— synopsis: kim mingyu is a dear friend. a dear friend that spends nights in your arms, said nights set aflame with the tick tick tick of your gas stove when he makes you dinner, and searing kisses when he lays you down in your bed. yes, kim mingyu is a dear friend...and you wish he were more.
– genre: friends with benefits to lovers au; fluff, angst, some suggestive/smutty content.
— pairing: kim mingyu x fem!reader
– word count: 11.8k
— rating: 18+. minors do not interact.
– warnings: they're stupid. literally so fucking stupid. fighting, mentions of infidelity, jealousy & insecurities. mildly sexual themes and content: brief p in v scene, there's a titty in his mouth, etc. kissing, pet names (babe/baby, sweetheart, honey, etc.)
— what to listen to: ribs - lorde ; starbright - dabin, trella ; people watching - conan gray ; hard part's over - hoang, page ; like real people do - hozier ; fineshrine - purity ring.
– author's note: thank you to @/saradika-graphics here on tumblr for these daisy dividers! that being said, this is not proofread, but it was beta'd by my dear @starlightkyeom. another fic for thee gyuldaengie ever, @gyuswhore because i posted late and i just love you that dang much. dedicated to em (again!) i love you. ♡
KIM MINGYU COULD VERY WELL BE THE LOVE OF YOUR LIFE.
Sweet, thoughtful, and delicate. Fragile, even: in ego, in sex, in love.
Sometimes, you think he’s made for you. Like Eve was made for Adam, by the rib. Sometimes you feel an ache in your left side, and you wonder if it’s the lack of Mingyu’s lingering presence – only to see him a week later, shown up to your front door with a beautiful bouquet and a bottle of wine.
Kim Mingyu is the petals of every flower in all the bouquets he’s ever given you. Velvety soft, perfectly cared for and beautiful.
But just as he is all those things – he is your Achilles’ heel. You can never say no to Kim Mingyu, can never admit that he something more to you than you care to acknowledge beyond just that – something more.
And just as easily as those flowers of yours were picked, they were tossed. Once they died, they served no value. You’d watch the petals fall onto your desk for a while, dried and crisp; before inevitably swiping them into the trash can and dumping the dirty water into the sink. The vase waited, empty (like you,) to be refilled once Mingyu swung by for his bi-monthly fix.
It wasn’t always like this.
You used to save some of the petals, some of the flowers themselves. Press them in wax paper between heavy books and forget about them until you read the books again. You’d toy with the dried petals, before they eventually became littered around your apartment – in the form of coasters, framed on the walls, even a pair of earrings you once made at a crafts class.
Because in the beginning, in the very beginning – Mingyu was just your friend.
He was your very nice, very attentive friend that brought you gorgeous bouquets from his florist friend’s shop, always picked out by Mingyu himself – down to the colorful paper wrapping and satin bow. You’d rarely see him more than once or twice a month as it was, because Mingyu is a very busy man – so the flowers were always accompanied with an apologetic smile and a quick kiss to your cheek. You’d make dinner together, or he’d cook for the two of you; his presence warm and inviting even in your own home.
He’d serve you a glass of wine or three, plate your dinner like you’re at a nice restaurant and hand you extra silverware in case one of you fell victim to his butterfingers – and he knew your apartment like the back of his hand. He knew you like the back of his hand.
Then, you kissed.
One time. By complete and utter accident.
You had moved into his typical cheek kiss in greeting, the both of you springing away almost immediately when you felt each other’s lips. You both spewed apologies like geysers, talking over one another before you both laughed at the ridiculousness of it all.
“No more kisses, got it. Could’ve said something earlier, you know.” He joked, but finally greeted you with a warm hug paired with a mumbled it’s so nice to see you that made your stomach flutter for the first time ever. You were wide eyed as you allowed yourself to be enveloped in the warmth of his body, in the soft feeling of his cashmere sweater that you’d given him for his birthday many moons ago.
Unfortunately, the attempt to make dinner together was awkward. You were both anxiously trying to keep things level, trying to crack jokes and talk about your lives outside of each other when you just sighed; your hands on your hips as you glanced at him in your pink apron that was much too small.
And he kissed you – this time, with purpose. He held your face gently between his hands, your own fisting the stupidly expensive cashmere sweater that left you without eggs and bread that month.
Dinner wasn’t homemade, after all. He’d turned the stove off in your frenzy to pull his belt off, his hands holding you flush to him as he led you both to your bedroom – where he’d shown you exactly why his ex-girlfriend can’t leave him alone, and why your ex-boyfriend constantly felt inferior to him. He made it clear he wanted you, even if it was just for the night – and he wasn’t about to fuck up the only potential chance he’d gotten.
You both fell asleep before either of you could say anything about the missed dinner, and the morning after was full of shy stares and a silent agreement – after you asked him if he’d even wanted to be your friend, if this was his plan all along. He admitted honestly that he’d never anticipated something like this and he never secretly wanted you, either – that he’d been your friend because he loves you, because you’re sweet and funny, because you’re you.
Twice a month. Dinner. Sex. Repeat. Just to get the taste of each other off your tongues, to fill the void of feeling someone next to you while you’re sleeping.
Eventually, you realized that things between you and Mingyu had grown to be just that – a fix. A bi-monthly, sometimes tri-monthly, fix; where he came to your apartment and still yielded those beautiful flowers. He’d gotten more into making dinner on his own, and you’d choose somethnig to watch – and you’d spend an hour or so filling each other in about your time apart over the warm meal and some stupid movie, if not Gilmore Girls.
Until one of you leans in for the first kiss of the tumble, and the illusion of romance shatters at your fingertips.
Not because Mingyu isn’t romantic; if anything, the guy could drown you in romance. In soft touches, in mood lighting, in catering to your every need while still meeting his own with little intereference. He’s kind and gentle, with an edge that makes your skin prickle when he works you over with his tongue between your thighs after peeling your clothes off with needy hands. He’s a bitch when his teeth nip at the skin of your thighs, his fingers digging into the meat of them like he’s scared you’ll disappear if he makes the wrong move; and you can feel the way he smiles against you as he brings you to the first orgasm of the night.
He’s yours when he kisses you like you mean everything to him, when he holds your knees to your chest while you cry on his cock. He’s yours when he holds you close, massaging your hips and kissing the expanse of your bare shoulders.
And you are his.
You are absolutely, irrevocably his when he slips inside you for the second time that night – his teeth sinking lightly into your shoulder at how sensitive he is but he loves the way you feel. Shuddered whimpers will fill the room, murmurs of missing you when he’s gone as he nibbles on your earlobe; he leaves a mess between your thighs, snugly wrapped in your walls as you both drift to sleep.
Every. Single. Time.
Maybe it’s not all that romantic.
Maybe it’s just...sex. Casual sex that convinces you it’s more the moment you press your lips to his because you’re so certain Heaven is a place on Earth – and it’s in Kim Mingyu’s arms.
That’s where it all ends, anyway. He’s gone in the morning without much conversation; you’ll shower together like real couples do and he’s started keeping a few changes of clothes in your apartment. You’ll brush you teeth together like real couples do; he’ll even rub lotion on your back before kissing the back of your neck and asking if you want breakfast. If you say no, he leaves.
If you say yes...he’ll make breakfast, an entire spread. He’ll make coffee, and he’ll sit right next to you in the cute breakfast nook that sold you on your apartment three years ago – right after you’d broken up with that ex-boyfriend that never liked Mingyu. For who he was, what he stood for or what he could provide...you weren’t all that sure.
But you don’t really care, either.
Mingyu helped decorate your apartment. He helped you make it yours and even slept on the floor of your bedroom with you when you were too scared to be alone on the first night. He didn’t complain about his very obviously sore neck the next morning, only giving you a quick hug goodbye as he left to his apartment six blocks away for a shower – and returning within two hours to help you paint your bathroom.
They say that friends to lovers is the best way to go. Friends that know each other’s coffee orders by heart, turning into lovers that deliver said coffee with a kiss on the lips. Friends that help each other pick an outfit for a night out, becoming lovers who take said outfit off at the end of the night with their lips running down each other’s shoulders and other unnamed places.
Lovers, who mean it more than words can explain, and the warmth of a fire could never rival the true heat behind it – the three little words that linger on your tongue.
That stupid, stupid I love you.
But you are you, and Mingyu is...well, he’s Mingyu.
You’re not sure what you are. You’re certainly not friends, but you’re not lovers...you’re just Y/N and Mingyu, in limbo. No label, no questions and consequently, no answers.
And you want an answer. You want to know what it’s like for him to hold you closer when you move away to slip out of your bed in the morning. You want to know what it’s like for him to flip you onto your back and kiss you despite the morning breath, what it’s like to be Mingyu’s, eternally, and never have a way out.
But...you are you.
And you know better.
IT’S WEDNESDAY NIGHT WHEN YOUR PHONE PINGS ACROSS APARTMENT.
You move out of the kitchen, making your way to it and grabbing it off the coffee table before flopping onto your couch.
NEW! (3) Messages From: Mingyu ♡
[4:21 PM] hey, y/n
[4:21 PM] just a quick question, are you free this friday?
[4:21 PM] no pressure 💘
You’re aptly draped across the couch for a distressed sigh as you read the messages. You throw your arm over your eyes, your heart beating just a little faster – there's a pot of stew heating up on the stove, and the whole house smells delicious as you close your eyes, knowing exactly how this could go.
He’ll show up at your doorstep, ten minutes before he said he’d be there. He’ll be wearing one of his nice shirts – maybe it’ll be that baby blue one that you love – maybe it’ll be the dark red that he always tucks neatly into slacks. Maybe he’ll be dressed down, something you don’t to see all that often – sweatpants and a zip-up hoodie, but he’ll still be carrying that stupidly large bouquet of flowers and a bottle of your favorite wine. He’ll kiss you hello again, but it won’t be on your cheek – no, he’ll kiss your lips.
He’ll kiss your lips and hold your waist gently, pulling you into him. He’ll nip at your lower lip, inching his way into the apartment and shutting the door with his foot before setting the flowers down on the foyer table and pulling away. He’ll say it’s nice to see you, that he missed you, that he wants to hear about your day before kissing you breathless.
Because he’s Mingyu.
“And I’ll fall for it every damn time,” you sigh, staring at the screen. Your fingers move quickly, typing a singular ‘sure’, only to see his read receipt pop up before you can even sit up. Like he’s waiting for you to answer – sat at his desk, the one that’s shoved in the corner of his office and way too cramped for a guy his size. The one that’s piled high with confidential documents, that he eats his lunch at that he packs himself early in the mornings.
The one he’s sent you a few suggestive pieces of media from, the image of his silver watch moving up and down your screen still burned into your mind.
NEW! (2) Messages from: Mingyu ♡
[4:26 PM] hm, don’t know if i liked the way you answered that.
[4:26 PM] are you okay?
Are you?
You don’t get much of a chance to reply before he’s calling you. You quickly decline it, texting back with the excuse that you’re in the shower.
NEW! (2) Messages from: Mingyu ♡
[4:27 PM] you’re literally laying on your couch. you don’t shower until six.
[4:28 PM] this is your ‘lazy girl’ time, you’ve told me. i know.
“Curse your memory, Kim Mingyu,” you grumble, fumbling around to call him on Facetime. He picks up on the second ring, putting his AirPod in – but he’s not dressed the way he usually is after work. Or rather, during: he’s still got thirty minutes to his workday.
But you’re not complaining at the sleeveless white shirt, feeling your cheeks hot as he raises a brow at you through the screen.
“What are you doing?” You prop yourself up on a throw pillow, only for Mingyu to flip the camera and show the inside of your favorite grocery store, “what are you doing there? It’s Wednesday, you should be at work.”
“And you should tell me what’s got you so pouty.” He says pointedly, propping you up in the cart as he grabbed a bag for tomatoes. You’re silent as you watch him pick them out carefully, gentle fingers you miss wrapped around your throat squeezing the fruit softly. You blink as the thought leaves your mind, your mouth dry as you shake it off while he ties the plastic bag expertly.
“So? What’s got you so iffy?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re a horrible liar.”
Mingyu gives you a stern look as he hunches over the cart, pursing his lips as his eyes dart around the store for the next item to take him. Maybe peppers. Maybe a tub of soybean paste.
Maybe someone else to fill his bed, his heart. His stomach, with delicious meals he never lets you cook for him anymore because, in his words – you're tired. You work so hard and you’ve had a long day, sweetheart. Just sit on the island and keep me company.
“Need an answer sooner rather than later, sweetheart.” His voice is gentle as he grabs your attention again, only making you scoff as you wave him off with your hand.
“Seriously, I’m fine.”
“I dunno. First, you give me a one-word answer. Never in our six-year friendship have you responded to me that way, even when you’re in a bad mood.”
You tongue your cheek as he stops the cart in the snack aisle, your eyes floating immediately to the cinnamon biscuits right next to his head. He reaches for them, tossing the box into his cart without a second thought before reading the ingredients on a box of almond cookies, “next, you lie to me. A bold-faced lie, and to my face, at that.”
“I lied to your phone screen, dramatic ass.” You mutter, watching the way his fingers drum against the yellow box. He’s wearing the ring you’d given him for Christmas last year, the white gold snug on his thumb as he hums. He puts the box back, grabbing another with a click of his tongue.
“That I pay the bill on, mind you. So, you’re wasting time and money instead of just telling me what your deal is.”
“There is no deal, Mingyu. I’m not BOGO.” You snort, shifting on your couch and resting your arm under your head. He looks at the phone, tossing the cookies into his cart, “I should be glad, BOGO of you would kill me. You’re more like buy one, get one half off.”
“I think I’m more of a buy-two, get one free.”
“That’s even worse. One of you is more than enough. And that’s coming from me, someone who gets all of you regularly and happily, at that.”
“‘All of me’ is a technicality.” You roll your eyes, only watching the tips of his ears turn pink as he analyzes yet another box. Crackers this time, cheddar ones. Not your favorite, and infinitely inferior to the Parmesan ones.
“Be realistic, there’s no one but me. You’re just for me.” He murmurs, but the microphone catches it anyway. You tongue your cheek as he puts the box back, instead grabbing the Parmesan ones and throwing them in the cart. Your cheeks heat slightly as he nibbles on his lip, likely deep in thought as he looks over his cart.
“Even if that’s true, you could still be nice to me.”
“I’m so nice to you! I make you dinner, I buy you flowers, and I check in with you regularly. I get you gifts, I fixed your leaky faucet, and I rewired your entire gaming system after you moved into your apartment and didn’t want to figure it out. I’m the nicest guy ever, especially to you.” He huffs, and you let out a chuckle that makes his lips twitch. He masks it by sucking his teeth, and you shrug with an amused look on your face.
“You cook me dinner because you want to, you buy me flowers because you feel guilty and you check in with me because your job keeps you from actually seeing me more than once or twice a month. You get me gifts to make up for the fact that you’re not around as often, you fixed my leaky faucet because I practically begged you to, and you rewired my gaming system because you and Wonwoo wanted to play GTA for six hours.” You point your finger at him, watching the way he nods before picking up his phone. The camera pauses, the sound of Left Right by XG playing in the store the only sound coming from his end.
NEW! Message from: Mingyu ♡
[5:10 PM] i also go down on you because i want to, and i fuck you because i want to. but i don’t hear you complaining about that, hm?
“Because I want it, too.” You ignore the heart surging on your cheeks as you watch the message bubble pop up again.
NEW! Message from: Mingyu ♡
[5:11 PM] then be nice to me before i stop doing that for us, pillow princess.
“I am not a pillow princess! You just never let me do anything!”
The camera unpauses, showing Mingyu rolling his eyes and feigning disinterest before he sets the phone back down, “tell me what’s up or I’m coming over impromptu. I won’t give you time to tidy up, either.”
“You wouldn’t do that; you probably have a nice steak in your basket. You wanna go home and cook it and text me all about how I’m missing out because I live six blocks away and won’t walk to your place because those heels I wear make me too tired.” You snicker, watching the way he mimics you and moves his hand in a talking motion. You only laugh harder, “Mingyu!”
“Little louder, sweetheart. The neigbors know my name, anyway.”
“Kim Mingyu, I am a lady.”
“A loud one,” he snorts, sucking his teeth as he makes his way down the liquor aisle. “Are you free on Friday or not? Enthusiastically free, happy-to-see-your-Mingyu free. Not that sure shit, have some respect.”
“My Mingyu?” You smirk, but it’s a front. Your stomach is fluttering like crazy and you watch the way he bites back his smile to raise a brow at you.
“You know any other Mingyus?”
“Park Mingyu from the finance team that has had the hots for me since before you moved to the city.”
“He doesn’t count, he’s in finance. You’d get bored in two days.” He rolls his eyes again, “yes or no, sweetheart? My schedule fills up fast and I’m actively trying to get you in.”
“More like you’re trying to get in me.”
“That too, but all I’m hearing right now is that you hate me. That’s not all I have you around for, you know.”
You roll your eyes, sighing. He’s raking his eyes over you through the camera, grabbing a bottle of wine off the shelf as if it’s muscle memory. The label reads EISA Cabernet – your favorite. Particularly, when he makes you a thick steak with scalloped potatoes and asparagus that almost guarantees you fuck him within an inch of his life.
And he never complains.
“What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing, Gyu. I promise.”
He crosses his arms, “I don’t believe you.”
“Then don’t.”
“You hate me.”
“Sometimes, when you make my steak too rare or you pull out.”
“Haha, so funny.” He sticks his tongue out at you, and you can tell by the signs on the ceiling that he’s moving to the checkout line. “You’re really not gonna tell me what’s up with you?”
“What do you want me to say, Mingyu? That I’m in distress? That I’m having a bad day?” You joke, before pouting exaggeratedly, “oh, please, Mingyu. I’ve had such a long, lonely day. Come over, I need you.”
“Stop that.” He huffs, crossing his arms as he leans on the cart. You laugh again, running your hand through your hair as you feel his eyes trailing you. You raise a brow as his eyes stop on your chest, and you dramatically cover the bit of cleavage your V-neck sweater shows. He scoffs, tonguing his cheek as he gets a register, carefully parking the cart. “Tilt the camera to your face, I don’t need strangers seeing your whole chest.”
“It’s not even my chest, dipshit. It’s my necklace at best.”
“Necklace I gave you.”
“Never pegged you to be a jealous, possessive man, Mr. Kim.”
“You don’t know a lot of things about me,” he shrugs, and you stick your tongue out at him as he scans his things. He shakes his head as you watch him, your eyes shamelessly trained on his arms as he moves about, before he snaps his fingers in front of the camera, “must you eye fuck me like that?”
“Listen, friends can admire one another’s beauty. That’s part of it.”
“Sure, sweetheart. Friends also tell each other what’s bothering them, but I guess we’re not all that of friends, hm?”
The double entendre makes you scoff as he swipes his card, his receipt printing loudly as he makes faces at you. You don’t speak as he takes the receipt and tucks it into his pocket, listening to him sweetly thank the aunties at the exit as he leaves with his cart. He whistles, “so? What’s wrong with you?”
You don’t reply, simply turning onto your belly and resting your cheek against the heel of your palm. You prop your phone up against the armrest of your couch, making a show of pulling your sweater down enough that it shows the white lace of your bra.
“Tease.” He chides as he pops the trunk, “come on, tell me. Because you’re gonna piss me off and then we’re both in a mood.”
“I’m really fine, Gyu. I’m tired, I’m gonna eat some leftovers...maybe watch a movie. It's just one of those days, you know?” You shrug, “it’s not like anything is particularly wrong. I just feel weird, and that’s okay.”
You’re lying through your teeth, but he doesn’t look all that convince anyway as you hear the timer in your kitchen start going off. You give him a quick smile, “my food’s ready, so I gotta go but I’ll see you on Friday, Gyu. I promise I’m excited to see you.”
“Well, you’d still need the context of what’s happening on Friday, but sure.” He shrugs, “just...are you sure you’re okay? I can cancel. I’ll work around you, honey, just let me know.”
You smile inwardly, pushing off the couch and taking your phone with you into the kitchen. You prop it up against your toaster as you reach for a bowl on your tiptoes, “I would say no if I didn’t want to see you, Mingyu.”
“I know, but—”
“Mingyu, baby, please.” You set the bowl down, putting your hands on your hips. He’s in his car now, pulling his seatbelt on as he balances you on the steering wheel. He’s pouting, “expect that impromptu visit anyway.”
“You never follow through with those, so I will not be cleaning my apartment tonight and I will be in my PJs by nine.” You respond, crossing your arms on your chest as you watch him roll his shoulders back – the fabric of his shirt taut against his chest. He catches you staring at him, his ears tinging pink once more as you smile cheekily, “I’ll see you on Friday. Drive safe, okay?”
“I will. I’ll see you later, baby.”
The call ends before he can see you process the petname. Your cheeks are hot as you stare at your home screen, a picture of you that Mingyu took at a burger joint after you and your ex-boyfriend broke up. You had a smear of ketchup on your cheek and Mingyu’s fingers pinching the other – he'd taken you out because you had been the one to break things off after yet another jealous fit about you being friends with Mingyu.
When you think about it, he ended up being right – just six months after the breakup, you’d slept with Mingyu for the first time.
Jaehyun had always been iffy about Mingyu, but you didn’t understand it then, or ever. The two of you had been dating for six months when he met Mingyu, your friend of two years at that point. They met at your birthday party, and Mingyu had been incredibly sweet – he'd greeted him with a firm handshake, complimented his shirt and watch, and asked what he was drinking. Jaehyun had stiffened slightly, likely at the way Mingyu towered over him; but his face soured when Mingyu greeted you next, the way he always had.
With that damn cheek kiss.
His aftershave was particularly minty that night, and it made something in your stomach lurch but you ignored it. Jaehyun was quiet that entire night, even later when you were both in bed together and he was on top of you – he murmured it, effectively killing your buzz and starting a fight.
“I don’t like that Mingyu guy.”
Your relationship was no more than two years of weird jealousy afterwards. Jaehyun, however, was worse than you were in the weird terms and conditions of dating these days – he still followed his ex-girlfriends on social media and frequently engaged with their posts (you didn’t care.) He still talked to his most recent ex-girlfriend's mother, who he claimed said that he was like a son to her (again, you didn’t give a shit.)
It seemed to bother Jaehyun that you did not care what he was doing with his ‘friends’ of the opposite sex. He seemed annoyed that you could frequently hang out with your friends without caring about what he thought – posing in photobooths for pictures with your life-long friends Kwon Soonyoung and Lee Seokmin, getting dinner with your old coworker (and BFF-by-proxy) Hansol Chwe, taking shots with said BFF Boo Seungkwan at your favorite bar to celebrate his birthday...
Posting pictures of you and Mingyu at a farmer’s market the autumn before the breakup, trying spiked apple cider and pumpkin soup that you ended up bringing home for him to try.
Jaehyun didn’t like that you had friends he didn’t like. He didnt like that you had male friends period, but you simply did not care and especially not when he went on and on about Mingyu like he had a crush on him. You listened to his jealous rants about Soonyoung, Seokmin, Seungkwan and Hansol silently, merely peering up at him through your lashes and sipping whatever drink was closest. However, he really amped it up when he met Mingyu – and went as far as saying he was sure Mingyu wanted to sleep with you.
Only for you to find out in two weeks time that Mingyu had been across town that same night, breaking up with his girlfriend for saying the exact same thing about you.
She was so sure you wanted Mingyu.
And the truth was, you’d never thought about it – ever. You’d met Mingyu in grad school, through Seokmin – and your first memory of one another was at a horrible group interview for an internship that neither of you got. You stayed in touch following the months after graduation, only getting closer as Mingyu moved to your city a year after and needed friends to hang out with.
You were almost always one of those friends. If you couldn’t make it, he still made it a point to swing by your place and bring you something from wherever it was that he’d gone. Sometimes it was a thick slice of chocolate cake, sometimes it was an entire baked potato that he’d ordered to-go so you’d have something for lunch the next day. Sometimes it was just a handful of butter mints he’d stolen from the register attendant along with a colorful toothpick.
Mingyu is just like that. Sweet and caring and he is a good man. A Good Man, even, with capital letters and capital claim on your heart.
You sigh, turning your phone off and leaving it on the counter as you limply serve yourself your dinner. The stew isn’t as filling as it would’ve been had Mingyu made it, but you don’t let your mind linger on him too much as you eat on your couch and watch a YouTube video dissecting Pretty Little Liars.
Because thinking about Mingyu is bad for your heart. You can’t close your eyes when you do it, either – or his body flashes in your mind, the sounds he makes when he’s got your hands pinned to the mattress, the way he calls you baby between kisses that make your skin feel like it’s on fire. You can’t close your eyes without remembering the smell of his aftershave filling your nostrils, his fingers tugging at your clothes or the way he coos when you beg him to touch you anywhere.
Or...it’s worse, and you remember how good a boyfriend he would be. How good of a husband he would be – always having a spare change of shoes for you in his trunk for those times you’d go out to dinner or to hang out. Always offering his jacket, always holding your hand when you cross the street, always pulling you close when someone thinks it’s okay to get too comfortable with you. How he smooths a hand over your hair out of nervous habit as you worm through farmer’s markets and malls, how he’s easily thrown you over his shoulder several times when you’re throwing an embarrassing fit at a pub or a bar.
When he kisses you slowly, in his car that smells like him and you before you both get down. How he thumbs at your earrings when you’re sitting next to him at a restaurant or the movies, and his arm is draped over your shoulders. How he speaks to you softly and listens to you intently – actively interested in everything you have to say and what it means to you.
How he cares.
It has to be torture, being involved with Kim Mingyu the way you are.
But is it torture, at hands so gentle? Lips so soft, words so sweet, a heart so full?
You don’t think so.
9:32 PM.
You’d finished dinner hours ago, and your television was quietly playing some random Spotify playlist. The Kill by Thirty Seconds To Mars is filling your ears as you trill your lips dramatically and scroll on your work laptop, finalizing a presentation while sprawled across your couch.
Against your better judgment, you’d cleaned your apartment haphazardly and you took a long shower – but like any girl awaiting potential company, you put on yet another sweater and a skirt (that you dug out of the back of your closet; one that you’d caught Mingyu staring at you in ages ago.) Your pajamas laid neatly folded on your pillowcase, and you told yourself you’d get in bed by 9:45.
It’s unlikely that Mingyu will come by. You checked his location ten minutes ago, and he was at his apartment – likely cuddled up in his bed with all six of his pillows. Mingyu rarely leaves the house after eight on weekdays, anyway...unless he’s seeing you.
The time barely ticks past 9:33 p.m. when you hear a soft knock at the door – making you jolt up so fast, you feel something pinch in your neck. You still – glimpsing at the time on your laptop before checking your phone for any potentially missed messages. Mingyu usually texts you if he’s actually coming over...so it can’t be him.
No lights are on in your apartment but your stove one, so it only makes the atmosphere more tense. You stand up quietly and set your laptop down on your coffee table before hearing another knock – louder this time, the clink of metal on glass making you jump.
“Y/N, open this damn door.”
Mingyu’s voice on the other side makes all fear in your body dissipate in favor of annoyance, and you make your way over; unlocking the door quickly and huffing as you open it. He’s leaning coolly against the frame, holding a bouquet as usual – but you put your hands on your hips as you look up at him.
You hate the way your cheeks grow hot at his soft smile.
“It’s not Friday, Kim Mingyu.”
“I can still bring you flowers, baby.”
“Blah, blah, blah.” You make a face at him, opening the door further to let him in and turning on your heel – only to feel his arm wrap around your waist and gently pull your back into his chest. He smells like that same aftershave, your skin prickling as you glance up at him.
“Is that how you greet your guests?”
“You’re hardly a guest, Mingyu. Guests don’t know where my silverware is.”
“Or that you keep lube in your nightstand.” He whispers, squeezing your hip as you swat at his arm. You scowl at him as he presses a kiss on your forehead, “I told you I was coming.”
“It’s damn near ten at night.”
“So? I can just stay over.”
“You just wanna fuck me.”
“Or I miss you, baby.” He murmurs, pressing another kiss to your temple. “I miss you a lot, actually.”
