tracking the sound, tracking you as you take a step toward him. Then another. He doesn't move. Doesn't breathe, it seems like.
Stopping just in front of him, his clasped hands loosen, fingers uncurling, and then he's reaching for yours instead—slow, uncertain, like he's not sure he's allowed. His palms are warm, a little clammy. His fingers wrap around your knuckles and squeeze, and you can feel the tremor in his grasp. You think this is the first time you've ever seen this man experience any sort of real fear.
You lift his chin with your free hand, fingers pressing into his jaw, tilting his face up. The movement isn’t gentle or kind, as if the frown on your lips wasn't indicative enough of your displeasure with whatever this display is.
"You're pathetic."
"I know."
"You're an entitled, egotistical, manipulative loser."
"I know."
"Get up."
He does, and now you're the one craning your neck to look at him.
"For the last time." You say it slowly, "Leave me alone."
He doesn't move. His eyes trace your face. Your throat. The line of your collarbone. Your lips, still pulled into a tight frown.
"I can't do that." A silence follows. "You don't want me to do that either."
"I do."
"Maybe you do," he clarifies, hand finally reaching out until his fingers meet your throat, grazing your skin until they meet your chin. You lean into the touch. It’s your weakness. Your fatal flaw. You can say whatever you want, but when he has his hands on you, you crumble in his grasp. "But your body wants something else."
His thumb brushes your lower lip. Your mouth parts without permission.
You hold his gaze. Your breathing is shallow, your pulse hammering at the base of your throat where his fingers just were. You hate the way you can't pull yourself away.
“Tell me what you want,” He rests leans in closer, his voice rough. "I can make it up to you. I'll make you forget what you were even upset about. You just have to—"
You kiss him. Hard enough to shut him up. Hard enough that he makes a small, surprised sound against your mouth before his hand tightens in your hair and he kisses you back.
It's different from the parking lot. Slower, a little hesitant because you're still learning how this all works. Desperate still, but less immediately urgent. His hand cradles the back of your head, and his lips work yours like they have something to prove. Your hands come up to his chest, and this time you don't push him away.
When you break apart, you're both breathing hard. His forehead presses to yours, his eyes dark and a little dazed. The look of someone who knows they're about to get exactly what they wanted. You despise it.
"Are you really whoring yourself out for grades?" Your voice comes out breathless, undermining the bite you'd intended.
He laughs, low and warm against your mouth.
"If I'm whoring myself out for anything, it's forgiveness." His hand drops to your waist, his thumb tracing the curve of your hip. "I meant it when I said I missed you."
"Oh, I'm sure you do." You laugh bitterly, but his lips are already trailing down your jaw. "I'm sure you miss the way I did all your work and drove you around and—"
"I miss when you were mine." He says it against your throat, the words vibrating against your skin. His hand tightens on your hip. "And not laughing at some other asshole's jokes."
You can feel the shift in him, his possessiveness bleeding through the charm.
"Seriously, who was that guy?"
"Told you. Nobody." Your head tips back as his mouth finds the hollow beneath your ear. "Just a classmate."
"Did you do anything with—?"
"No. Obviously, no." The sigh that escapes you is half-frustration, half-surrender. "Just you. You know it's just you."
"That's right." He pulls back just enough to look at you, and there's satisfaction in his eyes—warm and smug and entirely undeserved. "Just me."
His hand slides from your hip to the small of your back, pulling you flush against him.
"What we did in the parking lot was just the start." His lips brush your ear, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth. "I can do so much more for you. You know I can."
Your back suddenly hits the mattress. You didn't feel him walking you there—didn't register the steps, the turn, the careful way he lowered you down. But now he's above you, braced on his forearms, looking at you with a kind of hunger and hope.
"Let me apologize properly." He squeezes your hand, his thumb brushing your knuckles. "Will you?"
You look up at him. At his jaw. His mouth. His dark, beautiful eyes. You nod without questioning it.
His lips find your throat first. Soft. Slow. He traces the line of your pulse with his mouth, feeling it flutter beneath his attention. Then lower—your collarbone, the hollow at the base of your throat, the warm skin just above the neckline of your shirt. He pushes the fabric aside, just enough, and presses a kiss there. Then another. Then lower.
His hands move with the same precision he brings to his game, but slower. Like he's memorizing the landscape of you as he strips you of your clothes. His mouth traces a slow path down your stomach. You’re near-bare when his fingers hook into the waistband of your underwear, and he pauses, looking up at you through his lashes.
"Just lay back."
You nod again, not trusting your voice.
He pulls the fabric down. His breath is warm against the inside of your thigh. Then his mouth is there—gentle at first, testing, learning what makes you gasp and what makes you go still. His hands hold your hips, thumbs tracing circles into your skin, steadying you.
"Too much?" He murmurs against you, the vibration of his voice sending a shiver up your spine.
"No," You swallow. "Don't stop."
With that, he's grinning, lowering himself between your thighs.
He takes you apart slowly. Thoroughly. His tongue works in patterns you can't track, his fingers pressing into the soft flesh of your thighs, his voice a low murmur of praise against your skin. So good for me. So pretty. Just like that.
When he feels you getting close, he doesn't speed up. He holds the rhythm steady, deliberate, drawing it out until your hands are fisted in his hair and your back is arching off the mattress and his name is the only word left in your vocabulary.
"Who's making you feel this good?" His voice is rough, muffled against your skin. "Tell me."
"Sunghoon."
"Say it again."
"Sunghoon—please—!"
You shatter. The wave crashes through you, and he works you through every second of it—his mouth never stopping, his hands grounding you, holding you together even as you fall apart. When the last tremor leaves your body, you're gasping, your fingers still twisted in his hair.
He kisses his way back up. Your hip. Your ribs. The curve of your shoulder.
"All mine," he murmurs against your skin, pressing the words into you like a claim.
Finally, his lips find yours. Still slow, none of that frantic hunger that had him pressed against you before you could think in the back of your car. His hand comes up to cradle the side of your face, thumb brushing your cheekbone, and his mouth moves against yours like an apology he doesn't know how to put into words.
But you're not done with him yet. Not even close.
Your hands drop from his chest to his waistband, fingers finding the drawstring and tugging. You fumble—too eager, too impatient—and the knot catches, your knuckles pressing into the hard plane of his stomach as you work at it. His abs tense under your touch. He pulls back, eyes wide, lips still swollen.
"What are you doing?" His voice is rough, caught between surprise and something else. His hand hovers over yours, but doesn't stop you.
"Want you." You meet his eyes and hold them, your chin tilting up. "Inside me."
He nearly groans at the sound of that, dick twitching in his pants. But, for the first time, he hesitates. Even now—even with you laid out beneath him, even with the taste of you still on his lips—there's a flicker of concern in his expression. "You sure?"
"You want forgiveness." Your voice is steadier than you feel. "Show me how sorry you are."
He stares at you for a beat. Something in his expression shifts—surprise giving way to something darker, more amused, thoroughly impressed. A low chuckle escapes him, warm and rough, and he shakes his head like he can't quite believe you.
"You want it that bad, huh?"
You push his hoodie up over his shoulders, suddenly self-conscious of how much skin you’re showing compared to him. He finishes the job for you, peeling off the hoodie and shirt beneath it in one motion, and then he’s reaching for the waistband.
You barely notice how his sweatpants are gone in a single impatient shove, too focused on him; the broad sweep of his chest, the tight lines of his stomach, the way his arms flex as he braces himself above you. Your hands flatten against his chest without second thought.
"How the hell are you so..." You trail off, too stunned to finish.
"Gym. Sometimes." He shrugs, "What? I'm not a complete loser."
"You're worse than a loser." You retort, but your words betray your actions as you find the waistband of his boxers.
"I am?" He's grinning now, watching your hands fumble, "You don't seem to mind."
He shifts his weight as you pull them down, and then you have him—hard, bare and intimidating, grinding against the inside of your thigh. Your breath catches.
"I'm serious, though." His voice drops. His forehead presses to yours, and his hips still. "You sure you want this? It feels sort of wrong. Like..."
"Like what?"
He doesn't answer right away. His thumb traces a slow line along your hip, grounding himself, grounding you. Like you should save it for someone else, he thinks. Someone more deserving. The thought makes him shudder. He can't stand it—the image of someone else's hands on you. Someone else seeing you like this, all flushed and open and unguarded. He's too obsessed with the way you react to his touch. Too greedy to give it up.
"Sunghoon," you sigh, "I literally don't care. Just put it in."
He sucks in a breath.
"Well, I care." He presses closer, and you feel him at your entrance. He doesn’t push in yet, just rests there, heavy and warm. His eyes find yours. "So tell me if it hurts. Tell me—" He pushes in just barely, just the head of him, and your mouth falls open. "—fuck, you're gorgeous."
He's not fully in yet—just working his way inside, pausing to let you adjust to each inch. His thumb strokes the back of your hand in slow, soothing circles. And yet still—
"So big," you whimper, glancing down between your bodies, almost disbelieving. You already feel so impossibly full of him. Your fingers squeeze around his, your other hand gripping the back of his neck. "So much..."
"I know." He whispers it, and you catch the corner of his mouth twitching—trying not to smile too smugly, trying not to let it get to his head. But he's still just a guy, and the way you're looking at him, all wide-eyed and overwhelmed, is doing things to his ego he can't quite suppress. "Too much for you?"
You shake your head in denial, your nails pressing little crescents into his shoulder blade as he sinks in deeper. The stretch is intense, almost too much, but the thought of him stopping is worse.
"I know it's a lot." There's a trace of that smugness in his voice now, but it's tempered by something softer. Something almost tender. "But it feels good when you get used to it, angel. I swear."
He's fully in now. You feel him everywhere—a deep, satisfying fullness that borders on overwhelming. His palm presses flat against your lower belly, and you watch his jaw go slack as he feels himself there, buried inside you, just beneath his hand.
"Fuck," he breathes, almost to himself. "Feel that? That's me. Right there."
You can't speak. You can only nod, your breath coming in shallow gasps, your body still adjusting to the size of him.
You feel him in your guts, an almost unbearable fullness that borders on pain before it tips into something else. When he starts moving, shallow and careful, it's like your whole body shakes with the sensation. Want. Need. Anticipation. You've wanted him so badly. All summer, every night, every time his knee brushed yours or his voice dropped low. And now here he is inside you, above you, finally, and you're barely able to handle it. The frustration prickles at the edges of your bliss.
A strained sound escapes you with each shallow thrust. Your face is still tight, your body still struggling to accommodate him, but you are so, so determined.
"More," you manage, the word half-demand, half-plea. "You can go harder. Faster. I won't break."
He just laughs, Low and warm.
"Not yet." He purrs. "Not this time. You'll take it like this."
He fucks you slow and deep. His thumb finds your clit and circles it in a lazy rhythm, matching the roll of his hips. The discomfort lingers at the edges from the stretch of him that still borders on too much, but then he shifts, angling your leg slightly higher, and something inside you ignites.
A raw, involuntary noise escapes you, and he catches it immediately.
"Right there, huh?" He does it again, same angle, same depth. You bite back a cry. "Feels good?"
"So good." Your nails rake down his back. "Fuck, it’s so—"
You don't finish the sentence. You cum around him, rather abruptly, a broken cry on your lips, your back arching. He groans, low and strained, and rocks you through every pulse of it, his hips rolling gently, letting you ride out your high.
When your eyes blink open, hazy and unfocused, you stare up at him. At the sharp cut of his jaw. His mouth, still slightly parted. The dark hair falling over his gorgeous eyes. He looks like a fucking pornstar—it's actually unbelievable. Every inch of him is perfect, and it just makes you even more pissed.
And he hasn't finished yet. Still hard. Still inside you. Still watching you with that smug, knowing look, like he's got all the time in the world.
That also makes you pissed.
With a single-minded focus, you’re pushing him to his back, mounting him, your legs still shaking from the aftermath of your orgasm.
“What are you—” His voice is genuinely startled. His hands come up to your hips on instinct, not guiding, just holding, like he's bracing for impact. His eyes are wide, fixed on your face.
You lower yourself onto him, slowly. Sinking down until you’re fully seated there. It’s a lot. A lot more than it was trying to take him from just lying down. You feel all of him, even deeper than before, filling you to the brim, and your eyes squeeze shut, trying to swallow the slight discomfort that still lingers.
“I don’t know if you should—” His voice is strained. He's trying to be decent. Trying to hold still. You can feel the tension in his thighs beneath you, the effort it's taking him not to thrust up into the heat of you.
You start to move. Mostly to shut him up. There’s no rhyme or rhythm. No technique. Only directionless desire. Your hips rock in a shallow, uneven pace because you can't really handle what you're trying to take—the angle is different, and every downward stroke punches a gasp from your lungs. Your thighs burn with the effort. Your balance wavers. But you don't stop.
"Fuck." The word tears out of him, strangled and reverent. He's leaning back against your pillows now, propped on his elbows, watching you with helpless awe. "Just take it. Take what you want. It's yours."
Your nails drag down his chest, leaving angry red lines in their wake. The sting makes him hiss, but he doesn't stop you—doesn't grab your wrists, doesn't flip you over. He just watches, enthralled, as you claw at him like you're trying to leave a mark he'll feel for days.
You're cursing at him under your breath. Asshole. Entitled. Selfish. Using me. Words he can't quite catch but definitely deserves. Your rhythm stutters and breaks, your hips faltering as the pleasure builds too fast, too intense, and you can't keep the pace steady when every nerve in your body is screaming.
Maybe he should feel terrified that you're clawing at him like an animal, cursing his name with the same breath you use to moan it. But he's captivated. He's never been more attracted to anyone in his life. Your lips are parted, your chest bare and heaving, and you're riding him with zero grace and a summer’s worth of pent-up fury and sexual frustration.
"Shit," he breathes, his hands sliding up from your hips to your waist, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh just above your hipbones. "Look at you. So fucking hot when you're mad. Maybe I should—"
You slap him across the face.
As hard as you can.
It shocks you, even.
It’s not very hard—he's basically a wall of muscle—but the sting is real, and the crack of it echoes in the room.
For one suspended second, he doesn't move. Doesn't breathe. His head is still turned from the impact, a faint pink bloom already rising on his cheek. Still trying to wrap his head around the fact that you—the girl who stutters over her words and whimpers from a single touch—just slapped him across the face while riding him.
His eyes find yours.
"Shut the fuck up." You hiss.
He should probably feel pissed, right? Offended, maybe? He's never been slapped in his life—not by a girlfriend, not even by his roommates, though he’s sure sometimes they want to. And yet the sting on his cheek is radiating down his neck, into his chest, settling low in his gut where it twists into something insatiable.
His dick twitches, and a sound he's never made escapes him—which he does not have the time to unpack currently. He'll think about it later, probably, when he's alone and confused and trying to figure out what the hell just happened to him.
A grin tugs at the corner of his mouth.
"Make me."
You slap him again, and his smile only widens.
His cheek is definitely pink now. He can feel the heat of it, the slight throb, and it's doing something to him. His hands tighten on your hips, not to restrain you, just to keep you there, like this. Steadying your hips.
You're breathing hard, staring down at him, the stretch of him wearing you thin. He splits you open in a way that borders on too much, your body still struggling to accommodate the sheer size of him even now, even after everything. Every inch is a presence you can't ignore, and for a dizzying second, you wonder if this is what it feels like to be completely consumed. Still, you take him. You take what you want.
You finish with a broken cry, your rhythm shattering completely. Your hips stutter, lose their pace, and then you're collapsing forward, forehead pressed to his chest, your whole body seizing and releasing around him in waves that don't seem to stop. His hands find your hips and hold you steady through it, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh just above your hipbones, grounding you while you shudder apart on top of him.
For a moment, he lets you rest there. His hand cradles the back of your head. His chest rises and falls beneath your cheek. He's still hard—achingly, painfully hard—and the feeling of you fluttering around him, spent and trembling, is almost enough to finish him right there.
But not quite.
He flips you onto your back.
It's fast. One arm wraps around your waist, and then the world tilts, and suddenly you're beneath him again, your back sinking into the mattress, your legs falling open around his hips. He doesn't give you time to adjust—doesn't give himself time to think. He just drives back into you, burying himself to the hilt in one desperate thrust.
"Hoon—!”
"Take it," he chokes out, hand reaching for your neck, "Don't tap out on me, now. Fucking take it like a good girl."
The pace is different now, a lot less considerate. He's been holding back all night—letting you adjust, letting you set the rhythm, letting you take what you wanted. But now he's wound too tight, every thrust driven by a pure, animalistic need.
His breath goes ragged. His jaw clenches so tight it aches. The hand around your neck tightens, not enough to choke you, but enough to keep you in place, and he fucks into you like he's trying to outrun something—the guilt, the fear, the dawning realization that this isn't just about getting off anymore and that it probably hasn't been for a while.
"I'm—" His rhythm breaks, stutters, and then he's pulling out at the last possible second. His hand wraps around himself. He finishes on your stomach with a low, broken groan that sounds like it's been dragged out of him against his will, and he stares at the image of it all: You, covered in his cum. Finally his again.
He stays there for a moment, braced above you, his arms trembling. His head hangs low, breath coming in ragged gasps. The mess between you is warm and slick, pooling on your skin, and neither of you moves to clean it up. Not yet, anyway.
The room goes quiet, the two of you only breathing.
He blinks down at you. At the mess. The way you're still catching your breath, still flushed, still looking up at him with those wide, unreadable eyes. Something flickers across his face—something almost tender, almost frightened—and then it's gone, replaced by the ghost of that infuriating grin.
"Shit," he breathes, and it comes out half-laugh, half-apology. "Come here."
He kisses you. Soft. Gentle. Nothing like the desperate, driving intensity of a few minutes ago. This kiss says something different—something he can't quite put into words and isn't sure he's ready to. His lips linger on yours for a beat longer than necessary before he pulls back.
"You got anything to clean up with?"
You point him to the drawer at your bedside, and he reaches over. A pack of wet wipes. He cleans you up with careful, methodical hands, wiping the mess from your stomach, between your thighs, his touch efficient but gentle. Like it's the most natural thing in the world. Like he's done it a hundred times.
He tosses the wipes toward the garbage bin in the corner. It lands short. He doesn't pick it up. Instead, he climbs back onto the bed and lies down beside you, close enough that his shoulder brushes yours.
"Does it hurt anywhere?" He turns his head on the pillow to look at you. His hair is a disaster, still damp with sweat at the temples. "I was trying to be careful, but you were kind of intense. You were a virgin, like, two hours ago."
"A little sore." Your voice comes out hoarse. "I'll survive."
"You sure? I can get you Advil." He's already half-propped up on one elbow, ready to go searching through your bathroom cabinets. "I don't know where you keep your Advil."
"I'm sure."
He nods, settling back down. His arm finds its way around your waist, pulling you closer until your head rests against his shoulder. His hand traces idle patterns on your hip—slow, absent shapes, like he's not even aware he's doing it.
"You're staying?"
He looks down at you. The question catches him off guard—not the words, but the way they sound to him. Soft and Uncertain, like you're bracing for him to leave. Clingy already, he thinks, but the thought makes him smile, rather than feel annoyed.
"Come on." He presses a kiss to the top of your head. "I'm not a complete asshole."
"You're not?"
"I'm staying." Another kiss, softer this time. "I'm not going anywhere."
You hum, a sigh leaving your body, head settled against his chest. His heart does something inconvenient in his ribcage—a flutter, a stutter, something he refuses to name. He pulls you a little closer anyway.
"I mean it," he says, and the words start coming faster now, tumbling out in a ramble he hadn't planned. The afterglow loosened something in his chest. "I'm gonna make it up to you. For real this time. Not like the parking lot. I know I said that then, but I mean it now. I'm gonna take you out. An actual date. No tournaments. No sushi—unless you want sushi? But a nicer place than that one. Just you and me. A real restaurant. Not some strip mall junk."
You're quiet, your thumb drawing lazy circles against his chest. It's a soothing, steady rhythm that has his eyes growing heavy.
"And I'll stop calling you a lucky charm or prize or whatever. That was stupid. I shouldn't have said that. I don't even know why I said it. I was just—the reporter was there, and I was still hyped from the match, and my teammates were all listening." He presses another kiss to your hair. "You're not any of that. You're good to me. Really good to me."
Still no response. Your thumb keeps tracing those slow circles, but you haven't looked up at him. You must be tired. Poor thing.
"Oh, and I'll teach you," he adds, a chuckle escaping him. "How to ride me. Properly. Not that I'm complaining. It was cute watching you struggle up there."
A yawn cracks his jaw. He tries to smother it, but it's too late. His body reminds him that he got zero sleep trying to work on the project, and that he just made you finish three times. The adrenaline is gone. What's left is heavy, dragging exhaustion. Almost peaceful.
"Anyway," he mumbles, eyes closing. "I'll be better. I swear. Actual date. No name-calling. Riding lessons. Sunghoon 2.0. The redeem—" Another yawn. "The redemption arc."
You turn your head on his chest. Your voice cuts through the haze of his exhaustion.
"Sunghoon."
"Mm?"
"What did I say about shutting up?"
He blinks. The question catches him off guard, and then a laugh bubbles up from somewhere deep in his chest—genuine, surprised, a little bit giddy. A laugh only you seem to be able to pull out of him.
"Yes, ma'am," he says, grinning. "Shutting up now."
You settle back against his chest. Your hand resumes its position over his ribs, but the circles have stopped. He doesn't notice. He's already sinking, the warmth of you pulling him under.
He closes his eyes. The weight of you against his chest is warm and solid and real. His, some quiet, possessive part of him whispers. And the taste of you still lingers on his lips, tasting a lot like victory.
It's been two weeks. Sunghoon has learned a few things about you.
He's learned that you're insatiable—and that Heeseung was right when he said something about the innocent ones being the freakiest in bed. He's learned that you like it when he pulls your hair—not hard, just enough. He's learned that you like to pull his hair and dig your nails into him and cuss him out, while begging him to go harder and faster.
He's also learned that you still won't let him take you on an actual date. And trust him, he's tried.
"Let me take you out," he'll say, and you're cutting him off with your sweet, irresistible lips.
"I'm serious," he'll insist, and your hand is down his pants, teasing him for being hard already.
"I'll buy you dinner. Anything you want," he'll try, and you're sinking to your knees, taking his dick down your throat like it’s nothing.
Then he forgets whatever he's arguing about.
It bothers him. Not the sex part, obviously—he enjoys that more than he's ever enjoyed anything—but he doesn't want you to think that's all he wants. He's been trying to prove otherwise. Trying to show you that he actually gives a shit. That he's not an asshole. That he's changed.
You don't seem to believe him—that's the only reason he can think of why you keep avoiding his advances, anyway. Every time he brings up a real date, you dodge, distract and deflect with your hands and your mouth and the warm press of your body.
He's determined to prove you wrong.
Today is no different. You're in his bed, head pressed into the pillows as he fucks you from behind, and he's covered in a layer of sweat.
"Shit," he seethes, watching himself disappear inside you, your greedy cunt taking all of him. "So fucking gorgeous."
"Faster," you whine, predictably. He almost laughs.
"Let me take you out." He slows deliberately, his cock dragging along your walls at an agonizing pace—so slow you can feel every inch of him, the thick ridge of his head catching on just the right spot before he pulls back again. "Tomorrow. Dinner. Real restaurant."
"Sunghoon." His name is muffled against the pillow, half-moan, half-protest. Your fingers twist in the sheets.
"Somewhere nice." He rolls his hips, just barely, just enough to make you gasp. "No sex. Not before. Not after. Not even a little. Just talking."
"You're already talking right now." You push back against him, trying to take him deeper, but his hands tighten on your hips, holding you still. "And it's very annoying."
"I'm serious."
"So am I. Now faster."
"No."
A squeal escapes you as his palm connects with your ass—not hard, just a sharp little crack that makes you jolt forward. The sting blooms warm across your skin. He rubs the spot immediately, his palm soothing over the heat he left behind, and the contrast makes you shudder.
"Just say yes." He leans over you, his chest brushing your spine, and you can feel the heat of him, the slick slide of his skin against yours. His lips find the shell of your ear. "Lemme hear it, and I'll fuck you right."
His hips rock forward—barely an inch—and you moan at the shallow stretch. Then he pulls back again, leaving you empty and aching.
"Fine," you huff, "Maybe."
He stops moving entirely. You wait for the next thrust, the next tease, but nothing comes. Then he's pulling out completely, his hands leaving your hips, and the sudden absence of him is so jarring you actually whimper.
"What are you—?"
"No date, no dick."
You crane your neck to glare at him over your shoulder. He's kneeling behind you, cock slick and ready, one hand wrapped lazily around himself. He strokes himself, just watching you squirm.
"That's not fair."
"It's completely fair." Trying not to grin, seeing the look of frustration on your face, "Seriously, what am I, a piece of meat to you?"
"Yes," you don't even hesitate, "So put your dick back inside me and stop talking."
"So demanding," he raises a brow, hands leaving his cock to return to your hips. You whine when you feel the tip of him tease along your slick heat, absolutely dripping for him.
You huff, dropping your forehead to the pillow. Your body is aching. Empty. You can feel how wet you are, how ready, and he's just kneeling there, smug and gorgeous and utterly infuriating.
"Please." Your voice drops, softening. "Please give it to me."
He bites his lip, hands gripping your hips tighter as he grinds against you. The begging. You know he can't resist the begging. He sucks in a breath. Don’t give in, don’t give in, don’t—
"Want it so bad." You push back onto your elbows, arching your back, presenting yourself to him. "Need you inside me. Need you to fill me up. Please, Sunghoon. Please."
"Fuck." He stutters and lines himself up, the head of him pressing against your entrance—just barely, just enough to make you gasp and push back—and then he sheathes himself in one brutal, devastating thrust. "So fucking needy."
You cry out, face buried in the pillow, your whole body jerking forward as he sheathes himself to the hilt. He doesn't give you time to adjust, nor does he give himself time to be careful. His hand presses flat between your shoulder blades, pinning you to the mattress, and his other hand grips your hip hard enough to bruise.
The headboard slams against the wall in a frantic rhythm, his pace punishing. Your fingers curl into the sheets, twisting the fabric, trying to anchor yourself against the force of him. Every thrust punches a broken sound from your throat—half gasp, half moan, muffled by the pillow. He watches himself disappear into you, the slick glide of his length, the way your body stretches to accommodate him, the way you push back against him even now, even pinned, even helpless.
"That's it," he grits out, his voice wrecked. "Take it. Take all of it."
You're babbling something into the pillow—his name, maybe, or just incoherent pleading. He can feel you tightening around him, your walls fluttering, the telltale tremble in your thighs. He reaches around, finds your clit, and the sound you make when he touches you there is almost enough to finish him on the spot.
"Come for me," he breathes, his rhythm stuttering as his own control starts to fray. "Let go. I've got you."
You shatter. He feels it—the clench, the pulse, the way your whole body seizes and releases. Your cry is muffled by the pillow, but he hears it anyway, feels it in the way you grip him, in the way you shudder beneath him. He fucks you through it, chasing his own release now, and when it hits him, a low, broken groan is torn from his chest as he spills inside you.
He collapses forward, bracing himself on his forearms so he doesn't crush you. His forehead presses to the space between your shoulder blades, his breath coming in ragged gasps against your damp skin. Beneath him, you're still trembling—small aftershocks rippling through you. The room is quiet now, just the sound of breathing and the distant hum of his PC.
He stays there for a long moment, letting his heart rate settle, letting the sweat cool on his back. Then he shifts, pressing a kiss to the center of your spine. Then another, higher. Then another, at the nape of your neck. He works his way up slowly, reverently, like he's memorizing the landscape of you.
"Come here." His voice is wrecked, barely more than a rasp. He eases out of you gently and tugs you down onto the pillows with him, pulling your back against his chest. His arm drapes across your waist, heavy and warm. His nose brushes the curve of your ear. But then he’s watching you slip from the bed, and he can’t help but frown. The sheets pool around his waist as he sits up, reaching for you. His fingers catch your arm before you can stand.
"Where are you going?"
"Back to my place?”
“Why?”
“Because.” You break from his grasp, “I’m busy.”
"With?"
"Studying. Work. Social life." You're pulling on your clothes with that efficient, no-nonsense energy he's come to recognize—underwear, shirt, the quick twist of your hair into something presentable. "Some of us care about our lives."
He ignores the jab, tugging you back toward him. You stumble, one knee landing on the mattress, and he takes the opening—his mouth finding the curve of your neck, pressing slow, deliberate kisses along your throat.
"Sunghoon..." Your voice wavers, a warning and a surrender all at once.
"I want to take you out." He murmurs it against your skin, his hand sliding up your arm. "Wanna do more than just this. Wanna do this right."
You pull back just enough to look at him. Your expression is hard to read—something between exasperation and something softer you won't name. "This is fine. I like this."
"I know. I like it too." His thumb traces your jaw. "But—"
"I have to go." You lean down and kiss him. Brief. Almost dismissive. Then you're pulling away, grabbing your bag, and he's left in the bed, still warm from your body, still tasting you on his lips.
He groans, dragging himself upright. Hastily, he’s tugging his sweatpants on, and throwing a hoodie over his head, and he follows you down the hallway, catching up just as you reach the living room.
The usual suspects are in position—Heeseung on the couch, Jake in the armchair, Jay sprawled on the floor doing something on his phone that's making him smirk. Three heads lift in unison as you pass.
"Leaving so soon?" Heeseung calls, not looking up from his phone. "Not even cuddling? Sunghoon, man, don't tell me you fumbled that bad?"
"I have places I need to be," you reply simply, not breaking your stride, "Bye, guys—"
He catches you at the door. His hand finds your waist, spinning you back toward him, and then he's kissing you—not the brief, dismissive peck you tried to give him in the bedroom, but something a lot more intentional.
He ignores the wolf whistle from the couch and the “get a room!” comment, his fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt at the small of your back, pulling you flush against him. His tongue traces the seam of your lips, and when they part on a surprised breath, he deepens the kiss without hesitation.
You make a sound against his mouth—half embarrassment, half something else—and he grins into the kiss, pleased with himself.
"Sunghoon—" You pull back, hand pressed to his chest.
"Next time." His voice is low, meant only for you, his forehead nearly touching yours. "I'm taking you out. Even if I have to keep my hands to myself the whole night."
"Sure," Your smile is unreadable, but you don't pull away. "Next time."
Then you're gone. The door clicks shut, and Sunghoon turns to face the room. Three stares bore into him.
"Bro," Jake says, "That was disgusting."
"Downright pornographic," Jay agrees from the floor.
Heeseung just shakes his head slowly, "You're down bad. Like, down bad, down bad."
"Catastrophically down bad."
"You guys don't get it." Sunghoon flops onto the couch. "She's perfect. Like, actually perfect. She's smart, and she's funny, and she puts up with my shit. And..." he cracks a smile as he gestures to his bedroom, "You know."
"We know," the three of them say in unison, flatly.
His head falls back, and he sighs, the scent of your perfume still lingering on him. The one trace of you that stays behind whenever you leave too soon.
"But," He pauses, his brows scrunched, "I don't think she believes me when I say I want more. I think that she thinks that I'm just trying to get in her pants."
"To be fair," Jake says, "you have been in her pants. Multiple times."
"And you literally spent the first half of the summer ignoring her while she did your coursework," Jay adds.
"And you made her take you to your E-sports tournament, then came on her—" Heeseung starts.
"I know. I did a lot of shitty things I regret." He stares at the ceiling. "It’s different now. I want to show her I actually care. That I'm not using her for her body or something. But every time I try, she changes the subject. Or distracts me. Or—"
"Distracts you with sex?" Heeseung raises an eyebrow. "That must be terrible for you. Imagine that? Trying to take a girl out for dinner, and she just wants one order of your load down her throat instead. How awful."
"I’m serious."
"Sunghoon." Heeseung puts a hand on his shoulder. "You're complaining that a girl who's hot and smart and good in bed won't let you take her to Olive Garden. Do you hear yourself right now?"
"She's got you whipped," Jay says, not looking up from his phone. "Never thought I'd see the day. The guy who once said 'relationships are a debuff' is now begging for a dinner reservation."
"I'm not whipped." He retorts. "I just want her to know that I care. That's all."
"Simp," Jake coughs.
Sunghoon's head snaps toward him. "Oh, you did not just say that—"
"Right message, wrong messenger," Heeseung interrupts him, "You are objectively a simp now. You, the guy who famously chose video games over his last relationship, who once said 'dating is a distraction from the grind'—"
"The grind is still important."
"—is now begging a woman to let him buy her overpriced appetizers."
Sunghoon would normally fire back with some well-aimed jab about Heeseung and Jay's own nonexistent love life or Jake's shit show of a dating history. But he's distracted. Thinking about you. About next time. About how he's finally going to convince you that he means it.
"I am," he says simply, a smile on his face, "I'd buy her everything on the menu if she asked me to."
A beat of horrified silence passes, the three boys sharing glances with each other.
"Seriously, what happened to him?" Jay whispers to Jake, who shrugs in response, matching his look, "This is terrifying."
"I'd almost rather hear him screaming at his ranked teammates."
"Or cry over a broken Nintendo Switch controller."
"Or talking to himself in the mirror before games. 'You got this, Sunghoon. You're him. You're cracked.'"
"It's hard to believe," Heeseung says, lowering his head between them and pulling them into an impromptu huddle, their voices dropping to stage whispers, "but maybe love really did change him."
"He's not in love," Jake rolls his eyes. "He's in heat or something."
"Yeah, well, it's the closest he's gotten to love in like, what, years?" Heeseung replies, "Look at what he's wearing. That's a brand new hoodie. Clean, pristine condition, not a single stain or wrinkle. When's the last time you saw him in something that didn't come out of the laundry pile?"
"It’s like when male birds start doing those weird dances to impress the females," Jay shudders, "Puffing up their chests. Spinning in circles. Except it's Sunghoon doing it. Which just feels—"
"Gross?" Jake offers.
"Unnatural.”
"Wrong.”
"A crime against nature."