“Breaking news: Kim Mingyu admits he misses his dearest, smartest, prettiest friend ever. More at eleven.” You snort, letting him turn you around as he smiles. You let him fully wrap his arms around you, your nose filling with that damn aftershave as he smoothly picks you up; your legs wrapping around his waist and your arms around his neck as he kicks your door shut with a kiss to your cheek.
“Kim Mingyu does,” he replies gently, and you feel shy as he nuzzles his nose against your cheek before kissing it again. Once, twice, three times. “I stopped by Chan’s, but he only had these and a few others. You like?”
You can hardly see the flowers, and Mingyu seems to recognize that as he flicks on your dining room light. Warm yellow rays fill the area, your eyes blinking rapidly to adjust as you glance at the flowers between you. Large white daisies are mere centimeters from your face, and you stop yourself from smiling to raise a brow at him.
“These are your birth flower.”
“You’re supposed to like everything about me, and that includes my birth flower.”
You roll your eyes, thumbing at the petals as he presses another kiss to your jaw, “yeah, they’re cute. I like.”
“Good, because I fucked up and also ordered another one for next week when I’m not going to see you, so you’ll be getting this twice but as delivery. I might get another just to apologize but that’s a quest for Later Mingyu.” He speaks against your cheek, pressing kiss after kiss on the warm skin, “missed you, missed you, missed you.”
“You’re smothering me!” You whine, feeling him pepper the side of your face with kisses, “Mingyu!”
“You complain I don’t see you enough, and you complain when I do. You’re never satisfied,” he jokes, carefully setting the flowers down on your dining room table to hold you closer. His hands are gripping your thighs, the material of your skirt straining against them as you press a kiss on the column of his throat, “thank you for the flowers.”
He shivers, “you always say thank you. Don’t thank me for the bare minimum.”
“I don’t get you flowers, Mingyu.”
“You should start. I like flowers and being smothered and impromptu visits with at my apartment with my dearest, smartest, prettiest girl, Y/N.”
You roll your eyes, ignoring the fluttering in your belly as you shake your head, “you’re impossible, Kim Mingyu.”
“Yeah, well...you love me anyway.”
“That’s an incredible assumption.”
“Shut up.”
“Make me.” You scoff, limply shoving his shoulder. He sucks his teeth, kicking his shoes off and clearly choosing to ignore your bait as he tightens his hold on your thighs, “what are you doing here, Mingyu? You’re not making dinner, and you clearly don’t have a plan in mind...so what do you want?”
He raises a brow, “I want to see you. Ask about your day. Also, steal some of those almonds you have hidden in your nightstand, next to your lube.”
“You just want me for what I can provide.”
“I want you for lots of things and lots of reasons, but what can you provide that I won’t willingly give you, anyway?”
You can smell the mint on his breath, like he’d brushed his teeth before getting to your apartment. Your eyes trail him silently, taking in the soft fabric of his casual t-shirt against the inside of your knees. Your skirt is starting to ride up, snug against your midthighs as you click your tongue in defeat.
“Exactly.” He says pointedly, squeezing your thigh as he flicks the dining room light off again, making you tighten your grip around him as he moves to turn on the lamp in your living room. He looks over your head at the television with an amused look, “are you sure you’re not sad or something? What’s with the ambiance?”
“You insist something is wrong with me, but I promise you,” you lamely hit the side of your closed fist to his chest, “I am fine.”
He gives you a knowing look in the moody lighting, before leaning down slightly. He glances at your lips, silently begging for a kiss only for you to roll your eyes and do the same. He smiles shamelessly, kissing you gently before looking around once more.
“It’s so dark in here.”
“I was just finishing stuff for work.”
“What have I told you about working off the clock? Stop working for free, they pay you shit as it is.” He squeezes your thighs for emphasis, and you suck in a quick breath involuntarily. You scrunch your nose as he grins, before smacking his shoulder gently.
“You’re the last person who can tell me that, you’re a workaholic. I see you twice a damn month because you’re always holed up in that office.” You shove a finger in his chest, only for him to press another kiss to your lips as you pout, “Mingyu!”
“You are so annoying, baby.” He murmurs, nipping at your lips like he might die if he doesn’t. “You can’t even appreciate that I took time out of my very busy schedule to come see you. And let’s not forget you love my job when it means you get to see me in a suit.”
“I’m going to ignore that for the sake of my sanity. What is so important about having dinner and jerking off for an hour that you think you’re doing me a favor?”
“I do not jerk off for an hour.” He scoffs, "I merely think about you for forty minutes and then I—”
“Enough. The point is that you do it. Like a loser. You’ll get carpal tunnel, you know.” You say with a sniff, your lips twitching as he laughs. He makes his way to your couch, sitting on the chaise at the end of it. He leans back into the cushions, smoothly adjusting you on his lap as he stuffs a throw pillow under his head to look at you. “Tell me why you’re here, Mingyu.”
“If you need a reason, it’s that I genuinely missed you. If that wasn’t already obvious.” He speaks sincerely, raking his fingers gently through your hair and earning a shiver. He tugs at it lightly, smirking as you let out a quipped whine before smacking his hip, “I just wanted to see you.”
“You’re holding me hostage against you, Mingyu.”
“Because you’ll sit a mile away unless I do. It’s like you avoid me.”
“I don’t avoid you, idiot. You just radiate so much heat that it makes me wanna die, I hate sweating.” You remind him, lowering yourself so you’re chest-to-chest with him, but propping yourself on your elbows to still hover over him. He plucks at the hem of your sweater, dipping his fingertips beneath the fabric; cool against your hip as he tilts his head, “that is true.”
“I know.”
“Can you hurry up and say you missed me, too? I’m starting to feel a disconnect.”
You purse your lips as you hold back your laughter, his pouted lips making you cover your mouth as you swallow your cackle.
“I did, I missed you.” You admit wholeheartedly, shrugging your shoulders as he tugs at the necklace he gave you, “of course I missed my Mingyu.”
“Not Park Mingyu from finance, right?” He sulks, tucking his chin to his chest as you chuckle, pinching his cheek between your knuckles carefully.
“Not Park Mingyu from finance, no. Don’t you know? I’d be bored in two days.”
“Exactly,” he huffs, wrapping his fingers gingerly around your throat, “can I stay? Or do you want me to leave?”
“It’s always nice when you stay over. However, you’re late for dinner and lack of punctuality does knock ten points off for Kim Mingyu. Still in first place, but you’re pushing it.”
“I’m sorry,” he nods, squeezing the sides of your neck gently before his lips plant a soft kiss on your forehead, “should we go to your room?”
“That’s incredibly suggestive, Mr. Kim.”
“It’s only suggestive if you make it suggestive, baby.”
“You calling me baby only cements my point.”
“Okay, maybe. But you could have some mercy on me.” He mumbles, pressing another kiss to your nose. You raise a brow, “are you sure you’re not the one who has a problem? You’ve been in my face since you got here, I’m literally on top of you. The world won’t end if you’re not touching me, you know.”
“I’m just used to having you close.” He shrugs, “I missed you.”
“Mingyu, you’ve said that so much that the words don’t even sound real anymore. You’ve been here for ten minutes and you’ve said it six times.”
“So? Is there a problem?” He mumbles against your lips, your breath hitching as he bridges the gap. His hands move to your hips, fingertips digging into the fabric of your skirt as he sits up carefully. Your hands palm at his chest as he pulls you impossibly closer, your skin littering with goosebumps as he slides his hands down your thighs. Your own shoot out to grab his wrists, pulling his hands away and pinning them to the couch before pulling away with a soft pant. He tries to kiss your jaw, his lips brushing your skin as you crane your neck away.
“What on Earth has gotten into you? Did you finally give into those stupid honey packs that Soonyoung was talking about the last time we all hung out?”
He scoffs, “absolutely not. You know I like this skirt, don’t play coy.”
You snort, dropping his hands to cross your arms on your chest. His fingers trace tight circles into your left knee, before he glances at your sweater with an amused look. He leans back on one hand, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he raises a brow.
“You knew I was coming.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Then you were hoping I would, baby.”
“Shut up. You’re supposed to be at home, and I should be in my bed right now.” You mutter, tonguing your cheek as you see your laptop turn off due to inactivity out of the corner of your eye. You glance back at him, his eyes trailing the slope of your neck as you clear your throat and run a hand through your hair, “how was your day?”
“Funny you should ask. Kim Mingyu has had his first official bad day at the office.” He nods, pressing his lips into a thin line that makes you bite back a laugh. “People are entitled, and I usually get through it pretty well, but today was just off the damn charts. I was late to work this morning, and I had to push back a presentation because I fucking lost my thumb drive because I left it at home. An intern tried to tell me my numbers were wrong, when I checked the math not once, but three separate times. We got into a nasty argument, also something new for me.”
He shrugs, “I sent her home early and I left an hour after lunch. Bought groceries, made dinner...life goes on but today was actually such shit. So...it’s nice to see you.”
“I think you forgot ‘tried to flirt with Y/N’ somewhere in there. I think during the whole ‘brought groceries’ part.” You let your cheeks warm as you tilt your head at him, only to earn a devilish smile paired with a one-armed shrug as he taps your knee with his knuckle.
“I didn’t try to do anything.” He leans back on his elbow, sucking his teeth as you raise a brow at him, “I was merely stating facts. I’m nice to you, and you’re a pillow princess. One plus one has always been two, baby.”
“You are nice to me, that’s true. But you’re the one—”
“A lady like yourself mustn’t get her hands dirty for pleasure. That’s what I’m here for.”
His eyes are pointed, and you conjure an annoyed look as you poke a finger into his side. He squeals, grabbing your wrists and pulling you down on top of him, “stop that. Tell me about your day.”
“Nothing happened.” You shrug, pushing yourself up. Your hands are on either side of his head as you stick your tongue out at him, only for him to do the same and touch the tip of yours with his. You scrunch your nose as he snorts, before calling your bluff.
“You’re lying.”
“Hm...I broke my favorite pair of earrings. I tripped going up the stairs when I came back from getting lunch at that bistro we like in downtown. Park Mingyu from Finance asked me to dinner. Nothing insane.”
It’s not a lie.
But it’s been a few weeks since it happened. It was a rare day in the office for you, and you’d been in and out of meetings all mornings – but he caught you just as you got in the elevator to meet Soonyoung for lunch.
Park Mingyu wasn’t bad looking, and he was nice enough. He just...worked in finance, of all things, and had that same monotonous voice most finance men do. He didn’t slouch, but his tie was almost always haphazardly thrown on and you’d fixed it for him one time – but you figured one time was enough to get him hooked.
Kim Mingyu is looking up at you through his lashes, his hands seemingly now lost on what to do as he pulls them off your waist. His eyes are darting all over your face – likely looking for a hint at you kidding. A quirk of your lip, a twitch of your brow, something – but the silence between you only gets thicker as his jaw grows slightly tense.
“...did you give him an answer?”
“No. I said I’d think about it.”
Mingyu scoffs.
He actually scoffs, like how dare you have the audacity to tell someone else you’d think about giving them a positive answer to their dinner invitation? How dare you, when you know you’d likely not like your food? And then it’s awkward for weeks, before you get a paragraph to your work number about how Park Mingyu is such a nice guy – from Park Mingyu himself.
The man beneath you runs a hand through his hair, and you sit up to allow him to do the same. He does, unzipping his sweater and shrugging it off before he tosses it over the side of your couch.
You resist the urge to run your hands up his bare arms, cursing the way his shirt fits against his chest so snugly.
“When did he ask you? During lunch? Did you go to the office today?”
“Two weeks ago.”
You shift slightly in his lap, your cheeks hot as he stares at you. There’s a mix of emotions in his gaze – confusion, amusement...a bit of anger, you want to think.
A bit of jealousy.
“And you’re telling me this now?”
“I didn’t think I had to tell you. We’re not...dating.”
The word comes out choked. You feel it; he hears it, and your legs tighten subconsciously around his thighs. He glances down at them, his eyes catching a faded bite on your inner thigh from two weeks ago; his thumb pushing the hem of your skirt up high enough to make it visible to your eyes, should you look down.
“Are you gonna say yes?” His voice is level, but he’s not looking at you. In the low light, you can see the tightness in his jaw, the way he tongues his cheek before you feel his fingers tap your thigh, “are you?”
Your throat feels dry as you steal a glimpse of the flowers on your dining table.
“Y/N.”
You let out a forced chuckle, “c’mon, you know me, Gyu. He’s in finance. I really would get bored in two days. A few hours, even.”
He doesn’t seem convinced, “that’s not a no.”
“What do you want me to say, Mingyu?” You run a hand down the front of your sweater nervously, bunching the fabric in your palm as he leans forward slightly. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, not managing to shake his focus like the action usually would.
“That you’ll say no.” He says plainly, before scoffing as a smile of disbelief crosses his lips. “In fact, I don’t even know why you’re entertaining the idea of it when we both know you’d never say yes unless something happened between us.”
For a moment, you dislike Mingyu. Your eyes narrow as you look down at him, tracing his features as he clicks his tongue.
“What is this ‘us’ you’re referring to?” You speak softly, but clearly – splaying your hands on your knees as you lean into his space. “What do you mean by ‘us,’ Mingyu? What does ‘us’ mean to you?”
“You and I.”
“What about you and I?”
His hand leaves your thigh, and he has the gall to roll his eyes as he runs it over his face.
“You’d never say yes to Park, because you have me. You don’t need anyone else.”
“What makes you think I even need you?”
“The fact that you melt in my hands the moment I walk through that door.” He’s in your face, his breath wafting against your lips as he maintains eye contact. “You forget the world exists when I’m with you, and it’s the only time I’ve ever seen you relax. You love having me around, and you love me. You don’t have to say it for me to know.”
You want to pretend that he can’t feel the way you freeze on top of him. His eyes widen slightly as you swallow carefully, “love...is a stretch, Kim.”
“We both know it’s not.”
“You’re insane.”
“Then what does that make you, hm?” His hands are back on you, massaging the tension in your thighs that only makes your back rigid. A shiver snakes down your spine as his thumb brushes the cotton of your underwear, “what does that make you, baby?”
“I hate it when you call me that,” you blurt, and he has an unimpressed look on his face when you double down, “I hate it, Mingyu.”
“Yet, you pout when I call you Y/N.”
“Well, just call me Y/N anyway.”
You huff, moving to get up but he holds you in place – his grip firm as he pulls you into him. Your chest hits his as you avoid his gaze, your arms stiff between your bodies as you give up on getting off him.
“Still wanna tell me nothing’s wrong?” He mumbles, his eyes soft as he wraps his arms around your waist. You don’t reply, tonguing your cheek as you feel the stupid burn in your throat as you focus your line of sight on the flowers he put on the table.
Cute. Soft. Delicate.
An extension of him.
You swallow hard, blinking rapidly as you speak quietly, “what are we doing?”
He sighs, resting his forehead against your shoulder, “I don’t know. I thought I’d have an answer by now.”
“You don’t know,” you repeat, “because you didn’t want to ask me or because you thought I’d ask first?”
“Both.”
“Coward.”
The word is bitter as it leaves your mouth, but you can’t move. You don’t want to move – the fear of him slipping through your fingers overpowering as your hands grip his shoulders like he’s going to disappear. He leans into your touch, burying his face into the crook of your neck and inhaling deeply. He doesn’t say anything, but you feel his lips brush against your skin as you wrap your arms around his neck. Your fingers card through the hair at the nape of his neck, the smell of his shampoo making you melt into his embrace.
“Tell me I’m yours.” His voice is muffled against your neck, “please. Please.”
“I don’t know if you are, Mingyu.” You can’t recognize the sound of your own voice, thick and uncertain. His grip on you tightens, and you feel a shaky breath against your neck as you pull back, trying to meet his eyes. He stares at the necklace around the base of your throat, the seashell-shaped locket glinting in the light.
“I can be. I want to be.” He’s barely speaking above a whisper as his fingertip taps the locket, hooking around the chain and giving a careful tug. “Do you know why I gave this to you?”
You glance down at it, “because you were in Bali and it was on sale?”
He snorts, the air around the two of you settling evenly on your shoulders, “no. Well, I was in Bali, but no it wasn’t on sale and that’s not why I got it.”
“All I’m getting is that you went to Bali without me.”
“Yeah, well. I couldn’t be around you in all those pretty dresses you wear when it’s hot out.” He sighs, “seashells are a symbol of love.”
“Doesn’t mean you’re in love with me.”
He shrugs slightly, popping the shell open to reveal it empty, “it’s said that seashells are associated with Aphrodite, the goddess of love. That they represent the warmth and care and security of love, because they protect the pearl that grows inside that shell.”
He clears his throat, closing the locket with a click.
“The point of the locket was to put a picture of us in there, someday. It’s been six months since I gave this to you, and I think about it everyday.” He ducks his head like he’s afraid of the truth spilling from his mouth, but he can’t stop talking. “Sometimes, I think you were made for me, as stupid as that might sound. Like Eve was made for Adam, from his rib, or something like that.”
You can feel your eyes burning as you watch him nibble on his lip, his hands restless as he moves them from around you to the hem of your skirt before gripping the cushion beneath you both.
“I don’t know much about falling in love,” he admits, “but...I know that you saved all the flowers I gave you, bits of them, even before we started doing whatever we’re doing. A part of me wants to believe that you saved them because you wanted to keep me around, even if it was just the flowers I gave you...because I’ve kept all the receipts from Chan’s shop when I’ve bought them. I always liked giving you flowers because you like them, but after the first time we kissed...it felt romantic and I just wanted to make your life even just a little brighter and, ugh, I don’t know. Tell me I’m ruining this and I’ll shut up.”
You blink at him silently, shaking your head before sliding your hands down his arms, “have I told you that you talk a lot?”
“Many times.”
“Have I ever told you to stop?”
You raise a brow as you find his hand, slotting your fingers with his and curling them around his palm. His rings dig into your skin but you don’t care, “continue, Mr. Kim.”
“I hate when you call me that.”
“I don’t care.”
“I know,” he rolls his eyes, but his cheeks are pink as you press your lips to them gingerly, “I’m not...it’s hard for me to make time for people. You’ve seen it, you know it’s true because I’ve only been able to get you in every couple weeks and trust me, it’s fucking torture. They say that distance makes the heart grow fonder but I truly cannot fathom ever wanting to be away from you. It makes my chest hurt when I wake up after seeing you and I have to leave.”
“You don’t have to.” You shrug, “leave, I mean. You can stay. Forever, if you wanted to.”
His chuckle is almost humorless, “I’d never get anything done.”
You nod silently, tracing circles into the back of his hand with your thumb before you glance up at him. You let go of his hand to cradle his cheek carefully, watching the way he leans into your touch. His arm wraps around your waist again, pulling you down with him as he lays back against the cushions once more.
“So...I can be yours. If you want me to be. If you’ll have me, rather.”
You don’t respond, chewing on your cheek while pinching his between your knuckles. A silence blankets over you both, even as he brushes a soft kiss to the tip of your nose. You scrunch it, before resting your head on his chest with a click of your tongue, feeling his hand push the hem of your shirt up – fingers drumming against the warm skin of your hip.
“Earlier, you said I needed context for Friday. What’s that about?”
“My parents are in town.” He blurts, and your eyes widen as you jerk away from him, “I wanted you to meet them.”
You scan his face, your lips parting as you sit up. Your knees dig into his hips as you run a hand through your hair, letting out a chuckle of disbelief.
“Surely they don’t know we’re in this entanglement.”
“...They think we’re together.”
“Mingyu!” You choke on his name, earning a wince as you give his shoulder a slight shove. He pouts, grabbing your wrists and pulling you back on top of him, “why would you tell them that?! Why do they even know about me?!”
“Because I love you.” His voice makes you still, his eyes serious as he bores them into you. A wavering uncertainty is laced in them, mixed with that same pure adoration that he always held in even a wayward glance your way. Your hands curl into fists, your nails digging into your palm before he forces them open and interlaces your fingers. His thumbs trace circles on the back of your hands, nervously nibbling on his lip before he clears his throat.
“I love you, and I’m a coward but I cannot imagine being without you. It makes my stomach hurt to think about it, it makes me nauseous when I think about someone else having you the way I do. Someone else bringing you flowers and making you dinner and kissing you stupid when they don’t deserve you to begin with is an atrocious thing to think about. I love you, and I want to be your emergency contact. I want to make you dinner and rub your feet and I want to put a shiny ring on your finger. I want to listen to you sing in the shower, I want you to tell me it’s not a duet when I join in and I want to make good on any and every promise I ever let fall into you. I love you, and I want you, only. For the rest of our lives.”
Your nose burns as tears prick at your eyes, and you tear your hands from his to dig the heels of your palms into your eyes – coating them in said hot tears. Your voice is thick, “God, you suck.”
“I just put my heart on a platter for you.”
“That’s exactly why you suck, because now I can’t tell Park Mingyu I’ll have dinner with him.”
Your joke is ill received as he scoffs, crossing his arms on his chest as you wipe at your face haphazardly before leaning over and pressing a chaste kiss to his forehead. Your hands cradle his face gently, thumbs rubbing his cheeks back and forth as he sulks, “I love you, Mingyu.”
“Kim Mingyu.”
“I love you, Kim Mingyu.”
He lets you kiss him, uncrossing his arms and pulling you close. His fingers dip beneath your sweater, squeezing your hips as he teases his tongue into your mouth – minty and gentle as your hands move to tug at his shirt. He stops you by abruptly sitting up, cupping your ass as he stands from the couch. Your legs wrap around his waist as his lips trail your jaw, nipping at your neck as he takes you to your bedroom, nudging the door closed with his foot.
“Wanna prove it?”
“Not a pillow princess, my ass.” Mingyu’s arm is tight around your waist, his hand holding your phone as your fingernails dig into his shoulders. “Pretty girl gave up a minute in.”
“I’m just used to a...certain lifestyle,” you whimper into his neck, before hearing the unmistakeable sound of a call dialing. You look over your shoulder wearily, watching Mingyu put the call on speaker. It picks up as he holds it to your face, pulling your head back gently by your hair, “tell him you’re having dinner with your in-laws.”
“Hello?”
“H-Hey, sorry for c-calling so late,” you stutter, your eyes squeezing shut as Mingyu’s hips rock up into you slowly. “A-are you busy?”
“Never too busy for you. Are you alright? You sound...choppy.”
Mingyu gives a hard thrust then, a whine tearing from your throat as you attempt to cough, “sorry, I’m g-good! I just w-wanted to let you know that I c-can't have dinner.”
“Oh...can I ask why? I mean, I’ve been pretty nice to you for as long as I’ve known you. Could warrant a date night.”
“She’s having dinner with her in-laws, bud. Tell him, baby.” Mingyu speaks clearly, an embarrassed moan falling from your lips as his grip on your waist tightens, “tell him.”
“I’m having d-dinner with m-my in-laws...” You pant out, your lips brushing his neck as your hand blindly reached around to hang up on the Finance Guy rambling about how you led him on. Mingyu tosses your phone to the side as his hand snakes between you to cup one of your breasts in his hand, “you might have to quit.”
You nod breathlessly as he sucks your nipple into his mouth, “they pay me shit anyway.”
“New position at my firm opened up.”
“God, shut up and fuck me.”
He chuckles, flipping you onto your back smoothly and pressing a kiss to the side of your face.
“Pillow. Princess.”
“THREE YEARS IS A LONG TIME WITH NO RING, MINGYU.”
Mrs. Kim’s eyes are pointed as her son tongues his cheek, and you bite back your smile as you tip your wine glass towards your lips.
He had mentioned they’d say something along these lines – of course, he only mentioned more details of the ‘relationship’ they knew on the car ride there. Everything in the storyline was essentially the same, if you ignored that Mingyu admitted he’d fallen head over heels in love with you after the first time you slept together and the two of you had only been officially in a relationship for the last thirty-six hours.
“Y/N just started a new job, Mom. It wouldn’t be wise to...take that step in this juncture of her career.” He’s spitballing, and his sister nearly spits her wine out across the table as Mr. Kim snorts. “It’s true! Babe, tell them!”
You fail at holding in your laughter, your shoulders shaking as you nod, “I did just get a new job. But I agree, three years is a long time without a ring.”
“Babe.”
“I’m just saying, you could put some pep in your step.”
He sulks in his chair, barely sinking down two inches as everyone at the table bursts into fits of giggling, “I’m trying to take your life into consideration, too!”
“Time is money, Mingyu.” You say, pinching his cheek between your knuckles. You lean over, pressing a soft kiss to the apple of his cheek – leaving a stamp of your lipstick on the skin as the waiter returns with the check. Mrs. Kim smiles as you reach for it instinctively, the grin only growing wider as Mingyu snatches it out of your hand and shoves his card inside the booklet before you can even protest.
“At least tell me he’s taking good care of you.” Mrs. Kim’s voice is soft as you all step out of the restaurant, and you feel your cheeks heat in the cool November air as you nod.
“Mingyu is a good man,” you start, patting his arm. He beams with pride, before sticking his tongue out at his sister that makes a gagging face. You snicker, squeezing his bicep gently, “if it were up to him, I wouldn’t lift a finger.”
“But it’s not.” He sighs dramatically, “she lets me make dinner and that’s it.”
“Let is the wrong word. He barges into my apartment with groceries and I feel bad for the guy,” you feign a pout, earning a scoff from your boyfriend as his parents share a warm look, “but...I love him. What can I do, say no to a nice steak and a foot massage?”
“Yes.” Minseo pipes up, before Mingyu scowls. You snort, checking the time on your watch before his parents lean in to hug him good night. You try to stand to the side, but his sister pulls you into the familial embrace.
“We’ll catch up with you both in two weeks. Mingyu, get the girl a ring!” Mr. Kim gives your shoulder a soft pat, and Mrs. Kim slips something into Mingyu’s pocket. She tries to be discreet, but your eyes dart to her hand as she waves goodbye. You do the same, your face hot at the idea of marrying into such a loving family.
Mingyu slides his hand in his pocket as you both walk to his car, his eyes widening as he pulls it back out. Two rings glimmer in the moonlight, ones you’d complimented on his mother’s hand at the beginning of dinner.
“Little soon for marriage, huh?” He thumbs at the diamonds, and you chew on your lip as you look at them. Your eyes flicker to his, a sparkle of excitement as you see him already looking at you. You clear your throat, holding your left hand up, “well...we can just see if they fit.”
“And if they do?”
“Then I guess we’re engaged, oh boyfriend of three-years.”
“I was nervous!”
Your laughter rings out in the nearly empty parking lot, “well, I love you, anyway. Three years or two days, you said forever and that you’d make good on that.”
“I did say that.” His hands are gentle against yours, trembling slightly as he slides both rings on. They fit snugly at the base of your finger, and you wiggle them with a little smile on your face.
“We can just be ‘engaged’ for like, two years. No one suspects anything then, wedding planning takes ages.”
“Or we can get married in six months. I have contacts everywhere and that’s when you’ll have enough PTO accrued for a honeymoon.”
“You’re crazy.” You scoff, “crazy and calculated, Kim Mingyu.”
“Crazy in love with you, but sure.” He rolls his eyes, opening the passenger door for you. “Mrs. Kim Y/N, in six months. Pencil me in, babe.”
“In your dreams.”
Kim Mingyu is the love of your life.
Sweet, thoughtful, and delicate. Fragile, even: in ego, in sex, in love.
You know he’s made for you. Like Adam was made for Eve. He still shows up with a bouquet every week, but your kitchen is now shared and nicely stocked with your favorite bottles of wine.
Kim Mingyu is the petals of every flower in all the bouquets he’s ever given you. Velvety soft, perfectly cared for and beautiful.
And just as he is all those things – he is your Achilles’ heel. You can never say no to Kim Mingyu, but you can finally admit that he is something more to you..perhaps, everything.
Friend, lover, soulmate – all in one. A BOGO deal, you’d say, and he’d argue he’s at least a buy two, get one.
But, no matter what – Mingyu knows exactly who he is in your life, and you in his. Glued together at the hip, working together (though you get to boss him around and he never thought he’d be into that, a thought penciled in for much, much later when you’re both working ‘overtime’ — read: his head between your thighs at your desk with your office door locked.)
Friends, lovers, soulmates – married (six months in, just like he’d said) and in love, two idiots held safely in the other’s ribcage.