"You know I can hear you guys, right?" Sunghoon deadpans. "Literally everything."
"We know," Heeseung says without turning around. "We don’t care. Go back to daydreaming."
Sunghoon opens his mouth to fire back, but his phone buzzes on the cushion beside him. A notification. He glances down, expecting your name on the screen—a text, maybe, or one of those voice notes he's learned to listen to the moment they arrive. His lips quirk up. Then he reads it.
Transcript Updated:
Summer Semester — Web Programming
Final Grade: F
The smile freezes on his face like a video paused on a single frame.
"What?" Heeseung leans over, trying to see the screen. "What's that face? You look like you just watched your favourite vandal skin get vaulted."
Sunghoon doesn't answer. He opens the grade portal. Opens the project submission page. There it is: The final project. Submitted. Your name, alone. His? Nowhere to be seen.
"I failed." His voice is small, hollow. "The class. She took my name off the project." Silence.
Then Jay starts laughing. A sharp, incredulous bark. Heeseung joins in, his shoulders shaking. Jake sets down his controller with the slow deliberation of a man who wants to fully savour what's about to happen.
"No way," Heeseung manages between breaths. "She didn't."
"She did."
"Oh, this is beautiful." Jay wipes his eyes. "This is the most beautiful thing I've ever witnessed."
“So dicking her down didn’t get you anywhere after all,” Heeseung is grinning widely, “Tried to use her for grades, then caught feelings.”
"That's not—”
"You thought you had it all, huh? The A, the tournament win, the girl—" He wheezes, "You thought you were out here playing her, and she played you."
"I told you it wasn't like that—"
"Bro." Jake sets down his controller. "It was exactly like that."
Sunghoon stares at the screen. At the F. At your name, alone on the submission page. His chest feels strange. Hollow. Like someone reached in and scooped something out and left a Sunghoon-shaped shell on the couch. He doesn't even have the energy to fight his roommates anymore.
He stands up from the couch, words dying on his lips. One moment he’s there, staring at his phone, and the next he’s walking—feet carrying him down the hallway toward his room. The laughter of his roommates fades behind him, muffled by the closing door.
His room is dark except for the blue glow of his monitor. The Valorant home screen stares back at him, waiting for a queue that won’t come. He sits at the edge of his bed and stares at the transcript notification again, as if looking at it long enough might change the grade.
His thumb hovers over your contact. The last message from you—a short, simple text from earlier that day. On my way. He'd smiled when he read it then.
He presses the call button.
"Sunghoon." You pick up after a few rings, "What's up?"
"What's up?" His voice comes out strangled. "You failed me. You took my name off the project. I thought—I thought we were—"
There’s a laugh on the other line.
"You thought what?" You ask, clearly amused. "You really thought that because you fucked me, suddenly I'd decide to let you keep your name on a project you didn't contribute to?"
"No, I—" He's stammering. "Not like that. But you made me think—"
"I didn't make you do anything."
"You let me believe—" He runs his hand through his hair, pacing. "Had me under the impression we were good. With each other. That things were fixed. That I apologized and you forgave me."
"Oh? Do you feel misled?" You tease, a content sigh, then leaving you, "I never promised you anything, Sunghoon. It's not my fault you assumed things."
His stomach drops. He sits there, in the middle of his dark room, phone pressed to his ear, and the silence stretches long enough that he's not sure why you haven’t hung up on him yet.
"I like you." The words tumble out before he can stop them, earnest and vulnerable and nothing like how he usually is. "I wasn't just trying to get in your pants. I want to take you out. I've been trying to take you out for weeks. I wanted to show you—"
"Oh, I know. You made that very clear."
"Then why—"
"But I'm sorry to break it to you," you continue, "I don't date guys who can't fix their own broken code."
He swallows, phone trembling in his grasp.
"Call me when you want to fuck again, 'kay? That's all you're really good for." You say. It’s not smug or cruel. It’s just honest. "Bye, Sunghoon."
note ✰.ᐟ this work exists in the same au as this fic here
sensitive jake who overstims himself for you. he never was bad at sex, it never was a trouble to get his previous partners to reach earth-shattering orgasms. but you give him a run for his money. and cum. (fem!reader) minors dni
"ngh- are y-you close, baby?" jake pants out, his head buried in the nape of your neck. he feels like his whole body is on fire, his hands pawing at every inch of your skin as if he's trying to find some sort of way to ground himself. it always fails.
his hips are stuttering against yours, the skin of his thighs slapping against yours. you're mewling underneath him, your legs wrapped around his torso so that the only thing he's able to do is to be enveloped in your warmth.
"pl-please tell me y-you're close... i-i don't think- oh fuck-" he gasps, his teeth now biting into your skin to muffle his loud moans. how many orgasms has he gone through... three? four? he thinks he's about to pass out.
but he can't. you haven't cum yet.
with what little sanity he has left, his hand travels between your sweaty bodies, finding your clit. your moans get louder, your hands tangling in jake's hair. but he knows you're still nowhere close.
jake's thrusts speed up, his groans breathy and airy as he's almost whining to get you close to your orgasm. everything feels hot, he feels like he's practically melting into you. he can't even look at you anymore, his eyes are squeezed shut at a poor attempt to deprive himself of another orgasm.
"baby, y-you gotta cum soon, okay?" he groans. he knows that his face is probably red hot with embarrassment, needing to beg his girlfriend to cum. his cock is twitching, pulsating in your cunt.
suddenly, he hears the wanton moan, the moan that lets him know that you're close. willing every fiber in his being, he lifts himself from your body, his face no longer buried in your neck. his thrusts pick up with urgency, his finger pinching and playing with your clit.
"fuh- oh fuck, y-you're... i'm going insane," jake mutters out breathily, feeling you clamp down on him like a vice. his thrusts are sloppy, but hard. like he's trying to push through, break you through.
now mumbling out incoherent words, attempting to talk you through it, but it's really him trying to get him to think straight. "c'mon, baby. y'can do it, please, you have to... you need to do cum..." his brows are knitted together, concentrating on you. you you you.
in the midst of his mumbling, your nails dig into his biceps, head thrown back as you cum, shrieking and moaning out his name. "oh...ohmygodohmygod!" you moan, your legs wrapped around his torso only locking him tighter, pressing him closer into you.
with a tense grunt, jake lets out a moan that sounds like he's been holding back for centuries. he cums inside you for the nth time that night, his head dropping down into your shoulder as he catches his breath. he's barely able to hold himself up now, his hands gripping the bedsheets beside you.
"oh. my. god..." you sigh out after basking in the afterglow of your orgasm, but jake's still a panting mess in your neck. jake still definitely had it in him to give girls earth-shattering orgasms.
you pant out through heaved breaths, "do it again."
SYNOPSIS: Punching a guy in the club then kissing him not long after at a hockey game wasn't exactly a fairytale, but for you, it was your reality. The worst part of all it wasn't even the incidents that happened, but the fact that you didn't know him or his name. That was until another stir of events that happened which caused you and him to actually meet, so what was the best way to break the ice after a disastrous punch and a shocking kiss together? A date. It could be love at first sight, or more accurately, it was love at first punch, or … kiss?
PAIRINGS: ice hockey player!jake x afab!reader
GENRE: strangers to lovers, college sports au, romance, angst
WARNING(S): profanities, violence (fight), mentions of drinking, alcohol and partying, slight miscommunications, lots of overthinking
WC: 25k
AUTHOR'S NOTE: coming back w another cheesy hockey romance hehehe, here's a spin-off of jake's part in no competition that has a little bit of elements from each part! please leave a feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated! muah xx
part 3.5 of 'no competition' series | series masterlist | masterlist
You weren't expecting your first landed punch to happen on a random Friday night.
The club was packed with people, overly stuffed to the brim that it eventually became sauna level hot. It didn't help that you had to squeeze past the crowd either, trying to keep your balance and not topple over your own two feet was a hard challenge. Which one of your friends said that it would be a fun idea having a birthday party in a popular club? Now, you've got to face the repercussions of their impulsive planning.
It was also common knowledge that the club was one of the unsafest places to be, so when you felt someone grab your hand from behind in the midst of you squeezing through the crowd, tugging you and causing you to stumble, your first reaction wasn't exactly friendly.
Maybe it was both a rash decision and reaction, but you turned around, the hand no longer on you to even determine who had held onto you, then proceeded to throw a quick punch at the guy you're facing. You didn't even know if he was the actual one that did so, the amount of anger and rage that coursed through your veins had spurred you on to thrust your fist forward before a second thought. Judging from the guy's reaction, he was not the one, and it only clicked once he held his nose in pain.
"What the hell?" His yell above the music was audible to distinguish the confusion and annoyance in his voice. "Are you crazy?"
In the dimness of the club and the hat on his head, you couldn't fully tell who he was, or if he was bleeding from the punch to his nose, but you do know for sure that he was angry. The hat that he wore had the letter 'J' on it, and it was tilted upwards from the impact. He fixed it as immediately as you had noticed it.
"I'm so sorry," you were panicking, trying to meet his eyes that were basically impossible to make out in the darkness and the cover of his hat. How were you going to pull your infamous puppy pleading eyes to get yourself out of trouble? "Look, I felt someone grabbing me from behind, and you were … behind me, so I turned around and punched you thinking you were the one who pulled me,"
He could tell you were panicking, though your reason was quite reasonable, he was also rightfully mad at you. The guy before you took a minute before responding, most likely figuring out what to say next. "It wasn't me who grabbed you, it was probably some guy in between us that fled away once you turned around. I can understand your reaction but please don't punch people as your first instinct,"
You winced, mostly in embarrassment. "I know, I'm sorry, really. You're not hurt, right?"
"It's just a punch, I'm not bleeding. I've gotten worse, don't worry," he waved you off, the tension in the stuffy club air was lifted. You couldn't tell if he was actually being serious or just trying to make it situation less serious, either way he was convincing to say the least. However, it was hard not to feel the aftermath of guilt for punching someone accidentally.
"I can get you drinks—"
"Nah, it's fine, really. Go buy a drink for yourself instead," he cut you off, waving his hand once again in dismissal. "I'm just glad you're safe. Even though I got a punch out of it,"
He might've laughed, but you could only let out a small chuckle, still embarrassed. It was amazing how the man was able to recover himself this quickly. "Thanks for not pressing charges or anything. Have a good night,"
"You too, sweets."
Him leaving right after calling you that was not nice at all. You found yourself stunned and replaying the moment. You just punched a guy, he was actually nice to you instead of being mad, and he called you 'sweets'? You might have just fallen in love.
Breathing out a sigh of mixed astonishment and relief, you regained your composure and continued your way out of the crowd. You've never been so glad to find the booth your friends were at, the panic did take a toll on you and all you needed was a shot.
Wonyoung was the first to approach you, her arms outstretched to pull you into a brief hug. "Hey! What took you so long?"
"Punched a guy. Don't ask."
She made a face at what you said, but decided not to question it either. "Okay? Was he cute though?"
"He was…I think?"
This wasn't how you imagined your first hockey game to turn out.
Thanks to your best friend, Anton's constant convincing and overly exaggerated praises for the school's hockey team, you were eventually dragged to one of their games against a big rival of another college. With the way he was explaining the rules and the rivalry, you were surprised at how the swimmer was an actual big fan of the sport. Even as you sat in the stands, successfully turning up to the game, he could, however, still sense your doubt.
"You're going to enjoy this one," he nudged your side, sounding confident till the point where it had you convinced for a second.
You raised an eyebrow at him, crossing your arms. "Would I?"
"Come on! Don't be a hater. I'm trying to welcome you to the world of sports,"
"I just don't get the hype of watching a bunch of men skating around with sticks and chasing after a puck," you huffed, standing your ground. Anton should be lucky you tolerated swimming enough to watch all his tournaments. "It's like football but on ice,"
"Either way, at least you'll still get to see some hot guys," he gave a small shrug, seeing your face morphing into that 'you have a point' type of look. Maybe that part had you convinced, even if it was the slightest.
You didn't need Anton to specifically point out which player was cute either, your eyes were already straying to them warming up on the ice. Although you were seated far up, you were able to tell from the glimpses on the jumbotron that number seven, 'JAEHYUN MYUNG', was a total cutie.
"Time to turn up to every game for number seven," you murmured quietly to Anton, watching him roll his eyes in response. But apparently, it wasn't whispered with enough silence.
A cough coming from beside you immediately made your smile drop, an awkward smile made its way to your face to try to diffuse the momentary embarrassment. You turned to glance at the stranger slightly. The hat he had on shielded most of his face, especially when he was staring down on his phone, it only made it harder to make out his identity. Has he been listening all along?
Wait. That hat.
The same hat with the letter 'J' sat on the stranger's head. The one that was on the man you encountered (punched) the night before. Could it be …?
You didn't think much of the guy next to you, not when he was busy with his phone and hiding his face away from you to figure out anyway. Once the game started, your attention had been averted to the ice and all of the moving figures on it. The roaring crowd left you in awe, it seemed the players, too, were basking in the limelight and trying their very best in scoring.
The first two periods had raised the tension in the arena. You, and everyone, including Anton and the guy next to you, had jumped out of your seats too many times. The stranger was the most passionate amongst the bunch in your area. Shouting tactics and cursing at every missed chance, he might as well be the coach.
The nearly scored goals were too much to handle. You got the adrenaline of watching the team play against their rivals with such ferocity, joining the crowd in every 'ooo' or 'ahhh'. Soon enough, you finally understood the passionate love Anton had for the sport.
"See? Hockey is fun," Anton sat back down after the second period was over and the short break commenced, the scoreboard displaying the current leading scores of the home team.
"Yeah, yeah, I take it back," you waved him off dismissively, hating his shit-eating grin that screamed 'told you so'. You turned away from him to avoid that exact expression, gaze drifted up towards the jumbotron instead, spotting an interesting sight. "Hockey games have this?" You pointed up at the screen.
'KISS CAM'
Written in bold pink, cursive font, it was almost like a slap to your face. Look, you've seen this everywhere online, those clips of people being on kiss cams, but to think you're going to be witnessing it in flesh, that's new. You weren't going to be the victim of it … right?
"Oh, the kiss cam? It's a frequent thing they have here. It started off as some charity thing but people loved it so they made it permanent,"
"I can see why they love it," you mumbled, watching the screen panning to a pair that was caught off guard, the rest of the crowds cheering for them once they shared a kiss.
One thing about paranoia was that it's either just a bugging anxiety or a premonition that your gut had. For you in that present situation, it was the latter. Your paranoia foreshadowed your biggest nightmare.
Your conversation with Anton in that moment had distracted you completely from whatever that was happening. That was until you heard the crowd cheering and saw Anton's widening pupils, you soon realised something was up, something not good.
The camera of that kiss cam had its focus on you, but unlike what you predicted, it wasn't you and your best friend that occupied the screen, it was you and the stranger next to you. Speaking of him, he was staring directly at you, the hat was tilted back a little more to reveal his face. The shock of the kiss cam couldn't amount to the shock you had when the man's identity was revealed. It was him. The guy you punched.
The darkness of the club had hid the beauty of his face, the hat itself was shielding you away from the entirety of it. No matter what, you could still tell he was attractive, very attractive. That alone caused your anxiety to increase ten fold. The minor bruise beside his eye was questionable, but the bruise on his nose was easily recognised.
The matching shock in his eyes slipped away, an amused smirk replaced that initial surprise. "It's you again. Not punching me again, eh?"
"Stop staring and kiss already!" A voice yelled out from the crowd before you could respond, followed by a chorus of agreements.
You hate people.
"Are you okay with me kissing you?" The smooth, yet unexpected accent that rolled off his tongue caught you off guard, it was something you just registered despite the multiple times he spoke to you, but you nodded nonetheless. As he leaned in closer, the features on his face magnified, becoming clearer. His eyes were a shade of muddy brown, plump lips pulled into a slight frown and thick eyebrows furrowed. The last thing you expected from him was his hand making contact with your face, the smoothness of his palm cupping your cheek, everything was happening in slow motion. "I need your words, sweets,"
"Kiss me,"
That was all the stranger needed to hear to pull you into the kiss. The softness of his lips melted on yours, moulding it to fit against yours. It was just like a scene brought alive from the movies. The cheers from the crowd was deafening, but the sound of it soon tuned out.
It lasted almost a few more seconds longer before the stranger pulled away, the look of bewilderment evident in his eyes. You were stunned, and so was he. Thankfully, the kiss cam was no longer on you two, instead finding another pair to target. By then, you were still trying to compose yourself. He broke into a smile, one that was so sweet it actually made your heart skip.
"Wow," he breathed out, scratching the back of his neck out of embarrassment.
"Wow," you echoed, falling back onto your seat, feeling a set of watchful eyes from your best friend, who you knew was probably holding in a laugh on your right.
The last period of the game concluded a win for the home team. Everyone was left in high spirits. You, in particular, were feeling the same way but due to different reasons. Before you could utter another word to the guy you kissed, he was already making his way out of the stand and left no traces behind for you to follow. Was he cinderella? Well, there goes your potential soulmate. No, you were being delusional.
It was rather embarrassing to admit that you were actually disappointed. Not mildly, but by a lot. Considering the past encounter you had, you expected the guy to initiate some sort of conversation, yet he fled without trying. He didn't owe you anything, but the small hope you had internally was, undoubtedly, crushed.
"You're telling me now you're sad because of some guy?" Anton snorted loudly into the night as he walked you back to the dorms. Obviously, he started off by laughing at you, then asking for everything as if he wasn't making fun of you in the first place.
"He's not just some guy," you grumbled. "He's cute and a good kisser,"
"So you just want to kiss him again?"
"Hey!" You landed a firm slap on Anton's shoulder, earning a loud yelp from him. "I mean, a little but I just wanted to know who he was. He's that guy I met at the club,"
"Oh really?" That piqued Anton's interest, his eyebrows flying high, lips then turning into a flat line. "I guess that's the beauty of kiss cams. Kiss a stranger, or in your case, kiss and punch a stranger and live with that memory forever," he shrugged, pursing his lips thoughtfully.
"You're horrible,"
Your grumble only pulled a snort from him. "Plus, I thought I could help identify him but the way he wore his hat basically hid his face, how am I supposed to tell who he was?"
"I can," you pulled a doubtful frown, wondering if you even remembered his face entirely, speaking of which seemed a little hazy in your memory. It was the shock that made everything a mush, you blamed it on the anxiety and panic. "I think,"
"You think?" Anton practically snickered at your poor choice of words and the lack of conviction in your tone. You, yourself, were equally unconvinced. "Good luck finding your prince charming, princess."
His shout of laughter was quickly drowned out by your string of thoughts. You genuinely needed that luck, because how were you going to find him again in the sea of students that roamed the campus? You could almost feel the ghost of his lips on you, and you swear you're not just ovulating.
Good luck in finding him, indeed.
Turning up to the next game wasn't because of player number seven that initially caught your eyes, nope, not at all. Pathetically so, you were actually hoping to bump into the guy you kissed. Call it fate or something your delusional mind would end up concluding.
Anton managed to bag you and him front row seats, meaning a closer look at the players and a nearer distance to the rink. How did your best friend successfully pull tickets out of his ass? You had no idea but you're not complaining either.
"Don't tell me you're looking around for the guy," Anton caught you in the midst glancing around the area, a rather desperate glint in your pupils giving it away.
"I'm … not," you said unconvincingly, flashing an innocent smile at a doubtful looking Anton.
"Sure you're not," he mumbled, crossing his arms. "How can you even recognise him? Okay, what if he doesn't have his hat on and he's bald, then what?"
"I know for a fact that he's not bald, thank you, there were hair strands peeking out under his hat,"
"Hair cap, it's on Amazon,"
"Please shut up."
The topic of your mystery man eventually dissolved into debates of the oncoming hockey game that was about to start in a while. If you told your past self that you'd be turning into a hockey fan, you'd probably laugh out loud. But, there you were, character development going great.
There was still a handful of time before the warm up, so you took the opportunity to slip away and out of the stands to locate the restroom. You passed some familiar faces, course mates or mutual friends, but none of which were the guy you were searching for.
Being a new fan came with a disadvantage: not knowing the place well enough to tell which way led to the restrooms. You walked down the corridor, passing the food stalls and countless students, looking like an absolute fool.
By the time you finally located one from a distance, you were stopped by a voice coming from behind. All it took was a tap on the shoulder for you to turn your head, quick enough for a momentary whiplash upon meeting the person's eyes.
"Hey,"
It was a man dressed in a formal suit, a backpack hung on his shoulders. He was tall and lean, but muscular enough to have an athlete's build. He could almost fit the hockey players there. But there was something about him to you that seemed familiar, yet you couldn't put an identity to the face.
"Hi. Do I … know you?" You said, uncertain, though you knew you shouldn't be.
The man before you cracked a small smile, tongue poking at the insides of his cheek. He shook his head, probably in disbelief, but there was also a mix of amusement. "No, not quite … yet, but you do know how I kiss, and I know how you punch, so that makes us something, right?"
Pause. It clicked. The hat wasn't there on his head, and he was not bald. That proved Anton something, but he had made a point that you had to admit was right. You forgot how the man that kissed you looked like.
Hat guy. Kiss cam guy? Wait, first punch guy—
"Wait, you're—"
"See you," he let out a laugh, shooting you a wink, purposefully not giving you the chance to fully realise his true identity. Annoying asshole. Just as fast as he had appeared, he was gone with the wind. The initial shock only bloomed bigger, going through several stages of it. The times you prayed for his appearance led up to this moment just for it to pass by quicker than expected, rather underwhelmingly you must add. You didn't even manage to get his name!
Begrudgingly, you made your way back to your seat after the long journey to the restroom. Luckily, the warm up hasn't started and you got to mull in your own disappointment for the time being. The smell of fresh popcorn and corn dogs only made you sink into your seat further.
"Got something flushed down the toilet? Why do you look so sad?" Anton caught onto the frown you had displayed absentmindedly. You narrowed your eyes at him.
"The one that got away,"
"Katy Perry?"
"No. The guy, my guy, I saw him just now and he said 'hi' but left after saying that, what's he in a rush for?" Your questions didn't have a concrete answer to them, but Anton sure knew how to provide some bullshit answers.
"To get away from you, maybe,"
"I'm giving everything in me to not stand up and strangle you right now."
The players of both teams were soon filing out onto the rink for warm ups. The players of the home team were easily recognisable to you after that first memorable game. There was number seven, the captain, the ace, all of which were standing out to you amongst the rest. However, an additional number five that you didn't see prior was standing with the team. His back was facing towards you, the number five sitting comfortably on his back under 'JAEYUN SIM', presumably his name.
"Who's that? Number five. Didn't see him last game," you pointed out to the frequent game goer, Anton, who pursed his lips, nodding slightly.
"That's Jake Sim. Defender. He got suspended for the last game since he committed a foul during the game before the last one. It was quite a scene,"
The players were skating around the rink, moving the puck as they went, shooting goals into the nets as practice. Given the clear view of everything before you, you got the chance to put your focus on player number five, Jake. The speed he was going kept you away from seeing his face, the headgear was only an additional deterrent.
Your curiosity only heightened everytime he passed, the urge to stand and knock against the glass, but that would just get you into the blacklist without doubt. The focus you kept on him was insanely intense, you wondered if he could feel you staring considering the next time he passed your section, turned his head, making a second worth of eye contact with you before skating off.
That split second had the gears in your head running. His eyes were familiar, not to mention, that face … It was him. The one that got away. And he was on the ice? As a player?
Everything made sense now. He was suspended last game which totally explained why he was sitting next to you, and that led him to kiss you and you realised he was also the same person you punched. All in one go.
By the time warm ups ended and the match was about to begin, you were able to finally swallow everything you just processed. The look on your face paired with your anxious finger taps against your lap caught Anton's attention.
"You're finally getting the pre match hockey fan anxiety, huh?" He nudged your side, startling you a little from your train of thoughts.
"No," you breathed out, eyes still trained on the rink that players were currently filing out on. Anton raised his eyebrows at you. "I found out who my guy is,"
"What?" Anton snapped his head to fully look at you now, widened eyes scanning your shock ridden features. "Who is he? Is he some guy that shares the same class as you?"
"He's the one skating on the ice right now—over there," you nodded towards the rink where players were taking their positions. Anton's eyebrows only furrowed at your lack of sufficient information.
"You're fucking kidding. Which one?"
"Jake Sim, it seems," your eyes strayed to the defender that wore the number five, upon the whistle blow, he skated off and you were left wondering. "See? He's not bald,"
"Not the point," Anton snorted, sounding nearly amused and astonished. "You punched him and kissed him all in two days? That's genuinely a meet cute,"
"You're insane. If anything, I'm just hoping he's not filing a restraining order against me,"
"Dude, he willingly kissed you and went up to you just now. I don't think that man wants a restraining order, maybe something more," he started wiggling his eyebrows, smirking playfully at you. You wanted to wipe that look off of his face.
"Dream big, Anton, dream big."
Dreaming big was definitely what the team did in order to secure another win. Jake Sim had thankfully kept his fouling records free so far, and from what Anton mentioned, it seemed Jake has a knick for getting into fights on ice while being the opposite off ice. A man with a stark duality does sound interesting.
The team lingered on the ice after the win, making rounds to bask in the victory and greet the crowds in exchange for their endless support. You watched as the captain approached your side, calling out for Anton and waving at him.
"You know him?"
"How'd you think I got my front row tickets? We're literally party bros," he shrugged nonchalantly while your mouth dropped at the fact that he left you such crucial information. "Which means, I can set you up more easily with your man and we're also getting free booze at the after party,"
"There's an after party?"
"There's always an after party,"
The unexpected part of the night after several surprises along the way was Jake skating towards your side of the crowd, just as Heeseung did. You thought he was doing the same as his captain by greeting everyone, but you knew it wasn't exactly that when he pointed at you, eyes trained on you specifically. It was one of those moments where you looked around and went 'me?' rather embarrassingly. Your genuine confusion made him laugh and he beckoned you to come close to the glass that separated you from him.
You obeyed, casting Anton a reluctant glance, but upon seeing his excited expression, you knew he was egging you on. It was weird, seeing Jake up close this time knowing who he was, unlike the previous encounters, this was definitely a lesser odd one.
'Catch' he mouthed multiple times until it clicked for you, the puck in his hand telling you to watch out. He threw it over the glass and lucky you, your catch was as good as his throw. Jake didn't say much, all he did was point at the puck that was in your possession, smiling sweetly before waving you goodbye and skating away to join the team.
You glanced down at the puck, pupils blown at the sight before you. It wasn't just a puck, it was one that had his number written on it in white marker ink, writings all messy but still readable. 'Text me -Jake :)' was what he signed off with, the lopsided smiley face got a snicker out of you.
"Look who's a true fan now, getting a puck and all," Anton got up to join your side as the crowd started dispersing now that the game was over.
"I didn't just get a puck alone, I also got one step closer to him," you waved the puck in front of Anton's face, grinning pridefully.
"I guess Cinderella's about to accomplish her search for her lost lover prince charming."
Anton truly had a way with his words by convincing you to go to the after party with him, claiming you'd reconnect with Jake and somehow a spark would happen between you two, whatever rant his delusional self came up with. To your dismay, you actually believed him. Not that it wasn't completely untrue since the hockey team would always turn up, but to approach him with everyone around when he's literally a known figure? You might need a couple of shots beforehand first.
You eventually saw Jake and the bunch of hockey players file into the room as the hollers and cheers got louder for them. Pressing yourself closer to the wall, suddenly intimidated by the strong concentration of testosterone filling the room. The constant thoughts of finding the guy you kissed and punched didn't prepare you to legitimately talk to him instead of just daydreaming about him.
As if on command, you attracted the player's attention like a moth to the flame. Anton had disappeared off to somewhere, you were left alone in a corner minding your business and playing tetris on your phone when you felt a presence behind you.
"Boo," The presence confirmed itself and you turned around, too fast till the point where you gave yourself a whiplash, in complete disbelief at the thought of him being there.
"Hey," you breathed out, resisting the urge to back into the wall behind you. This was not the time to start being nervous around a man.
"You didn't forget me this time, right?" Amusement flashed across his face at the mention of your blunder from earlier. You knew it was something he wasn't going to let go easily.
"Of course not,"
"Well good. I'm Jake, Jake Sim. Engineering major and a part time hockey player," he extended his hand out, waiting for you to accept, which you did, casting him a small smile.
"Impressive. What are you? Spiderman? Living with two identities?" You joked, his confidence absolutely taking you aback. "I'm Y/N L/N, nursing major,"
"Let me guess, you minor in punching?"
You scoffed, but laughed. "How did know? I suppose yours is kissing strangers that punch you!"
He snorted, shaking his head, the banter between you and him flowing ever so naturally. It was almost as if you two had been friends since the beginning. "I'm just playing. I'm glad to see you again, I'm sorry I didn't stay back after the game that night. I guess adrenaline got to me and I raced away to find the boys only to realised what a dumbass I was to not ask for your number,"
It was hard trying to hide your shock that he was apologizing. You didn't even expect an apology from it, let alone prepare for it. Yet, the explanation from him set your worries and overthinking to rest. "It's alright, you didn't owe me anything. I'm glad to see you again too. Congrats on the win," you were more than just glad.
A smile made its way to his lips at your words, to him it was hard resisting against a smile when it came to you. He barely knew you, yet you had a charm to you that he was not immune to. "I hope that puck was a good move,"
"It was smooth, definitely caught me off guard but it worked on me,"
Relief was evident on Jake's face, but he played it off coolly. "It didn't strike me that you're a hockey fan,"
"Well, I'm not exactly one, but my friend is and he's the reason why I'm there,"
"Who's your friend?"
"Anton,"
"Anton?" Jake repeated his name, visibly surprised. "He's your friend?"
"You know him?"
"More than just that. How come we've never met?"
"I'm just as confused as you are. He was literally next to me that day where we—you know—appeared on the kiss cam,"
"Really? I didn't see him!"
"Well, that's because your hat practically covered half your face, I couldn't fully recognise you too. He didn't know it was you either," you snickered at the mention of his famous hat that was burnt into your memory by now. "I only found out today that he was friends with Heeseung,"
"He's friends with all of us," Jake chuckled, mostly in disbelief. What was Anton doing hiding all his hot, attractive hockey friends? He wasn't just a fan, he was friends with them. "He loves hockey, so when he found out we played for the school team at this random party, he started coming to cheer for us. Sometimes we would watch his swim tournaments too,"
"What?" You gasped, finding it surprising that you had done the same, except never once had an encounter with the group. "I went to a lot of his swim tournaments too!"
It had rendered both you and Jake speechless, the two of you staring at each other with a look of starstruck filled gazes. All this time, had there been an invisible string that tied you two together? The thought was pushed to the back of your mind as you and him laughed after a pause of silence.
"No way!" Jake exclaimed, laughing in between.
"I'm serious! I don't know how we've never come across one another before,"
"Maybe it wasn't the right time, so fate set us up in a more … unconventional way," Jake said with a hint of playfulness that you caught on. You snorted at the realisation, knowing the incidents were something he was going to hold over your head for a long time.
"It's better than not at all,"
"You're right," he said softly, gaze dropping down to sweep over your body just to come back to meet your eyes once more. "I want to see you more actually, not just at my hockey games or some one time thing. Can I bring you out on a date? What do you say?"
"A date?" You didn't expect Jake to immediately whip out the date card, expecting him to take it slow and build up to a date that you would eventually expect. There was something in you then that invoked a sudden confidence to say such things. "I'm not just some girl you can easily score dates with,"
Jake's lips curled into a small smirk. It was his turn to be surprised and rather amused by you pulling out a surprise attack card, purposely playing hard to get which he caught onto instantly. "What can I do to score a date with you?" He wanted a challenge.
"Show me that you mean it. Earn me," you were gladly setting up something testing for him. "One week. Then I'll decide,"
"You know how to play, L/N," Jake shook his head, but didn't shy away from it either, brazenly taking it on with his head held high. "Just wait, I'll prove it to you. By the end of the week, we're going to be on a date,"
"I'll be waiting for you to swoon me over, Sim."
Jake bit back a smile, ideas already churning in the back of his mind as the both of you moved onto other topics. He was going to win you over, he was sure of it. The first step of breaking the ice had been done, now it was onto getting you, the girl he had unknowingly fallen for after unfortunate encounters that he believed to be fated.
Despite the many difficult games Jake played in or the countless troubles he faced on and off ice, for the first time in ages, he was actually challenged, and he was going to overcome it to make you his.
"You scored yourself a man?"
Telling both Wonyoung and Anton about Jake at lunch was equally comical and confusing. Anton was the one who knew the whole timeline while Wonyoung needed a lot of catching up, resulting in many back-and-forths in the conversation. In the end, you finally reached the conclusion with both fully caught up.
"Well, yes but not officially?" You didn't even know how to put it.
"Y/N wants a yearning man, that's what," Anton snickered, earning a firm slap on the shoulder from you, though you didn't deny.
"You never told me you were friends with Jake too! Or with the whole hockey team," it was your turn to point fingers at Anton, staring accusingly at him.
"Last time I checked you weren't interested in hockey and jocks," he shrugged, which you couldn't deny wasn't entirely wrong. "Plus, I didn't think it was necessary,"
"They're his party friends," Wonyoung added, earning a guilty eye roll from Anton.
"Okay, pause, they're more than that. They even came to my tournaments, but that's not the point. Look, honestly, they're the last people I'd set you up with," Anton threw his hands up.
"Are they really that bad?"
"They're not bad, they're good people, just … the single ones tend to have more fuck boy tendencies as cliche as it sounds," Anton clicked his tongue, leaning back into his seat. "You know, when you're hot, single, and a quite known collegiate athlete, girls are going to be chasing after you,"
"Great, now I have to think about him being perceived by other girls," you muttered, supporting your chin on your palm.
"But he only has his eyes on you now," Wonyoung interjected immediately, trying to salvage the originally sweet and romantic scenarios of Jake. "He wants a date with you and he's going to go out of his way to prove that he deserves it. It shows enough that he's serious about you,"
"Yeah, don't let my words get to you. That's just a general idea people have on them and their romantic lives, but you have a chance to find out the truth," Anton tried his best in mending the cracks of your perception, realising he probably said too much for your own good. "Worst case scenario the date flops, you can just ghost him,"
Wonyoung narrowed her gaze at him. "Shut up, Anton."
The rest of the day consisted of classes that got you away from your friends' constant bickers and distracted you from the thought of Jake. Not to be that overthinking person that you were, but to know how Jake was perceived probably crushed the small idea you created of him. You shouldn't have even created the idea in the first place, but a crush was a crush no matter what, wasn't it?
"What's got you so deep in thought?"
The owner of that voice which startled you appeared before you as you walked out of the lecture hall, completely in a daze until the man you couldn't keep out of your mind somehow read your ongoing thoughts. You stopped in your tracks, finding yourself standing face-to-face to a smile that radiated the sun's energy.
"Hello to you, stranger,"
"Stranger? You wound me," he joined your side almost immediately as you picked up your steps again.
"Hello, Jake," you corrected lightheartedly, resisting a smile once his laughter reached your ears. Is it normal for someone you barely knew to have such an effect on you?
"Hello, Y/N," he greeted back, going along with whatever that's happening. "You're really pretty today,"
You raised an eyebrow at him, though the tightening grip of your hand on your bag strap betrayed your nonchalance. "You say this to other girls?"
"Only to the ones that punch and kiss me, which is none, other than you obviously,"
"Real charming, Sim," you chuckled, nudging his shoulder with yours, eliciting a playful giggle from him. "What are you doing here anyway?"
"I'm walking you back to the dorms," he said nonchalantly in a matter-of-fact manner.
"Don't you have classes? Wait—how did you even know I was here?" You turned to stare at him, both puzzled and shocked.
"I had classes, but that doesn't mean I can't free up my time to come find you, no? And don't worry, I've got an insider," he winked, and by that, you knew it could only be Anton that served as his insider.
"You didn't need to, you know?"
"I do want to though," Jake slid his one hand into his pocket, glancing at you briefly. "You might think I'm just doing this for the sake of earning a date but I honestly just want to see you,"
You blinked, eyes softening at his words. Looking at him was the only reaction you could get out of yourself, not knowing what to do or say. You failed to even realise your heart had skipped a beat.
He smiled at your reaction, shaking his head slightly. "Don't take me so lightly, sweets," he said rather lightheartedly, but genuinity lied in every letter. You still needed to wrap your mind around the fact that Jake was actively chasing you.
"You're doing that thing again,"
You snapped out of your thoughts, curiosity flooded your features. "What 'thing'?"
"The thing where you seem to be caught up with your thoughts," Jake had completely read you like a book, way faster than any of your friends had. How? "You know what, let's stop by that bakery first for some sweet treat to clear your mind. How does that sound?"
A sincere, sweet smile spread onto your face, the slightest of nods as a response as you tried to compute a sentence without malfunctioning. "I'd love that." I love you. Too soon, but God, you just had to put that out there somewhere even if it's in your head.
You let Jake whisk you away to the bakery, then back to the dorms where you held onto him until it was ultimately a few seconds too long to be just a casual hug. The momentary silence after was filled with your quiet smiles, followed by hushed goodbyes that trailed past your door, leaving you in a lump of mush whose heart was beating too quick for your own good.
Was this how liking someone felt? Well, it was something to be discovered as you failed to come to terms with it just yet.
Somehow, Jake knowing your class schedule and coming to your lecture hall at the end of each day became something you didn't question eventually. The shyness from both sides melted with every encounter, soon the space between you and him seemed to become smaller, and your bag would be on his shoulder instead. It was unimaginable how quick you and him got along in a short period of time as if you had been friends since the start.
"You didn't come to the game yesterday," Jake pointed out rather sulkily, flashing you those signature puppy eyes that you learned in a span of three days was actually just a trick to milk some pity.
"Jake, it's a school night. Why is the team even playing twice this week?" you deadpanned.
"Who says you can't have some fun on school nights?" He raised his eyebrows expectantly at you just to be shot down by your blank stare. "What I'm trying to say is, I'm convinced your appearance is pure luck for our team,"
"Now, what BS are you trying to use to convince me to go?"
"It's not bullshit! The last game we played that you didn't come to resulted in a near loss. We were lowkey shit. The times you were there, we were somehow the next contending NHL team,"
"I think that's just a coincidence," you poked his arm, shaking your head in pure disbelief.
"To me it isn't. Come to the next game, and to the pregame party with me on Friday,"
"Pregame party?"
"It's this party we have once in a while—you know what—it's actually almost before every game, but as I was saying, a party,"
"Full of jocks?"
Jake opened his mouth, then closed it. "Not only jocks, Anton will be there too,"
"Wow, like that's any better," you said sarcastically, knowing your best friend was the worst party goer to be with. Despite his shy personality and persona, all it took was one cup of alcohol to get him absolutely buzzed and become the opposite of his usual demeanour. That explained why he would usually ditch you though it was unintended. Wonyoung then became your party partner in crime, you suppose Jake was now trying to make a spot for himself now.
"I won't get drunk, I promise, I won't even touch a single drop of alcohol. I'll be by your side the whole time. It'll be a good opportunity to meet the guys too," he raised his eyebrows expectantly at you, the smile on his face persisting. He could tell you were conflicted. "You do the drinking, I'll do the driving, how about that?"
"Modern day romance, cute," you snickered, gradually letting the feeling of FOMO get to you but you also wanted to actually hang out with Jake. "I'll go,"
"Great—"
"No funny business," you pointed an accusatory finger at him, to which he reacted with a mock salute, flashing a satisfied grin.
"Absolutely no funny business." He reaffirmed, the sparks in his eyes increasing by tenfold. "I'll be by your doorstep at 8 sharp."
Jake was a man who stuck to his words. He was, in fact, on your doorstep at 8 PM that night, ringing the doorbell a minute earlier until you swung the door open to reveal yourself, already ready to leave.
"Hey,"
"Hi," you greeted back after a second's pause, stepping out to close the door behind you. "You're on time,"
Jake pulled a face, following your pace as you two started making your way to wherever Jake's car was parked. "Why wouldn't I be?"
You shrugged, pursing your lips. "My past dates never came on time,"
"Well, they suck and I'm glad it didn't get serious because you deserve better,"
You took a glance at him, smiling at the way he had his eyebrows furrowed, looking as if he was mad on your behalf. "I have you now,"
It took a couple of seconds for it to dawn on Jake's face. Watching his features twist and morph upon realisation had you giggling deviously. "I'm your date? Are you calling this a date? What—"
"Come on, let's walk faster." You looped your arm around his, pulling him along and giving him zero chances to collect himself as he tried to dissect everything happening. He didn't question it further once you two got into his car, only a faint smile remained on his lips all the way there.
You practically clung onto Jake almost like a koala bear upon entering the threshold of the frat house, reminding you of why you barely go to parties in the first place. "How about you do all the socialising too?"
Jake threw his arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer. It was an odd feeling when you noticed people having their eyes set on you and him, the hockey star player with just some girl. "Come on, the guys will love you,"
"I have social anxiety,"
"That's too late to confess now," he gave your shoulder a small, reassuring squeeze. "We can leave anytime you want,"
"Really?"
"Really. It's not about me tonight, it's you. Plus, coach will kill us if he knows we're at another one of these parties, so I'm saving my ass while we're at it,"
"You're an idiot," you snorted, but all he did was mirror your smile without your knowledge.
Out of all the things you've witnessed at this party, you found the most fascinating thing was Jake knowing practically everyone there. Every person he's passed by would greet him or he would be the first to greet them, the popularity of his was evident.
Never in a million years would you be able to predict the fact that you would meet the school's hockey team, let alone Jake himself. You were too used to seeing their tiny figures skating around on ice that when Jake brought you up to his friends, you had to blink a couple of times.
"Hey! Oh—you're the one that gave little Jakey a kiss," Heeseung's attention immediately turned to you after Jake introduced you to his small circle of friends.
"Dude!" Jake swatted Heeseung's shoulder, the reddening tips of his ears gave himself away.
"I'm Y/N," you casted a pointed look over at Jake while you introduced yourself to his friends, shaking some of their hands and letting them give you a half hug. Anton was amongst the bunch, occasionally nodded over at Jake to purposely tease you.
The amount of drinking games the circle of hockey players pulled you in was admirable even for a person with high tolerance like you. There were wins and losses, by the end of the night, you could barely stand on your two feet. Thankfully, your personal chauffeur and date was there for you to lean on.
"I want to see you around more often," Sunghoon drunkenly pointed over at you. "Jakey, don't hide her, okay? She's lots of fun,"
The rest hummed in agreement and Jake reassured them he'd do so before saying his last goodbyes of the night. His attention was now fully on you as he tried his best to get you into his car, somehow managing to also safely drive back to your place and guide you into your dorm.
"I'll go in myself," you protested against him as you crossed the threshold, his hands holding onto you firmly.
"You can barely walk properly, Y/N,"
"I'm just a little drunk," you defended, earning an amused snort from Jake who was entirely unconvinced by you. He eventually set you down onto the couch, wandering into the kitchen area and you didn't bother questioning, not when he came back with a glass of water.
"Here, drink," he handed you the glass of water that you downed in one go. You expected him to leave right after, but he didn't seem to be going anytime soon from the way he stayed glued to his spot next to you. "You alright?"
"I'll manage," you reassured, knowing how your roommate was going to have to put up with your hungover state the next morning. "You should go and get some sleep, you're playing tomorrow,"
"You're right," he stood up, though seemingly reluctant as he stared at your tipsy state. "Are you going to be okay alone?"
"Yes, I'll be! Now stop nagging," you followed suit to stand up, holding onto his arms for slight support. "I'm back home safely thanks to you and that's all that matters. Now, you, home, sleep, okay?"
Jake threw his head back, biting back a smile that was threatening to make its way to his face. "Okay. Who's the one nagging now?"
You pulled a look, punching his shoulder softly in a lighthearted manner. "Whatever," you murmured, excusing the rate of your heartbeat picking up. "You need to rest to score goals,"
"Goals? Why are you suddenly talking about goals?"
"I want to see you score,"
His lips curled into a knowing smirk, an imaginary light bulb flashed bright as an idea did in his head. "And if I score … will I get anything out of it?"
You caught on immediately, rolling your eyes with an incredulous smile. "Maybe an answer to a certain question,"
"Are you raising a bet with me, L/N?"
"Am I? It depends if you're up for it, Sim,"
"I'm always up for a challenge. A goal, a date,"
"You have my word."
Jake was soon out the door, your figure leaning on the doorframe for support as you bid him goodbye. "Good luck for tomorrow,"
"My heart will be at peace knowing you're going to be there. Come find me after the game … which I will score in,"
You stifled a laugh at his response. "I will,"
"Great, I'll see you then," Jake couldn't even hide his excitement from the way his face beamed. He acted nonchalant by shoving his hands into his pockets. "Goodnight,"
You smiled, "Goodnight." It was a daring move, but you took the chance of him being completely caught off guard to swiftly press a kiss on one side of his cheek. You didn't allow him to process this before closing the door, hiding the shade of burning scarlet on your cheeks.
Were you crazy? Yes. Were you starting to feel something more for Jake? Definitely.
"So … you and him are officially in the talking stage?"
It was the first time Wonyoung accompanied you and Anton to a hockey game. Her lack of interest in the sport didn't fathom neither of you, all you two needed was extra emotional support. So, now you were stuck gossiping instead.
"Something like that," you shrugged, eyes automatically landing on said talking stage who was warming up on the ice. This time around, Anton managed to score some good seats, though it wasn't front row, it was still considerably close.
"'Something like that'? Dude, you gave him a kiss on the cheek and you guys wouldn't stop texting, you're literally advancing at this point," Anton crossed his arm, shifting in his seat.
"You did what? Since when did you get so bold?"
"Since I got drunk. I swear I wasn't in my right mind,"
"Drunk words are sober thoughts, or in your case, drunk actions, that was probably what you've always wanted to do," Anton chipped in, earning a nudge from you.
"And you still haven't given an answer to that date yet? It's been almost a week and it's the weekend already," It was Wonyoung's turn to cross her arm and stare accusingly at you. Guilty. If only they knew the secret bet you had with Jake too.
"Don't worry, I've made up my mind," you, in fact, officially did make up your mind the night you went to bed screaming into your pillows at your action. It was a blessing he hadn't intruded on your dreams or else you'd be doomed.
"Well, what is it?" Wonyoung egged on, but all you did was smile deviously at her.
"I'll tell you after I give him my answer, but I think you'd already know it."
There was no mistake that Jake had spotted you in the crowd multiple times. The first time he glanced over, you thought it was a mere coincidence, but when there was a second, third and fourth time, you knew it wasn't. You didn't miss that lingering smile on his lips each time he spared a glance in your direction. If he kept going on, you felt your heart was about to burst.
The first period started with a bang. It was barely a few seconds in when the home team already got possession of the puck, Jake playing a big role in it. As if on cue, Jake was the one leading the possession, swerving past the opposition's defence line. Before you knew it, the puck was at the back of the net, a goal by Jake was scored under a minute.
Naturally, you and your friends jumped out of your seats in celebration. You, however, were hiding a bark of laughter once you remembered the bet you made with Jake. He really had something to prove to you, didn't he? To rub it into your face much more, Jake just had to skate past your section and purposely blow a kiss at your direction.
It wouldn't be Jake if he didn't have more tricks hidden under his sleeves, which explained why in another minute, a second goal from him was scored. At that point, you were both shocked and amused, realising how you should probably not second question his determination and dedication to securing a date with you. Two goals in two minutes, there was no denying his utmost desperation was apparent.
The first and second period soon ended with the home team leading. It was a pretty laid back game all thanks to Jake's contributions, so once the third period came around, everyone wasn't on the edge of their seats as much as before. It didn't excuse the surprises that continued to ensue time after time, the next one included Jake.
The clock was ticking and the atmosphere was gradually getting intense. The sounds of hockey sticks clashing into one another to win over the puck was loud, the home team succeeded in taking possession. That possession was soon passed onto Jake who quickly speeded past the oppositions. In a blink of an eye and a swift movement of his hockey stick, the puck was in the back of the opposition's net.
The crowd in the stands erupted into shouts of joy, pieces of popcorn flew into the air, drinks were flying everywhere, but nobody cared. You and your two best friends jumped out of your seats at once, shouting and hollering madly. The team on the ice was equally high on energy too, every player was jumping on Jake, but there was no mistaking his eyes being trained on you even if you were a distance away.
You expected him to turn away right after, but he never averted his attention on you. In a place full of people, you felt as though the lights were focused on you and him only. The camera zoomed in on him which was displayed on the jumbotron screen showing his smiling face, only then he turned his gaze onto the camera, blowing a kiss. This action managed to get many screams, but what came next was unexpected. He held up a gesture with his hand and it was clearly the first letter of your name.
Jake turned to look back at your direction, showing the letter of your name gestured by his hand proudly. Just from seeing his beaming expression, you found yourself smiling too, unable to resist his charms till the point where your friends were staring at you dumbfounded at the side. Frankly, no man has ever made you smile this way, ever.
"Did he—" Anton glanced at Wonyoung who looked back at him with a rather nonchalant expression compared to his confused one.
"Dedicate a goal to her? Yeah," it was something everyone could see, even if they didn't know you personally, they'd know Jake was dedicating it to a specific someone. "I wish a talking stage of mine would do this too,"
Anton shook his head. "Dream on, Wony."
Once the game was over, you sent him a text to meet you at the same location you bumped into him, aka somewhere along the food stalls. You took your time hanging around with your friends until you got a response back saying he's on the move, until then your friends decided to leave first and you were left with multiple 'good luck's from them.
Thankfully, by the time you got there it was mostly empty and there wasn't any crowd, because the last thing you needed was someone overhearing. It didn't take long for Jake to arrive after you did. His hair was still wet from the shower, a backpack slung over his shoulder.
"Hey," he said casually, stopping right before you. "I didn't keep you waiting, right?"
"Nope, you didn't," you shook your head, pursing your lips. "Great game, by the way,"
"Thanks," Jake's hand travelled to the back of his neck, a small tinge of red making its way to his cheeks. He was shy, especially since you were inadvertently hinting at the celebration that came after the goal.
You smiled, but the nervous habit of fidgeting your ring betrayed your rather nonchalant expression. It wasn’t supposed to be something so scary, yet it’s a much needed step in your talking stage with him. “Yes,” That wasn’t exactly how you wanted to execute it, here you were making a fool out of yourself instead.
Jake tilted his head to the side in confusion, almost looking like those golden retriever puppies you’d seen online. “What?” If it wasn’t for your shamelessness and determination in that moment, you’d have already ran away from the embarrassment.
“Yes, I’d like to go on a date with you. That’s my answer and also a part of our bet,”
Jake’s lips parted, the initial confusion morphed into surprise which he soon fully digested and that realisation resulted in the biggest smile that crept its way onto his face. You couldn’t help but find his reaction endearing, laughing softly. "Nice goals,"
"Thanks. Does that mean I get three dates now?"
It was easy to laugh around Jake, there was something freeing and warm about his presence. There was a feeling you experienced only with him, you didn't know what it was, but you wished to be able to have it all the time. "Take me out on one date first then we'll decide,"
Jake laughed quietly, looking away to avoid your eyes, because to him, one more glance at you was about to make his heart burst in nervousness. It took a few seconds for Jake to gather his composure back. He was the complete opposite compared to the person he was making that bet with you, shy and cheeky, unlike the confident and suave person he was from that night, the stark difference was what warmed your heart.
The obvious giddiness of his was eventually masked by an attempt in casualness. "I–tomorrow, seven, I'll pick you up,"
"Sounds good,"
"Great. Amazing," Jake mindlessly said, unable to take his starry eyes away from you. It looked as if Jake was completely enamoured by you from the way he stared at you with fascination. Whatever was going on between you and him then, it was some kind of love that was undeniably innocent.
Almost in a single blink, Jake snapped out of it, somehow being self aware as a shade of pink painted his cheeks at the realisation of his own thoughts. "It's getting late, how about I take you back to your dorms?"
"That'd be great, thank you." you suddenly felt shy under his gaze, the thoughts in your mind were yelling at your heart to stop beating so quickly.
Under the bleak night sky, you and Jake made your way back to your dorms with the stars as an additional companion. For the first time in forever, you found yourself wishing the night would never end and the road stretched further just so you could listen to his laughter for another minute. Falling in love was scary, but realising it was another story.
"It's been three hours and you still haven't made up your mind yet?"
Calling Wonyoung over and having her help you in getting ready was actually just her seeing you entering your demise as you overthink every little single detail. The outfit you chose had been changed over and over again till the point where Wonyoung was exhausted just by watching you do so.
"I haven't been on a date in ages, cut me some slack," you groaned, sitting down on the edge of your bed in defeat. "Plus, I think what's different about this date compared to the others is that I actually like him,"
"You—what?" Wonyoung practically scooted over in a hurry to join your side, purposely looking at you in shock.
"What?"
"You admitted it. You never do, amd it's only been a week,"
"Didn't need you to call out my emotional avoidant issues but yeah, I do like him. Well, not like 'like' him, confession kinda level yet. It's getting there but I think there's probably a chance," you sighed in defeat, basically raising your hands up in surrender, liking someone could be ever so thrilling but also an emotion filled rollercoaster. "He's sweet, genuine, funny, cute, everything a girl could ever dream of, it's no surprise how he's so easy to love. But I just hope I'm not another one of the girls in his roster,"
"Hey!" Wonyoung nudged you hard in the ribs, you sat up straight, head snapping to see her disapproving frown. "You're not, okay? I doubt he even has one from what I heard,"
"What?"
"I did some digging and from what my sources claimed, he hasn't been seeing anyone since his last break up, which was over a year ago. Not like the ones on his team, okay? They're fucking everywhere and he's been practising celibacy, alright?" Wonyoung's reassurance might've been slightly lighthearted, but it still held a certain weight to it. "Don't think too much. Are Anton's words getting to your head?"
"Well, no, but you already know my traumatic experiences with guys like him," by that you meant your exes and past dates, who were coincidentally friends of Anton's and the reason how you got to know them in the first place, also explaining why you doubt your best friends' judgement at times. Dating in the 21st century was tough. "I'm just saying. It feels too good to be true,"
"Or maybe it's because he likes you for who you are. You're you. Don't care about him being some hot shot hockey player, in the end, he's the one who wants a date with you."
You replayed Wonyoung's words as you waited for Jake to turn up at your doorstep, the clock ticking close to seven. As much as you had a great time getting to know him throughout the week, you couldn't help but have doubtful thoughts. He was Jake, the star player of the hockey team, there were probably many girls on campus dying to be in your spot right now.
Maybe Wonyoung was right, Anton's words were getting to you. You shook the badgering thoughts from your mind once you heard the doorbell ringing, all of the doubts disappeared the moment you opened your door to see a nicely dressed Jake Sim, who had a small bouquet of flowers in his hands.
Jake stared at you, his eyes sweeping over your body, lips parting in what you think was awe. The black dress Wonyoung picked really was the best choice it seemed. "Wow," he breathed out, pressing one hand on his chest. "You look like a dream,"
If what people described as having butterflies fluttering in your abdomen was exactly how you felt when he said that, they were probably right. You could feel the heat rushing up to your cheeks, painting them a light shade of pink. It was cliche, something typical a man would say, but somehow when it came to him, it had an effect on you.
"Thank you. You look handsome too," you smiled at him, momentarily getting distracted by the first few buttons of his button down shirt that was undone. It was most likely on purpose, wasn't it?
"Thank you," he bit back his smile from becoming wider, then raised his arm which held onto the flowers. "I got you flowers,"
You raised an eyebrow at him, both pleased and surprised. It might've been a simple act, but it was certainly a way to your heart. "You really know how to charm me, don't you?" You accepted them and quickly ran to place them on the counter, mentally noting to store them away later.
"I have my secret ways to get to your heart," he slipped his hands into his pockets, watching you make your way out and offered you his hand, which you gladly took. "And today, there's going to be another one that will lead me there,"
"I'm intrigued."
The car ride was quite longer than you had expected. It was a good thing that the whole journey wasn't filled with complete silence. Here and there, either Jake or you would tell the other about something going on in your lives, sometimes even the most random things too. The occasional silence wasn't awkward at all. With him, you realised the silences were always comfortable, as if his presence was what made everything reassuring.
The car eventually came to a stop at a building. You prayed it wasn't some shady building you were about to get abducted in, but knowing Jake, it should be the complete opposite of so. He held the door open for you at all times, even the car door, such small gestures made you smile secretly and your heart skipping. It was quite a torture, however, for his hand to brush against yours but never once intertwining. Maybe it was because he didn't wish to go against your boundaries and you were also too shy to suggest it, so either of you were left being stuck in agony hoping the distance between would disappear.
The elevator reached the top in no time. You were rather relieved, the tension in the whole journey up was palpable. It was obvious the both of you were aware of it, the only problem was no one dared to act on it. From Jake's frequent glances and his intense gaze, you knew his hand was itching to reach out for yours.
You were surprised at what Jake had planned once you stepped out of the elevator and into a restaurant with open air. It was a rooftop dining restaurant. Jake didn't bother to hide his knowing smile even as the server led you both to a reserved table.
"Dinner and sunsets," Jake smiled cheekily at you, seemingly looking proud of himself and the idea behind this location.
You narrowed your eyes at him lightheartedly. How could he have known that this was an ideal date of yours? "How did you know?"
Jake paused, then he shrugged, feigning casualness that you knew was the opposite of his true feelings currently. "I have my sources," Anton. Again.
You snorted at the common phrase you've grown to understand, shaking your head at the thought of Jake constantly pestering your best friend for information. Yet, it wasn't exactly a bad thing. Knowing Jake would frequently ask your friends about you and your likings showed his efforts. Plus points.
"I've never had someone put this much thought into a date with me before,"
Jake's gaze softened following your words, the littlest of the edges of his lips curled upwards. He let out a small endearing laugh and looked down a second to hide it. "I just hope you'll get to enjoy this date to the max. It's all about you after all,"
"Of course I will! The restaurant's amazing, the view over the city is too perfect. The fact that we'll get to watch the sunset in a while too? Ten out of ten,"
"I'm glad. You have no idea how much panic and anxiety I had planning this out,"
It was your turn to smile, the image of Jake being all panicked asking Anton to try and plan a perfect date was absolutely fitting to what you expected. "I wouldn't mind even if you took me to a seven eleven to eat cup noodles together if it meant we got to spend time together,"
You didn't know what it was exactly hidden behind Jake's expressions. He was resisting the urge to smile wider, the look of appreciation and adoration flashed across his eyes expressed otherwise. "I guess that's going to be our next date. I still have another two, don't I?"
"I don't remember that being in our deal exactly," you tilted your head and felt your heart beating with an increased tempo, accepting the effect he has on you by now. "But I don't mind seeing you more actually. Maybe I can promise you more than two dates,"
A look of relief was evident on Jake's face, he smirked in disbelief at you almost causing his heart to stop thinking you didn't want more than this one date. He was wrong, so wrong to doubt you. "Scared me for a second, thought you wanted this to be your one and very last date with me,"
"How could I? The restaurant's not the only reason I'll enjoy this date, you know? It's because of you," you averted your eyes away for a moment, suddenly scared to meet his gaze and the intensity of it. "You're the main reason, Jake,"
Once your confession had escaped your lips after holding it in for a suffocating amount of time, you realised you were not only professing something that was blossoming, but also gradually opening up to him, being completely honest and vulnerable while speaking your mind. It was odd. You've only known him for a week, but it was the most you've ever felt for a man you were romantically involved with. Maybe the part where he kissed you before you even knew one another played a role in the speed of your feelings' development, but you rather not come to terms with that.
There was another side of you which bugged you negatively. You had a feeling falling so fast for somewhere could eventually lead to a dismay. Some of your friends were evidence you could attest to, the amount of tears shed onto your sleeve was enough of a memory for you to recall. It was also a lesson on not moving too fast that you learnt. Were you going to get your heart broken?
But, the heart does want what it wants. You were a victim of listening to your heart over your head, and so were your friends who would tell you the same continuously. Seeing the man opposite you being completely stunned at what you said made the thoughts in your head panic. Oh God, did he not feel the same? Were you the one moving too fast and misreading the room instead? You turned away to look at the view of the city as a way to avoid his gaze, your heart feeling as if it was about to explode at any minute.
The view before you was exactly what you were feeling at that moment. The golden orange mixed with a pale pink painted your emotions of a complicated longing and attraction towards Jake, the softness of the colours were exactly how you felt for him, adoration and affection. "Pretty," you said mindlessly as you watched the sunset.
Jake followed your sight to take in the beauty of the sunset over the city, smiling to himself before turning back to look at you, taking the chance while you were paying him no mind. If only you could see the amount of pure fondness in his eyes which travelled to the corners of your face under the reflection of the orangey pink sunset. "Pretty,"
In that exact moment, it was a scene out of a movie and you weren't even aware of it. The hidden intimacy of it all was something you couldn't find reciprocating with someone else. That was mainly because Jake wasn't just someone to you.
You pushed the whole load of thoughts going around in your mind to play a little game of twenty questions with Jake. It was probably not the best idea, but it was also a convenient way to get to know someone. You soon learned that Jake had a dog back in Australia and he played football before getting into hockey, which explained why he held onto the jersey number five for a long time. His favourite colour was black, spring was his favourite season and that grape was his favourite flavour. There were many occurrences in which you and Jake yelled 'me too' in between the things you two revealed about yourselves. There was one out of many you two shared a belief in: love at first sight.
You were surprised at how compatible you and him were. There were slight differences but also a lot of similarities between you both. Maybe it was fate for you to find someone that fits you like a puzzle. Throughout the dinner, everything was going smoothly with nothing but laughter and interesting conversations to go with your food. That was until a foreign voice came towards your table.
"Jakey!" The familiar voice you've encountered once during the party came from behind you. You could tell by the smile faltering from Jake's face that he was not happy with the appearance of this person. Actually, it wasn't just one, there were multiple.
"Jaeyun!" There came another and soon the three stars of the hockey team appeared by your table. At first, their attention was all on Jake, their precious best friend and teammate. But judging from Jake's death glare, they only got the gist once they noticed your presence there, taking them a second to process everything.
"Hey guys," you greeted with a pinch of uncertainty, but you wanted to be nice and it would be rude not to greet them.
"Y/N," they acknowledged you in unison, their glances going back and forth between you and Jake. "Looking good," Heeseung added, followed by a hum of agreement from the other two. This only earned a sharp jap on the side from Jake.
"Thank you," you covered your smile with your hand, the urge to burst into full blown laughter was getting strong.
Looking at the knowing smirks appearing on every one of their faces, you knew all of them were sharing the same amount of brain cells which had identical thoughts. "Are you guys on a … date?" Sunghoon, the rather cheeky one, was the first to ask.
"Yes, we are, and you guys are crashing it," Jake narrowed his venomous eyes at his best friends, his gaze were enough to convey a message: he was going to strangle them to death after the date. "Why are you guys even here?"
"Well, Heeseung kinda overheard you asking Anton about a good restaurant or something like that, then he told Jay and Jay told me, so we thought it'd be nice to check it out on the same day you're going," Sunghoon scratched the back of his neck, realising how awkward this whole situation was.
At that point, Jake was rubbing his temples as if his head was about to burst at any second. The three hockey players turned to look at you for help, to you, they were almost like three helpless puppies who were about to be scolded. "We're sorry," Jay immediately gripped the other two by their shoulders, "and we're going to get out of your hair now. Enjoy your date, bye!" He rushed his words out then instantly dragged Sunghoon and Heeseung away, their hushed whispers audible until they eventually disappeared as a whole.
You turned over your shoulder to see their retreating figures until they were completely out of sight. You had to stifle your laugh as you turned back, seeing Jake shake his head before he met your eyes, cracking a small and rather embarrassed smile. "Sorry about that. I didn't know they were going to appear,"
"You don't need to be sorry. I think it's funny they made a sudden appearance and it definitely took me by surprise—in a good way. Plus, it's cute they came here wanting to join you thinking you were alone,"
The initial annoyance and embarrassment melted from Jake's expressions, he smiled with full genuinity, chuckling lightly. "Yeah, it was,"
You leaned your front against the table, placing your head onto your palm for support. "So, you asked Anton about me, your 'source'," you began carefully, "how long has it been going on?"
Jake flushed a light shade of pink that matched the hues of the sunset from earlier. He let out a cough then masked it with a lopsided smile in embarrassment that you had caught him straight on. "Ever since I found out you were friends,"
You couldn't stop yourself from grinning at his truthful confession. "I figured,"
"You did?" He tilted his head in curiosity and surprise. You supposed it was normal for some men to be oblivious.
"It's not hard to catch on, Jake. I only have two close friends," you poked light fun, though in reality it was pretty much the truth and you were not going to talk about that.
"Two close friends? What about me?"
You shrugged, surpressing the laughter that was on the edge of escaping your lips. "Well, yes, but you're more than just a friend to me,"
Jake's eyes lit up, a twinkling sparkle decorated his pupils. However, his playful grin said otherwise. "Best friend?"
"Get out."
Other than the cameo of Jake's friends, the rest of the date has been relaxing and calm, going smoothly as you continued on with more jokes and throwing fun facts about yourselves. The person you saw on ice was a contrary compared to the one sittinf opposite you. Although he was much rougher and aggressive on ice, even till the point where it landed him several suspensions, you knew he wasn't like that. He showed you his true, softer side with nothing but honesty and trust. There was only mutual respect and truth between you two, that was how easy it was to be with him.
By the time you got back to your dorm room, it was already past midnight. Time was no longer a concept when it came to being with Jake. Neither you nor him realised how late it was until the servers told you they were closing soon, being completely immersed in each others' presence and conversation to even pay attention to your surroundings. Jake had walked you to the door of your dorm room, the exact spot where he probably stood knocking your door earlier.
"Thanks for tonight. I don't think I'd ever forget about … everything. The sunset, your friends—" you smiled at that moment when Jake snorted when his friends were mentioned, "and you,"
The grin he had on his face faltered a little, his eyebrows raising and head tilting slightly. "Me?"
You couldn't tell him the truth. The sight of him with the sunset was when you realised your heart was feeling for him more than you could control. It was as if your heart was speaking for you. The hues of the evening sunset painted his face with a slow glow when he was watching it unfold before you, it was then you looked over at him and felt your heart stop. He was beautiful, his smile was something you wished was embedded in your mind even when you closed your eyes.
Instead, you hid the truth. "You put so much effort into planning this whole date till the point where you asked Anton about me. I'm grateful that you cared this much, it's something I'll never forget,"
The smile on his delicate features only grew wider, the light tinge of pink was making its way to his cheeks. "I'll never forget about this too, our first date. I never knew I could feel this way,"
"What way?"
"In a way where I feel too much, and I feel like my heart is about to burst at any moment just watching you," Jake bit his tongue, stopping himself from letting all his inner thoughts pour out and overwhelm you, the last thing he needed was you running into your dorm and never see him again. Little did he know you would do the opposite of that.
"I feel the same too," it was your turn to confess your truth. From the looks of Jake's reaction, that was probably the last thing he expected as a response which reciprocated his thoughts. You couldn't help chuckling softly at his expressions, he was definitely someone who had a rich set of reactions for each situation.
"Do you want to know what I think we should do next time?" There was an edge of humour in his tone, you didn't know what he was going to say next. You narrowed your gaze at him, particularly at the way he said it. "Are you sure you want to hear it?"
"Yeah, why? Is it something dirty?" You scrunch your face up, shooting daggers at him.
"It's disgusting," he punctuated, pausing for a few seconds after. "I think we should go on another date sometime, go bowling or whatever, get some ice cream,"
The glint in his seemingly mischievous looking stare met the roll of your eyes. He snickered at your reaction and you almost punched his shoulder out of spite. "You idiot," there was no chance of you hiding the growing smile, "I'd love to. It's a no brainer,"
Jake smiled in relief, breathing out a sigh. "I'll hold you to it," he snapped his fingers. There was a short pause, realising something shifted in the air ever since the moment you and him both confessed each of your inner thoughts.