OH YM DAYSSSSSSSS1!!! i always come back to this one because i love to go through it and then cry stupid yearning like crazy <3333 and on the real thought(mine, my own head) i think mingyu is this type of lover which makes 120% more crazy yearning for a man like him ANYWAYS I LOVE THIS
𓊆박성훈 x fem reader𓊇 my head is spinning and my stomach is sick. say i'm in love, so it's hard to admit. i can't eat, i can't sleep. i think you're what's wrong with me. i think you're what's wrong with me.
⤫ 5730 ⤫ ― heavy infidelity, cheating, emotional manipulation, toxic dynamic, heavy angst, sunghoon smokes, pussy eating, kissing, missionary, creampie, asshole characters, two-timing, non proofread
⊹ 𐙚⋆˙˚ new layout . . . who is this? ++ also towards the ending is the second ending of what happened after the smut haha . . . and featuring hwang intak my baby <3
“are you for real..?” jay asked, voice low as he scrolled through the guest list on his phone. the groomsmen were in the waiting room, fixing cufflinks and hair.
heeseung glanced back at jay through the reflection, swiping his hair back through his fingers. “what?”
“you invited yn?” jay’s tone was disbelieving, he kept glazing between his phone and heeseung.
the older one turned around, shrugging. “well, yeah. she helped him a lot during his uni days—it’s just a polite gesture.”
jay stared at him, eyebrows pinched slightly. “a gesture? hee… she’s not just some friend. you know what they were.”
heeseung sighed, adjusting his tie. “they’re long over it, though. sunghoon’s moved on—he’s literally getting married later. inviting her shows there’s no bad blood. it’s just mature.”
jay hesitated for a long second.
“...man, i don’t know….” he muttered, shaking his head. his thumb scrolled through the other names on the list.
“dude, it’s okay,” heeesung said firmly, patting jay’s shoulder. “let it go.”
——
“shit—i’m nervous as hell.” sunghoon muttered, running a hand through his carefully styled hair. “this… fuck, this is really happening.”
the waiting room felt too small. the groom paced back and forth near the window, tugging at his collar even though it was perfectly fitted. the ceremony was starting in fourty minutes—his heart wouldn’t stop racing.
jake watched him from the couch, eyebrow raised. “you good?”
“yeah—just—just nervous,” he sighed, putting his hands on his hips.
jake stood up and walked over, placing a hand on his shoulder. “hey, it’s okay—big day and all. you’ve been through a lot, but you’re here now! you’re doing it, man!”
sunghoon let out a shaky breath, staring at the floor.
jake studied him for a second, then lowered his voice. his eyebrows furrowed in concern, jake was the best man, after all. “alright, look… do you need a hit? cig or something? just to take the edge off real quick.”
damn it—sunghoon was supposed to stop. but it’s so fucking hard.
he didn’t even hesitate. “fuck, sure.”
they slipped out a side door that led to a quiet courtyard behind the venue. the evening air was cool, and the distant sound of guests and crews chatting inside felt muffled. jake handed him a cigarette and lighter, then clapped his shoulder.
“don’t take too long, yeah? i’ll cover for you.”
jake disappeared back inside.
he closed the glass doors.
sunghoon sighed before lighting the cigarette with unsteady fingers, taking a long drag. the smoke burned his lungs, but it didn’t calm the storm in his chest. he closed his eyes, leaning against the stone wall.
damn.
he’s really getting married today.
in less than an hour, he would stand in front of everyone and make things official—vows, rings, signatures, the whole forever shit. a few minutes that would last the rest of his life.
the thought made his stomach twist. every inhale of smoke felt heavier, like it was stuffing and pressing down on the weight already crushing him.
sunghoon took another drag, longer this time, holding it longer than usual. the tip of the cigarette glowed bright orange in the dim courtyard light as he exhaled slowly, watching the smoke curl up and disappear into the night air.
this was supposed to be the happiest day of his life.
so why did it feel like he was standing at the edge of something… irreversible?
there’s no way he was getting cold feet on his wedding day. no, no—this was a normal feeling, wasn’t it? people get nervous all the time. sooha and him had planned this for months—almost a year.
it’s fine.
he ran a hand through his hair, messing up the styled strands. his mind wouldn’t stop spinning.
would things be different if it was with—
“sunghoon?”
he opened his eyes.
you were standing there, frozen a few meters away, holding a small gift bag. the silk, rose champagne dress hugged you nicely, in all the way he remembered. you froze the second your eyes met.
sunghoon’s heart dropped to his tummy.
“...yn?”
your lips parted in surprise. “what are you doing here?” your voice came out quiet, almost hesitant. the wind almost took it away from him.
he let out a weak, breathless laugh, smoke slipping past his lips. “i needed some air. couldn’t stay in there anymore.”
the silence that followed was heavy and awkward. you shifted on your pretty heels, glancing back toward the venue door like you wanted to escape. sunghoon couldn’t stop staring at you.
you’ve gotten prettier since the last time he saw you—almost 5 years ago. you looked beautiful, still the most beautiful girl he’d ever laid eyes on. and your eyes—behind those glittery eyelids, your eyes were glassier.
he hated how familiar this felt.
right, you thought.
“...i should go back insid—” you started softly.
“wait.”
sunghoon stepped forward without thinking and gently grabbed your wrist. the moment his fingers touched your skin, something electric shot through both of you. he pulled you aside quickly without thinking twice, around the corner behind a tall flowering hedge where the lights didn’t quite reach.
just like all those secret nights before.
his eyes wouldn’t leave your face.
“why did you—? sunghoon,” your eyebrows pinched slightly, but you didn’t pull away your hand. “you’re smoking again.”
a low, bitter chuckle slipped out of him, smoke curling between the two of you. he looked down at the glowing cigarette between his fingers, then back at you with heavy, longing eyes.
“it’s hard,” he admitted quietly. “if i don’t smoke… i think about you instead. and that’s a much worse habit.”
the words hung in the cool night. your breath caught, and for a second, neither of you spoke. sunghoon took another slow drag, but his gaze never left yours.
it’s a lie, really. it didn’t matter if sunghoon smoked or not—because you were always on his mind. nonetheless.
you averted your gaze, bringing your arms up to hug yourself. the champagne dress suddenly felt too thin under his stare.
“what are you talking about…” you whispered, voice shaky. “don’t be ridiculous, sunghoon. you’re getting married… you’re—you’re getting married.”
the cigarette burned between his fingers as he flicked the ash away, stepping just a little closer—not enough to touch, but enough that you could feel the warmth from his body.
“yeah, i am.” he said lowly, his fingers itching to cup your face. “doesn’t stop me from standing here wishing i wasn’t, though.”
your eyes flicked back up to his. there it was—that quiet pull. that look in your eyes was the same one you had five years ago when you were tucked underneath him, begging him to please give you a second chance.
you shouldn’t have come—but it still wouldn’t stop sunghoon from wishing he was married to somebody else today.
“sunghoon—just,” your voice cracked. you took a shaky breath, hugging yourself tighter. “just stop it. i’m here today because heeseung invited me, okay? i wasn’t even going to come at first—but i… i just wanted to see you off. properly. that’s all.”
sunghoon frowned, his expression darkened. the cigarette was long forgotten on the ground. he stepped even closer until the space between you felt almost nonexistent.
“really?” he breathed, voice low and edging with something painful. “really, yn? you’ll just watch and let me get married to another woman that’s not you?”
the words hit hard. your lips parted, but nothing came out. before you could find your voice and the words to say, sunghoon’s hand moved—cuppung your face with a gentleness that didn’t match the look in his eyes. his thumb brushed your cheek once, then he backed you up until your shoulders met the cool stone wall behind.
your breath hitched. his other hand pressed flat against the wall beside your head, caging you in. he was so close you could smell the cigarette smoke, mixed with his cologne and his nervous sweat under his expensive tux.
“is that it, yn?” he whispered, forehead nearly resting against yours. his eyes dropped to your lips, fingers brushing your skin. “tell me right now that you’re fine watching me marry her—that we didn’t spend years loving and giving each other our firsts—and i’ll go.”
but you didn’t say anything. your hands trembled at your sides, fingers brushing against the front of his tux like you wanted to push him away, but couldn’t do it.
sunghoon leaned in slowly. so slowly. his nose brushed yours. his lips hovered just a breath away from your own, close enough that you could almost taste him. close enough that one tiny movement would close the gap and ruin everything.
your eyes fluttered shut. his grip on your face tightened just a fraction.
“hm, yn? tell me you don’t love me anymore.”
the silence stretched for two heartbeats.
then your fingers curled into his tie. you gripped the silk tightly, and slowly pulled him down. your voice came out shaky, barely above a whisper, but shattered what was left of his control.
“... what are you going to do if i still do?”
that was all it took.
sunghoon crashed his lips into yours with a wrecked sound, kissing like a man who was drowning and you were the only air left in his lungs. there was nothing gentle about it—it wasn’t a gentle, romantic, reunion kiss, it was years of guilt, longing, and frustration poured out as he tilted your head back against the stone wall and deepened the kiss instantly.
his tongue slid against yours, hungry and familiar, while one hand slid down to grip your waist, pulling your body flush against his.
you kissed him back just as desperately, tugging harder on his tie like you could keep him here. a soft, broken whimper escaped your throat and he swallowed it whole, pressing you harder into the wall.
the taste of smoke and mint on his tongue was making your head spin. his body was burning against yours, the crisp tux doing nothing to hide how badly he wanted you.
after a few heated seconds, sunghoon suddenly pulled back just enough to speak, breathing ragged against your lips.
“not here,”
before you could respond, he grabbed your hand and pulled you along with him. he moved fast, leading you through a different back door further down the courtyard. it was a room used for wedding preparations—folded chairs stacked against the wall, extra table linens, vases, and a wooden table in the centre.
the door clicked shut.
the second it closed, sunghoon was on you again.
he pushed you up against the nearest wall, kissing even harder than before now that you both had your privacy. both of his hands were on your waist now, sliding down to grip your hips as he pressed his body into yours.
you moaned softly into his mouth, hands flying up to his hair, ruining his wedding hair. he groaned at the feeling, the sound vibrating down your body.
“fuck, i missed you,” he muttered between kisses, barely pulling away long enough to speak. he wanted to make it up for all the time he couldn’t kiss you. “missed you s’much.”
with a low groan in his throat, sunghoon grabbed the back of your thighs and lifted you effortlessly. you gasped and instantly wrapped your arms around his neck. he set you down on the edge of the wooden table, stepping between your legs and pulling you right to the edge so your bodies were flush again.
the champagne dress rode up your thighs as he pressed closer, hands roaming up your sides, mouth never leaving yours.
sunghoon pulled back from the kiss just enough to look at you—lips swollen, eyes glossy, chest heaving. the sight of you like this snapped the last thread of whatever nonexistent control he had left.
without a word, he pushed you down.
his hand pressed firmly against your chest, guiding you until your back met the white tablecloth. you gasped softly as you laid flat, the movement made your dress ride up higher on your thighs, and sunghoon didn’t waste a second.
he stayed standing between your legs, eyes dark and hungry as they raked over you. his hands slid up your thighs, pushing the dress higher until it bunched around your waist.
“fuck… look at that,” he breathed, fingers hooked into the waistband of your white lace panties—much like his future wife’s dress—then slowly dragged them down your legs. sunghoon shoved it in his pocket.
you were completely exposed to him now, laid out on the table like a feast.
you’re so wet, it’s glistening. you’re so wet for him.
sunghoon’s hands gripped your thighs, spreading them wider. your pussy twitched at the cool air hitting your soaked folds, and the sight made a guttural sound rumble in his chest.
“shit, yn…” he whispered, dripping with lust. “look how wet you are. and you’re telling me to stop?”
he didn’t wait for an answer.
the groom leaned in and dragged his tongue slowly up your slit, collecting and scooping every drop of your arousal with a hungry groan. the moment his warm tongue touched your clit, your back arched off the table. he wrapped his lips around the sensitive bud and sucked, flicking it with the tip of his tongue at the same time.
“sunghoon!”
one of your hands flew to his hair, gripping the dark strands tightly as he devoured you. he was relentless—licking, sucking, burying his face deeper between your thighs like he wanted to drown in your taste. the wet obscene sounds of his mouth against your pussy filled the small storage room, mixing with your broken moans.
sunghoon pulled back for just a second, lips shiny with your slick, and spat directly at your opening before diving back in messier. his tongue pushed inside you, fucking you with it—thrusting his muscle back and forth like a dick as his nose rubbed against your clit like a dog.
he looked up at you through his lashes, lips glistening.
“you taste so fucking good,” he rasped, the vibration making you whimper. “missed eating you out like this all the time.”
your legs started shaking around his head. sunghoon tightened his grip, forcing your thighs open wider as he ate you like a man who was unsure when else he’d have this.
he flattened his tongue and licked along, slow stripes up your entire cunt before focusing back on your clit, sucking and flicking until your hips were grinding against his face. your back arched on the table.
“s—sunghoon—! hoonie—fuck!”
your thighs clamped around his head but he forced them open again, groaning into your pussy as he felt you trembling. he inserted his two fingers and began thrusting them back and forth—curling his digits while sucking on your clit till your whole body seized up.
you came hard on his tongue with a broken cry, hips jerking against his face as pleasure crashed through you. sunghoon didn’t stop—he kept licking and fingering you through it, drawing out every last shake and whimper until you were gasping, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes.
he stood up straight between your legs, quickly unbuckling his belt and unzipping his tux pants. his cock sprang out, hard and leaking as he stoked himself, eyes locked on you.
when was the last time he’s gotten this hard?
sunghoon swallowed the lump in his throat, positioning his cock right between your folds where he slid the head between them back and forth. but before he pushed in, he leaned in slightly, sucking the inside of his cheek.
“...why didn’t you reply to me?” he whispered, chest heaving. “five years. i texted you, emailed you—reached out so many fucking times… and you just disappeared. if you still love me, why didn’t you tell me?”
you were breathing heavily from your orgasm, dress bunched around your waist, legs wrapped loosely around him. you looked up at sunghoon with glassy eyes.
“because we can’t be together, hoonie,” you breathed, voice cracking. “we… this… it was doomed from the beginning. we both knew that.”
his jaw clenched.
“i don’t wanna hear that shit right now,” he hissed, then pushed inside you in one deep thrust.
you both moaned aloud as he buried himself to the hilt, your walls still pulsing from your orgasm. he didn’t give you time to adjust—started fucking you hard, the wooden table creaking under every brutal snap of his hips.
sunghoon was getting married today, but he was still stuck up on the girl who made him felt like the world was his five years ago.
the groom leaned to kiss his ex-lover messily as he pounded into you, one hand gripping your thigh, the other tangled in your hair. the sound of skin slapping skin filled the storage room.
“ah—ngh—!” you moaned, all high pitch and lewd as he fucked you hard and deep. your arms extended to loosely wrap around his neck, kissing him back just as needy.
sunghoon pulled back to rest his forehead against yours. “it’s because of him, isn’t it?”
you whimpered when the tip of his cock kissed your cervix. sunghoon snapped his hips harder.
“intak. it’s because of that fuckass intak—because you were guilty you were cheating on intak the whole time you were with me?”
your eyes widened, a broken whimper escaped your lips when he kept hitting that soft, good spot inside you that made your toes curl. “w—wait, wait—hah!”
sunghoon didn’t stop. he fucked you with punishing, jealous, deep thrusts as he spoke through his gritted teeth.
“i knew, baby. i always fucking knew. i didn’t care—i told you i didn’t care. i wanted you so bad i was willing to share you if that’s what it took… i kept hoping you’d finally choose me and leave him—but you never did.”
he thrust particularly hard, making the table legs scrape against the floor. it was hard to reply. it was hard to form words—not when each time sunghoon railed you deep, the words in your brain scattered like dominos and your mouth could only form moans and his name.
“you loved us both, didn’t you?” his voice cracked with bitterness and lust. sunghoon loved you more—he knew that. he knew he loved you more than intak could ever. even after five years, he doubted intak ever knew he was being double two–timed.
“you left me cause you were guilty you couldn’t pick. instead of saying anything… you just disappeared. i could’ve—i would’ve—”
a particularly rough snap of his hips made you cry out, your nails digging into his broad, toned shoulders through his shirt. tears were slipping down your temples now, from pleasure, pain, years of guilt, and the fact that he just called you out like that.
sunghoon’s rhythm faltered for a second as he watched a tear fall. he leaned in and licked it off your skin before kissing you messily. “—i would’ve waited.”
he pulled almost all the way out and slammed back in, making you cry out his name.
“but tell me how the fuck we’re supposed to be done when your pussy is still squeezing me like this.”
sunghoon kept fucking you deep, hips rolling into yours with long, possessive strokes. the anger in his voice was still there, but it was melting into something heavier.
“i’m sorry…” you choked out between moans, clinging to him. “hoonie, i’m so sorry—i didn’t know what to do then. i hurt you… and i couldn’t face it anymore. i’m so fucking sorry—”
“shh,” he cut you off.
he slowed his thrusts, turning them into deep, sensual, intimate rolls that made you feel every inch, every texture of him. he leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours, eyes locked on you as he moved inside.
“it doesn’t matter anymore,” he murmured against your lips. “i’ve missed you so much. you make up for everything that happened.”
sunghoon kissed you slowly, deeply, swallowing your whimpers as he rocked into you. one of his hands slid under your back to pull you closer so your chests were pressed together. the other cradled the side of your face, thumb brushing your tears.
his lips moved from your mouth to your jaw, then down your neck where he sucked gentle marks into your skin like a proof he was here with you. he was here with you while waiting to be called up to the church.
“i still love you,” the groom murmured against your throat, burying himself to the hilt, just feeling you pulse around him. “i never stopped.”
you wrapped your arms around his neck as you held him close.
“you were supposed to be my wife—you’re supposed to be wearing that wedding dress today.”
the words hit you like a knife. before you could even respond, he straightened up, pulling out of you almost completely before slamming back in with a brutal thrust.
a sharp cry tore from your throat.
he grabbed both your legs, folding them up and pressing them toward your chest. with one arm, he hooked them over his left shoulder, nearly bending you in half on the table. the new angle made him sink so much deeper that your eyes rolled back.
then sunghoon started fucking you hard again.
the sound of skin slapping skin echoed loudly in the small storage room as he railed into you, eyes locked on your face the entire time.
“shit—” he groaned, sweat dripping down his temple, hair completely ruined. “you’re supposed to be my wife.”
every thrust was possessive and heartbroken. your mouth fell open in a silent scream of pleasure, hands scrambled—one gripping his arm, the other clawing at the white tablecloth.
sunghoon reached into the inner pocket of his tux jacket with his free hand, pulling out a small velvet box—the ring he was supposed to give jake, the best man, to hold during the ceremony.
he didn’t even hesitate.
while still fucking you mercilessly, he opened the box with his teeth, took out the beautiful diamond ring meant for his bride, sooha, and grabbed your left hand.
“hoonie—!” you gasped, eyes wide. you weren’t sure what to feel about it.
he slid the ring onto your finger, watched as it sat perfectly on your ring finger like it should have been.
“you’re mine,” he growled, pounding into you even harder, the ring glinting under the dim light with every thrust. you squeezed around his cock harder, the guilt turning into pleasure real quick. “—i’m yours too, baby. i’ve never stopped being.”
“this is your ring, this should’ve been your ring.”
your walls clenched hard around him at his words, a broken sob–moan ripping out of you as another orgasm started building dangerously fast. the sight of his fiance’s ring on your finger while he fucking you on his wedding day was so wrong it made your head spin.
but you also couldn’t deny the pleasure you were getting out of it.
“i can’t—i can’t hold it, shit,” you groaned, gasping. sunghoon’s rhythm turned messy and desperate, losing all control. “oh my gosh, hoonie, ‘m cumming—!”
you moaned out loud, shaking as another orgasm crashed into you—your pussy clenched around him, pulsing and gushing as you came with a cry of his name.
sunghoon too, burying himself to the hilt with a wrecked moan, forehead pressed against your legs as he came hard. thick, hot spurts of his cum flooded deep inside you, filling you up as his hips jerked through every wave. he kept grinding into you slowly, pushing his release deeper. he needed you to keep every drop.
“take it… fuck, that all of me,” he panted, trembling slightly.
for a long moment, the only sounds in the room were both of you breathing heavily. sunghoon slowly lowered your legs, but he stayed buried inside, not wanting to pull out yet. he leaned down and kissed you—slow, deep, full of everything he couldn’t say.
her ring on your finger glistened as you cupped his face.
he finally pulled out carefully, watching as his cum leaked out of your swollen pussy onto the white tablecloth. sunghoon helped you sit up, fixing your dress with gentle hands—you too, tying his tie properly.
his forehead rested against yours, eyes closed.
“...do you have to go back?”
——
“hey, is it true?”
“hm?” you murmured sleepily, nuzzling closer to him.
the room was dark except for the light coming from his desk lamp. the two of you were naked underneath the blanket, tangled in his sheets. your head rested on his chest while his fingers traced hearts and his name up and down your bare arm.
sunghoon shifted slightly, looking down at you.
“you’re dating intak?”
.
your eyes widened instantly. you say up so fast the blanket slipped down your chest and you had to quickly pull it up. “what?”
sunghoon didn’t move, he stayed laying on his back, one arm still loosely behind his head as he watched you. his voice stayed calm.
“i heard it from my friends. they said you two have been dating for a while… or at least that’s how it is.” he paused for a second, then added quietly, “well… i’m just asking. really.”
the silence that followed felt suffocating. you pulled the blanket up even more, wishing if it was visible, it would hide the way your heart was hammering against your ribcage.
“um, hoonie, i—” your voice cracked. you didn’t know what to say. you’re not sure how to come clean. not sure how to react. the guilt was written all over your face. how were you supposed to say it?
yes. i’m dating hwang intak.
“yn,” he said softly, cutting you off. sunghoon reached out and gently brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. “just be honest with me.”
he wasn’t angry. no—sunghoon was never an angry person. there was no rage in his voice, no accusation; just quiet disappointment and raw curiosity. his eyes searched yours like he was trying to understand what you were doing.
“i’m not mad,” he continued, almost reassuringly. “i just… i thought i was the only one. that’s all.”
he let out a small breath, the corner of his lips twitching into a sad, half–smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
“so… are you dating him?”
this was embarrassing. you were sitting there, naked in his bed, while the boy you were secretly seeing asked you about the other boy you were seeing.
you stared at him, lips slightly parted. the way sunghoon was looking at you made the guilt twist even deeper in your tummy. would it have been better if he was mad? that way, you could reply with anger too.
you swallowed hard, gripping the blanket.
“...yeah,” you whispered, voice barely audible. “i’m dating him.”
sunghoon’s jaw tightened just slightly, but he didn’t look away. he simply nodded, taking a deep breath.
“i’m sorry,” you said quickly, the words tumbling out. “sunghoon, i’m really sorry. i didn’t know how to tell you. it started before… before what we have got serious—and i know—i know it’s fucked up… i know.”
you hugged the blanket tighter to your chest, eyes starting to water. gosh, you sounded like a manipulator.
“i’m not even happy with him anymore,” you admitted, voice cracking. “it just doesn’t feel real with him.”
sunghoon was quiet. he was processing your words before he slowly sat up, the blanket pooling around his waist as he faced you properly. his hand reached out to gently hold yours.
“then why don’t you break up with him?” he asked, direct. “i’m right here, yn. you know how i feel about you. this isn’t going to change anythig—i’m not going anywhere.”
you looked down at your intertwined fingers, thumb brushing nervously over his knuckles. the silence stretched.
“...it’s, um… it’s hard,” you whispered.
sunghoon tilted his head slightly, thick eyebrows furrowed.
“why?” he asked. “if you’re not happy… if you say you want this,” he gestures between the two of you, squeezing your hand. “then why stay with him?”
you bit your lip, averting your gaze elsewhere.
“because i feel guilty,” you confessed, another jab to your chest. “he’s been good to me. he really loves me. and i…i care about him too. i don’t know how to end it without completely breaking him. i don’t know how to do this without hurting someone.”
sunghoon sighed, his free hand went up to scratch the back of his neck—a habit he does often.
he stayed quiet for a few seconds, just staring at your intertwined hands.
then he asked,
“what about me?”
he looked up, meeting your eyes. when did you find it in you to look at him? “what do you feel about me?”
you squeezed his hand tiger, fresh tears sliding down your cheeks.
“i love you,” you whispered, but full of certainty. “i really do, hoonie. it’s not the same as what i feel for him, trust me. it even scares me how much i feel for you. i keep coming back to you even when i know i shouldn’t—because i love you so much. i’m in love with you.”
you leaned forward, pressing your forehead against his shoulder.
“i’m sorry i dragged you into this mess. i never meant to hurt you. i just… you’re the one i think about when i’m not with you.”
sunghoon let out a soft sigh, hand coming up to caress your hair.
“i love you too.” he murmured, kissing the top of your head, then brought your face up to kiss your temple and cheek. he’d go for a smoke, but he promised you he’d stop. bad habits.
“way more than i should.”
——
“take it… fuck, that all of me,” he panted, trembling slightly.
for a long moment, the only sounds in the room were both of you breathing heavily. sunghoon slowly lowered your legs, but he stayed buried inside, not wanting to pull out yet. he leaned down and kissed you—slow, deep, full of everything he couldn’t say.
her ring on your finger glistened as you cupped his face.
he finally pulled out carefully, watching as his cum leaked out of your swollen pussy onto the white tablecloth. sunghoon helped you sit up, fixing your dress with gentle hands—you too, tying his tie properly.
his forehead rested against yours, eyes closed.
the silence felt personal before his phone started ringing loudly on the floor where it had fallen out of his pocket earlier. the sharp sound shattered the moment.
both of you froze.
before either of you could move, the door to the storage room swung open—
—jake, heeseung, and jay stood there with sooha right behind them.
time stopped.
sooha’s eyes widened like it was going to pop out of her sockets—her hand flying up to cover her mouth. the bouquet she was holding slipped from her fingers and hit the floor with a thud. her gaze dropped to your disheveled dress, your flushed face, the cum still dripping down your thighs, the marks on your neck, the stained lipstick…
and the diamond ring—her engagement ring—sitting on your finger.
“sunghoon…?” she murmured like she was still trying to process it, her voice coming out a broken whisper.
the boys’ eyes widened as well.
“fuck…” heeseung muttered first, hissing through his teeth before he looked down on his shoes, pressing on his nose bridge. he looked down at his shoes, clearly stressed. “shit… sunghoon, what the hell…”
jake looked completely stunned, mouth slightly open like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. jay immediately went tight–lipped, his eyebrows pinched together. the three of them weren’t exploding in anger—it was worse.
pure disappointment mixed with exhaustion, like they… they had almost expected something like this might happen but still hoped it wouldn’t.
heeseung genuinely thought sunghoon was over it when he decided to email you the invitation.
sooha’s lips trembled—she wasn’t sure what to feel. she knew there was someone in sunghoon’s life before—one he never fully talked about. but it was years ago! years ago. it was an ancient shit history that went on.
“what the fuck—?!”
her voice finally broke through the realisation. she pushed past the three boys, forcing her way to the front.
the second she moved forward, you and sunghoon scrambled off the table. you turned your face immediately, unable to look at her with the shame burning through your entire body. sunghoon stood in front of you on instinct.
“what the fuck, sunghoon?!” she screamed, all heartbreak and rage. she shoved his chest hard. he stumbled back slightly, but not hitting you.
“on our wedding day?!”
she hit his chest again, and again—frantic hits fueled by pain. “why the fuck is she here—?! why are you fucking her on our wedding day?”
jay looked at heeseung, he looked away.
“stop—sooha, stop,” sunghoon spoke. he grabbed both of her shoulders to stop her from hitting him, but she struggled, sobbing.
“fuck… sooha, please,” sunghoon sighed, holding her shoulders tighter to steady her. “listen to me.” he continued, grabbing her wrists firmly to stop her from hitting him again.
she was crying. “listen to you? what the fuck do you have to say to me?!”
sunghoon glanced at you for a split second, then back at her. his grip on her wrists loosened, but he didn’t let go completely.
“i’m sorry that it happened like this—i really am,” he swallowed the lump in his throat. you shifted on your heels, darting your tongue out to wet your dry lips. “i… i can’t marry you, sooha. i’m so fucked up over yn—i can’t.”
sooha’s breath hitched. your eyes widened, and you found yourself tugging on the back of his blazer to hint at him—what?
sunghoon disregarded both.
heeseung, jake, and jay stayed completely silent by the door, unsure if they should step in or disappear.
the groom swallowed the lump in his throat before fully letting go of her wrists, biting down his bottom lip.
“i’m sorry—i really tried.”
without another word, he reached back and grabbed your wrist firmly, pulling you out of the storage room and storming past his stunned friends and sooha. you barely had time to react as he dragged you down the hallway, away from the hall, away from the guests and the disaster he’d just detonated.
“You’re spending the heat at my flat.” Sunghoon said. The bathroom fell silent, even Jaeyun looked briefly surprised by how immediate the decision sounded leaving his mouth. You stared at the alpha openly now, heat-hazed eyes widening slightly while your fingers tightened unconsciously against Jaeyun’s shirt again. “Excuse me?”
𝓜 , we love two hot alphas saving an omega in distress so pls be my guest and enjoy this. i lost all progress of editing on my second day writing this due to my fucking ellipsus account bad syncing and gave up editing entirely so forgive me if this is very bad, i drag everything too damn much that's why this is so damn long lolz. jakehoon hot alphas, that's it. this is my life's mission.
17O52 ━━━━━ genre omegaverse enhypen au ━━━━━ pair alpha!jakehoon x omega!reader
spotify hu playlist read on ao3 zrcdd main masterlist helios university masterlist
17O52 warnings jakehoon does NOT know how to handle an omega in distress and is showing, be patient pls this is their first time falling in love okie, sunghoon specially is very bad at feelings on this one, i'm pretty sure i fucked the pacing up by making it too repetitive, SFW, WE DON'T HAVE SMUT IN THIS CHAPTER, let’s pretend they were not trying to make a call inside an elevator in one scene here ok, reader has low self-esteem and is financially unavailable bye.
The first symptom was the itch beneath Sunghoon’s wrists.
Not enough to truly bother him at first. Just a faint irritation beneath the cuff of his dress shirt, somewhere under skin and tendon, subtle enough that he ignored it for almost twenty minutes before realizing he’d been scratching at the same spot through the entire conversation.
The ballroom around them had long since begun emptying out.
Hours ago the Helios Founder’s Cocktail had been unbearably loud — trustees laughing over old money politics, cameras flashing near the donor wall, omegas in silk and diamonds drifting between tables while alpha heirs performed the delicate art of pretending they were still students and not future conglomerate directors. Now the atmosphere had softened into something slower, tired and expensive.
The quartet near the staircase had stopped playing almost half an hour ago, leaving only a low jazz overhead.
Most of the staff had already started quietly dismantling the event around them; empty champagne towers disappearing cart by cart, floral centerpieces being removed one by one. Somewhere behind the ballroom walls he could hear industrial dish carts rolling over marble floors.
9:12PM.
Sunghoon glanced briefly toward the face of his watch before leaning back in his chair again. The afternoon cocktail had bled into evening without any of them noticing. Their table was one of the last still occupied.
Not surprising.
The sons of Helios donors had a tendency to linger after events ended, especially when alcohol and networking were involved.
Across from him, Jaeyun sat lazily reclined with one arm thrown over the back of his chair, necktie loosened, half-finished whiskey balanced carelessly between elegant fingers. Beside him, Yudai was midway through shrugging into his coat while checking messages on his phone.
“You two are actually insane,” the oldest alpha muttered, eyes flicking between them. “It’s over. Go home.”
Jaeyun hummed absently. “You’re leaving because your little sister keeps threatening to block you.”
“She’s right to.”
“She always is,” Jaeyun agreed easily.
Sunghoon barely followed the conversation. His attention kept drifting, the itch beneath his wrists had worsened. Annoying.
He pressed the pad of his thumb against the irritated skin through his sleeve and exhaled quietly through his nose. The ballroom air smelled overwhelmingly sweet now that the crowd had thinned — alcohol, expensive perfumes, lingering omega pheromones soaked into velvet chairs and linen tablecloths.
Sunghoon loosened his grip slightly around the sweating glass in his hand before dragging the pad of his thumb once more against the inside of his wrist beneath the cuff of his shirt.
Across from him, Jaeyun finally looked up from his phone.
His attention lingered for a beat too long.
“You look irritated,” the Sim observed lazily, though there was something sharper underneath the casual tone now, something quietly attentive in the way his eyes tracked Sunghoon’s movements.
Sunghoon dropped his hand immediately, expression flattening. “I am irritated.”
A grin tugged slowly at the corner of the GS Group heir's mouth as he leaned further back into his chair, whiskey turning amber beneath the ballroom lights when he lifted the glass slightly between his fingers. “That’s new.”
Sunghoon said nothing to that. He only brought the glass toward his mouth again, though the champagne had long since lost its taste somewhere between the chairman’s closing speech and Yudai leaving after a twenty minute talk. The sharp dryness lingering at the back of his throat remained stubbornly unsatisfied, and after another pointless sip he set the glass back onto the white linen tablecloth with more force than necessary.
Jaeyun noticed the Park uneasiness and decided to comment on it.
“You sure it’s not the omega perfumes?” he asked after a moment, voice easy. “Half the women here smelled like they bathed in pheromone oils.”
“That’s not it.”
“Hm.”
Jaeyun swirled the remaining whiskey around slowly, watching the amber liquid catch beneath the low gold lighting overhead.
Around them, staff members continued dismantling the ballroom piece by piece with near invisible efficiency. One side of the room had already been stripped of centerpieces entirely, bare white tablecloths left behind like ghosts of the event from earlier.
Sunghoon glanced once more toward his expensive watch.
9:17 PM.
Too fucking late for students to still be working. And yet—
His gaze shifted almost automatically toward the far end of the ballroom again.
You were still there.
The registration tables near the donor wing had become one of the few untouched areas left in the room, stacked with archival boxes, unopened envelopes and scattered gala programs waiting to be organized before morning. Most of the volunteers had disappeared already, but you remained seated behind the long table with your sleeves rolled neatly to your elbows, head lowered over a stack of paperwork while typing something into a university-issued tablet.
You looked exhausted.
Not ordinary tiredness. Not the sleepy sluggishness everyone carried after long events like this. This looked sharper somehow, your movements had slowed noticeably since Sunghoon first spotted you ten minutes ago. Every few moments your hand would pause mid-motion against the papers like your thoughts were briefly disconnecting from your body before forcing themselves back into place again.
Jaeyun followed his line of sight without needing to ask.
“There she is,” the other boy murmured, the amusement returning instantly to his voice now that the subject had shifted somewhere more interesting. “Our missing scholarship prodigy.”
Sunghoon ignored the phrasing, though something unpleasant tightened low in his chest at the sight of you.
Three weeks.
It had been exactly twenty-three days since you last sat with them willingly. Not that Jaeyun counted. Sunghoon absolutely did not count.
At first your disappearance had almost seemed accidental. Missed dinners, delayed replies, excuses about debate preparation and committee obligations, normal enough during midterm season at Helios. But eventually the pattern became too deliberate to ignore.
You stopped studying in the business library entirely. Stopped attending late-night debate practices unless absolutely necessary. Started leaving lectures before crowds formed afterward. And most noticeably of all—you stopped looking at them for too long.
Jaeyun had complained about it constantly.
Sunghoon hadn’t.
Mostly because acknowledging it out loud would have forced him to acknowledge how often he searched for you automatically now.
Across the ballroom, one of the omega coordinators approached your table carrying another stack of folders against her chest. She said something quietly to you that Sunghoon couldn’t hear from this distance, and you immediately straightened in your seat with polite professionalism settling across your face like muscle memory.
Too fast.
Even from here he could tell the movement wasn’t natural. Your smile followed a second later. Small, careful and wrong. The itch beneath his wrist sharpened so suddenly his jaw tightened. Beside him, Jaeyun finally went quiet too.
His fingers stilled around the whiskey glass as his attention lingered more carefully on you now, the easy laziness bleeding subtly out of his posture the longer he watched your slowed movements behind the registration table.
“…she looks awful,” Jaeyun muttered eventually.
Sunghoon didn’t answer immediately.
“Something’s wrong.”
Sunghoon’s gaze remained fixed on you.
“That’s Professor Kim’s coordinator, isn’t it?” Jaeyun asked after another moment, though his attention never left you either. “The omega from the fellowship office.”
Sunghoon gave a short nod.
“She’s still working her?”
“Y/N probably volunteered.”
Jaeyun let out a disbelieving breath through his nose. “Of course she did.”
There was no real mockery in it, just familiarity.
The three of you had known each other long enough now that some things no longer required explanation. You volunteered for everything: debate events, faculty mixers, alumni forums, scholarship committees, student outreach programs... Every prestigious academic function Helios offered somehow ended with your name attached to it somewhere.
At first the Sim used to joke that you were trying to singlehandedly run the university, then eventually he realized the bitter truth.
You weren’t ambitious in the same way heirs at Helios were ambitious… You didn’t move through opportunities expecting safety beneath failure, everything you did carried consequence. Real life consequence. That difference had unsettled both of them more than they ever admitted aloud.
Across the ballroom, the coordinator said something else quietly before resting a hand against your arm again, gentler this time.
You froze.
Sunghoon’s jaw locked instantly. The reaction inside him was so immediate and irrational it almost startled him. The irritated thought slammed through his head hard enough that his fingers tightened automatically against the stem of the champagne glass.
Beside him, Jaeyun slowly turned his head, their eyes met briefly across the table. Jaeyun had known something was wrong with Sunghoon for months now. Ever since the debate finals last semester, probably.
Back when you’d stood in front of an auditorium full of Helios trustees and dismantled the opposing international policy team so thoroughly that even the faculty looked stunned afterward. Jaeyun had fallen for you quickly after that — openly, predictably, with all the shameless confidence that came naturally to him.
Sunghoon’s situation had been worse.
Because it happened quietly. In pieces.
A late-night study session here. Walking you back from the law building during rainstorms. Watching you fall asleep over economic journals in the library while pretending he wasn’t staring.
None of it dramatic enough to notice individually. Until suddenly you existed everywhere inside his head.
Jaeyun leaned back slowly in his chair again, studying Sunghoon now instead of you. “You know,” he said lightly, though there was something deliberate beneath the casualness now, “for someone who claims he doesn’t like clingy people, you’ve been glaring at her for ten straight minutes.”
Sunghoon looked away from you at last, irritation immediately surfacing. “I’m not glaring.”
“You absolutely are.”
“I’m observing.”
“That sounds even creepier.”
Sunghoon ignored him.
A grin tugged briefly at Jaeyun’s mouth again, softer this time. Less teasing. “She missed your presentation last month and you looked homicidal for two days afterward.”
“Shut up, Sim.”
Jaeyun’s mouth twitched immediately at that, the kind of restrained amusement that only really appeared around people he knew well enough not to perform for. He leaned further back into the velvet chair, one ankle hooking loosely over the opposite knee while the melting ice shifted softly inside his whiskey glass.
“Sure,” Jaeyun said mildly, clearly unconvinced. “And I’m sure the reason you nearly bit Minhyuk’s head off during the policy mixer had absolutely nothing to do with him flirting with her for twenty straight minutes.”
Sunghoon finally looked at him properly then, expression flattening beneath the warm lighting. “Minhyuk flirts with anything that breathes.”
“True,” Jaeyun admitted easily, lifting the glass toward his mouth before pausing again halfway there. “But you looked like you wanted him publicly executed.”
“He’s irritating.”
“You say that about everyone.”
“Because most people are irritating.”
Jaeyun huffed out a quiet laugh beneath his breath before letting the whiskey settle briefly against his tongue, gaze drifting lazily back toward the ballroom.
At a glance the GS heir looked entirely relaxed again, all effortless charm and expensive ease stretched comfortably across velvet seating while the last remains of the gala dissolved quietly around them. Most people stopped looking too deeply once Jaeyun smiled at them, that was part of what made the alpha dangerous.
But Sunghoon knew him too well to miss the shift in his attention.
There were very few things in the world capable of holding Jaeyun’s interest for long. Even fewer capable of making him observant. Jaeyun liked people easily, flirted easily, charmed easily, but genuine fascination was rare for him. Usually once the novelty wore off, so did the attention.
That had not happened with you.
If anything, the problem had only worsened.
At first Sunghoon thought Jaeyun’s interest was predictable enough. You were beautiful in a way Helios rarely produced naturally — not polished and curated like the daughters of politicians and chaebol families drifting around the ballroom tonight, but sharp, expressive, almost severe beneath all that relentless professionalism. You carried yourself like someone who’d built every inch of herself deliberately, and at Helios that alone drew attention. Then there was the debate circuit. The scholarship omega humiliating legacy students every other weekend had become campus gossip almost embarrassingly fast.
Jaeyun loved things that challenged him. Beautiful things even more.
But what truly doomed him, Sunghoon thought, was the age difference.
Tiny enough to barely matter in their context. Three mere years. But Jaeyun had looked genuinely delighted when he discovered it.
Sunghoon still remembered the conversation because he’d never seen someone become more interested so quickly over something so stupid.
You had mentioned it absentmindedly one evening after debate practice while correcting Jaeyun’s citation formatting on his laptop. He’d been leaning lazily across the library table beside you at the time, tie loosened, completely unserious about the assignment until you frowned faintly at one of his references and muttered, “You’re younger than me, shouldn’t I be teaching you this properly?”
Jaeyun had blinked and then slowly looked up from the screen. “You’re older than me?”
You had immediately looked regretful for saying it aloud at all. “Barely.” And somehow that made it worse.
Sunghoon remembered the exact grin spreading across Jaeyun’s face afterward — pleased in a way that instantly made him insufferable for weeks.
“She’s older than me,” he’d repeated later that night like the information had fundamentally altered his understanding of the universe. “That explains everything.”
“It explains literally nothing.” Sunghoon had said.
“You don’t understand,” Jaeyun had said solemnly while Sunghoon attempted to finish reading financial reports beside him. “This is exactly my type.”
“You say that about every omega who ignores you.”
“No,” Jaeyun corrected immediately. “I say that about older women who ignore me.”
And unfortunately, he’d been telling the truth.
You never indulged him properly. Never acted impressed by his family name or reputation or effortless charisma the way most people eventually did. Half the time you treated him like an irritating classmate you’d somehow accidentally become responsible for.
Jaeyun adored it.
The memory lingered pleasantly in Sunghoon’s chest as he watched you across the ballroom now, shoulders tense beneath the black volunteer uniform while your phone continued vibrating softly against the registration table.
Jaeyun’s contact photo lit the screen once.
Twice.
Then disappeared.
Ignored.
Jaeyun stared at the unanswered call for a moment before exhaling quietly through his nose and locking the phone again. “Unbelievable,” he muttered, though the irritation in his voice sounded thinner than usual now, worn down by too many weeks of the same cycle. “She’s still doing this.”
Across the room, you’d already pushed the phone face down beside the stack of folders as though simply refusing to acknowledge it would somehow erase the problem altogether. The omega coordinator beside you said something else softly, concern still visible in the tilt of her posture, but your attention kept drifting unfocused toward the ballroom exits instead.
Like you wanted out.
Fast.
The sight made something restless tighten low beneath Sunghoon’s ribs.
“She’s been ignoring you too, right?” Beside him, Jaeyun dragged one hand slowly down his face before leaning back into the chair again, though this time the movement lacked all the earlier ease.
The question itself wasn’t new. They’d already had this conversation two nights ago outside the business tower after the semifinals results were announced. Then again last week in Jaeyun’s car after you left campus early without attending the celebration dinner your entire debate team showed up for. But there was something different about the way Jaeyun asked it now — quieter, more frustrated than teasing.
Because your disappearance had stopped feeling temporary.
“She’s been busy,” Sunghoon answered flatly.
Jaeyun looked at him like he was insane.
“She won the biggest academic fellowship Helios offers and disappeared immediately afterward,” he said. “That’s not normal behavior.”
“She’s probably exhausted.”
“She’s been exhausted since February, Sunghoon.”
He couldn’t exactly argue that.
The debate circuit alone had been brutal this semester. Endless preparation meetings. Policy reviews. Public forums. Guest lectures. He’d lost count of how many times he found you asleep somewhere on campus over the last few months — curled over economics textbooks in empty classrooms, head resting against library tables at three in the morning, still wearing debate credentials around your neck because you’d been too tired to remove them.
Every single time, you insisted you were fine afterward.
Every single time, neither of them believed you.
Jaeyun loosened his tie further with one sharp tug before glancing toward you again. “I thought she’d come tonight.”
“She is here.”
“You know what I mean.”
Sunghoon did.
After the debate victory earlier that afternoon, most people expected you to fall naturally back into orbit around them again. That had become your routine over the last few months whether you admitted it aloud or not. You disappeared when pressure built too high, isolated yourself for days or weeks at a time trying to survive Helios alone, and eventually Jaeyun would force his way back into your life through sheer persistence while Sunghoon quietly waited nearby pretending he wasn’t waiting at all.
But tonight should’ve been different.
You won.
And yet the second the debate ended, you vanished again. No dinner. No celebration. No responding to messages. Nothing, just silence.
Across the ballroom, your hand slipped against the edge of the registration table again before catching yourself harder this time. The folders scattered slightly sideways and the omega coordinator immediately reached toward you once more, concern obvious now in the hurried movement. Again.
You stepped back too quickly, making Jaeyun’s expression over the table change immediately.
“Okay, no,” he said under his breath, already pushing his chair backward against the marble floor. “I’m going over there.”
Sunghoon’s hand closed automatically around the edge of the table before he could stop himself. “Don’t.”
Jaeyun paused halfway upright. “Why not?”
“Because she clearly doesn’t want us over there.”
“That’s never stopped you before.”
Sunghoon’s jaw tightened slightly. He knew his friend wasn’t entirely wrong.
He knew your presence had simply embedded itself into their lives so naturally neither alpha fully noticed it happening until other people started pointing it out first.
He knew you practically lived in his flat during midterms. He knew your things kept appearing there; hair ties abandoned beside his bathroom sink, debate notes scattered permanently across his dining table, the oversized gray hoodie Jaeyun bought you after catching you shivering outside the economics building at two in the morning currently folded over the back of Sunghoon’s couch like it belonged there.
Sunghoon knew his best friend had become incapable of walking past your favorite bakery near campus without buying something for you out of reflex alone. He knew both of them had spent an embarrassing amount of time arguing over your living situation after finding out your dorm building security barely functioned past midnight, Jaeyun insisting you should move into his family’s east-side vacant residence while Sunghoon offered one of the guest rooms at his flat with enough casual certainty it startled even Jaeyun for a moment.
You had rejected both offers immediately, obviously.
Then accepted a copy of Sunghoon’s passcode anyway three weeks later after getting locked outside your building during a thunderstorm.
That probably should have told him something.
Regardless, Sunghoon knew that going after you publicly now — especially while you were already distressed — would corner you.
And you hated feeling cornered.
Gosh, you could be so stubborn sometimes. Sunghoon learned that the hard way sometime around early winter, when he made the catastrophic mistake of half-confessing his feelings to you during a three a.m. study session only for you to stare at him over your laptop and sincerely ask whether he was “having an unusually emotional alpha moment.”
Jaeyun laughed so hard he almost choked on ramen the day Sunghoon told him about it.
Sunghoon genuinely considered killing both of you that night.
Then, three weeks later, you showed up at his apartment shaking with exhaustion after a twenty-hour debate prep cycle, crawled directly into his bed wearing one of his hoodies without asking permission, and fell asleep against his shoulder while mumbling that his place “felt quiet in a nice way.”
The next morning, you acted like none of that had happened.
Sunghoon still had not recovered psychologically. Honestly, neither had Jaeyun.
The two of them had finally spoken about it properly after that night, mostly because pretending the situation wasn’t becoming increasingly dangerous stopped working. The conversation itself had been humiliating enough already — two lifelong best friends sitting in Sunghoon’s kitchen at one in the morning admitting they were both apparently obsessed with the same omega.
Jaeyun handled it first, obviously.
“Okay,” he said after staring at Sunghoon for thirty seconds too long. “So we’re both insane.”
Sunghoon remembered looking away immediately after that. Not because he denied it. Because he couldn’t.
The embarrassing part was how quickly they recovered from the revelation afterward. No dramatic fallout. No possessive alpha bullshit. Just the quiet mutual understanding that neither of them seemed capable of staying away from you anymore, and somehow losing proximity entirely sounded worse than sharing the problem.
Which, in hindsight, probably said deeply concerning things about all three of you.
The realization lingered unpleasantly in Sunghoon’s mind now while the ballroom lights reflected dimly across half-empty champagne glasses and abandoned dessert plates around them. Somewhere behind the registration tables, staff members had already started dismantling flower arrangements for the night, the gala slowly collapsing into quiet cleanup conversations and rolling service carts.
Across the ballroom, you nearly dropped another stack of donor folders before catching them clumsily against your chest at the last second. The omega coordinator said something else to you — too far away for either alpha to hear properly — and this time even from a distance Sunghoon could tell your smile looked wrong.
Jaeyun seemed to reach the same conclusion a second later because he sank slowly back into the chair with visible reluctance, fingers drumming once against the tablecloth before stilling again. “I hate this,” he muttered eventually.
Sunghoon’s eyes remained fixed on you across the ballroom. “I know.”
For a while neither of them spoke.
The jazz overhead faded into another softer song while staff continued clearing tables around them. Somewhere near the ballroom entrance, one of the event managers thanked the remaining volunteers quietly before disappearing through the west corridor.
Jaeyun exhaled slowly through his nose before finally dragging his attention away from you and reaching for the abandoned suit jacket hanging from the back of his chair. “Come on,” he muttered, standing at last. “If we keep staring at her like psychopaths she’s going to disappear for another month.”
Sunghoon stood abruptly enough that Jaeyun glanced toward him once before smoothing his jacket over his shoulders. Neither alpha said anything while moving away from the table, shoes echoing softly against polished marble floors as they crossed the ballroom toward the donor corridor near the west wing exit.
Jaeyun noticed immediately.
“Don’t.”
“I’m not doing anything.”
“You’re literally texting her.”
Sunghoon ignored him, thumb already moving across the screen.
You still backstage?
A pause.
Then, after a second longer than necessary:
Do you need a ride home?
He stared at the last message he sent you — two nights ago, sometime after midnight when he finally gave up waiting for you to answer during the day.
Want me to bring something to the debate rehearsal?
And before that:
Did you eat
You still awake?
Jaeyun says you’ve been in the library since eight
All seen.
Never answered.
The typing cursor blinked quietly beneath the words.
Jaeyun leaned against the corridor wall beside him, arms folding across his chest while watching with poorly concealed interest. “That’s somehow more embarrassing than if you’d just confessed feelings outright.”
Sunghoon closed the app without reacting.
“Shut up".
They continued further down the donor corridor after that, eventually joining a small cluster of lingering faculty and university sponsors near the executive lounge overlooking the lower courtyard. Most of the remaining guests belonged to the same social circles their families had occupied for decades — investment directors, law partners, board members, old-money alumni who still treated Helios less like a university and more like inherited territory.
Professor Hwang stood near the bar discussing international acquisitions with two trustees when they approached, silver-haired and visibly tired beneath the ballroom lighting. He greeted them both with the easy familiarity reserved for students whose surnames appeared on campus buildings.
“Still here?” the older alpha asked mildly.
Jaeyun accepted the offered glass of bourbon from one of the attendants nearby before answering. “Unfortunately. Apparently adulthood is just networking until death.”
Professor Hwang laughed quietly at that before turning toward Sunghoon instead. “Your father called earlier.”
Of course he did.
Sunghoon suppressed the immediate irritation threatening to surface again and loosened his grip slightly around his phone inside his pocket. “About the Singapore expansion?”
The conversation shifted naturally after that into business, the familiar language of heirs raised inside boardrooms instead of ordinary households. Market expansion. Investor hesitation. Political instability overseas. Jaeyun slipped easily into the discussion beside him despite earlier distraction, posture relaxed once more while debating projected partnership risks with the kind of effortless confidence people spent entire careers trying to imitate.
Normally Sunghoon found conversations like this grounding, predictable, clean. Numbers behaved logically, people did not. Tonight, though, concentration kept slipping strangely through his fingers.
Every few minutes his attention drifted instinctively back toward the ballroom entrance beyond the executive corridor. Toward the distant possibility of catching another glimpse of the omega his alpha can't seem to stop thinking about moving between tables. Toward the persistent awareness prickling unpleasantly beneath his skin.
The itch along his wrists had become dull before coming back ten times worse during the conversation.
He pressed his thumb harder against the irritated skin beneath his cuff while Professor Hwang continued speaking about projected policy changes overseas. The sensation only intensified, heat curling strangely beneath the surface until even the collar of his shirt suddenly felt too restrictive against his throat.
Across from him, Jaeyun babbled uncomfortably. For the first time all evening, Sunghoon noticed his best friend was almost as bad as him.
His bourbon glass sat trapped too tightly between his fingers, amber liquid shifting sharply every time his grip unconsciously tightened around the crystal. He had bitten the inside of his lower lip enough throughout the conversation that the skin looked faintly reddened beneath the ballroom lighting now. Worse than that, his scent had changed.
Subtly.
But enough.
The suppressant patches lining the inside of Jaeyun’s collar should have neutralized most of it already — mandatory during formal university functions for wolf hybrids — yet traces still bled stubbornly through the blockers anyway. Restlessness. Agitation. Protective instinct sharpening too close to the surface.
Sunghoon recognized it immediately because his own alpha smelled dangerously similar right now.
Professor Hwang continued speaking beside them completely oblivious, discussing projected investor movement through Southeast Asia while Jaeyun nodded at appropriate intervals. Externally, the Sim still looked perfectly composed. Beautifully dressed heir, relaxed posture, easy social smile appearing automatically whenever one of the trustees addressed him directly. But Sunghoon caught the exact second Jaeyun’s attention drifted again toward the ballroom entrance.
Toward you.
The realization settled heavily inside his chest.
This wasn’t just ordinary concern anymore. Something biological had started reacting beneath both their skins hours ago, sharpening every instinct until the distance separating them from you suddenly felt physically wrong. Sunghoon still didn’t fully understand it himself. He only knew the irritation beneath his body kept worsening every minute you remained out of sight.
Across from him, Jaeyun finally looked over when Professor Hwang got busy with one of the alumni guests. For one brief second, neither alpha spoke.
Then quietly:
“You smell it too, right?” Jaeyun leaned over his best friend shoulder just so he could hear.
The Park's grip tightened inside his pockets.
“Yes.”
Professor Hwang was midway through explaining a private equity restructuring proposal when one of the senior event staff finally approached their group carefully, exhaustion visible beneath her professional smile.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, gentlemen” she said politely, hands folded neatly in front of her black blazer, “but we’ll be closing the ballroom level in about fifteen minutes.”
Professor Hwang blinked once before glancing toward his watch, genuine surprise flickering briefly across his expression.
“Well,” he sighed lightly, adjusting the cuff of his coat with quiet amusement, “I suppose that’s our reminder we’ve overstayed our welcome.”
A few restrained laughs circled softly through the remaining group.
The older alpha waved goodbye not long after that, gathering the dark wool coat draped behind a stool while the trustees beside him began exchanging final handshakes and closing remarks between themselves. Even tired, the entire interaction still carried that polished old-money diplomacy Helios functions always dissolved into eventually — relaxed smiles, promises of future meetings, careful mentions of family names and upcoming board dinners woven naturally through conversation.
Now that the evening had finally begun dissolving around them, Sunghoon realized just how wrong the atmosphere still felt beneath his skin.
Beside him, Jaeyun straightened slowly from where he’d been leaning against the counter, the movement oddly tense beneath all his usual composure. “Did she answer you?”
Sunghoon reached automatically for his phone again.
Still nothing. Not even read.
“No.”
Jaeyun rubbed tiredly at the back of his neck before finally exhaling through his nose. “We should go.”
Sunghoon didn’t answer immediately.
His attention lingered toward the ballroom entrance one final time before forcing himself to look away altogether. Rationally, there was nothing left to do. You’d ignored both their calls. The gala had ended nearly an hour ago. Most likely you’d already left through one of the staff exits specifically to avoid them finding you lingering alone afterward.