You took the chance to divert the conversation away in an attempt to make everything less awkward. "You should head back already, it's late. Thanks for driving me back. I'll text you, okay?"
"Right," Jake said rather mindlessly, the gears in his head seemingly turning and still stuck on the conversation a few steps back.
"Goodnight, Jake," your hand was on the doorknob, giving it a twist to open your door, but you didn't walk in just yet.
"No goodnight kiss?" Jake said teasingly before you could even take a step past the threshold. The slight raise in his eyebrows and the smirk on his face was what made you recalled Anton's words of them having fuckbiy tendencies. Well, there was that side of him.
You rolled your eyes, shaking your head. "Nice try, I'm not intoxicated this time, Jake. Maybe I'll give you one on our next date—just maybe," you sent him a blowing kiss, which he caught as you closed your door shut, the sound of his sweet laughter was audible enough for you to feel a smile mindlessly making its way to your lips.
You hoped this would never end. The feeling of overwhelming joy, the giddiness as if you were a teenage girl all over again, the pure emotions of liking someone. All of this, you wished it would have a fortunate outcome.
Days turned into weeks where weeks turned into months. The time you've known Jake was no longer just a week, but months now. During those months you've spent together, there were countless of dates he brought you out on. Amusement park, cinema, ice skating rink, roller skate rink, the list of location went on and on. At that point, there was nothing but transparency between you two given the amount of time spent with each other. He wasn't just becoming your best friend, but also someone your heart was yearning for. By then, all your negative overthinking thoughts from the first date had completely vanished. Wonyoung was right, you thought too much.
Over the months, he has been proving to you that he was just a loser in disguise, you were saying this with full affection, of course. The initial fuckboy reputation that everyone claimed him to be just because he was part of the hockey team proved the complete opposite. He was probably a victim of rumours, stereotypes and generalisation.
"Aim better!"
It was one of those weekends reserved for date nights between you and Jake. It was a little something special that you and him shared. This had become a tradition before you even realised. The bowling alley nearby became the talk of the conversation about your next date not long before and here you were now, beating him while he continued to sigh in defeat.
"I am! You can't just say that while you're here winning. How are you so good at this?" He was gripping onto the bowling ball tightly, his eyes trained on the pins ahead of him. "I didn't know there was this side of you. You should consider a career in bowling," his aim definitely didn't land right when all he managed to do was knock two pins down. "I give up,"
"Don't be a sore loser here," one throw of the bowling ball from you showed Jake your true talents when every one of the pins came knocking down.
He turned to face you while still standing in his own lane, hands on his hips with a look of disbelief and admiration. "You know what, that's probably one of the hottest things I've seen,"
You screwed your face up, letting out a snort. "Your switch up is crazy,"
Jake threw his hands up in mock defence, shrugging. "Hey, I might've not win in bowling but I did win here with you by my side,"
Him and his words. He sure knew how to work them to his advantage and make you flustered. You turned away from him to hide your grin, the bowling ball in your hold suddenly feeling ten times heavier. "You're such a tease, Sim,"
He picked up a bowling ball too, contrary to his claims of giving up earlier. At your response, he laughed lightheartedly, giving it a few seconds before speaking again, as if to let everything soak in. "Just speaking the truth, sweets."
The next and last location to end the night of competitive bowling was the ice cream shop down the street. In classic Jake style, he got the flavour with the most complicated and weirdest name out there just for it to be chocolate, whereas you got a simple strawberry flavour. Strawberry and chocolate, a match made in heaven which represented you and him coincidentally. How cliche.
Amidst the silent exchange of reactions to each of your ice creams, Jake placed down his cup after taking one small scoop. "I have something to propose,"
You paused, glanced at him with suspicion before halting your actions completely. "What is it?"
"Be my plus one for Sunghoon's birthday party,"
You displayed some apprehension. "Is it some crazy frat party like the one you brought me to last time?"
Jake let out an amused sounding snort, then shook his head. "The opposite—"
"Thank God," you breathed out a sigh of relief.
Jake, however, looked rather offended. Maybe because the party was his hockey team's pre-game party. "Hey! The party I brought you to wasn't that bad,"
"It's the most beer and shots I've consumed in a night. I would say I'm lucky for having a solid tolerance but I'd also rather not think about the morning after,"
Jake smiled at that. You didn't know if it was simply because you brought up a past memory or that memory reminded him of your certain actions that night. Either way, you didn't miss his sly smile. "Okay, okay. There's no frat parties at all for Sunghoon's birthday, don't worry. We're going to throw a dinner party at our place and that's all. Pretty simple,"
Your face lit up at the idea of a birthday party, contrasting the look you had minutes ago thinking it was going to be another party with sweaty frat boys. "Wait, that's actually so cute. Count me in,"
"Really?"
"Really. When is it?"
"Next Saturday,"
"You know exactly when to pick me up."
It wasn't even Saturday yet when Jake turned up on your doorstep unannounced in the middle of the week. He had an unapologetic smile, a bouquet of fresh flowers in one hand and a box of donuts in the other. The confusion on your face to the unamused stance you had while staring at him was enough of a response on your part. Look, you liked Jake, but whoever ruins your sleep at nine in the morning was not an exception when it came to you cursing them out.
"Is this a courtship or a bribe?" You leaned your side against the doorframe, doing anything but inviting him at that moment.
"Both?" He shrugged, the awkward twist of his smile told you he had an explanation ready,
"Come in," you moved your body away to let the starry eyed Jake in, a certain plan he had concocted was soon to be revealed. "Had breakfast yet?"
"I did. But I know you haven't had breakfast, so I got you donuts," he nodded at the box in his hand, then raised his other hand that held onto the bouquet. "And flowers. I know the last one I got you is wilting," he pointed over at the vase sitting on the counter, the previous bouquet he got you on your date was indeed slowly wilting. How did he know? You didn't ask that.
You watched Jake's movements as he set the box and bouquet down onto the table, standing in a stance which reminded you of your mother when you were in trouble. "What brings you here at nine in the morning on a Thursday, Jake? I thought you had practice and I thought I would have extra sleep,"
Jake flashed you a sheepish smile, rubbing his forearm out of habit. "That got cancelled, so I wanted to take the chance to run an errand I've been holding off. This errand, however, requires your help,"
You raised a questioning eyebrow at him. "My help? What could it possibly be?"
The question you asked was answered when Jake drove you to a mall nearby. Turns out, he didn't know what he should get for Sunghoon's birthday, which was just in a few days. Not to mention, they were anything but prepared for the party. So, a trip to the mall with your guidance was a way to lessen Jake's bundle of worries.
"You said Sunghoon needed what?"
"A new bottle of aftershave," Jake trailed off with a hint of uncertainty, but also some embarrassment.
"Right," you nodded slowly, scrunching your nose up at the choice of gift Jake wanted to pick out, but alas, he knew Sunghoon better than you did so who were you to judge? "What else?"
"I already ordered him a Mitch Marner jersey, so I think that's all? Oh—I need to get him this thing,"
You were puzzled, but at that point, you didn't wish to question his interesting choices of a gift. "Which is?"
"A penguin plushie."
It seemed this gift was something Jake had in mind for ages as he found his way with no fault to a toy store and knowing exactly which aisle to go to in search for the penguin plushie. With a bottle of aftershave, a penguin plushie and a soon to be delivered hockey jersey, that was Sunghoon's gift from Jake. Next on the list was party decorations.
"Do you know what party decorations we're supposed to get?" Jake said with uncertainty as you walked past aisles of colourful decorations, only getting overstimulated by the bright colours and overwhelming amount of choices to choose from.
"I've done many things but a birthday party? This is a first," you sighed, grabbing some tinsels that got approval by Jake with a nod of his head.
"I blame them for putting me in charge of decoration. I want to get the cake instead," Jake sulked rather pitifully next to you, and instead, you snicker silently, which was received by a huff from him.
The trip to the mall ended with a bag of gifts and another bag full of decorations. Maybe you and him went a little overboard on the decorations, but Jake justified that it's reusable—well, except for the letter balloons which spelled Sunghoon's name.
Jake and you stopped by the small apartment he shared with his friends before dropping you off back home. It was probably your fourth time entering the apartment he lived in and it was also the fourth version of the house you last remembered. There was a new painting, several pieces of furniture shifted, and a whole lot of laundry stacked on the couch.
Not that you were intimidated by the ever changing interior till the point where you didn't drop by his place compared to the times he came over to yours, it's just the last time you were here, the memory wasn't quite a favourable one. Let's just say, it was another recreation of your first date where the three of his friends joined your supposed movie date, but there was something they lacked that time around: self awareness. That only resulted in you and Jake cuddling rather stiffly listening to three of them rambling about the movie's theories.
"Thanks for coming along with me today," Jake held onto a chair once everything was set aside, the two of you standing close to the door and being the sole presence there at that hour.
"It's no problem. I'm glad I could be of help even though I'm pretty sure you already had everything in plan, didn't you?"
"I'll look stupid if I admit that this was a plan to just get some time with you, won't I?" Jake slipped his hands into his pockets, glancing at the floor for a second with a small smile. "I genuinely needed your input, though. I'm sure the party will go well with your opinions,"
"It better go well, or else me getting woken up early and also getting bribed will all be in vain," you said in a lighthearted manner, eliciting a quiet laugh from Jake, and because of that, you were unable to resist a smile creeping onto your lips. "Trust me, I look more stupid for willingly sacrificing my sleep so that I can let you pull me into whatever scheme you have,"
There was a mutual spark that lighted in between. The weight of both yours and Jake's words carried something more than you had anticipated. It was evident that there was a change of atmosphere in that room, in that split second. Realisation clicked at the end of your sentence, both by you and Jake.
The momentary silence was broken by Jake. "I can't seem to find my words, but I know what my heart wants,"
You inhaled a small, sharp breath, eyes flickering. "What is it?"
"To kiss you,"
You shouldn't feel nervous, right? That was what you thought then but whatever you were feeling was betraying your thoughts. Was he going to kiss you? No, he was holding back, and that was obviously torturous not only to him but you. You wanted him to kiss you. "Then do it. Kiss me,"
You've never been braver until this moment. Never in a lifetime would you have expected those words to leave your lips. Congratulations to Jake for being the first man to get you to do so, but God, you were going insane and you were lucky your knees hadn't given out.
Jake took a step closer to you, his hands were by his side now. The steps were daring, testing the waters. You gave a green light by staying unmoving, the quiver of your lips were a sign of anticipation and anxiety. It was happening. Your official first kiss with him. An actual kiss after months.
At that point, he was standing so close to you, you could almost feel his breath on your face. The cologne he wore daily filled your senses, his warmth you got used to was giving you a quiet assurance like a hug. He could just kiss you now if he wanted to, but why couldn't he? Maybe he was taking his time. He was staring all over your face, as if memorising every little detail of it.
The moment his palm made its way to your cheek was when you knew you were far too deep to escape. You ignored the quickening pace of your heart and the wobble in your knees, then closed your eyes and waited with hope.
It never came. The feeling of his lips never touched yours. Instead, the sound of the front door bursting open and the shouts of several familiar voices came crashing into your reality.
"We're home!" The voice belonged to Heeseung, seemingly still unaware of everything. "We saw shoes out front—oh," realisation.
It was then you snapped your eyes wide open, pushing yourself away from Jake before you could form any coherent thought. Jake's expressions matched the one you had on your face: panic and shock. You stayed staring at each other for a few solid seconds until you figured you were, in fact, not dreaming of the voices and that his friends were actually standing there.
"I—were we—did we—interrupt—" Jay stuttered out, the horrors on both his and Heeseung's faces would've been comical if only you weren't stuck in this situation yourself.
"No!" The word escaped both yours and Jake's lips at the same time, in the same tone and manner. You turned to look at him and he did the same, then you faced his friends again.
Jake heaved a sharp breath, pupils shaking visibly. "Well, I was just about to grab my keys to drop Y/N home," he snatched his car keys from the table without thinking twice, the awkward tension in the room was suffocating.
"Yeah, we were about to leave …" you trailed off at the lie you made up. Nope, you weren't about to leave, you were about to kiss Jake. Oh, Anton and Wonyoung were going to love this story.
"Should we…?" Jake glanced at you, the red lights practically blaring in those pairs of brown eyes. You got his cry for help and nodded, because you, too, were calling out for help internally.
"We should, yeah, we definitely should. I'll see you guys at the party." you waved a quick and stiff goodbye then grabbed your stuff, following Jake out the door. Only when you were outside wearing your shoes, you got the chance to breathe out a breath of relief. You didn't know what was about to happen in that house or after Jake returned, but all you could guess was them being as panicked as you were.
On the drive home, it was rather quiet. Whether it was the lasting awkwardness from earlier or the avoidance of the topic, you didn't know. You could feel his occasional glances at you, yet he didn't dare to act on it and somehow, you felt disappointed after every one of them.
You thought by the end of the drive, you'd be silently leaving his car with no words exchanged. However, Jake wasn't one to leave it at that, nor was he someone to let you go that easily. He grabbed onto your hand before you could reach for the handle, halting you in the midst of your actions.
"I'm sorry about earlier," he let go of your hand from his hold as you sat back into the cushioned seat of his car, the flickering of his eyes gave his nervousness away. "I can't believe it happened again,"
You cracked a small, humorous smile at the mention of you and him getting interrupted for a second time by his friends. At that point, you believed it was just fate that intervened. "It's okay, Jake, really. The timing wasn't perfect, I suppose, and I get it,"
"Maybe," he hummed, unable to take his eyes away from you, which only made you want to sink into the seat further. He couldn't just do that after almost kissing you! It's not fair. "I'm frustrated,"
"At your friends?"
"At my friends, and at the fact that I couldn't kiss you,"
He was bold. It was something you never got used to, having no prediction of what he would say next. This was one of them.
"Yet," you added quite daringly, looking away to hide the shyness you were suddenly feeling.
"What?"
"You couldn't kiss me yet," you repeated, this time a little more confident than a minute ago. "There's always a next time, isn't there?"
Jake let out a small chuckle, throwing his head back slightly, the reddening tips of his ears betraying his current calm demeanour. The simplicity of your optimistic words made his heart jump at the unrelenting chances of another try. Second time could go right, can it? "Yeah, and I'll make sure there's no interruption during then, just the two of us."
You were thankful you declined Jake's offer of walking you up to your dorm room. Having him beside you in his car when he uttered those words so nonchalantly almost made you lose your mind. Even after you entered your room, you still felt the lingering feeling of his lips just like a ghost. Closing your eyes, you could almost feel his warmth around you swallowing you whole, the touch of his hand on your cheek burning.
Lying in bed, you thought of him the whole night as if he had infected your mind. It was then you realised what you felt months ago was different compared to now. Your feelings for Jake was no longer some simple crush, attraction or liking, it was something deeper. You liked him, but it was a kind of feeling where you felt yourself giving your heart to him with no doubts, the stars in your eyes only shining brightly for him. He was your universe.
God, how did you end up here? You had fallen deeply and helplessly.
On the evening of Sunghoon's birthday, you, Jake, and the rest of his friends along with some of their partners spent the last bit of time finalising all of the decorations before the birthday boy's arrival.
The near kissing incident with Jake was eventually swept under the rug. Maybe it did for you and him, but you could tell from Heeseung and Jay's faces that they were still suffering from the embarrassment when seeing you. You had a feeling Jake told them off after getting back that day.
Other than that, you were more relieved nothing was awkward or stiff between the two of you. Everything was well and the preparations for Sunghoon's birthday busied him enough to get his mind off the embarrassing yet intimate moment. The time you spent with him throughout the whole fiasco of planning did some salvaging.
"Do you think he'll like this colour?" Jake was anxiously looking at the time on his watch, noting Sunghoon's imminent arrival. Jay was out with Sunghoon to get him away from the house as long as he could.
"Jake, it's just yellow," you patted his shoulder in reassurance, unable to blame the guy for being a tad bit nervous for the first party he planned for his best friend.
"You're right—I hear his car in the driveway. Guys! Off the lights now!" Jake couldn't even get a single breath of peace when speaking of the devil, Sunghoon was home. He grabbed onto your arm, pulling you with him to hide behind the counter. The others were scurrying for the cake and you were thankful you weren't tasked to handle that.
Even though it wasn't your first time rehearsing this, the feeling of Jake holding tightly onto your wrist, his body pressing close to yours as you squatted behind the counters, all of them were the factors your heart was beating extremely fast. Not because of Sunghoon and the entirety of his surprise party, but Jake.
The heat emitting from his body shouldn't be making you flush red, should it? The scent of his woody cologne was concentrated, the closeness of his face and his obliviousness to it all was the cherry on top.
"I'm nervous," he whispered, the voices outside becoming louder as footsteps approached closer to the front door.
You flashed him an assuring smile, squeezing his hand lightly. "It's going to be fine. You have me,"
The undying spark in his eyes shined even in the darkness of the room. He gave your hand a squeeze back, tugging it closer to him. "I have you."
Jake's hand never left yours even when you and him jumped at the entrance of Sunghoon. Shouts echoed around the room as Sunghoon remained shocked whilst his friends wished him happy birthday. The cake was immediately carried towards him and everyone started singing the tune of the birthday song. All while everything was happening, the hand intertwined with yours was the only thing occupying your mind.
At the end of the night with Sunghoon drunk out of his mind and everyone else too tipsy to function properly, you were one of the few left sober. Surprisingly, Jake was among the few you mentioned. There on the sidewalk of his driveway you sat under the starlit sky, catching a moment of fresh air after the whole day's worth of running around.
"Can I join?" The voice you would anticipate hearing interrupted your daze, glancing up from the sidewalk to see Jake's smiling face.
"Always,"
He didn't say anything more but instinctively sat himself next to you, his shoulders brushing against yours created a spark that neither of you could ignore. There was a short pause of silence where you and him said nothing but just basked in each other's presence. It was one of those times where you communicated through your every microexpressions, barely saying anything audibly but also expressing everything needed.
"I have a question,"
You were the first to break the silence, taking a daring step.
"Shoot,"
"This is going to sound cliche, and a little stupid, but bear with me," you let your curiosity wander this time, maybe it was a spur of a moment feeling which gave you a sense of sudden vulnerability, you didn't know. "Why me?"
Jake turned to look at you. "What?"
"Why—out of many other girls on campus—you somehow ended up liking me and asking me out on a date?" Gosh, you knew how cliche it already sounded in your head, but to say it aloud was probably worse. You were thankful Jake wasn't walking away at the question. Instead, a smile twitched at the corners of his lips.
"It's a long story,"
"Oh God, it's not one of those movie scenes where you tell me it's all a bet and try to win me over after I get heartbroken, right?"
Jake let out an amused sounding chuckle, throwing his head back, a habit you noticed whenever he laughs at something humorous. "What is this? '10 Things I hate about you'? Thankfully no," he gave your shoulder a small bump with his, eliciting a quiet laugh from you this time.
"You might not remember this since it's been a while," he continued on with his story and you grew more curious. "But we actually met before that night you punched me,"
"What?"
Jake knew you wouldn't remember the memory he's bringing up currently, only smiling in response as he gave you a few seconds to process. "It's a little crazy, but we actually met on a Saturday evening. I can still remember it clearly. You were the person who offered me your umbrella on that rainy day when I was stranded outside the library building. I almost didn't make it to practice if it wasn't for you,"
He turned away from you, glancing up at the sky instead, the slight smile he had on his face maintained, never once faltering. "If I have to be fully honest with you, at that time when it happened, I was still quite heartbroken from my last break up even though months had passed since then, but seeing you … I felt something. The biggest regret was not talking to you when you already left, then somehow I found my way back to you,"
Your head was a mess scrambling to piece together Jake's story. Searching in every corner of your mind, you thought back to a rainy day, from there you looked further. The blurry memory of a guy appeared, the vague recollection of a face matched the one sitting next to you. It happened, it actually happened.
"You did," you whispered, your voice audible in the quiet night air. "Maybe there was an invisible string tying us together all along,"
"I usually don't believe in things like that, but for once, when it comes to you, I do believe it," Jake's gaze held a twinkle that resembled the stars on the night sky, his features was soft as he stared at you with a touch of gentleness you've never once seen.
"Can I be honest?" You held onto your breath, the speed of your heartbeat increasing. He was anticipating your words, looking at you expectantly. But you found yourself frozen for a moment. He was pretty, so pretty. Staring at him was enough to get you stumbling over your words. "No one has ever made me feel this much except for you,"
The unbreaking eye contact was intense. Once your confession left your lips, there was a shift in the atmosphere, the air was thick and laced with an electric spark. He was digesting every letter you uttered, the slight surprise morphed into a smile. The corners of your lips automatically followed along with his, stretching into a smile that you didn't know was Jake's favourite.
"I feel the same too," he edged his body a little closer, facing towards you more, all of which went unnoticed by you. "I want to be the only person who makes you feel this much, to make you smile, to make you laugh," he leant in closer, his face being barely illuminated by the street lamp, yet, you could see make out every little feature of his that you memorised. At that point, you knew it was happening, and there wasn't going to be any interruptions. You were determined for it to be that way.
One of Jake's hands reached for yours that rested on the pavement ground, taking it into his and intertwining his fingers with yours. You could read his emotions through his eyes, every detail of his expression told an emotion he was feeling currently. Anxious, but also thrilled. There were the two of you who felt the same at least. Then, he said it, the thought you two were simultaneously sharing.
"Can I kiss you?"
Finally.
You bit back a laugh and proceeded to do something you would've never dared to do until now. Without letting a second pass, you grabbed onto his shoulder clumsily and pressed your lips onto his, shutting your eyes with the feeling of your heart almost escaping your chest.
Would it be cliche to describe the entirety as a breath of fresh air? It took a split second for Jake to actually process your lips on him then only proceeded to kiss you back with the equal amount of gentleness, want and desire. Although this wasn't your first time kissing him given that moment in the hockey arena, it was the total opposite.
The initial shock and confusion disappeared immediately. Jake's hand travelled from the expanse of your cheek and disappeared into your hair. You tilted your head to deepen the kiss and Jake took that as a welcoming invitation. Safe to say you were about to think about this the whole night instead of falling asleep.
If there was a memory you wished to experience once more, it'd be this exact moment. The intoxicating touch of his and his familiar cologne scent that ingrained into your mind itself. You felt Jake smiling into the kiss seconds before pulling apart, the feeling of it made you experience overwhelming emotions that choked you, it was as if his smile was imprinted on your lips even after and you were unable to forget about it, instead, you craved it.
No one told you how it'd go down after a kiss. You and him both were there staring at one another in a daze, seemingly thinking 'did this happen?'. Well, it did, and you were reeling from it.
You were sure your lipstick was smudged, not to mention, the red marks left on Jake's lips gave it away clearly. Neither of you dared to move away from each other, keeping the close proximity in between. The loud music playing from the inside of the house eventually became more apparent once you gained full consciousness from the disassociation post kissing.
"I'm glad there's no cameras this time," Jake broke the silence, lighthearted and gentle with his words just as much as his kiss was.
You snorted, nudging him a little with your elbow. "And I'm glad no one walked in on us,"
There wasn't a word exchanged, a knowing look in one another's eyes which you read, and from that, you and him burst out laughing. If it wasn't for the fits of laughter which distracted you, you would've already been exploding from the realisation of Jake keeping your hands interlocked.
"If I have to be really honest with you right now, my heart is beating way too fast for it to be healthy. You're quite literally about the death of me," Jake said, completely stunned as he pressed a hand on his chest. He surely had a way with his words. "I could kiss you forever," there he's done it again, erupting butterflies in your abdomen.
"I'm not entirely objecting to that, so …" you shrugged playfully, meeting Jake's watchful gaze that was filled with nothing but softness and love.
He let out an amused chuckle, squeezing your interlocked hand with his. "I'll hold you to that."
The night eventually ended a little over midnight. It was entertaining to watch the three of Jake's best friends slurring their goodbyes to you, stumbling around trying to keep their balance but giving up and crashing onto the couch. Jake decided to leave them be and drive you back, taking the extra mile to walk you up to your doorstep.
"It was really fun tonight. Thanks for inviting me," you fidgeted with the sleeves of Jake's jacket that was draped around you, the quietness of the night only amplified your voices in the corridor.
"I'm glad you agreed to come and also helped me out on setting this up. I don't think I would've survived," Jake offered a lopsided smile, glancing down at the floor for a moment to hide his embarrassment.
"I'm happy to be of help," you were trying your best to contain your giddiness that was bubbling in your abdomen ever since your lips made contact with his. "I think Sunghoon will love his gifts … well, after he's sober,"
"He better likes it. I spent a shit ton amount of money on that jersey," Jake snorted, shaking his head, seemingly split between regret and indifference. "It's getting late, you should head on in,"
"Right, I should. Thanks for dropping me off, like always,"
"It's alright, I want to make sure you get home safe anyway," his heartwarming words definitely made your cheeks flush a tinge of pink, but you hid it away from him by fumbling with the lock of your door. Just before you could bid him the last goodbye of the night, he stopped you. "You forgot something,"
You tilted your head, eyebrows scrunched into a look of confusion. There was nothing you could think of that you've possibly forgotten. Wait, did he mean exactly what you were thinking of? You narrowed your eyes at him, a sly smirk on your face greeting him. "You're so annoying,"
It was his turn to be confused, but unfortunately for him, you didn't take note of that in time and he was left dumbfounded. In a blink of an eye, you pressed a haste kiss on his cheek. Jake thought he was dreaming. Even until then, you were unaware that he was surprised and frozen in shock, or just the plain fact that you and him both had a small misunderstanding.
"Goodnight, text me when you're home!" With that, the door slammed shut on his face before he had a chance to regain his composure and open his mouth to say something. He let out a breath of disbelief, his hand instinctively shot up to the spot where you placed a kiss on, grazing his finger faintly there.
"I mean the jacket." He murmured to himself, still in a daze as he turned around to make his way back.
He meant the jacket.
Sunghoon's birthday party had definitely become a turning point for you and Jake's relationship. Ever since that night, the both of you were inseparable. To your friends, however, it was insufferable instead. But, there was something very big and blaring in front of your face: he hasn't made anything official … yet? You tried reassuring yourself.
"You guys kissed, twice. He's not going to miss the chance of asking you to be his girlfriend officially. It's been almost a year," Wonyoung was pouring a drink that you needed from the amount of thoughts bugging you. Maybe going to a frat party was the least sane option of trying to take your mind off of it. "Think about it, for someone like him, he's surely thought about it before and he's probably planning something,"
Your lips were pressed into a thin line, considering. Wonyoung wasn't completely wrong, neither was Jake entirely dumb. "You're right, I'm probably thinking too much,"
Wonyoung threw her arm around your shoulders, leading you to somewhere less crowded. "It's completely valid, Y/N. I'd think the same. But don't worry, knowing Jake and how he's absolutely whipped for you, you'll be fine."
Will you? Given the past failed situationships you had that led you on to thinking you'd have a boyfriend to bring home for Christmas absolutely tainted your view on talking stages. Not that Jake was just a talking stage, he was more than that, more than the ones that did you wrong. But a scar was permanent nonetheless, it's just something you had to live with.
You eventually left Wonyoung's side to search for any bathrooms that were unoccupied, which ended up being a harder challenge than expected. A big frat house with many rooms, yet most of the bathrooms were either hidden away or occupied, just amazing. The narrow corridors were also another nightmare for you having to squeeze past drunk college kids or people making out, you didn't know which was worse. You wondered if your luck had somehow ran out when you accidentally bumped into someone tall, knocking his drink over in the middle of the corridor.
"I'm so sorry!" You reached down to pick his cup up in panic, not knowing who the person even was until you stood up straight, the fog in your brain clearing up for you to realise the person was actually someone you knew. Speaking of past failed situationships, one was unfortunately standing before you there and then. The universe must be toying with you.
"Y/N?"
Nevermind the cup, either of you were too stunned at the sight of one another to really care about it anymore. Song Eunseok. Anton's best friend from the rival school's hockey team, but also your past situationship and talking stage. How did Anton even acquire that many jock friends, you didn't know, neither did you want to.
Anton was the one who set you and his friend up, thinking it'd be a good idea to get you back into the dating scene. Wrong. Turns out, his best friend ended up being a total asshole that reminded you to never trust Anton and his wingman abilities, particularly him and his jock friends. That was also the reason why you doubted Jake at the start, and you hoped you'd continue being wrong about him.
"Hey," you murmured, unknowingly tightening your grip on the plastic cup. What was there to speak about anyway? The thing that happened between you and him ended sourly and it wasn't entirely the best memory for you to sit and talk about. "I'll get going now,"
"Wait," the sound of his voice after years of not hearing it in flesh made you stop in your steps, your eyes flickering up to stare at his face.
"What?"
"You're not going to ask me why I'm here?"
You should be confused, he wasn't around here, neither did he go to your school to mix around with people that did. "I don't care," you answered bluntly, but truthfully, it was already predictable that he's only in town for a game against the school's team, that's all.
He wasn't impressed by your indifference, clicking his tongue as he glanced away for a second. "I heard you're going out with Jake,"
"And?"
He threw his hands up in mock defence, that gloating look on his face was only making it more punchable as minutes ticked by. "I'm just trying to warn you,"
"Whatever it is, I don't care,"
"Really? You really don't care about him being known to switch between girls all the time? How he breaks hearts and plays with girls like you, really?" Eunseok practically sneered, watching the brave front you put on faltering.
"What?"
"Oh, you know, he's got a reputation for himself. A good boy facade with fuckboy tendencies, many girls fall for it, I can't believe you did too," he shrugged, the maliciousness evident in his gaze. "He's probably fucking with you for a while then he'll throw you to the side after, just like every other girls,"
You knew he was lying and trying to get into your head by spewing some bullshit, so why were you letting him do so? A part of you was aware that what he said wasn't true, but the other part of you let his words get the worst of you. It was as if all the horrid thoughts you had pushed into the back of your mind resurfaced and manifested into words that were thrown into your face, more ironic that they were uttered by the same man who was the blueprint of your problems with relationships.
"Look, whatever hockey rivalry you have, I don't care, but don't bring his and my personal matters into this," you backed away from him, wishing the ground would just swallow you whole instead of having to face him. "God, you're still such an asshole after a long time."
The last sentence from you was seethed out of your teeth before you whipped around to speed walk away. The adrenaline and anxiety redirected your attention away from the need to find the toilet, instead, you were searching for the front door in order to leave.
"I need to leave," you gripped onto Wonyoung's shoulder, her smile formed into a frown once her eyes landed on your face, instantly sensing the red flags. "It's okay if you want to stay, I can go on my own,"
"But we took my car, I can't just leave you—"
"I'll find a way, I'll call a cab, whatever it is. It's fine, I'll be fine," you rubbed her shoulder assuringly, though you knew in reality, you were far from fine.
"Are you okay? Y/N, I can leave with you, it's fine—"
Wonyoung realised you were no longer keeping your eyes on her, but you were staring over her shoulder, dread evident in your features. Before she could open her mouth to question you, you were already inching away from her. "I'll text you when I'm home. Be safe!"
Wonyoung was having a hard time keeping her gaze on you and grasping everything in general, she ended up following your line of sight, her frown deepened once it landed on what happened to be the root cause of your panic. Eunseok. By the time it clicked in her head, it was probably too late. You were out the door.
A gush of the cold night air hit your face just as much as Eunseok's words did. They were circling around your mind endlessly, fighting the thoughts of you convincing yourself he was just a liar. But to a certain extent, some lies do have truths hidden in them. Could this be one of the cases?
It didn't help that the memory of what Anton said came flooding in, rubbing salt to the wound. Neither was it the perfect timing for Jake to come walking up towards you, looking ready to start his night of partying.
"You're here!"
His voice broke you out of your trance, your feet halting just in time for his hands to hold onto your shoulders, the biggest smile greeting you. However, this time around, you couldn't bring yourself to reciprocate it, not when he reminded you of all the things you told yourself to not worry about.
"You okay? Where's your friend?" Jake's smile faltered, the look of worry flashed across his face, his grip on your shoulders didn't budge.
You couldn't meet his eyes, releasing a shaky breath. "Tell me it isn't true," your voice came out quiet, the sound of your blood thumping in your system filled your ears. "He's lying, isn't he?"
Jake's face was leveled with yours, shaking your shoulders, forcing you to look him in the eyes. "What? Who?"
"You're not going to break my heart too, right?"
"What—Y/N, you're not making any sense. Did someone tell you that? Who was it?"
"It isn't true, right? Those stories of you playing with girls' hearts just like any other asshole would, I … never believed them, so they're lying, aren't they?"
Jake's mouth fell agape, the words that were expected to spill never came, a dawning fall in his expression spoke more than it should've. "It is. It is true," you breathed out, letting it sink in, after all those times of not listening to the rumours of him, it ended up being real. A serial heartbreaker, Jake Sim, how cliche could it be? And how unfortunate for you to attract these types of guys over again. "I'm not one of them, am I?
"You're not, Y/N, never," his hold on you was relentlessly, you only felt smaller as seconds ticked by. "Those rumours were from ages ago, back before I knew you, before I had my break up. It's been years. I realised how much of an asshole I was and I changed my ways. You have to believe me,"
You did, you believed him. His actions over the months told you enough, giving you a chance to build a trust towards him. But after hearing basically a confirmation to those rumours from him and Eunseok, you were split in half, mind in a mess. Eunseok wasn't completely wrong, but you believed he was just trying to get to you with his scathing words, and Jake admitting to it wasn't exactly the ideal cherry on top. It was supposedly the past, wasn't it? Plus, Wonyoung's survey of information about Jake was something much more worth believing than your ex situationship.
"I believe you," you whispered out, choosing to tell the truth rather than making it into a bigger mess. You ran a hand through your hair, releasing a sharp exhale. "I think Eunseok was trying to stir a reaction from me,"
"Eunseok? Song Eunseok? He's playing against us tomorrow," Jake breathed out incredulously, swallowing a string of cusses. "Y/N, forget about him or whatever he said. I admit it, I was like that in the past, back when I didn't know any better. But I promise you, I'll never, ever break your heart,"
You felt guilty, guilty for letting the worst get to you, for putting the blame on the wrong person based on assumptions you made. Jake had always been an accepting person, and you were grateful for that. "I'm sorry for acting this way. I let my fears get to me after hearing things about you from Eunseok and you admitting to them. I was scared you'd turn out to be the type of guys I hated," you paused, taking a chance to breathe in deeply. "I just didn't want to be someone else's second choice again,"
You gave yourself a chance to be completely vulnerable with him, laying all your ugly truths for him. Embarrassed and distressed, those were what describes you at that moment. You hated the way you got heated up over nothing, letting your fears and emotions overwhelm you till the point where you couldn't think straight or rationally. Your mess of a mind was distracted once Jake pulled into his chest, engulfing you into a hug.
"You'd never be a second choice to me, in fact, you're the only one in my life," His hand stroked your head, the side of his face resting on it. "I'm sorry for letting you feel that way, or not being there to punch that asshole square in the jaw. You're not just anybody to me, you're my best friend, my partner in crime, my everything. You don't understand how much and complete you make me feel. I wouldn't replace you for anything,"
The initial shock of the hug melted into relief, his warmth provided a sense of security along with his reassuring words. Your arms wrapped around his body, reciprocating the hug. "Thank you," you swallowed, letting yourself melt into his hold. Minutes passed with no words exchanged, just the two of you holding each other, yet, it expressed much more than words were required. You trusted him, you do, and you knew he wasn't the type of man Eunseok described, maybe in the past, but the present was where you're at currently, you knew he wouldn't try hurting you. You knew him.
The drive back to your dorm was sullen and weird. 'Weird' was definitely a way to put the whole aftermath into words. You had already settled whatever rift there was before getting into the car, but why didn't it feel right at all? You were scared you hurt him, and unbeknownst to you, he was thinking the same. This only caused a slight tension, neither of you daring to reach out first at that given moment.
That was when Jake reached for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours and settling the interlocked hands on his thigh. As always, he was the first to mend the cracks. "I'm sorry for making you doubt yourself in the first place. I never knew,"
"I don't blame you. It was my fault for not speaking out on it either. I bottled it up until it got to me. People did warn me about your past, about your old ways, but I trusted you, I knew you wouldn't hurt me," you gave his hand a squeeze, more to reassure yourself. "I just can't believe I let Eunseok get the worst of me,"
"He's just a total asshole. It's okay, I understand, I would've felt the same if I was in your shoes," there was a sigh that followed after. "Actually, what's the relationship between you and him? I never knew you two knew each other. Are you guys … friends?"
"Friends? God no. We're anything but friends at this point," your face twisted into a sour expression, the thought of being friends with a guy like him made your stomach churn in the worst way. "Long story, but Eunseok is Anton's friend, they go way back. Anton being the wingman that he claims to be, he set me up with Eunseok. We were never official, but we were more than just friends at one point. I thought he'd ask me to be his girlfriend officially since everything was going good, but he ghosted me and got with another girl after,"
Explaining your past with Eunseok was another type of reliving the bad memories. The time you spent on that man was not worth it. "Which explained why I became wary of Anton's friends. All the ones he's introduced me to ended up being the same variant as Eunseok, and that also instilled a paranoia when I agreed to try things out with you,"
Jake kept his eyes focused on the road ahead, but his raised eyebrows that were almost touching his hairline was enough to show his surprise. "Wow," he breathed out, seemingly digesting it in. "Are all Anton's friends assholes? Am I an asshole?"
You rolled your eyes at him even if he didn't catch onto it. "Luckily for you, you changed and they didn't. I'm pretty sure most of them stayed the same, Eunseok is basically a living proof of that theory. You and your friends, however, aren't like that from the beginning, which is why I like you guys,"
"I thought you only liked me?" Jake finally glanced at you, among the hint of playfulness in his gaze, there was also a warmth of understanding.
You stifled a cackle, choosing to let out a laugh out of impressed disbelief. "Don't need to be so full of yourself, hot shot."
It was his turn to laugh. The sweetest melody of his laughter had you smiling unknowingly. It was always the simplest things about him that made you happy. You wished for it to stay as such for a long time.
By then, it became a normal habit for Jake to walk you up to your doorstep, neither of you questioned it anymore. This time, however, things didn't leave at the doorstep.
"My roommate's at her boyfriend's place for the weekend," you started, the question which came next was unexpected. "Do you … want to stay over?
A single question to change the whole trajectory of your relationship to develop into something deeper. Jake couldn't bring himself to say 'no' to your offer, his hands were still in yours, most importantly, those pairs of eyes staring back at him made it hard to reject.
There you were, making your way over to your room carefully through the darkness of your living room, passing by the flowers he gave that sat in the vase. There were little parts of him in your shared dorm that consistently reminded you of him and his presence.
Never in a million years would you have predicted Jake being next to you in bed. The stillness of the night air engulfed the two of you, not a word shared, but the intertwined hands between you and him was reassuring. There was nothing else that would have replaced this moment of your back against his chest, feeling the palpitations of his heart as you drifted off to sleep, unaware of Jake's fluttering eyes, sneaking occasional glances at you.
"I'm undeniably in love with you." He muttered against the top of your head as he pressed a haste kiss.
Jake couldn't see you, and he didn't know you were still half awake, listening in on his whisper. There was a smile that settled on your lips, the intertwined hand felt heavier than usual, just as your heart did, filled with an immeasurable amount of love for the first time in your life. What has he done to you?
One bed, two idiots in love, helplessly pining onto each other with an overwhelming amount of love that the other didn't know. Only an imminent happening would be the catalyst for one of you to break.
Having to explain to Wonyoung at nine in the morning that you and Jake didn't do anything weird the night before was a pain in the ass. It wasn't the right timing for Jake to leave just as Wonyoung showed up at your doorstep, an arm outstretched ready to press the doorbell but stopping in motion from the shock of seeing you and him alone in the apartment.
"You didn't leave early yesterday to fuck Jake, right?"
"I didn't fuck him at all," you seethed, glaring at Wonyoung for sayinh that the hundredth time. "I coincidentally ran into him and he brought me home,"
"And … he stayed over?"
"He stayed over," you confirmed, a little more timidly. "But we didn't do anything, okay?"
"Okay," she said as she took a sip out of her cup, an edge of doubt in her voice that you didn't miss, but chose to ignore. "Enough of Jake. What happened yesterday? Everything wasn't right,"
A sigh left your lips unconsciously, the thought of having to relive the whole nightmare of a fiasco by summarising it to Wonyoung was a dread. If only she could peek into your mind and memories. Nevertheless, you gave her a brief summary of what happened, from A to Z until the part where Jake ended up in your bed (that wasn't exactly how it meant to sound).
"Eunseok said that to you? He had the nerve to say that when he's literally what he's accusing Jake of? The audacity," Wonyoung was visibly fuming, pinching the tip of her nose bridge. "I hope Jake beats his ass today," she frowned, then added, "figuratively, can't have him suspended again."
For the rest of the day, you stayed home with Wonyoung by your side, waiting for the time of the game to arrive. You never knew they streamed the games online until Anton came over to set up the stream, bringing along a huge box of pizza while he's at it. On the couch in the living room, the laptop sat next to the flower vase, the commentator's voice filling the silence of the space.
"Remind me to never set you up again," Anton mumbled through his mouth full of pizza, looking thoroughly guilty and apologetic once you and Wonyoung ran through the whole incident that he missed. "I'll cut him off … and probably a lot of them. But hey, at least Jake's a success, eh?"
Wonyoung reached over to deliver a slap on the back of his head, earning a grunt of annoyance from him. "Don't jinx it, failed cupid."
Seeing Jake on the mini laptop screen was much different compared to actually being there in person. The game was starting soon, you hoped your good luck would manifest into reality too. Each glimpse of Jake only made you both anxious and relieved, how contradicting. It was as if the cameraman knew the tension between Jake and Eunseok, occasionally panning to Jake then Eunseok.
The start of the game was relatively civil. However, there was no denying the ongoing hostility Jake had towards Eunseok. The 'accidental' slams into Eunseok, they were obviously on purpose. There was nothing out of hand just yet, but it was apparent that something would soon stir.
"He needs to calm down," Anton murmured mostly to himself at the end of the second period, the home team drawing with the opposition. You silently agreed with him, watching as Jake's teammates hit his shoulders with some knowing looks.
Third period was when things started getting rough. It wasn't a tense rivalry without the occasional fouls, especially when both teams were stuck on a draw, trying their best to crawl out of the game with a win. Jake stood out the most. His assists were helpful to the team, but given his continuous hostility towards the oppositions, particularly Eunseok was going to cost him something.
The worst and unimaginable that everybody was expecting eventually came to life. The frustration in the atmosphere was felt even through the screen. Eunseok slammed his side onto Jake, but it didn't stop just there. Jake retaliated by grabbing onto Eunseok's collar, ripping his helmet off and throwing a punch across the latter's face. Both men's helmets were on the ground, gloves off and sticks flung to one side.
The whole thing was a mess. Players stopped in their tracks to pull the two off of one another, there was a circle surrounding the fight, doing whatever they could to stop it. Even after they were pulled away from each other, the aftermath wasn't a good sight. Both players were bleeding and injured, to top it all off, a suspension was immediately issued to Jake.
"Is this the time to switch the stream off?" Anton broke the silence in the room, the three of you meeting each others' gazes with an obvious 'oh no' on your faces. Oh no indeed.
You actually didn't know what happened after. Anton did, in fact, switch the stream off while you raced to text Jake with full worry. He wasn't responsive, so you gave him his space to let his anger cool off. In the meantime, you paced around despite your friends' reassurance that didn't help much. You weren't feeling much better even after they left, glancing at your phone way too often while praying your screen would lit up with a notification from Jake.
The evening sunset pierced through your curtains, dawn eventually made its appearance. It had been a long hour of waiting for Jake, no matter how you tried to shake the dreadful feeling, it was hard to fully ignore it. It almost felt like forever until your doorbell rang. The sinking feeling was back.
Your footsteps thud loudly against the floor, ripping the door open by its handle, meeting Jake's injured face that carried a lopsided smile, a bouquet of flowers in his hand. "Are you disappointed in me?"
He was about to be the death of you, in the worst possible way. You said nothing at first, walking closer, and caught him by surprise when you threw a punch at his shoulder, then again. "You asshole! You disappeared on me and ignored my texts. I thought something went wrong,"
He got a hold of your wrist, stopping you mid punch. "I forgot how painful your punches were," he tried to lessen the tension, offering a reassuring smile at you, but you only reciprocated with a frown that caused his smile to falter. "I'm sorry. I really am. I should've called you immediately after, but … I needed to cool down. I was too stuck in my head,"
"I figured, I understand," you pressed your lips into a thin line, releasing a deep sigh, you couldn't blame him either. "Why did you do it?"
"He was a jerk," Jake said plainly, although it was already a full explanation on its own, you couldn't help but shake your head at it.
"You shouldn't've used violence to get back at him,"
"I know,"
"You're suspended for the next game,"
"I know,"
You let the words sink in for a short moment, pursing your lips, then breathed a deep sigh through your nostrils. "Does that mean you'll be free to be my partner that day? I need someone to watch the game with,"
The initial disappointment in his face disappeared, turning into a much more hopeful expression. His eyes visibly lit up, face beaming. "Are you asking me out on a date?"
"I am,"
"Then I have something to ask too," Jake's voice slightly trembled at that, it was something that didn't go unnoticed by you. He extended the hand that held onto the bouquet, the most nervous smile you've seen on Jake was plastered on his face. "Will you be my girlfriend?"
There was something electrical that coursed through your veins, it could be pure shock or adrenaline. Your mind was currently short circuiting, a mix of relief, happiness and disbelief eere clogging your head to form a coherent thought. But your answer was forced through in the end, you had to push it out no matter what.
"Yes,"
"Yes?"
"Yes, Jake. I'd love to be your girlfriend. In every lifetime if that matters," your lips twisted into the biggest smile, it was hard to resist laughing at the shock in Jake's reaction. He must've expected the answer already, but he still couldn't hide the surprise from hearing the word 'yes'. "I think this is the part where you're supposed to kiss me,"
A rush of relief flooded his prior expressions, the littlest grin adorned his face. It was as if everything happened on cue. You grabbed the bouquet from him and next thing you knew, he used his other hand to pull your forearm, causing you to stumble into him, then there it was, his lips on yours. Out of everything, this was unexpected.
"Ouch," he winced, the small yet fresh wound on the edge of his lips being a deterrent for a second, but he was not going down like that.
Jake tilted his head to angle his lips better, deepening the kiss and avoiding the cut at the same time. Kissing him this time was much different from the rest. This time after his long awaited question, it seemed the built up of emotions were poured into this single kiss alone. Unimaginable, that was the only way you could describe how you felt. The rollercoaster of emotions and the twist in your gut, it was your first time feeling this way. In love, that was it.
Pulling away from each other was something neither of you wanted. His forehead was resting against yours, his minty breath fanning on your lips, the dorkiest grin displayed. The two of you kept your hold onto one another, not daring to make a single move.
You met his eyes, reading the secret love messages hidden in his brown irises that he held onto tightly. "So, do you accept my date?"
Jake leaned his head back, unimpressed. "What do you think? I already gave you my answer," there it was, his typical smirk that told you he had another idea in mind. "Want me to give you a more concrete answer?"
He didn't allow you a chance to answer when he leaned in to kiss you again, a much shorter and brief kiss. But, you got your answer, and an endearing smile that you couldn't wipe off no matter what.
"Stop being cheesy and get your ass inside to get your wounds treated. An infection will hurt," you pushed his chest lightly, visibly flustered from his actions that he took pride in. He only threw his hands up in defence before obediently crossing the threshold.
"Don't cry when I apply the ointment,"
"This isn't my first day at the job."
On the contrary, he actually whined a lot. You learned to put up with it despite the several attempts to force him in place. Did that confident man just turn into a whole baby? Absolutely. The bruises on his knuckles, an ugly cut on both his lips and cheek didn't phase Jake at all, he stayed proud at the fact that he got the chance to land a punch on Eunseok' face. Even though you shook your head in disapprovement, secretly, you were satisfied.
At the end of the night, you didn't think Jake would end up staying over again, but it happened inevitably. He took the advantage of your absent roommate to spend as much time there with the freedom to lounge around. Was he there for you or your bed?
Either way, being in his presence and having his arms wrapped around you in your sleep was something you wouldn't complain about. If this was a privilege you got to enjoy every night, you would count it as a blessing you were never letting go. In his arms, you found a home you would go back to without a doubt.
Unbeknownst to you, Jake was grinning like the biggest fool every now and then when he stole glances at you. To him, you were the brightest star in his dark sky. After all, you had been the person who stayed in the back of his mind from years ago till then.
It might've been fate, or it might've been plain coincidence when it came to the two of you meeting. Whatever it was, all roads led you to each other. That was inevitable.
There you were, sitting in the stands of the hockey arena, seemingly back to square one all over again.
Everything around you was giving you deja vu but in the best way. Jake was sitting next to you, also suspended like the last time you were in this arena with him beside you. This time around, it was much different than before. He was no longer a stranger that you had one too many encounters with, instead, he was your boyfriend and best friend that you wouldn't dare trade anything for.
"You know what?" Jake turned to look at you with a questioning glance, to which you raised your eyebrow at.
"What?"
"I don't regret getting suspended. I got to punch that jerk and spend time with you here, I think it's pretty romantic," he had a prideful smile as he placed your interlocked hands on his lap.
"I can't tell if I should be charmed or not," you held back a laugh, squeezing his hand while shaking your head. "Modern day romance, how cute,"
"Isn't it?" He replied shortly, averting his attention to the jumbotron, the unmistakable 'KISS CAM' was displayed on the screen as it searched for its next pair of victims once more. 'Look, it's the kiss cam again,"
You followed his line of sight, recalling the time you were once on it with Jake. That felt almost just yesterday. "I doubt it'll land on us again,"
A faint smirk on Jake's telling looks showed that he thought otherwise. "Why? Scared to kiss me?"
"So scared," you responded dryly, a tone laced with sarcasm that had him smiling as well.
"Is it bad to say I want a cameo on the kiss cam with you again?" He pursed his lips, staring back at you with a tinge of guilt at his own confession. "I just want an excuse to kiss you,"
"You don't need any excuse to kiss me, idiot," you rolled your eyes, bumping his shoulder with yours. "Admit it, you're just an attention freak, aren't you?"
"Maybe," he choked out a laugh that got you doing the same.
As if on cue, the jumbotron screen had moved on from the previous pair, choosing the next one: you and Jake. Must the universe listen to Jake? Unlike last time, Jake didn't have a hat to hide his identity, so once people noticed it was the team's star player, the roar of the crowd only grew tenfold.
"You see," you wished to wipe off the cheeky smirk on Jake's face, the one that he always had whenever he was right about something. "Come on, sweets,"
Despite receiving an eye roll out of annoyance from you, your smile proved something else. Without a word from you, you grabbed onto his face, pulling him in to place a quick kiss, definitely not having a full makeout session in front of the cameras. From the sound of the crowds' cheers and Jake's satisfactory smile, you could tell everyone had eaten this moment up, even Jake himself whose reddening ears were giving him away.
"Look who's blushing!" You pointed at the clear evidence of his reddening skin, but he could only respond with an embarrassed cough.
"No, I'm not,"
"Don't lie, Jakey. You're shy," you looped your arm around his, then rested your head on his shoulder. "There's nothing wrong with that anyway,"
"I know," he whispered, pressing the side of his face on the top of your head. "I love you, sweets,"
You glanced up at him, meeting his gaze just in time for him to see the shock evident in the twist of your facial expressions. "What's with the sudden three words?"
He shook his head, pursing his lips a little. "Nothing, just telling you how I feel. I love you," he repeated once more, the effect of the eight letter word piercing through your heart, especially when it came straight from him.
A soft, affectionate smile settled on your lips, your eyes still glued to his face. "I love you too, Jake."
A kiss on your forehead was his reply, a simple action spoke much more than a million words could. An overwhelming wave of emotions gripped onto you just then, just as you tightened your hold on his arm at the feeling of those emotions. It was love, a special kind of love that you built to have with him and him only.
There in that arena, you shared your first unofficial kiss with Jake, leading to a blossom of events that eventually led you to this exact moment, where you had your second kiss in the stands, this time being something more than strangers or even best friends. Lovers, eternal companions, that was what you were. All it took was to break the ice with a punch, then a kiss to fall in love.
⟢ PAIRING: sim (jake) jaeyun x fem!reader ⟢ WORD COUNT: 7.7K ⟢ GENRE: semi-angst, fluff, smut ⟢ TAGS: brothersbsf!jake, minor age difference, college au, friends with benefits, secret relationship, light choking, semi-public sex, oral (f + m receiving), fingering penetration, unprotected sex (please practice safe sex folks) ⟢ SYNOPSIS: What began as a simple friends-with-benefits situation with your brother's best friend has turned into something deeper, and you now find that your emotions are more complicated than you initially thought.
➸ bless @temptaetions for giving me so much amazing dialogue to work with and @sweetvenomnet for getting me through finishing this monster!
You did not envision Sunday morning sitting across from your brother, concealing the bottom half of your body with your comforter and Jake next to you in bed. Jay’s face is a jumble of shock and anger, fists balled at his sides. You’re unsure if he’s ready to kick his best friend’s ass or throw him out by his neck, or both.
“How the fuck did this fucking happen,” Jay yells.
Well, you think, the beginning is a lot easier to explain than where we’re at now…
The first night you slept with Jake six months ago was like any other. Jay, your older brother by two years, was home with his best friend for the weekend. They had bonded over their freshman year as dorm buddies and Jay immediately inserted Jake into the family. “He’s like the brother I never had,” Jay would say when people would comment on them being attached at the hip.
It was not unusual for the two of them to stay over at your parents’ house when they were back in town. The university was more than three hours away. If they tried to drive home the same day, it would only end in a headache thanks to the rush-hour traffic.
It was nice to see Jay succeeding though, his footsteps being ones you’d hope to follow in one day. He had it all figured out, while you were anything but decided. Still unsure about what to do now that you had graduated, you chose to stay home and attend community college in the meantime.
But Jay occasionally being back in your presence meant he had to fulfill his annoying brotherly roles, like boring you with tales of campus and admonishing you for risqué outfit choices.
Like that night.
He stopped you short at the door with judgmental eyes scanning up and down your dress. “Absolutely not.”
You scoffed and pushed him out of your way. The dress hugged your curves just right and the color fit your aestethic. You knew when you bought it that the length wasn’t ideal for everyday wear, but it was perfect for a night out. Jay wouldn’t tell you otherwise. “You don’t have to act like Dad, dude.”
“Listen,” he said, rolling his eyes. “We all know you’re a woman. You don’t need to prove it with a little black dress.”
“Unless you’re blind, this dress is blue,” you mocked him.
“You know what I mean, smart-ass! You’re not leaving wearing that!”
“What’s going on,” Jake called from the kitchen.
“My sister’s about to walk out of the house in a napkin,” Jay responded, sarcasm dripping from his mouth.
“You’re such a prick,” you said, crossing your arms.
Jake sauntered into the sitting room, a bag of chips in his hand. He was taken back by the outfit, his eyes slowly trailing down your body. His Adam’s apple bobbed as Jay continued on his tirade about modesty to nobody but the air.
“You look pretty,” Jake said finally. He popped a chip in his mouth.
Your cheeks turned red instantly. Jay’s best friend wasn’t unattractive to look at, not in the slightest, so hearing him say such a thing even in quick passing made your body tense.
Before you could thank him for the compliment, Jay coughed like he swallowed his own spit.
“Did you just say she looks pretty?” Jay asked in his best friend’s direction.
Jake chomped down on another chip. “What,” he said, his mouth full.
“If I heard that right, you just said my sister looks pretty in her dress.”
“Yes?” Jake’s expression morphed into confusion as your brother’s face went pale.
“Do you have a death wish?” Jay asked.
“Bro, c’mon—”
“No, seriously. Do you?”
You backed up towards the door, making sure not to clack your heels too hard on the tile to be noticed.
Jay, however, sensed your escape. “I meant it! You’re not leaving without putting something else on.”
“Seongie, stop being an asshole. I’m gonna be late,” you whined.
“Dude, all I said was that she looked pretty,” Jake butted in.
Jay turned his focus back to him. “You said the girl you fucked at that club on Fifth was pretty.”
“Bro, I’m not gonna fuck—” Jake ran his free hand through his hair, smiling in incredulity at the ridiculous conversation. “Just trust me.”
“Finish that sentence.”
Jake scoffed, mouth agape. “What the hell, man?”
“Finish. The. Sentence. Jaeyun.”
“Okay, if you’re done being weirdly overprotective and Jaeyun’s done taking back his compliment, I have a happy hour to go to.”
Jay was so preoccupied with Jake at that point that he barely registered your words and your exit from the house. Before he could protest again, Jake interrupted him.
“I’m not going to fuck your sister, Jong,” he says.
“Thanks, that’s reassuring,” Jay responded.
As you closed the door, you heard Jake say, “But if she fucks me, that’s a different story.”
Despite walking down the cobblestone pathway, you heard Jake’s cries from your older brother whacking him. Jay screamed, “You sick fuck!”
Your cheeks felt hot when you finally got inside of your friend’s car. You greeted them with a smile when you sat in the back seat, but your mind kept playing back Jake’s words. He must have had enough pickings on campus and in his hometown to keep him satisfied. He didn’t need to put his effort or interest in you. There’s no way that he would, right?
Five hours later, the clock just shy of 1 AM, you stepped quietly inside to not wake your parents. Tiptoeing up the stairs to your room, you didn’t see Jay’s bedroom light on, certain he was fast asleep. That gave you some relief knowing he didn’t stick around to admonish you for not listening to his forceful advice.
What you weren’t expecting was Jake to be sprawled out on your bed, his body akin to a limp starfish. He had been scrolling endlessly through his Instagram feed until you creaked open the door to your room.
A silent scream jolted your pulse. “Jaeyun, what the fuck are you doing here?” you asked.
“Jongseong told me to wait for you. He wanted to make sure you got home safe,” Jake said absentmindedly, like being in your bed is a natural occurrence by now.
You suppressed the urge to roll your eyes. “Helicopter Himbo couldn’t do that himself?”
“He linked up with some girl he knows…Dahyun I think was her name?”
You sighed. Of course Jay had to hook up with his high school ex when he had no other options to exhaust. You thought Jay had higher standards than that at this point in his life, but he was still Jay.
You nodded. The soles of your feet throbbed from wearing your heels longer than you intended to. You tried to hide the pain on your face, but Jake was quick to walk over to you and feign concern.
“You okay?” He asked.
“Yeah. I’m just slightly buzzed and I’d like to see the inside of my eyelids and forget how bad my feet hurt right now.” You released a breathless laugh. “You can text my doofus of a brother and tell him I’m in one piece.”
You practically motioned your head towards the door, but Jake only smirked in response.
“Well, first things first, let’s take these off.” Before you knew it, Jake leaned down and began unbuckling the clasps of your stilettos for you. The sight made the alcoholic buzz running through your veins mutate into something sensual. You felt the ache between your legs as Jake’s fingers caressed the skin of your ankle as he was taking off your shoes for you, and immediately you remembered who he was.
This was wrong, and in no way going to happen. Not with someone who your brother confided in and loved so dearly. No matter how it felt every time you looked at him, or if he did intimate things like this that made you question everything.
“I meant what I said earlier you know,” Jake whispered. “And I wasn’t trying to take it back when Jongseong was grilling me about it.”
“I get it. He can be intense sometimes,” you mumbled.
“But you did look pretty. Fuck, you still do.” Jake chuckled to himself and positioned your feet out of the shoes and onto the carpet floor. The fabric felt cool against your toes, and instinctively you released a pleasurable sigh.
“So much better,” you moaned, smiling. “Thank you.”
Jake stood up, his grin infectious. “My pleasure.”
Neither of you moved, and admittedly you were glad Jake hadn’t made his exit yet. In the blur between your gratitude and onslaught of confusing feelings, the tether between your head and your body loosened.
Then you were kissing him. You were kissing your brother’s best friend and enjoying it very much, an amalgamation of all the passing glances you threw at him when Jay wasn’t looking and the semi-flirty conversations coming to a head in your lips and tongue.
Jake was kissing you back with the same fervor, his hands roaming to the curve of your ass and groaning in your mouth at the sensation of your bodies touching.
“Fuck,” Jake swore and pulled you in tighter, clutching at the hem of your dress.
In a tangle of fingers and lips, you almost didn’t register the feeling of your mattress against your back and the cool air on your skin when Jake pulled the dress down your body. But you did relish in the feeling of his tongue between your legs and how deliciously he slipped inside of you afterwards. And by that point, there was no time to regret and worry about what would happen next. All that mattered was the present and savoring it.
Three weeks after that first encounter, it was easy to forget it ever happened. The next morning, Jay and Jake had gone back to campus without a word. That was normal for them, seeing as they woke early and didn’t want to disturb anyone in the house.
For you, it was a bit disheartening, but it proved exactly what you knew. It was a mistake and a potential repeat was nonexistent. “Jeong’ll never find out and this can stay buried,” you told yourself.
Jay was too busy with his studies to respond with anything but one-word answers to your texts after that, so you gave up initiating anything. Jake, however, began texting you often to either greet you in the morning or say he hoped you were having a good day. It was sweet, but you didn’t read too deep into it. You replied in kind and left it at that.
Then, the boys came back one Friday afternoon in Jake’s Tahoe, and your nerves were live wires at their impromptu arrival. You had not seen Jake since that night in your bedroom. You felt the heaviness of guilt when you welcomed Jay home with a hug. A secret shouldn’t have had the power to eat you alive, but it did all the same.
And it didn’t help seeing Jake either. His smile took you back to the hours you had spent together in your bed. It was a kaleidoscope of memories. His hands on your hips, his whispers in your ear, his mouth in between your legs—
“Yo!” Jay waved his hand in front of your face. “I asked if you could help us with the last duffel bag.”
“Yeah, of course,” you said, walking over to the trunk. Jake’s shoulder brushed yours as you moved past him, and you couldn’t help the way your breath hitched. If you weren’t deluding yourself, you could’ve sworn you heard his throat catch in the same way.
You decided to leave the house that night, meeting up with a classmate to take your mind off of what was waiting at home. The Uber driver was polite, not bothering you as you were lost in your thoughts. Thankfully, the tequila sunrise you gulped down numbed your thought processes long enough that you could unwind and converse without rambling on about the situation you were in.
Then, you heard the ping of your phone and saw Jake’s message light up the screen.
Received at 11:23 PM: I’m picking you up. JS doesn’t want you taking an Uber when you’re not sober.
You sighed and typed back a reply with the hand not holding your drink. The words might have been mistyped, but you knew the message would get across to him.
Sent at 11:27 PM: im find u dont ned to come th last guy w nice.
Received at 11:29 PM: Sure. I’ll be there in 15.
You groaned. Jake could be as stubborn as your brother; it was no surprise the two of them became such good friends.
When Jake’s arrival came closer, you said goodbye and walked out of the bar, kicking your feet on the sidewalk gravel while you waited.
His truck’s lights came into full view a minute later. You got inside without a word, leaning your forehead against the passenger window. Just because he was being stubborn didn’t mean you had to be okay with it.
“Have fun?” Jake kept his focus on the road, but he sounded sincere when he asked about your night. While your heart swelled at the tone of his voice, it made the thoughts you tried so hard to suppress creep back in with full force. You were at a loss as to what to say. Honesty was off the table, but you weren’t capable of pulling your heart from your sleeve.
“I was. Not anymore.” You pouted.
You didn’t let him respond to your comment, instead looking around at his car’s interior and changing the subject. “I didn’t expect you to own a Tahoe.”
“What do you mean?” He asked with a chuckle.
“It’s so much space for one person.”
“Well, it was my dad’s truck. He gave it to me before I left for school. Now, I use it to go hiking and stuff with my dog, Layla.”
You smiled and leaned into the seat, looking at him. “That’s hard to believe.”
“That I have a dog or that I actually do physical activity? You’ve seen my body.”
You giggled and turned away. “I guess both. I’ve always wanted a dog, but Jungseong’s allergic. My parents thought plushies were a good compromise. And it all makes sense now. You can’t be that handsome naturally.”
Jake laughed harder. Without warning, he put his hand on your thigh, the feeling foreign yet incredibly welcome. You hummed in pleasure at the sensation. While you would’ve loved to enjoy the moment, your logic kicked in at the scene playing out in front of you.
“Jaeyun, you can’t just do that.”
“Why not? I wanted to,” he confessed, squeezing the curve of your knee. He moved his hand slowly across your skin.
You bit your lip and shook your head. “Just because you want to doesn’t mean you should.”
“Are we still talking about my hand or something else?” You gave him a stern but cutting look, the Are you kidding me evident in your eyes. It made Jake curse into the open air. “Fuck this.”
Jake pulled off into a vacant parking lot of a convenience store, one lamppost barely lighting the surrounding area. He put the car in park with an aggressive fist on the stick shift.
“Okay,” he started. “You want to talk about that night? Let’s talk about it.”
He inhaled a breath. You were terrified of what was unsaid and what he planned on saying, but you knew it was better to put it to rest sooner rather than later.
“I’m not sorry for what happened that night. I liked it and I liked you.” He looked directly into your eyes, his pupils dilating with extreme vulnerability. “I like you. And I’d like to repeat that night as many times as you want, but you’re my best friend’s sister and I don’t know how to accept those two things being true at once.”
You were taken back, his words the ones you wish you could have said to him before he left that morning. You tried to stamp down the truth many times since then, but Jake feeling the exact same way made you realize it wasn’t wrong to want what you wanted.
And Jay didn’t have to know everything.
“I do too,” you responded. “I like you too, and that night is all I’ve been thinking about.” You felt the knot in your stomach loosen, smiling in surprise from his confession. “And I would like to have more of those nights, for sure. In more than just my bed.”
Jake smirked and leaned in closer to you, lips ghosting over yours. “So if I said I wanted to fuck you in my car, you’d let me?”
You didn’t respond to that question with words, both of you knowing the question itself was rhetorical. You pressed your mouth to his hard.
The kiss was a clash of teeth and tongue, the act a desperate plea to pull each other closer after weeks of not being together. Now that you had Jake where you wanted him, you weren’t letting him go.
Jake palmed one of your breasts over your shirt, and you partially broke away from his mouth to moan. He swallowed it, tugging on your bottom lip with his teeth.
“You like that?” Jake asked, his voice husky.
“Fuck yes,” you said, knowing it was the truth. Nothing felt better than his touch on your skin.
He grabbed the side of your throat with his free palm. The other was hovering over the waistband of your shorts, his thumbs deftly unbuttoning them and dragging the zipper down.
“Tell me now if you don’t want this,” he panted. “And I swear I’ll stop.”
You shook your head vigorously. “If you stop right now, Jaeyun, I might just have to kill you.”
Jake gave you a crooked smile and kissed you again, harder than the first time but just as pleasurable.
His fingers dipped into your underwear, and you both groaned when he found your clit. He was surprised that the little amount of foreplay already made you this wet. You were just glad to have his fingers where you needed them the most.
You moved your hips in rhythm with his digits, the figure-eight patterns he was drawing into your skin creating stars behind your eyes. You released numerous whimpers and gasps into Jake’s mouth as he kept rubbing up and down your pussy, your clit receiving the most attention.
But it wasn’t enough.
“Jaeyun, I need you inside of me, please,” you begged. You gripped onto his shirt tightly to emphasize how bad the desire was to feel him stretch you open.
He nipped your lips again. “Climb in the back seat, baby.”