The thought irritated him more than it should have, so eventually he gave a short nod and pushed himself away from the counter at last.
The elevator ride downstairs passed mostly in silence. Not uncomfortable at all, but restless.
Jaeyun scrolled absently through emails on his phone while Sunghoon stood beside him with one hand shoved into the pocket of his slacks, thumb repeatedly dragging against the inside of his wrist again before he consciously stopped himself.
The itch had become unbearable.
By the time they reached the lower lobby, Sim Jaeyun looked strained beneath all his usual composure.
“You smell that?” he asked suddenly.
Sunghoon frowned slightly.
The scent lingering through the lobby was faint beneath cleaning chemicals and polished stone — sweet omega perfume residue left over from the gala crowd upstairs. But underneath it— there was something sharper, almost familiar.
Jaeyun looked unsettled now. “Okay. I officially hate this feeling.”
“Then stop acting weird.”
“I’m not acting weird. You’ve been scratching your wrists for the last hour like you have fleas.”
Sunghoon’s jaw tightened.
The valet attendant approached them a second later with practiced politeness, asking if they wanted their cars brought around front. Jaeyun reached automatically into the pocket of his coat—
Then stopped. A pause.
“…you’ve got to be kidding me.”
“What.” Sunghoon glanced at his stressed bestfriend.
“My keys.”
Sunghoon stared at him flatly. “The one time I agree to come with you, you lose your goddamn keys.”
“I didn’t lose them.” Jaeyun already turned back toward the elevator again, irritation surfacing properly now. “They're probably upstairs.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“Stop whining and let's go pick it, Park.”
Sunghoon muttered something deeply unfriendly under his breath before following him back toward the elevators.
By the time the elevator doors slid shut behind them again, the restless irritation from earlier had sharpened into something more palpable. The enclosed space suddenly felt too warm despite the aggressive air conditioning running through the building after hours, polished steel walls reflecting both of them back in fractured gold from the dim overhead lighting.
Jaeyun pressed the button for the ballroom level harder than necessary before immediately pulling his phone back out again.
Still nothing from you.
Jaeyun swore quietly under his breath before trying your number again, lifting the phone toward his ear while one hand dragged restlessly through his hair.
Whatever ease both alphas managed to hold onto throughout the night had vanished entirely now, stripped away by instinct and exhaustion until even their voices sounded tighter around the edges.
“Come on,” Jake muttered when the ringing continued unanswered. “Pick up.”
Sunghoon leaned back briefly against the elevator wall, thumb pressing hard against the inside of his wrist again. The elevator climbed another floor. Jaeyun lowered the phone again with visible frustration. “Nothing.”
“She probably left already.” The words sounded hollow even to him.
Jaeyun looked over immediately, fume coming out of his ears. “You don’t even believe that.”
By the time the elevator doors slid open onto the ballroom level again, the entire floor had transformed into something unrecognizable from the polished gala space they’d occupied earlier that evening.
The lights had already been shut off, leaving only the dim amber glow of after-hours wall sconces stretching across long sections of marble corridor. Without music or conversation to soften the space, every sound carried unnaturally far now — the distant mechanical hum of industrial cleaners somewhere below, the rolling clatter of service carts being pushed toward freight elevators, the muted echo of their own footsteps crossing polished floors too quickly.
Jaeyun moved ahead first the moment they stepped out, already pulling his phone back again while cutting sharply toward the executive lounge where he’d apparently abandoned his keys. “If they’re not still there I’m actually going to lose my mind,” he muttered, distracted enough now that the words barely sounded directed at Sunghoon at all.
Sunghoon followed automatically a few steps behind him, though his attention had stopped settling properly on anything around them.
Ahead of him, Jaeyun pushed open the executive lounge doors with visible impatience before immediately scanning the marble counter near the bar. “There,” he breathed, spotting the keys almost instantly beneath the abandoned bourbon glass from earlier.
Relief barely had time to settle before something metallic crashed somewhere deeper down the hallway.
The sound wasn’t loud. But in the near-empty silence of the upper floor, it cut sharply through the corridor anyway.
Both alphas froze at once.
Jaeyun’s hand stopped halfway toward the keys.
He looked over first, and for the first time all evening Sunghoon saw something dangerously close to genuine alarm cut cleanly through his best friend’s composure.
“That came from backstage.”
Sunghoon was already moving before the Sim finished speaking.
The urgency hit both of them at the exact same time, instinct bypassing rational thought so quickly neither bothered pretending otherwise anymore. Jaeyun abandoned the keys entirely on the marble counter while pulling his phone up toward his ear again, dialing your number for what had to be the fifth or sixth time that night as they crossed the darkened ballroom corridor at a pace just short of running.
The farther they moved past the ballroom itself, the emptier the building became.
Somewhere beneath the lingering smell of cleaning chemicals and stale champagne, Sunghoon caught something different.
Sweetness.
His entire body reacted violently. He stopped so abruptly that Jaeyun nearly collided into him from the side. Not perfume. Not residual scent trapped in the ballroom from hours earlier.
Fresh.
A faint, but unmistakably fresh scent of omega distress.
Sunghoon felt something deep in his chest pull tight enough to hurt.
Beside him, Jaeyun lowered the phone slowly from his ear, expression shifting almost visibly as the scent reached him too. All the remaining color drained out of his face at once while his alpha surged so sharply beneath the surface that even the atmosphere around him seemed to change.
“Jesus Christ,” he said quietly, breathing harder now. “That’s her.”
The words barely finished leaving his mouth before another sound echoed faintly through the backstage hallway ahead of them — uneven movement, followed immediately by what sounded unmistakably like someone trying to catch themselves against furniture.
And then silence again.
You had a difficult time accepting nice things into your life, that much you knew.
Not because you were ungrateful. People liked assuming that sometimes — that scholarship students carried some kind of bitterness toward wealth, toward ease, toward people born into lives softer than theirs. But that had never really been your problem.
Your problem was permanence.
Nice things rarely stayed long around people like you at Helios University. Opportunities disappeared. Funding disappeared. People disappeared the second maintaining proximity stopped being convenient. Somewhere during freshman year you had learned the safest way to survive the institution was to never hold onto anything expensive too tightly — internships, recognition, attention, friendships.
Especially friendships with alphas like Park Sunghoon and Sim Jaeyun.
The thought alone almost made you laugh now. Because honestly? You had been pretty sure Sim Jaeyun wanted to get into your pants since the second week of sophomore year. He had never exactly been subtle.
He flirted the way rich people donated to university buildings — generously, publicly, and with alarming confidence no one would tell him no. The first month he started inserting himself into your life, you genuinely assumed it was some elaborate joke the Helios business department played on unsuspecting omegas for entertainment.
Then he kept showing up.
Study sessions, debate afterparties, coffee left on your desk before eight a.m. lectures, text messages asking whether you’d eaten delivered with enough persistence to become psychologically invasive after a while.
And somehow, worse than Jaeyun himself, was the fact Park Sunghoon always appeared eventually too. Because, yes, the two alphas heirs were basically a combo.
It all felt unfair considering your crush towards the Park heir had existed long before Jaeyun decided forcibly integrating himself into your life was a reasonable hobby.
You blamed freshman year for that. More specifically, you blamed one particular Wednesday afternoon during your first semester at Helios University when Park Sunghoon had quietly ruined your life forever by doing something catastrophically simple.
You had been sitting alone outside the old law building after class trying not to cry over a scholarship review email and at some point your coffee had gone cold beside you. At some point it also had started raining. And at some point Park Sunghoon had walked out of the building with three other business majors trailing behind him before stopping directly in front of your bench.
You still remembered thinking he probably wanted the seat. Instead, he had looked down at your untouched coffee for two seconds before quietly setting his umbrella beside you. Then he left.
No weird sympathy, no conversation, no awkward attempt at charity. He simply walked back into the rain himself while one of his friends asked what the fuck he was doing. That was it. Which, in hindsight, said deeply concerning things about your psychological state at twenty-two. An unmated omega entering an elite educational system later than the others.
Still, after growing up around people who treated help like currency, the gesture had lodged itself somewhere embarrassingly permanent in your chest. Park Sunghoon had acted like your existence inconvenienced him so little it never even occurred to him to make the moment embarrassing.
And unfortunately for you, that tiny interaction had created a very dangerous thought during freshman year: maybe you could survive being around people like him after all.
Unfortunately, the crush probably would’ve stayed safely buried in the humiliating corner of your psyche reserved for 'unattainable rich alphas' if Sim Jaeyun hadn’t decided during sophomore year that you apparently belonged to him now.
To this day, you still weren’t entirely sure how it happened.
One successful debate season somehow turned into Jaeyun appearing beside your table after class. Then lunches. Then study sessions. Then him casually dragging you into private student lounges you technically did not have card access to while greeting security guards by first name.
The transition happened so gradually you barely noticed it until people around campus started noticing for you.
Which they absolutely did.
Helios omegas looked at you strangely sometimes now. Not openly hostile — Helios students were generally too well-trained socially for obvious cruelty — but with the particular kind of polished confusion wealthy people reserved for situations that disrupted the natural order of things.
Because objectively speaking, it did not make sense for Sim Jaeyun to orbit you this aggressively. He was rich in the terrifying old-money way where entire academic buildings quietly carried his family name somewhere on campus. Beautiful. Extroverted. Socially effortless. The kind of alpha older professors accidentally flirted with during networking dinners.
And yet somehow he kept choosing to spend most of his free time sprawled across Sunghoon’s apartment couch with you eating convenience store ramen while complaining about macroeconomics.
Looking back, maybe that should’ve terrified you more than it did.
Because somewhere between sophomore year and now, the line separating “occasional friendship” from whatever this had become disappeared almost entirely.
Jaeyun texted you like he expected answers, Sunghoon silently kept extra electrolyte drinks in his kitchen because he once overheard you complaining about caffeine headaches during finals, they saved you seats at class without asking whether you were coming first.
And, perhaps most dangerously of all, the company of both alphas had started feeling normal to your omega.
That was probably why you spent the last three weeks avoiding both of them.
The realization hit you properly about a month before fellowship season started, during one of the many “study sessions” at Sunghoon’s apartment that had long ago stopped resembling anything academically productive after midnight. Jaeyun had been half asleep beside you on the couch answering emails between complaints about corporate finance while you highlighted case law readings you would later realize you never actually absorbed.
At some point, Sunghoon texted the groupchat.
Gone for a few days.
Father wants me at the east residence.
You remembered staring at the message longer than necessary, then feeling strangely upset afterward. Not disappointed exactly. Not even surprised. Wealthy alpha heirs disappeared for family obligations all the time at Helios. Rationally, you understood that perfectly.
Your omega, unfortunately, did not seem interested in behaving rationally that evening.
The flat suddenly felt wrong without him there somehow. Too quiet. Too empty in ways that irritated you almost immediately because what the fuck did you mean empty? It was Park Sunghoon, your friend, one-third of your increasingly codependent academic disaster trio. Nothing more.
You spent almost forty minutes trying to convince yourself of that before Jaeyun’s phone rang.
He answered lazily at first, still reading something over your shoulder while murmuring distracted responses into the speaker. Then his posture shifted slightly.
“You triggered early?” he asked quietly.
Your highlighter stopped moving instantly. Silence stretched for a few seconds afterward while Jaeyun listened again, expression softening into something strangely familiar and instinctive.
“No, don’t leave the estate yet,” he muttered eventually. “Just stay there until it passes properly this time.”
The words lodged somewhere deep beneath your ribs because suddenly the situation stopped sounding abstract.
Rut. Sunghoon was in rut.
Your stomach twisted so sharply afterward it genuinely startled you.
Not because alphas entering rut was unusual. Helios practically functioned around rut and heat schedules every semester. You’d grown up around enough hybrid dynamics to understand the biology behind it.
But Park Sunghoon had somehow never felt biological to you before, not in that way.
Not until that exact moment.
Something ugly bloomed beneath your skin afterward, hot and irrational and embarrassingly possessive. You hated the immediate mental images your omega supplied against your will. Hated the realization that somewhere out there, hidden safely inside his family estate, Sunghoon was currently vulnerable in ways you had never even considered before.
Worse than that, you hated how deeply the thought affected you.
That was the moment you realized distance had become necessary. Because whatever existed between the three of you had stopped feeling safely platonic a long time ago, and your omega was beginning to notice it before the rest of you caught up.
At first, the changes looked small enough that maybe neither alpha noticed immediately. You stopped accepting Jaeyun’s last-minute invitations to private donor dinners and off-campus gatherings where everyone smelled painfully rich and expensive and mated. You stopped leaving your gym bag at Sunghoon’s apartment just because the campus athletic center felt too alpha-heavy during evening hours and his private building gym had always been easier on your omega.
You stopped staying over after midnight. Stopped falling asleep between them during movie nights. Stopped letting Jaeyun casually tug you into his side whenever crowded spaces overwhelmed you. Stopped looking too long whenever Sunghoon absentmindedly handed you things like you already belonged inside his routines naturally.
The worst part was that neither alpha pushed.
That same month, Sunghoon came back from the east residence seven days later. He looked calmer, broader somehow, alpha scent heavier beneath expensive cologne in ways your omega noticed immediately despite your best efforts.
Jaeyun resumed dragging himself across your life exactly the same as before. Study sessions. Coffee runs. Complaints about business faculty politics sent at unreasonable hours of the night.
And still you kept pulling away, because the fantasy had finally started crumbling beneath reality.
It turned out falling quietly in love with two powerful alpha heirs felt significantly less romantic when you were simultaneously calculating whether you had enough money left in your account to survive your next heat safely.
Your cycle had been scheduled almost perfectly against fellowship week this semester.
Of course it had.
Which meant regular suppressants were no longer enough. Stress always worsened your heats, and fellowship season had already destroyed your hormone stability before debate rounds even officially began. You knew from experience what would happen if you tried surviving onset with cheaper medication again — fever spikes, scent leakage, hormonal crashes violent enough to leave you bedridden for days afterward.
You needed the stronger suppressants this time. The expensive ones.
Unfortunately, Helios University did not care whether scholarship omegas required medically necessary medication while surviving academically suicidal workloads. So you picked up extra night shifts instead.
Quietly.
Embarrassingly.
A hostess position three districts away from campus where nobody recognized your name and wealthy alumni from Helios wouldn’t accidentally spot you carrying drinks through dim private lounges at midnight. You told nobody. Not your roommates. Definitely not the boys.
Because something about those two discovering you were skipping meals to afford heat medication felt more humiliating than the job itself.
That became the final straw eventually. The more time you spent around them afterward, the sicker the guilt inside your stomach started feeling. Jaeyun bought you meals without thinking twice about it. Sunghoon silently replaced things around his flat to accommodate your omega before you even asked. They cared for you so naturally it almost hurt.
And meanwhile you were hiding second jobs and rationing suppressants like some pathetic cautionary tale about class differences inside elite universities. So you disappeared instead.
Because honestly? Why would alphas like Park Sunghoon and Sim Jaeyun ever truly want someone who couldn’t even afford to survive a natural part of life properly?
You threw yourself so aggressively into fellowship season afterward that exhaustion eventually became easier to manage than whatever complicated thing your omega kept feeling around the two of them. If you stayed busy enough, maybe the ache inside your chest every time Jaeyun sent another unanswered text would eventually disappear too. Maybe Park Sunghoon would stop lingering so heavily in your thoughts every time you laid awake calculating medication costs at three in the morning.
Unfortunately, your body chose that exact moment to start falling apart instead.
By seven-thirty that Friday morning, you already knew the day was going to become a problem.
Not because of the fellowship debate — you had prepared too obsessively for that to scare you anymore —, the problem was your body. More specifically, the fact your suppressants were sitting wrong in your stomach barely twenty minutes after taking them.
Which was deeply, deeply inconvenient timing considering the day ahead of you included:
the most important debate round of your academic career,
a mandatory donor gala immediately afterward,
and approximately twelve consecutive hours of pretending you were not biologically approaching disaster.
You stared at your reflection in the tiny apartment bathroom mirror while waiting for the nausea to pass, fingers braced against the sink beneath flickering fluorescent lighting that your landlord still hadn’t fixed despite three separate maintenance requests.
The stupidly expensive suppressants you bought last week should have stabilized already. You had followed the dosage schedule exactly, timed every intake correctly, even forced yourself to sleep more than usual leading up to fellowship week because you knew stress could destabilize your cycle if you weren’t careful, and yet your stomach still felt hot and unsettled barely twenty minutes after taking them. This had never happened before.
Behind the bathroom door, your omega roommate yelled something incomprehensible at a video game before immediately following it with, “Are you throwing up yet? Do you want me to go run to the store?”
“I’m not throwing up.” Yet. Your brain added without your consent.
“You looked spiritually unwell this morning, bae.” Soojin replied.
"I'm good."
You reached automatically for the suppressant bottle beside the sink again before stopping yourself halfway through the motion. No. Absolutely not. You already took the emergency-adjusted dose earlier than scheduled because you knew the debate stress would spike your pre-heat symptoms faster. Taking more now would only make you dizzy during qualifiers, and if you lost focus today after preparing for almost three months straight, you would genuinely never forgive yourself.
So instead you splashed cold water against your wrists and forced yourself upright again.
Manageable. Everything was still manageable. Your pre-heat technically wasn’t due until tomorrow evening anyway. The timeline remained functional as long as your body cooperated for another twenty-four hours. Which, admittedly, was becoming an increasingly ambitious request.
Your phone buzzed against the bathroom counter right as you reached for concealer.
Sim Jaeyun [7:42 AM]
Day 83th of reaching out to my omega friend. Are you alive, baby?
If you ignore me again I’m reporting you missing to campus security btw
Despite yourself, the corner of your mouth twitched faintly.
Then another message appeared beneath it.
Park Sunghoon [7:43 AM]
Saw you at the theatre yesterday.
Did you eat yet?
You stared at their texts for a second longer than necessary. That didn't change the fact that you ignored them for the rest of the day just like how you've been doing for the last couple of weeks, by the way.
By noon, the suppressant nausea still hadn’t gone away.
By one-thirty, you started lying to yourself about it.
Not intentionally. More in the academically delusional way high-achieving students developed during survival situations. The cramps twisting low in your stomach every twenty minutes became dehydration. The overheating became stress. The faint dizziness every time you stood up too quickly became lack of sleep.
Perfectly manageable problems. Totally normal problems. Absolutely not signs your body was beginning to force itself into pre-heat nearly a full day early.
You repeated those thoughts to yourself with increasing desperation while standing in the law building bathroom forty minutes before the fellowship finals, one hand gripping the marble sink hard enough your knuckles had started aching beneath the fluorescent lights overhead.
The debate uniform suddenly felt unbearable against your skin.
The fitted blouse clung wrong at the waist now, heat crawling unpleasantly beneath the expensive fabric while another cramp twisted sharply enough through your lower stomach that you actually had to brace yourself harder against the sink to stay upright.
“Fuck,” you whispered under your breath, panic finally flickering properly through you then.
Your pre-heat was not supposed to hit until tomorrow evening. You had calculated the schedule down to the hour specifically to avoid exactly this situation. Debate today. Gala tonight. Heat leave submitted tomorrow morning. Isolation by tomorrow afternoon.
Manageable. Planned. Controlled.
Another cramp hit harder this time, making your eyes squeeze shut briefly.
Okay. Not controlled. But maybe still salvageable.
You forced yourself to breathe slowly while staring at your own reflection again, trying to assess the damage objectively instead of emotionally. Your pupils looked slightly blown already. A faint flush had started creeping along the underside of your throat despite the aggressively cold bathroom air. Worse than that, your scent blockers were fading too fast underneath the stress response surging through your body.
You pressed both hands flat against the sink and lowered your head for a second, forcing your thoughts back into order before they could spiral properly. You did not have time for this right now. You had spent almost three months preparing for this debate round. One successful fellowship placement would solve nearly every financial problem currently dismantling your life.
You could survive one bad day.
You had survived worse.
“Get it together,” you muttered quietly toward your reflection. “You are not losing your academic career because your hormones decided to become theatrical.”
The pep talk sounded more convincing in your head than aloud.
Still, it worked enough that you straightened again a few seconds later and reached automatically toward your bag sitting beside the sink. Your fingers hesitated briefly over the emergency suppressant packet hidden inside one of the side pockets.
You should not take another dose. Logically, you knew that immediately.
That part had been written very clearly inside the instruction pamphlet you obsessively read three separate times last week after buying the medication. The suppressants were specifically designed for severe heat regulation — stronger, faster acting, significantly more stable than the cheaper brands you usually survived on during semesters. Emergency doses were technically permitted under extreme hormonal stress conditions, but only within carefully spaced intervals unless you wanted rebound symptoms later once the medication metabolized too aggressively through your system.
You had already adjusted your suppressant schedule once this morning. Doubling too early would almost definitely trigger rebound symptoms later once your metabolism burned through both doses at the same time.
But the alternative was walking into the most important debate of your life while actively cramping through pre-heat onset.
Not happening.
“Temporary problem,” you whispered to yourself while tearing the packet open anyway. “Future me can suffer later.”
Which, in hindsight, turned out to be a deeply unfortunate mindset.
The second dose hit your system almost too well at first.
Within twenty minutes the cramps dulled significantly. Your temperature stabilized enough that you stopped feeling vaguely feverish. Even your head cleared slightly as the suppressant blockers forced your hormones back under temporary control again.
By the time you stepped into the debate chamber, you almost believed you’d fixed the problem entirely.
Which was adorable, really.
The fellowship finals occupied one of Helios’ older auditoriums — dark wood paneling, elevated seating, donor plaques lining the walls beside framed portraits of men who had definitely ruined at least three economies each. The atmosphere inside always felt oppressively formal during major competitions, packed with faculty members and alumni pretending the event was purely academic while quietly scouting which students looked profitable enough to sponsor later.
Normally you loved that environment, loved the pressure, loved the performance of it. Debate was one of the few places at Helios where people stopped seeing scholarship status first and started paying attention once you opened your mouth. Intelligence disrupted hierarchy in interesting ways when displayed publicly enough.
Unfortunately, your body seemed determined to sabotage that experience today.
By the middle of the second round, the suppressant crash had started creeping back subtly beneath your skin again. Not enough to alarm you immediately, just small things.
Your blouse collar suddenly felt too tight while responding to cross-examination. Your pulse kept spiking strangely every time the auditorium overheated beneath stage lighting. The scent blockers layered beneath your perfume felt thinner now too, fading in uneven waves whenever stress sent another rush of hormones through your bloodstream.
Still manageable, you thought.
You kept telling yourself that repeatedly while dismantling a third-year law major’s economic policy argument in front of half the faculty board. At some point during rebuttals, you caught sight of Jaeyun near the back row, which was honestly irritating.
Not because his presence surprised you — Jaeyun treated your debate schedule with the same terrifying level of commitment other people reserved for professional sports teams — but because he looked entirely too relaxed for someone watching you psychologically disintegrate in real time.
He sat sprawled lazily across one of the auditorium chairs with his suit jacket folded beside him, expression easy while listening to the panel discussion like he didn’t already know you were about to win.
By the time the judges announced the fellowship results, your body already felt dangerously overstimulated beneath the surface — nerves too sharp, skin too warm, every sound inside the crowded auditorium slightly too loud. When your name was called first, applause erupted loudly enough around the room that you actually flinched before catching yourself.
For a moment you genuinely just stared at it: Winner — International Fellowship Division.
The words blurred slightly before sharpening again beneath the bright stage lighting while conversations immediately exploded throughout the room around you. Faculty members leaned toward one another speaking in low impressed voices. Students across the front rows already looked vaguely murderous. Somewhere behind the judges’ panel, cameras flashed briefly while one of the coordinators hurried toward the stage entrance preparing for photographs and donor introductions.
You had won. Actually won.
Relief crashed through your system so hard your knees almost gave out beneath you. Which was unfortunately the exact moment your suppressants finally started losing the fight entirely.
Pain twisted sharply through your stomach without warning, violent enough this time that your breath caught visibly in your throat before you managed to recover. You lowered your head immediately under the excuse of gathering debate materials from the podium, one hand gripping the edge hard enough to steady yourself while the room tilted unpleasantly for half a second.
Not now.
Please not now.
A fresh wave of heat rolled through your body immediately afterward, hotter than before, your pulse suddenly loud enough to hear beneath the auditorium noise.
Fuck.
You forced yourself upright before anyone noticed the stumble and accepted the fellowship certificate from one of the faculty coordinators with what you hoped resembled a functioning human smile.
More applause followed. Somebody congratulated you. Another professor started talking about networking opportunities overseas next semester.
If you were being honest, you had completely forgotten about the donor gala in that moment. You were just focusing on picking the certificate and fleeing home for the rest of the week. Submitting your heat leave officially could be done by morning when your body went through the first wave of pre-heat symptoms and you felt more like yourself again.
You suddenly wanted to die.
Instead, you smiled through another congratulations, accepted three business cards you absolutely would not remember receiving later, and escaped the auditorium the second faculty attention shifted elsewhere.
The hallway outside felt colder, quieter too.
By the time you reached the donor ballroom level forty minutes later, you were already starting to understand just how catastrophic the rest of the evening was about to become. Unfortunately, understanding that fact and being able to leave were two very different things.
The Helios Fellowship Gala happened every winter after the final debate rounds, designed specifically so wealthy alumni could parade high-performing students around expensive ballroom spaces while pretending the networking opportunities justified the institution’s obsession with unpaid academic labor. Scholarship students volunteered almost every year because refusing “community participation opportunities” tended to look mysteriously terrible during renewal evaluations later.
Which meant despite actively approaching pre-heat, you still found yourself checking in beside the ballroom registration desk at six-thirty in the evening wearing heels that suddenly felt medically offensive.
“Congratulations again, sweetheart.”
The omega coordinator overseeing the volunteer staff smiled warmly the second you approached the check-in station, her silver clipboard tucked beneath one arm while assistants hurried behind her carrying floral arrangements toward the main ballroom entrance.
Kim Yejin worked full-time under Helios student affairs managing donor events and scholarship galas, and over the last two years you’d developed enough mutual exhaustion together that she occasionally smuggled leftover pastries into your hands during late-night networking functions.
“You survived Professor Han’s judging panel,” she continued while scanning your name off the volunteer list. “Honestly, you deserve financial compensation for emotional trauma alone.”
You almost laughed. Almost.
“Can I collect that before or after the gala?”
“After. We need you alive first.”
Alive felt increasingly ambitious at the moment.
Yejin either didn’t notice or politely chose not to comment on the fact you looked vaguely feverish beneath the harsh ballroom lighting. Instead she handed you the volunteer identification lanyard alongside the standard coordinator uniform for omega representatives — fitted cream blouse, black pencil skirt, gold Helios insignia stitched subtly along the collar.
“We’re rotating you between registration and backstage donor coordination tonight,” she explained quickly while glancing over the growing ballroom crowd nearby. “Nothing complicated. Smile politely, hand rich people their name cards, and stop stupid alphas from stealing champagne glasses off passing trays again if possible.”
“That sounds impossible actually.”
“It probably is.”
Another coordinator called her name from across the ballroom before she could continue, and Yejin squeezed your shoulder briefly on the way past. “Staff briefing in ten minutes. Change fast.”
You nodded automatically before heading toward the volunteer dressing rooms tucked behind the west ballroom corridor, heels clicking too loudly against marble floors while another wave of nausea rolled unpleasantly through your stomach.
For the first time since leaving the debate auditorium, silence finally settled around you properly. No applause, no donor conversations, no faculty questions, just fluorescent lights humming softly overhead beside rows of garment racks and abandoned makeup kits scattered across long preparation counters.
Your hands were trembling now.
“Unbelievable,” you muttered under your breath while reaching automatically toward the side pocket of your purse containing your suppressants. “You literally had one job today.”
Your pulse spiked hard enough to hurt. That was bad. Not mildly inconvenient bad either, actually dangerous.
Suppressant rebound symptoms became unpredictable once you started overdosing inconsistent cycles under stress, especially for omegas already prone to severe heats.
And judging by the cramps still twisting sharply through your stomach every five minutes, your body was already rejecting the schedule entirely.
For one horrible second, genuine fear surged through you properly. Not embarrassment, not stress, but fear. Because suddenly the timeline looked very different. You were nowhere near home. Nowhere near isolated. And potentially only a few hours away from onset.