Jake followed in suit as soon as you moved from the passenger seat to the back. Once he sat down, you had his pants around his ankles and the head of his dick lined up with your entrance, your panties moved to the side to make room for him.
The fullness of his cock filling you to the hilt made your eyelids flutter. Jake knocked the back of his head into one of the headrests, the groan that left his mouth so beautiful you wished you could’ve replayed the sound on loop.
“God, you’re so tight.” He pushed his hips up further into you, the tip kissing your cervix. “It’s fucking incredible.”
You moaned in agreement. Beginning to grind his hips into yours, you licked and sucked the spot behind Jaeyun’s ear. You remembered how much he loved it the first night you had sex, and he loved it even more now that you were partially in control riding him.
He bucked up into you here and there, but for the most part, you were setting the pace. The sounds of your skin slapping against each other as well as both of your moan-laced expletives filled the back seat.
“That’s it, sweetheart. Bounce on this cock. Show me how much you want me.” He trapped your hips with his hands, holding on tight as you continued to grind against him.
“I want to come so bad, Jae,” you gasped. “Please make me come.”
Jake took his index and middle finger and found your clit again. He circled the nub with tenderness as you continued to ride him without mercy. He knew he could come at anytime with how well you were touching him and taking all of him inside of you, but he had no problem waiting until you found your pleasure first.
You felt the orgasm creeping up on you, starting in the pit of your stomach and ready to come to the surface. You begin to grow sloppy with your rhythm, and Jake took extra effort with his fingers to push you over the edge.
“Let go for me, love. Come all over me.”
You cried out, clutching onto Jake’s hair hard as you rode out your orgasm to its full capacity. Jake let go in that same moment, painting your insides white and cursing the entire time at how good it felt.
When you sat down next to him in the back seat, both of you sated and breathless, you knew the path forward was uncertain. And sure, a million questions still lingered in your mind, but you stored them away without a second thought, refusing to let them ruin your current happiness.
This led to where you were with Jake for the past six months, having sex every time he was in town and even sneaking off to visit him when you had the chance. He would pick you up in his truck and hold your hand across the console the entire drive to and from his student apartment. The two of you were skilled at keeping your trysts out of sight from Jay both in your hometown and on campus, the local spots he wanted to take you to and your favorite hometown stores not ones Jay frequented often.
At the same time, Jay had gotten back into a relationship with Dahyun, but you were optimistic for the both of them this time around. He seemed to be really happy, as were you, although he didn’t know the reason why. Dahyun would hang out with the guys and you when she got off work, and the four of you would drink and watch movies together like any other couples would.
The only part that didn’t fit such a picture perfect image was the fact you and Jake were not a couple at all. You slept together and did most things boyfriends and girlfriends did, but there were no labels. It was as if saying it out loud would make it real, and then you’d have to confront the biggest hurdle of all: telling your brother. And you were determined to put that off for as long as possible.
One morning, as you made breakfast in the kitchen for all three of you, Jake slid in behind you without you noticing. You gasped, feeling his chest against your back. “Jae, you can’t do that!”
“Couldn’t help it. Smelled pretty good in here,” Jake responded, kissing the spot that joined your neck and shoulder together, his hair tickling your ear in the process.
“I know, I can’t wait to eat it.”
“I was gonna say the same thing.” Jake smirked.
“Jae,” you reprimanded him, grinning. “Jongseong could come down at any second.”
“But he’s not. Last time I checked, he was still asleep.” The curve of his lips touched your collarbone, making you shiver.
“And when was that?”
In that moment, you both heard Jay yelling “I did it!” in tandem with his quick steps down the staircase. You both split apart in record time. Jake pretended he was searching for a drink in the fridge while you flipped the fried egg in the pan.
“I finally did it,” Jay exclaimed, a wide smile on his face directed at Jake.
“Did what?” Jake asked.
“I got you a date with Dahyun’s cousin Jihyo tonight. Dahyun’s been dying to go out to this new restaurant downtown, and I know you’ve been lacking in the pussy department lately.” You felt the saliva in the back of your mouth hit the wrong pipe, and you coughed.
“You okay, sis?” Jay asked, grabbing you by the shoulder.
“Yeah. Just choked for a second, sorry.” There was nothing wrong with Jake going out; he had no obligations to you. Yet, at the same time, the thought of him finding someone new felt like acid on your tongue.
Jay turned back to Jake, excitement filling his features again. “Come on man, you haven’t picked anyone up in what? Five months? Either your game got terrible or you’ve been holding out on me about some new chick.”
You plopped the fried egg on the plate next to you and motioned for Jake to pick it up. “Over medium, how you like it.”
“How do you know his egg order, freak?” Jay questioned you with a chuckle.
“I asked him this morning, dingbat. While you were snoring in your room and told me to leave so you could get your beauty rest.” Jay gave you the middle finger but you didn’t pay attention to him. You looked back at Jake with shy eyes. “You want toast?”
“No thank you,” Jake said with a smile that didn’t meet his eyes. You could tell when Jake was uncomfortable. His entire body grew stiff at the thought of being roped into a double date with a stranger.
But, avoiding suspicion, Jake said, “Sure man. Can’t promise I’ll be into her, though.”
Jay smiled and patted his friend on the shoulder. “I’ll take it.”
When Jay ran back upstairs to call Dahyun with the news, Jake dropped his plate back on the counter. He suddenly pinned you against it with his hands on your waist, forcing you to look at him. “I don’t have to go on this date if you don’t want me to.”
You shook your head, the faintest frown on your face, hoping it looked more like an expression of indifference. “If you don’t, Seongie’s going to ask more questions. Besides, we’re not together. You don’t have to ask for my permission.”
“That’s not what I’m doing.” He furrowed his eyebrows. If there was one emotion you didn’t show him often, it was ice. But if the alternative was being emotionally exposed in that moment, you would choose the former.
“You know what I mean.” You broke free from his grasp, swallowing the bitter taste in your mouth. You turned off the stove and threw the sizzling pan into the sink. “Hope you have fun.”
Jake waited for you to elaborate, but after a minute of silence, he admitted his defeat and walked out of the kitchen. It cracked a piece of your heart to be so cold, but what other choices were on the table?
Once he was gone, you grabbed your phone from your pocket. Typing out the number in your mind and pressing the call button, you hoped the man you were looking for answered.
“Sunghoon?” You spoke, relieved he picked up. “I need a huge favor.”
“Do I have to?” Sunghoon groaned, straightening the collar of his polo shirt. “This is so ridiculous.”
“Hold my fucking hand, Hoon, or I swear to god I will tell Professor Choi you used my essay on Machiavelli for your paper.”
He released a low, agitated sound and put his hand in yours, squeezing your palm in retaliation. You smiled and walked into the restaurant.
You didn’t go all out with your outfit. A simple dress and denim jacket fit with the atmosphere of the Brazilian barbecue joint Dahyun wanted to check out. Sunghoon also followed your instructions to the letter, looking presentable without trying too hard.
The hostess made you both wait fifteen minutes or so for a table. Even at 9 PM on a Saturday, past normal dinner time for most folks, the business was still bustling due to the word of mouth from their grand opening a week ago. It didn’t take long though for you to find Jay and Jake sitting at a table in a corner booth. It was like Jake’s presence in any tiny or expansive space was a magnet, pulling you in without giving you space to put up a fight.
“So that’s the guy,” Sunghoon stated, staring at Jake next to your brother. “He’s cute. I see why you’re in love with him.”
“Shut up!” You laughed and smacked him in the chest. He pretended to act hurt, smiling the entire time.
Your Humanities classmate might have been too sarcastic and vain for his own good, but you knew he was a good friend and would always come if you called. And while it was purely platonic, he didn’t mind playing the part of the arm candy for another free essay.
In the midst of your shared laughter, neither of you saw both Jay and Jake walking over to you. Jay’s cough pulled you out of your trance, and you stood stock still at the sight of Jake’s clenched jaw and crossed arms, immediately dropping Sunghoon’s hand in the process.
Jay said your name in annoyance. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Hoon and I have class together, but we decided to have dinner after studying,” you say with a smile. “Funny we’d be at the same place as you guys!”
“You have my location, dipshit,” Jay said with a stone face.
“Just because I have it doesn’t mean I look at it,” you said in your defense.
Hoon held his hand out to both men, but you knew it was bait specifically meant for Jake. “Nice to meet you.”
Jake clenched his jaw even tighter. You thought he would break the bottom half of his face if he kept it up. To your surprise, he grabbed Sunghoon’s hand like a pure gentleman. Jay did the same.
You immediately felt so small. It didn’t have to be this way, trying to pull a front for this guy that wasn’t even yours. If it took this much effort to be exclusive, a title you didn’t fight for to begin with, maybe it wasn’t meant to be.
When Sunghoon let go of Jay’s hand, you grabbed him by the bicep. “We can just go somewhere else. We’ll probably wait another hour before getting a table if we stay, anyway.”
Jay agreed. “I had to book this in advance, so she’s probably right.”
Jake looked directly in your eyes when he said, “Hope you have fun.” Mirroring your words from earlier, Jake’s were laced with spiteful sarcasm.
Sunghoon put a hand on the small of your back and guided the two of you out of the restaurant. It took everything in you to not turn back and reveal it all in that stupid restaurant, but you circled back to your initial thoughts. What would it do attempting to claim him now? It was already pointless.
You didn’t make it home until midnight, spending the night scarfing down Chinese with Sunghoon in his apartment and watching old seasons of New Girl together. It was a bitch thinking about what it would be like when you got home. Jay would quiz you on Sunghoon and his motives or Jake would get defensive on what you were doing with the guy to begin with. Or both.
The last piece of advice Sunghoon left you with as he drove off was to “be honest” with Jake, if that was any bit as simple as it sounded coming out of his mouth.
You stepped inside your house without a care for your noise level, knowing your parents were off on an overseas conference for four days. And what were the chances the guys had gotten home by now?
But, like the first night you had spent together, Jake was waiting up for you in your room, sitting stock straight with his hands in his lap.
You didn’t freak out or feel shocked by his presence. You were glad to see him actually, but greeting him with anything but a hello would have been inappropriate given the last few hours.
“Hi,” you began.
“Why have you been gone so long?” His voice was clipped, matter-of-fact but laced with authority. The mixture of sadness and anger in his face surprised you. Jake was always fun, silly, casual…never like this.
“I lost track of time.” It was the easiest answer to give him, even if it wasn’t enough to assuage his concerns. “We just ate takeout and watched sitcoms.”
He nodded and stood up. Walking closer to you, the emotions on his face registered to you so clearly now. The anger was simply misplaced pain, unsure where to go but in front of you for an answer. “What do you want from me?”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m asking you what this is, what are we doing here?” He ran a hand through his hair. “Seeing you tonight with that dickhead was all I thought about while eating that churrasco and listening to Jay’s dumb jokes. And if that’s against some unspoken rule, I need to know.”
You gulped down a heavy bubble of air. It was now or never. Choose to either lose the guy you had spent so much time with by keeping your feelings to yourself or risk him breaking your heart by being vulnerable.
“I don’t want you going on dates with anyone else.” You beginning with that wasn’t perfect, but you were out of ideas.
He nodded. “Okay.”
“Sunghoon’s a friend, but you’re my best friend. And you make me feel like nobody else ever has.” Your lip quivered. “I feel like an idiot for not saying it before, but I’ve liked you since the second Jay introduced all of us to you. And maybe all you want out of this is exclusive sex and I’m even more of an idiot for saying all of this but—”
Jake caught your mouth in a perfect kiss, effectively shutting you up. A tear passed between your lips, but he was all you tasted. He pressed his forehead to yours, eyes bright and expression full of mirth. “You’re a beautiful idiot, but still an idiot for not realizing I feel the same..”
You gasped. Grabbing his shirt, you pulled him back in hungrily.
The subsequent kisses and touches were ripe with the things you didn’t know how to say in words but could easily express with your body. Every kiss on his jaw told him how enraptured he made you feel. Each pass of your hands exploring his naked skin expressed why you saw nobody but him in the most crowded room. And when you took him into your mouth, you hoped Jake knew why it was so easy to fall for him and want nobody else.
“Just like that,” he said, tenderly grabbing your hair as you stroked what you couldn’t fit past your lips.
It didn’t last long. Jake pulled you in his arms and said, “I want to be inside you.”
Jake held you as you sunk down onto him. Your legs were wrapped around his waist as he sat on the edge of the bed, rocking his hips up into you. No matter how many times you had sex, it still felt incredible feeling all of him fitting around the spaces inside of you. You wished he could occupy them forever.
“Fuck,” you exclaimed, clutching the hair at the nape of his neck. Your bodies were slick, foreheads touching but slippery from perspiration.
But it didn’t matter how loud you were being or how sweaty your skin became. All you could focus on was the words that came out of Jake’s mouth. “God, I love you so much.”
It didn’t make you slow down, instead riding him faster and kissing him fervently in response. You mewled into his mouth, feeling yourself coming undone quickly.
“I’m gonna come,” you announced.
“Right there with you, sweetheart. Come with me,” he said, and so you did. You felt the warmth of him inside of you in tandem with the downfall of your orgasm, siphoning every drop until you were spent.
When you were lying next to each other, however, you remembered those three little words that slipped from his mouth.
“You said you loved me,” you stated in post-coitus bliss, covering half of your face with your comforter.
“So what if I did?” He was glowing, and it only made you smile harder. “So what if I do?”
You smirked and pecked his lips sweetly, nipping his bottom lip. “I love you too, you goof.”
You woke up next to each other that morning, both in a euphoric daze despite your fatigue. You also took into account how you now held the title of Jake’s girlfriend, a majority of the reason why you were a thousand leagues above cloud nine. Jake showed his joy in the form of his tongue pressed to your clit.
But it didn’t last for long.
You weren’t fast enough to cover yourself when Jay barged in asking whether or not you had seen Jake at all. Little did he know he would find his best friend in the last place he ever expected.
Which led to now, your brother interrogating the two of you like you committed the worst crime humanly possible. In a way, you could see why he would think such a thing.
“So you kiss my sister—” Jay starts.
You cut him off, grabbing Jake’s hand. “I kissed him first.”
“Then you decide to hook up in my car.”
“It was actually my car.” Jake counters, squeezing your fingers with his own.
“And now I find you guys here in your room”—Jay looks directly at you—“just doing whatever the fuck you were doing before I came in.” His face is red from the shock. “How long has this been going on?”
“Six months,” Jake says.
Jay takes a deep breath of air into his lungs, his body rising and falling at a rapid rate. He’s probably grateful your parents can’t hear him yelling. Otherwise they’d come in and ask more invasive questions while you’re not in the position to answer them, half naked and all.
“And where was I while you guys were fucking behind my back?” Jay asks, darting his eyes between the both of you.
“Hanging out between Dahyun’s legs?” You hypothesize, throwing your other hand in the air. “How the hell are we supposed to remember?”
“And you expect me to believe you kissed his scrawny ass first?” Jay asks you.
“Dude, you’ve seen me shirtless,” Jake remarks, rolling his eyes.
“True, but it’s not much of a show, bro.”
“Seriously, this is not the point!” You yell, placing your face in your hands.
“Yes it is! You’re my sister!”
“And she’s my girlfriend,” Jake interrupts, “so you need to get your head out of your ass and stop acting like she’s not capable of taking care of herself.”
Jake stands up to Jay, the two of them face to face with each other in a way you expected when your relationship came out of the shadows. You don’t want Jay to feel betrayed, but at the same time, it will kill you if Jake gets hurt trying to stick up for you.
“My priority will always be looking out for my family.” Jay turns to you, disappointment clear as day in his eyes. “No matter how I’ve shown it, I didn’t expect to be branded the bad guy for wanting to protect you.”
Jay slams the door on his way out. Tears prick your eyes, silence permeating the bedroom.
Jake sits back down next to you and places a few kisses on the curve of your shoulder. “Believe it or not, but I think he took it better than I thought he would.”
“He hates me,” you sob.
“He doesn’t hate you. Maybe me, but never you.” Jake takes your hand and kisses the inside of your palm, tucking it gingerly between his fingers. “Nobody could ever hate you.”
“I need to fix this, though.” You swiftly kiss Jake’s lips before standing up to get dressed, throwing on a pair of gym shorts and one of his shirts you stole. When you go to Jay’s room, it’s empty. But you hear the faint notes of a guitar from somewhere on the first floor of the house.
You walk down the stairs to find Jay strumming his favorite Yamaha in the living room, the one your father brought home from a trip to Japan for Jay as his graduation present. You step towards his spot on the couch quietly, but he’s already too adept at sensing your presence. He stops playing but says nothing.
“Hey,” you say.
“Don’t.” Jay’s voice is gruff. “Don’t ‘hey’ me right now.”
“Well, if you’re looking for an apology, I’m not going to give you one.”
The two of you are silent, unsure where to take the conversation next. What was there to say? Yes, you felt guilty for keeping Jay in the dark, but either way, the situation would hurt him. His best friend and his younger sister falling in love is not ideal, but feelings couldn’t be fought. All the same, the deceit sat in your stomach like a stone, begging to be thrown away.
You sigh and sit down on the love-seat, adjacent to Jay’s spot on the couch. “I really like him, Seongie,” you confess. “No. I, actually—I love him.”
Jay looks directly at you for the first time, his eyes a bit puffy. “Are you happy?”
“What?”
“Are you happy? Does he treat you well?”
You laugh. “I mean we’ve only been a couple for about 12 hours, so—”
“You know what I mean, asshat.” The two of you share a laugh together, the mood much lighter than before. “Do you see a future with him?”
You nod. “Yeah, I do.”
“Then I can’t get in between that. I just wish one of you would’ve fucking said something.”
“And I would’ve, but you know Jaeyun.”
Jay nods. “He’s a wimp.”
“No,” you shake your head, smiling. “He just didn’t want to hurt you either. He loves you, and I love you, too.” You run a hand through your hair, contemplating your next words. “I’m just not a baby anymore, Jongseong. I know how to handle things.”
Jay nods, sniffling. “I know. It’s just…hard.”
“What is?”
He puts his guitar by his side. Clapping his hands together, he tries to brush off whatever emotion is surfacing. “It’s nothing, I don’t know. Stupid, probably.”
You move positions to sit closer to your brother, placing a hand on his knee. “Nothing you say to me could ever be stupid.”
He knocks you in the shoulder with his fist lightly. “It’s just—when did you get so grown up? You gotta stop doing that.”
“If I did, I’d be dead.”
“True.” Jay chuckles. “I’m sorry for freaking out.”
“I’m sorry for keeping it from you. And I hope you and Jaeyun can talk, too.”
“We will. For now, I’m just glad we did.”
Nodding, you open your arms for a hug, a hug that Jay gladly accepts. It’s a tight one that encompasses both a white flag of retreat and a sincere love for you that you forget to remember sometimes in the midst of his teasing and admonishment. You now know, more than ever, it’s his way of protecting you and proving he cares.
And you’re grateful to have both him and now Jake by your side through all your successes and slip-ups.
“You don’t seriously think I’m okay with you wearing that dress again now that you have a boyfriend, right,” Jay asks. “I’m even more against it because Jake will have a heart attack.”
You chuckle and twirl in the mirror, checking the back of your dress to make sure it’s sitting right on you. “He thought I looked pretty in it the first time.”
“Well now, he’s not worried about you looking pretty. He’s worried about other douchebags checking you out.” Jay flips the page of his book, trying to feign a nonchalant expression. “I’m just saying, he’s still my best friend. I know things.”
You poke your tongue out at your brother. The doorbell rings and you rush to answer, your heart beating at a vigorous pace in your chest.
Once you open the door, Jake’s standing there with a bouquet of flowers and a lopsided grin on his face. When he sees your dress, however, his smile falters a fraction.
“Oh my god, Jay was right!”
“I usually am,” Jay yells from his space in the sitting room armchair.
Jake looks confused, but the realization dawns on him in a flash. “No, you look beautiful. It’s just…a bit short, don’t you think?”
You pout, crossing your arms. “I spent so much time getting ready, Jae.”
“I know, sweetheart.” He takes his free hand and rests it on your hip. “And everyone will be able to see that. I just don’t want to have to fight anyone off at the restaurant.”
You giggle. Going in for an impromptu kiss, you smell the traces of his cologne. The scent could make your knees buckle, but you try to stay confident and lull your boyfriend into submission. “I’ll only be looking at you. And I can defend myself just fine, baby.”
Jake’s bottom lip juts out. “So, I can’t convince you to change?”
You shake your head, grinning.
Jay sneaks up behind you, making you gasp. “If she isn’t gonna listen to her brother, she’s definitely not gonna listen to you, man.”
Jay and Jake exchange a handshake. You’re relieved their relationship has recovered from the reveal of your relationship, but you know that means they have the potential to gang up on you more out of their misguided sense of protection.
“I have the advantage though. She’s in love with me,” Jake sing-songs, kissing you on the cheek after doing so.
“Regardless,” you say, “I’m wearing the dress.”
Jay rolls his eyes. “Just change, for fuck’s sake.”
GENRE: enemies to lovers, smut, fluff, angst, masturbation, cunnilingus, fingering, unprotected sex, squirting, lots of kissing, mention of food, usage of nicknames, featuring jay, jake, sunoo, wonie, karina and ningning (aespa), and beomgyu (txt).
WORD COUNT: 17.4k words
SYNOPSIS: having your enemy in your friend group was tiring enough, however, having him shift into your apartment at the same time all your roommates slash friends had to leave you alone to attend their club’s exchange program for a whole week? yeah, that was your final straw.
WARNING: 18+ content, minors dni.
A/N: hihi loves <3 i know i’m late, but better late than never, right? this fic wouldn’t have been complete without my loves @hoondrop , @jaeminvore and @jeane-e giving me ideas throughout. i hope you guys will like it :3 (not proofread) all likes, comments, reblogs and feedbacks are highly appreciated! iloveyou all <33
Chapter 1. The café.
The sound of keyboard clicking always clicked your brain in the right way, especially when you were collectively using your brain and will to finish and submit the assignment—which was due in, oh well, thirty minutes.
It should’ve been perfect, you thrived working under pressure, you were researching on your favourite topic and were sitting in the comfort of your favourite cafe. It should’ve been the ideal environment for you to work on and yet, that just wasn’t the case.
You were so close to completing it, finally working your brain to form the best possible conclusion for the assignment, but that was the exact second your train of thought broke, courtesy of the most obnoxiously loud laugh you’d ever had the pleasure of hearing.
“Can’t you shut up for a fucking second?” Your voice boomed through your friend group, reaching the person who was sitting right beside you, “just because you have nothing to do doesn’t mean that others are free of work too,” you ranted, frustration clear on your face.
Your words were clear, however, the guy only smiled in amusement, causing your other friends to sigh.
You took that second to cuss out just how effortlessly devious he looked with his ruffled black hair, his specs perched upon his perfectly upturned nose only hid his dark eyes as he stared at you, his lips a light shade of red from how much he bit it while trying to suppress his laugh, and a smirk always plastered on his annoying little face.
“Can’t you guys stop fighting and fuck it out or something? The sexual tension is so insanely thick, I might have to use a knife to cut it down,” Sunoo huffed out, staring at your way disapprovingly.
“It’s too obvious if I’m being honest, Heeseung can’t stop talking about Y/n even when she’s not around,” Jay went on, giving his input, your eyebrow cocking up his way.
“Wait! Do you remember the Beomgyu guy? Fifteenth March, twenty twenty four, he was coming to ask Y/n out and, Heeseung completely sabotaged it by grabbing her book and running away to some other place as soon as Beomgyu started walking towards Y/n? Which distracted her as she ran after him,” Jungwon said, eyes wide and head nodding as he agreed with himself.
“Oh and, when Y/n got herself the vanilla perfume when she overheard Heeseung mentioning he hated the scent of vanilla?” Winter added.
“Right. When in reality he’s quite literally obsessed with that scent,” Sunghoon chuckled, watching your eyes widen in disbelief.
“And now she smells just like he wants each day, not that he wasn’t obsessed with your scent already,” Ningning helpfully added with a shrug.
You blinked twice to process this, having gone through a series of emotions within the span of two minutes was a tiring process, however, Heeseung was only amused, as if the teasing didn’t get to him at all.
Almost as if he was enjoying it.
“Oh, fuck you guys. He’s not worth my attention.” You side eyed Heeseung, the corner of his lip quirking up with your comment.
You still had your assignment to finish, and there was absolutely no way you were going to sit next to Heeseung with your cheeks heating up at the countless instances of your so called obsession thrown your way, so you got up, trying to collect your papers and laptop, only for your wrist to be grabbed by Heeseung.
“I’m not worth your attention and yet you’re leaving, hm?” He asked, voice so calm, almost as sweet as honey as he stared into your eyes, smirking soon after, “are you sure I don’t affect you in any way, darling?”
A series of hoots slash gasps were heard, which surely disturbed the entire cafe but your friend group lived for the drama.
You scoffed, looking elsewhere, trying to walk away but his grip on your wrist was too strong.
“Let go, Heeseung,” you gritted your teeth.
“Wow,” Sunghoon whispered, sipping on his drink with more interest than ever.
“I think you’re obsessed with me,” he chuckled, voice smoother than velvet, tugging your wrist closer to him, a gasp leaving your mouth as you trip and fall right on his lap, “am I wrong?”
Two flashes went off at that very second, your wide eyes turning to look at Sunoo and Ningning with an accusatory glance as your heart beated out of your chest, his arms holding you close to his body.
“Don’t let us interrupt, go on,” Sunoo nodded, making you groan while Karina tried to say something to calm you down, which your mind didn’t bother registering in the middle of the chaos.
“Don’t fucking create a scene here and let me go,” you warned Heeseung, looking at him, trying to ignore the evident lack of distance between your bodies, and well, your faces.
“Only if you agree to it, darling,” He whispered back.
“I don’t think we should watch this anymore,” Jay coughed out in distance.
“There’s nothing to agree here, Heeseung,” you gritted out, trying to get up and get out of his grasp.
“Yeah?” He asked.
“Yeah,” you whispered.
“Fine, then live with me for a week.”
“What?”
“Wait, what?”
“Huh?”
You didn’t even bother realizing which friend exclaimed what, you just stared at Heeseung in disbelief, hating the fact that his vanilla musk scent was invading your senses.
“Have you officially lost your mind?” You asked, genuinely concerned.
He shook his head with a little chuckle, eyeing the whole friend group as if they’ve been hiding something you should be knowing. Their gulps and inability to meet Heeseung’s eyes only made you more curious, “what the fuck is going on?” You asked.
“We’re practically gonna be roommates now,” Heeseung let out ever so smoothly.
“What?” You asked back dumbly, ignoring Jay’s cough in the background.
“Well, you see,” Karina started with an awkward laugh, “Since Sunoo moved out to live in the dorms now, one room is empty in our apartment,” she explained, playing with her nails just to avoid your gaze.
“And you’re giving it to him?” You asked, thumb pointing at Heeseung in a very demeaning manner.
“Well, ouch,” he commented just to piss you off more.
“Wow guys. And when were you planning on telling me all this?” You asked, annoyance heightened even more, you could feel a headache coming, almost rushing to you from a mile away.
“Well, we’re all going for the exchange program next week so we figured it would be nice for Heeseung to shift before that, given that you both are the only ones in our group who didn’t bother joining our exchange program club,” Jake tried to avoid eye contact as he explained.
Your mind was spinning. Having Karina, Ningning, Jay, Sunghoon, and Jake as your roommates was enough even though Sunoo moved out, albeit you had to pay more rent, but having Heeseung in the same space as you each day? Sharing the necessities, eating together, commenting on your daily lifestyle with the nastiest smirk on his face? Criticizing the way you pair up your comfortable shorts with the same, favourite pair of T-shirt you own each day just because it feels right. The way—
“I don’t think there’s gonna be any problem in all honesty, cause she’s comfortable with me already,” Heeseung pointed out, gripping your waist tighter, a reminder that you were still sitting on his lap.
You gripped on his arm, digging your fingers to hurt him, “I’ll kill you if you don’t let me get up this second,” you seethed out, your ears warmer than ever.
“Just agree to it then, baby,” he whispered, staring at your lips and even your friends had stopped looking your way by now, not wanting to interrupt anymore.
“A week alone with you would be nothing but hell, Lee Heeseung,” you said, still looking into his eyes.
“I’ll take that as a yes then. A bet is a bet baby, don’t fall in love with me,” he winked, loosening his grip on you as you got up right that second.
Even your legs felt wobbly by now, the proximity being too much for you to handle. Yet, you weren’t one to lose.
“Love and me? Ah, yes why not? Your own face is blood red with how much you’re blushing, I hope that helps,” you pointed out before grabbing your belongings and rushing out of the cafe, completely missing the smile on Heeseung’s face.
“They’re down bad, aren’t they?” Jake whisper-asked Jay, who chuckled.
“Yeah. Yes, they are.”
Chapter 2. The humble abode.
Rushing out of the café was the only thing you could manage to do, getting into your car and deciding to do your assignment right there before getting back home and thinking about what happened a few minutes back.
It wasn’t easy.
Not when your ears were burning hot, and you weren’t even sure if it was because of anger or embarrassment. Or the underlying fear of what was to come.
Heeseung was going to be your roommate.
The same Heeseung who had been nothing but annoying throughout your high school years, and now, in your university too. Having the same group of friends helped, it really did as you could avoid him (read: or try to avoid him) but having him invade your personal living space would revoke any sense of comfort for you.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
You were tired, almost lifeless on the couch after you had typed out your assignment, keeping your swirl of emotions to yourself, however, you weren’t gonna let your friends get away with this.
Which is why you attacked Jake as soon as he entered the apartment.
And he silently cussed himself for being the first one to come back home.
“Listen, I know you’re mad,” he started, sighing and brushing his hair back as he made his way towards you, sitting down right next to you.
“I’m so gonna die,” you mumbled.
“But it won’t be that bad, trust me. You won’t even have to be home all day, you can hang out with your friends and just come back, sleep, avoid him and repeat the cycle!” Jake smiled, as if he had solved the biggest problem this world had.
“Right. All my friends, including your stupid ass, will be going out for an exchange program. Did you forget that, Jakey?” you smiled back sarcastically.
“Don’t you have any other friends?” He asked and you slapped his head, “ouch!”
“Where are others anyway?” You asked, looking around the empty apartment.
“Hoon and Ning should’ve been back by now, they left right after you did,” he said, you both stood up a second after in realization.
He tiptoed to the door of Hoon’s room while you made your way to Ning’s room, “ready?” you smiled, “three, two, one—”
And there they were, in their respective rooms, practically eating the faces of their girlfriends.
“Wow, now that’s life,” you chuckled as Ning stopped and looked at you with a red face, while her girlfriend, Nics, waved hi to you.
On the other hand, Sunghoon only cussed out loud, trying to hide his girlfriend, Moon, as he asked Jake to ‘close the damn door.’
“Well, when’s he shifting?” You asked, retrieving back to your old position on the couch.
“I think he’s gonna start sending his stuff in here like, today,” Jake nodded, checking the date.
“I’m gonna explode. This is not how I wanted to spend my vacations,” you groaned and Jake only patted your back softly.
“It’s okay, it’ll be okay,” Jake smiled.
Not even a second later, the sound of the door swinging open startled you, your body shifting close to Jake’s in the process, as he did the same, a hand on top of his beating heart.
As soon as Heeseung entered the apartment, carrying a duffle bag on his back, his eyes fell on how you and Jake sat in close proximity, staring at him with a questionable glare, his eyebrow cocking up at the sight.
“Since when are you guys so close—cozy with each other?” He asked, walking to you both, a scoff leaving your lips as you stood up, standing right in front of him.
“And how’s that any of your business?” You asked, walking away and making sure to bump your shoulder to his in the process.
“Ah,” he chuckled, shaking his head as he heard you walk to your room, slamming the door shut behind you, his eyes finally turning to Jake, giving him a look he couldn’t quite decipher.
Jake only tilted his head, not understanding the enmity between you, also the sudden change in the atmosphere of the room, he only looked at Heeseung with confused eyes as he asked:
“What did I do?”
Chapter 3. Not so humble.
Heeseung loved to make his presence known, especially when he observed how hard you tried to avoid him every passing second, as if you didn’t wish to acknowledge him at all. He was settling in just fine. In fact, he made sure to send in his bed the first thing the next day, which only gave him the perfect opportunity to stay for the dinner, rest the night, and stay for the breakfast before winding up his stuff at his old place.
It was still fine when he sat down next to you for meals, at least you had your friends around for four more days, which helped you ignore the said man for a while.
It was still okay when he continuously poked your arm to ask you for a spoon that was clearly closer to him, yet you passed it to him before turning your attention back to Ning, who was around for three more days.
It was still bearable when he played loud music at night, making sure to blast it on the speaker right after playing video games, which definitely irritated all your friends, but Jay was kind enough to lend you his noise cancellation headphones as you went to sleep, which you could keep for two more days.
It was your last straw when Heeseung stabbed his fork way out of where it should’ve been. There was absolutely no reason for Heeseung to eat from your plate, and not just any dish but your favourite side dish. That’s when you took a deep breath, turning to look at him, only to be surprised as he was ready with his fork up, offering you a bite of the exact same snack he had picked up from your plate.
His brow was raised, and Hoon looked concerned, being the only one who sat down to have dinner with you guys, but Heeseung didn’t really seem to mind.
“What? Don’t wanna eat anymore, princess?” He asked.
“I’d rather die than eat from the same plate as you,” you said, trying to ignore his muscles which were clearly visible as he was clad in the comfort of his tank top.
“Why not? I’ve heard it helps in spreading love y’know?” He said, biting his lower lip as he looked your way.
“Hah, as if.”
“Scared you’ll fall for me?” He smirked.
You scoffed, grabbing his hand and taking a bite of what should have been your meal, chewing it before saying, “let’s see what kind of love is gonna spread now, yeah?”
You gave him a look before retreating back to your room.
“Why exactly are you bothering her?” Hoon asked, taking a spoonful of rice in his mouth, “are you that desperate for her attention, loverboy?”
“C’mon, I’m not in love with her,” Heeseung spoke lazily, eyes still on your closed door.
“Right,” Hoon clicked his tongue, “you’ve never once denied it.”
“It’s just fun to see her bothered, she hates me anyway—”
“—which bothers you, and hence you try to grab her attention even more,” Sunghoon said, as calm as ever.
“Stop. You’re crazy,” Heeseung laughed it off, getting up and throwing a piece of carrot on Hoon, who in turn threw a cap of the water bottle right on Heeseung’s head, making him scream out comically as Hoon chuckled, mumbling something under his breath.
“They’ll be fucking by the time we come back.”
Chapter 4. Not your driver.
“Toothbrush?”
“Check.”
“Laptop?”
“Check.”
“Charger?”
“Check.”
“Passport?”
“Oh fuck, I almost forgot that,” Karina gasped as you helped her finish some last minute packing.
“I don’t wanna go to uni, but I have to submit these files,” you sighed while Karina finally zipped up her bag.
“I would have dropped you there but I have to pick up Ningning from her girlfriend’s place,” she sighed.
The door opened right then, “I couldn’t help but overhear—”
You rolled your eyes, “—eavesdrop.”
“Overhear,” Heeseung repeated, “that you need a ride. I’m going that way I’ll drop you off,” he smiled.
You stared at him, expressionless.
You wanted to punch the perfect smile off his face.
“I told him to be nice to you, so hopefully he’s gonna follow that,” Karina gave her input at your obvious reaction.
You looked her way with a surprised smile, “you did?”
“Of course! You should go now,” she said, shooing you away and asking you to get back as soon as your friends will be leaving by the evening.
“Yeah, we should save the gas and travel together, be good to the environment and our Mother Earth,” Heeseung cheeked.
“Oh! Great, I have to go and submit my file too, can I tag along?” Jake asked, looking at you.
“Yes!”
“No!”
You and Heeseung exchanged glances.
“We’ll share, we have to take care of our environment, Heeseung,” you smiled, grabbing Jake’s arm and walking out of the apartment.
You didn’t wait before getting into the backseat, which made Jake opt for the passenger seat, Heeseung looked your way in disbelief, even more so when you smiled his way.
It was one of the few genuine smiles of yours, which Heeseung didn’t get to see much around him, however it was a given that him being irritated brought you happiness.
Jake’s campus was farther away, yours was comparatively closer, and you looked out as Heeseung played music—one of those bands he loved, but he didn’t stop at your campus.
“Hey, she has to get off,” Jake said, looking at Heeseung.
“I’ll drop you off first, you have a flight in a few hours,” he theorized.
You rolled your eyes.
“Since when do you care so much about everyone?” You asked, looking at his eyes through the front mirror.
“I don’t,” he said, winking back at you, “only you.”
You sighed, closing your eyes as Jake got off, saying a goodbye to you both.
However, Heeseung didn’t start the car again, which caused you to open your eyes again, “why aren’t you driving?”
“I’m not a driver, my love. Sit here,” he patted the passenger seat twice.
“You can’t be serious, it’s literally a five minute drive.”
“Six minutes now that you’ve wasted sixty seconds arguing with me,” he spoke, checking his watch as if that would do anything.
You rolled your eyes yet again, something you’d do quite frequently around him, but nevertheless, you got off and walked to the passenger seat, closing the door shut and grabbing the seatbelt, only to turn around and see Heeseung’s face right in front of you.
“W—what are you doing?” You asked, breath shaky.
“Was gonna help you with the belt, but you’re fast hm?”
“I can do it—”
“Shh, just sit comfortably,” he whispered, his warm fingers touching yours, covering your hand fully before you let go of the belt, allowing him to buckle you up.
His messy hair fell on his forehead in soft waves, a constellation of light freckles covered his cheek, a broken eyelash rested there comfortably, and his scent, his ever so present scent invaded your scenes yet again.
“You’ve got a little something here,” you told him gently, pointing out where his eyelash was.
“Oh, just a minute,” he mumbled, carefully picking it up and placing the lash on the back of his hand.
Observing him was all you could do, especially when he looked so innocent as he closed his eyes, mumbling something under his breath before he curled his lips into a sweet pout, blowing the air on his fist in a gentle breeze.
“What did you wish for?” You asked before you could stop yourself.
He chuckled, only looking your way, “let me know if it comes true, princess.”
You couldn’t speak anymore, even when he leaned back with a slight smile on his face, starting the car again and driving.
You somehow subtly kept on noticing him, his grip on the steering wheel, the veins prominent on his hand and arms, his lip bitten in slight concentration. You shook your head, looking outside again, and in no time, you were in front of your campus.
“You’re welcome, princess,” he spoke, voice ever so smooth and you simply squeaked out a thank you before rushing out.
You blamed his scent.
It was all because of his scent.
Chapter 5. Home Alone.
It was three minutes past seven, the sun was setting and so was your mood as you bid goodbye to your friends who were filling up their bags in the backseats of the cabs they had booked.
Jay was busy giving you a list of things to take care of while they were gone. Karina hugged you as she waved a bye, Ningning only winked your way, looking at Heeseung right after. Sunghoon and Winter were already sitting in the car, too excited to leave while Jake waved at you like a happy puppy.
Heeseung stepped right in front of you, waving back with more enthusiasm than he had ever displayed before, screaming happy journey to everyone as the cars left one by one.
That’s what you have to deal with now.
With that, Heeseung made his way into the apartment again as you stood there for a minute more, slapping your forehead a few times, “I can do it,” you whispered, “it’ll be okay, I’ll keep myself busy, I’ll be okay.”
Overthinking was your detrimental forte, the one that Heeseung never failed to fuel. You should catch him off guard too, shouldn’t you? You should’ve grabbed his collar and warned him instead of freezing on the spot.
Your train of thought broke the second you stepped into the house, being caught off guard yet again by none other than Lee Heeseung, who so carefully grabbed one of your wrists and pinned you against the door, closing it right behind you in a swift go, “hi,” he smiled.
You’ve had enough, grabbing his collar into a fist and pulling him even closer, “fuck,” he groaned.
“It hasn’t even been a fucking minute and you’re already making my life a living hell, I swear to god, Heeseung.” You let go of the collar, grabbing his hair by the nape to pull him away.
The action which caused him to moan.
You let go of him that very second as he closed his eyes, “you’re such a pervert. Ew! What the fuck?” You looked at him with wide eyes, even more so when he chuckled deeply, his eyes on you again.
“Can’t blame me for that one, it feels really good, princess,” he said, putting his hands up in surrender.
“This won’t do,” you said, a hand on your forehead again.
“So what? Wanna set up rules like they do in those stupid movies?” He suggested, sitting down on the couch and looking at you, as if he expected you to sit down with him.
“Rules?” You pondered for a second, “yeah, anything to keep your behaviour in check,” you mumbled, and soon, you both were sitting on the opposite chairs of the dining table as you scribbled down the rules.
Y/N and Heeseung’s one week agreement <3
1. No touching each other.
2. No stealing food.
3. No loud music and video games.
4. No bringing guests without prior notice.
“No guests?”
“No. Keep your girlfriends away from here, understood?” You asked.
He chuckled, amused, “why? Would that bother you, princess? You don’t have to worry y’know? You’ll always be the number one in my heart,” he winked, resting his hand on his chest.
“No, thanks. Still don’t want you,” you told him, even though his last statement did sound sincere.
Way too sincere for your own liking.
“Can I write too?” Heeseung asked, and you raised your brow.
“Since you asked nicely.”
5. Chores will be divided equally.
6. One hour bonding time each day.
7. Y/N can’t avoid Heeseung.
“Why do we need bonding time?” You asked midway.
“Cause we’re gonna live together, so we should put our differences aside,” he shrugged, and you stared at him.
“We can just ignore each other.”
“Now, where’s the fun in that?”
“This isn’t a game, Heeseung.”
“But it’s exciting,” he said, and you sighed.
Arguing with him was pointless.
“Okay, fine.”
9. Maintain cleanliness.
That was the last point you added before you both signed the sheet, agreeing to add more in case you come up with any rules. It was the most normal you had been with Heeseung, but you still wanted to be away.
You didn’t wanna hurt yourself.
You tried not to think about it as you went to sleep, but it didn’t work much, not when your mind was hyper aware of the silence in the apartment. That’s when you decided to get up and grab a midnight snack, perhaps a cup of noodles would help you sleep better.
With tiredness still evident in your eyes, you worked the stove on, grabbing a pot to heat up water, standing still as you took the support of the marble countertop, your palms lay flat on it as you stared at the packet of mint chocolate that was in the shelf in front of you, something that Sunoo possibly had forgotten to take with him.
“Not sleepy?” A husky voice made you gasp and turn around, caging you right in between the counter and Heeseung.
“Fuck! You scared me,” you gasped at his shirtless figure, “why the fuck are you awake and why are you not clothed?” You asked, distressed.
“I heard noises from the kitchen so I obviously had to come over and check,” he said, tilting his head innocently right after, “I have to make sure the princess is safe, right?”
“I can very well take care of myself, thanks,” you huffed, waiting for him to move, which did not happen.
“Okay, then try pushing me away,” Heeseung said, a slight close-lipped smile present on his face.
You simply made use of the little space to pour the hot water into the cup noodles, covering it with its lid.
“You love these games too much, don’t you?” You said, finally looking up to see his body right in front of your face.
With thick yet lean muscles, he stood tall, his clavicles visible in an attractive fashion as the dim lights of the room only enhanced the slight traces of his abs, making it evident that Heeseung included working out in his daily routines.
You gulped unknowingly, closing your eyes for a second before meeting him, only for his eyes to fall on your lips for a slight enough, just enough for you to miss it.
“Not gonna push me?” He asked, still playful, but with a gentle rasp in his voice.
“You’re not appropriately clothed for me to touch you, Heeseung,” you said, trying to muster a bored, unimpressed expression, as if your ears weren’t burning warm.
“Why? Does skin to skin contact scare you now?” He challenged, “one touch is all it takes, babe.”
“Oh lord,” you groaned, stretching your neck back, only to find Heeseung’s gaze more intense than ever, “fine, move.”
You placed your cold hand on his warm torso, right above his heart, and you could have sworn it was beating a tad bit faster than how a normal heart should be beating.
Pushing him was practically impossible, especially when he bit his lip and chuckled, not moving an inch despite your efforts. The room felt warm as you scoffed and retrieved your hand.
“Can’t move?” He teased.
“I’m just tired, move.”
“Or, you’re just weak.”
“That’s all you can do Heeseung, challenge a tired girl who’s trying to eat.” You pushed him again.
“I’m strong, princess. Don’t you see?” He pointed at his body, and you closed your eyes yet again, trying to convert your feelings into anger.
“Your body might be strong but your fucking ego is weak.” You said finally shoving him enough for you to move.
“Now, now. That’s wrong, princess.” He said, grabbing your cup noodles and testing your patience yet again.
Messing with you was one thing.
Messing with you while you were sleepy was another thing.
But messing with you while you were sleepy and hungry, that was war.
“Give me the noodles back you small dicked asshole!” You chased after him.
He stopped you easily with a hand, twirling you around and pulling you back, his bare chest pressed against your back.
“Small dick, hm?” He mumbled, keeping the noodles on the counter beside you, dragging his warm fingers across your bare tummy, stopping right on your belly button, “it would go up to here, yeah,” he caressed the area before letting go of you.
You stood there, breathing hard as your cheeks burned with the implication of his cock in your cunt, deep inside you at that.
“How do you even get women, all talk and no action?” You asked, walking back to your room with the noodles in your hands, avoiding the fact that you were completely flustered.
“Oh I’ll show you all the action you need to see, princess,” he winked as you turned to look at him, his hands stuffed in the pocket of his sweatpants, “g’night, darling,” he smirked, walking away as you spent the night punching your pillow, eating your now soggy noodles.
Lee Heeseung was going to be the end of you.
Chapter 6. A proof?
In the span of a few days that Heeseung shifted at your apartment, you realized a few things.
First, Lee Heeseung loved being shirtless.
Second, Lee Heeseung was a good cook.
And third, Lee Heeseung was the biggest flirt known to mankind.
Now, putting them all together; you didn’t expect to wake up with the scent of fresh waffles and fruits spreading around the apartment. Nor did you expect Heeseung to set up a plate full of breakfast for you right around the time you woke up, that too with the biggest smile on his face.
It felt like a dream almost, and you were ready to ignore his shirtless body that gave you goosebumps and a sincere smile that almost made you smile too, to thank him.
But then, he did what he had to.
He opened his mouth and ruined it, going on about how you should eat fruits, it makes the cum taste sweeter, he said munching on an apple, laughing louder when you threw a spoon at him. That added to your annoyance simply because of the fact that he was practically glowing even in the morning, the radiant aura was too much for you to handle and you simply decided to avoid and ignore everything to have a spa day to yourself.
Heeseung did question why you were leaving, and you didn’t miss the hint of frown that was plastered on his face for a split second when he learned that you wouldn’t be around for the day, which you ignored because why would he even be sad? Just because he wouldn’t get to bother you today? That must be it.
“Come back soon, I still have things to prove to you,” he said, and you didn’t know what to expect anymore as you left the apartment.
There’s some sort of power in self care that makes you feel as if nothing could ever go wrong with you once you’re fully pampered, especially when your nails are freshly done, shaded in your favourite tone.
It’s seven in the evening when you get back home with three bags full of clothes hanging on your arms. Retail therapy was the way to go, it definitely de-stressed you for the day. It was too peaceful, and you didn’t know what was to come when you unlocked the door to your apartment, entered the hallway, taking off your shoes and furrowing your brows at the extra pair of heels there, along with the unusual sound.
You couldn’t quite pinpoint the noise that you were hearing. It wasn’t the usual music Heeseung played, nor was it the sound of the gaming system he often used, so you stepped in further, your heart pounding as the weak whimpers and the sound of slapping got closer.
The door to Heeseung’s room was wide open, and you found yourself peeking in before you could stop yourself, only for your eyes to go wider than ever as you saw what was going on inside.
The lights were dimmed, set to blue which made the room look hotter. On the bed was a girl you had never seen before, her face buried into the mattress as she made lewd noises, your mouth hung open, your heart beating faster as your eyes met that of Heeseung’s, his hair messier than ever and the cockiest smirk plastered on his face.
He was naked.
He was fucking the most brutal backshots into the cunt of the stranger, holding onto her waist and squeezing it, as if putting up a show for you as Meddle about by Chase Atlantic played in the background.
“Heeseung?” You whispered to yourself, your eyes never leaving his thick cock, observing his strong thrusts as if you were dazed—which you were.
And if that wasn’t enough, Heeseung had to take it up a notch by groaning out your name, spanking the girl’s ass and throwing his head back, mumbling your name and gulping as you saw his adam’s apple bobbing up and down.
He was fucking another girl and thinking of you, deliberately so.
You were too shocked to function, your arms losing their strength as your bags fell to the ground. The noise made you snap out of your dazed state, and soon you found yourself running to your room, locking the door behind you and leaning on it, covering your mouth as your chest heaved up and down.
That’s when you realized what Heeseung was trying to do—he proved it.
He proved exactly what he had promised you at night, and you knew you weren’t going to sleep tonight, simply because the guy you hated had proved it.
He indeed had a big fucking cock.
And he knew exactly how to use it.
Sleep was merely a concept to you for the majority of the night. How could you even close your eyes when you could see the most vivid image of Heeseung fucking a girl the second your eyelids close?
You had goosebumps over your body, your thighs pressed together as you thought back upon how he specifically groaned your name right after he saw you watching him.
“Ugh!” You groaned, rolling around and punching the pillow out of pure frustration.
You hated Heeseung yet he was the only thing on your mind.
“This can’t be real, there’s no way this is real,” you mumbled to yourself, your face getting hotter by the second but somehow, you managed to shut your eyes and drift to the wonderful place called the dreamland.
Chapter 7. Adulterated retaliation.
Overthinking was going to be your demise.
If it wasn’t enough as it was when you were awake, it was worse when you were asleep in your subconscious because there was no way you had just woken up with a gasp and, well, wetness in your panties that seeped through them and covered the crotch of your shorts.
You had a wet dream about the very man you swore you hated.
Grabbing your pillow, you hid your face as you let out a scream, looking distressed as you stared at your reflection when you got up. Flashbacks of how you dreamed to be the girl Heeseung fucked were scattered all over your mind.
“He groaned my name,” you mumbled, trailing your hand down your pants and into your panties, caressing the length of your cunt only for your pretty manicured fingers to come out soaked in your wetness.
“Fuck,” you groaned, “I need to avoid him.”
You knew for a fact that after last night, avoiding Heeseung would be the most difficult thing to do, cause he wouldn’t let it slide by any means.
However, you were surprised when you saw the kitchen and dining area empty, a plate was still kept there full of food for you, and you couldn’t be happier sitting peacefully and having your brunch, now that you had woken up late.
It was only when you were done washing your hands, wiping them clean of water with the towel, you felt someone’s presence behind you, and before you could fully turn around, Lee Heeseung had his slender fingers wrapped around your wrist, your body going stiff as a reminder of what had happened yesterday, but at least he was fully clothed today.
“Pretty nails,” he inspected them, leaning down to whisper in your ear, “hold this,” he asked you, giving you a bottle, not waiting for you to hold it as he practically made you wrap your fingers around it.
“The fuck—” you opened your mouth but Heeseung let go that very second.
“Yeah, they would look pretty wrapped around my c—” he mumbled, walking away, leaving you shocked yet again.
At this point, you were pretty sure he was toying with you cause there’s no way he was acting so nonchalant about everything he did since he shifted to your, now his too, apartment.
You sighed loudly, keeping the bottle away on the counter before you leaned back against it, wondering what to do to deal with Heeseung. There was a bitter feeling in your chest, you weren’t sure why. Was it that easy for Heeseung to bring someone home? Fuck rules, he didn’t care about any of that. You wondered why you both even bothered to make them in the first place.
And somehow, just somewhere deep inside you, there was this feeling that you wanted to do something similar to take revenge on him. But would you call a guy to aimlessly fuck you on your bed? No.
You’d rather call a guy up for a hangout, a guy who was actually your friend and didn’t go for the exchange program, a guy you knew Heeseung despised.
Maybe that would keep Heeseung at bay.
Or maybe that’ll make him jealous and keep you closer.
A voice whispered from inside your subconscious, and you clenched your jaw, wondering why you couldn’t decide which scenario you would prefer more.
Nevertheless, you went on with the plan, texting Gyu to ask him if he was free for the day, mentally thanking the teacher that paired you up with him last semester for a presentation, courtesy of which you got his number. He called you the second his phone chimed from your text.
“Y/N,” he practically cheered, you could feel the happiness ooze out of his voice, and you smiled as you asked him how he’s been, and if he was free this evening.
“Fuck! I have to run errands today, can I come over tomorrow though?” He asked and you sighed, saying yes.
At least you’ll have a distraction tomorrow, right?
“How do you miss me all of a sudden though? Finally realized you’re in love with me?” He chuckled, asking you the question and you shook your head laughing, knowing he couldn’t see you.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Gyu, I’m just bored at home, yeah?” You explained, and he promised that he’d be there to entertain you tomorrow afternoon.
Now though, you weren’t sure what to do for the day. Writing a diary? Nah. Listening to podcasts? Your brain was too clouded for that. You simply opted to take a shower and go out for a drive. It wasn’t like you were inexperienced by any means, it was just the fact that you hadn’t had sex in long which is why you were so frustrated.
Right?
You gulped, letting the warm water droplets caress your skin as they cascaded down the curves of your body. Even the slightest touch made you feel good, the bathroom getting fogged up as you took your time with the shower. But were you satisfied? You could hear the music blasting from Heeseung’s room now and his level of unbothered definitely bothered you.
“Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you,” you groaned, stepping out after getting ready for your drive. You thank the lords that you had a car, and you simply decided to visit the lake nearby as you grabbed your car keys and put on your shoes.
“Where are you going?” Heeseung asked, and you wondered how he always had the perfect timing when it came to you being out of your room.
“Away from you,” you mumbled.
He chuckled, “why, princess? What’d I do?” He rasped, and you didn’t bother looking at him, tightening your laces the second you heard him call you that stupid nickname yet again.
“Nothing. Nothing at all,” you grumbled, standing up, “you’ve been breaking rules left right and straight ever since you entered this apartment, and the audacity to bring someone else home to fuck while keeping the door open and—” you said it all in a breath, closing your eyes simply because you couldn’t repeat what he had done.
“And?” Heeseung came closer, and you looked at his wet bangs as if he had freshly come out of the shower.
Your tongue poked your inner cheek as you grabbed his T-shirt, something he did not expect as his hand landed on your waist, pulling you to him, “you’re so fucking annoying, I hate you,” you seethed out.
You could clearly see him being flustered, probably because you instigated this interaction, “you hate me?” He asked, dazed, looking down at your lips, “you sure? Cause I think you’re in love with me.”
“You’re the one who’s looking at my lips, you’re the one who was moaning out my name, you’re the one who’s dreaming about my fingers wrapped around your fucking cock,” you finally let out, “are you sure it’s not you who’s craving me?” You chuckled.
You had officially lost your mind.
“I—” Heeseung started, his eyes never leaving yours, but you could see a hint of uncertainty on his face, as if he was contemplating on saying something, and you didn’t let him.
“You’re pathetic.” You let go of him, pushing his shoulder, but he only grabbed your neck and pulled you back, his other hand now behind your head so you wouldn’t hurt yourself as he pushed you against the wall.
“Yeah? And you’re not? Are you not thinking about last night, Y/N?” You gasped as his lips barely caressed yours.
You would feel your knees giving up, especially when he took your name with such emphasis that you couldn’t help but look at him, his fingers coming up from your neck to your jaw, cupping it gently before he placed his thumb on your bottom lip.
“Isn’t that why you’ve been avoiding me, hm? You wanna be that girl so fucking bad, don’t you?” A shiver went down your spine as his voice got deeper by an octave.
“Shut up,” you breathed out.
“Why, princess? Do you not wanna kiss me?” He bit his bottom lip as you stared at him hopelessly, your breath hitched as your heart hammered against your ribcage.
“No,” you mumbled.
He smirked, “no?”
“Heeseung,” you whispered, frustration clear in your voice.
You hated him.
And you hated yourself more for wanting to kiss his stupidly inviting lips.
“Yes, baby?”
“I—”
“You?”
“Please,” you closed your eyes, not believing the situation yourself.
“Please what, my love?”
You whined, not having it in you to say it out loud.
“I won’t kiss you till you say yes,” he shook his head slowly, his thumb still tracing your lip.
“Fuck it, yes,” you groaned, pulling him closer by his collar as he quickly cupped your face.
His lips were plush against yours, warm and inviting to the point he was rushing to have you closer to him, absorbing the moan that you barely got to let out. He was needy, almost as frustrated as you, your fingers gripping the hair on his nape, a gasp leaving his mouth as you both leaned back for a microsecond, still connected by a string of saliva.
You were on your tiptoes, your body getting warmer by the second, pressed against his as you breathed heavily as he licked your mouth open, shoving his tongue in to get a taste of you, his warm breath made you lose your last bit of sanity. He was groaning, trying to get used to your taste, something which he had wanted to do for a while now. He was practically drooling into your mouth like a hungry puppy, his spit dripping down your chin. Your tongue was quick to lap it up when he leaned back to breathe, but his own tongue was quick enough to rest on yours as you both tasted your mixed saliva.
That’s exactly when you opened your eyes, only to see Heeseung’s flushed face looking at you with dark, desperation filled eyes. That’s when you finally came back to your senses.
You had just kissed Heeseung.
And you liked it.
Well, fuck!
You had to run, you had to leave.
That’s exactly what you did, panic clear on your face as Heeseung saw you rush out of his arms and run out of the apartment, he called out your name but you didn’t look back, your heartbeat skyrocketing as you started your car to drive away.
It was all a blur to you as you somehow managed to reach the lakeside parking, which was almost empty on the side you had parked your car. Your mind was elsewhere, the taste of him lingered on your lips.
“What did I just do?” You asked yourself, covering your mouth as you groaned.
Mentally slapping yourself, even more so when you shifted in your seat, only to discover that you felt wetness in your panties. They were soiled simply because Heeseung had shoved tongue in your mouth.
“Fuck you, Lee Heeseung,” you mumbled closing your eyes and leaning your head against the cold window, slowly unbuttoning your jeans, unzipping them right after.
“I hate you, I hate you,” you whispered, letting your fingers travel down your body, and into your panties.
The cold of your fingertips juxtaposed the warmth of your cunt, the warmth of your clit, your body reacting to the touch as you gasped, the image of Heeseung’s slender fingers crossing your mind as you pressed your cunt to feel something, anything, that would make you feel better. You were soaking wet.
All you wanted was to be taken care of, you wanted this frustration to go away and it didn’t matter that you were in public, your car windows were tinted for a reason as you spread your legs and pulled your bottom wear down, exposing your cunt. A deep shaky breath left your mouth as you placed your fingers yet again.
Heeseung would rub your cunt in gentle circles.
Your subconscious said, as you stimulated your cunt, your eyelids fluttered close, thinking about Heeseung and his veiny hands. That’s exactly what you needed—what you craved.
Heeseung was right, you’re the one who’s been so desperate to have him, that was proof enough as you moaned out his name, shoving two fingers inside your cunt that was begging to be filled with Heeseung’s cock. You threw your head back, desperately fucking yourself, teasing your neglected clit with your other hand.
“Ah—fuck!” You cried out, thrusting your hips up to meet your fingers. It was almost pathetic how needy you were being, especially when you didn’t even remember the last time being this horny.
Truth be told, no guy ever made you this wet with just a kiss, so it was definitely concerning how Heeseung (read: your enemy) had managed to do so just by provoking you non stop.
You mumbled his name, your thighs closing when you felt your high approaching, sweat forming on your forehead as you leaned against your seat, your right on the edge, a few more thrusts and you’d be done.
Your breathing gets louder, the plea of Heeseung’s name only makes your climax approach faster as you thrusted your digits in, sloppily so, a tear rolling down your cheek as the image of Heeseung moaning out your name flashed in your mind. That was your last straw.
Your thighs shook as your body tensed up, the familiar feeling of your unadulterated pleasure approaching washed over your body, now more powerful than ever, coating your fingers with your juices of desperation.
You were breathing hard, trying to come back to yourself after having the quickest, best orgasm of your life which most certainly did fog up your side of the window.
That’s when you let everything settle in your head, a scoff leaving your lips as you realized.
You wanted Lee Heeseung.
Chapter 8. Revenge, sue for damages?
It felt like a walk of shame when you entered the apartment again, being careful to tiptoe, as to not alert Heeseung of your presence by any means. Too much had happened to you in the span of two days, and you weren’t sure how you’d even get on terms with all of this.
You had successfully closed the door to your room by the time a thought popped up in your mind: what would Heeseung be up to now?
He didn’t have any time to react when you left, even then he was calling out your name. You wondered if he even wished to talk to you anymore. You wondered if it was just a game to him, now that you had realized that you actually truly did want a piece of him, you couldn’t help but think if he wanted the same, or was it just his way to maybe bother you?
You had no clue, and you most certainly weren’t going to confront him about it, you hated every bit of confrontations, and this was something that made you want to run away and never come back.
Heeseung on the other hand was wide awake and aware of your presence. He felt calm now that you were back, he had been worried ever since you left hours ago, you never once checked your phone when he called you, it was on do not disturb, and you hadn’t checked it. Heeseung wondered what you’d think of him when you see 26 missed calls on your phone.
He was confused, but there was a hint of a smile on his face as he touched his lips again for the nth time today, frowning right after as he thought of you never wanting to talk to him again.
Did he go too far this time?
He was dazed, a groan left his mouth as he punched the pillow next to him, he couldn’t control himself, not when you were so close to him, not when your scent lured him in. That wasn’t how he expected to kiss you, but now that he knew what you tasted like, it was hard for him to think of anything else but your lips.
However, the thought of you hating him kept him awake.
The thought of him hating you kept you awake.
And somehow you both fell asleep at the same time, your mind too tired to form another thought as you let the sleep take over.
You knew you’d wake up late, you were bound to wake up at 2 when you had slept (barely) at four in the morning.
However, in the midst of this chaos, you very conveniently forgot the plans you had made the prior day. Your head was hurting when you woke up, and you had no plans to go out of your room as you got up and took a shower in the bathroom attached to your room.
“Ugh, why’s my life like this?” You asked yourself as you brushed.
There was no answer, which only irritated you more.
It wasn’t the best day, of course, but you decided to dress up a little just so you could feel better—something you did when you felt down, despite not having a reason to dress up. You had to keep yourself occupied, especially when you could hear the cabinets opening and closing in the kitchen, which only made you hyper aware of how Heeseung was so close to you, yet so far away.
Were you making a big thing out of this?
You shook your head, grabbing your favourite cherry gloss and applying it over your lips, the lips that kissed Heeseung last night. It was hard not to stare at your lips in the mirror after that, you simply got zoned out yet again.
You’ve had enough of this, you sighed as you grabbed your phone, getting comfy on your bed yet again as you finally unlocked it, scrolling through the notifications to find something you didn’t expect.
26 missed calls from Heeseung.
Did this mean that he was actually worried? Maybe he had something to say? Maybe he wanted to tell you that he didn’t wish to talk to you anymore? Or maybe he simply wanted to confront you about it?
You were contemplating as you stared at the notifications, almost getting up to ask Heeseung about it, but then another ping of your phone stopped you right before you could go on outside.
Gyu 🐰: I’m here!!
Gyu 🐰: Do I ring the bell or will that be disturbing?
Fuck.
You had called Beomgyu in for the day, the past few events lingered so hard in your mind that this fully skipped your mind. And he was outside already, which means if he rings the bell then Heeseung would probably be the one to answer the door.
“Oh no,” you stood up, almost tripping on your feet as you heard the bell ring.
The door was open by the time you opened the door to your room, only to find Beomgyu and Heeseung right in front of each other.
“—I didn’t know you lived here,” Beomgyu said, patting Heeseung’s shoulder as you observed them carefully.
Heeseung had his jaw clenched, his eyes on the flower bouquet that Gyu had oh so conveniently bought for you. That’s exactly when Gyu spotted you, waving at you and saying your name in a cheerful tone, that made Heeseung turn to look at you.
Only to find you dressed up, as if you got ready for Beomgyu, a scoff leaving his mouth which you missed as you stared at each other for a few seconds, not sure what to say.
That’s when you simply grabbed Gyu’s arm and dragged him to your room, closing the door behind you as he simply let you do everything with a whipped smile on his face.
“Oh so we’re moving fast today, hm? You look so fucking pretty by the way—” he started blabbering, making himself feel comfortable on your bed.
“Shh,” you groaned, “stop please,” you whispered, and that’s when he realized that you were being serious.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” He asked, concern evident on his face.
“A lot,” you said, grabbing his arm and making him face you, “are you ready for some gossip, Gyu?”
You didn’t give him a chance to reply, telling him everything from the very start as his eyes widened. He let out a scream or two in between which definitely hurt your ears, and you were hiding your face by the time you reached the part where you kissed Heeseung.
“I’m so jealous right now,” Gyu said out loud and you only gave him a look before continuing, leaving the majority of the part where you touched yourself, but also including the fact that you’ve been sexually frustrated.
“So that’s what happened,” you said, gulping down and looking up at him.
He only blinked, once and then twice.
“So what I’m gathering here is the fact that Heeseung likes you and you, very sadly, like him back. Not to mention how you’re itching to have him fuck you,” he said, counting god knows what on his fingers, “bro really fucked a random girl after being hopelessly in love with you to prove his point, goddamn,” he whispered under his breath.
“Oh shut up,” you mumbled, pouting at the reminder, “he doesn’t love me.”
“Are you blind? He chased me away each time I tried to approach you,” he said, eyes wide as he tried to tell you how wrong you were, your heart beating faster all of a sudden.
“I’m gonna kill myself actually.” A groan left your mouth as you covered your face, “I’m so embarrassed, so confused.”
“You know what? You should fuck me to even things out with him,” Gyu said in the most innocent voice ever and you looked up at him yet again.
“Gyu.”
“Yes?”
“Shut up.”
“Okay.”
He only chuckled, coming closer to you with a mischievous smile, “oh so you wanna fuck Heeseung, hm? Not me? Only Heeseung? Wow, you’re so down bad,” he teased you and you somehow tried to push him away but he only got louder.
“I’m gonna kill you,” you mumbled as he went on singing something.
“Heeseung and Y/N sitting under a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g,” He screamed.
That’s when you got up and started tickling his sides, to which he had an explosive reaction as he fully let out a whine like the subbiest-sub ever, moaning out your name shamelessly as you hit his chest, asking him to shut up and lower his voice.
But that didn’t stop him from whining again when your fingers accidentally touched the sliver of his tummy, making him giggle like a kid right after, “please—go slow,” he cried out.
You stopped, looking at him being completely helpless and pouting, which was enough to get a giggle out of you, “oh lord,” you mumbled, shaking your head at his endless antics.
It certainly did help how he was there to listen to you, and of course, how he randomly suggested playing a game right after he was done whining.
However, what you didn’t know was that Lee Heeseung had his ear pressed against your door, his timing ever so convenient as he managed to hear whines and groans reverberating your room, that being his last straw as he stomped away, back into his room to possibly throw a vase away or two, but he simply resorted to punching the wall a few times, his blood boiling at the imaginary image of you being intimate with Beomgyu of all people.
He sighed, punching the wall again, leaning his head against it right after, “this can’t be happening,” he mumbled, getting away and dramatically falling down on his bed with a face that screamed upset.
Heeseung felt like his life was ruined.
Beomgyu was living his best life teasing you.
You felt as if your life was a game as you sat down to play a board game with Gyu.
It was kind of funny how you were playing the game of life.
It was even funnier when Gyu added a blue peg to your car after you got married at the church and named the peg Heeseung.
It wasn’t funny that Heeseung had yet again tried to eavesdrop by standing in front of your room, only to hear you and Gyu laughing about something, a clear reminder that he made you laugh, that you enjoyed your time with him.