“Okay,” you whispered quickly to yourself before the panic could spiral further. “Okay. Fine.”
Not fine. Absolutely not fine. Still, your fingers reached automatically toward the last suppressant remaining inside the bottle anyway because at that point what other choice did you realistically have? You couldn’t leave. You couldn’t disappear after winning the fellowship final. You definitely could not start pre-heat in the middle of a donor gala full of unmated alphas and wealthy social predators.
So instead you swallowed the final dose dry beside the dressing room mirror and prayed your body would survive the consequences long enough for you to make it home later. Future you could deal with the hormonal catastrophe afterward. Present you simply needed to function another few hours.
When you stepped back into the backstage coordination hall ten minutes later, Kim Yejin already stood near the volunteer briefing table organizing name cards into alphabetical stacks while several omegas and beta staff gathered around her holding clipboards.
After that, the evening dissolved strangely.
Later, when you tried reconstructing the timeline inside your head, most of the gala existed only in fragments — chandelier lighting reflecting gold against champagne glasses, donor surnames repeated too many times, the constant low hum of wealthy conversation blending into one indistinguishable noise inside the ballroom.
You remembered working. That part remained clear.
Your body had apparently switched fully into survival mode somewhere around the beginning of the second donor rotation, because despite everything happening internally, you still performed the role expected from you almost perfectly.
Smile politely, check invitation lists, escort guests toward reserved tables, refill registration folders, redirect drunk finance majors away from important alumni before they embarrassed themselves publicly.
By eight-thirty, you had layered so many neutral scent patches beneath your uniform collarbones and wrists that your skin had started itching angrily underneath the adhesive. The blockers barely helped anymore, but they dulled the sharpest edges enough that nobody around you reacted visibly. Every time you passed backstage storage rooms, you reapplied another strip mechanically before returning to the ballroom floor pretending nothing was wrong.
Most importantly, you avoided alphas entirely whenever possible.
At some point, Yejin asked whether you wanted one of the catering staff to bring you food. You said no.
At another point, one of the younger omegas helping with registration complained jokingly that the ballroom felt too warm tonight. You nearly laughed from the sheer psychological violence of that understatement.
By nine forty, the suppressant crash had become impossible to ignore anymore.
Everything felt wrong suddenly.
Your body ached with the deep exhausting heaviness that usually arrived right before full onset, heat curling constantly beneath your skin while your scent blockers struggled harder every minute to suppress what your hormones were trying desperately to force outward. Even your hearing had started dulling strangely around the edges, ballroom conversations blending together beneath the persistent rush of blood pounding inside your ears.
The ballroom had mostly emptied by the time your shift finally ended. Most donors disappeared toward private afterparties or executive lounges upstairs, leaving behind only a handful of lingering guests scattered across the remaining occupied tables beneath dimmed chandelier lighting. Staff members had already started dismantling sections of the registration area by then, floral centerpieces disappearing onto rolling carts while waiters quietly cleared untouched dessert trays from abandoned tables.
When Kim Yejin approached you near the registration counter to dismiss the remaining volunteers for the night, you didn’t even recognize her immediately.
“Sweetheart?”
You blinked slowly. Yejin’s face sharpened back into focus a second later, concern already pulling visibly across her expression while she reached instinctively toward your arm.
“You okay?” she asked carefully.
Your mouth moved automatically before your brain caught up. “Yeah.”
The answer sounded delayed even to yourself. Yejin frowned harder. “You look feverish.”
“I’m fine,” you repeated quickly, the words slurring together slightly around the edges now. “Just tired.”
Not technically a lie. Your ears felt full suddenly, pressure building strangely beneath the constant pounding of your pulse while another wave of heat rolled violently through your body hard enough that you had to grip the edge of the registration table for half a second before your knees steadied again.
Yejin noticed that too. “Hey,” she said more softly now. “Do you need me to call someone?”
Panic surged instantly through the haze clouding your thoughts. “No.”
Too fast.
Too sharp.
Both of you froze briefly afterward. Then, thankfully, another staff member called Yejin’s name from across the ballroom before she could push further into the question. Her attention flickered uncertainly between you and the volunteer carts still waiting near the west entrance.
“You should go home,” she said finally, still sounding unconvinced. “Seriously.”
You nodded quickly, then waved goodbye with what you hoped resembled normal human coordination before immediately turning toward the backstage corridor the second she looked away.
The moment the ballroom doors shut behind you, your composure shattered almost instantly.
Your heel caught unevenly against the marble floor hard enough that you nearly tripped outright before catching yourself against the hallway wall with a quiet curse. Heat surged violently through your body all at once now that you were finally away from people, the abrupt isolation tearing through whatever fragile control the suppressants had still been holding together.
Fuck.
The backstage corridors had mostly emptied already by then, only a few lingering beta staff members crossing through the administrative hallways carrying storage boxes toward service elevators. None of them paid attention to you beyond polite exhausted nods while passing by.
You made it another twenty feet before realizing you physically were not going to survive the walk home like this.
The staff bathroom near the volunteer lounge stood empty when you pushed through the door. You barely managed to lock yourself inside one of the stalls before your body gave out completely.
The floor hit hard beneath your knees first.
Then everything blurred.
For a few long minutes, you honestly weren’t sure whether you had passed out fully or simply stopped functioning enough to distinguish consciousness properly anymore. Heat crashed violently through your system in uneven waves now that the suppressants had finally burned out completely, your body trembling against the cold tile while every nerve ending felt painfully overstimulated all at once.
Too hot. Everything felt too hot.
You pressed your forehead weakly against the bathroom floor and tried focusing on breathing through it instead of panicking. That part mattered. Panic made onset worse. Stress accelerated hormonal response.
Somewhere beyond the fog clogging your thoughts, a tiny practical part of your brain finally realized something important.
The door.
You needed to lock the bathroom door.
The thought repeated sluggishly inside your head for several seconds before your body obeyed it. Later, you wouldn’t even remember actually standing. One moment you were curled half-conscious against freezing tile, and the next you were gripping the sink counter near the entrance while fumbling clumsily with the bathroom lock using shaking fingers.
Click.
Safe.
Or safe enough.
You stood there breathing hard for another few seconds afterward, forehead resting weakly against the metal door while another brutal wave rolled through your body hard enough to make your knees threaten collapsing again.
This was bad. Not catastrophic maybe, but bad.
You had survived every other heat mostly alone already. One pre-heat wave trapped inside an unfamiliar bathroom wasn’t ideal, but it also wasn’t the end of the world. Once the worst of the hormonal spike passed, you could call a ride home. Maybe text Soojin if things became genuinely unmanageable. She’d complained about you isolating during heats before, but she would still come get you if necessary.
You just needed to wait this out first. An hour maybe, two at worst.
Then home.
Your body seemed satisfied with that plan too because once your mind settled around it, the desperate panic underneath your instincts softened slightly into exhausted resignation instead. Another cramp twisted sharply through your stomach while you slid slowly back down against the wall beside the sinks, knees pulling weakly toward your chest afterward.
Cold tile pressed soothingly against your overheated skin.
Your ears still rang faintly from the ballroom noise lingering inside your head, but at least the bathroom remained quiet now. Empty. Isolated. Safe from alpha scent and crowded spaces and humiliating public disasters.
At some point during the wave, you remembered your phone existed.
The realization surfaced sluggishly through the haze clouding your thoughts while you sat curled against the bathroom wall, one cheek pressed weakly against cool tile beneath the sinks. Your purse had fallen sideways nearby sometime earlier, contents half spilled across the floor beside you.
You stared at it for several seconds before finally leaning forward enough to grab your phone with clumsy fingers.
The brightness of the screen immediately made you regret being alive. Too bright. Too loud somehow too, despite the fact phones obviously did not produce physical noise strong enough to hurt. Your entire body felt oversensitive now — skin, scent, sound, temperature — every sensation dragging roughly against nerves already overloaded beyond tolerance.
Still, you forced yourself to focus enough to unlock the screen. An embarrassing number of notifications greeted you instantly.
Missed calls. Unread texts. Multiple messages stacked aggressively on top of each other from group chats you absolutely did not have the emotional stability required to process right now. And, as expected, far too many notifications from your two alpha friends.
Jaeyun’s messages looked exactly like Jaeyun himself — excessive, rapid-fire, increasingly dramatic the longer you ignored him. He had called you a number of times as well.
Sunghoon’s messages were worse somehow because there were fewer of them. Which meant he was worried.
Your stomach twisted unpleasantly at the thought while you scrolled weakly through the newest notifications. You let your head fall weakly back against the wall afterward and closed your eyes for a second, phone still loose in your hand while guilt crawled slowly beneath the exhaustion weighing down your limbs.
You weren’t entirely sure how much time passed after that.
You looked terrible. Eyes glassy. Pupils blown. Cheeks visibly flushed beneath ballroom makeup now starting to separate slightly around the edges from heat and exhaustion.
You forced yourself upright enough to unlock your phone again, thumb hovering uncertainly over Jaeyun’s contact this time. Maybe texting him wasn’t the worst idea anymore. Not because you wanted help — absolutely not — but because if you disappeared entirely, he genuinely might start looking for you himself.
And honestly? The idea of Sim Jaeyun roaming Helios at midnight asking strangers whether they’d seen you sounded psychologically exhausting for everyone involved.
You had just barely managed to type: alive. going home soon. when footsteps echoed faintly down the corridor outside.
Not unusual at first. Staff members had been passing through the administrative halls all night. Still, something about these footsteps immediately felt different somehow. Slower. Heavier. Familiar enough that instinct reacted before your brain fully processed why.
Your body went still automatically.
The footsteps stopped briefly. Then continued again, closer this time.
You frowned faintly at the bathroom door while your pulse abruptly started climbing for entirely different reasons now. Through the lingering haze clogging your thoughts, another realization surfaced sluggishly a second later.
Voices, low and muffled through the hallway walls. One sharper and faster. The other quieter.
Your stomach dropped instantly.
You were sure your omega was being genuinely delusional now.
Maybe overdosing suppressants really did start causing auditory hallucinations after a certain point, because there was absolutely no reasonable explanation for why your body suddenly reacted to those voices like this. Every nerve ending beneath your skin seemed to spark violently awake all at once, instincts surging toward the sound hard enough that you physically had to press yourself harder against the bathroom wall to stay still.
Ridiculous. Actually ridiculous.
There were thousands of men inside Helios University. Your heat-addled brain did not get to start assigning familiar voices to random hallway conversations simply because you spent too much time psychologically obsessing over Sim Jaeyun and Park Sunghoon.
You squeezed your eyes shut briefly and tried focusing on literally anything else. The cold tile beneath your palms, the fluorescent lights overhead, your breathing.
Outside, the footsteps stopped again.
You stared at the locked bathroom door in actual horror now while your thoughts scrambled uselessly against one another. How had they even found this floor? Why were they still here? Had Yejin said something? Did they know something was wrong already?
God, no. Could it be…?
No, it can't be.
Your scent.
Sunghoon didn’t remember deciding to move.
One second he stood frozen beneath the dim ballroom lighting with his heartbeat hammering violently against his ribs, and the next both of them were crossing the corridor fast enough now that restraint finally stopped mattering altogether. Jaeyun called your name the moment they crossed into the backstage corridor, his voice echoing sharply off concrete walls and metal service doors before disappearing deeper into the administrative wing.
No answer came back.
The space beyond the ballroom looked nothing like the polished Helios University presented publicly upstairs. The deeper they moved into the staff-only hallways, the more the illusion of wealth and prestige peeled away into something functional and strangely intimate.
Gone were the marble floors and gold lighting and carefully curated donor architecture. Back here the ceilings lowered visibly, exposed pipes running overhead beside fluorescent maintenance lights that buzzed faintly in uneven intervals. Rolling garment racks crowded one side of the corridor beside stacked catering crates and folded banquet tables waiting to be wheeled into storage by morning staff.
The door slammed lightly against the wall when Jaeyun pushed it open, both of them stepping instinctively into the narrow staff lounge beyond before immediately stopping again.
Empty. At first glance, completely empty.
But your scent saturated the air so heavily now that it hit both alphas immediately. Not perfume anymore, not subtle, full on omega distress.
Every irrational part of them had already started building images faster than logic could stop them — you alone back here for who knew how long, trying to suppress pre-heat symptoms by yourself while the entire university celebrated upstairs completely unaware.
Or worse. Aware and ignoring it.
Jaeyun swore quietly under his breath while turning sharply toward the second door near the back of the lounge. “Bathroom.”
Even with decades of mandatory high-grade suppressants and scent patches drilled into every elite alpha since puberty, nothing could fully blunt the raw pull of an omega in pre-heat distress. It wasn’t just smell—it was instinct screaming through the bloodstream: warm rain on sun-baked asphalt, sharp ozone after lightning, threaded with something sweeter and more vulnerable that made the alpha hindbrain sit up and snarl protect, claim, fix.
Jake’s throat tightened, a low involuntary rumble building in his chest that he had to physically swallow down. Sunghoon’s jaw flexed beside him, fingers curling into fists at his sides. In Helios, where every scent was supposed to be civilized and controlled, this kind of unfiltered potency was rare, almost illegal in how it bypassed every social filter. It didn’t beg. It simply existed—honest, overwhelming, and impossible to ignore.
The pull of your scent only grew stronger as they crossed the small lounge, thick enough to coat the back of their throats and make every instinct bristle. Jaeyun moved on pure reflex now, drawn straight to the closed door at the far end like a compass needle snapping north. He reached the bathroom first.
Locked.
“Fuck.” His voice dropped lower immediately, gentler this time despite the urgency bleeding underneath it. “Hey. Baby?” No response came from inside. Sunghoon’s pulse spiked hard enough to ache. Jaeyun knocked again, sharper now. “Y/N, it’s us. Open the door.”
Still nothing. But then—movement. Small. A weak sound from inside that didn’t quite resemble words. Sunghoon stepped forward immediately. “Move.”
Jaeyun shifted aside without argument while Sunghoon grabbed the handle hard enough that the old lock snapped almost instantly beneath the force. The door jerked open violently against tile.
And there you were. Curled tightly against the wall between the sinks and the last bathroom stall like you’d tried to make yourself physically smaller somehow. One of the volunteer blazers had fallen half beneath you across the tile floor while your fingers remained clenched tightly around your phone against your chest, knuckles pale from pressure.
For one terrible second neither alpha moved.
You looked wrecked. Your hair had started coming loose completely now, makeup smudged faintly beneath exhausted eyes gone glassy and unfocused beneath harsh fluorescent lighting. Your breathing sounded uneven in the too-small bathroom, shoulders trembling faintly every few seconds despite the obvious effort you were making to stay still.
And the second the door opened wider, your entire body reacted instinctively.
You recoiled sharply against the wall.
“Don't—” The word came out rough. Your eyes lifted toward them immediately but didn’t fully recognize either of them at first, pupils blown wide enough that instinct clearly outweighed rational thought now.
The scent flooding the tiny bathroom intensified all at once — sweet, overheated, terrified.
You shook your head almost immediately after, movement frantic despite how weak you looked. “Please— don’t come any closer—”
The fear in your voice wasn’t fear of them, it was fear for them. Fear of what your heat could do to them. You’d locked yourself alone inside a staff bathroom rather than risk exposing anyone else to it. The realization hit both of them hard enough that their composure nearly fractured entirely.
“How long have you been here?” Jaeyun asked softly, crouching instinctively near the doorway without fully approaching you yet. Every movement he made had gone careful and controlled despite the visible tension running beneath his skin. “Y/N, look at me.”
Your gaze flickered toward him briefly before darting away again almost immediately. “Fuck— Why are you here? Jaeyun, you shouldn't be here.”
“Too late for that.”
“Jaeyun?", you hiccuped, "I’m serious—”
Your wrists were rubbed raw beneath the sleeves of the volunteer uniform where you’d clearly been scratching at your skin trying to ground yourself through the instinctive discomfort. Empty suppressant packaging sat crumpled near the trashcan beside you. Your phone screen still displayed unanswered messages and missed calls beneath trembling fingers.
Sunghoon took one step forward before he could stop himself. That immediately made your eyes snap toward the taller alpha.
“Sunghoon,” you whispered. “Please don’t come any closer.”
“Hey,” Jaeyun said softly, voice dropping lower in the careful way people used around frightened animals. “Look at me for a second.”
You didn’t. Your eyes stayed fixed stubbornly somewhere near the floor instead while your fingers tightened harder around the phone against your chest. “I’m fine,” you managed weakly. “Just need a minute.”
That made Sunghoon, who still stood closer to the door, almost lose his mind. The anger hit him instantly and irrationally, hot enough to cut clean through the panic clawing inside his chest.
Not anger at you. Never really at you. But at the image in front of him instead — you locked inside a staff bathroom at nearly ten at night trying to ride out pre-heat symptoms alone because you genuinely believed this was preferable to asking them for help.
“You are very obviously not fine, Y/N.”
Your shoulders flinched hard at the sound of his voice.
Jaeyun shot him a look immediately, warning flashing across his expression before turning back toward you again. “Sweetheart,” he said quickly, softer now. “We're just worried because you've been ignoring our calls all night.”
Another wave hit you before you could properly respond. A tiny sound escaped you before you could stop it, quiet enough it almost didn’t register at all. Except both alphas reacted instantly.
Your omega whining in distress shattered whatever remaining distance existed inside that bathroom.
Jaeyun swore softly under his breath.
Because fuck, you looked horrified afterward, eyes squeezing shut while your head dropped against the wall behind you. “God— fuck, I’m sorry—”
Sunghoon muttered under his breath. “No need to apologize, sweetheart.” he looked at you. “You locked yourself inside a staff bathroom alone instead of calling someone, that's dangerous, Y/N.” He couldn't help but point.
“There wasn’t anyone to call.” Your answer came too fast and too honest, making the two alphas fall in silence. The atmosphere dropped heavily through the room.
Sunghoon stared at you at your response with the same intensity as Jaeyun. The second realization crossed your face — the moment you understood what you’d admitted aloud — you immediately tried looking away again.
Too late.
Somewhere inside your exhausted, heat-addled brain, you genuinely hadn’t considered either of them an option.
“Baby,” Jaeyun said quietly, all teasing gone from his voice now. “That’s not true.”
You shook your head weakly. “Jaeyun—”
“Y/N.”
“No, you don’t understand—”
The Sim's expression softened almost painfully despite the tension still visible around his jaw. He interrupted you and moved carefully this time, lowering himself fully onto one knee against the tile so he looked less imposing.
“Hey,” he said gently. “Baby, can I touch you?”
Your entire body reacted to the words.
“We’re not going to hurt you,” Jaeyun murmured softly, noticing the trembling in your hands the longer you tried forcing yourself smaller against the tiled wall. “We can take you somewhere safe. Don’t you want that?”
Your expression tightened immediately. Both of them watched embarrassment flash across your face faster than instinct, humiliation settling visibly beneath the feverish haze clouding your eyes while you shook your head again.
“I can manage,” you whispered weakly, though the sentence barely sounded convincing to yourself anymore. “I just need— I just need this to pass a little.”
Jaeyun’s face did something painful at that.
Not pity.
Worse.
Understanding.
Because suddenly the entire situation looked horrifyingly clear. You weren’t fighting them because you didn’t trust them. You were fighting because somewhere inside your head this still counted as dignity. Sitting alone on a freezing bathroom floor while your suppressants failed felt less humiliating to you than letting two of your friends alphas see you vulnerable like this.
The realization seemed to hit Jaeyun just as hard as it hit Sunghoon.
“Baby,” he said carefully, keeping his voice impossibly gentle despite the tension running through every inch of his body now, “look at me.”
Your gaze lifted toward him through heavy lashes before darting away almost immediately again, heat and distress thickening your scent so heavily now the tiny bathroom barely felt breathable anymore.
“What’s wrong?” he asked softly. “Talk to us.”
For a second it looked like you wouldn’t answer, then your fingers tightened harder around your phone against your chest and your face twisted faintly with something dangerously close to panic.
“I swear I thought I could make it,” you whispered after a moment, exhaustion finally bleeding visibly into your voice now that the fight inside you had started slipping. “My pre-heat was supposed to start tomorrow, I just needed to get through today and then I was going to take leave for the week.”
Sunghoon rubbed one hand slowly down his face.
Tomorrow.
You’d calculated this down to the hour, of course you had. And somehow that made the entire situation even more devastating.
Jaeyun swore softly under his breath before leaning forward slightly again, voice gentler this time. “Baby,” he murmured, “can I touch you now?”
Sunghoon watched the conflict move visibly across your face — embarrassment warring violently against instinct while your omega practically screamed beneath the surface for comfort. Another wave hit you hard enough that your breathing stuttered sharply afterward.
Then finally, a tiny nod.
Jaeyun moved immediately after that, careful and slow despite the obvious urgency beneath his skin now. He crossed the remaining distance between you carefully enough not to startle you, one hand lifting toward your arm—
The second he touched you, your entire body reacted. You latched onto him so fast it almost startled all three of you.
A broken sound escaped your throat while your hands grabbed fistfuls of the Sim's dress shirt and pulled yourself directly against his neck, breathing him in like you’d been deprived of oxygen for hours.
Jaeyun froze. Completely froze. “Oh,” he breathed instinctively, arms catching around you automatically before you slid sideways against the tile. “Does that help, baby?” he asked quietly.
Your answer came as the smallest nod imaginable against his neck.
Sunghoon had to physically look away for a second because something about the sight hit too hard.
Jaeyun adjusted you more securely against him while glancing up toward his bestfriend again. “Okay,” he said quietly, practical despite the way his hands tightened protectively around your waist. “We need to get her out of here before someone comes back.”
You reacted immediately. “Wait.” Both alphas looked down at you. “Just take me home,” you insisted weakly against Jaeyun’s collar despite the fact you were still visibly clinging to him. “You can leave me there. It's okay.”
The silence afterward felt almost dangerous. Jaeyun stared at you like you’d lost your mind.
He actually let out a short disbelieving laugh. “Absolutely not, baby.”
“I can't take a cab right now, Jaeyun, please just leave me there.”
The words came out muffled against Jaeyun’s throat, weakened further by the fact you still hadn’t let go of him even slightly. One of your hands remained twisted tightly into the fabric of his dress shirt while your breathing slowly steadied against the warm line of his neck, body reacting almost embarrassingly fast to the comfort of an alpha despite the stubbornness still visible all over your face.
Jaeyun looked down at you like you were completely insane.
“We can’t just drop you off and call it a day, princess,” he said, voice low but firm.
You blinked up at him, exhaustion weighing heavy on your shoulders. “What do you mean? I just need to get home and sleep.”
Sunghoon cut in immediately, stepping closer so both alphas were crowding the narrow space in that overwhelming way they had. His jaw was tight, eyes sharp with worry he didn’t bother hiding.
“You’re not sleeping through this,” he said, the words leaving no room for argument.
You finally lifted your head slightly at that, expression exhausted and overheated beneath the harsh fluorescent bathroom lights. Your pupils remained blown wide, lashes damp at the corners from strain while the sweet scent of distressed omega still saturated the cramped room heavily enough that both alphas looked perpetually on edge.
Still, stubbornness burned underneath it all.
“I have suppressants at home,” you argued weakly.
“You already burned through the emergency dose,” Sunghoon replied flatly, eyes flicking briefly toward the empty packaging discarded near the trash can beside you. “And they barely worked.”
Your jaw tightened immediately.
Jaeyun sighed quietly beneath his breath before shifting you more comfortably against him, one hand moving slowly up and down your back in absentminded calming motions that made your shoulders loosen despite yourself. “Do you live alone?”
A long pause stretched between you. You felt the steady rise and fall of his chest as he waited.
“No,” you finally murmured.
Sunghoon’s frown deepened instantly, his sharp eyes narrowing with concern. He stepped a little closer, voice dropping.
“Roommates?”
You nodded once against Jaeyun’s shoulder, the movement small and tired. “Two.”
“What are their designations, Y/N?” Sunghoon asked, the question coming out sharper and more immediate than before. You lifted your head just enough to look up at him, confusion flickering across your face at the intensity behind his words.
“One omega. One alpha.”Sunghoon went completely still. Jaeyun cursed softly under his breath, the two reactions hitting at the exact same second.
Your eyes narrowed faintly, suspicion cutting through the haze. “What?”
“You go through heats with an alpha at home, baby?” Jaeyun asked carefully, his voice low and measured, though his hand had stopped its soothing motion on your back.
“He’s barely there,” you answered.
“That’s not the point.”
“He works nights most of the week,” you continued quickly, the words rushing out like you’d had this argument a dozen times before. “And he’s not—we’re not close or anything.”
Sunghoon stared at you for a long second, his expression unreadable. The silence stretched, heavy and tense.
“No.” The single word cut through the room like a blade, leaving no space for negotiation.
You blinked at him. “No what.”
“No, I'm not letting you go back there.”
Your expression shifted instantly from exhausted embarrassment to disbelief. “Sunghoon—”
“You’re spending the heat at my flat.” The bathroom fell silent. Even Jaeyun looked briefly surprised by how immediate the decision sounded leaving his mouth.
You stared at him openly now, heat-hazed eyes widening slightly while your fingers tightened unconsciously against Jaeyun’s shirt again. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” Sunghoon replied, calm and unyielding.
Your voice came out sharper than you intended, heat making your cheeks burn as you glared up at him. “You can’t just decide that. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, I can.”
“No, the fuck you can’t,” you snapped, the words tumbling out sharper than you meant, your fingers twisting tighter into Jaeyun’s shirt.
Sunghoon leaned forward slightly then, frustration and protective instinct finally bleeding fully together beneath his skin after spending the last hour watching you try to rationalize dangerous situations like they were minor inconveniences.
“You are not spending a heat in an apartment with a random alpha roommate,” he said firmly.
“He’s not random,” you insisted, voice muffled against Jaeyun’s shirt.
“I don’t care,” Sunghoon shot back without missing a beat, his tone flat and final.
“He’s barely even home,” you tried again, the words coming out weaker this time, exhaustion and heat making your argument feel flimsy even to your own ears.
“Y/N.”
Sunghoon’s voice was low and careful as he said your name, a quiet warning wrapped in concern. Jaeyun's hand resumed its slow, soothing path along your back, but his body had gone tense beneath you.
Your face flushed hotter instantly, equal parts embarrassment and irritation now. “Do you even hear yourself right now, Sunghoon?”
“Yes.”
“You sound insane.”
“You’re in pre-heat,” Sunghoon snapped back immediately. “Your suppressants failed, your emergency coverage expired, and you locked yourself inside a staff bathroom alone instead of asking for help. Forgive me if I’m past pretending this is a reasonable situation, sweetheart.”
The anger in his voice startled you enough that your omega reacted instantly, another distressed sound escaping your throat before you buried your face hard back against Jaeyun’s neck in humiliation.
“I’m not yelling,” Sunghoon replied, voice still edged with frustration.
“You literally sound like someone’s angry husband,” Jaeyun muttered, half-exasperated, half-amused despite the tension.
Sunghoon ignored him completely, his sharp gaze staying locked on you, unwavering.
Because now that the reality of your living situation settled properly inside his head, the idea of you going back there genuinely made something primal and furious rise beneath his skin. An unmated omega in full heat trapped in an apartment with an unrelated alpha? No stabilizing support? No scent management? No one monitoring suppressant crashes?
Fucking impossible.
“You need somewhere controlled,” he said more evenly this time, though tension still tightened visibly along his jaw. “Somewhere people aren’t going to lose their minds because your heat scent leaks through an apartment wall.”
You slowly lifted your head again and for the first time since they found you, genuine surprise cut cleanly through the haze clouding your expression. “You really mean that.”
Sunghoon frowned slightly. “Yes, princess. It's obvious that I mean it.”
Your eyes searched his face like you genuinely couldn’t tell whether he understood what he was offering.
“Sunghoon,” you said carefully now, voice rough with exhaustion and disbelief all tangled together, “do you actually know what the fuck you’re talking about?”
Jaeyun glanced between both of you quietly, already understanding exactly where your mind had gone.
Because yes. Everyone did know what it meant.
An alpha offering his home to an omega during heat wasn’t casual. Especially not an unmated omega. Especially not one both of them clearly wanted badly enough the tension practically filled the room around them.