Heeseung stared at the door as if he couldn’t believe this.
He had to do something.
Chapter 9. The thin line between hate and love.
It was dark outside by the time Gyu left your apartment, peacefully so, as there was no sight of Heeseung when you got out of your room and it gave you enough time to clean up and take yet another shower, getting comfy in your shorts again.
You weren’t sure what was in your mind anymore, while it was a given that you appreciated the distraction Beomgyu provided you with, you were also confused about everything that’s been happening lately, and even if you did hate confrontations, you wanted to confront Heeseung about this.
However, it was nearing midnight by the time you realized exactly how hungry you are, munching on snacks did not help you much through the day and you didn’t have much energy to go and cook something for yourself.
So, you opted for home delivery from one of your comfort food restaurants, happy about the fact that they were quick to deliver your meal, even if it was late at night. You paid the delivery man and headed straight to the kitchen to grab a plate and fork.
“Hungry, hm?” A deep voice spoke right beside your ear, alarming you as you turned around to look at Heeseung, who didn’t have a hint of a smile on his face, which was an unusual sight as he was always sporting at least a little grin if not more.
“Hee—” you gulped.
“—yeah?” He asked, his warm fingertips resting on your chin as he made you look up at him, “look at me.”
You still couldn’t look in his eyes.
He scoffed, “you’re funny honestly, one second you’re kissing me as if your life depends on it, and the next second you’re fucking another guy,” he said, clicking his tongue before he poked his inner cheek with it.
You didn’t expect this to happen, and you most certainly weren’t expecting Heeseung to be mad about it. Did he interpret it wrong? You didn’t fuck Beomgyu, but that’s exactly what Heeseung thinks it is that you did the whole day, the whines probably didn’t help, and it was no secret that Gyu was loud in everything he did.
Heeseung had you caged in his arms again, something he had done quite a few times after he shifted into your apartment, but the proximity never failed to faze you, his scent was as intoxicating as ever, and but at least he had decency to wear a loose fitted t-shirt this time.
You were zoning out again, but at the same time you were focused on his lips and how bruised they looked, as if he had been biting them out of frustration all day—the same lips you had so desperately kissed just yesterday, the same lips who had taken over your senses. They were so close to you again.
“Why do you care?” You asked, something you’ve been meaning to ask for a while, your face devoid of emotions.
“What?” He asked, taken aback by the sudden irritation that your voice now held.
“Why the fuck do you care, Lee Heeseung? Isn’t this just a game to you, hm? Isn’t that what you’ve been doing all along?” You pointed your finger at him.
It had started to rain outside, the downpour making the atmosphere seem darker than usual, you weren’t the biggest fan of rain, and the situation only made it worse.
“Why the fuck do you not understand?” He groaned, his arms on either side of you now as he took a shaky breath in, looking aside for a second as if trying to control his emotions from bursting out, “you think it’s a fucking game to me?”
“What else?” You scoffed, you needed him to say whatever was on his mind, you needed to rile him to the point he couldn’t help but tell you exactly what was going on, “is it not a game that you sabotage every time someone tries to approach me? Or when you keep bothering me with your constant attempt to pick fights? So why’s it a problem that I called Gyu here—”
“—don’t call him that.”
“Why not? Don’t like it? It’s so cute—”
Heeseung scoffed, “did he fuck you that good?” He asked, his blood practically boiling by now.
You bit your bottom lip, smirking right after, “better than the girl you fucked, seeing how she didn’t come back for more.”
“Yeah, princess. That’s why you wish you were her, right? You watched me fuck her with wide eyes, you gulped your drool down when you saw my dick thrusting into her cunt—you wanted it to be yours, I saw the jealousy in your eyes, baby. You can’t lie to me,” he whispered, his lips caressing yours.
“Or, you’re jealous cause it wasn’t you who fucked me. Isn’t that what you wanted? Isn’t that why you were moaning my fucking name?” You asked, your head tilted slightly to provoke him even more.
“Yeah,” he breathed out, making you look up at him in confusion as you saw him being dead serious about what he was saying, his eyes dark, “Yes I’m jealous, I fucking hate it, cause you’re mine.”
“What?” You were taken aback.
“Why? What’s so surprising, princess?” He chuckled, and you swore the butterflies you felt in your body were going feral, “you’re mine, are you not?” He asked in a whisper.
The indirect confession hung in the air, the sound of your breathing along with the heavy raindrops was loud, but not louder than your own thoughts. You couldn’t believe this was happening, it’s you who pushed him to confess, but it wasn’t something you had expected.
There was nothing but sincerity in the way he stared at you, waiting for some kind of reply, and suddenly you were back in fifth grade, trying to make sense of your feelings for the same guy who stood in front of you, your lips parting to say something, but it was hard for you to form words.
He had you trapped, mentally and physically. Did you belong to him? Did he belong to you? Did you wish to see him with someone else again? The thought was enough to make your blood boil. Did you want him to fuck anyone who wasn’t you—
“Are you fucking mine or not, Y/N—?” He asked and you didn’t let him speak anymore, grabbing him by his shirt as you surged forward in a rush to capture his rosy lips to yours.
His body reacted just as quick to kiss you back harder, his warm hand gripping your nape to keep you in place, your familiar taste simply had him groaning into your mouth, invading all your senses as you got dizzier in the essence of him, holding on to him tighter as you let yourself go as he sucked on your lips harsh enough for it to be swollen.
“Mine,” he murmured against your lips, voice deeper than ever as he squeezed your waist, a gasp leaving your mouth, “be good for me, hm?” He said, helping you sit on the kitchen counter right behind you.
He holds on to your leg, wrapping them around his waist as you pull your body even closer before he kisses you harder, even deeper, making sure that there’s absolutely no space left in between you—he needs to be close to you. Your clothed cunt pressed against him in a way that created the slightest amount of friction as you bucked your hips up in a rush.
He gladly swallowed all your whines, anger bubbling up about the fact that other people have gotten a chance to hear your pretty noises before him, but not anymore, cause you belonged to Lee Heeseung.
He was being rough the way he shoved his tongue into your mouth, hungry to taste you again and again, simply because it was impossible for him to get enough of you, your hands roaming all over his body to trace the hard muscles you’ve been feeling up, hidden underneath his T-shirt, the tension lingering, the agitation increasing. You wanted more, you needed more.
“Say you want it,” he whispered, his forehead pressed against yours as you both took deep breaths, practically breathing each other in, his thumb prodding at your mouth as you swirled your tongue around it, making him groan and push his two digits into your mouth, watching how you suck on them so diligently, a whine leaving your mouth as he pulled the fingers back, depriving you of them, “say it.”
“What if I don’t?” You clicked your tongue, pushing him back slightly with a smirk on your face, “won’t you touch me then?” You asked, looking at him innocently as you got off the counter, you could feel your panties being wet, walking to him, taking a step further to whisper in his ear, “won’t you fuck me?” You asked, biting his earlobe right after as you heard him suck in a sharp breath.
With that, you leaned back, walking back to your room as Heeseung stood there for a minute, trying his best to stay in control with his semi hard dick getting in the way, you being a brat wasn’t helping him by any means. A groan left his mouth as he followed you into your room, to find you waiting for him on your bed, sitting comfortably.
“Were you this much of a brat with Beomgyu too?” He asked, the question itself had him frowning as you chuckled and shook your head no slowly, “ah—no.”
He rolled his eyes, jaw clenched as he lifted his T-shirt up, messing up his hair even more as he threw it away somewhere on the floor, “you’re a spoiled little princess, aren’t you? Don’t worry, love, I’ll make sure you beg for me.”
You raised your brows, your eyes travelling down to stare at his body shamelessly, your bottom lip bitten as he walked over and climbed on the bed in a way that excited your body to the point that one touch from him would be enough to give you goosebumps.
“You look cute when you’re jealous, y’know?” You cooed right as he got close to you.
He didn’t waste any second, pulling your body to him easily so you were sitting right on his lap, his back pressed against the headboard, hands resting on your ass, rubbing gentle circles on it with his thumb as he looked down his nose caressing yours in a touch that made your eyelids flutter shut.
“Yeah, doll? Let’s see how cute I look when I don’t let you cum, hm?”
“What?”
“What? Pretty baby wants to cum?” Heeseung teased, his hand inching upwards in a manner that pushed your t-shirt up just enough so his hand could squeeze your waist, his fingers tracing your skin smoothly.
You couldn’t focus, not when he knew exactly how to invade all your senses. You liked the game of push and pull, but with how things have been, you knew you wouldn’t last much longer, not when having Heeseung control your body, touching and guiding you, felt so good. It wasn’t as if he knew what made you feel good, yet he was discovering how to make you gasp out of pleasure with ease.
Your hand on his bare skin only made the atmosphere seem hotter than it actually was. You simply nodded as a reply to his question—you needed to cum.
“Can’t even use your words now, princess? What happened to your bratty attitude?” Heeseung chuckled against your skin, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your jawline, your body reacting to it almost instantly as you threw your head back, giving him more space to kiss you down your neck.
You needed to do something, so you lifted your hips slightly, only to sit right on top of his hardened cock, making him groan out against your skin, almost biting your neck which had you whining out loud, your fingers tugging on his hair—something that you had learned would drive him crazy.
“Can’t control yourself, Lee?” You breathed out as a taunt, letting him bite your earlobe and practically growl out of frustration, licking and swirling his warm tongue on the expanse of your skin again, making you shiver and press down on his cock even more.
“So fucking needy,” he rasped out, fingers playing with the hem of your shorts now, which was easy with how your legs were spread as you sat on his lap, making you hide your face in his neck, warmth spreading all over your body.
“Please—fuck!” You cried out, biting on his shoulder as he gently caressed your clothed cunt, making him chuckle even more.
“Please what, princess?” He urged you to speak, even though your voice came out muffled as you pressed your face to his neck, the vibrations of your words making it hard for him to function.
“Want you,” you finally spoke up.
“Yeah? Who do you belong to, doll?” He cups your cunt, just to see how your body would react.
You moaned, hips bucking to get more friction but he only pressed your cunt harder, possessiveness lacing every single one of his touches.
“You.” Saying it out loud was the only way you could stop the teasing.
However, you couldn’t deny how you felt butterflies when he finally repeated after you, “that’s right, you’re my pretty little doll. All mine.”
You nodded meekly, letting him take control of your body as you squirmed under his hold. Heeseung knew he had won as he easily turned you over to help you lay on your back, getting on top of you with ease, staring at you, his chocolate brown eyes sporting a lust filled expression, “I’ll take care of you now.”
He dipped down to pepper kisses over the expanse of your skin, having had enough of your body being fully clothed, he asked if he could take your T-shirt off you and you lazily nodded, watching the most attractive man you’ve ever laid eyes on helping you out of your shirt, scoffing once he learned that you weren’t wearing a bra.
Suddenly, you were hyper aware of his gaze on your body, your hands working quick to cover your tits with embarrassment flooding your cheeks. However, he was still quicker to grab your wrists, pinning them above your head in a swift go.
“Never hide your pretty body from me ever again, it’s mine to worship, yeah?” He whispered, his hot breath nuzzling against your lips as you nodded along with him, as if in a trance.
Your chest heaved up and down with the bubbling excitement in you, your thighs pressed up against each other as the wetness seeped through your panties, soiling your shorts as well.
Heeseung smirked, “such a good girl when you listen to me,” he praised, eliciting a whine out of you. You never knew a praise would be enough to give you goosebumps.
The tip of his nose grazed your skin as he stopped right on your throat, licking your sensitive spot with his warm tongue, your back arching as you obliviously gave him more space to kiss and suck on your clavicle as he grinds against you, and you love how he overpowers you.
Your breath hitches the second his lips reach your torso, right above your left boob, and you’re almost sure he can hear your heart beating out of your ribcage with how much his presence affects you, and he simply looks up at you to press the most daunting yet soothing kiss right above your heart, as if he was trying to get the fact across that it belonged to him now.
You couldn’t look away, gaze peering down as he covered your nipple with his puckered lips, your moans encouraging him even further as he shamelessly sucked your tits, setting your wrists free to fondle your other tit, squeezing it harshly to see your expression contort into that of pain, but it was full of pleasure instead.
His thumb played with your nipples, rubbing circles on it gently to get them hard, only to pinch them right after, covering them with his mouth right after to soothe the pain—something you didn’t think you’d find pleasing but you did, especially when you squirmed around and he held you in place with ease.
Grazing your tits with his teeth had you whimpering, holding on to his arm, digging your nails as you held on to him tight.
“You like that, baby?” He smirked, hand sneaking down into your panties, your eyes rolling back at the slightest touch of his fingers against your sensitive slit, which was wet with your arousal.
“Taste how wet you get for me, princess,” he muttered, proud of how his two digits were covered with your slick, glistening under the warm, dim lights of your room.
You parted your lips, pushing your tongue out to let him rest the two of his fingers there as you took him in, swirling your tongue around his slender fingers coated in your wetness. A hum left your mouth at the same time as Heeseung groaned at the sight of you being a sweet little doll for him, doing whatever he says.
He couldn’t be gentle anymore, he had to taste you.
“Good girl,” he praised, brushing his thumb on your bottom lip before coating your tits with your saliva, circling your nipples as he placed open mouthed kisses as a trail down your torso, trying his best not to leave any area untouched.
You mindlessly chanted his name, moaning out in desperation as he got closer to your cunt, looking at you once. He appeared to be a hungry beast, the one who wouldn’t stop once he gets a taste of your cunt—the cunt he’s been dreaming about for so long.
He made you feel the things you hadn’t ever felt before, sending shivers up your spine with each touch of his. However, he was done being slow with you. As much as he loved to give your tits his undivided attention, he couldn’t leave your desperate little cunt unattended.
Your shorts were off in a swift go, leaving you almost bare with your panties on, his eyes darkening as he let lust cloud his mind. Holding your thighs open, he made himself comfortable in between them, mumbling about how every inch of you is perfect to him, your toes curling his breath got heavier.
He pressed an experimental kiss on your inner thigh, squeezing them once he heard your body react to it, a sweet little whimper leaving your swollen lips in the process. You grab a chunk of his hair, pulling on them and crying when he pushed your knees up, biting and sucking on your soft flesh of thigh as a promise that it’ll leave bruise marks.
His marks all over your body, he needed to mark you up, not even bothering to hide his possessiveness as he mumbled mine under his breath, continuing his ministrations, stopping right in front of your soiled panties, taking a deep breath.
“Oh princess, you smell so sweet for me,” he said, grabbing the thin fabric of your underwear, pulling them to the side, wrinkling them up without any care.
You propped yourself up slightly, the sight of Heeseung staring at your cunt as if he’s found treasure which he wishes to devour carnally wasn’t something you had ever thought you’d witness, but here he was, breathing deeply inches away from your cunt, purposely blowing hot breath on your soaked core, trying to agitate you further.
“Heeseung—fuck! Please,” you groaned, urging him to get closer, to be where you need him the most.
“Yes, princess?” He asked breathily, dark eyes still fixated on your pussy as he whispered, “pretty.”
“Please,” you begged feebly.
“Please what, love?”
You couldn’t help it anymore, pushing his head into your bucked hips was the easy way to get things going, tugging on his silky roots as you held him in place, a loud moan reverberated the room just as he groaned into your cunt, your eyes fluttering shut at the heavenly sensation you felt all over your body.
“Fuck, I’ve wanted this from so long,” Heeseung mumbled like a madman, absolutely letting himself go, not holding back as he devoured your cunt, licking and sucking on your folds, commanding your body well as he held your legs open with his strong grip on your thighs.
Peppering featherlight kisses on your clit, he made you sigh breathily, his name on the tip of your tongue as you kept on whining, even more so when he shoved his face deeper, sucking on your sensitive nub as the warmth of his fingers traced the long strokes on your folds.
“Love—your—cunt,” he groaned with each lick, pulling you into him, easing your thighs on his sturdy shoulders as he slipped his tongue into your clenching hole, “all mine now, all fucking mine.”
His lips were covered with your arousal, his thumb taking over to rub circles on your clit, sending your over the edge as you tried to get a hold of yourself, but it felt good—the best you’d ever felt, and you could already feel your eyes rolling to the back of your head as he added more pressure to your poor clit.
Your legs shook around his head, your cunt clenching as he continued to fuck his tongue deeper and deeper, as much as he could humanly manage. He could have sworn he was drunk, too pussy drunk to even move from there. He was the reason you were this wet, he got you wet, he needed to take care of your cunt and be accountable for the same.
With his movements getting harsher, it only took a moment longer before you found yourself reaching your high, whines leaving your mouth as you fell apart on his tongue, giving him exactly what he had been so eagerly trying to get out of you.
Your cum covered the expanse of his skin—lips and chin shining as he licked big stripes of your now overly-sensitive cunt just to make sure he laps up every bit of the juice you so lovingly gave to him, “so fucking beautiful,” he kissed your clit again.
You took deep breaths, eyes still closed as you savored the moment, Heeseung staring at you with shiny eyes, trying to memorize every bit of your expressions. You looked like an angel to him, a sweet doll who was made to be kept safe with him. He wanted to keep you safe.
The sight was orgasmic, Heeseung’s raging boner would agree with it, however he wasn’t done having a taste of you, he was greedy by all means, almost as if he got addicted to your taste within seconds, he wanted to taste you again, and again.
Before you could even register what was going on, Heeseung grabbed your panties from the hem, ripping them into two instead of simply sliding them down your legs, your eyes widening at the sight of your now torn underwear.
He doesn’t give you much chance to say anything, his lips latched to your sensitive cunt in an instant, your response of moans almost pavlovian, even more so when his digits prodded your entrance. He buried two fingers at once, deep down to the knuckles, loving how you clenched around him uncontrollably, your lewd noises almost pornographic as he continued his ministrations.
The tip of his nose brushed your clit in the right way, his fingers curling inside you at the same time just for you to try and close your thighs out of sheer pleasure, which overstimulated you, but he was stronger as he held your legs open.
Heeseung didn’t feel sober by any means, he knew he wouldn’t last much longer either, especially with how he’s absolutely drunk on the essence of your cunt and the melody of your moans. Pressing his clothes cock harder on the mattress, he sped up, fingering you with no resistance, your wetness being the perfect lubricant for him.
“Doing so well for me, such a good slut for me,” he groaned against your cunt.
You jolted out of pleasure, his pace and words left your pussy tightening as a signal that your second orgasm was approaching faster than ever, which only encouraged him to eat you out faster, shoving another finger into you as his dick twitched with unadulterated pleasure.
Heeseung’s name was all you knew as you rode out your orgasm with desperation, tears cascading down your cheek and you swore you saw stars with how hard you came undone, watching him lick you up before he got up, getting rid of his pants and boxers in one go.
You could only breathe deeply, eyes shamelessly taking in his hardened cock, the tip red and leaking with how much he’d held back all this while. You clumsily tried to get up, your legs still shaking as you sat up, “can I—” you tried to ask, embarrassed.
“Hm, can you what, princess?” He asked, looking extremely attractive with his hair all over the place, lips cherry red and swollen, still glistening with the remains of your cum all over.
“Wanna taste you,” your voice was barely a notch above whisper.
“Oh—fuck. You’re such a pretty little slut for me,” he chuckled with amusement, “yeah? Is that what my doll wants? Want my cock in your sweet little mouth?” He asked, standing right in front of your mouth.
You nodded, your eyes big and pleading which only had him twitching, even more so when you gently grabbed the base of his cock, placing the faintest kiss on his tip, “a slut for you, yeah,” you mumbled, peppering kisses all over his length as he bit his lip at the sight, adam’s apple bobbing up and down when he gulped.
With your tongue swirling around the tip, you finally took him in the warmth of your mouth, a loud moan escaping his lips once he saw you with your cheeks hollowed, sucking him in so desperately, your hands massaging his balls simultaneously. He grips the back of your head, holding you in place as you sucked harshly on the tip of his dick, his body shuddering with immense pleasure.
He was already leaking when he tasted you, but having you on your knees for him, looking up with tears in your eyes as you drooled and whined, sending vibrations up his cock, that was it for him, but you didn’t let him move back, feeling the warm clawing of his orgasm on your tongue as you let him finish inside your mouth.
He had beads of sweat forming on his forehead by the time he finished, taking deep breaths but still staring at you, eyes full of adoration as you took his cock out of your mouth with a pop.
“You okay, love?” He asked, sitting down next to you, caressing the curve of your cheek gently.
You let him sit down next to you, and he did not expect you to open your mouth to show your tongue after you gulped down his cum.
“Fuck, oh fuck,” he groaned, chuckling right after and cupping your jaw, “we’re so not done here, princess,” he said and your eyes widened.
“W—what?” You asked, breathing in deeply when he pressed a firm kiss on your lips, not moving back as he spoke.
“You really thought I’d let you go without fucking that pretty cunt of yours, hm?”
“Heeseung—It’s so sensitive right now,” you whispered, holding on to his arm.
“Shh, you can take it, right?”
His tone was enticing, the proximity paired with the intoxication Heeseung so eagerly provided had you nodding at his words. No guy had ever made you cum more than once and here Heeseung was, on his way to give you your third orgasm of the night.
“Yeah,” you whispered.
“Yeah?” He asked, tone breathy.
“Yeah, please,” you replied, and he chuckled, pulling you into another rushed kiss, slotting his lips against yours.
His kisses got harsher as he pushed you down on the bed again, holding you underneath him, your body reacting to him in an instant as you spread your legs further when he pushed his thigh up, pressing it on your cunt.
You moaned into his mouth, he swallowed every bit of it, almost greedy as if he didn’t want anyone else to even hear how pretty you sound. It was just for him, you were made for him.
“Ready, baby?” Heeseung asked, rubbing the tip of his cock against your pussy, the wetness lubricating his length as he stroked himself a few times, looking back at you when you nodded, “are you sure?”
“Hm—yeah. Are you?” You asked back.
“Never been more ready for anything, princess,” he whispered, dipping down to press his lips against yours.
He wastes zero time, both your eyes fluttering shut in ecstasy as he pushed himself into your needy hole, your back arching as you both shifted to be closer to each other, the stretch of his thickness was almost delicious and you couldn’t help but dig your nails on his back, trying to get a hold of yourself.
Heeseung moans out loud without any care, the way your walls gripped his bulbous size, “fucking hell you feel so good,” he cursed out loud.
Bottoming out was easy with how aroused you were, your wetness making him slide in deeper than any cock you’ve ever taken before. It felt straight out of a wet dream how Heeseung looked at you with hooded eyes, a smirk forming on his face at your obvious pleasure filled expression.
“You see this, princess?” He pulled back, thrusting in harder as you mewled, his hand coming to rest right on top of your abdomen, pressing down right there just enough so he could feel his cock bulge, “told you it’d reach right here.” He chuckled.
“You’re crazy,” you cried out, “so fucking b—big.”
“And you love it,” he hisses as you clench up around him, moaning and agreeing with whatever your pretty boy had to say.
Ramming into your hole made your tits bounce with each hard thrust of his, tempting him enough to reach forward to capture your nipple between his lips, sucking on them with no gentleness.
You tug on his hair, something that you knew would drive him insane. He practically growled, biting your nipple and sucking on it, littering marks all around your chest all while pistoning into you.
“Mine, you’re fucking mine,” he mumbled, the sound of skin slapping resonating the room, which was the prettiest sound Heeseung had ever heard, simply because it was a harmony of you and him, adding your whines and moans to the mix only made it better.
“God—Heeseung,” you struggled to breathe, now gripping your sheets as he abused your pussy, almost demonic in a way—something you really needed to satiate your desires, which Heeseung was fulfilling oh so beautifully.
Just when you thought it wouldn’t get any better, Heeseung pushed two of his fingers right on your sensitive bundle of nerves, working them in circles as if he was a professional and you couldn’t keep your eyes open anymore.
“Did I say you were allowed to look away?” Heeseung asked, coming closer to your face, however you could barely form a reply, which had him scoffing and stopping his actions, finally getting a cry out of you as you looked at him.
“That’s a good doll, keep your eyes on me, yeah?” He whispered, sinking in impossibly deeper as you let your tears out, which turned him on even more than he thought was possible, “love how wet you get for me, shit—you feel so fucking good for me,” he said, dragging his tongue up your cheek, gathering your salty tears and licking them up.
You loved every second of this, his hand coming to slap your ass, grabbing a fistful of it to grope you harder while you absolutely let yourself submit to him, his dirty words only making you clench harder, your skin burning with the traces of his touch all over.
You felt like you were being split open as he rambled about how good you felt, it was addicting how your name rolled off his tongue in a possessive moan as he fucked you with pure need, also kissing you from time to time, his forehead pressed against yours as he stimulated your clit faster.
The room felt misty almost, but that was just the essence of you both being ever so desperate with each other, like your friends had always said—you needed to fuck it out.
And Heeseung was doing a splendid job at it, your legs twitching at this point with how sensitive your body was, body too fucked out, words not making any sense minus the few weak moans of Heeseung’s name.
You were so turned on, you didn’t want this to end but it was beyond impossible for you to hold yourself any longer, “gonna—gonna cum, please,” you begged, grabbing his face and pulling him into a kiss as he grunted out.
“Yeah, kitten? Gonna cum for me? Do it, baby,” he whispered.
His strong arms held you in place, pushing himself deep in your pulsing pussy as if you were a toy to him, but his kisses said otherwise, they were full of longing and endless desire, and he never wished to stop.
With a deep breath, you pulsated around him, leaking around his size with each aggressive pounding he gave you, and before you knew it, you were squirting all over his cock, ruining your bedsheets and surprising Heeseung who only rubbed your clit harder.
“Fuck—you’re so hot,” he groaned, a final thrust shooting his load of cum inside your cunt, staying right there as you both breathed the same air, taking a few minutes to lay side by side when he pulled out, the mixture of your cum dripping down your cunt.
Heeseung still held on to you, his arms wrapping your body close to him, patting your back gently, “you okay, love? You did so well for me,” he mumbled, kissing your forehead.
A newfound warmth spread your body as you witnessed Heeseung being genuinely sweet to you, a small smile caressing your face as you nodded, snuggling close to him and he let you do that, whispering praises in your ear, making you laugh and laughing along with you.
He knew you both couldn’t sleep on your bed for the night, so he asked you if you wished to sleep with him, and it somehow left you shy as you said yes. Getting up was hard when your legs felt wobbly, but Heeseung was strong enough to help you up and go to the washroom with you.
You both were silent as he helped you sit on the marble counter of the washbasin, grabbing your towel and dampening it with lukewarm water, you simply observed him being absolutely concentrated, devoted almost with how he cleaned you up, a pout forming on his lips as he did so.
It was endearing how soft he was all of a sudden, and you needed him to speak up and talk about everything that’s been happening with you both, the mixed signals, the teasing, the jealousy, and of course, the intimate moment you just shared, it needs to be discussed.
You stayed mum, observing him till he was satisfied cleaning you, asking if you felt okay, comfortable with him. Nodding with a little smile was enough of an answer for him, as he made sure to dress you up in the comfiest oversized t-shirt he owned, and soon you were both getting comfortable under his blanket.
That’s when you decided to finally talk to him about the whole situation.
“So—” you started, slight awkwardness in your voice as Heeseung turned to look at you, his face practically shining.
“Uh—why did you like—hate me? Or did whatever you did to—”
“Woah woah, calm down, baby,” he said, clearly noticing the panic in your voice.
You were never the one to confront.
“I never hated you, how could I? You just ignored me from the fifth grade and I didn’t know what to do—” he paused, as if ashamed of himself in a way.
“You hated me, Heeseung,” you said, eyes widening at the accusation.
“Me?”
“Yeah, don’t you remember?”
“No,” he dragged, as if trying to think of where it went wrong.
You sat up straighter, wincing slightly due to the obvious soreness between your legs, looking at him, “wow, you really don’t know?”
Heeseung looked lost as ever.
“Fifth grade, the house party? The so-called biggest party of the year? You don’t remember playing truth and dare?” You asked, looking up at him with big eyes which he found so adorable.
“Oh, yeah. That’s the party we went to but then you started ignoring me after it,” Heeseung spoke, wondering what went wrong.
“God, you really are so clueless. We all went together, you and our group, we never really talked much but—but I had a little crush on you—hey! Don’t smirk, so yeah,” you continued and he chuckled.
What you didn’t know was that he was feeling all sorts of giddy deep inside. You liked him? You? The girl he’s always wanted, liked him back?
“You were asked this question in front of every single person we knew,” you said, a sad pout on your face, “to name someone you’d be willing to kiss in that room.”
Heeseung finally understood where you were heading but you didn’t let him interrupt, resting your finger on his lips.
“You know what you said?”
“I didn’t mean it that way—”
“Do you really remember what you said?” Your voice was louder now, a genuine look of disbelief on your face, “you said you’d kiss anyone in that room but me.”
There was haunting silence as you finished your sentence, you tried to sit up, only for your legs to give out as you fell directly into Heeseung’s arms. This shut you up in a second before you gulped and folded your arms, face heating up regardless of the whole situation, which almost felt comical at this point.
Then you started whining and complaining about how humiliating the situation was, a clear sign that Heeseung absolutely hated her and how she had to run away from the party with a heavy heart feeling hurt, as her crush had practically rejected her.
In front of everyone at that.
“Listen to me,” he said, voice deep and eyes earnest as he grabbed your arms, making sure your whole attention was on him.
“You never used to look at me, even then. Whenever I tried to, someone would get in between us. That day—I truly wanted to ask you out.”
“What?”
“Yeah, I do think I said it the wrong way. I knew you hadn’t had your first kiss,” he said, looking elsewhere for a second, “and I knew if I took your name then they’d make me kiss you as the dare right after. I didn’t want our first kiss to be like that, in front of everyone, as a dare.”
“You cannot be serious,” you muttered in complete amusement.
“But you ran out of the party and stopped talking to me altogether so I had to resort to other ways—”
“Like pranking and bothering me?”
“—well, it did help me get your attention, didn’t it?” He smirked, and you scoffed.
“You’re such a duffer, Lee Heeseung,” you chuckled, still not over the fact that all of this hatred, jealousy, pranks, and well, weird but angry arguments, were all based on what?
A misunderstanding.
You both stared at each other for a few seconds before bursting into laughter, him pulling you close as you felt his chest vibrate, chuckling over this ridiculously stupid misunderstanding.
“So, you’ve liked me all along, huh?” He teased, and you pushed him away with a chuckle, mustering a stoic expression.
“Don’t even start, Lee Heeseung. You have been bothering me because you liked me but didn’t have the balls to say it!” You laughed and he looked offended.
“Excuse me?” He raised his eyebrow, tickling you all over with a smile as you squirmed, laughing uncontrollably before hitting on his arm a few times.
“Wait—wait! I have to tell you something,” you said, trying to sit up again.
“Yeah, princess?” He whispered.
“So, about what happened—”
“God, you look so pretty,” Heeseung said out of nowhere, staring at you with heart eyes, making you smile shyly.
If the past you would look at yourself, you’d probably end up throwing up with how cheesy it looked, yet right now, in the moment, everything felt right with Heeseung.
“Anyway.” You shook your head before looking at him sheepishly, “remember when Beomgyu came home right?”
Heeseung frowned at the mention of his name.
“We—didn’t have sex,” You let out.
“What?” He practically exclaimed, “he didn’t touch you? You didn’t do anything? But I heard—”
“Yeah he was bothering me so I tickled him and he moaned—but wait, you were listening to us? Eavesdropping?” You asked, “oh you were that jealous? Couldn’t help but listen pathetically from behind the closed doors—”
He shut you up by kissing you again, not stopping as you pulled him closer with a smile.
“You’re crazy,” Heeseung breathed out and you knew he meant it in a good way.
“And you’re mine,” you smiled, gently rubbing your nose against his.
“So fucking yours.” He mirrored your expression, pulling you in for a sweet kiss.
At that moment, you truly felt happy.
And that’s all that mattered.
Chapter 10: I saw it coming.
It’s baffling.
Transitioning from your so-called enemies to future potential lovers. The bickering is still there, however, now it results in a passionate makeout session and more.
Apparently Heeseung was hellbent on fucking you in every corner of your house, till everyone came back that is. He wouldn’t even sleep in separate rooms, sticking by your side as if his life depended on it, even offering to shower with you saying—“it saves water” only for him to fuck you in there.
It was surprising each time Heeseung acted cheesy in front of you, making food for you, only to feed you with his own hands. He, the one who acted all tough and nonchalant in front of others, was the same guy who begged you for cuddles, head pats, kisses.
You had never thought he would ever be willing to sit down and watch Barbie movies with you but yet again, he proved you wrong. He was so loving, as if it came naturally to him, which was a surprise given he never had a girlfriend before.
He had the biggest pout on his face as you laughed with your whole heart, holding the couple keychain Heeseung insisted you have. As cheesy as it got, you loved it, and he loved seeing you smile.
Especially when he was the one who made you smile.
“Does this mean we’re dating now?”
“W—what? Are we not?” Heeseung asked, slightly taken aback and you chuckled.
“Well, you didn’t ask me to be your girlfriend yet,” you mumbled.
“Oh, okay then let me do it right now,” he said, getting down on one knee with the keychain in his hand, “will you, Y/N, make me the happiest man alive and let me be your boyfriend?” He asked, with glittering eyes.
You rolled your eyes affectionately, “you’re so cute, Lee Heeseung, and yes, I allow you to be my boyfriend,” you smiled, pecking his lips softly.
However, being so engrossed in your own little world now, you both forgot something highly important that was going to happen today.
Your friends were literally standing outside the apartment, opening the door, as you and Heeseung casually sat on the couch, practically eating each other’s faces off.
Safe to say, the reaction was no less than explosive, especially the scream that left their mouths, a look of pure horror gracing their faces, your expression mirroring their own, as if you got caught doing something illegal.
Everyone was shocked, minus Sunghoon, who simply leaned against the door with his arms folded and a knowing smirk on his face.
“Told ya they’d be fucking by the time we come back.”
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