Sunghoon held your stare evenly anyway. “I know exactly what I’m talking about, sweetheart.”
Your breathing caught faintly. “You’ve never even taken care of someone through heat before. This might be too much for you guys.”
The words came out quieter this time, stripped of some of the earlier defensiveness now that exhaustion had started overtaking your ability to fight them properly.
Sunghoon held your gaze steadily anyway, jaw tightening slightly before he answered. “No,” he admitted flatly. “I haven’t.”
The honesty seemed to surprise you more than the admission itself.
Beside you, Jaeyun shifted carefully against the bathroom wall while still holding you loosely against his chest, one hand resting warm and grounding against the middle of your back. Unlike Sunghoon, he looked completely unsurprised by the conversation unfolding in front of him.
Probably because Jaeyun already knew him too well.
“But Jaeyun has,” Sunghoon continued before you could retreat into your own head again. “And he’ll be there. He'll know how to help you.”
Your eyes flicked automatically toward Jaeyun.
Jaeyun gave a small shrug despite the obvious tension still visible around his shoulders. “I used to date an omega years ago,” he explained quietly. “Her heats were rough when we were together.”
Something in your expression softened faintly at that.
Not fully trust.
But understanding.
Sunghoon pushed forward immediately while he still had your attention. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, baby,” he said, voice lower now, steadier than before despite the instinctive tension still clawing constantly beneath his skin. “No one’s saying we’re dragging you home to lock you in a bedroom and lose control.”
Your face burned instantly at the phrasing.
Sunghoon ignored your reaction, eyes still fixed on you. “We can help with scent stabilization. Keep your temperature down. Make sure you eat. Make sure you don’t hurt yourself trying to ride it out alone.” His jaw flexed slightly before he added more quietly, “And if you don’t want sex involved, then it won’t be involved.”
The words settled heavily between all three of you.
Because again — you all knew what this meant.
Two unmated alphas offering to spend an omega’s heat with her wasn’t neutral no matter how clinical Sunghoon tried making it sound. Not when your scent already flooded the tiny bathroom thick enough to make both their instincts visibly frayed around the edges. Not when you were currently curled half in Jaeyun’s lap breathing him in like your body already recognized comfort there instinctively.
Still, Sunghoon looked completely serious.
“I just want you safe,” he said finally, quieter now in a way that almost sounded frustrated with himself. “Because after seeing this tonight, if you go back to that apartment alone I genuinely don’t think I’ll sleep for the next week.”
The confession slipped out rougher than he probably intended. Not polished, not controlled. Honest enough that the entire room fell silent afterward. You stared at him.
Jaeyun stared at him too, though there was something knowing hidden beneath the softer look crossing his face now.
Because there it was.
Care.
Raw enough that even Sunghoon himself looked faintly irritated by the fact it had become visible.
Your fingers tightened unconsciously against Jaeyun’s shirt again while your gaze stayed locked on Sunghoon a second too long this time. The heat still clouded your expression heavily, but beneath it he could practically see the moment your walls started cracking apart around the edges.
“You’d really just…” You swallowed once, visibly struggling to finish the thought through exhaustion and embarrassment both. “Take care of me?”
Sunghoon looked almost offended by the question.
“Yes.”
Like it was obvious.
Like there had never been another option in his mind the second he found you sitting alone on a bathroom floor.
"The two of you?" Your fingers tightened unconsciously against Jaeyun’s shirt. The heat still clouded your expression heavily, but beneath it he could practically see the moment your walls started cracking apart around the edges. Not enough to disappear completely, just enough that the real question finally slipped through.
Your gaze drifted between them slowly. Two unmated alphas. One omega approaching heat. One apartment. One week.
Even through the haze clouding your thoughts, the situation sounded insane.
The city lights blurred past the windows as Jaeyun drove. In the backseat, you had curled into Sunghoon without asking, face pressed against his chest, one hand loosely fisted in his shirt. Your breathing had gone shallow and uneven, dozing in fits between waves. Every bump in the road pulled a small whimper from you, and Sunghoon’s arm tightened around your shoulders automatically.
He stared out the window, trying to ignore how right it felt. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He wasn’t the type to get pulled into something messy like this. He liked distance. Clarity. Not an omega in pre-heat clinging to him like he was the only stable thing left. Yet here he was, thumb brushing absently over your arm, body angled to shield you from the AC vent.
It’s just biology, he told himself. She needs an alpha’s presence. Any alpha. Doesn’t mean anything deeper.
But the itch under his wrists had finally stopped. The restless edge that had followed him all night was gone, replaced by something quieter. He didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to hand you off to Jaeyun or drop you anywhere else. The flat was fifteen minutes away. His bed was made, spare blankets in the closet, fridge stocked from last week. Practical. That’s all.
Jaeyun glanced at the rearview mirror. “She okay back there?”
Sunghoon grunted. “Sleeping. Sort of.” His voice came out lower than intended. He adjusted the way your head rested against him, careful not to wake you fully. Your scent was everywhere now—sweet, fevered, undeniable. It should have been overwhelming, instead it settled something in his chest he refused to name.
He wasn’t in love. That was ridiculous. This was responsibility. Friendship. The same instinct that made him leave the umbrella that rainy afternoon years ago. Nothing had changed. You were still the stubborn scholarship student who disappeared when things got too close. He was still the Park heir who didn’t do complications.
And yet he kept his arm around you the entire drive, letting you cling. When another wave made you shift restlessly, he murmured something low and wordless against your hair, barely audible. Not romantic. Just… necessary.
Jaeyun didn’t say much from the front, but Sunghoon caught the occasional glance. They had already gone over this months ago in the kitchen after you’d crashed on the couch—one too many late nights, one too many times watching you pull away. No big confessions, just mutual acknowledgment that pretending they didn’t both want you around was getting exhausting. Sharing the problem felt easier than losing proximity.
Sunghoon exhaled slowly. The denial sat there, familiar and comforting. He wasn’t accepting anything permanent. This was one heat. One week. You’d recover, go back to avoiding them, and they’d go back to pretending they weren’t watching for you in every lecture hall.
But right now, with your weight warm and trusting against him, the city passing quietly outside, he didn’t want to be anywhere else. The thought annoyed him. He pushed it down.
Temporary, he reminded himself. Just get her through this.
Still, his hand stayed on your back, steady. The flat lights were already visible up ahead. Jaeyun slowed the car. Sunghoon didn’t loosen his hold.
author's note — no reader hate will be tolerated ok. love you guys, forgive me if this is bad (ik is dragging af). guys bully me into writing the second part of this because i swear i tried so many times but the smut isn't smutting AND IT'S BEEN A MONTH SINCE I STARTED WRITING IT. I'M GOING TO CRASH OUT I SWEAR.RRRR
!! synopsis: you don't need help. ever. then you fail a class and get stuck with jake sim the campus fuckboy, and your new tutor. he's cocky. he's in your space. and you're about to learn that fuckboy's tutor best.
!! warnings: smut (mdni), dom jake, sub/bratty reader, oral, fingering, pet names, dirty talk, spanking, piv, unprotected sex (dont!), praising, semi public
!! wc: 9.5k
!! a/n: pics of jake always awake something in me, sry this took forever i debated hard on the flow of this story so sorry if it feels rushed, ENJOY!
The red F on your midterm was actually offensive.
Not because you'd worked hard. You hadn't. You'd skimmed the readings, showed up to class hungover twice, and submitted a study guide you'd filled out while watching a movie. The F was fair, the problem was it bruised your ego.
Professor Lee didn't even wait for the rest of the class to leave. She caught you at the door, hand on your arm, voice low enough that only you could hear.
"A word." You followed her to her desk, she held up your exam."38 percent." she said.
"I know, I'll study harder."
"You've been skating by on charm and curve points, and now the curve can't save you." She slid a piece of paper across the desk. "Peer tutoring. Mandatory. Twice a week until your average is above a C."
You picked up the paper. One name written in blue ink.
Jake Sim.
"Jake Sim?" you said.
"He's the best tutor I have. Top of the class last semester. Top of the class now.
You knew Jake Sim. Well, you didn't know him. You knew of him. Everyone did. The guy who showed up to every party with a new girl and left with whoever he wanted. The guy who never raised his voice but always got the last word. The guy who'd held a door open for you once and looked at you like he was already bored.
"He's a fuckboy," you said not thinking she heard.
Professor Lee didn't blink. "He's also the only reason six people are passing this class right now. You start Monday. His schedule is at the bottom."
You walked out of that office with your 38 percent and a new low.
Karina and Giselle were waiting for you outside, perched on a bench, phones in hand, looking like they'd been there for hours.
"Your face says disaster," Karina said.
"I have a tutor."
"Okay?"
"Jake Sim."
Giselle's head snapped up. "Jake Sim?"
"Unfortunately."
Karina burst out laughing. "The Jake Sim?"
"Yes."
"The one who went through three sororities in one semester?"
"Yes."
"The one who corrected Sunghoon's drink order at a party and then made out with his date an hour later?"
"Karina." you screamed.
"I'm just saying!" She was grinning now. "Damn. Not Jake."
"I know."
"But also..." Giselle tilted her head. "Damn. Jake is kinda hot."
"I don't care if he's hot. He's a walking red flag with good bone structure."
"And he's your tutor." Karina wiped a tear from her eye. "This is the best thing that's ever happened to me."
"I'm going to fail."
You sat down between them and put your head in your hands. "He's going to be insufferable. You know he's going to be insufferable. He's going to sit there with that stupid smirk and explain basic statistics like I'm a child and I'm going to have to pretend I don't want to throw my textbook at his head."
"Or," Giselle said, "you could just let him be hot and enjoy the view."
"I'm not going to enjoy anything."
"You've never even talked to him."
"I don't need to talk to him to know I hate him."
Karina patted your back. "That's the spirit."
Jake was mid-bite into his sandwich when Sunghoon kicked his foot under the table.
"You got assigned a tutoring student?"
Jake chewed. Swallowed. "Yeah."
"Who?"
"Does it matter?"
Jay leaned forward. "It matters cause we are nosy."
Heeseung was already scrolling through his phone. "Professor Lee's class? She sent out the list this morning."
Jake took another bite. He'd seen the name. He'd read it twice. He'd spent maybe longer than necessary staring at it.
He knew who you were. Everyone did. The girl who walked into parties like she owned them. The girl who never asked for help. The girl who'd looked at him just once across a crowded room, and then looked away like he wasn't worth a second glance.
"You're being weird," Jungwon said from the end of the table.
"I'm not being weird."
"You're not talking. That's weird for you."
Jake set his sandwich down. "It's Y/N."
Silence.
Then Sunghoon choked on his drink.
"The one who told Professor Kim to his face that his lecture was boring?"
"That's her."
Jay whistled. "She needs a tutor? I thought she had everything figured out."
"Apparently not."
Jungwon shrugged. "She's going to hate it."
"She's going to hate me."
"Probably."
Jake thought about that. Thought about your face the one time you'd looked at him. You hadn't smiled. Hadn't blushed. Hadn't done any of the things girls usually did when they looked at him.
You'd just looked. And then you'd walked away.
"I don't know," Heeseung said slowly. "She's hot. Like, really hot. Independent. People come to her for help. This might be interesting."
"Interesting how?" Jake asked.
"I don't know. Just... interesting. She's not going to fall all over you like everyone else does."
Jake picked up his sandwich. "I'm not trying to make her fall all over me."
"Sure you're not."
"I'm just tutoring her. That's it."
Sunghoon snorted. "Famous last words."
Jake didn't respond. But he couldn't stop thinking about your name on that paper.
Y/N.
He wondered if you'd text him first or if he'd have to reach out.
He wondered if you'd show up on Monday with that same look on your face like you had nothing to prove to anyone.
He wondered what it would take to make you look at him twice.
Three days before your first session, Karina dragged you to a party.
"I need to get out," she said.
"You need to get out. I need to study."
"No babes you need to drink."
The party was at some guy's house you didn't catch the name to and you didn't care. The music was too loud, the cups were sticky, and within twenty minutes, you'd lost Karina to the dance floor and Giselle to a guy who looked like he played club sports.
You were on your third drink when you saw him.
Jake.
He was on a couch in the corner, and there was a girl in his lap.
Not sitting next to him. Not leaning against him. Fully in his lap, her legs draped over his thigh, her lips hovering near his ear. His hand was on her waist. He wasn't kissing her but it was clearly heading there.
You recognized the girl. Wonyoung. She was in your psych class. She'd spent the entire semester batting her eyelashes at every guy within a ten foot radius.
Of course it was Wonyoung.
You looked away. Drank. Looked back.
His hand had moved lower.
"Ew," you said to no one.
Karina appeared at your elbow. "What?"
"Jake Sim. With the one and only."
Karina followed your gaze. "Oh. Yeah. That's Wonyoung. She's been trying to get his attention for weeks."
"He's letting her."
"That's what he does." Karina shrugged. "He's always like that. A different girl every week. Sometimes every night. It's his whole thing."
"His whole thing is gross."
"His whole thing is effective. Look at her. She's practically melting."
You took another drink. "I have to let him teach me statistics."
"Poor you."
"I'm serious. How am I supposed to sit across from someone who acts like that?"
"You could try not staring at him."
"Shut up."
Karina grabbed your hand. "Come on. You're too sober. We're dancing."
She pulled you onto the floor. The music shifted something with a bass you could feel in your chest. You let yourself move. Let yourself forget about the F and the tutoring and the way Jake's hand had looked on Wonyoung's waist.
A guy found you. Tall. Dark hair. Cute in a forgettable way. He smiled at you and you smiled back because why not, and then his hands were on your hips and you were dancing with him.
It was fine. It was nothing.
But across the room, someone was watching.
"She's here," Sunghoon said.
Jake didn't have to ask who. He'd seen you the second you walked in. The way the room shifted when you entered. The way people looked at you like you were the main character and they were just extras.
"Yeah," Jake said. "I saw her."
Wonyoung was still in his lap. He'd forgotten she was there until she shifted and pressed closer. He should focus on her. She was pretty. She was interested. She was easy.
But his eyes kept finding you.
You were dancing with some guy now. Some random guy who'd probably never talked to you before tonight. His hands were on your hips. You were laughing at something he said.
"Why is she dancing with him?" Jake asked.
Sunghoon looked. "Because she's at a party? Because he asked? Why do you care?"
"I don't."
"You're staring."
"I'm observing."
"Heeseung called it." Jay appeared on Jake's other side. "He said you'd be interested."
"I'm not interested."
"You've looked at her twelve times in the last ten minutes."
Jake pulled his eyes away. Wonyoung was looking at him expectantly. He'd missed something she'd said.
"Sorry," he said. "What?"
"I asked if you wanted to go somewhere quieter."
The implication was clear. A month ago, he would have said yes. A week ago, he would have said yes. But tonight, for some reason, the word stuck in his throat.
"I have an early class," he said.
Wonyoung's face flickered. "Oh."
She didn't look convinced, but she got off his lap. Walked away without looking back.
Sunghoon raised his eyebrows. "You just let her go."
"She's not going anywhere."
"She's going to find someone else."
"Good for her."
Jake stood up. He needed water. Or air. Or something that wasn't watching you dance with someone else.
He pushed through the crowd toward the back of the house. The hallway was quieter. The bathroom door was cracked open, light spilling out.
He was about to walk past when you stepped out.
You nearly collided with his chest.
"Oh-" You looked up. Your eyes were glassy. You were tipsy. Maybe more than tipsy. "You."
"Me."
"I was just thinking about you."
"Good things?"
"I was thinking about how much I don't want to see you on Monday."
Jake leaned against the wall. Arms crossed. Calm. "That's funny. I was thinking about how much I'm looking forward to it."
"You're lying."
"I don't lie."
"Everyone lies."
"Not me." He tilted his head. "You're drunk."
"I'm tipsy. There's a difference."
"You're going to be hungover on Monday."
"I'm going to be fine on Monday."
"We'll see."
You stepped closer. Pointed a finger at his chest. "You're my teacher now. That's so weird."
"I'm your tutor. Not your teacher."
"Same thing."
"Different thing."
"You're correcting me already?" Your eyes narrowed. "We haven't even started."
"I'm just preparing you."
"For what?"
"For me."
You stared at him. He stared back.
"I hate you," you said.
Jake smiled. Slow. "Monday. Library. Third floor. Seven o'clock. Don't be late."
"I'm never late."
"You were late to Professor Kim's lecture three times last semester."
Your mouth opened. Closed. "How do you know that?"
"I pay attention."
You blinked at him. Then you shook your head and pushed past him, stumbling slightly on your way back to the party.
Jake watched you go.
He was definitely looking forward to Monday.
You showed up at 6:58 because you weren't going to give him the satisfaction of being late.
The library was mostly empty on a Monday night. Third floor was silent except for the hum of the vending machine and the squeak of your shoes on the floor.
Jake was already there. Of course he was.
He was sitting at a table near the window, laptop open, textbook out, pens lined up perfectly. He looked up when you approached.
"You're early," he said.
"I'm on time."
He gestured to the chair across from him. "Sit down."
You sat. Dropped your bag on the floor. Crossed your arms.
"So." He closed his laptop. "Show me your exam."
"No."
"I can help you by explaining why you failed."
Your jaw tightened. "I didn't fail. I got a 38. That's not technically failing. That's... adjacent to failing."
"38 is failing."
"It's a soft fail."
"There's no such thing."
"There is if I say there is."
Jake leaned back in his chair. Studied you. "You're going to be difficult, aren't you?"
"I'm not difficult. I'm particular."
"Same thing, different font."
You almost smiled. Almost. "Fine." You pulled the exam out of your bag and slid it across the table. "There. Happy?"
He picked it up. Read it. Didn't react. "Okay," he said. "Here's the problem. You don't know how to study."
"I know how to study."
"You know how to memorize things the night before and hope for the best. That's not studying."
"It's worked so far."
"Has it?" He held up the exam. "Because this looks like your luck ran out."
You opened your mouth. Closed it.
"Here's how this is going to work," he said. "You're going to stop pretending you're too good for this. I'm going to stop pretending you're not smart. And we're both going to get through this without killing each other."
"That last part isn't guaranteed."
He almost smiled. "Deal."
He stood up. Walked to the whiteboard the library kept in the corner. Picked up a marker.
"Come here."
You didn't move.
"I'm not going to bite." He looked over his shoulder. "Unless you want me to."
"Enough with the games Sim."
"Then come here so I can actually teach you something."
You stood up. Walked to the whiteboard. Stood as far away from him as possible while still being able to see.
He drew a curve. Labeled it. Started explaining. And he was good at it.
Not condescending. Not slow. Just clear. He asked questions and waited for answers. He didn't fill the silence when you were thinking. He let you struggle until you got it.
A hour in, you understood p-values.
"This shouldn't make sense."
"But it does."
He capped the marker. "Same time Wednesday."
"Yeah."
"Try not to be so angry next time."
"I'm not angry. You grabbed your bag. Walked toward the stairs.
"Hey," he called. You turned.
Jake was leaning against the whiteboard, arms crossed. "You're not stupid. You just don't like being bad at things. There's a difference."
"That's like the second time you've said that."
"Because you keep needing to hear it."
You left. But you thought about it the whole walk home.
The sessions blurred together. Two weeks. Four sessions. Then six.
You stopped fighting it somewhere around session three. Not because you'd given up but because you'd started to actually get it. The material made sense when Jake explained it. He had a way of breaking things down that didn't make you feel like an idiot.
He was still cocky. Still insufferable. Still looked at you like he knew something you didn't.
But you weren't snapping at him anymore. You were learning.
"You're different," Karina said one day at lunch.
"I'm not different."
"You smiled at your phone. Three times. In a row."
"I was looking at memes."
"You were texting Jake."
"I was texting Jake about homework." You threw a fry at her.
Giselle watched the exchange with amusement. "She's not wrong. You've been in a good mood lately."
"I'm in a normal mood."
"You failed a midterm and you're being tutored by a fuckboy. You should be miserable."
"Maybe I've accepted my fate."
You were mid-bite into your sandwich when a shadow fell over the table.
"Hey."
You looked up. Jake was standing there. Holding your jacket.
The jacket you'd left at his apartment two days ago after a session that ran late. The jacket you'd completely forgotten about until this exact moment.
"You left this," he said. "You keep leaving things at my place."
"I don't do it on purpose."
"Sure you don't."
He set the jacket on the table. His fingers brushed yours. Too long to be accidental.
Everyone was watching. Not just Karina and Giselle, who had both gone completely still. But the tables around you. The people walking past. The girl at the fountain who'd been trying to get Jake's attention for weeks.
Wonyoung. She was standing near your table, coffee in hand, eyes locked on you. On the jacket. On the way Jake was looking at you.
"Thanks," you said, pulling the jacket toward you.
"See you Thursday," Jake said. He walked away.
The second he was out of earshot, Karina slammed her hands on the table and screamed.
"What the fuck was that!?"
"Nothing."
"That was not nothing. That was something. He brought you your jacket. He remembered your jacket. He came to find you to give you your jacket."
"He's polite."
"He's not polite. He's a fuckboy. Fuckboys don't return jackets. They keep them as trophies."
Giselle was staring at you. "You've been to his apartment."
"For tutoring."
"You're lying."
"I'm not"
"Y/N." Karina grabbed your wrist. "Look at me. Are you sleeping with him?"
"No!"
"Are you going to sleep with him?"
"I don't- I haven't- I don't know."
Karina and Giselle exchanged a look.
"Oh my God," Giselle whispered. "She likes him."
"I don't like him."
"You like him."
"I tolerate him."
Across the courtyard, Wonyoung was still watching.
She found you after class two days later.
You were walking across campus, earbuds in, not paying attention, when a hand grabbed your arm.
You spun around. Wonyoung.
"What the hell?" you said, pulling your arm back.
"Sorry." She didn't look sorry. "I need to talk to you."
"About?"
"Jake."
You sighed. "I don't have time for this."
"It'll take two minutes."
You looked at her. She was smaller than you remembered. Prettier, too, in a polished, intentional way. Her nails were done. Her hair was curled. She looked like she'd stepped out of a magazine.
"Fine," you said. "Talk."
"What's going on with you and Jake?"
"Nothing."
"He brought you your jacket."
"He's my tutor. He was being nice."
Wonyoung's eyes narrowed. "Jake isn't nice."
"Then why do you want him so badly?"
The question caught her off guard. Her composure cracked, just slightly.
"I've been trying to get his attention for months," she said. "Months. And he's never looked at me the way he looks at you."
You didn't know what to say to that.
"I'm not trying to be mean," Wonyoung continued. "I just want to know. Are you together? Is that a thing?"
"We're not together."
"But you want to be."
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to."
She stepped back. Crossed her arms. "Fine. Whatever. Just... don't waste him. If you're not serious about him, let him go."
"I don't think Jake Sim is the kind of guy you need to protect."
"Maybe not." Wonyoung turned to walk away. Then stopped. "But you're not the only one who sees something in him."
She left.
You stood there for a long moment.
Then you pulled out your phone.
You: Some girl just cornered me about you.
Jake: Which one?
You: Wonyoung.
Jake: Ah.
You: That's all you have to say?
Jake: She's harmless.
You: She wants you.
Jake: A lot of people want me.
You: Cocky.
Jake: Honest.
You: Same thing.
Jake: Different font.
You almost smiled.
Jake: See you Thursday.
You: See you Thursday.
You brought it up during your next session.
Not on purpose. It just slipped out.
"So Wonyoung," you said, not looking up from your notebook.
Jake didn't look up either. "What about her?"
"You two have history?"
"Define history."
"I saw her at that party cuddled up with you."
He paused. Then set his pen down. "That was before we started tutoring."
"So?"
"So, nothing. She was there. I was there. It didn't mean anything."
"It looked like it meant something."
Jake leaned back in his chair. Studied you. "Are you jealous?"
"I'm not jealous."
"Your face is red." Jake smiled. Slow. "You're jealous."
"I'm not jealous. I'm... curious."
"About my romantic history?"
"About whether you're going to keep doing that while you're supposed to be tutoring me."
"Would it bother you if I did?"
You looked at him. Really looked."Yes," you said.
The word hung in the air.
Jake didn't smile. Didn't tease. He just looked at you, and something shifted in his expression. Something softer.
"Good," he said.
"Good?"
"Good that it would bother you." He picked up his pen. "It would bother me too. If it were the other way around."
You didn't know what to say to that. So you looked back down at your notebook and pretended to study.
But you could feel him watching you. And for the first time, you didn't hate it.
It happened after a late session.
You'd been studying for three hours. Your brain was fried. Your eyes were tired. And Jake had been looking at you all night like you were something he wanted to eat.
"You're staring," you said.
"I'm thinking."
"About what?"
"About how you bite your lip when you're concentrating."
Your pen stopped moving.
"Don't," you said.
"Don't what?"
"Don't say things like that."
"Why not?"
"Because we're supposed to be studying."
"We've been studying for three hours. Take a break."
"I don't need a break."
"You do." He stood up. Walked around the table. Leaned against it, right next to your chair. "You've been tensing your shoulders for the last hour. You haven't blinked in thirty seconds. You need a break."
"I need to pass this class."
"You will. But tonight you need to relax."
You looked up at him. He was close. Too close.
"And how do you suggest I do that?"
Jake's hand came up to your face. Slow. Deliberate. His thumb brushed your lower lip. "Let me," he said.
"Why?"
"Because I want to."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one you need."
You should have said no. You should have packed your bag and walked out and gone home and thought about this in the morning. Instead, you kissed him.
It wasn't soft. It wasn't tentative. It was hungry and frustrated and tasted like every argument you'd been having for weeks. His hands were in your hair. Your hands were on his chest. He pulled you up from the chair and pressed you against the table.
"There she is," he murmured against your mouth.
"Shut up."
"Make me."
You kissed him harder.
He laughed. Then his hands were under your shirt and your hands were in his hair and you had never wanted anyone the way you wanted him right now.
"Bedroom," he said.
"Yeah."
He took your hand.
His bedroom was dark. The sheets were rumpled. It smelled like him, clean, with something underneath that you couldn't name. He pushed the door closed and turned to look at you.
"Last chance," he said.
"For what?"
"To change your mind."
"I'm not going to change my mind."
He kissed you again. Slower this time. His hands slid under your shirt, palms flat against your ribs, thumbs brushing the underside of your bra. You gasped against his mouth.
"Tell me what you want," he said.
"I want you to stop talking."
"That's not how this works." He pulled back. Looked at you. His eyes were dark. Serious. "I need to hear you say it."
"Say what?"
"Say you want this. Say you want me. Not because you're stressed. Not because of the tutoring. Because you've been thinking about this as much as I have."
Your heart was pounding.
"How do you know I've been thinking about it?"
"Because you're here. Because you kissed me first. Because you're looking at me right now like you want to climb inside my skin." He tilted his head. "Am I wrong?"
You grabbed his shirt and pulled him close.
"I want you," you said against his mouth. "I've wanted you since the party. Since the first session. Since you said good girl like it meant something."
"It meant something."
"Then show me."
He took his time. Unhurried. Every touch deliberate. Every kiss slower than the last. You tried to rush him. You grabbed at his belt, tugged at his shirt, tried to flip him over. He caught your wrists. Held them above your head.
"Not yet," he said. Voice low. Firm.
"Jake-"
"I've been waiting for this." His lips brushed your ear. "I'm not going to rush. You're not going to rush. You're going to take what I give you. Understood?"
You glared at him. "You're not the boss of me."
"Tonight I am."
"That's cute."
He squeezed your wrists. Not hard. Just enough. "You want to test me? Go ahead. But you're not going to win."
"You're insufferable."
"You keep saying that."
"Because it's true."
He smiled. Then he released your wrists and his mouth was on your neck, your collarbone, lower. He kissed down your stomach, your hips, your thighs. He took his time there too, mouthing at the sensitive skin, breathing hot against you.
"You're so tense," he murmured.
"I'm not tense."
"You're shaking."
"I'm cold."
"You're not cold."
He looked up at you. Held your gaze. Then he lowered his mouth where you wanted him most.
You gasped. Your hands flew to his hair.
"That's it," he said against you. "Hold on."
He worked you slowly, deliberately, watching your face the whole time. Every time you got close, he pulled back. Every time you whined, he smiled.
"Please," you finally said.
"Please what?"
"Please don't stop."
"Good girl."
He didn't stop.
His mouth was everywhere tongue flat against you, then pointed, then circling exactly where you needed him most. He groaned against your skin like he was the one getting pleased, like tasting you was his reward, not yours. His hands pinned your hips down when you tried to squirm away, holding you open for him, taking his time. He wasn't in a rush. He wanted to watch you fall apart.
When you came, you came hard, back arching off the bed, his name falling out of your mouth like a prayer. He didn't let you recover. He kissed up your body, slow and lazy, like he had all the time in the world.
You reached for him, pulled him up, tried to flip him onto his back.
He didn't move.
"Not yet," he said.
"Jake-"
"You think we're done?" He pressed his forehead to yours. His breath was hot. His voice was low. "We're just getting started."
"Then what are you waiting for?"
He smiled. Slow. Dangerous.
"Pop quiz."
You blinked. "What?"
He pulled back. Sat up on his knees. Looked down at you spread out beneath him flushed, wet, still shaking from your orgasm.
"You've been learning a lot in our sessions," he said. "But I want to make sure you're paying attention."
"To statistics?"
"To me."
He reached for his belt. Unbuckled it slowly. Pulled it free from the loops.
"This is a different kind of lesson," he said. "But the rules are the same. I ask a question. You answer. If you get it right, you get rewarded."
"And if I get it wrong?"
He folded the belt in half. Tapped it against his palm.
"You get punished."
You moaned, your stomach flipped. Heat pooled low in your belly.
"What kind of questions?"
"We'll start easy." He leaned down, kissed your neck, bit softly at your collarbone. "What's the formula for a confidence interval?"
"You're joking."
"I never joke about education."
You stared at him. He stared back. His eyes were dark. Serious. Waiting.
"Sample mean," you said slowly, "plus or minus the critical value times the standard error."
"Good job."
He kissed you. Deep. Rewarding. His hand slid between your legs, fingers finding you already wet, already ready.
"That's one," he said against your mouth. "Want another?"
"Yes."
"Then pay attention."
He flipped you onto your stomach. Pulled your hips up. The belt was still in his hand.
"What's a Type I error?" he asked.
"False positive," you said quickly. "Rejecting a true null hypothesis."
"Good."
He pushed into you from behind. No warning. No slow build. Just full, deep, stretching you open. You cried out, fingers gripping the sheets.
"Jake- fuck"
"That's one point." He pulled out almost all the way. Held there. "What's a Type II error?"
You couldn't think. Couldn't breathe. He was barely inside you, just the tip, and you could feel yourself clenching around nothing.
"Jake, please-"
"Wrong answer."
The belt came down on your ass. Not hard enough to bruise. Hard enough to sting. You gasped.
"Type II error," he said calmly. "False negative. Failing to reject a false null hypothesis." He pushed back in, slow, torturous. "Try again."
"Type II-" You couldn't focus. He was moving now, shallow thrusts, not enough. "Type II is false negative-"
"Full sentence."
"Type II error is failing to reject- fuck- failing to reject a false null hypothesis."
"Good fucking girl."
He snapped his hips forward. Hard. Deep. You moaned into the pillow.
"You want another question?"
"Yes Jakey please"
"What's the difference between a one-tailed and a two-tailed test?"
You knew this. But he was fucking you now, really fucking you, and every thrust pushed the answer further out of your brain.
"A one-tailed-" He hit a spot that made your vision white out. "A one-tailed tests in one direction- two-tailed tests both-"
"Both what?"
"Both directions-"
"And when do you use each?"
"I don't- fuck, Jake- I can't-"
The belt came down again. Harder this time.
"Incorrect," he said. His voice was colder now. Disappointed. "You're not even trying."
"I am trying-"
"You're distracted." He pulled out. Flipped you onto your back. Stared down at you. "You're so fucked out you can't even answer basic questions."
Your face burned. From the sex. From the shame. From the way he was looking at you.
"I'm sorry," you whispered.
"Sorry isn't good enough."
He grabbed your chin. Forced you to look at him.
"You wanted this. You wanted me. Now you're going to take what I give you and you're going to earn it."
"Yes Jake"
"Shut up."
He pushed back inside you. Harder than before. Faster. His hand closed around your throat not squeezing, just holding, just reminding you who was in charge.
"I've been patient," he said, fucking you with each word. "I've been nice. I've let you be bratty and difficult and act like you're too good for this. But right now? Right now you're just a girl on her back, taking my cock because she can't handle a few simple questions."
Your eyes watered. From the sting. From the heat. From the way his words were making you feel things you didn't want to name.
"Say it," he said.
"Say what-"
"Say you're mine. Right now. In this bed. You're fucking mine."
"Mmm I'm yours-"
"Louder."
"I'm yours Jake, all yours."
He kissed you. Bruising. Claiming. His hand moved from your throat to your hair, pulling, tilting your head back.
"One more question," he said. "Get it right and I'll let you cum."
"Okay-"
"What's the probability that I'm going to stop until you've cum at least three more times?"
You blinked at him.
"That's not a real question-"
"Wrong answer."
He pulled out. Flipped you over again. Pulled your hips up and drove back in, one hand fisted in your hair, the other gripping your hip hard enough to leave marks.
You came without warning. Without permission. Your body just broke, clenching around him, sobbing into the pillow.
He didn't stop.
"That's one," he said. "Two more to go."
"Jake- I can't-"
"You can. And you fucking will slut."
He fucked you through it. Through the oversensitivity, through the tears, through the way your arms gave out and your face pressed into the mattress.
When you came again, it was on his command. His voice in your ear. And your body obeyed.
"You're learning," he said.
He pulled out. Rolled you onto your back one last time. Stared down at you all wrecked, crying, completely undone.
"One more," he said.
"Fuck I can't-"
"You can."
He pushed back inside you. Slow this time. Gentle. His thumb found your clit and circled softly, coaxing, not demanding.
"Look at me," he said.
You looked at him.
His face was different now. Softer. His eyes were dark but not cold. He pulled you on top of him while watching you like you were something precious.
"Cum for me," he said quietly. "One more time. Nice and slow."
You came apart rolling your hips, letting it wash over you. He followed right after, buried deep, forehead pressed to yours.
Neither of you moved.
His hand came up to your face. Wiped your tears.
"You did good," he said.
"I hate you."
"No, you don't."
"No," you agreed. "I don't."
He pulled out. Pulled you against his chest. Wrapped his arms around you.
"Same time tomorrow?" he asked.
"For tutoring?"
"For whatever you want."
You laughed. It came out weak.
"Yeah," you said. "Same time tomorrow."
After that first night, something shifted.
Not dramatically. Not with words or labels or awkward conversations. It just happened. Slowly. Naturally.
Tutoring sessions still happened. Twice a week, sometimes three times. Jake still explained statistics with that infuriating calm, and you still rolled your eyes and snapped at him when he got too cocky. But now, when the session ended, you didn't leave right away.
The first time you stayed, it was because you were tired. Really tired. You'd been up late studying for a different exam, and when Jake finished explaining p-values for the third time, you put your head down on the table and didn't pick it back up.
"You can't sleep here," he said.
"I'm not sleeping. I'm resting my eyes."
"You're snoring."
"I don't snore."
"You're snoring right now."
You lifted your head just enough to glare at him. He was smiling with a shine to his eyes.
"Come on," he said. "The couch is more comfortable."
That was the first night you fell asleep on his couch. He threw a blanket over you and sat on the floor next to you, grading papers by the light of his laptop. When you woke up at 2 AM, he was asleep sitting up, head tilted back, mouth slightly open.
You should have gone home.
You didn't.
You pulled him down onto the couch next to you, and he wrapped an arm around you without waking up, and you fell back asleep to the sound of his heartbeat.
After that, it became a thing.
Some nights you slept together the real kind, the messy kind, the kind that left you breathless and sore and smiling into the dark. Other nights you just watched movies. He liked action. You liked horror. You compromised on thrillers and spent most of the time arguing about the plot.
He made you popcorn on the stove, not the microwave, because he was "not a savage." You made fun of him for it. Then you ate three servings.
You never talked about what you were.
Not once.
You were tutoring. You were sleeping together. You were cuddling on his couch at 1 AM, his fingers tracing patterns on your arm, your head on his chest.
But you weren't together.
Or maybe you were. Neither of you said it.
Karina asked. Of course she did.
"So," she said one day at lunch, "are you guys like... together together?"
"I don't know."
"How do you not know?"
"Because we haven't talked about it."
"You've slept together multiple times."
"I'm aware."
"You cuddle?"
"...Yes."
"You text him good morning?"
"That's private."
"That's a yes." Karina leaned back. "You're together. You just haven't admitted it yet."
"We're not not together."
"What does that even mean?"
"It means I don't know what it means."
Giselle snorted. "That's the most non answer I've ever heard."
But they weren't wrong. Something had changed. You felt it every time Jake looked at you. Every time his hand found yours under the table. Every time he said good night like he meant stay.
You just didn't know how to name it.
Neither did he.
Jake's friends noticed before he did.
Or maybe they noticed first. He'd been different lately. Softer. He laughed more. He checked his phone more. He left parties early without explanation.
"You're whipped," Sunghoon said.
"I'm not whipped."
"You left Jay's party at 10 PM because she texted you."
"I was tired."
"You've never been tired at parties."
Jake didn't have an answer for that.
They were at their usual table on campus, halfway through lunch. Jay was picking at his food. Heeseung was scrolling on his phone.
"So," Jay said, "are you going to ask her out or what?"
"We're already... doing things."
"Doing things isn't dating."
"We watch movies."
"That's not dating either."
"We sleep together."
Jay raised his eyebrows. "Okay, that's closer. But still not dating."
Jake ran a hand through his hair. "I don't know what we are."
"Then ask her."
"It's not that simple."
"Why not?"
Because he was scared. Because he'd never done this before. Because every time he looked at you, he felt something he couldn't name, and naming it made it real, and real meant he could lose it.
"Because," he said.
"Great reason."
Heeseung looked up from his phone. "You like her."
"I know I like her."
"Then do something about it."
Jake was quiet for a moment. Then he stood up.
"Where are you going?" Sunghoon asked.
"To find her. She has class in twenty minutes. I'm going to walk with her."
Jay cheered. "That's adorable."
"Shut up."
"You're blushing."
"I'm not blushing."
Jake flipped him off and walked away.
Behind him, he heard Sunghoon say, "Told you. Whipped."
He didn't turn around.
You were sitting on a bench near the science building, Karina on one side and Giselle on the other, when the topic of Jake came up.
It always came up lately.
"So," Karina said, kicking your foot, "have you guys talked about it yet?"
"Talked about what?"
"About what you are."
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because I don't know what to say."
Giselle leaned in. "You could start with 'I like you.'"
"I don't even know if he wants that."
Karina stared at you. "Are you serious?"
"What?"
"He cuddles you. He makes you popcorn. He walked you home in the rain last week. He looks at you like you hung the moon."
"He looks at everyone like that."
"He absolutely does not. I've seen him look at other girls. He looks at them like he's deciding what to order for dinner. He looks at you like he's already eaten and he's still hungry."
Giselle nodded. "She's right. He's down bad."
"He's not down bad."
"He texted you good morning every day for two weeks."
You laughed. "You guys are insane."
"We're realistic. You're the one who's in denial."
"Fine. Maybe I like him."
"Maybe?"
"Okay. I like him."
"And?" Karina prompted.
"And... I don't know what to do about it."
"You could start by not hiding it."
"I'm not hiding it."
"You literally just whispered 'I like him' like it was a secret."
"It's not a secret."
"Then say it louder."
"I like him," you said, normal volume.
"Louder."
"I like him!"
"And?"
"I like Jake Sim!."
"And?"
"And I want him to be my boyfriend!."
The words echoed across the courtyard.
You froze.
Because standing ten feet away, right at the edge of the path, was Jake.
He had his hands in his pockets. His head was tilted. And he was smiling.
"Is that so?" he asked.
Your face went red. Karina and Giselle dissolved into giggles behind you.
"Jake-" you started.
"I like you too, by the way." He walked closer. Stopped in front of you. "And I want to be your boyfriend."
"You heard that?"
"Everyone heard that."
You looked around. A few people were staring. Someone was openly filming.
"Oh my God."
"Yeah." Jake was still smiling. "So. Boyfriend?"
"Shut up."
"Is that a yes?"
"It's a shut up."
"I'll take that as a yes."
He leaned down and kissed you. Right there. In front of everyone. Karina whooped. Giselle clapped.
When he pulled back, your face was somehow even redder.
"I hate you," you said.
"No, you don't."
"You're right," you agreed.
"Good. Now walk me to class."
"You walk me to class."
He laughed. Took your hand. Pulled you up from the bench.
"See you later," he said to Karina and Giselle.
You didn't look back. Jake's hand was warm in yours.
"So," he said. "Boyfriend."
"Don't push it."
"Too late. I'm pushing it."
"You're insufferable."
"Your insufferable boyfriend."
You stopped walking. Looked at him.
"My boyfriend," you said.
"Yeah."
"Like, officially?"
"Like officially."
You kissed him again. Quick. Soft.
"Wow that was easy hmm okay," you said.
"Okay?"
"Okay, boyfriend."
He grinned.
"Now walk me to class," you said.
"Yes, ma'am."
He didn't let go of your hand the whole way.
You were exhausted.
Not because you hadn't slept. You had. But you'd slept with Jake, which meant you'd stayed up late talking, then not talking, then talking again. By the time you actually fell asleep, it was almost 3 AM.
Now you were in Professor Lee's lecture, and your eyelids were winning the war.
You rested your head on your hand. Blinked. Blinked again.
Your eyes closed.
"You're falling asleep," a voice whispered.
Jake. He was sitting next to you. He'd started sitting next to you in every class you shared, which was three. He said it was "strategic." You said it was "clingy."
"I'm not falling asleep," you murmured. "I'm resting my eyes."Your head slipped off your hand. You caught yourself just before it hit the desk.
Jake laughed quietly.
"Go away," you mumbled.
"No."
"Then let me sleep."
"You can't sleep in class."
"Watch me."
You put your head down on the desk. Your eyes closed. The professor's voice faded into background noise.
You were almost there. Almost asleep.
Then you felt it.
Jake's hand on your thigh.
You didn't move. Didn't react. Maybe he was just...
His hand slid higher. Your eyes opened.
"Jake," you whispered.
"Shh."
"What are you doing?"
"Keeping you awake."
"This isn't keeping me awake."
His fingers found the button of your jeans. Your breath caught.
"Stop," you whispered.
"Do you want me to stop?"
You didn't answer. He took that as a no.
Jake's fingers worked the button of your jeans open. Slow. Deliberate. Like he had all the time in the world.
You should have stopped him.
You were in class. In the third row. Professor Lee was ten feet away, droning on about statistical significance. There were people on either side of you. People behind you. People who could look up at any moment and see exactly what was happening.
You should have stopped him.
You didn't.
His hand slipped inside your jeans. Past the waistband of your underwear. His fingers were warm, fingertips rough against your skin, and he moved with the confidence of someone who already knew exactly where to touch.
"You're wet," he murmured, so quiet only you could hear.
"Jake."
"You've been thinking about this?"
"No."
"Liar."
His finger circled your clit. Once. Twice. You bit your lip to keep from making a sound.
"Look at me," he said.
You turned your head. His eyes were dark. Focused. That stupid smirk was gone, replaced by something hungrier.
"Don't make a sound," he said.
"I won't."
He slid a finger inside you.
Your hand flew to your mouth. You pressed your knuckles against your lips, breathing hard through your nose. The professor kept talking. No one looked back. No one knew.
Except Jake.
He added a second finger. Curled them. Hit a spot that made your vision blur.
"Jake," you breathed.
"Shh."
"Someone's going to see."
"Then you'd better be quiet love."
He pumped his fingers slowly, deliberately, watching your face the whole time. His thumb pressed against your clit with every thrust. You were gripping the edge of the desk so hard your knuckles were white.
"So tight," he murmured. "You're going to cum already?"
"No."
"You're close. I can feel it."
"You can't-"
"I can feel everything." He leaned closer. His lips brushed your ear. "I can feel how much you want this. How much you want me. You're dripping down my fingers princess."
Your face burned. Your body burned. Everything burned.
"Please," you whispered.
"Please what?"
"Please don't stop."
He didn't.
His fingers moved faster. Harder. His thumb pressed down. You were shaking, legs trembling under the desk, teeth sinking into your knuckle to muffle the sounds.
"That's it," he whispered. "Cum for me. Right here. In class. With everyone watching."
It ripped through you, sudden and violent, your back arching, your eyes squeezing shut. You bit down so hard on your hand you left marks. Jake's fingers kept moving, working you through it, prolonging it until you were nothing but static.
When you finally opened your eyes, he was smiling.
"I hate you."
"You just came on my fingers in the middle of class."You're going to thank me later."
He pulled his hand out of your jeans. Slowly. Deliberately. And then still watching you he brought his fingers to his mouth and licked them clean.
One by one.
His eyes never left yours. You forgot how to breathe.
"Jake," you said. Your voice came out strangled.
"Yeah?"
"We need to leave."
"Class isn't over."
"I don't care."
"You don't?"
"No."
You stood up. Grabbed your bag. Your legs were still shaking. Jake watched you with that infuriating calm, like he knew exactly what was coming next.
"Y/N," he said.
"Get up Jake."
"Where are we going?"
"Bathroom. Janitor's closet. Your car. I don't care. Get up."
He stood. Sling his bag over his shoulder. His hand found the small of your back as you walked toward the door. Professor Lee didn't even look up.
The second you were in the hallway, you grabbed his wrist and pulled him toward the stairwell.
"Impatient," he said.
"Shut up."
"You dragged me out of class."
"Shut up."
"You must really want-"
You pushed him against the wall of the stairwell and kissed him. Hard. His hands went to your waist. Yours went to his belt.
"Someone could come in," he said against your mouth.
"Then you'd better be quiet."
He laughed. "Learning from me?"
"You started it in class."
"I was keeping you awake."
"You think you're funny," you said while dropping to your knees.
Jake's breath hitched.
"Oh," he said.
"Yeah. Oh."
Your hands found his belt. Unbuckled it. Pulled it open. His jeans came next, then his boxers, and he was already hard, already leaking, already looking down at you like he couldn't believe this was happening.
"You've been thinking about this," you said.
"Every day."
"Every session?"
"Every single one."
You wrapped your hand around him. Stroked once. Twice. He groaned, head falling back against the wall.
"Shh," you said. "Be quiet."
"You be quiet."
"I'm not the one who's going to make noise."
"You're about to be."
You leaned forward. Took him in your mouth.
His hand flew to your hair. Not pushing. Just holding. Just feeling.
You started slow. Teasing. Tongue flat against the underside, then pointed, then circling the tip. He tasted like salt and soap and something else you couldn't name.
"Jesus," he breathed.
You pulled off. Looked up at him.
"If I can be quiet during class," you said, "you can be quiet in a stairwell."
"That's different-"
His grip tightened in your hair. "You're evil," he said.
"You like it."
"I hate it."
"No, you don't."
You took him again. Deeper this time. He groaned, low and rough, and you felt it in your chest.
You set a rhythm. Slow. Deliberate. Every time he got close to the edge, you pulled back. Let him cool down. Started again.
He was a mess in your hands. Leaning against the wall, head back, jaw slack, breathing in short, sharp gasps.
"You're killing me," he whispered.
You took him deeper. Swallowed around him. His hips jerked.
"Fuck-"
A door opened above you.
Footsteps. Echoing down the stairs.
Someone was coming.
Jake's eyes flew open. He reached for your shoulders, tried to pull you off.
"Stop," he whispered. "Someone's-"
You didn't stop.
"Y/N-"
You looked up at him. Didn't let go. Didn't slow down.
His face was going through all kinds of emotions. Fear and pleasure and something darker, something hungrier. He was frozen, torn between pushing you away and holding you there.
The footsteps got closer.
Jake clamped a hand over his own mouth.
You smiled around him.
The footsteps passed. A door opened. Closed.
Silence.
Jake pulled you off by your hair. Not hard. Just enough.
"You didn't stop," he said.
"And?"
His eyes were black. His chest was heaving.
"You're going to regret that," he said.
"No, I'm not."
He grabbed you by the jaw and pressed you against the wall, back to concrete, his body flush against your chest.
"You think you're in control," he said into your ear.
"I know I am."
"You're not."
His hand fisted in your hair. Tilted your head back.
"Open," he said.
You opened your mouth.
He pushed inside. Not gentle. Not slow. Rough and deep and exactly what you'd been waiting for.
"You wanted to play," he said, thrusting into your mouth. "Now you're going to finish what you started."
His hand held you in place. His hips snapped forward. He fucked your mouth like he'd been holding back the whole time and he had finally snapped.
You gagged. Tears pricked your eyes. You didn't pull away.
"That's it," he groaned. "That's my girl."
He was messy. Sloppy. Spit dripped down your chin. He didn't care. Neither did you.
"I'm close," he said. "You're going to take all of it like a champ right?"
You looked up at him. Nodded as best you could.
He came with a choked sound, buried deep in your throat, and you swallowed everything. Didn't miss a drop.
He pulled out. Stepped back to admire you.
You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. Looked up at him.
He was wrecked. Hair a mess. Chest still heaving. Looking at you like you'd just ruined him for anyone else.
"Good girl," he said, voice hoarse.
You stood up. Fixed your clothes. Fixed his.
"We're going to be late for class," you said.
"I don't care."
"You should care. You're a tutor."
"I'm your tutor." He kissed you. Soft this time. Almost sweet. He took your hand. Led you back toward the door.
"Same time tomorrow?" he asked.
"Same stairwell?"
"Same stairwell."
You laughed. Pushed the door open.
The hallway was empty.
No one knew what had just happened.
That was the best part, it was yours and Jakes dirty secret.
Parties weren't your thing anymore. Or maybe they were, but you'd rather be on Jake's couch, wrapped in his hoodie, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your skin while some terrible action movie played in the background.
But Jake had asked.
"Come with me," he'd said, tugging on the sleeve of his black button down. The one that made your brain short-circuit.
"Why?"
"Because I want to show you off."
"You want to show me off?"
"Yeah." He said it like it was obvious. "You're hot. I'm hot. We're hot together. People should know."
So now you were here.
The music was loud enough to feel in your teeth, and the lights were low enough that you could pretend no one was staring.
But they were staring.
Because you walked in with Jake's hand on your lower back, his fingers pressed into the curve of your waist, and everyone noticed.
That's Jake's girl.
Damn, they look good together.
You danced with Jake. You drank something sweet that he handed you. You met his friends properly met them, not just the passing introductions from before.
"I'm going to grab a drink. You want one?"
"Yeah. Same thing."
"Be right back."
He disappeared into the crowd.
That's when she found you.
"You think you're so special."
You turned. Wonyoung.
She was standing a few feet away, drink in hand, eyes sharp. She looked good she always looked good but there was something brittle about her tonight. Something desperate.
"Wonyoung," you said.
"Don't say my name like you know me."
"I don't know you. That's the point."
She stepped closer. "You think you've won."
"I'm not playing a game."
She stepped closer. Close enough that you could smell her perfume. "He's going to get bored of you," she said. "He gets bored of everyone. You're not special. You're just the one who said no first. That's all this is. A challenge. Once he wins, he'll move on."
"You already tried that line."
"Because it's true."
"It's not."
"How do you know?"
You tilted your head. "Because I'm here. And you're not."
Her face twisted. "You're such a bitch."
"And you're obsessed with my boyfriend. Which one's worse?"
"You're not even-"
"I'm not even what? His girlfriend?" You smiled. "I am. He asked. I said yes. Sorry you had to find out like this."
Wonyoung's face went red. Then white. Then red again.
"You're lying." She looked like she wanted to throw her drink in your face. You almost wished she would. At least then you'd have an excuse.
But before she could move, a hand landed on your waist. Jake.
"I leave for five minutes," he said, voice calm, "and you're already causing trouble."
"I'm not causing anything. She started it."
Jake looked at Wonyoung. His expression didn't change, but something behind his eyes went cold.
"Wonyoung," he said. "We've talked about this."
"Have we?" She laughed. "You've been ignoring me for weeks. You don't return my texts. You don't even look at me anymore."
"Because I have nothing to say to you."
"You had plenty to say before."
"That was before." He stepped closer to you. His hand stayed on your waist. "Before her."
Wonyoung's eyes flicked to you. Filled with something ugly.
"I'm going to say this once," Jake said. "Stay away from her. Stay away from me. If I hear about you coming near her again, talking to her, texting her, even looking at her I'm going to make sure everyone knows exactly what you've been doing."
"You wouldn't."
"Try me."
Wonyoung stared at him. Then at you. Then back at him.
"I loved you," she whispered.
"No." Jake shook his head. "You wanted to win me. There's a difference."
She didn't respond instead she turned and walked away.
Jake's hand was still on your waist. "You okay?" he asked.
"Yeah, she's not worth my energy."
He watched your face for a long moment. Looking for cracks. Finding none. You let the silence stretch. Let your heartbeat slow. Then you looked up at him.
"I've been meaning to tell you something."
"I got a 95 on the test."
Jake blinked. "What?"
"The exam. The one you've been tutoring me for. 95 percent."
"You're lying."
"I'm not."
"Show me."
You pulled out your phone. Opened the grade portal. Turned the screen toward him.
95. Right there. Jake stared at it. Then at you. Then back at the screen.
"You did that," he said.
"We did that."
"No." He shook his head. "You did that. I just explained things. You did the work."
"Jake-"
"95 percent." He was smiling now. The one that made your chest ache. "That's my girl."
Your face went warm. "Don't."
"My girl with the 95."
"Jake."
"My girl who's going to pass the class with flying colors because she's smarter than she gives herself credit for."
"Okay, okayyyy"
"My girl."
He kissed you.
Not hard. Not desperate. Soft. Slow. Like he was memorizing the shape of your mouth. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.
"I'm proud of you," he said. "Like, really proud."
"I know."
"Like, I'm going to tell everyone how proud I am."
"Please don't."
"Too late. I'm already texting Sunghoon."
"Jake!"
He was already typing. Grinning. You laughed. Hit his chest. He caught your hand and held it.
"Same time tomorrow?"
You looked at him. The cocky tutor who'd gotten under your skin. The guy who remembered your coffee order and mopped on Mondays and looked at you like you were the only person in the room.
heeseung swiftly gets up from his knees, bringing his fingers covered in your fluids past his lips to lick them clean. he lays a small kiss onto your cheek before settling upright on your shared bed, gesturing you to sit on top of him.
you hesitantly make your way on top of him, ‘don’t worry baby, i’ll help you’ he lets out a smile before guiding your hips to settle right on top of his hardness. a whimper escapes your mouth as your bare heat comes in contact with his jeans, you quickly help him take them off and align his length right between your legs. his hands never leave your waist, ‘ready?’ all you can do is nod your head in response, legs already trembling from his fingers.
he crashes his lips onto yours, tongue making its way past your lips as you sink down onto him. a long moan leaves your mouth before he quickly swallows it with his own mouth. you felt him all up in your organs, you felt so full your brain felt like it was melting from all the stimulation. you two stay like that for a minute, him letting you adjust to his size.
‘fuck- baby i can’t wait anymore’ heeseung finally starts moving your hips, guiding you to ride him. an occasional groan escapes his mouth as you squeeze him. the obscene sounds of wetness spreads throughout the room, the pleasure becomes too much for you. it didn’t take long for your eyes to start overflowing, his own eyes meet your glossy ones.
‘don’t cry- baby- shit’ he’s dangerously close, he latches his mouth onto your aching nipple while his free hand makes its way between your thighs. the triple stimulation throws you over the edge, instantly coming undone over him. he leaves one last kiss onto the side of your neck before releasing hot spurts of cum inside of you, filling you up as much as he could. you crash your head onto his shoulder, body becoming limp.
he lets his own hand glide up your bare spine to intertwine with your hair, both of your chest rising from your climaxes. ‘good girl’ he says breathlessly.
kiki’ thoughts: YOOOOOOI evan debut my vagina is shaking i’m so excited ‘ride or die 6.22’ I PICK RIDE I PICK RIDE
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